Even three strikes could not stop the Divas International

Even three strikes could not stop the Divas International

After our last international marathon on Feb. 15, code name NLLV, the MOE* had directed that the next marathon would be organized by the divas.  They would choose a date and route.  They would map out the run categories and formulate all the rules.  “Anything and everything is at your discretion,” I recall sending them a confirmatory email in response to how much ‘degrees of freedom’ they could exercise.

Then came the date… they informed me that they had settled on the twenty-second:

“Coach, we have a date,” a caller whom I later recognized to be Fay informed me on my office extension.

“We do?”

“Yes we do.  March 22.  What do you think about it?”

I soon realized that we were talking the marathon.

“Just go ahead.  All rules are on you.  Is it agreeable to you gals?”

“Yes, it was unanimous.”

Soon I would be breaking news on the date on the mailing and Whatsapping groups.  It seemed a perfect Friday for this run.  Just enough time to recover after the Kili marathon, and not so late in the month to prevent ‘end month loading’ from interfering with the participation.  By March 10 we had the initial run rules under discussion – more of the gals telling us about it, while we, the rest of us, accepted them as they came.

It came as a surprise when they released the route maps… and… and the infamous ‘Mary Leakey’ route was back in the mix.  This section has not been featured in any ‘international’ ever since we started the series last year.  This is a route that we avoid at all costs.  After diverting off Lower Kabete road, you are faced with a general uphill on dry weather road for about 3k.  Though you get to run through a shaded area at the University farm, the isolation and loneliness can get to you.

More was to follow.  While we are used to an ‘international’ being a ‘do it or don’t do it’ run, the divas had a new twist to the equation.  They introduced four variants of the marathon.  You read right – four variants.  A 10k run – the usual ‘tarmac’, a 13k run – the usual ‘Mary Leakey’, a new 16k to be 13k + 3k loop on Kanyariri route and finally the full ‘international’ that goes to the 16k route loop back but continues on the new Rukubi road all the way to Gitaru-Wangige road and back.

Then the three strikes happened….

Strike one – an official visitor who had been planning to visit my department for over one year was finally given clearance to travel and chose the week of March 18-22 as the suitable week.  March 22 was to be his final day where he scheduled a departmental debrief at 3.00pm to 5.00pm to be followed by a ‘must attend’ farewell dinner.  Early same Friday, and I would get an invitation email indicating that we shall leave the compound at 5.30pm on pre-arranged transport for this dinner.

It was not long after that particular email that I got a calendar reminder about a Cooperative meeting taking place out of campus at Limuru road ‘from 12.30pm to 4.30pm’.  Travel time between the two locations was at least 30 minutes and worse during the evening traffic jam.  Attending this meeting would mean getting back for the run around 5.30pm.

I would be hit a third time on the same day when I got insider information, being in MOE, that I would be a major participant in the Divas International with two roles – to countdown the run, a task I had done in all the ‘internationals’ and that I would be the ‘first-aider’, which means running with the slower runners to ensure that no one was left behind.

“Please, keep time and do not disappoint,” part of the insider info indicated.

How was I supposed to survive three strikes!  Must all happen on the same day?......

At 4.27pm I ran to the generator adorning my ‘first aider’ jacket to find a big group of runners.  This was the largest group that I had ever seen ‘generated’.  My quick count gave me 15.  Soon others would join in on the countdown to a final number of 21.  All were in high spirits.  The psyche was overwhelming.  The excitement was uncontainable.  I even met a few ‘Kili-thoners’.

“Everyone, line up behind this line,” I pointed out, as I drew an imaginary line.

The runners obliged.  Soon we had some semblance of a lineup.

“OK, we now start the countdown… ten, nine, ei….”

“Stop!,” someone interrupted, “We have not taken the photo.”

The tension subsided as the runners readjusted their state of readiness to take a pose.

“Ahoy! Let us resume the countdown,” I brought order back from the interruption.

“Eight, seven, six, fi…”

“Stop!,” another shout, “Our Strava is not yet ready!”

What is this turning out to be?  A run that will never happen?

The tension subsided once more and runners confirmed, reconfirmed, started or restarted their various gadgets.

“No more interruptions.  This run is happening now in… four, three, two, one – Go.”

We set off at 4.45pm, all runners aware that they had a choice of four different runs on this day.  I stuck to the back of the group as per my mandate.  I would soon be completely left behind, but rules are rules, and roles are roles.  I kept with the last runners at all times and took them to their various turning points, starting with one that I took to Wangari Maathai, then increased my pace to the next group at the tarmac.  As I headed up Lower Kabete road, I did get yet another runner whom I took slowly, walkingly all the way to Kanyariri turn off after conquering the Mary Leakey section.

“I would have been lost in this section,” runner Jully told me as we made a final turn to now run the section through University farm.

“This place is cool but scary,” she reminded me as we savored the shaded trees at the farm, few meters to the tank and exit to the tarmac, “I cannot run alone here.”

“It is a good route, especially with some company.  It is even doable over the lunch hour,” I updated her.

Finally, we got to the tarmac at Kanyariri, where she turned left back towards the finish line, while I turned right to face the full run.  I would soon catch up with JV and friend running for the 16k route.

“That teq that you have been complaining about since last year is available today,” JV reminded me.

“Can’t wait.”

“You shall be blessing the ancestors, as usual?,” she commented.

It reminded me of the ritual, last done sometime last year, when J&B was at the centre of the table.

I soon got their permission to run ahead and that is what I did, as I now faced the rest of the route as the last runner.  At some point after diverting right on Rukubi-Kanyariri road, I found the leading group of Edu and crew already on their way back.  We exchanged our greetings and let them continue their lead while I kept the chase towards the extreme turning point.  Before the extreme turning point I met the final group of runners.  I noticed that Fay, Janet and Beryl were in that group.  Someone in the group handed me a bottle of water as we run in opposite directions.

“Water!,” I told myself in surprise, “This is a first one!”

After my turning point, I continued to race behind the runners and found the last group that had earlier handed me the water bottle waiting for me at the 16k junction.

“Stop!  Pass by here,” Janet called me back.  By that time I was about to pass the group as I kept on running.

I stopped and crossed the road to where this group of runners was assembled.

“We have some fruits,” Fay informed me and pointed to the containers.  This was in front of one of the shops at the cross road and junction.

Sure enough we had some fruits.  Bananas and water melons, already cut down to size.  This was a welcome relief.

I knew that the divas would come up with some surprises, but they had now beaten me twice with these surprises.

We resumed our run as a group and kept going at a steady pace, but gauging each other out so that no one was left behind.  After 2km of run, just next to the Primary school and Mary Leakey turn-off, we were asked once more to stop at a roadside shop.  This was another water stop, where we took bottled water.  Three surprises, completely unexpected, and all attributed to the Divas International marathon.

Though we finished our run quite late, when it was seriously dark, the divas surely over-did it this time round.  They set the bar so high that the upcoming ‘internationals’ have lots to learn from.  By role, I was to be the last person at the finish line.  I took that honour in 2hr 50min, with two other runs just seconds ahead.

Back to my predicaments – how did I survive the three strikes?  Here’s how… I missed most of the official afternoon meeting with the visitor, but this came at the expense of missing out on the marathoners teq party.  I had to miss out on this now well matured teq that we started planning for as early as October last year.  Of course I did attend the chama meeting, but I left the meeting early, around 1530hrs.  A Taxify taxi, sorry Bolt taxi, bolted me fast enough to the compound by 1600hrs.  I had a brief meetup with the visitor for the closing meeting and was at the starting line by 4.27pm.  Finally, being at the starting line at 4.30pm enabled me flag off the run and take up my role as the ‘first aider’.

*MOE = marathoners of expert, the organizing committee for marathons

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, March 22, 2019

The fifth international – the story of scouts, spikes and strong

The fifth international – the story of scouts, spikes and strong

Finishing ‘strong’

Beryl stumbled and before the reactiveness in me kicked in, she had fallen and rolled.  I followed in, into the small ditch and was already trying to help her onto her feet.  She momentarily took the foetal position and stayed thus for some time.

Just then a group of three men passed by, heading opposite our approach.

“Strong!,” they said almost in unison, into our direction, at the ditch, besides the main highway.

They looked in, thought of helping out, looked at the man in charge of the situation, and…. and just thought better of it and moved on.

“Are you able to stand,” was my first question.  I was already worried.  My main concern was a muscle pull immediately after the fall.  That would mean that B was going nowhere for some time and may even need emergency assistance to get out of the rut.

“I am OK,” she responded with conviction, and stood up with affirmation.  She dusted out with reassurance and started walking out with a swagger.

“See,” she reminded me, “I am cool.”

“Let me see two leg kicks from you.”

She did some leg kicks, with the left.

“The other?”

She kicked out two or three times.

“You are sure OK.  We are ready to resume the run.  Water?”

“Nope, I am OK, didn’t you ‘get’?”

I knew that she was ‘getting’ back at me.

Most of the marathoners, mainly from self-confession, know that I am an analogue person.  I am one of those people whom you tell a joke today, and I start laughing about it many weeks later – when I finally ‘get’ it.

“Oh!, I ‘get’,” I reconfirmed.

Spikes

What are the chances that you can get an accident at the very symbol of an accident?  Low chances but that is what exactly befell our run on the 20k mark.  We were on the home stretch at this moment.  We had already pounded the tarmac for about 2hr 20min, with most of the last hour of run having been more of a walk.  Our destination, the finish line, was 7min max, even if we were to walk it all the way.  We had just crossed the Waiyaki way at the Kabete Police station, the road of which now has a new Police road block.  

The same new roadblock that matatus and all other vehicles dread, loath and curse in that order.  I have been in a matatu getting by this ‘block’ and the crew, especially the makanga did not have any kind words for the boys in blue – both before being ‘blocked’ and after driving off.  Before the stop the crew would dread the ‘fine’ this time round, and then loath parting with it.  On our way out of the stop, they would curse the colour blue and swear the unprintable.  And is there any reason why these beyond-ear-shot abuses to ‘the blue’ relate to ‘dogs’ and ‘cows’?

“Hao ma sanse ngo’mbe sana!,” my last ride over the weekend had seen that abuse hurled.  On that day the makanga seemed to have parted with two fifties.  The usual ‘treaty’ is a finje.

So here we were, already fallen just next to the spikes of the Police stop on Waiyaki way.  We were already ‘ditched’ next to the symbol of accidents – a crumbled collection of metal, resembling an accident car.  Is this be a deterrent or scare against accidents, or some exorcism against the ‘liar’ responsible for accidents?  It did not seem to work for us on this day, but we had already dusted ourselves up and were again walking the last k to our finish line.  Coincidentally, this stumble, which stopped our very juicy story on its track, did not end the ongoing conversation.  We were soon talking about all manner of things blamed on the drink, including that very mangled piece of twisted iron next to the ditch, the so called ‘accident car’.

Robot

It was a relief thumbing the stop button on my ‘analogue’ on the wrist, which responded with a beep and flashed the numbers “2.31.51”.  B was on the ‘digital’.  I believe she either commanded her phone to stop the count or it just stopped on its own and made an announcement, “Strava stopped, your run time is hours zero two hours, minutes thirty-one minutes, seconds zero nine seconds, congratulations, you may resume your run.”

I hate that dull, lifeless, monotonous, metallic, robotic voice.  Sounded like some slave gal, forced into the phone, waiting for the day she/it shall be finally freed from the boring, repetitive task of making an announcement to a tired marathoner who does not give a damn.

“Where were you when we were falling?,” I was tempted to ask ‘it’ – I didn’t.

At this point in time I did remember another robotic male voice on Edu’s phone.  It keeps shouting like a military commander at every kilometer.  That one even hurls abuses when one slows down the pace.  Who wants to be abused just for being kind enough to do their own runs?  Not me – I am sticking analogue.  Good for me.  You can stay digital – good for you.

But… how did we get on this 21 mark at 6.51.51pm?  Well, this started just after the fourth ‘international’.  That is the time when the team of B&B performed the most dismally.  On that day we broke a record of doing the 21 with a record breaking 2.50.  Of course, we had mitigating circumstances, including a stitch that hit Beryl at Wangari Maathai checkpoint, just on the 4k mark.  It was then mostly a walk all the way to the finish list.  We tried explaining thing to the team of the ‘largest crowd of runners’ that took the run that day, but they did not want to sympathize.  If anything, they even said we had ‘waana’ for being that ‘slow’.  It is during the debrief of this ‘fourth’ that the idea of this particular run was born.

“We cannot be number last forever,” I had told B.

“How now?”

“I have an ace up my sleeve.  Just finish the Stanchart and leave the rest to me.”

And Stanchart came on Sunday, Oct. 28, and went.

It was immediately after the ‘Stand and chat’ that I unveiled the details to B.

“We shall hit back at them with two surprises.”

“How now?”

“New route,” I declared, smiling about it.  Amused.  Pleased.  A warm feeling running through my body.

B was ‘not getting’, for the first time.  She did not know how this ‘surprise’ would play into the equation.

As a way of clarification, I started, “A new route needs to be scouted, right?”

“Sure, right,” she answered, reluctantly.

“Me and you are doing the scouting,” I declared, nodding and smiling in triumph.

“Mmm hhh,” she nodded… more of… in disagreement, then as an afterthought, “What’s the second surprise?”

I hesitated and prolonged the silence just to build the anxiety before unleashing, “We shall leave at four”

“You are crazy… if you think that you are getting me out at four.”

“You are right,” I responded, “Friday, Nov 21 – mark that date.”

Missing the run

The run did not happen on that planned date due to two important events happening in both our lives – a ‘two shall be one’ and a ‘two days being one’.  Both events are a story for another day, but they impacted our lives in some way.  These two issues become talking points, including during a special run before this ‘international’, specifically ran to reminiscent them, but hey, I already said this is a story for another day, not today.  

However, this particular run finally took place on Wednesday, Nov. 28.  Mid-weeks is not the usual run day, since we prefer to do our international halfs on Fridays, when the next day is a rest day.  Nonetheless, this had to be done this way to pave way for the usual Friday run.  I had in fact sent a message to the run group that we shall be having two ‘internationals’ in the week.  One to scout it out, and the usual Friday run to run it up.

The ‘scouting’ started at four-twenty, twenty minutes later than scheduled.  It was quite unlike Beryl to be late for this run.  I had spent the day reminding her of the run, the last reminder having been at 3.30pm, when I told her to start her walk to the locker room, since the assembly time was 3.50pm.  Despite being kitted myself by 3.50pm, B was nowhere to be seen.  I even thought for a moment that the run was off – at least for her.  I was still determined to ‘scout’ the new route, with or without – with, the better.

At 4.05pm the footsteps become apparent towards my direction.  It was B, running towards the office.  Breathless….

“Sorry, coach, my mind it playing tricks on me”, she declared amidst gasps for air, “I thought the run was tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, my running feet!,” I shot back.

“Sorry, I shall be changed in a moment.”

It took her more than two moments to change.  That got me worried, and when she got back ten minutes later…

“Are you sure you are OK?  Are you upto this run?”

She hesitated and chose her words, “I must do this… Remember?  We are scouting a new route?.”

“That’s cool – but you know that we can always scout any other day.  Just confirm that you are fit to run.  The route remains twenty-one.”

“Twende.  We must do this… I must do this,” she brushed off the subject matter.

Good start

That is how we got to the starting point at the Boiler, took the traditional start of run selfie and off we went to run the 5th international half marathon code-name ‘the scouting’.  We had hardly reached Kabete Poly before Beryl had her first stop.

“Keep running,” I urged her on.  And she restarted, reluctantly.

After crossing the highway by the Police roadblock and spikes, the very spikes that she likes avoiding due to the fear of stumbling over in the process of jumping, she was already on another walk once more.

“Hey?  Keep running!,” I reminded her.

On the other side of the highway, we got running and were soon on the 3k at Ndumbo, now ready to get into the rhythm.  The next k would usually be a downhill towards Wangari Maathai then the river.  However, with the ‘scouting’ we were now turning left at Ndumbo towards Kanyariri, instead of doing straight down towards the university.  This was the new route.

“This is the new route?”

“This is it!,” I confirmed, “We shall be on Kanyariri all the way to Nakuru highway, make a right turn at the highway, then join the Wangige road that you already know.  We shall then turn right at the turn-off junction to Gitatu market… that you already know… and finally run back on this very route… back to the finish line.”

“Sound easy enough,” she commented.

“Not really,” I clarified, “You have a 5km uphill from Ndumbo river to the Nakuru highway.  After that it becomes easy all the way back.  Just survive the 5km and the run is done.”

However, as fate would have it, B finally had a confession as we walked uphill from the Ndumbo river, the run in her now generally finished, “My stomach, it has been giving me trouble for the last 24-hours, I shall have to follow back.  I have to drop back.  Just go.”

That was a tough one.  It was difficult to leave B on the road, alone.  We were just now hitting the 6km point, having been on the road for 45 minutes.  After assurance that she shall ‘try’ to be OK, I took off and went ‘scouting’.  We were to meet somewhere on the route and make it back, which we did, and ran the downhill to Ndumbo together.  After that, we were facing the final two kilometers, one that brought us to the highway crossing on the 20k and the final one to the finish line.

“So how did the scouting go?,” Beryl’s sister asked when we came back to the office.

“We have a new route, though our runners shall have to be cognizant of the Police,” I updated her.

“How do you mean?”

“You can stumble on their spikes.”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Nov. 29, 2018