The accidental 42, on the day that I was out

The accidental 42, on the day that I was out

I was not looking forward to this run.  I did not want to do this run.  I was forcing myself into this run.  The reason for the run being that this would be the last opportunity for a long run this week.  The run should have been held on Monday, but nature had its plan for that Monday.  It rained most day and it rained at four-thirty in the evening, just when I should have started the run.  The run had to be cancelled.  I could not do this run on Tuesday, since I already had students lined up for their day of run, which I could not reschedule, nor was I ready to disappoint my loyal students.  

Of course, the students tend to disappoint me and waste some of my evenings – and feel nothing about it.  Take for example that Tuesday, two weeks ago, when I was waiting for student Sharon while she was in a meeting that dragged on until after six.  Then one week ago the same lightning struck twice on similar circumstances.  I was not holding my breath on yesterday’s Tuesday students run.  It was sounding like cancelled.  If anything, Sharon even called to confirm that ‘it was too late for a run’, being just five-ten.

“You are joking, right?,” I spoke to the mouthpiece.

“Si ma-time zime enda sana.  We shall not make it to the tarmac.”

“Forget tarmac.  We only need an hour to make it to the river and back.”

“So, you mean tunaenda?”

“Of course.  The weather is just perfect.  And a new student, Fatuma is joining too.”

“So, for sure tunaenda?  Do I change?”

“Go ahead and change.  Take your time.  Let us meet at the gate starting point at five-thirty.”

That forced run therefore took place and it went well.  The students were happy to have conquered that infamous two-kilometre hill from the river to Ndumbo on our way back.  I was also glad that the third Tuesday had actually materialized.

Come Wednesday, today, and I was on the last possible day to do the run.  Thursdays and Fridays now also belong to students.  My days of free runs are now only on Mondays and Wednesdays.  The run had to be done today… or not at all until next week.

I had already walked 15k, from Kawangware to Waithaka and back to Uthiru, as I went to the Government offices to process some license.  Another ‘here and there’ walks had already taken about 2km already.  And…. Government offices have a reputation for keeping things as ‘ancient’ as they can.  Call it conservation?  I went to an office with an old chair reserved for the occupant.  An equally old wooden seat awaited the single visitor, me in this case.  The desk was some old wooden thing that had now lost balance and outlived its lives.  

Across my seat was a bench, along the wooden interior wall of the iron sheet structure.  The wooden interior was deteriorated in most places, and the external iron sheet wall was visible.  The very iron sheet that was torn at places and I could see the light from external seeping in through the sheet and wood.  The wooden bench was the simple type.  The type that you see in lower primary school (and some churches).  It was old, with cobwebs underneath and looked unstable and uncomfortable.

Behind the officer, on the extreme wall, hardly a metre from her seat, were some files stacked in a pile on some old shelf.  The files looked old, dusty and untouched for ages.  To the left of the officer was a four-drawer metallic cabinet.  It had seen better days.  It was… eh… need I say, old?  It was meant to be locked by some long metallic bar that should run the full height of the cabinet.  That metallic bar was now bent from disuse.  I suspect that at some point the lock was lost and the bar was bent open.  It remained bent since then.

The officer would soon fidget into the second-from-top drawer, which could hardly open quarter way out due to that metallic bar that remained obstructing the drawers.  She finally managed to extract a receipt book, after some long struggle wadding through the dark drawer.  She was just taking a seat when she realized that she did not have a pen.  She started fidgeting into that drawer once more.  Finally, a pen was found and she resumed her seat ready to write.  Alas!  Bad things usually come in doubles and so she realized that the pen was not writing, after trying to scribble endlessly on the paper that I had earlier handed over.  She would soon stand up once more to fidget into that drawer once more.  She found a second pen, took her seat and tried the new pen.  It accepted to write, just accepted to write.

She was just about to start writing the receipt when her cellphone rang.  She would soon be lost into animated discussion with some ‘dadangu’.  They talked, they laughed, I sat waiting.  I know the drill – sit still, do nothing and pretend that you are hearing nothing.  She would attempt to write, while the phone was pinned between her ear and left shoulder.  She wrote and talked – at least she could multitask.  A man could never have been able to achieve such a feat.  But serving two usually means hating one.  The one hated in this occasion turned out to be my receipt, since she would soon write a wrong detail.

“Twenty-twenty-two, not twenty-twenty,” I whispered.

She continued talking while looking at me in a manner of ‘what do you mean?’

I pointed at the receipt, “Twenty-twenty-two, not twenty-twenty,” I repeated the whisper.

She saw the error, even as she kept talking on the phone.  She would momentarily cross the erroneous figure and write the correct figure just alongside.  She continued talking, ‘dadangu’ punctuating every sentence.

I would soon get the receipt stamped, an old wooden stamp, first inked on some old inkpad, then struck hard on the receipt.  That stamping also marked the end of the call, and so I was able to get the receipt plucked from the book, after the carbon paper had been moved to the next receipt on the book.  I got up and left.  Outside the iron sheet structure of an office, which had surely outlived its life, was a more modern building, where several ‘Huduma numbers - collection’ notices had been pasted on walls and windows.  A crowd of mostly young people, mostly men, milled around the door.  Most did not have their face masks.  They chatted animatedly and did not have a care in the world.  The office did not seem to be in a hurry to serve them either.

That is how I ended up walking back to Uthiru, arriving just before two.  I knew that in about two hours I would be out again for the long run.  The very long run that I was not ready for.  The run that I did not look forward to.  The run that I was forced to do on this Wednesday, as the last chance for this run in the week.

It was four before I knew it and I started the run.  My strategy was just to survive until ‘the tank’.  The run would be made or broken when I make that right turn at the tank and start the five-kilometre run on Kanyariri road all the way to Gitaru market.  That was my target.  Get to the tank, try that stretch of uphill and if I managed it, then the run would have been conquered.  I had have been on this route weekly and that make-or-break section remains the M-O-B part.  This is the section that had helped in ‘making’ the time, two weeks ago, when I did the sub-5.  On that day, I was just perfect on this section and was even sprinting when I turned back and was on the downhill back to Ndumbo.  Last week the M-O-B part was not very bad.  My average was just almost the same as that record.  I did a 5min 5 sec average.

Today would be different.  I was tired ab-initio.  I was not going to break any records.  If anything, I was afraid that the M-O-B part would be a ‘B’ today.  Anyway, the run had to be done and I started off well.  My mind was just focused on how I shall feel when I hit the tank, then M-O-B.  That is all that mattered on this Wednesday.

Even COVID-19 cases did not seem to matter on this evening.  I already knew that the worldwide cases were 112M.  112,638,446 to be exact*.  These are just numbers that are forced onto your daily life since everything screams these numbers to you, from radio announcements, news on television, internet web pages tickers on top and bottom of pages, even pop-ups scream these numbers on you daily.  The global fatalities had now hit 2.5M.  2,502,894 to be exact.  Kenya, like the rest of the world was being affected, despite the new normal.  Our numbers were now 104,780 and 1,839 respectively.  

*source: worldometers

It was however no longer all gloom.  Vaccines were already in distribution and in use.  Life shall be back to the ‘old normal’ soon.  This ‘new normal’ was a mistake and should not be allowed to persist for long.  Just look around at how people ‘abuse’ masks and ‘redefine’ social distance, to be convinced that the new normal cannot work.  I would soon start meeting students as I ran down Kapenguria road, the same road section where I had just been with Sharon and Fatuma the previous day.  They did not look like they knew anything called corona existed.  They were not alone.  Most people that I met were taking the ‘new normal’ same as they did the ‘old normal’ – behaving as if nothing had changed.

I kept running, waiting for that M-O-B point, but with nothing to do for about fifty minutes before that point, my mind kept wondering back to how the day had been.  I was taken aback to Kawangware centre.  That place is a mess!  Matatus stop in the middle of the road and take their sweet time to drop, look for and pick passengers.  They block kilometres of traffic on both directions of the road and feel nothing about it.  The roads have now been expanded with pedestrian walkways on each side.  

However, there is no celebration from pedestrians, since these newly paved walkways have now been taken over by the hawkers.  The pedestrians are now back to compete with vehicles on the main roads.  It is a mess I told you!  Impunity of the highest order!  Walking is even faster than being stuck in those traffic jams – but more dangerous, since pedestrians have to walk in the middle of the road and survive the vehicles.  Lo and behold if a cop was to appear!  A matatu would rather run you over than face the cops!  Impunity!

I was still on nostalgia when I finally reached the tank.  I was now going for that right turn on Kanyariri road and would now head generally uphill all the way to Gitaru market.  This was the M-O-B point, leading to the M-O-B section.  Survive this uphill and the run is conquered.  Fail on this and your run is done.  The section was tough as my legs were a bit weak already.  However, I had already survived 10k and another 10k circuit was now doable.  

I was now back to full alertness.  I had been running through the generally deserted roads from Ndumbo down Kapenguria road, through Mary Leakey and the university farm.  That section had less traffic.  The university farm in particular had nobody at all.  It was just runner and road.  It was quiet.  There was no worry or need for alertness.  Now I was back to the fairly busy Kapenguria road.  The many potholes meant that vehicles and motorbikes were jostling for the same ‘good’ road space just like the runners and pedestrians.  All senses had to be alert.  I kept going and the legs kept getting tired with every step.

I finally got to the newly build Gitaru-Wangige road.  That would be my turning point and I would now run back, generally downhill all the way to Ndumbo river.  A final kilometre of uphill to Ndumbo market was now the only obstacle on my way.  The downhill was manageable, but the legs kept getting tired.  I just wished that I would ‘somehow’ finish the run, before I was finished!  I kept getting tired with every step and reduced speed with every kick.  I have never been this tired!

I kept going and would finally, ‘somehow’, reach the finish line.  I was not only collapsing from the tiredness at the finish line, my thirst was overwhelming.  I took a litre of diluted soda, ratio 300ml water to 700ml water.  I took that in almost one gulp.  It did not quench the thirst.  I took two cups of tea soon after – they did not lessen the thirst.  

I took another many cups of water but no additional intake did anything to my thirst.  I was surely ‘finished’ by these walks and runs of this day.  Those 16k of walks of earlier in the day, added to this 26.6k of the evening had just turned out to be a full marathon – and the feeling was the same – tired, thirsty, finished and wishing that you never did the run.  Even the average of 5min 10sec for the run did nothing to brighten the day.  I remained tired, thirsty and finished.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, 24-Feb-2021