You are on your own – the Nairobi Marathon 2018 story

You are on your own – the Nairobi Marathon 2018 story

(updated 21-Nov-2018 with official results)

*Image extracted from marathon organizers site (nairobimarathon.com)

Weather

The weather was perfect for a run as we left the meeting point at 0600hrs on the double dot on this last Sunday of October.  The twenty-eighth.  About five marathoners were in the bus, with another one being picked on the way – while probably over five missed the bus either from the onset on within the travel route.  It was cool, towards cold, with the sun completely buried by layers of black clouds.  It seemed that it would rain at some point.  Soon.  In the next hour.

We tried to reach a parking lot around Upper Hill at 6.25am, only for the Police to direct us to go towards Kenyatta Avenue and access Uhuru park from that route.  That was not to be, since we found the road closed at State House road junction.  That is where we disembarked as the driver tried to get some parking slot, which he said would be around Integrity house.

Everybody was in high spirit.  The 42km full marathon was only 20 minutes away.  The crowds were already swelling at Uhuru park, with the starting line jammed by all manner of runners, 42k or otherwise.  It took a reminder to reduce the numbers.

“Let us have only the 42km runners, those with red run numbers,” the public address bellowed.

“All other runners, please move back to the 21k starting line,” he urged.

“Those running 10k should in fact head to Uhuru highway where their run shall start.”

Anthem

That reduced the crowd a little bit.  A little bit, since many runners still refused to give way, even though they had the blue run numbers denoting 21k or even the green ones denoting 10k.  Despite this, the two national anthems were ‘brassed’ out – rather the brass band played the instrumental for the Kenyan national anthem then the East African anthem.

The wheel chair race started at 6.50am, while I was gone for the ‘last washroom’.

“You must pay,” the operator instructed.

I have known better over time, that you need to go for these marathons with some money.  Surprises usually await.

I gave out a 50-shilling note and was ushered in without my change, “Sina change.  Ngoja,” is the directive the ushered me in.

Five minutes later, and I was still waiting for change, with my run already on the countdown.

“You must pay,” he instructed another group of runners.

“We have no money,” they said.

“There is money in the car…. And toilets for marathoners should be free,” a guy in the group responded.

“I am so pressed,” a lady urged, “Let me just use.”

With a stretched hand, the operator motioned, “You pay, you use.”

Gagged

“I shall pay for the gent and lady,” I volunteered, more to reduce the change that I was waiting for, than in support of the operator.  That is how I got my 20-bob back and had to run to the direction of the starting line.

Why did I opt to pay, when there were many ‘free’ portable loos?  I already had a bad experience when I arrived at the venue for the first break.  The cubicle that I used, which was claimed to ‘the best’, had a puking experience.  I have never seen such a mess since secondary school days.  I gagged out after using the plastic structure.  It was the worst experience on this good day.  I was not going to use any of those freebies ever, unless I wanted my stomach to go to empty.

The run started one minute late.  At 7.01am, we started our timers and off we went.  I was with Janet, who was doing her inaugural 42.  Donning runner no. 1279, I was soon on my own as each runner found their pace.

*Image extracted from marathon organizers site (nairobimarathon.com)

Same old

The route was generally the same, apart from the starting point that had been pulled back about 400m onto Processional way, instead of Upper Hill road, Railway club where it started last year.  The rest of the route turned out to be largely unchanged, apart from maybe an extension of a turning point here and there, or a reduction in some rare cases.

I have already said that the weather started good… and it remained good the whole run.  No sun, just shade.  Some threat of rain and hardly any cold.  No breeze, and so it turned out to be a ‘sweaty’ run with no draft to keep that sweat out.

I usually plan my 42k as a two-part run – the first 21k from start to Nyayo stadium, then another 21k on Mombasa road.  I further divide the Mombasa road bit into two also – just for the sake of manageability.  10km first loop, 10km second loop… and of course a final 1km back to the Start/Finish.  With that done, the run is manageable since I have run all these variants of the 42k total at some point.  I did four ‘international halfs’ in the last two months, each 21k.  I do a 10k run at least once a week.  Think about the 42k as back-to-back of 3 of these runs i.e. 21+10+10… of course… +1.  However, it is easier done mathematically than practically.  Practically, you are already ‘done’ by the time you hit Nyayo stadium at 21k.  How you will do another 21k is akin a miracle!

Miracles

But miracles do happen, and that is why breaking it down helps.  The 21k to Nyayo was uneventful.  Nothing extra ordinary on the route.  Water points everywhere.  With water, if I may add.  The first water point being hardly 2km from the start.  The usual interval is 5km.  The organizers exceeded my expectation on this front.  The crowd of runners all along the route as expected in the marathon.  Starting with the thin stream of ‘red labelled’ numbers, followed and overtaken at some point by the ‘blue labelled’ sprinters.  At 21km, only 42km runners hit Mombasa road, where they are on their own for the two circuits.

The first circuit was quite good.  I did not feel it as much.  It just started, then somehow before long, I did the U-turn near Cabanas and was soon back to Nyayo stadium – done.  The second circuit was another story.  It was the ‘stressful one’.  I somehow, by willpower only… and water of course which was still plentiful even on Mombasa road… somehow, I managed.  The most difficult point was after the U-turn on second circuit, that should be at around 35km.  You just feel that the body has ‘refused’.  The legs wobble and you can imagine fainting and collapsing with every step that you take.

“Strong!,” a stranger beside the road shouts… to no one in particular.

“Baby steps…. To the finish line,” another stranger directs a shout to one of the runners ahead of me, clad in yellow T.

I do not respond.  I do not recall seeing the yellow T respond.  Maybe I am too tired to even notice what is going on.  Maybe I already fainted and it is just my subconscious playing tricks.  I don’t know nothing at this point.  The only thing I know for sure is that I am picking a water bottle at every station and forcing a sip as many times as I can.  I am not letting go of a bottle until I see the next station.  Just then, I see Janet just ahead.

“Will I manage?” she asks my passing form.

“You shall make it… Just one more circuit,” I update her, “Remember to keep taking water through out,” I turn back to give that final one.

Glad

I am glad to see that sign that shows, “42km loop 1 right turn, 42km loop 2 Finish straight ahead”.  I keep to the right as I now get to the Nyayo stadium roundabout.  I now know that I shall be done in a kilometer or so.  Nonetheless, this was the most difficult k of all.  I kept going and could not reach the finish line.  I can hear the public address and the ongoing festivities at the finish line area at Railway club.  The place seems too near yet so far.  The road is now jam packed by the 21k runners, most of them just walking.  They look at me as “a crazy guy who has decided to run when we are all walking”.  I am too tired and too gone to even care to notice.

This k is surely long.  I have gone over the railway flyover, but I cannot seem to reach the finish line.  I make a turn at Haile Sellasie towards Railway club and the finishing point is still nowhere to be seen.  I am now at the brink of collapsing.  Any minute now and my legs shall be the last sign that I can’t do any more distance since they shall just give way on the tarmac.  I see the word, “Finish” illuminated in red neon, hang above the road just ahead.  The road is however full and packed with walkers and ‘selfie’ takers.  It is a nightmare to pass through.  I know that if I stop I shall collapse.  So I keep running the last 400m to the finish.

“Teet teet,” the mat reacts as I cross over.  I regain consciousness and stop my timer at 3.34.15 (42.63km).
(*UPDATE of 12-Nov-2018: final results as per the official timing by the organizers is 3.33.58(chip time) / 3.34.09(gun time), being position 212 out of 499.  I am on page 15 of the 34 page results table)

But… but.. surprisingly now I am energized once more.  My strength is back.  I can walk without much ado and there is no big deal.  I do not feel any peculiar pains.  I am quite OK.  I start wondering whether this was a real 42k or there is another finish line.  No wonder I was not given a medal!!

On your own

“Where are the medals?,” I remember asking, since no one dished any out.  Traditionally, you get one as you cross the finish line.

“Go to Railway club,” the attendant advises, even as I now join a train of runners from 42k, 21k and even 10k streams, all heading to the club, about 400 meters away.  This is the slowest train that I have ever taken!.  After some journey, we get the medals for our particular runs.  Someone with a felt pen ticks on our bib numbers upon collection of medals.  They do not seem to care about tearing out the lower portion of the bib, which they traditionally do retain.

“Wow,” I exclaim in amazement, to no one in particular, just to myself, but loudly.  The wow reaction is from the design of the medal.  The medal looks good.  It is well crafted in a good pattern, unlike the traditional circular things we are used to.  “15 years – 42km Finisher – Nairobi Marathon 2018”.  I note that the 42k ones are ‘goldish’, the 21k are ‘silverish’, while the 10k are ‘bronzish’.  Maybe they have always been this way – I don’t know – but I noticed today.  What I also noticed today was that there were no distance markers all through the route.  All my distance estimates were just from past experience or tired-o-meter readings.  No wonder I said that for the 2018 run, “you are on your own”, with nothing to guide you but experience, instinct or just run until you hit the finish line.

Final results
The men's full marathon was won in 2.14.19, with the next two positions being done in 2.15.01 and 2.15.09

In a time of 2.33.11, Josephine conquered the divas course, followed by a 2.34.12 then a 2.34.53.

Real history was made in the divas 21k run when Valary, the 2017 winner won for a second consecutive time in 1.12.02 , followed by a 1.13.37, then a 1.14.05 in third position.

The guys did some history of their own, when the the 2012 21k men's winner repeated the feat in 1.04.57, followed by 1.05.24 and 1.05.32.


Will I do this again or do I ‘finally’ take that retirement and settled on the more manageable 21?

WWB ‘the coach’ – Nairobi Kenya – Oct. 28, 2018

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

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