Ndakaini 2018 – the run that never was (almost)

Ndakaini 2018 – the run that never was (almost)

“Mbona hulewangi Sunday?”

What the….?

That is exactly how my Saturday morning started, when I boarded the 14-seater matatu at the Uthiru highway at around 5.10am.  I had to wake up at 4.30am for breakfast and was out of the house at 4.55am.  I spent 5 minutes convincing the watchie to be steady enough to open the two padlocks of the compound gate.  He was from deep slumber and his mind was not yet sober for the reality of the morning.

“Mbona hulewangi Sunday?,” the lady repeated.

“Unajua Monday ni job, na nitasumbuka na sleep kwa ofisi,” her lady colleague responded.

It was evident that they were both too drunk to care that they were speaking at the top of their voices, in this small vessel, for all to hear.  They did not seem to care if walls have ears, it was story time.  By the way, I have observed that the drink deafens and hence the sound level has to be high be it talk, music or quarrel.

“Kula tu ka-sausage with pilipili, na soda ya stoney,” the asker informed the respondent.

“Utakua sober whole day, try it,” she concluded, even as she shouted to the conductor to stop at the Maunte stage.

But that was after they filled us in about the brawl that they had just had.

“Chali yangu ni mjelous, ye ndio alianza hiyo vita,” the lady who had been given the prescription shouted out, then for the benefit of team mafisi added, “Lakini I love him, he is the only one.”

Never give up

“I shall try it,” I said subconsciously after they disembarked.  That was not to be the last of the drunks we were to share a matatu with this morning.  After Westlands, there is this famous club that parks many cars on the road and seems noisy at the wee.  Galileo is it?  Something like that.  That  is where we carried the next drunk – with his evidence being half a bottle of some drink, Chivas, I guess, having seen a similar empty bottle at the work place kitchen – where code of conduct rule no. 8 is ”You can only drink at the bar”

The matatu dropped me and a fellow runner at the junction of Kenyatta Avenue and Moi Avenue.  We walked to Reinsurance Plaza, just on the other side of Hilton after passing through Kimathi Street.  The bus was there alright, but no one was in, apart from the driver.  Slowly by slowly the few runners started trickling in, each checking their names by the organizer, before boarding.  We should have left Nairobi at 6.00am sharp, according to the many reminder smses that we got.  Kenyans being Kenyans, the last athlete came in unapologetically at 6.20am.  The MM bus left the city at 6.25am.  The 40-seater had each of its seats with only one athlete seated.  This turnout was worse than I thought.  Canceling it when scheduled in September, then reconsidering it at the last minute just last week was not such a good idea.  Traditionally, at least six buses would leave the city for Ndakaini.  This time round, a half-bus left the city for Ndakaini.

The bug

The journey was uneventful.  We passed by Thika at 7.05am and took our left turn towards Gatanga.  This section led us all the way to Ndakaini where we arrived at 8.00am for the run that was to start at 8.00am.  Then the game changer happened, “Mtu asiache chochote kwa basi,” the pilot announced on the natural intercom by just shouting it out.  And… and this is the very first time that I had decided to carry a bag.  In it were two phones, a newspaper and some shopping bags.  It weighed about 1kg in totality, but I did not plan to run with it – how do you even run dressed in a bag?

I hardly comprehended what was going on before the run started, just like that, at 8.02am.  I still had the bag at hand wondering what to do with it.  With the feet already pounding the gravel, I did not have a choice but just to strap the bag on my back and join the rhythm of feet.  I was adorned with the marathon type bag, the one with two strings on either side.  By 5min of run, which is just outside the Nairobi Water main offices, the strings were already strangling my neck.  I had to find a new formula to carry it on my back by strapping an X shaped pattern on my stomach area and passing some of the strings on my shoulders.  This bag was the biggest bother that I have ever had on a run that is officially the toughest in the world.

“Damn the driver,” I shouted to myself as I hit the 2km turning point, where we now head to the first river, then we start the continuous hills to the finish.

“Damn the bag, damn everything!”

Ready or not

I was fully prepared for this run by virtue of three international halfs in the last two months.  Endurance was not the issue, finishing the run was not the issue.  The issue was just this ‘bug’ and my final run time.  Having skipped last year’s run, due to another change of date, due to electioneering issues*, I did not expect any difference in the run, if Ndakaini was still Ndakaini.  And… and Ndakaini was still Ndakaini.  

*For information, even the Nairobi International marathon of last year was rescheduled to November, from the traditional October month.

The good – bottled water every 5km.  Instead of 4 points by calculation, they threw in two additional water points, just for the fun of it.  

The good – sponge stations, every 10km.  Instead of 2 points by calculation, they threw in an additional point, just for the fun of it.  Enough respect to Ndakaini.  It is the only marathon in Kenya at the moment with sponge stations.  With sponges, that are moisten and ready for use by any athlete who picks.

Ndakaini the bad – 21km of hill.  I do not know whether this is on ‘the bad’ list.  This is what makes Ndakaini be called Ndakaini.  It is what gives it its name, but let us for a moment keep it in this list, you will be the judge.  

The bad – no certificates and no medals… and no timing chips.  But let us go back to the run for a moment….

I am now a veteran of Ndakaini.  This is my run no. 5, so I know this run like the back of my running shoes.  There is always a surprise at every turn.  The trick with this run is to approach the turns and corners with caution.  Chances are that there is a surprise awaiting – and usually this is some new hilly section.  You can imagine the agony of sprinting towards a bend only to encounter one of the 10 hills!  You are finished there and then.  I have mastered this ‘a surprise awaits’ so much that I never get caught off guard by any of those hills.

The road ahead

Since the run of ‘very few’ was flagged off, I had been running on my own.  I overtook quite a number of runners, but another three or so also overtook me over the course anyways.  I encountered a few ‘cheaters’ sorry ‘cheats’.  Some runners did not bother start at the starting line.  They just joined in whenever they saw the runners coming their direction.

My best moments were the ‘surprise’ hills, where athletes would just come to a standstill.  That is when I would just overtake without much effort.  The hills are tough, but if you are walking then be ready to be overtaken – what else?

“Biya isho,” someone shouted in my direction.  It was a member of the spectators.

I knew that for sure I was not carrying any ‘beer’, so that was a surprising comment.  If anything, I had my phones in the bag on my back, and rattling in my pockets caused by some keys and coins, currency, Kenya money.  It took me a translation five hours after the run to know the effect of rattling of currency to bystanders.

“Tupa bag,” was another shout that I encountered.

I threw off my bag and it landed somewhere behind me.  I kept running and did not get any relief.  Sorry, it was my sub-conscience that threw that bag, since in reality I kept running with my bag.  This was at the final corner, that 90 degrees bend that goes downhill, and at the foot of the downhill you get the dreaded 45 degrees hill!

Cortisone

The adrenalin kicked in when I realized that there were no more hills.  However, for your peace of mind, always know that there shall still be another hill.  You have not seen or experience the last of the hills.  Keep that in mind while doing the Ndakaini until you cross the finish line – that is how you survive Ndakaini.  However, the veteran in me knew for sure that the hills were now done when I reached that last shopping centre where you make a 90 degrees turn to the left.  Hit that and you now know that you are on the 3km home stretch.  And… and this is where the adrenalin kicked in.  I overtook upto four athletes, two of whom had been in front of me for eons.  I just zoomed past them.  I did not even understand myself where the energy came from.  One of the overtaken chased after me, caught up, overtook me, but miscalculated the terrain, leading to his downfall.  When I said the hills had ended, I just meant the 40-45 degree ones.  We still had mild hills ahead and that is where I zoomed past him again – just for the love of the game, nothing personal – athletes are universal friends, it is the game that spoils things.

The finish line appeared from nowhere.  It was like I had not done the 3km since the market, but there it was, “Ndakaini Start/Finish 21km”.

I stopped my timer at 1.49.00 – the first time that the seconds have been exactly zero.

Surprises

An official slipped a small piece of card into my hands, the size of an ATM card.  On it was written “24”.

“What is this,” I asked amid gulps of water.

“Your position, go register your details at the next desk.”

At the registration desk, there were only 3 questions, whose responses were recorded on the paper:

“Your number?”

“0328,” I responded.

“Your name?”

“Check the online registration system for crying out loud!,” I thought of saying, but I did not.  I instead responded with the name.

“Your position and card?”

I stated “Jack Bauer” and handed over the card.

He just looked at me with utter disbelief, while I moved out of the tent.

“Hebu gota!,” a stranger beckoned, “Nilikujaribu, but you beat me fair and square.”

I immediately recognized the athlete as the one we had the hill test with after the 18k.

“You are good yourself. It was just my day,” I responded, team spirit guiding my choice of words.

Ten minutes later as I was walking towards the bus…

“WB, or maybe not,” someone encountered me, hesitated and waited for reaffirmation.  Only those very close to me know that presidential name.  A stranger beckoning would be unexpected some 100km from my usual territory. But wait a minute... 

“Geff?, What are you doing here, in Kenya!  At Ndakaini!!”

“I am running the first Ndakaini,” he stated, as a matter of fact, “This run was tough!”

“10 or 5?,” I queried.

“Twenty-one, however, Terry did better than me.”

By this time we were walking back, just catching up.

“You mean Terry is here?”

“Sure thing, we did the run together, but she beat me to it”

It was quite a pleasant surprise to meet the duo, whom I had last met in my previous life at Telkom.  By then I was not a runner.  To my understanding, both had left their duty station as volunteer teachers at a local Gilgil school and travelled back to the UK, for keeps.  Those who know my story already know that I started my runs when I left Telkom for research.

“You still do IT?,” he asked.

“Nope, retired back to Engineering”

“But…. But you were the IT guy?  Anything computer was you?”

“Ebindu bichenjanga,” that just slipped from my mouth, unintended.

“Ebi-what?”

“ABCD, I was just mumbling after a tough run!”

The Experiences

With Ndakaini marathon facing one of the lowest turnouts in history, I do hope that they shall quickly get a sponsor on board so that this run on its 14th edition retains its status as the toughest, while it also achieves the continuity that its big brother has.  Their difference after all is only a year.  Nairobi International marathon aka Stanchart where we are going next is on its 15th edition come October 28, 2018.

Finally, few comments that I gathered from the runners from Nairobi, those on the MM bus:

“First time, and toughest run ever”

As to whether she shall be back, she responded, “Definitely, but for another 10 before I move on to the big one”

“I am now ready for Stanchart,” some other lady stated loudly, while getting into the bus, for the benefit of all.

“Stanchart is nothing compared to this,” she concluded.

“I am happy and sad,” one gent said.

While we were puzzled on how you can mix bronze with clay, he elaborated, “I have nothing to finally show my grandchildren when I get them.  No medal, no certificate.  What will I tell my grandchildren?”

That is called thinking ahead… way ahead, just like thinking about the 2019 Ndakaini run which is a must.  Ndakaini just has ‘it’.  You just need to experience it yourself.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 6, 2018