The 6th International Half marathon – The reset

The 6th International Half marathon – The reset

It shall not happen

This final run was not going to happen.  Most team members had said their ‘Adios’ loudly or by action when the end year party took place on Friday, Dec. 14.  I had sent the weekly call-for-marathoners-to-run but the number of out-of-office responses gave me the first indication that there was not going to be any run.  I met few runners at the Friday party and they told me straight on the face, “We are off the run until next year.”  The Dec. 21 run was a no-no until 2019.  And this is why they were not doing any more runs in 2018….

The music had been getting louder, especially after 6pm, with each hour causing an increase of ten or so decibels from the boom box.  Prior to that evening, I had watched with embarrassment how many staff had been dissed ‘live’ on stage for failing to adhere to the dress code of ‘denim and white’ or was it ‘white and blue demin’?.  What does that even mean?  Who are these two guys?  Are they a couple?  I never heard of them!  Not on my running tracks.

Embarrassment did not end there, since I was lucky by a whisker not to be called out when the MC called to stage the most out-of-dress-code staff of the day.  This was a ‘peoples choice’ thing, where those seated around the various tables shooed one of their own to the stage.  I was in my formal attire, It was just the earth-wire missing.  There was more to come while there was still daylight.  

Bread-and-tea eating competition – how do you set yourself up the stage, while under the watch of a multitude in a big tent, who are cheering you on as you tear off bread from its form until it is fully dismembered and disappeared into the digestive system?  With hot tea?  To win, what… a ‘k’?.  While you earn the honours of staying on our lingua for the next year until another moment (if ever) shall overtake this particular one?  

How about competition for the team that can down the most alcohol?  At least this one did not happen since the ‘most drunk’ who represented the whole of the ‘congregation’ confessed to have been ‘saved’ but could still do with the prize – a crate of beer.  However, he refused the prize due to his changed status and negotiated for a voucher instead.

While the music was increasing in volume with every passing hour after six, and the bass was now hitting at the very heart by ten, there were ‘manenos’ going on at the dance floor.  I feel ashamed to even talk about this, since I see the people involved in the light of day like daily these days and shudder in disbelief.  We have this shy guy in the money department who planted his lips on another gals.  This is something that he denies to this day… but we have witnesses.  How about this other guy who works in my section.  I know him to be the type who cannot hurt a fly.  However, many cans latter, he was on stage with loud music as his witness, caressing a madam visibly to the level where other guys told him off of his action for ‘embarrassing’ the ‘boy child’ in such a fashion.  Manenos did not end there, I know a ‘waifi’ who got a text from SQ that she was ‘queening’ the waifi’s man.  Our security had a real tough time restraining the ‘waifi’ from storming in and slaying the slayer.  Of course, she finally got in and missed both…  you can only imagine how the drama, searching, name calling and vitriol that rent the air was.  For disclosure, SQ is not servants quarters… it is slay queen, silly!

Finally, the drinks got finished at some point.  But that point was long into the night, about eight hours after the drinking started at two.  Usually, the revellers start by ordering ‘cans’ of their choice.  This is called the ‘choice time’.  Around seven, the choice is reduced to ‘some alternative’ but same category, beer-for-beer, wine-for-wine, soda-for-soda, nonetheless same category, call it the ‘same category time’.  By eight, there is no longer choice in the same category, you have to cross over, call it the ‘cross over’ time.  Those on cans are the first ones to suffer after no can is left.  They hit the bottle – usually the non-popular brands that have remained.  Wine people move to the same non-popular league.  At nine, we move to the ‘no choice time’, where anything goes… a beer guy is scrapping the wine dregs or sobering up with a soda.  The soda person has gone to water.  The wine people are on soda water or something like that and it is a scramble for anything left.  After that…. That is it.

It may happen

One day to the event and there was little hope of the run taking place.  However, there was hope, as I got a message from one of the runners that she shall tag along for as long as she could, then shall turn back at her limit.  I also got a phone call from Nick that he shall join in on the run.

I was also bidding farewell to some friends on the same Thursday evening, since I was heading for a short leave after ‘the reset’.  I had seen Fay and some other gal sit on a next table at the club of farewell.  When I saw them at that time, around six, I had just waved my ‘Hi’ and each table continued their whatever-they-were-doing.  On my table, we were having tea and farewell speeches, on her table I could only see a green bottle from far.  It looked full and untouched.  

When I joined the duo around eight, after my ‘farewell’ table had dispersed, I started by the matter at hand.

“Tomorrow, we are on, right?,” I asked Fay.

“First meet my classmate,” she volunteered.

We exchanged greetings and exchanged chit chat on dis-and-dat for a moment.  After that it was back to business.

“We are on the road kesho?”

“Are you seeing this?,” Fay asked, pointing deliberately at the green on the table.

I re-observed, taking note of the JB bottle, now about half empty.  I nodded.

“After this,” she said, pointing at the centre of one of the tables where JB was resting, “I am going nowhere,” she updated me, “You are not seeing me on that wretched road of yours until next year.”

“What do you mean?,” I sought clarification.

“I mean that you need to take some of this yourself,” she beckoned for a glass, which I let come over to the table but declined to fill.

“You can’t do us like this,” her friend questioned, “Take some,” she pleaded.

“I do not drink before a marathon.”

Later on, I was on water for the duration, but the saying that you get drunk when you are with those drinking was true, since I was as loud as the rest by eleven when we parted ways.

It was inevitable that we shall discuss all manner of things, but things changed for the worst when ‘the short man’ joined in.

“To the short man!,” the gals lifted glasses, excited, as they welcomed him to join in.  He sat next to Fay’s friend, just opposite me around the two hex-shaped tables.

He acknowledged by calling for his own glass and immediately joining the cheer.  I know him for many years.  He is not short by any definition.  I was still wondering at the ‘short’ form of his name… but that would not be for long.

“Remember how you messed us up at KCO?,” Fay directed at him.

His response was to call for another glass, pour in a shot and give it to Fay.

“Take that!”

“But why?,” Fay protested.  Fay’s Friend (FF) and I looked puzzled… a bit perplexed… observing the unfolding.

“That one is for cheating these distinguished friends that I messed you up at KCO.”

We were soon lifting glasses, water in my case, as Fay downed the shot in disbelief, hardly five minutes since welcoming the newcomer.

Later the conversation was concentrated on this whole KCO event.  How it unfolded, two years prior, from our very current sitting position, all the way to the various stops within the 300km route, leading to the before-, during- and after-KCO.

“You recall how the fracas that ensued caused Bill to shatter the bar glass?,” Fay stated.

In response, another ‘shot’ was filled in and directed to Fay.

“Now what again,” Fay protested in amused chagrin.

“That is for distorting the facts,” he said, “Bill shattered the windscreen of his own car.”

Many more shots later and I now knew that the ‘short man’ was actually the ‘shot man’….

And as if things could not get any worse, finally, FF was ‘shot at’.

“We had a 5 litre JD last Christmas at shags,” she had said as part of the many story lines that were keeping the bar man amazed at the noises and glass clinks coming from our table.

“Hakuna JD ya 5 litre,” the shot man responded and proceeded immediately to prepare a shot for FF.

But this shot missed out, since FF clarified that, “JD means Jug-Daniel, the local brew”

“Lift your glasses for the shot man,” Fay finally got her revenge, and we did raise our glasses, as TSM was forced to drink his own shot!

The gathering however came up with something good in the end – setting up the date of the next international marathon that FF shall join in and shall end up with a celebratory teq and choco.  The date being set for Friday, January 25, 2019.

It shall happen

On the run day, I met Beryl at the lunch hour.  She confirmed that she was also out of the run since she was having ‘homa’.

“What does homa have to do with running?,” I questioned.  It is like that scene in some movie where someone cannot sing because she has a sore finger.

“I shall just slow you people down,” she decried.

“It is just a fun run.  Give it a try,” I had pleaded.

“Watch me walk out of this,” she said as she exited. Without looking back.  Never to be seen again that day.

At four-twenty-five I got off the locker room and headed to the starting point aka ‘the generator’.  I was not sure if there was going to be any other runner apart from ‘the coach’.  This turned out to be true since by four-thirty there was no one else.

It is happening

Just as I was about to countdown at four-thirty-five, Nick stepped onto the arena from nowhere and joined me, with a, “My shin has been hurting for some time, but I believe I shall make the run.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?,” I asked the typical ‘coach’ question.

“This is a two and a half hour run, are you sure?,” I repeated.

“I am here,” he confirmed his presence, “We shall just have to go, though slowly.”

We set off, slowly, and started on the ‘new international route’ for a second time.  The first time being during the fifth international done by the B-team.  This time however the B-team was no longer defending the title.  Nonetheless, the run was as per script.  You get to the 4k point at the Ndumbo river, then you are faced with the 7km of uphill all the way to the Nakuru highway at Gitaru.  This is where ‘the new international’ gets its name as the ‘meanest’ of circuits so far.  I was taking it slowly at the head of the pack, with Nick tagging along.  I set a slow pace and kept monitoring the footsteps behind to time my pace.  By the time we reached Gitaru, I had to walk a bit to let Nick catch up, and then join me in the walking.

“We still have another 10km back, are we making it back?,” I asked.

“Slowly by slowly,” he said, as we kept walked upto the Gitaru-Wangige road where we eventually resumed the run at some point, then redirected back on Kanyariri road, for the downhill to Ndumbo river.

We finished the run at 0.00.00, this is because I hit the reset immediately we reached the finishing line.  The run was done.  I was happy to have finished the year with this run.  And it did happen, despite it not happening… almost not happening.

Nick’s final word was, “This is my PB time of all these international halfs.  I did it in 2.18.20”

We have reset and are ready to start the running odometer on the zero come January.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2019. 

WWB, ‘the coach’, Nairobi, Kenya, Dec. 21, 2018