When 42 is 44 – The Story of Nairobi Marathon 2017

When 42 is 44 – The Story of Nairobi Marathon 2017

It is done

I knew that I shall finish the run ‘comfortably’ when I hit the 36km mark.  This is the same point where I was pulled out last year for ‘over speeding’ and had to be given two shots of saline to tame my speed, otherwise, “I was headed for a collapse,” as the first aiders said then.  I was wiser this year and I took the two shots voluntarily, when I asked the ambulance crew to just give me the two bottles.  I downed one in one gulp, took a deep breath, then started sipping the next, as I walked off and setoff of the last 6km of the run.

“Are you OK?, Do you want to take a rest?,” the madam first aider had asked.

“I am good to go,” I responded.  

Truthfully, I probably responded to my retreating steps, since I was already accelerating to my new finishing phase pace of about 6minutes per kilometers, down from my 5minutes per kilometer in the last major part of the run.  This was the toughest 6km route ever!.  It runs from the extreme turnoff on Mombasa road near City Cabanas, all the way to city centre.  Add to it a changed route that by-passes the usual Nyayo stadium finish point by about 2km and you have a tough finish ahead.  By this time you are tired, you are finished, the legs are aching, the eyes are strained, you cannot look straight, the light is affecting you, the heat is hitting you, the tarmac is pounding underneath your soles and… you are on your own!

But how did this final run come about?

Early riser

I woke up at 4.00am and took breakfast.  I already knew the routine, having run 4 other such long runs in the last 9 years – you start early.  I was celebrating my tenth international marathon run with the 5th and final 42k.  This was my retirement long run.  I had to make it count.  The routine is usually an early breakfast, a short reflection on the day ahead, then an early morning quest for transport to town.  I had already planned to be at the Nakuru-Nairobi highway by 5.30am, to enable me be at the starting line by 6.30am, ready for the 7.00am run.  

A last minute ‘pleasant surprise’ by the employer enabled us secure hired transport to carry team members to the venue.  This did not change the 5.30am time, it just changed the pickup point from the highway to the employer compound gate.  I was however glad that I would avoid the otherwise hustle, uncertainty and effects of road closure while on public transport.  

The hired bus was to be at the gate, ready for us, from 5.15am.  I saw the promise by the transport company to ensure that this happens.  My confidence with the transport arrangement was at its all-time high.  Little did I know that by 6.20am the bus promised for 5.15am would still be unavailable.  Talk about failing to have plan B when ideally all situations need a plan B?

Late transport

“Where are you?,” I asked the number provided by our transport coordinator.  This was meant to the be number of the driver.

“I am at Globe Cinema,” pause then, “The roads are closed!”

That was 6.10am.

Globe Cinema is at the city centre for crying out loud!

The day could never get worse than this.  How was I going to make it to town, with roads closed, for the 7.00am run!

“Conspiracy!!,” I shouted out of frustration.

“What?,” Joan, a fellow runner, now also at the gate asked.

“Nothing,” I responded, realizing that my frustration was getting the better of me.

“Marathoners,” I addressed the eight or so runners, already gathered at the gate waiting for the transport, “We shall not make it for this run.  I shall not make it for this run.”

U-what?

The bulb lit inside my head and I quickly extracted my phone to ‘Uber’ a taxi.  The response was fairly fast.  I got a confirmation in 1 minute that there shall be a taxi available for me in 5 minutes, I calculated that to mean 6.15am.  As I was starting to relax, the phone buzzed, and I saw a cancellation message from Uber.

“That is just great!,” I shouted in frustration once more as I applied for another taxi on the same platform.  This one also confirmed to pick me up in 8 minutes – that would mean 6.20am.  Well, it better be here as promised, since 40 minutes to the run is not time to be joking with a runner.

Believe it or not, the phone buzzed again about 2-minutes later with a cancellation from Uber.  I was angry.

“You accepted to pick me,” I started on the number provided, “Where are you?,” I asked this second taxi person.  Oblivious of the cancellation message.

“I am far, at Kikuyu, I cannot make it,” pause, then, “I have sent a cancellation message.”

“Why did you accept then?,” I was losing my cool, which is rare, but this situation was stretching me to the limit and called for some cool-losing moment.  

I did not even wait for an answer, “Please cancel the trip officially on Uber.  I do not want to incur charges for cancelling.”

“Just cancel,” he responded, “You shall not be charged at all.”

“Are you sure,” I reconfirmed, “Last time I did a cancellation I was surely still charged.”

“You shall not be charged, that I can tell you.  Just cancel from your side,” he insisted.

I went ahead and cancelled and my finger was not even out of the touch screen when the message came back almost immediately, “Sorry for the cancellation.  You have been charged 200 for the driver’s time”

I almost flung the phone on the wall.

 “This is just great!,” I shouted again, “Being charged for the mistake of someone else!!”

Can’t make it

The time was now 6.20am.  40 minutes to start of my run at city centre.  I was still stuck in Uthiru.  No Uber, no taxi, no bus, with a bill of 200 for no service.

“This is just great!,” I said loudly, mainly subconsciously.

At that very time a private taxi was just exiting the compound, having dropped someone inside.  I hailed it and asked out of curiosity weather there was any possibility of it taking me to town, which he agreed.  However, since I was sure that I shall be using a chartered bus, I did not even carry any cash with me!

“This is just great!!,” I said loudly, subconsciously, even as I quickly got MPESA from one of the run colleagues and jumped into the taxi.

“Fire this thing and get me to town in the shortest time possible,” that was my instruction to the taxi-man, with all hopes lost of ever making it to the run in time.  

The time was now 6.25am, with my run starting at 7.00am ‘on the dot’.  ‘On the dot’ is no joke, since I have known over the last nine events that this run starts on time – regardless of what happens.  This is a run that can even be started before the runners arrive, even without the runners!  They are that serious about time.

My heart was pounding all through the route from Uthiru, to Kangemi, to ABC, to Westlands – where the road was closed!  

Now what?

“I am just from the airport,” the driver volunteered as we hit the “Road closed” sign.

“We shall go through Westlands Road, behind Kempiski, to Museum hill.  That is the same route I had to follow to Uthiru this morning”

Shall make it

I was glad to jump out of the taxi at 6.50am at Museum hill, where there was another “Road closed” sign.  I was now faced with a 2km distance to be covered in 10-minutes and that is where my run started.  All the way past University of Nairobi, to Nyayo House, then through Uhuru Park to the starting point on Haile Sellasie avenue next to the Railway Club.

I had initially cursed the new route when I first saw it on the runners guide – starting at city centre instead of Nyayo stadium.  Now I was all praises of the new route, as I joined the group of runners JIT, just-in-time, for the 42km run countdown.  I jostled through the big crowd of mostly 10km and 21km runners, who had completely blocked the access to the starting line ahead, where the 42km runners were gearing up to go.

I did not even have a second to settle when the sound of the starting gun was heard and most runners pressed the start timer on their wrist watches.  I followed suit and started off behind the leading pack.

Relaxed

I was quite relaxed as I did this run.  I had already practiced in the last 2 months especially.  I had already experienced a 38k run in 3hr 45min.  I knew how it felt to run the distance and the time, and the strategies to put in place.  I have never been so relaxed in any of my previous runs like I was on this day.

The weather was just great.  It had earlier threatened to be a rainy run when the heavy rains come down from around 3.00am to 4.00am.  I took my breakfast when it was still raining, though the rains had subsided by the time I walked to take the bus at 5.30am.  The environment was however cold and some drizzles were still being experienced from Uthiru to town.  However, by run time there was no rain at all, though the weather remained cool and chilly.

I came to the run with two objectives – to run a relatively slower pace so that I do not burn out by the 36km and not to burn out at the 36km mark.  In other words, my run was geared towards conquering the 36k and so I did the 2017 run routine with the three-six as my main objective.

The new route started at the Haile Sellasie avenue at Railway club, just besides Uhuru park.  From there, it just followed the profile of the previous route by going to the stretch of the avenue to Railway station and back, then the tour of the city through Harambee avenue, Kenyatta avenue and University way, before heading to Parklands through Museum hill and back to Upper Hill, to exit at Nyayo stadium.  At Nyayo, the 21km runners would go back to city centre to finish off at the starting line, while the 42km runners would do 2 loops of Mombasa road from Nyayo stadium to City Cabanas and back, then finish off at city centre starting line.  

You hit the 20km mark at Nyayo stadium on Mombasa road, as you start on the first loop.  The second loop starts at the same place on the 30.5km mark.

Three-six

I did not notice much events on the route, since my mind was geared to the three-six.  I remember, vaguely, passing through a new route section within KICC grounds, and through a water spray section, a first one for this marathon.  A second such water spray runway was waiting for us at Uhuru Park at the 16km mark.  However, there were no such sprayers on the additional 20km route on Mombasa road over the 2 loops.

“Discrimination,” I shouted to myself after doing the first loop to the 30.5km and noting that the full loop had no such sprays.  However, there was bottled water available at all water points and this kind of compensated for the lack.

The second and final loop of the run is usually the most difficult.  Your head starts spinning and you even wonder whether you have done the loop once or twice.  I know of runners who do not even do a second loop – though this is basis of disqualification, and for sure not getting a finisher’s certificate.  Nonetheless, a medal is given to all such runners who present themselves at the finishing line.  You have to weigh the options of medal and cert or medal only (or even cert only, should you finish and fail/forget to pick a medal.  Of course there is still the option of no-medal-no-cert if you do not finish)

The solution

I was quite good in form while doing the second loop from the 30.5k to 35.5k extreme turning point.  After turning, I could see the ambulance 500m ahead, though it was not busy at least.  I could only see one athlete seated beside the ambulance and I thought I saw another one athlete stretched inside.  The first aid crew was handing over bottles to runners passing by.  That is where I made a deliberate stop to consume one full bottle of 300ml, then took off with a second.

The solution that they usually give us is something that I do not know.  It takes bad!  It is something I would not take on an ordinary day – but on the day of the marathon, you cannot argue with the health professionals – just do what they say.  Maybe they make it taste bad to prevent runners from taking it at all (or substantially)?  The stuff is neither sweet nor sour.  It is more of salty with some bad colour that is one of those shades of pink.  It is just a bad solution that keeps runners running.  It worked last year and I was confident that it would work this year round.  I took little sips of this remaining 300ml over the second loop all the way to Nyayo stadium on the 40.5km mark.  I now just had a 1.5km stretch, run past the stadium, over the railway running underneath Uhuru highway flyover and back to the stadium.

Nothing, repeat, nothing was now going to stand on my way to finishing this run.  My neck was tired and it was a great effort lifting my head of keeping a steady gaze.  My legs were tired.  Coincidentally, the left leg that had given me trouble over the last month, and where I had put lots of attention in terms of massage and medication, is what became the stable leg during the run.  Surprisingly, it is the right leg that was on top form all along that started aching on the 30.5km mark when I just started on the second loop on Mombasa road.  It was an ache that I could manage for the rest of the run, but it is the coincidence that gave me lessons learnt, that expect the unexpected, despite all good plans.  But since the morning I was learning the same lesson anyway.

No through way

With the 42km ending at the same place, on the same route as the 21km, and with the higher volume of runners on the 21km event, the finish lane that stretches from Nyayo to Haile Sellasie avenue finish line was full of runners, rather walkers.  Even running through was a problem.  This was the most difficult stretch of all.  You are tired, you want to finish off the run but your forward movement is now blocked and… there is nothing you can do about it.  You are so tired you cannot even speak!

There was lots of confusion at the finish line.  It was difficult to know where the respective finish points for the two categories of runs was.  The supposed finish line was full of athletes who had jammed and blocked the area as they took photos and selfies.  There was no signage to indicate the medal collection points for the various runs.  There was no one to restore any order.  It was virtually impossible to cross the finish line, which was completely blocked by stationary athletes.  It was chaotic!

I stopped my timer at 3.50.39 and somewhere got a medal in exchange for the torn-off lower part of the runner number 1301.  Though my timer indicated a distance of 41.10km, the marked route was actually 42.125km.  I did not care about the error of 1km on my timer.  I did not care whether the winner in the men’s run clocked 02.12.39 and 02.31.41 for the women’s event – taking home KShs.1.5M each.  I did not want to know that the 21km was won in 01.03.26 and 01.11.04 in the men and women categories respectively, each bagging 0.2M as prize money.  Nor did I flinch when I learnt that the 10km had been won in a lightning speed of 00.29.14 and 00.32.23 – a 0.11M windfall for each in the men and women runs.  I was just happy that I had finished the run while running on my two and was still as energetic as never before.

Now, finally, the real joy of the marathon – meeting with colleagues and confirming that all did finish their various runs.  It is a moment of happiness.  It is a moment of joy.  It is a moment of celebration.  There is no other feeling than this feeling.  Taking that final group photo.  Saying, “we did it!”.  I did not even remember that I was forced to run an extra 2km.  I did not care that 42 was 44.  I was just glad that another marathon is gone.  I am now retired from the 42km, but who knows…. There is no run like the 42.  Even if it is a 44.

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, December 2, 2017

Indelible Ink

Indelible Ink

I hold the Motorola on my left hand, toying with the clip, only to realize that my left pinky nail is getting discoloured.  Discoloured, yes.  The ‘pink’ ink that was painted on Wednesday is slowing ‘peeling’ off.  That very Wednesday when I queued from 6.30am to 12.30pm to cast a ballot in the quest to select 6 leaders from local to national level.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

“Why do they do that?,” the daughter asks, noting that my gaze is examining the residual effect of the colouring.  The growing nail has created a distinct semicircle of colour.  The upper part of the nail is completely discoloured.  I have scrubbed the damn nail and it does not seem to be willing to get cleaned.   That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

Back to the question, I explain that the mark signifies that a registered voter had cast their ballot.  Its visibility means a recent vote.  Its lack thereof means the person did not vote.  It segregates the patriots from the ‘don’t care’ on voting day.  It is now four days later, we are glued to the screen waiting for this election process to get over by the announcement of the final winner.  This does not negate the state of the pinky.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

The radio crackles, “There is so much noise, shouting, activity… over.”
My own vicinity is not spared either, there is noise, shouting, activity.  There is more here, blowing of vuvuzelas, some singing (or attempt to), whistling, honking.  Some chatter!  Even a blackout on the main street lights adds to the collection of happenings on this wee hour of the night.  It is past midnight and it seems no one wants to sleep today.  Ordinarily I would be two hours in dreamland.  This is not ordinary.  I am expected to be on vigil.  “Stay vigilant,” was the instruction.

The radio crackles, “Confirm status… over.”
“It is almost one o'clock for crying out loud, over!,” I am very much tempted to shout that, but once the left thumb is pressing the channel engage button, the mouth utters that, there is noise, shouting, activity.  That shall be the night.  Now I know.

“That finger colour looks bad,” the very daughter who knows these things volunteers the next day at breakfast.  She knows that I have been idolizing over this pinky thing.  She even corrects me that the colour is ‘purple’ and that I can try home dry cleaner to bring back the nail to its natural colour.  However, I know that she has no experience for now.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

I have resolved that I am better off running a 42km, where I spent upto 4 hours on then road, then get my results, medal and certificate there and then.  And just like that... all is done.  Rather than soil (spoil) my pinky, without pink, and wait for four days to end up with almost half the runners feeling like winners while the others being completely lost on what their status is.  However, whether I shall be on the queue for 6 hours again in five years time, just to get colour on my finger…  The ink shall remain ‘indelible’… and stay on my fingernail forever!

WWB, Nairobi, Kenya, August 12, 2017

The Road Company that Took me to my Auntie’s Final Journey

The Road Company that Took me to my Auntie’s Final Journey 

The end

This is how the story ends… It is the wee hours of Thursday morning, I am in the bus not knowing what to do next and we are in the middle of the road… next to DOD compound, just opposite ABC shopping complex, a kilometer before Westlands Nairobi.

The reason why I am stuck here in an Easy bus is that I am part of the mess from a minor collision between two buses, both headed to Nairobi, the other being a Guardian.  I have been stuck here since 4.30am when the glass shattered just next to my head, on seat 8A, just a seat to the back seat.  I was semi-sober, from the on-off sleep since 8.15pm when I departed Homa Bay for the city.  

I know for sure that the incident occurred at 4.30am, since I was preparing to decide whether to alight at Westlands or go to the bus’s booking office and get a matatu back from there.  I just heard loud bus horns from our bus, followed by some sound like shattering glass.  Though my windows did not disintegrate into pieces, the shatter markers were all over the pane.  I suspected that I just needed to poke a finger and the whole pane would splatter down like beads.

“Sasa huyu jama anaingia kwa lane yangu kufanya nini!,” I heard the pilot curse as he brought the bus to a standstill – on the road – the momentum pulling most of us out of our seats.  (I am not sure if it is this or the co-driver who had previously complained loudly, just after taking one other stop after Kisii, that some passenger had reported him to headquarters that he was stopping the bus often, yet he had a running stomach.  “Hata hamna huruma – lakini nimesamehe huyu mtu,” he had uttered in the middle of the night, before firing the bus on.  If it was him, then his temper was still flaring.)

This loud curse, screeching brakes, breaking glass and loud horns, on the still morning brought the half-empty bus into some action.

“Ni nini?, what happened?,” were the passengers, most from sleep.

We stayed here until 4.55am, when I decided to disembark and try making my way back to Uthiru.  I knew that getting vehicles at the ABC stage would not be as easy as at Westlands, but I was doing nothing in the bus, waiting for I-don’t-know-what-who to resolve the traffic accident.

I left the bus just in time to hear the driver complain from some 25m back, where the Guardian was also parked, hazard lights flashing, that, “Si ukubali makosa!”. 

I knew that was not going to happen.  The first rule of traffic incidence, even clearly displayed on the windscreen is, “in case of an accident, do NOT admit liability”.  I wonder why our driver was trying the impossible.  Is he wiser that the insurance industry, that controls 4.18B in revenue as at 2016!

Just before the end

I bought a soda, ready for this night journey.  I get dehydrated when faced with over 400km of pure tarmac.  In fact I get dehydrated when facing over 15km and usually cannot run without water after that distance.  I bought the soda from a Homa Bay supermarket, Shivling was the name, I guess.  I almost applied for a shopping card with them since their “Loyalty card registration is free at no charge”.  But this is Kenya, you know.  Free needs re-definition.  It started with free milk on sale in the 80s.  Free forms are always on sale whenever you report something at the cops station.  Free newspaper pull-outs are usually on sale with the vendors.  You really need to be sure that 'free is free'.

That soda lasted me the journey from Homa Bay, at the shores of Lake Victoria, through Rodi Kopany, Rongo, Kisii, Narok and Nairobi.

The above road was smooth though.  12 hours earlier, 6.00am to be precise, I was squeezed on a privately hired matatu travelling from Homa Bay, first to Rodi Kopany through a smooth tarmac stretch, then diverted to the left at Rodi.  Here we faced a stretch of about 15km of rough road all the way to Rangwe shopping Centre.  Further on would be the famous Asumbi TTC, but we were glad to end our misery here.  From Rangwe we branched to the right on an interior road to pass St. Abigail Complex School and then to yet other interior paths to the place.

I last met my Auntie Mary in 2012 during my dad’s funeral.  She called me outside my dad’s compound and I still remember vividly how the conversation went five years ago…

“My child, is that you?”

“Auntie, it’s me!”

“I cannot believe my eyes.  Thank you Lord for making me see this day,” she was emotional and all.

“You cannot know that your mum left you when you were so young, just nine years – I did not know that you shall survive!  I cannot believe that you are so grown up!  I did not know I shall see this day,” her emotions continued.

I almost joined her!

“I am happy that I have at least seen you all grown up and independent.  I am sure you shall do great things.  Now even if I die, I shall be OK,” she finished and took her leave.

Our meeting hardly lasted 10-minutes.

The beginning

I did not surely expect that my Aunt would die on me just like that.  Two weeks ago, March 6th to be specific, my elder bro Willy sent me the text on both my lines that Auntie had died – just like that!  That is the reason why I was at Homa Bay on this Wednesday, March 22 for the funeral.

Funerals also turn out to be social gathering where we get to meet so many people and re-live quite some memories – fond and otherwise. 

“Onyasi vane, uli khano.  Waetsire!,” my Uncle, Auntie Leah’s husband, declared loudly, in the excitement of the moment.

“Omwana uno yalingi nende ebifwanga,” he laughed loud. 

He narrated to the benefit of the extended family how I used to match around the sitting room for visitors, to mimic the prison warders who were training at the residential compound of my formative years.

My maternal uncle Gilbert agreed, “Adier, nyathini ne timore mana kaka askach jela.”

They were both agreeing in their own way.

It was a family reunion, though in difficult circumstances.  

At three-thirty we left in the same privately hired matatu back to Homa Bay.

I already mentioned that the road from Rodi to Rangwe is rough, while the main highway is quite good, despite both roads being class C roads.  My research now reveals why.  Do not think it is political, far from it.  To build the Homa Bay – Rongo road, the construction firm setup a materials management point almost equidistant between Homa Bay and Rongo.  

They managed to build the good class road that is quite smooth from this central point.  The firm stayed at the material point for about a year (roads take long to build).  In that time, a commercial centre started developing, to serve the needs of the workers and the surrounding villages already in existence.  

The Road Company centre flourished and stayed on even after the main road was build.  They were not involved in the works towards Rangwe, but they left their mark at Road Company centre – Rodi Kopany!  The place you leave the tarmac as you head to Auntie’s place.

WWB, Nairobi, Kenya, March 23, 2017

Marathon 2017 - the 10 runs

Fellow marathoners,

Happy New Year 2017 and welcome to yet another exciting run year, though we are already 4-months deep into the run calendar, which starts November and ends October, when we do the International marathon.

Let me give you a sneak preview of the major 2017 runs on our calendar:

1. March 12, 2017 (Sunday - confirmed) – First Lady’s marathon – Nairobi/Nyayo stadium. Registration is already open, early bird@1,000 until Jan. 14, thereafter 1,600 on site or 1,250 online until Mar. 5.

2. May (week 2-3) – Mater Heart Run – Nairobi/Nyayo stadium – Registration is 1,000 (Tshirt), can add 700 (shorts), 400 (caps)

3. June 24, 2017 (Saturday - confirmed) – Lewa marathon – Nanyuki/Lewa conservancy – Registration is $250 (*with additional minimum fundraising of $1,500 per person?)

4. July (week 1, likely 8th) – Sotokoto marathon – Nairobi/Uhuru Garden – Registration (online only) is 1,000 + 50 transaction fees

5. September 10, 2017 (Saturday – tentative) – Ndakaini marathon – Thika/Ndakaini dam – Registration is 1,000 (amateur) or 1,200 (elite), usually a 200/= discount offered for online registration.  Add 700/= if you need transport from Nairobi to and from the venue.

6. September (week 4) – Menengai marathon –Nakuru/Nakuru town – The last time I heard of it was 2015.  It seems not to have taken place in 2016.  It is doubtful for 2017.

7. October 29, 2017 (Sunday - confirmed) – Nairobi International marathon – Nairobi/Nyayo stadium – Registration is 2,000 (online registration and payment only)

8. November (week 3-4) – Kass marathon – Eldoret/Eldoret town – Registration is 500, then add transport and accommodated in Eldoret before (and after) the event

9. November (week 4)– Kakamega Ingo marathon – Kakamega/Kakamega forest – Registration is 1,000, then add transport and accommodated at ‘Ingo’ before (and after) the event

10.December (week 1 & week 3) – Kisumu marathon (Dec. 1 run and a separate Safaricom run) – Kisumu/Kisumu town

*according to information on the organizers website

The menu is so full that I am full already!

I advise all runners to target one non-competitive run (Mater run) and any other three major marathons.  I see First Lady, Sotokoto, Ndakaini and Nairobi Marathon as being the easier ones to participate in.  I am set for them this year.

*Latest news (through an email message that I have just got from the organizers)- The 2017 edition of the First lady’s run, which was to start us off has been cancelled.  This is a run that I had already registered for.  A press release from office of the FL reads in part that, "...This year, I was looking forward to running yet another marathon - a Gratitude Marathon.... However, I have never been willing to politicize this agenda.  As a consequence I feel it necessary to cancel the First Lady's Half Marathon this year."  The message further confirms that the ultimate goal of the cause is to build the Beyond Zero Referral Hospital.  This is a goal that I support as a Kenyan.  I was looking forward too for this year opener marathon, but this is not to be.

Nonetheless, let us now focus on the Mater-Lewa-Sotokoto trio.

WWB, Nairobi, Kenya

Running the 4-2 after 4-years

Running the 4-2 after 4-years

42 is 36

The 42km marathon is won (or lost) on the 36k mark – and that is exactly how my run was, as I participated in the 4^th such run after a 5-year break.  In that break, I had concentrated on the 21k runs, and now in reflection, these runs do have a bearing on what happens on the real thing.

I had already done a 36k run during my preparatory runs leading up to this event.  I already knew the feeling of a 36k mark.  I had convinced myself that after that milestone and I would do anything in my power (walk, crawl, roll, jog or run) to finish the last 6km.  The strategy worked, only upto to 36.5km, then….

Early morning

I woke up at five.  My breakfast items had already been set the previous night.  I circled the cup of milk chocolate in the microwave for about a minute and sipped up in readiness for departure from my residence.  I walked from the residence to the assembly point at about 5.30am, where the mini-bus was waiting to carry the runners to town.  The fully loaded bus left at exactly six, picking other runners along Naivasha and Ngong roads as we headed for Nyayo stadium.

At six-forty, we found a parking space at Nairobi West and disembarked ready to face our various runs.  A quick ‘groupie’, (not really, someone photographed the group), then we were off to the starting point of the runs on Mombasa road, next to Nakumatt, on one side of the stadium.

The start

Somehow the 42km started.  Nothing grand, just a pop of a starting gun, and off we went.  This run does not have too many runners, hence the crowd that set off was not that big, however, it was still a crowd.  This run is a matter of strategy.  You set your strategy, etch it on your mind, and just run by it.  It is not a fast run by any chance.  Even the front runners restrained themselves from running as fast as would otherwise be on say a 21k event.  I had a pace in mind, and my legs learnt the pace by the 2km mark, which I did in 9min.

The first half

The 42km route has the full 21km circuit through the city and back to the stadium, followed by a 2-loop run on Mombasa road towards Cabanas, each loop being about 11km.  The first 21km were a breeze.  I found myself back to Nyayo stadium in about 1hr 35min.  At that pace, I was capable of running the full run in 3hr 10min – but I know for a fact that that is not a simple doubling act – the pace gets slower and slower after the 21km mark, and so it was.

Two is better than one

The first loop on Mombasa road is 10.5km.  It brings you back to the start of loop on the 31.5km mark.  These are the best 10km run I have ever done after a 21k run.  I was on good form and my mind was set for a final good run to the finish line.  I averaged 50minutes in this loop.  I now only had the second and final loop, which goes 5km to the extreme turnoff at the 36.5km mark, then a final 6km to the finish line.  The only effort I needed was that of reaching the 36.5km turnoff, then I would ‘somehow’ make it back to Nyayo.

My eyes started getting heavy as I approved the turnoff.  I was finding it difficult to lower my eyes from looking afar to looking just in front of me.  I attributed this to maybe fatigue on the neck that was making head/eye movements difficult.  I was still on good pace and was overtaking a number of runners who were still on loop one and had just taken to walking.

The wall 

I remember making the final turn and starting my long run towards Nairobi and then….

“That on, pull him out,” I thought I heard someone say that.

“Do not let him pass, pull him out,” I thought I heard that too, quite close to my ears.

The next moment I was feeling some hands grabbing me, pulling me off the road and pushing onto a mattress on the floor of a tent.

“Lie still, do not move!,” I surely heard.

After a few moments…

“Are you able to sit up?”

I sat.

“Give him that,” he pointed, “Take that!,” he instructed.

I downed a 250ml bottle of some yellowish fluid.  It tasted something in between sugary and salty.

I cleared a second, and just like that, I stood up.

“Do you know where you are?,” a gentleman asked.

“Of course,” I responded, “I was on the second loop turn off, ready to head to the stadium for the finish”

“He is OK,” he told his colleagues, “You are free to go,” he told me.

The lost 12

From my estimation, I lost about 12 minutes at this first aid tent, strategically set on the 36km mark.  During my run prep, I had thought of a way of either having someone hand me some glucose at this mark or carry some for consumption at this point.  I did not execute this plan and it was now haunting me.  I also now wonder why the organizers have never thought of refueling the runners with energy drinks at this mark, which is universally accepted as the breaking point for most runners.  It took me about 10 minutes to get back to my regular jogging pace and after that, it was a normal paced run back to the finish point inside the stadium.

This is a run where I finished while still quite energized and did not even feel that tired after the run.  My legs were also not aching like previous such runs and I was quite in high spirits.  I stopped the timer at 3.46.43.  I know that I lost about 15 minutes due to the pit stop, but that is yet another lesson learnt in readiness for future runs.  Those running as a full time job, such as the men's winner did the run in 2.13.27 while the ladies crown was worn after a 2.34.18 stay on the road.  The 21k was taken in 1.02.53 and 1.11.17 in the men's and women's run respectively, while the 10k was done in 29.28 and 33.48 respectively.

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, Oct. 31, 2016

Ndakaini Marathon 2016 – the 21km run that turned out to be 26k

Ndakaini Marathon 2016 – the 21km run that turned out to be 26k 

Early
This is surely the earliest that I have woken up this year.  I was up at 3.30am on this Saturday, September 10, 2016.  Come to think about it, I was generally sober from 1.00am, having made the mistake to tuning on to radio and listening while pretending to sleep.  The topic of discussion was unbelievable on live radio, but… the airwaves are liberal and you can tune in or get out if you are offended.  Who in their right mind discusses ‘jomvu miritini’ (Two towns at the coast, I assume) and ‘aina tofauti ya duka la asali’ (different types of honey shops) on open air!?  Is it that my Kiswahili is so rotten that I do not understand what this is all about?

“Surely, we have lost it,” I said to myself as I got out of bed to mix the cup of cocoa, which was strategically positioned besides the bed the previous night – this is called advance preparation.

I was dressed and ready to leave at 0345 hours, my runner number 723 having been affixed on the Tshirt same day when I got it on Wednesday from the IMG offices at International House 4th floor.  I managed to wake up the watchie, who was sleeping on the stairway of the residential block, to allow him open the gate for me.  He had a puzzled look on his face, partly dazzled by being woken up ‘at midnight’.  I know that he thought it was midnight.  I even got scared, as he locked out of the compound and wondered what would happen if I was to be forced to bolt back.  However, such bad thoughts do not occupy the mind of a marathoner.

Liars
I was at the main Nairobi-Nakuru highway by 3.50am.  I could only see the night buses from Western side of Kenya zooming past, momentarily lighting up the otherwise dark night and dark tarmac.  No matatu was beckoning for passengers, as they usually do at the right time.

“Why did I get out of bed early,” I clicked.

I attempted to get into a country bus that had dropped some passengers at the highway stage, only for the makanga to cheat me that they are not going to town, but to Kawangware.  There was no need to lie.  I was ready to pay!  It was not for free!!.  I watched in total disgust as the bus went straight ahead toward Kangemi (and town) – BAD KENYAN that lying makanga!!!

Nonetheless, I was lucky to get a matatu at 4.05am.  It packed us four per seat, instead of three.  Anyway, it was the only one on the route all the way to Westlands.  Seated in front of me were two ladies, evidently drank, calling the conductor like every second, speaking loudly over nonsensical issues, laughing at the slightest of no joke.

“Hapa ni Westlands?,” they asked, almost in unison, as the matatu stopped at Kangemi.
“Poeni waresh,” the conductor reassured them, “Tukifika Westy nitawashtua.  Musiwe na wass.”

The matatu set off from Kangemi to a stop 15 seconds later at the Kangemi flyover to pick some other passenger.
“Si tumefika Westlands?,” one of them asked.
We had hardly moved for crying out loud!

Ten such questions later, the duo was dropped at Westy, after which peace prevailed in the vehicle.
It dropped me at GPO around 4.20am.

Wabera
I walked a stretch of Kenyatta avenue and then turned at Wabera street towards the High Court, then to Re plaza, the pickup point.  I was to be ready to catch the 5.00am bus arranged by the organizers of the run – not for free.  I had paid 700/= together with the 800/= for registering for this run.

“Mwathani!,” I found myself shouting.  Subconsciously.

“What!?,” came the response from the three ladies, whom I had just overtaken on Wabera Street pavement.  My exclamation was due to the skimpy way they were dressed.  One had a skirt whose length ended almost at the waist.  The other had something that was pretending to be a sleeveless top, my observation wat that it was more of just a bra.  The third had a combination of the two.  The corner of my eye caught a few other gals who seemed to have an issue with dressing, they seemed to hate clothing and preferred to have the bare minimum.  Did I say they preferred ‘bare’ and if not possible, then ‘minimum’.

Last year the buses were late, forcing runners to wait for them until almost six.  This morning the three buses, branded ‘Double M’, were already parked next to Re plaza when I got there around 4.30am.  I was probably the third athlete to arrive.  From then on, it was a matter of getting into the first bus, the 21km bus, so that we can set off at five.  That was not to be, since the athletes were late forcing the first bus to leave the city at 5.44am.

Conspiracy
It took us 45 minutes to reach Thika and another 45 minutes to reach Ndakaini, specifically, Kagira Memorial Academy, which was the new parking lot for vehicles.  Previously, we have been parking at the Nairobi City County water treatment plant compound, which is nearer the starting point.  By ‘nearer’, I mean 2km near.

The time was now 7.20am.

I have been to Ndakaini three times before and I knew that we had been dropped much much further from the starting line unlike previous years.

I was vindicated since I had to jog for 30-minutes to get to the starting line, hardly 10-minutes before the run was scheduled to start.  At any pace, I cover 5-7km in that period of time.

“Conspiracy!,” I cried out loud!  

How do you force ‘some’ competitors to start with a 5-km run before the real run?  That is not level.  That is not right!  I am as sure as the first marathon held in Marathon town Greece that I could have missed the start of the run had I not run the distance from drop off point.

Script
The run started on the now very familiar route and the run progressed as per the script.  This marathon is a 10-hill run.  The earlier you get that reality etched on your mind, the better for you.  I now know each of them and I usually count them as I go along.  Those unfamiliar with the route had a hard time, mainly due to inappropriate run strategies, such as sprinting downhill forgetting that there is an unseen hill just round the bend.  However, make no mistake about it – Ndakaini marathon is the toughest in Kenya at the moment.  I can dare say toughest in the world – that is my experience.  I have tried to conquer it but it provides new surprises each year to tame me.

This year’s run brought in the surprise of the very hot sun just as we started the run at about 8.05am.  My legs also decided to pain on the first two hills – for no reason at all, and I really had to reduce pace on these sections.  However, I was back to normal, by the time I hit the 5km mark, after two water points and a sponge station, though that first slow pace kind of affected the rest of the run.

No. 8 Hill
I knew that I was yet to face the real back-breaker, which is Hill no. 8, though the other hills can easily confuse you that they are no. 8 if you are not familiar with this route.  And… finally, there it was… 45 degrees uphill for 1.4km.  Those are the worst 10 minutes of this whole episode.  You face the uphill, you are tired after running 16km, you can hardly move uphill, the back aches, the legs ache, the shoes pinch and hurt, the hill does not end and…. the spectators look (and react) as if you are doing nothing!!

“We mzee, kimbia!  Wacha kwenda pole pole!  Unashindwa tu haka ka mlima” (You oldie, stop running slowly.  How can such a mild hill give you trouble)

“Come try it yourself,” I am tempted to say.  I resist the temptation or rather, I do not even have the energy to get any word out of my mouth.

After that hill it is a relief to face two mild uphills on your way to the finish line – these are some of the best 4kms that you can wish for in such a marathon.  

And just as soon as it had started, the run came to an end at the main tarmac, just 400m from the once starting point.

I stop the timer at 1.47.01 

The winner
After the finish there is nothing else to do, but come back to Nairobi.  The remaining agony was just the 5km walk back to the bus and then a wait until 5pm for the trip back, as per the organizers schedule.

It was a pleasant surprise that the buses had been allowed to park at the Nairobi Water premises, which was nearer the finish point.  It was equally fulfilling that the buses left Ndakaini at 1420 hours, reaching the city a few minutes past four.  Subconsciously, I observed the various shopping centres and areas of interest on the route such as Mbari ya Rugu Primary School (what is name is that?), Mukarara shopping centre (can’t they think of a better name), Mabanda centre (this name may be for a reason), Gahunyu centre (am lost) finally Thika (am found).  From town centre, one last matatu brought me back to my residence – with a headache.  This is something, since I even did a 28km run two weeks ago but did not end up with a headache.  I usually know that a run has got the better of me if I have a headache after the run.  Ndakaini marathon, while commemorating its 13th edition, in my case, for the fourth time in a row, has now officially been confirmed to be yet another run that has gotten the better of me!

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi Kenya, Saturday, September 10, 2016

Sotokoto 6 with ones and firsts

Sotokoto 6 with ones and firsts

One am
I slept at one AM on July 3, 2016 – same day of the big run.  Thank Germany for this.  I had bet on them winning the quarter final match against Italy at the ongoing UEFA European Champions Football tournament in France.  I was confident of sleeping by 11.30pm when they scored their first goal in the second half for the match that started at 10.00pm.  However, it was not to be.  The game ended 1-1 by 90 minutes.  Extra time was a must, and no more goals were scored in the additional 30 minutes.  

I was therefore awake past mid-night to witness the penalty shootouts.  I have been ‘listening’ to the penalties in the last month, but I discovered that a local free to air channel was showing the matches and had my opportunity to watch the shoot-outs.  And who would have expected that both teams can squander three penalties a piece at the initial five kicks each?  The match was therefore won on the 9th kick of the extra five kicks.  I hope ‘the machine’ does not keep me waiting this long as they advance to the semis.  (Read a previous blog story where I lost a bet on some matches leading to this quarter finals stage.  I was therefore a bit passionate about my bets at this point.  So far all but one had come true.  The single miss being the Portugal-Poland tie, where the penalty shoot out let down my Poland bet)

Kumi na moja
That is the time was that I was taking breakfast, ready to leave the house for the bus stage.  I was at the Nakuru highway at 5.20am and got into a matatu ten minutes later.  I landed at the city centre at six and walked to Haile Sellasie – Uhuru Highway junction to await a vehicle.  This next vehicle took me past Nyayo stadium to the diversion at T-Mall, where the left side of the road was already closed and had to share the wrong side of the road with oncoming traffic.  I walked from Wilson Airport to Uhuru gardens – a ten minute walk – to warm me up ready for the run.

One toilet
The athletes had already started gathering at Uhuru gardens by the time I arrived at the gardens compound about seven.  It is usual to empty the body ready for such a run, and that is what forced me to the usual directions of the washrooms.  I was glad to see the single toilet block, though I wondered why they did not think of portable ones or any other way of coping with the expected numbers.  Woe to me, when I reached the block to find it locked.

“Wapi choo?,” a colleague in front of me asked the stranger standing around.  He could have been an official of Sotokoto or a cop or just someone in some uniform.

“Eh!... Imefungwa?,” he asked and answered himself, “Sijui”
A lady who was just ahead kind of pressed her mid-part with his hands, tried to walk aimlessly, but could not hold it any longer.  She just crouched and let go.  The two gents, and those behind us, now at an abrupt stop, just out of a locked block, decided to look elsewhere.  Luckily, there was a ticket on the fringes of the gardens.  The guys just watered the thicket.  Those with ‘heavier’ ideas fertilized the thickets, just almost in plain sight.

Saa moja
“Ni saa moja,” someone announced on the public address system, “Twakata kuanza mbio.  Wote waende kwa barabara nje ya compound hii.”

For the benefit of the foreigners, evidently Japanese, who were the main sponsored, she translated, “We are about to start the run.  All are asked to get out of this compound to the main road.”

Soon a crowd gathered outside Uhuru gardens, on the tarmac road now closed to traffic, next to some two signs of both of the road, written “START”

First Lady
We got to learn that the run shall be flagged off by the first lady of the republic, Mrs. UK.  Time started running and no sight of our host. Runners just milled around, some in chatter, others in thought.  Some took selfies, others watched them take them.  Some warmed up, others stayed put.  Some complained loudly of the delay, others were indifferent.

Three outrider motorbikes followed by three dark Mercedes Benz saloons signaled the arrival of the guest.  A fourth big van, same dark colour, followed at the rear.  As usual, these machinery forcefully ejected the once settled runners out of the comfort of the tarmac and had to seek refuge on the road side for the 30-second duration of the drama.

One hundred
One hundred is the number of runners that I counted at the starting line.  Is this not the worst publicized run in Nairobi?  Raising only 100 runners out of a city of over 1 million!?  Is this a joke or what?  I wonder why the organizers cannot raise the numbers, when other runs are twice expensive in terms of registration fees and these usually marshal over five thousand runners.  

This was the worst attended run ever.  I was been to other three Sotokotos in the past, 2009, 2010 and 2013, but none was this bad.  I tend to think that the organizers just woke up some day in mid-June and decided that they are holding the run.  Contrast that to the Nairobi International marathon, for example, which is already registered runners for the October event, over 3 months in advance.  And, this is just because it is local.  Other international runs at the big arenas in the US and UK register runners almost one year to the event, and close half year before the run.

July 1
Looking back, I was at Uhuru gardens secretariat office of Sotokoto on Friday, July 1 to collect my run number and kit.  This was after receiving official communication that the kits would be ready for all to collect from 9.00am on that Friday and the following day only.  I was taken aback as to how they can issue the runner kits just 48-hours to the event, for all the runners that they were expecting?  Had they deliberately orchestrated this run to fail or what?  How many people can collect kits within 48-hours at such a remote location?  It took me two hours on two public transport vehicles to get to these offices (plus a third broken down matatu and double the fare as a consequence).

“We do not have T-shirts yet,” the lady at the unmarked reception and the equally concealed secretariat office started when she saw my approach.  The reason why I was able to trace this office location was due to precedence.  I just recalled where I got it three years ago.  Without that experience I could have been lost.

“What do you mean?,” was my answer.  They had communicated to me that I should pick the gear, and here they were telling me that there was nothing.  Could they not get their act together first before inconveniencing such philanthropic runners?

1pm
She tried to explain that the kits were late, though they had the run numbers only at the moment.  She said something about suppliers, delays, expected after 1pm, come back later, or come back tomorrow.

“I come from Uthiru, which is in a different province” I told her, “I am not coming back here!  Get me someone who shall give me a solution.”

She hesitated.

“Make no mistake,” I reiterated, “Am not coming back to Langata road until Sunday.”

There is nothing that breaks the toughest of situations that some simple words, which I encountered when finally some guy came into the office, “Apologies, we are very sorry that the T-Shirts are not available yet.  Truly sorry.  Accept our apologies.”

What say you, when someone apologizes over a situation?  You are completely broken down and your defenses are no longer in place.

“Get me the run number.  I shall use a previous T-Shirt,” I assisted them.

0011
Was I really runner no. 11?  I registered for the event on June 15, having received an invitation through email the previous day.  The registration fee was KShs.1,050 – a strange figure, but when I finally saw the receipt showing only 1,000/=, I understood that the organizers did not want to incur any processing charges through the PesaPal platform that was handling the online payments.

If it was true that I was the eleventh runner, based on the run number, then the registration for this event was worse than I thought.  Add to the delay in providing runner kits in time and you have a situation at your hands.

One stanza
We sung one stanza of the national anthem just after her excellence arrived.  Thereafter, it was a matter of the flag off though a countdown from 10.  At count 1, the blast of a starter gun was heard and all started the run.  I started my timer.

The run route had changed.  I have run from the Nairobi National park to Nyayo stadium and back as was the inaugural run circuit or from Uhuru gardens to Nyayo stadium with two loops and back, as was my second run in Sotokoto two.  

This third run on Sotokoto 6 was taking advantage of the newly build Southern by-pass that connects Langata road to Nakuru highway.  It was a simple enough route – a run from Uhuru gardens, straight to the by-pass to head towards Ngong forest side upto the 10.5km mark for a U-turn back to the stadium.  Just 21km of nothing but pure, dark, hard, unforgiving tarmac.

One water point
I had expected some water points along the route, especially at the 5km marker, but this did not turn true.  The ‘5km’ board was lonely at the centre of the road with no water point on site.  It took sheer will power to just keep running without knowing when this vital hydrate shall be available.

The run was uneventful.  They elite runners just sprinted off, while the rest of us veterans tagged along.  The runners were quite few, and that meant that the crowd was think, in fact just a file of runners, usually 20-50m apart.

I met the first runners, the fast ones, at a time of 0.38.00.  They were already on their way back while I was yet to hit the 10.5km turning point.

Water relief!  I meant what a relief!  I finally reach the U-turn, to get the first water point, even as I dip my fingers into the basins that contain some ink.  Just like the First Lady marathon in March, we have a similar dip-fingers-in-ink situation.  Please, invest in some simple timing chip.  Those transmitters cost less than a cent for crying out loud!!  I briefly glance at my stop watch which reads 0.50.00

One (more) water point
I encounter a second water point on my way back, at the 5km mark.  I know it was now there for long, since that is the route I have just been through some 30-minutes ago.  One other rule in running is to ensure that you have some water at all time.  I apply this rule by throwing away the almost empty bottle that I took at the turn-back point and pick a full one.  I run with this to the finishing point.

The way back is easier.  I just realize that the first leg was hilly and the way back is generally on a downhill.

111
I hit the finish line inside the Uhuru gardens and the organizers hand me a small piece of paper.  The number 111 is written on it.  This is my finishing position.  I guessed the runners were one hundred only, but maybe I was wrong.  However, I doubt if they shall be more than 200, based on the numbers that I encountered on the route.

Another round of recording names on the finishers’ sheet, and then a walk to the tent where the blank finishers’ certificates are issued after they put a big cross with a marker pen on the runner bib having the run number.  

The predominantly red lettered cert reads, 
“Certificate of Completion – 2016 Sotokoto Safari Half Marathon.  This Certificate is hereby awarded to dash dash for succeful completion of the Sotokoto Safari Half Marathon dash dash category (21km/5km) race in a time of dash dash.  Awarded on this day of 03rd July 2016.  Signed (signed for sure) Douglas Wakiihuri, SS, Race Organiser, Sotokoto Safari Marathon”

The typo on ‘succesful’ is real.  I had to re-verify to confirm that this typo shall last with us for eternity.

Good thing is that I shall be having the first certificate to show for this event – which I had previously described as the run with nothing to show – no cert no medal.  At least they have now worked the cert part, albeit a dash dash version.  Maybe, just maybe, we shall be looking at some medals soon.

This is what I shall fill on one of the dashes… a time of 1.34.18.  The other parameters such as distance, calories, average speed, max speed, slow speed were not available since I just replaced the bat of the gadget and forgot to calibrate.

11.11am
I alight from the matatu back home at 11.11am.  I finally have my T-shirt as a carryon luggage.  I collected this T after the run.  The organizers had asked me to check before/after the run.  I managed to check after the run, and after sms reminder that, “Pick your size small T-shirt as the only ones remaining”.

I was categorical on the application form that I needed a size L.  I was even the eleventh athlete to register.  How is it possible that I can get a leftover T-shirt of size small?

“You are lucky,” the gentleman at the secretariat office informed me, “I stumbled upon this size M”

Lucky?  Really?

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, July 3, 2016