Kili 2020 – even the corona could not stop this run

Kili 2020 – even the corona could not stop this run

This was a Kili with a difference.  I was as ready as I ever could, with two international marathons in the bag, while I was having a second attempt on the same route.  I was surely as ready as I could.  However, two team members of the ‘usual’ Kili would be out of the run.  Fay was in bereavement, following the death of her father a week prior, while Edu was away on mission during the weekend of the run.  

We had already booked our accommodation, thanks to Charles, our TZ counterpart who had offered to help us out.  His own participation and availability would soon fade, when he also pulled out of the run to attend to a family emergency.  We were on our own – though he had done all that he could to get us the accommodations and provided alternative contact persons.  JV handled the local logistics and ensured that we had our tickets costing KShs.3,400 return more than one week in advance. 

That is why we were now seated in the Impala Shuttle by 7.45am on this Saturday morning, the last day in February.  The 22-seater shuttle left the Jeevanjee Gardens stage at exactly 8.00am for their Silver Springs hotel stopover to pick some other passengers.  From there we picked some two other passengers on Mombasa road, before joining the Isinya-Namanga road

There was some vocabulary to learn as we picked the last person on Mombasa road, who turned out not to have a ‘real’ seat.
“Where will I sit,” he asked the driver, as he got in and scanned the bus for any empty seat.  There was none
“Bana wewe, sisi kesha ongea na afisi.  Wewe kesha kaa tu kwenye jumpu siti.”

He was hesitant, mostly from not understanding what had just been said.  I was with him on this.  Either for a lack of an alternative, of whether he surely understood what was expected of him, he did settle on the second to last row in the bus and unfolded the corridor seat.  That is where he sat.  Making a row of four people on that particular place.  He must have done the right thing, since the driver checked his hind mirror, nodded his acknowledgment and engaged the bus into forward motion.

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  I enjoyed a nap through the three hour journey to Namanga.  We alighted for immigration processing, where we started by washing our hands before getting into the ‘one stop’ border crossing building.  Someone would soon whisper that the hand-washing thing was a ‘corona thing’.  In the absence of any other explanation or notification, we stuck to that whisper as the truth.

I did wonder last year and I was wondering a second time as to why this one-stop crossing, which was supposed to be efficient and seamless, took so long to get through!  We started with a queue for an exit stamp at the Kenyan side – and that queue was long – like an hour-long.  We then did queue once more on the next window, being the TZ entry processing.  

There I was processed by a toothpick chewing immigration officer, who felt nothing.  And I have observed that they like being distracted by other things going on behind their backs.  They would be serving you in a moment, then just leave the process in the middle and start cracking some joke with a stranger who would have appeared on their back.  They would then resume attending to you, by probably restarting the process.

I left the immigration queue at 12.30pm and moved to the next door, where I had exchanged KES to TSHS last year.  I intended to do the same this year.  The bank outlet was open but ‘temporarily closed’, as we observed the one cashier out of the two available counters proceed to count lots of currency, at his own pace – without giving the three of us on the waiting bench any notice.

Finally, a fourth person would join us on the waiting queue and would momentarily approach the counter.  He seemed to be an acquaintance of the cashier.
“Kaka braza, utaweza nibadirishia hera?” 
(*I would like to exchange some money)

The cashier momentarily stopped gazing at this computer screen.  I had noted that he would gaze on that screen with full concentration for over a minute, as if there was a strange phenomenon going on that plasma.  He is not alone.  I see lots of users, notoriously banks, abuse the screen by gazing at it as if there is an interesting movie going on – maybe they have been watching movies all along, come to think of it!

He looked up from the monitor, “Jambo kaka, wataka badirisha hera ngapi?” 
(*How much?)
“Kaka naomba nibadirishe dora hizi,” he exposed some dollars.  About five new notes, from my observation.
“Basi naomba ungoje kidogo, dakika kumi hivi kaka.” 
(*Wait some ten minutes)

The person who was to exchange the dollars did not seem to have the ten-minute patience.  What was wrong with him?  We people had been waiting without a word from the cashier for almost 30-minutes and were not even complaining.  The ten extra minutes would be over and he would finish whatever he was doing and beckon me to approach.

“I would like to exchange Kenya Shillings to Tanzania shillings,” I told the NMB bank staffer.
He looked at me briefly, and without a care in the world said a casual, “Hatuna pesa za Tanzania, zimeisha.” 
(*We are short of Tanzania shillings)
Can you believe this guy?
I have been waiting for a whole forty-minutes!  How can a TZ bank lack TZ money!  Isn’t that a contradiction?

“Wasted time,” I murmured as I walked out towards the external of the building to where our ‘flight’ was parked.  There is where I was advised to just visit a road side currency exchange point and get sorted.  That is what I did, just matched across the fence of the immigration compound and got a ‘wakala’ kiosk.  They did not even want to see a form of ID.  They just picked the KES, did a quick times 22 on their calculator and would soon be handed over a bundle of notes worth 88,000.00.  I have never handled such a large sum of money!

Our bus left the border post at 1.40pm for the trip to Moshi.  There were fewer vehicles on the TZ side.  At some point we would hit that standstill called ‘50’ speed limit.  The bus slams the brakes and starts moving at snail pace.  And soon enough we got to a police check, with the cops seated on the right side of the road, just looking at the traffic as it moves.  We maintained this standstill speed for another ten minutes, before the driver accelerated back to normal.  

I was just about to resume my nap when we come to a standstill.  We had been spoken at a police check.  The two cops in uniform spoke to the driver.  The one in plain clothes came towards the passenger door.  The driver, who operated the doors from his position, momentarily opened the passenger door.

The cop man, radio in hand, stepped into the bus, “Mikanda mmefunga?” 
(*Have you put on your seat belts)
The mostly Kenyan passengers kept their quiet.  They probably did not even understand the question.
“Ndio mkubwa,” the driver looked back and responded.
The cop gave the bus and its passengers a casual look, then stepped out.
“Ahsante mkubwa,” the driver told him once he was back out and standing outside the driver’s door.
We left.  I saw through a road sign that Arusha was still 77km away.  I took my nap.  It would take us another 90-minutes to cover this distance.

I woke up with a start to see that ‘Simeon road, Uzunguni’ junction.  I knew this junction.  Once we get through the traffic lights and turn to the right, then we shall be going to Impala hotel just two hundred metres down the road.  I became fully awake.  It was soon time to take a short break – fifteen minutes, they called it.  Thirty minutes it became.  

We left Impala just in time to give way to something like a brass band.  I could see band members, seated behind a pickup truck, playing drums, trumpets, cymbals and trombones.  They are loud as they passed by our bus on the main road.  Our bus let them through before following them slowly.  The procession then had a second car, a pickup with camera people.  Soon it was clear from the third and fourth vehicles, decorated with garlands and decorative linen, as to what was going on exactly.  The only ‘new’ ingredient to a ‘usual’ fest was that brass band. 

Our bus would follow the procession to the main Arusha – Moshi road, then we would turn to the right, while the procession turned left.  We were then faced with the 80km journey between the two towns.  While Mount Meru stood 4565m tall within Arusha, we are heading for the real behemoth in Moshi at 5895m. 

We reached Moshi at six, taking two hours on the 80k stretch.  We then started dropping off the various passengers at their hotels.  I soon realized that most of the passengers in the bus were having one agenda – the Kili run.  We would be dropped at MUCOBS at around seven, having dropped others at Mississippi and Zebra.  MUCOBS is a residential establishment managed and located at the Moshi Cooperative University.  This was our residence and coincidentally, it was in the same compound where the starting point of the run was located at the University stadium. 

 

In suits

We checked into our ‘suites’.  Our rooms had already been pre-booked and prepaid, thanks to Charles, our TZ contact.  I would however like to forget the MPESA experience when sending the cash across to TZ.  I had calculated that I would just send KShs.1,700, exchanging at 23, to take care of the TShs.38,500 bill over there.  That was not to be.  The cross-border transfer exchange rate would turn up to be 21.75.  However, that still got me the prepay for night-1, even as I made alternative arrangements to pay the balance for this deficit.

I got suite 4, and the key was appropriately labelled as ‘su-4’.  The suite was a detached building of 4 self-contained rooms and an additional shared kitchen as a room in between the block.  We had to walk about one-hundred metres from the main block to get to the suites.  The accommodation was quite cost effective for that charge.  I had nothing to complain about, bearing in mind that this was a bed-and-breakfast arrangement.  My suite turned out to be a full house.  It had a living room with a reading table with chair and two lounging chairs.  It even had a small fridge and a 14-inch flat screen TV. 

The bedroom had a big 6x6 bed, though a shabbily fixed mosquito net hanged above it.  There was a cabinet on one of the walls, and a washroom on the left side of the room as you get in.  However, the suite was in dire need of maintenance.  It was livable, but it could have been better.

  

While I was able to get the bedroom light switch, I could not find a way of switching on the living room lights.  The two switched next to the door did not seem to work.  One was definitely controlling the external security light, while the other one did not seem to do anything.  I had to call the caretaker to assist me switch on the light.  I was surprised to see him walking straight into the dark room, upto the opposite wall and grope around the wall next to the window to finally find a switch and flick it on. 
“Why would you place a switch that far?,” I thought out loudly.

After he had left, I switched on the boiler and started waiting for the water to get hot.  I had already been to the washroom and noted that the bathtub was a bit dirty, as if it had not been used for some time.  The shower head was missing from the flex, as if something had cut it off.  I was now imagining how a shower from the broken pipe would be like.  There was no soap, no tissue and no towel, though the caretaker would come back momentarily and bring me a towel and a tiny soap. 

The TV was working by virtue that it could be switched on – and that was all.  The remote was not working and hence it was not possible to flip through the channels.  The manual buttons did not seem to work.  I switched it off.  There was a socket inside the wardrobe.  I was still wondering why a socket would be positioned there, even as I plugged my laptop on that particular socket. 

I observed the big safari ants in their twenties zig zag the bedroom floor.  I noted them in the sitting room too.  They were harmless enough.  We could coexist.  A black cricket stayed put on the door frame of the washroom.  I ignored it, even as a lizard ran through the same frame and settled somewhere above the frame.  I ignored both.  The suite was too big for all of us.  The paintwork on the bathroom wall was completely flaked, I guess from the effect of water splash on the wall.  It was just an eye sore, but the taps were functional, so nothing to worry.

I was just about strip and try out the bath in case the water had got hot by this time, when there was a knock on the door.  I cursed as I went to the door.
“Kaka naomba nikutoe kwenye suti hii, uende suti nyingine,” the caretaker pushed himself through me and into the sitting room. 
(*You need to move out)
“But, lakini…. Why?”
“Kaka unajua hii mambo ya ku-buki rumu.  Mara huyu amebuku, mara yure amebuku.  Ina rete utata, rakini tutakupatia suti nyingine.  Suti yako ni nambari mbiri.”
(*Due to changes, your room is now number two)
 
It took me a few moments to process what was going on.  I could see a couple waiting outside the door.  I soon picked up my bag and threw all other items that I had already unpacked onto a side bag and was soon out of su-4, with a pending shower that would now not be.

Suite 2 was just identical to where I had left, three-doors away.  Same TV that did not have channels, at least the remote worked and for sure there were no channels showing anything.  The big black ants still roamed the floor in their twenties.  I let them be – they let me be.  Surprisingly, even a new cricket was available in this room, but next to the bedroom wardrobe.  The only difference in su-2 was that the previous occupant had already decided to take a nap, before being moved to another room, judging from the crumbled bedding. 

The flaking in the bathroom was worse, though the flex at least had a shower-head.  I let status quo prevail, even as I switched on the water boiler ready for a shower.  The shower would not be, since by that time my colleagues were already knocking on my door so that we can go for dinner.  The shower would have to wait.

We walked to the kiosks just next to the main stadium, the very stadium where our run would start in less than ten hours.  We walked around the kiosks looking for a place that could offer us ‘something good’ for a final dinner before a run.  

We ended up getting a ‘ntilie’ type meal, where you get servings from different pots.  In my case I got some little rice with some little beans for 800 shillings and downed it with a 350ml Mirinda for 500 shillings.  We had already been informed by the caretaker that there was no chance of getting breakfast at six, since they start serving at seven.  I therefore bought a 500ml bottle of juice for 1,000 shillings with some two cakes for 400 for breakfast.  A cold breakfast would do.

After dinner we did trace Beryl and got our running kits.  She is the only one whom I know that drives a Kenyan car into TZ and back during such a marathon.  I wonder how she survives the stubborn road sentries and unreasonable speed limits.

I was handed over a sleeveless T-shirt and runner number 467.
“And coaches… surprise….,” Beryl drew my attention to what she was holding, still seated on the passenger front side of the car.
I looked to see what she had. 
She had a runner number with the same yellow background colour like mine.
“Mmmh, mmh, say something!,” she prodded.
I was still seeing double.  I had to adjust my specs.
“Say it, common, say it!”
“You are not!  Are you?,” I said.
“Yes I am.  Surprise, surprise!  I am doing a 42!”


I took a shower around ten-thirty.  It was rather a trickle of hot water coming from the shower head.  I survived the prolonged shower.  I was in bed by eleven.  The earliest I have slept this year.  The room was hot, but there were two wall mounted fans, one in the living room, the other in the bedroom.  The windows were also completely open, with the wire-mesh screens being the only barrier between external elements and the inside.  I was too tired to think about these.  I just wanted a cool environment for a good sleep.  I was soon in slumber land, with my fate now left to the alarm set to wake me up at 5.30am.

Sometime in the dead of the night I heard the whistle.  I immediately knew that it was the cricket waking me up.
“It is not yet morning!,” I talked loudly in the direction of the wardrobe. 
As if it had heard, the thing stayed quiet for a moment.  

Then….
It just resumed its loud whistle as if it was in charge of things in that suite!  I could not hunt it down!  Surely it was in charge, since there was nothing that I could do but to sleep with that loud whistle in the background.

The unmistakable chime of the alarm was loud and clear at five-thirty.  I did not hesitate.  I was out of bed in one step.  I opened the fridge and got out the juice and the two cakes.  I was soon munching out and sipping in.  I was to sip only 300ml of this liquid – and that is what I did, ensuring that I did not over-drink.

I left the suite at six-fifteen.  By then the announcements from the stadium were loud and clear.  I was in the stadium by six-twenty.  The run that was to start at 6.30am would now start at 6.45am.  I started looking around for Janet and Beryl whom we would be pounding the tarmac with.  I would trace Janet first, very ready for the long run.  I could not trace Beryl.

Then….
“Urban swaras?,” I looked at her T.
“Another surprise, I have joined the swaras!”
“But… but when did you defect from NMM2?”
“Long story,” she brushed off the most significant discovery of the day.

 

Ready or not...

The 3-2-1 countdown was without fanfare.  It just happened, and we started the run at 6.45am from within the tracks of the stadium.  We exit the stadium as we stumbled upon the many other runners of the 21k and 10k categories who had filled the road.  We struggled through and got out of the campus compound.  The run was on.

I was doing this run for a second time.  First time was a scouting mission.  This time it was a real run.  As usual, the 42k starts on the 21k and that is the mantra that kept me going for the first 100 minutes.  I just needed to make it to the 21k, then face that 10km hill that starts from 21k all the way towards 30k.  The first 21k were uneventful.  I met Onyi past the loop at his 11k, while I was on my 10k.  At that speed he would surely crack this run in under 3hours, since he was not far behind the leading pack. 

After the loop on the way back I met Janet on the opposite side.  We said our ‘hi’s before we went our different directions.  Beryl would not be far behind as we exchanged greetings.  In front of me there are two guys who have been outpacing me since the 5km.  Now at 11k, they both just stop, stand beside the road and in unison unzip and pee into the drainage next to the road.  They are just next to the runners’ path.  They do not seem to mind the runners, and the runners do not seem to mind them.

Later on, around the 15k, someone spits noisily onto my upcoming footstep and blows his nose loudly onto the air in front of my approach.  With corona fear in the air, this is not great.
“Gross!,” I say.
He looks at me in a manner to ask, ‘what’?
“Great,” I repeat, as I pass him and increase my pace on the hilly path from 15k towards 18k.

We get the first Coke at 15k.  The previous three of so water points did not have Coke, which is strange for this run that has a reputation of being ‘cokeful’.  But this celebration of the first Coke is short lived, since a runner passing by my right side soon knocks that tumbler out of my hand and the black gold becomes a drink for the ancestors.  He apologies as he goes along.  I forget that episode in a hurry.  

I get the second Coke at the 18k, and as fate would have it, this also goes down to the ancestors after only one sip, when the tumbler slips.
“My ancestors, please leave me alone!  Let me be!,” I beg the ground, as I keep going.

I am glad that the 21k mark is coming up.  I can even figure out where it is, because the 21km runners are already joining in as they head towards the finish.  And soon enough I can see that ‘Start’ line – and for a 42km run, this is for sure the start line, as you hit the 21k mark.  That point also marks the start of the uphill run for about 10k.  If you are a ready for this hill, then you are ready for the 42.  If you are not ready, or you joke around with this hill, then your 42 run is ruined.

My run was not ruined.  I took the hill slowly in my stride, being aware at every milestone, sorry kilometer-stone, that there was still more hill to come.  From 21k runners get to marvel at the mammoth mountain that persists in front of them for about 8km.  Only the turn towards the right as we head back forces us to now turn away from the Kilimanjaro mountain.  It is awesome.  It is high!

From the 21k Kili met the expectations in terms of water, Coke, glucose and fruits every three or so kilometers.  At 32km, just on the turn towards the last 10k, I was given a large water melon.  They seem to have just cut a chunk of about a quarter of the fruit and handed it over.  It was heavy.  It was handy.  It was yummy!  I kept munching on it as I went along, all the way to the 40k.  By then the markers had turned from number of kilometers done, to number of kilometers remaining.  That means that the marker was now reading ‘2km to go’.

This ‘2km to go’ is where runs are also ruined.  By this time, you are completely tired and ‘finished’.  You assume that 2km is a stone throw away, but it is not.  2km by definition is a run of over ten minutes.  I already had this in mind and hence kept going, knowing that the run was still ten minutes away.  I just had to keep going until I see that finish line.  Nothing, repeat, nothing, was going to mess my well-crafted run plan.

I would be at the stadium some ten minutes later, at 10:27am, having conquered the second Kili.  But I was kind-a-surprised when the phone with Endomondo gave me that ‘the app has stopped working’ message, with the only option being to reset and restart.  Imagine if that was the only thing tracking my run this year?  

I was however prepared for this particular eventuality with a plan B, as I stopped the Runkeeper on the other phone.  This showed a time of 03.43.00 for 42.16km.  The official results put me in position 106 in a time of 03.42.31.  I had shaved off almost 15-minutes from my last year’s Kili time.  

The men’s run was won by a Kenyan in a time of 02.16.50, with the top 7 positions being an all Kenyan affair.  The women category was also won by a Kenyan in 02.47.05, with Kenyans also taking the top three positions.  The 21k event was won in 01.03.59 and 01.09.54 for the men and women events respectively - taken by a Kenyan and a Tanzanian.

 

Twisted

I left the stadium and the fanfare behind me.  I was tired, but not as tired.  My legs hurt, but not as hurting as last year.  That would mean that my run strategy had worked, which was, ‘know what to expect and manage it well’.  I did take a shower then the morning breakfast just after eleven.  

We decided to check out of MUCOBS and experience another joint for this one last night.  Zebra was recommended and Zebra we went using two tuk tuks, over here called ‘bajaji’.  Zebra is a six-story deal with very clean rooms… but at a price of USD45.00 + $1.35 for paying by credit card.  I wished that I had stayed at MUCOBS, but a final night to rest them tired legs with a 32-inch TV that works was worth the cost.

We had to take some lunch as we waited for the check-in at Zebra.  By three, after our lunch, we were still waiting to check-in.  We eventually checked in and agreed to meet up at six and look for a place to take some dinner.  Unfortunately, our clean rooms did not have a clean wifi.  You had to stand out in the stairway to get some wifi signal.  

I took a shower at four and started looking for some sleep in the two-hour waiting period before the evening meetup.  I was just starting to get some sleep when a persistent knock interrupted by drowsiness.
“What,” I shouted from the bed.
No answer.
“What is it?”
No answer.

I got up and went to the door.  I opened up and saw the hotel worker, clad in her blue uniform.
“Nimekuretea sabuni na maji.”
(*I have brought the soap and water)
For crying out loud!  Could this not wait!!
“Ahsante,” I picked the two small soap pieces and the two half-litre bottles from her.  It was now just about 5.50pm.  The alarm would be going off in another 10-minutes.  There was no need going back to bed.  I sat around and flipped through the TV channels looking for nothing in particular.

We walked the five minutes to the roadside establishment, where we had early taken our lunch.  Our group of three guys and three girls were just starting to settle in with a cup of masala tea when it started raining.  We moved from the verandah area to the inside of the building.  Some drunk local would soon get into an altercation with members of our table, even as the reggae music continued loudly in the background.  

I learnt a valuable lesson that you cannot win an argument with someone who is under-the-influence.  However, it was time to abandon ship and walk back to our hotel.  It became a loss to the proprietors who allowed a loud-talking drunk to ruin their chances of benefiting from ‘cha mlevi huliwa na mgema’ as we left with full pockets.

The rain had already subsided by the time we walked back to the hotel around ten.  I tried to get some sleep by flipping through the TV channels, and at some I got the sleep.  I was first woken up by the shouting of revelers somewhere in the building.  It must have been at the downstairs pub. 
“Must they shout that loudly!,” I yawned as I groped for more sleep after that interruption.

I would be woken up a second time by the sound of the rain sometime in the night.  This rain persisted upto the time the alarm went off at 5.45am, when I took a quick shower and ran downstairs from the first-floor room ready to leave.  I expected some packed breakfast as had been promised the previous night, but was surprised when I was told that ‘wenzako wako humo ndani wakinywa chai’.

I joined the five at the main dining just behind the reception.  They were concluding their breakfast.  I took a cup of black tea with a toast of break and was soon ready to depart. 

The Impala shuttle bus was already parked outside the hotel doors.  It was still raining.  I would take a ‘jampu siti’ since some luggage had to be crammed inside the bus due to the fear of it being rained on if put on the carrier.  That situation would however last for just the first twenty minutes of the journey, as the passengers were soon ‘causing’ as to why they are traveling uncomfortably, while the luggage was comfortably seated. 

The driver would then drive into some roadside petrol stations, stop in the rain, and then start uploading luggage onto the carrier.  By then enough abuses had been exchanged between the passengers themselves, over nothing at all, just varied opinions as to how the situation should be handled.  

Unfortunately, even after the dust had settled, I still found myself as the only one who still remained on a jump seat.  At Arusha I was transferred to another shuttle where I had a seat for two all to myself for the journey back to Nairobi... as Kili turned out to be just another run in the life of a runner.

WWB, the coach, Moshi, Mar. 2, 2020

Running for love... at the last minute

Running for love... at the last minute


Remember that last time B had asked whether I was serious about a run on the fourteenth?  She turned out to be right, since she skived the run, with a simple, “Something came up”.  This ‘something’ came up when the run had already been publicized and it was on the cards.  However, there was nothing stopping this run.  But at least I had tried my best to get her to the starting line.  I had even given her a ‘last chance’ to be at the starting line by 4.00pm.  I had informed her that the ‘train shall leave with or without the runners’ after that time.

By 4.15pm it was evident that Beryl had missed the train on this Friday.  This realization was brought to fore when Karl did a casual pop into my office with a “Are you not going for the 4.00pm run?  I was to join you!”
“I was waiting for B,” I responded, knowing that I was lying even to myself on the possibility of B making it for this run, “However, let us go.  I shall be ready in a minute.”

Karl was already dressed and jogging around ready for the run.  It took me exactly a minute to shed off the work attire and adorn the ‘international’ attire ready for the ‘international’ run.  We immediately moved towards ‘the generator’ starting point.

We would soon be joined by Nick and momentarily by Barbara while on our way down there.  I had previously only been in touch with the latter through email communication, where I had informed her that the ‘early starters’ would be leaving at four, with another group of ‘regular starters’ leaving at 4.45pm.  She had preferred to run with the early starters, though she was on some work assignment that was making this 4.00pm run unlikely. 

It was therefore a pleasant surprise to see her join in.  Of the four, she was the most appropriately prepped for the run.  I could see those small water bottles affixed to her belt and somethings that looked like those gel tubes that I last saw during the Amsterdam’s TCS international marathon.

“Where is the group?,” she asked in surprise as we got ‘generated’.
“This is it,” I responded.
“You mean the four of us are ‘the group’?”
“Yes, we are the group.  We only expect another two to join in on the four-forty-five group.”
She did not seem impressed. 
She expected a multitude. 
She found nothing close.

It was just about 4.25pm when we started our run.  Our team of four left the generator and were facing that 400m uphill to the gate just a minute after start of the run.  By then Barbara and I were on the lead, with Karl and Nick not far behind.  We passed by the gate and were ‘out there’ ready to do those 21k of run.  My new member of the ‘new B-and-B’ was not going to have it easy on me.  I was already feeling the intensity of the run by the time we were at the highway crossing at Kabete.

The run continued onto the other side of the road for about three minutes before we got past ‘the wall’ and did the Vet loop ensuring that we touched the new gate from ‘the other side’, the same gate that now prevented us from doing a ‘proper’ loop.
“We have done two,” B said as we headed to Ndumbo after looping.
“That can’t be…,” I protested.  I knew that we should have covered much more distance.
“The Garmin does not lie.  It is two miles for sure.”
It took some mental calculation to convert the miles to ks, before I accepted the situation.

We ran down past Ndumbo market towards the river.  The pace was quite intense.  We were just under 6min per k.
“Prepare for the seven kilometres of uphill… coming up,” I warned B.
“I shall give it a try.”
She did not just give it a try.  She conquered that hill, with our first stop being at Gitaru market for a short two-minute break, before we ran the last kilometer to Wangige road to face that dusty loop where the main road is still under construction.

It was not long before we were back to Kanyariri road for the seven kilometres of downhill.
“Hi, mzungu?,” an excited child, in a group of about four, shouts at our approaching steps.
B says her “Hi”.
We are soon passing by them.
“How are you!,” they shout almost in unison. 
I am just an invisible silhouette in their vision.
“Hello!,” B encourages them on.  However, it is short-lived, since we are past them in a flash and are enjoying the downhill run so much to let such distractions set us off pace.

It is on this section that we also met up with Edu and Jeff.  They were facing the uphill while we were on the roll down.  We exchanged our greetings and let each pair go their way.  Karl and Nick must have been somewhere behind our trail.  We had not seen the duo again since we met at the loop during those first twenty minutes of the run.

The run was generally quiet without much event.  Most of the passers-by and by-standers just looked at us with either expressionless faces or with a dismissal of the futility of whatever we were doing.  What they failed to know was that we were enjoying a downhill run and the overall run was starting to seem like an under-2hr run.  Which believe me you if a fast run.  I could feel it now that we had clocked 15k, sorry 9 miles.

It would however be the kids who would once again recognize and voice our presence as we ran… and the downhill could not have been complete without the children near Junel Primary School giving this recognition, just as we approached ‘the tank’.
“How are you, mzungu!”
B recognized them and appreciated the greetings. 
I was silhouetted once more. 
Just when I thought that I would remain invisible, one of the boys shouted an afterthought in my direction, “Kipchoge!  Huyo ni Kipchoge!”

We would finally face that last 1km of uphill towards Ndumbo market.  We just did it.  Once you are through with that hill, then you are generally through with the run, since the last 2km cannot stand on your way.  The first of the last two leads you to the road crossing at Kabete Poly, while the last kilometer takes you from the Poly back to the ‘Stop’ at the gate.

It was a great thrill to conquer the international half in just 2hr 2min and 20sec.  The Endomondo gave the distance as 21.71km, while Runkeeper recorded it as a 21.54km.  The after run Coke was a welcome warm down even as we now prepared for the next two runs – the Kilimanjaro international marathon at the Tanzanian town of Moshi to be held March 1, and our very own Beyond Zero marathon at Nairobi Nyayo stadium on March 8.  The two marathons back to back – the two runs that we are starting the month with.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, February 14, 2020

Unveiling… more than we bargained for

Unveiling… more than we bargained for

The idea of having our own marathoners running kits was mooted in March 2019, just after the Kilimanjaro international marathon.  It was while on our way back when we were doing reminiscence on the goods and bads of that marathon that the issue of running kits featured.

“Did you see the Swaras?  They retained their attire even in Tee-Zed,” Edu would say at some point.

“True,” Faye confirmed, “I even saw the Jashos there!”

“For the international runners like us…. Eh… we had nothing to show for it,” was all I could say, amid another stretch while nursing the painful legs, even as the minibus sped along the 380km route of the return journey from Moshi.

That topic died at that point, but not for long.  The issue would soon re-emerge on the WhatsApp group, when the members started sharing the pictures of Kili.  That we needed our own kits was now a topic of discussion.  

Many other discussion points ran on that group, but somehow the issue of kits would be back on the leader-board.  In early May we decided to do something about it.  I send a message to the runners.

“… as an expression of interest,” my message continued, “all are requested to send 1k to me for this mission”

By then we had nothing.  Just the desire to have our kits.  We would then progressively move towards discussing designs, and then debate quite a lot on the issue of colour, which would eventually be resolved by a poll won by a simple majority.  The material was fixed.  There was no debate on this.  

The other aspects of the kit would become optional – name of back of kit, flag on sleeve, size, number of Tees needed.  We did not even know whether the k would enable us have these kits, but we had to start somewhere and we were determined to make this happen.  Even our runners in the diaspora – Tanzania – were with us in this project.

Said what?

Many reminders later, and we would collect around fifteen ks.  Many reminders later, and we would have the final poll done and results published.  Many reminders later, and we would have all the information needed for the Tees finally availed to our colleague Ericsson who had volunteered to ensure that the kits were ‘published’.  Then the topic just died again in early July.

The issue of the kits would get back on the radar when the MOE announced the seventh international marathon and settled on July 26 as the date.  The decision was that the kits would be availed to the runners on that day.  However, as late as that run Friday, we did not have confirmation from E-sson that we would get the kits.  

To set ourselves on a plan B, just in case, we had sent a final call to runners and informed them that the kits ‘may be’ provided after the run.  This was a complete change of tone from the strong message of a week before, where we had stated that we would unveil the new kits ‘before’ the run.  In fact, the seventh international was code-named ‘the unveiling’.

Still exists

It is usual for the MOE to scout a route before any marathon, just to confirm that it is doable and that it still exists.  This is especially necessary with the ongoing road construction on Waiyaki way and Gitaru-Wangige roads.  The task of this scouting fell on me, and that meant that I had to do a ‘scouting-21’ on evening of July 12.  

I was able to confirm that the route still existed in a ‘runable’ state and that it still measured 21k, in fact 21.28km.  The scouting was done in 104 minutes.  I reported an ‘all clear’ for this marathon and the announcement was cleared for dissemination to marathoners.

A new introduction was also included in this edition of the marathon – a ‘mock marathon’, open to all runners.  This was to be a 15k course on the route, just to give runners an advance feel of this ‘new’ international route, which has been a route on our event calendar since last year.  

The July 19 mock saw the B-and-B doing the 15.58k to Kanyariri shopping centre and back in 106 minutes.  The mock was also a good prep for the real thing that we would be doing in the next seven days.

Finally, because we have suffered having to finish the runs way too late, when it was too dark, the MOE introduced a new rule.  All runners had a compulsory turn-back whenever the 5.30pm time check got them.  To sweeten the deal, it was agreed that runners who may be beaten by this rule could start their run earlier than the usual 4.40pm start time.

Surely, the MOE had done and considered all aspects of this run.  It was therefore now a matter of just waiting for the run, and hoping to ‘unveil’.

Time flies

The bread that Beryl brought for the evening energizer before the run was still lying on the table when I asked the group of four to start moving towards the Generator starting point.  There was no time to take a final carbo-load.

“You can’t do me like this,” Bee would complain even as she grabbed her bottle of water ready for the 500m walk to the generator.

“Rules are rules,” I reminded her.  We had decided that we would be on the ‘early-starters’ group.  The one that would start at 4.00pm.  Bramuel and Ericsson were the other members on this group.

“Wow, you guys look great!,” Edu complimented loudly, interrupting our preparation to start going to the starting point.  He was having a glimpse of our newly ‘unveiled’ Tees.  He was collecting the balance kits for the team that would be starting at 4.40pm.

“You can say that again,” Bee stated.  Expressionless.  She had just suffered a setback by getting a kit that was smaller than what she had ordered.  The guys had assured her that the kit was ‘quite good’, but she had ignored the voice of three and followed her inner spirit and ‘refused’ to kit up.  She even described its size of ‘tumbo cut’.  Surely, B, how dare you!

As an alternative, she had a run gear that was almost green, but nothing like our very great looking luminous green Tees, which had our choice of name branded on the back.  The Kenyan flag was printed on the left sleeve.

We would get a few more “Wows!” from passersby as we raced to the Generator starting point as the early starters.

Run or wait?

We flagged ourselves off at 4.15pm.  We almost delayed the run and just waited for the 4.40pm group since we were already late for our intended four o’clock run.  Nonetheless, we started our run and our quartet slowly made its way out of the gate towards Kabete Polytechnic and crossed Waiyaki way.  By then Bramuel was on the lead, with Ericsson on tow, while the B-team remained behind by a few metres.  Bramu would drop out of contention by the third kilometer at Ndumbo, leaving our trio to tread it on.

As we started off the hill at 4k, Ericsson overtook our B-team since Beryl decided to reduce the pace to the bare minimum.  I got worried for a moment.

“Are you OK?  Will you make the run?”

I had been on this exact route with Bee hardly seven days ago.  On that day she was tops.  Running up this selfsame hill quite effortlessly.  But today?  Not today.  She was really struggling.

“I am OK,” she said amid labored gasps.  The hill taking toll, “I shall… shall tell… tell you all after… after the run.”

We kept going, upto seventh k at the University farm, where we walked briefly.  Then resumed our run, then walked some more.  This was quite unlike last week’s run, when we actually did run all the way to Kanyariri shopping centre on the 8k.  Nonstop!

“I know… know that I have… have let you… let you down,” she said when we passed Kanyariri shopping centre.

“Why comes?”

“My… my run speed… speed today!”

“Nothing to worry, we shall make it,” I then added a universal truth, “Run days are usually different and no two runs can ever be the same”

While she absorbed the impact of the statement, I looked at the watch that now read 5.10pm and informed her that we had a compulsory turn-back point coming up.  That was going to be a reality unless we got to Nakuru highway in the next twenty minutes.  The fear of the turn-back surely worked, since I now saw B increase pace and start tackling the ongoing hill with new zeal.

“Turning back is not an option,” she said.

“Rules are rules,” is all I could say.

Compulsory turn-back

We reached Nakuru highway at about 5.22pm, a good eight minutes before compulsory turn back.  That meant that we had the all clear to go round Gitaru market through Gitaru-Wangige road and back to Kanyariri road.  That is exactly what we did.  Relief on our faces.

We met Janet and Nick on the uphill towards the Nakuru highway as we finished our circling of Gitaru market.  The time was just about 5.45pm.

“You must turn back,” I told their approaching footsteps.

“Wewe Coach wacha wana,” Janet responded, “Tufike hapa halafu turudi?”

“Rules are rules,” is what I managed to say, even as their footsteps got fainter as they kept going behind my back.

I joined the pace set by Beryl and we started our run back.  We now had only seven kilometers to our destination.  We kept going, mostly running, with the terrain now being downhill.  The luminous upper body of Ericsson remained visible about four hundred meters ahead.  

The announcement

Our run continued until the final hill at Ndumbo.  We walked briefly on the hill and soon resumed our running before the end of hill and continued to the finishing point. 

“Stop the timer!,” I reminded Beryl as we stepped on the ‘Stop’ sign at the gate.  She did stop her timer.  Mine had just been stopped.  The time was 2hr 31min 38sec.  The Endomondo on my phone indicated a distance of 21.29km.

“Now, let me tell you why I was a bit slow”, she introduced the confession time, as we walked to the three other finishers ahead, “I have another hike at Elephant hill tomorrow.”

Our finishing ‘group selfie’ of five would soon show the tired faces of B-team, JV, Ericsson and Phillip.  Talking about Phillip, he was the only one whose Tee had his name printed on the front.

Just when we thought that we had had it all, we would soon be given two unexpected announcements while at the dinner party held after the run.  That Fay is out of our runs for the rest of the year as she joins ‘team diaspora’ was devastating.  Her only consolation was that, “I shall represent you in the Amsterdam marathon.”

The second announcement was unprecedented.  It would be said by the very coach, “I shall also be out of the next three internationals.  I shall be out of Nairobi until mid-November.  I am handing over the reins to Edu.”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 26, 2019

You cannot beat the Mountain – the Kili marathon story

You cannot beat the Mountain – the Kili marathon story

Part 1

No crossing

Why it took us over 2 hours to clear with immigrations at the border between Kenya and Tanzania at the town of Namanga still defeats me.  It was a Saturday.  It was March 2.  The traffic should have been lower.  It seemingly was not.  The Kenyan ‘exit’ counter was chap chap – just present your travel document, be it passport or EA pass, they stamp it out and it is done.  

After that you are out of Kenya and you have to queue on the next line at TZ for you to get an ‘Entry’ stamp.  That entry stamp is what seemed to take time.  We were leaving the immigration building at noon-thirty, after arriving at 10.30am.  The trip from Nairobi started at 7.50am, instead of 0730hrs.  We had boarded at Jeevan Jee gardens and picked three other people, not part of our team, along the route.  One at Belle Vue on Mombasa road, and another two at Kitengela, Yukos.

Soon the driver was on phone, loudly, with some other person, “Naomba kuuliza. Mbona wanipa passenja wenye tiketi zimeandikwa Moshi Shato?  Kwani Moshi Shato to kampuni gani hiyo?”

There was a pause as the driver seemed to listen.  We could only assume that the respondent was giving explanations.  After a minute or so he was back loudly.

“Hapana, hiyo haiwezekani kwa gari ya idara.  Tiketi kama hizo lazima ni gushi.  Nime wachukua tu, lakini hii nikunipa balaa mtupu.  Lazima afisi itatue.  Naomba ujue hivyo.”

Awake

After two naps, I did find myself being asked to leave the bus to the immigration building at Namanga.  We left all our luggage in the bus.  After clearing with the immigration, we had found our bus, and other buses on the ‘other side’ waiting for us – on the TZ side.  Since we were clearing at different times, it was difficult to gather all travelers altogether for the start of trip from Namanga to Moshi.  If anything, we even learnt that one of us was doing a fresh e-citizen application at a cybercafé in order to process a pass after his passport was rejected.  This particular twist was a process that was bound to take time.

That is why JV, Fay, Edu, Onyi and I decided to grab something at the TZ kiosks, just next to the immigration buildings.

“Can we get a washroom,” Onyi asked at some kiosk.

The attendants just stared back.  He realized his mistake and tried again, “Twataka pa kujisaidia.”

That still did not do.

Edu stepped in, “Twaomba kwa kujisaidia.”

That elicited a “Hakuna hapa, labda mjaribu hapo kwingine.”

That is how we found ourselves finally getting restrooms in the next block.

No food

After that we settled into the kiosks and our small table was soon full of noise and chatter, typical Kenya style.  Soon an attendant came to deal with us.

“Wapi menu?,” Onyi tried but there was no reaction.

“Twaomba menu,” Edu jumped in.

You can only try so much and it is therefore no surprise that it was at this exact point that Onyi declared that he is not trying Kiswahili again.  He was resorting to gestures instead.

“Hakuna menu. Mwasema tu, na mimi naleta.”

So we ordered ugali and fish, principally.  We asked them to make it snappy since we were a bit wary of time.

Take this to the bank – twenty minutes later, and they had just fetched the green veggies from somewhere.  They were yet to be cooked, not even cut, not even touched.  The ‘sima’ was just being finished off.  The fish was still awaiting a final deep fry.  That is the very same time when we were called back to the bus to resume our trip since everyone had finally cleared the immigration process.  We contemplated leaving the lunch, but good marathon cheer prevailed and we did ‘take away’.  

Back to the bus the driver was in fits.

“Serikali ya sha niambia niondoke, na nyinyi hamna kasi yoyote!”

We had to wait for two other people, with the driver’s lament continuing, “Serikali imeniambia nitoke na bado niko hapa!!”

We finally left Namanga at 12.50pm.

Part 2

Crossing over

We started fast.  I could imagine a speed of over 100km/h.  All of a sudden the driver stepped on the brakes and brought the vehicle to half speed.  The Kenyans in us looked outside to see if there was something like an accident or a Police stop.  There was none.  Momentarily, we saw the 50 km/p speed limit sign beside the road.  Despite the road being completely clear of no other traffic at all, we did travel at fifty for about ten minutes.  

This was a shock welcome to the Kenyans in the bus.  It has a happy ending though, since at the end of the ten minutes we did see some people in white, who turned out to be cops, seated by the roadside, relaxed, speed guns in hand.  They did not flag us down, and soon we saw the speed limit cancellation sign and the pilot went back to full throttle.

We would later reach Arusha, the town that owns Mount Meru.  Some of us even imagined that it was the Kili, since it was equally tall.  We had a stopover at the bus company’s offices at Impala hotel.  We soon set off around 3.30pm for Moshi.  We landed at 5.30pm and checked into the hotel.

Scouting

We finally met our host CJ after we had settled into Kindoroko hotel, where we checked in around 5.30pm.  CJ handed over our runner numbers and kits.  My runner number 524 was immediately affixed to the Tshirt.  Do such things immediately you them.  That is one rule of marathon.  Before long, it was our host’s idea that we go scout the venue of the run, just to be sure.

“Can’t just walk there?,” I asked.

“Not possible, it is about 2km away.”

That is how we found our group of seven joining CJ to scout the location.  We first tried to get ‘bajaji’, the three wheelers, but we could not get many to carry our team that would need three of these.  We tried to get the ‘nduthi’, with Edu proposing that we take them ‘kimshikaki’.  For a moment we were happy that we shall be enjoying this delicacy of nyama-in-sticks, only to be told that ‘mshikaki’ style mean two passengers per motorbike.

The machine

We finally got and filled up a vehicle after many false starts at getting a dala dala or tuku tuku to fit the nine.  Soon the noisiness in Kenyans become manifest in this private sanctuary, which seems to be normally quiet.  The dala dala was eventually refilled though it was already full.  These extra passengers sat just behind the driver, next to CJ and Fay who had the honours to taste this seat, and hence were facing the rest of us.  It was not long before the selfies were flashing around.  That was Edu’s idea.  But it was not long before Onyi unleashed ‘the massin’.

“Emanu, weka hiyo mkebe kando,” he said, “All of you please pose for a real selfie from a real phone… my new iPhone 8”

Most of the matatu, being Kenyan laughed.  The few TZians who understood what was going on joined into the laughter.  Soon there was murmur of “Hawa waKenya.”

It was not long before the conductor asked the passengers for money, “Reteni hera, kira mtu mia nne nne.” (Provide fare, 400 shillings each)

I already had a 500 shilling coin ready for this.  The rest followed suit.

Back to college

We had not even enjoyed the ride before we alighted at Moshi Cooperative University (MCU).  By this time it was already dark, around seven thirty.  We matched into the gate and our host led the discussions with the sentries.

“Wajomba, naomba mnisaidie.  Nina swari.  Mbio za kesho za anza wapi?  Naomba mnijibu.”

“Babu we,” the sentry started, “Sisi pia hatuna uhakika, rakini rabda ni kure kwenye stadiumu.  Labda mka angarie uko,” he motioned.

We were soon on our way towards the stadium through the gate.

Then it hit me…. I have been here before.  It was too familiar to be a coincidence.  The gate… that gate.. the stadium… that stadium.  The internal roads… these internal roads.  I have been here before, but I shelved this line of thought to allow the day break.

CJ did not come back with us after the scouting episode.  We were on our own.  However, we were able to get the dala dala at MCU gate and get back to the hotel.  We looked around the hotel for an eatery.  Our natural inclination was to try the very next joint at the hotel.

“Nma ugali,” JV asked someone in the hotel.  She just looked at her.  We got the joke.

“Twaomba kujua, mna sima?,” Edu, whom we later learnt had done some fieldwork in TZ previously, rescued the situation.

“Samahani,” we were informed.

A quick chat with our hotel watchie finally yielded an ugali place.

“Mwende pare mbere, na baada ya msikiti, mvuke hadi upande wa kuria.  Kuna mama nitirie hapo”

Dona, ugali or sima?

That is where we took our dinner.  Ugali with mboga alright.  Some meat, some rice, some tea – mdalasi tea, very aromatic.  There, on the very side of the street, on wooden benches, in fact with two of our people seated on the steps leading to some now-closed-shops.  That right there, lit by street lights, is where we took our dinner.  Very good food, Mama-nitilie style.  We even learnt the three different types of the white stuff - dona, ugali and sima.  It is complicated.

“Twataka kulipa,” one of the Kenyans said.  The single elderly lady running the open-sky-street-joint ignored the question.

“Twaomba kulipa,” Edu again to the rescue.

“Mmoja mmoja basi, mlieleze mlichokura,” she said.  I almost told her that she was the one who served and should be knowing, instead, I was enjoying the moment and started off, “Naomba kusema kwamba nimekura sima, mboga za majani, nyama na chai ya mdarasini.”

“Erfu mbiri“

I handed over a 10,000 note and waited for my balance.  Which I got.

Edu’s turn, “Mimi ni wali na nyama ndio inanihusu.”

Later it was JV.  She had already learnt, but her education was not yet over, “Naomba kulipa. Nilikula ugali, mchicha na nyama… lakini hiyo nyama ilikuwa na matumbo.”

A stranger, just paying for his own meal jumped to the rescue on this, “Matumbo ni yale machafu tunayotoa kwenye tumbo la ngombe.  Hayo hutupiliwa mbali.  Hayalwi.  Lakini, hapa bongo ni kawaida kupika nyama na utumbo mchanganyiko.”

But come to think about it, JV was not the right candidate to be ‘caught up’ in the current language mess.  She had earlier confessed to having worked in TZ for some months.  However, cultures are different and in the Kenya lingua matumbo rules dictate that it should not be mixed nor thrown away.

Part 3

No sleep

After the dinner it was just natural that all head for bed early ready for the next day’s early morning appointment.  Four of us were on 42k starting at 6.30am.  We agreed to leave the hotel at 5.45am.  We were unlikely to get breakfast at that time and had to buy some snacks as alternatives.  The hotel staff had said that they would ‘try’ to have breakfast early, but we had already learnt that ‘quick’ trials are likely to fail at this side of the border.

When I finally retired to bed, I did have a long moment to appreciate the 33k room properly for the first time.  I had to take a shower and be in bed in the moment.  Though at check-in they had indicated that the ‘single room is small’, I did not expect it to be this small.  

For some reason, which from Engineering perspective is either last minute decision of unplanned extension, a waste pipe was running outside the wall in the sitting room, just next to the bedside table.  “What is this pipe all about?,” I found myself asking loudly.  It did not take long before I saw a light come up inside my bathroom, so I thought and even was afraid that someone was already using my bath.  In a moment the sound of flushing water came from that same pipe.

That window

When I went for the shower I met the smallest bathroom cum toilet that I ever met.  Another Engineering question came to my mind as to what came first.  That light that I thought came from my own bathroom was actually lit in the next room.  They somehow decided to have a big window about 2m high that looks over two separate rooms.  

The toilet was the most interesting installation in the whole washroom scene.  It was set in such a way that you had to just over it to access the shower on the extreme end of the room.  Jumping over also meant that it did not have sitting space then, unless you sit one sided the way some people sit on a motorbike, with legs both hanging on the same side.  That toilet? Nay nay!

Soon I was in slumber land, but not for long.  I was woken up by loud loudspeaker chanting.  I glanced on the chronometer which indicated 3.00am.  All that chant at three?  But cultures are different and let everyone have their culture.  I soon struggled to go to back to sleep and somehow succeeded despite the heat that was made worse by the overhead fan.

No breakfast

The 5.00am alarm was unmistakable – loud, shrill and persistent.  Having prepared my gear the previous evening, it was a well-planned quick shower (due to the heat), then a quick clad into the screaming yellow Tshirt, and off to the reception.  I found Onyi at the reception at that 5.15am time.  It was still 30 minutes before our departure time, but we wanted to have this breakfast impasse resolved once and for all.  When you pay BnB, you should surely get BnB.  I had just finalized the first B and the establishment owed us another B.

“Nyinyi watu mungetupea breakfast.  Hi si fair,” Onyi told the reception guy while handing the key.  He did not seem happy.  The very Onyi who had vowed not to ever talk at all, and use gestures instead since he was always being caught on the wrong side of language.

“Naomba niwajulishe kuwa kuna brekfasti kure kwenye rufi topu.”

That is how we ended up taking breakfast that was not meant to be.  It must have been a last minute prodding that resulted into this.  Soon Edu was to join in at the roof top.

“That egg pizza,” he greeted us, “That thing messed my stomach.”

He was later to bring us to speed that he had taken an egg pizza yester-night that was appetizing on the outside but seemed to affect the inside.

“Just take it easy on the run,” I advised him, “However, the tummy may end up being stable by then.”

One taxi ride got us to MUC, having paid 1,000/= each.

Part 4

The run prep

Kilimanjaro mountain had already proclaimed who ruled this place, even before the run started at the Moshi Cooperative University stadium.  We had already seen the unmistakable snowcapped peak rise somewhere above the clouds.  It was just there, a silver-lined cone shaped thing miraculously visible on top of the clouds.  It was a marvel.  It was like a mountain in heaven, in the clouds.

“We must selfie with that,” Fay forced Onyi into submission, reluctantly.  The excitement around the starting line was already getting to us.  It was just past 6.30am.  The run that was to start at 0630hrs was to now to start at 6.45am instead.  No explanations were given for change of start time. Nobody cared.  This was not important.

None of us had run Kili before.  Our 42 team of Edu, Onyi, Fay and I were all doing an inaugural.  In fact, Fay and Edu were actually doing their very first attempt at the big four-two.

“Heads up,” I gave Fay and Edu the very final tip of this forever run, “Ensure that you take some water at every station… no exception.”

“True,” Onyi added, “Though I have an injury and shall really go slow, but that advice is true.”

The injury

We had already debated this issue of ‘the injury’, a back pain, lower back according to Onyi.  

“If I had not registered last year,” he reminded us again, at the starting line, “I would not have registered at all.”

“Just take it easy,” was my final advise, “Walk if you must, but do not aggravate that injury just due to a marathon.  There is always another run”

This was the good coach speaking, speaking from the heart.  We had already discussed this selfsame topic hardly twenty four hours prior to this run.  We were at that time traveling from Nairobi to Moshi.

I had heard both sides of the story, with Edu being forthright with, “Onyi always talks about an injury then goes ahead and breaks records, like that 2hr 30min for the 42k at Stanchart.”

“Yenyewe nilikuwa na injury, but it got better so I did that good time.”

“How about that other run, where you had an injury then just overtook us immediately after the starting line?,” Edu could not let go.

“That one, eh… that one I also improved with time, but this one is real.  I cannot lie.”

That is why this whole discussion was finally put the coach.  I was seated on the fourth row of the 20-seater hired mini-bus.  Edu was the co-driver.  Fay and JV were just behind the pilot.  Issac who had already been given a reggae sermon on the bus stereo was just behind the gals.  Onyi, whom I was meeting for the first time, was on the seat in front of my own seat, window side.  The others in the bus were runners, some whom I had met, some whom I had not met.  All were on ‘destination Moshi’ ready for Kili.

Having heard the two side, I made the call, and looking at it 24-hours later, it was the right call.  I had told the bus full that, “Never trust anybody when it comes to an international marathon.  That is just Onyi’s strategy and I do not believe that injury any bit.”

“Musiwe hivyo,” he protested, “I cannot lie over such a thing.”

I did not revise my conclusion. 

The run

The run started at exactly 6.45am.  No much fanfare, just a whistle and the run started at the tracks of MCU stadium.  All the runners that I knew just mingled into the crowd and left.  I did the same – mingled and left.  When running a very first marathon on a strange route, you do expect surprises.  I had read the map, carefully, so I thought, and was expecting as little surprises as possible, but I did expect surprises nonetheless.  Some of the notable ones being the starting point.  The website had indicated that this shall be at the MCU gate.  This had now been changed to some 800m further, into the stadium.

The second surprise was the elevation of the route.  The map details had indicated that the first 21k would be on a flat circuit, then join the ‘real’ 21k route which was a hilly first half to about 31k, then downhill all the way the finish line.  This was bollocks, at least some of it.  That first 21km was not that flat, especially the hill that started from around 17k and not at 21k.  

Is cheating allowed?

I also noted that the first 21k was a circuit without a mid-road barrier of any sort.  Secondly, there was no extreme end timing chip recording equipment.  This loop hole was exploited by at least one person whom I saw with my very two.  This person just crossed from the 7km mark and joined us on the 13k side – removing 6km from his bill just like that.  I faced a moral dilemma on whether to protest or keep in swallowed.  Without knowing the circumstances of this instance, I did nothing.  I feel bad, but I did nothing.

From 17k we faced the hill that was heading towards our starting point at MCU gates.  We kept at it until the gate and the ‘official starting point’ at the main road.  The hill did not end.  It kept appearing.  It was not giving us any break.  Just hill, then hill, then hill.  I could not fail to compare this route with Ndakaini marathon, my toughest marathon route so far.  Ndakaini is called the 21k uphill run.  However, the official number of hills is ten.  You are entitled to a reprieve, even if it is a short 100m of flat run or downhill before you face the next hill.  So, hilly yes, but with some resting points.  The Kili was hearing nothing of that.  It was a gentle hill, but a non-stop hill towards Kilimanjaro mountain.  You could still see the snow-caped peak just in front of the road.  Somewhere in the clouds.  Yes, in front of the hill but deep in the sky.

Back memory lane

With nothing to do, but uphill run, it was not long before my mind was taken aback to a run that I had had the last Sunday.  This run came about when Beryl took me up on an offer that I had made, that I would take her to ‘her run any day any distance’.  She had just missed the last Research International half marathon, dubbed NLLV.  

She cashed in and booked me on a Sunday, of all the days!  The day when I sleep until I cannot sleep.  However, a debt is a debt, and that is how I found myself retracing the step that I had already taken hardly ten days before.  Starting at the Generator to Kabete Poly, crossing the highway and finally looping to hit Kanyariri uphill that ends at the 10km mark.  A down-run covers the balance distance.  

Kili was taking the shape of this half, and I was imagining myself on that treacherous hill at Kanyariri.

“You know that you gals are in charge of the next international, don’t you?,” I asked at some point along the run.

“Yes, I do.”

“Any preliminary secrets that you can unleash?”

“It won’t be a secret if I was to tell you, would it?,” she asked lookingly.

“I guess it won’t,” at least I had tried to get the secrets of the run, on behalf of the boy child.  However, the gals were not letting anything out on the forthcoming Divas International half, where the gals set the rule – but it must be in March.

It is real

“Mkenya huyo,” someone jolted me back to reality, “Wewe mbongo, pita huyo Mkenya.”

I learnt that the crowd was urging one of their own to give me an overtaking.  But how did they know that I was a Kenyan?  Was it that obvious?  My unspoken language was that loud?  Of course this did not happen.  Once I hit the uphill gear, with Kanyariri as my reference, I just kept it going, Kanyariri style.  At the same uphill section is where I heard this woman tease some man loudly.

“Wewe babu Juma, si ujaribu mbio hizi?  Kwani mbio unayoijua ni ile ya kitandani tu.”

It sounded out of turn, but it seemed that the language here was a bit liberal, because soon I would hear other womenfolk talk loudly about another woman runner’s anatomy like it was nothing strange.  The way they described that runner made me cringe.  They said, “Naomba jamani!  Huyo mwanadada amezibeba kama.… Lazima yasumbua sana mwamume huyo dada.”

What is this with men and women always talking big things about men and women business?  Back home these things are ‘after-dusk’ rated topics.  You dare not speak of them just liberally like that!

The route

I liked the route because it had distance markers at each kilometer, on the kilometer.  This was a first one.  It was noteworthy.  I also liked and disliked their water stations – two contradicting emotions at the same time, but let me explain.  There was a water point every 5km, sometimes even two, but they were there, guaranteed.  They had water, and be ready for this… and they had Coke too.  There was no limit on either water or Coke.  Take your fill.  Wonderful.  Like!  But, my dislike was the serving.  The water or Coke was served in open 200ml tumblers, which would be half filled and ready.  A runner either picked from the table or grabbed from the extended hands of the route assistants.  

The grab meant that half of the half was likely to spill.  And I do hate wastage with a passion.  This type of container also is quite unfriendly to the month.  You are more likely to stop to drink or just abandon it all altogether.  I saw lots of wastage at these water points.  I was forced to stop and walk in order to take the water and Coke.  The Coke part was perfect for all those facing a long run.  I made sure that I kept my energy levels high by Coking up at every station.  They also had glucose servings at these water points – good, but the serving method also meant missing out, spilling it or stopping to take.  I took the last option whenever it was necessary, though the Coke was energy enough and the glucose was not very useful on the last 21k of the run.

Take them down

At 22k is when I was taken a back with a beckon, “Coach!, Hey coach,” there was a caller from behind.  I looked back only to see Onyi coming towards me and soon joining in.  I had words for him, but I did not give him words.  In fact I immediately got a new use for him.

“Please take down those bragging Swaras from Nairobi.  Beat them for us.”

“I will try,” he said as he went towards the silver-lined mountain cap.  I followed suite, but allowed him to increase the gap.  

The rule of any run is always to run your run, however tempting the circumstances are.  Soon I would need a washroom, with all this Coke, but there was none at any of the water stations, or along the route.  I had to visit the surrounding coffee plantations.  Though I overtook Onyi on the 32k, he returned the favour at the 36k, the same place where I was forced to take a medical break.

The hill ended around 32k, and the downhill followed as advertised.  The downhill however also resulted into a very painful experience for me.  I felt pain just above the knees on the inner thigh.  This was my first such pain.  I am used to lower leg pains, but this was a first.  I had to take a break at the water point at 36k and get a ‘Deep heat’ spray.  I shooed Onyi on.  

Got a puncture

This spray momentarily numbed the pain, though I had to walk a bit, and every bending of the knees caused pain subsequently.  I started worrying that I would have to walk the last 8km – that was tragedy right there.  That walk would take 1hr 30min.

“Don’t let this happen to me,” I mouthed, to I don’t know who.  The ‘I don’t know who’ must have heard me, since I was momentarily back to the run, slow nonetheless despite it being a downhill.  

On the same downhill I did run alongside a Police vehicle for some time.  The vehicle was just on patrol.  At some point a lady that I overtook talked to the two cops in the front cabin of the Landrover.

“Naomba rifti jameni!”

“Dada tafadhali twaomba tusikupe rifti.  Haturuhusiwa.  Rabda iwe ni dharura ya matibabu ambayo itashungulikiwa na amburensi.”

“Sawa wakubwa.  Lakini naomba mniambie mwendo bado mrefu?”

“Dada twaomba kukuarifu kuwa sasa ni kupinda tu, harafu ni kuua”

The lost end

A final hill would come from nowhere around the 38k, then it was back to downhill until all of a sudden and from nowhere I saw the ‘2km remaining’ sign.  Now this confused me a bit.  I could easily see, or imagine seeing the big ‘starting sign’ on the road, uphill, which did not seem to be a 1km distance from where I was.  But maybe I had run too much until my own mind was not fully functional.  Maybe it was possible that the finish line was surely uphill ahead.

This was not to be, the Kili was bound to spring one final surprise when I reached the supposedly finish line, only to be directed towards Moshi Uni and asked to keep going.  It was now as clear as the snow on top of Kili that the run was ending at the stadium.  The road to the stadium was fully packed with traffic heading both directions.  They should have organized this part better.  I had to push runners aside to make my way to the finish line.  Finally, Kili was conquered in 3.57.24 or rather, Kili conquered me in 3.57.24 when I made my first shot at it.  (The official results on the organizers site indicated the position as 122 with a time of 3.56.48).  

It was also a great joy to soon see Fay head towards the gate and it was good encouraging her to the finish line.  Soon after, Emanu who had been hit by the bug walked to the finish line.  We all made it with different experiences but each with a red lanyard clad medal.  

Wrong medals?

I noted that the 21k runner were having blue lanyards.  Someone would soon point out that the medal did not indicate 42k anywhere.  Apart from the lanyard colour differentiation, it was true that the lanyards just had the wordings, “The Kilimanjaro Premium Lager Marathon 3rd March 2019 Tanzania.”  The medal, shaped like the TZ country was just written, ‘Kilimanjaro marathon Tanzania’ on one side and ‘Kilimanjaro premium lager’ on the other side.  Who cares!  

Later we heard through the PA system at the stadium that the fastest guy ran in 2hr 18min, while the divas crown was grabbed in 2hr 52min.  No prizes for guessing who won.  The top ten in both runs were 80% Kenya, with top three in both 42s going to the boys and gals from Kenia.

Enough respects to the highest point in Africa.  Your day shall come.  This was just round one.  As I made my way out of the stadium it dawned on me why this place was this familiar…. I had been there before.  I was on a students retreat many years ago.  This is the very stadium where we held the final service.  By then it was called the Moshi Cooperative College.  

Nothing much had changed, apart from the name.  The terraces, the stadium structures, the track… all was as it was over a decade ago.  I did all these flashbacks as I waited around to find other run colleagues.  It is a challenge when you cannot communicate due to unavailability of a network compatible to your home country system.  The hotel had wifi hence we could send Whatsapp messages, but at the stadium there was no such thing.  Only keen eyes and good luck would make you see your team members amongst the sea of runners at the finishing point or along the route.  That good luck thing enabled me get my other 42k colleagues, apart from Onyi who had already started his travel back to the motherland after finishing the run one minute earlier than me.

Part 5

Siesta

After climbing the stairs to my third floor room, the walk alone taking over 5 minutes due to the pain all over the legs, I did take a quick shower and got into bed.  That was after finishing a whole 1500ml of a mixture of soda and water.  I just ‘bottomed-uped’ the concoction.  Why do the marathons make one so thirsty?, I wondered as I hit the bed for an afternoon siesta.  It was already one o'clock.  

I was however too tired to even think of lunch.  Soon I was fast asleep, with Taarab music coming out of the ‘sound magic’ small speaker connected to the small Samsung lappy.  Sleeping was however not easy.  I had to keep turning around since the legs were aching with a passion.  This is what I have come to expect from a 42.  You get a whole day of leg ache, but that is why it is a 42, where else would the fun be?

I somehow imagined a door knock while deep in slumber.  It persistent.  It was a real knock.  I dressed up in something and went to the door and opened up.

“Coach, we are going for lunch, and we are going with you,” Fay summoned me.

“OK, give me a sec, I shall be down.”

Brown table

Soon we were in a joint just behind the hotel.  We found Edu, Isaac, JV and the four new comers to the group, already there.  The table was already browned up.  Kenyans and drinks!  Soon it was as noisy as usual and the music was soon playing to our tunes, with all afoot and doing their best to outdo each other.  By that time we had a sample of each of the top TZ browns on the table.  Soon word went round that Kibo was the thing, the real ruler.

“Niletee Vibo mbili,” Isaac told the waiter.

It took us and the waiter time to digest and were almost dismissing him for asking for the inexistent, when he clarified that, “Manze, hii ni ngeli ya ki-vi, kwa hivyo kama moja ni Kibo, basi mbili je?”

It did not take long before JV unleashed the bar of chocolate.  She did this in an effort to make us forget that she was yet to deliver on the promise of the Teq since the New Year run.  She even failed to bottle-up during NLLV.  Though coach was given the honours to unwrap the choco on this occassion, it was Isaac who was nominated to bless the bar, the chocolate bar silly.  He stretched his hands towards the chocolate, now held out from my hands.

“May our ancestors hear us and bless this thing we are about to partake”

“Stop right there!,” Edu shouted him down, “Our ancestors are surely not here in TZ!”

How dare he stop the prayers!  Who does he think he is?  No wonder the ancestors had to miss out on the bite of succulent yummy chocolate.  However, we shall revisit this issue of using choco as a smokescreen when the real thing we need is the Teq Gold.  JV be warned.  The next prayers to the ancestors better be with Gold on the table.

Don't spin if you can't spin

Dancing on achy legs is a big challenge and we had to tie-break.  This was made worse by amateur DJ Edu, who thought that music should be mixed by inserting long periods of silence in between the beats.  DJE thought this was a marathon where you can run and stop.  It was clear that there are things that he is yet to learn in the spinning bizna, where continuity rules.  Soon it came to a contest between the gals, as represented by JV and the boys as represent by Isaac.  How did it end?  Unfortunately, I cannot say, since what happens in TZ stays in TZ.

I was all smiles with nostalgia as I took the ride back home using a mini-bus from the same shuttle company.  We ran the run, represented Kenya well and would do this again some other day.  As a final verdict, does Kili take the crown of the toughest marathon?  Probably not, unless on the 42.  Doing a 21 would be a breeze and probably more gentle than Ndakani, the famous marathon of 10 hills.  

The Kili also needs to grow up.  How do you do loops on the same road without mid-road barrier and scouts to watch out?  Leaving unscrupulous runners to just cheat about?  I was even told of a runner who took a motorbike and still alighted just next to MCU to claim a medal.  How about the leading car on the marathon route that had no timer?  No washrooms along the route… and only one block of rooms at the start?  Where I remember queuing for eons just before the marathon started earlier in the day?  However, the view of Kilimanjaro mountain peak on top of the clouds beats all the shortcomings.

WWB, the coach, Moshi, Tanzania, Mar 3, 2019