Running half naked – when running is a must

Running half naked – when running is a must

If there ever was a decision that I made just in the nick of time that turned out to be ‘healthy’, then today’s decision would be that.  Before this decision, the morning had generally been calm.  It promised to be a good day, even sunny if anything.  However, I knew that my troubles had started the day with me the moment I finished that cup of coffee with accompaniments at about eight-thirty in the morning.  It did not even take me thirty minutes to start being nauseated.  I could hardly settle down by ten, when I almost started drooling and made several trips to the washroom to clear my mouth.  It is then that I made the decision to take the day off and walked home.

That twelve minute walk seems like forever.  I finally reached home and virtually crashed the door down since my mouth was already filling up.  I went straight to the washroom where I threw up violently, almost suffocating from the continued outrush through my mouth.
“The hech,” I said loudly to the quiet house, trying to regain my breath.  Things had escalated quickly.
If I had delayed my walk home by even a second then many bad things could have happened either at the office or along the way.

I did many more spits and regurgitation in a span of thirty minutes while making the endless trips from the living room to the toilet.
“This is worse than I thought,” I thought loudly.
I was ready to get a vehicle to a medical centre.  I could not continue this way.  Any more outpouring and I was surely outa here.

My first aid training pointed to only one thing that could manifest and progress this fast – food poisoning.  There is something that I had got straight from fridge-to-mouth, and that accompaniment is what was the likely culprit.  This f-t-m was a shortcut that I now regretted.  I would normally have passed my fridged stuff to the microwave first, but not today.  I wanted to have a hot-and-cold, and now I was in for a bitter mouth and bile in the mouth.  I finally took some hot water, with the first round f the water triggering another outpouring from my belly, before my situation stabilized when I decided to take a nap in a seating position, empty pail next to the bed, just in case.


I was however lucky that this attack episode was today, and not yesterday.  Yesterday was a Tuesday.  It was the day that I decided to resume my runs after the Sunday, October 29 Stanchart marathon.  I had intended to have a week of rest after the marathon, but things happened and the break turned out to be two weeks.  I was therefore fairly well rested from that grueling 42k at Stanchart.  The intention for this lunch hour run was to do at least a 10k ‘welcome back’ marathon.

The spirit of running took me on a turn for the worse at Lower Kabete road after Kapenguria road.  I should have done a U-turn at this point and earned myself a comfortable 10k run on this dry lunch hour, the first in a long time.  It has been raining like 24-hours for the last week.  If anything, I should have as an alternative, turned left and done the Mary Leakey route and earned a 13k with no sweat.  Unfortunately, the run spirit directed me to turn right onto Lower Kabete road and head towards UON Lower Kabete campus.
“What are you doing?,” I asked the thing that was now controlling my every step.
“Turn back, you runner!”

There was no turning back.  I kept going.  My steps were strong.  I was energetic.
“Where are you going!  Turn back!,” the thing spoke.
I ignored.  I continued.  I soon passed by UON campus.  I then passed Kenya School of Government and the Post Office.  I kept going.  I at some point passed by Farasi lane school signboard.  I stuck to the sidewalk which was not there the last time I ran on this road, over five years ago.

I did not even know the end game on this lunch hour run.  I was supposed to squeeze all the run of the day to fit within the one lunch-hour hour, but here I was going and going.  The terrain was generally downhill.  I finally reached Ngecha road.  This should surely be a turning point, but no.  The spirit of run persisted.  I soon passed by Zen Gardens.  It brought back some good memories when training events used to be held in that compound… before COVID brought all that to an end.

“Turn back damn it!,” something in me begged.
I ignored it.  I kept going.  Even the walkway crossing the tarmac to the other side of the main road did not force me to turn.  I ignored the walkway and kept to the uneven path besides the road that did not have a walkway and trod on.  At this rate, I would soon be heading to the Redhill road and then Spring Valley Police station.  And of course the Lower Kabete roads terminates at Sarit Centre, and these landmarks were now becoming more real possibilities than before.  However, that would mean that the run would no longer be a lunch hour run, but a full marathon.

Finally, just before the Redhill road, I decided that enough exploration was enough and did a U-turn.  I am not sure what my ambition for this run was, but I told myself that I was exploring this side of Lower Kabete road, where I had hardly run for many year.  The roll down was equally easy on the legs which encouraged me on… but spoke too soon!  I almost came to a standstill when I did the U-turn.  The terrain of the return leg immediately turned out to be an uphill.  The struggle that I faced on those 5km back to the ‘tarmac’ junction to Kapenguria cannot be described on this generally hot lunch hour.

There would only be a short reprieve as I rolled down past Kabete Children home and KAGRI towards the river.  And I mean a really short reprieve, since I would then be facing the infamous Wangari Maathai hill section all the way to Ndumboini upto the Waiyaki way.  I almost collapsed in those 2km of real hill.  By then my once average time of under-5min per km was now thrown out of the run track.  I was likely to end up with an over-6, if this hill was to stretch even by a millimeter.

I soldiered on and managed to reach the finish line through lots of willpower despite my tired legs, stopping my timer at 24.12km in 2.03.44.  I was tired, but not as tired as the Stanchart.  I was not the only one tired at this late time of the lunch hour.  I found another run also taking a breather at the finish line at the Generator.


Josh has been in the marathon team for long.  We are in fact family friends.  I used to visit him sometime before COVID, when he stayed in Kikuyu town.  However, COVID spoilt many things including visiting each other, but I had kept in touch.  I know his family.  His spouse and child both run, and I have met them at some Stanchart events.

“You are still at Kikuyu?,” I asked, as we both sat at an umbrella just outside the Generator house, taking a short rest before we got back to work.
“Nope, niko kwangu huko Ngong’”
“Oh, you setup your own?”
“Sure, for the last two years,” he said, then continued, “You should plan to visit soon.”
“The year is still young.  I will purpose,” I answered, “How is Norah and that young runner of yours”
“Both are OK, lakini Norah hates Ngong’ with a passion!”
“Why so?”
“Wizi ni mob, houses get broken into all the time.”
“I thought you are in an estate with centralized security and all?”
“No, we bought plots and built.  Everyone just stays on their own, though we have neighbours.”

As we continued the chatter, now almost fully rested, he narrated a recent incident.  He was out of the country for duty, with the junior having gone to visit a relative, leaving Norah all alone.  On that fateful night, the bad guys jumped into his compound, which has a perimeter wall, but the wall is not very high.  The wife heard something like a commotion at the chicken coop, with the chicks making noises.  She shouted and raised an alarm.

It was not long before the neighbours woke up in their various compounds and started coming towards the direction of Josh house.  His immediate neighbor who has a domestic worker also heard the noises and sprang to action.  He jumped the separating wall and stumbled onto the thugs.  He noted three characters.  The unexpected confrontation startled the thugs who ran away and jumped hastily through the opposite wall of Josh’s compound, into another compound that is not yet inhabited, and soon disappeared into the dark night.  Quiet was restored for sometime, with the neighbours each talking loudly in their compounds, assuring all that all was well.

Finally, the domestic worker who had done the chase knocked onto Josh’s house.
“Norah, Norah!,” he called out, knocking the door, “Ni mimi, Simon.  Mikora imeenda.  Unaweza fungua mlango sasa.”
Norah finally gathered the courage to open the door, with the reassurance from the chatter in the neighbourhood and with Simon’s knock.
“Nimefukuza hiyo watu, wameenda,” he continued next to the still closed door.

Norah opened the door, relieved, but still shaken.
“Eh, nilikuwa nimeshtuka!  Haki ahsante sana, Simon,” Norah greeted him, door now open.  The dim light of the moonlight aiding in visibility and the light in the house now lit.
“Hiyo mikora ilikuwa tatu, iliruka kwa ukuta kama mashetani,” he described laughingly.
“Phew!  Ahsante!”

What a good ending, I thought.  No one was harmed.  And for sure no one was harmed and nothing was stolen this time round.  Previously, some of their chicken had been stolen in the dead of night by similar or same thugs.

But wait a minute, there is a part that I nearly forgot….

When Norah was now about to say her goodnight, she looked down the frame of Simon to note that he was armed with a slasher, but was also stark naked!
“Simon, eh, kuna endaje?,” she gestured downwards.

Simon seemed perplexed at the question, not sure he understood, before he followed the gesture of Norah's hand.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Simon responded and looked down on himself too, realizing for the first time that he was naked.

He abruptly and unexpectedly dashed off in full flight, without a word, and jumped over the fence to his compound, leaving Norah bewildered and at a loss of words.  She heard a loud thud on the other side of the compound as Simon fell over.  She did not know whether to get back to the house and lock or what was going on exactly.

It did not take long before she heard yet another thud as Simon jumped back to Josh’s compound now dressed up, still recovering her breath.
“Unajua nilikuwa nalala tu hivyo.  Lakini niliposikia nduru, nika amka tu hivyo na mzee nje,” he explained himself, and soon even forgot about the double-jump over his fence, and continued, “Lakini hiyo mikora iliruka ukuta kama mashetani!”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, November 15, 2023

Marking Stanchart ‘2-0’ with a ‘2-Ouch’ run

Marking Stanchart ‘2-0’ with a ‘2-Ouch’ run

I had no doubt that I would finish the grueling 42km run at the Stanchart Nairobi International Marathon of Sunday, October 29, 2023.  I had after all done at least two preparatory runs that were each 30k in the two months prior to the run.  I had also religiously, since last Stanchart, participated in the monthly 21k IKM marathons that take place every last Friday of the month.  Running a better time was another thing altogether.  I now run to finish the run.  I have a pool of young runners whom I have left to run better time and break records.

However, the Stanchart 2023 event was yet to unveil its mysteries that would include many unexpected and unimaginable occurrences, all in a span of four hours…

I had to call and email our Stanchart marathon contact twice to reconfirm that the marathon was really starting at 6am.  This would be a first.  It has over the years started at seven.  The earliest it has ever started has been at 6.45am.  Six o’clock was a different territory, and that is what the 2023 marathon demanded of those on the 42 thousands metres run – any of the 1,091 registered runners who were brave enough to join in.

The bus carrying the marathoners from Uthiru left five minutes late, at 0505 hours.  It was full by any standards even in this early hour.  Last year it was hardly quarter filled.  This year it was over half full.  We picked two other runners along the way and were soon at Mbagathi road, then joined Langata road at 0530hrs.  It took another ten minutes to navigate the one kilometer road to Uhuru gardens due to the traffic snarl-up caused by the vehicles that were mostly headed to the same Uhuru gardens, which was the venue of the marathon.

The bus attempted to find a parking spot on the already filled up Carnivore grounds parking yard, even as I jumped out of the bus at 5.45am and started navigating my way through the big crowd of runners who had already filled the road around Uhuru gardens heading to Southern bypass road.  It took me about five minutes to move through the less than five hundred metre road that had no navigation space due to the sheer volume of humanity.

I was at the starting line with less than ten minutes to spare.
“The big forty-two kilometer run is just about to start,” someone announced on the public address system as the crowd of hardly five hundred jostled on the tarmac space behind the starting line.
“This is big,” he continued, “It is like going round a playing field for 105 times,” he let it sink a bit, before continuing, “Nairobi and the world, are you ready!”
“Yes,” the crowd of runners responded.  It was still dark.
“I did not hear you, Nairobi and the world, are you ready!”
“Yes,” we roared back.

By this time a team of security guards had formed a human shield and interlocked arms just in front of the crowd, about ten metres to the starting line.  They attempted to hold the runners back with some success but not for long.  The shield of about twelve beefy men stretched all across the tarmac would soon start being pushed forward from the back by the crowd.
“We have a countdown in two minutes,” the PA blared.

That announcement intensified the pushing forces.  The security guards were forced to move the shield some metres ahead due to the sheer force of the push that was coming from behind.  We were now just about five metres from the elite runners who had been advantaged to be allowed to gather undisturbed in front of the human shield.

“Nairobi and the world, we now have the countdown,” the PA announced.  My phone was by this time already on airplane mode and the Runkeeper app timer set for run activity and ready for the start.  My runner no. 1394 had already been affixed to my NMMT Tshirt the previous night.  This was it!  The morning had by now started being a bit bright.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven,….,” the countdown started.  
The excitement rose towards a bursting point and it finally did burst when there was a popping sound to mark the start of the run, the sound coming from somewhere ahead.  It was exactly 06.00.00 when the run started.

I started the run amongst the middle crowd runners.  I had already calculated that this would be a long long long run.  I had given myself a running window of 4 hours.  I was bound to be on this road for many hours, all the way to 10am.  It was now just six.  There were still many many many minutes of feet on the tarmac on this Sunday.  It is with this in mind that I took off relatively slowly and followed the crowd.  I settled on a comfortable pace that was slightly slower than a fast run that I would adopt on a half marathon event.

I was still lost in thought when we encountered the first water station.
“This cannot be true,” I did self-talk.
The not true was about the distance.  I expected the water station to be at the 5km mark.  It seemed to be a bit too soon, but maybe I was just running faster.  I have made it a habit of not looking at my timer when I am on a long competitive run.  I just let go and enjoy the run.  Let the timer do its thing.  I do not change strategy based on the timer.  I just run.
I picked a packet of water.  Yes, packet of water!  This was new.  I am used to plastic water bottles, or worse an open plastic tumbler, but this time we were getting them in 250ml packets.  

“This is now true,” I did a second self-talk about ten-minutes later, when I saw the ‘42k/21k/10k – 5km’ sign.  My body was behaving well so far.  The weather was still calm at this time of the morning, hardly 6.30am.  It was still on the darker side of light and the overhead clouds did not seem to be ready to give in to the sun on this Sunday.  I kept going.  It was the same run route as that of last year and I therefore knew the general profile.  We would run towards Mombasa road towards the Internal Container Depot then do a U-turn to run back along the Nairobi National Park fence towards the Uhuru gardens starting point.  However, we would then continue on the Southern bypass to reach the ultimate U-turn somewhere far, to then bring us back to the finish line at Uhuru gardens.

There were adequate water stations, at least every 5km.  Each had water.  Some had soda!  Yes!, for the first time in living memory Stanchart provided soda for the runners.  However, they served them in some very small plastic tops, akin bottle tops.  Anyway, something is better than nothing.  But the 20th anniversary celebrations of Stanchart still had many surprises in store.  They provided the runners with some fruits, bananas, melons and pieces of orange.  This was surely Stanchart ver. 2.0.  It was not the same old.


On these very long long runs your mind can play tricks on you, so do not believe in what your mind tells you, believe in what you see.  I had almost been cheated at that 5km mark distance marker, and my mind was about to cheat me again at the 20km mark.  I knew that we were already back to Langata road flyover near Uhuru gardens and I should have now done about 20km.  However, I knew that I could not trust my mind when it came to judging the distance, especially when tiredness was now starting to creep in.

By this time we had already seen the 21km leader-board group follow us from the opposite side of the road having starting their run at seven.  I knew that they were still behind me but not far.  Later on I did see the 20km mark sign.  I was once more vindicated that distance does not go that fast when running a long run.  You just keep going and trust the distance markers.  You can easily assume that you have gone and gone, yet you have hardly done a kilometer of distance.  Trust me!

The run from Langata road flyover for the rest of the Southern bypass was lonely.  This stretch had only 42k runners, since 21k runners would turn back to the finish just a few meters after that flyover.  The 42k still had to go and go and go and go for another ten kilometres, before turning back to face the same distance towards the finish line.

I was ready to run and run and run, and so I kept going through the lonely run.  I did not look back.  I could see one or two runners somewhere beyond the horizon.  I could hardly hear footsteps behind.  Occasionally I would overtake a runner.  Occasionally I would be overtaken myself.  I just kept going, picking water where I could, picking fruits when provided, and finally, picking re-hydrating salt solution offered in plastic tumblers, when offered.  This was also a first at Stanchart.  They did not end there.  We even had sponge stations in at least three sections of the course.  Stanchart spoilt us rotten on this twentieth edition!

I finally made the ultimate U-turn at the extreme end of the run course, then made it to the 32km mark.  Now I had only 10km to run back to Uhuru gardens.  My mind went to a usual lunch hour run when I and my team would usually squeeze a 10km run over the lunch hour.  That is what I would now had to survive after having already run for almost two and a half hours.  What has to be done has to be done.  This was to be a long run, and running for long is what I was going to do.

Then….

Then I knew that it was happening!  I was just getting to the 35km mark when it came and it came fast and abrupt!  I was hit by a sharp pain on my right thigh.  It was so painful that I stopped running mid-step and moved out of the road to the periphery.  I almost collapsed due to the pain.  I could not fold the leg at the knee.
“Oh emm geee!,” I shouted loudly as I dropped out.

Runners came by and passed by.  A duo of runners whom I had overtaken not long ago passed by, with one of them being sympathetic, “Relax, alafu tembea, bora umalize” he said while he kept his run.
Some two guys walked by next to me at the road periphery.  They were just passersby.  They seemed to be headed to church by their clad and prominent exposure of the Holy book.  They passed me by while I was still at a standstill, hands on knees, pain still running deep in my right leg.  They said something in Luhya language that I understand, to the effect that ‘that runner is finished’.

They were right, but only momentarily.  I finally managed to fold my leg and the pain started to subside as I attempted to walk with a limp.  I started walking with a limp as runners continued to pass by, and then momentarily restarted my slow jog.  The pain subsided slightly and I resumed my run, with a little limp and with reduced speed.  I would rather limp-run the last 7km than the alternative of either walking the whole 7k or the dreaded DNF!  I even laughed at the prospect of a first DNF and that encouraged me to regain my almost normal pace.  The pain was soon fully gone and I resumed my normal pace.

Lightning would however hit twice when the same symptoms repeated in the same sequence hardly one kilometer later.  I once again started feeling the onset of that muscle pull while it was still a mile away in my central nervous system and when it finally hit without warning, I had to do another abrupt stop!
“This is not my day,” I lamented quietly.

There was no way I was going to do any run from this point on with all that pain.  But how would I even run when I could not even bend my knee?  I once again dropped off to the roadside and let runners pass by.  I again persuaded the leg and it finally accepted to bend on the knee, before I resumed a walk, then a slow jog, then finally back to the run.  This second episode did not however go away completely.  I kept feeling it deep in the bone and had to jog along with a slight limp.  I intended to get medical help but did not see any medical station on this side of the road.  Coincidentally, we had at least two medical stations on the other side of the road.  I wondered whether they thought that runners can only get injured upto 32km turn back point, after which they should survive on their own to the finish?

I kept picking water, fruits and that re-hydrating salt whenever offered.  It reached a point just with 5km to go when I saw some soda at a water point and slowed to a standstill intending to get some.  I could see the sodas in the big 2L bottles bundled in hundreds at a corner of the tent, but there was nothing at the tables next to the running track, where only packets of water were neatly arranged.
“I need some soda,” I asked one of the scouts servicing water.

She looked a bit perplexed, so I pointed to the tons of soda bottles just behind her, “I need some coke”
She also looked back, a bit surprised.  She kind of gestured in desperation, “We have no cups”.
I know that I had already encountered such no-cup situation in some station when I still have the strength to suggest to them to empty a water packet and pour the soda into that pack.  This time round I was just too exhausted to make suggestions and so I just left, a water pack on one hand, two sweet bananas on the other, phone in pocket.

With the finish line hardly five kilometers away, I was not letting the lack of coke in the blood stop me from finishing the run.  I had already survived two muscle pulls and was still nursing a pain from the second pull.  I was surely going to survive soda deficiency.  I kept going.  My mind was now focused on nothing but the finish line…
“Focus on the finish line, there is nothing but the finish line,” I re-crafted a tag line I had heard in some cartoon episode that features some sea creatures, one of whom wears pants.

My intention to finally get a good finish from the setbacks would however be messed up with the same mess that Stanchart-20 repeated from last year, mixing the finish line for 42k, 21k and 10k runners.  It was now only a mere 2km to the finish when the three run categories mixed, with the 21k and 10k runners being in the tens of thousands and having completely blocked and filled up the road.  Most were just walking and even having photo ops along the route and the signage.  There was hardly any run in this section of the route despite my best effort to get by.  I tried my best but the energy of colliding and avoiding to stumble on runners was just too much.  I slowed down to the best pace that could ensure coexistence with the crowd, even as I weaved my way through.

I finally finished the run at Uhuru Gardens, with my timer recording a 3.33.09 though I knew that I had stopped my timer a bit too late since I was still recovering from the effects of the long run.  This was confirmed when the final official time turned out to be 3.32.27, taking position 231 out of 730 total starters in this run.  The men and women winners had already done their bit in 2.10.18 and 2.24.31, with the half marathon having been conquered in 1.02.39 and 1.11.18 respectively. It took me over 5 minutes to figure out where the medals were being issues.  It was not the usual finish as you get a medal as before.  This time the medal issuance had been relocated but there were no directional signs and the sheer size of crowds at the finish line area did not help matters.

However, for the first time in many years at Stanchart I finished the run and remained standing.  I would previously collapse with hardly functional limbs.  I had to seek medical attention last year due to the muscle pull that had hit me in the last few kilometres to the finish and had persisted after the finish.  This time round the legs were still strong and that unfortunately double episode of muscle pull was a non-issue.  I was not feeling it at all.  The run stats showed that the run was good.  4.08min/km by 3km, 4.22 by 8.5km, 4.25 by 18.9, 4.48 by 29.4, and as expected 5.03min/km by the finish.

We left the venue and first passed by Langata Police station, where one of our runners was going to record the loss of her phone that was stolen from her marathon bag by some ‘runner’ who had slit through the bag in the course of the run.  It was on Monday, a day after the run, that the runner updated me that she had found a big crowd at the Police station, most of them in Stanchart Tshirts reporting lost items mostly phones.  However, there was a reported loss of laptop and just when it could not get worse, two runners were reporting lost vehicles – stolen from the public parking of the marathon grounds.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Oct. 30, 2023