Running for nothing – how I found myself out of action

Running for nothing – how I found myself out of action 

I could hardly sleep.  I tossed and turned and tossed and turned some more.  My joints, especially the leg joints on the thigh, knee and heel were aching.  Any folding of either of my legs brought about an intense pain in the of my body.  I was shivering, despite the usually cold night that I was already used to and should not have elicited such a reaction.  I was clothed in a trouser, a T-shirt, a pullover and a jacket, then covered in three layers of sheet, blanket and fleece, but I was still feeling cold.  I had a headache from afar, though it kept getting intense towards my forehead with every passing minute.

“What is happening to me?,” I found myself speaking out loud, in the dead of the night.

It was quiet.  Not even the night crickets made a noise on this night.  I could hear my own breathing and heartbeat, meaning that it was that still.  The bed creaked as I turned, only to be uncomfortable in that turn, hence being forced to turn again, as the bed creak again.  Every turn hurt my joints and intensified the headache.  Every turn put me in a more uncomfortable position than the previous.

“What is happening to me?,” I asked the still night for a second time in less than a minute, as I got up and sat on the bed, the cold of being outside the beddings hitting me with vengeance.  I retreated to the bed to toss and turn some more.  I kept listening to the quiet night even as I kept turning every minute due to the discomfort of my aching joints.

I could not take it anymore and found myself awake at some point in the night.  I had so far just heard of a cock crow, somewhere in the distance of the silent night.  That was the only sound on this night.  I stepped out of bed, the cold contrast from the warm bedding hitting me badly.  I went to the washrooms and stood by the mirror, to confirm that I was still me.  I was still me, alright.  I looked haggard and completely beat.

I went back towards the bed and switched on the computer and monitor.  It made the buzzing sound as the fan on the CPU rotated around.  Usually this noise would be indiscernible, today it sounded so loud in the still of the night.  I checked the time on the lower right corner of the now lit monitor.  The light illuminating the full extent of the room due to the once still darkness.  It was just about 4.00am.

I turned on an online news channel for a lack of a better thing to do.  Sleep was now out of the question.  I just wanted to spend my time standing around, but the chill of the environment was becoming unbearable.  I went back to bed and glanced at the monitor, my eyes aching, as the forehead headache resisted the rays from the screen.  I closed my eyes and listened on to the announcer, the war in Gaza dominating the headlines, then the US presidential campaigns and debate, and inevitably, the demonstrations in Kenya.  That last one got me opening my eyes, as they highlighted the Tuesday demonstrations of July 9, just yesterday, leading to this night that I hardly survived due to this shiver and headache.

I believe that I must have fallen asleep for some minutes as some point in the morning, since I would become cognizant of the ongoing news stories once more at around seven in the morning, when most of the news were once again being repeated.  It is also at this point that I gave up on staying in bed and started planning on what to do next.

I left the house at about nine on this Wednesday.  I did not have an appetite for anything, and so just left the house, not even having taken a sip of water.  Accompanied by the junior runner, we walked the 1.7km road that is under construction to the main Dagoretti road.  I registered one of personal worst times in this walk, where I would usually average 10min per km, and registered a pathetic 15min per km.  My steps ached and I was even glad that I had made it to the main road in one piece.  

This stretch of road under construction remained an eyesore.  It has been under construction since February, only to be abandoned from April to early June due to the unrelenting rains.  We had suffered the mud and impassibility of that road in all that period.  The road construction crew was now back and were layering it up with yet another level of soil, but we were not holding our breaths on this road being completed any time soon, dust and mud notwithstanding.

We got a matatu at Jambu stage, where Thigi Thigi junction butchery is located.  The very TT junction that would later entice us with intense incense of roast meat, but even then, I would not feel anything due to my lost appetite, but back to the present, I was eagerly waiting for a matatu.  We soon got in and started the drive.  Hardly two hundred metres on and the matatu came to a screech as the makanga hit the side panel loudly to beckon the driver to stop.  We stopped smack in the middle of the road as the makanga jumped out of the still moving matatu.  A lorry that was just approaching from behind hooted deafeningly as it overtook us, the force of its motion almost shaking the matatu.  The matatu then started reversing fast, but not for long….

“Wowi, Ngai!,” we heard a scream from outside as the matatu came to an abrupt stop and we heard a bang.

We were a bit confused as to what was happening.  We peered around in all directions, trying to discern what could be going on.  We could see some woman somewhere in front of the vehicle, besides the road, exclaiming while kind of closing her mouth, a gesture of fear and danger.  It took us time to figure out what was going on.

“Unakanyaga conductor?,” the woman approached the matatu, even as the once-upon-a-time makanga emerged from somewhere behind the matatu, trying to walk straight.

The woman got into the matatu and went straight to give the driver a piece of her mind, “Yani dereva, wewe unaweza tu gonga conductor?,” then she turned back to face the conductor, who was now back to the door, just about to close it, “Umeumia?”

The makanga just shrugged off the conversation and gestured an OK to the driver and soon we were zooming off towards Gichuru Secondary School.  The makanga would eventually disembark at Gikambura with a slight limp, even as the driver handed back the matatu to the driver, and the makanga handed back the reins to the makanga.  It seemed like we were operating with a bonoko driver and a bonoko makanga, but that is our life.  We did not have time to even digest the going-ons before we were forced to sit four people on every row of seats, instead of the usual three.  That is the norm on this route and the only surprise was that I was surprised that this was happening even off the rush hour of the morning and evening.

We made another slow walk from Kikuyu stage to Aga Khan clinic somewhere within Kikuyu town.  I got my token number and awaited my turn to be attended to.  My head was still aching and I was by now shivering like a leaf.  I was finally called for registration then to the triage about thirty minutes later.  The thermometer must have lit red, since the nurse ushered me immediately to the chemist to get a 500mg paracetamol tablet, the one that is dissolves in water.  I dissolved it and let it fizzle out to completion in about five minutes.  I took the saline solution.  It tasted bad, but I drained it all.  It seemed to work, since some ten minutes later, and I was now feeling the expected room temperatures and even managed to remove my two layers of jacket.

It would be another hour before I could face the doc, another thirty minutes before I would get the bloodworks for the initial tests, and yet another hour before I was to get another plebo encounter for a malaria test.

Remember that Thigi Thigi story?  I would once again be back to this junction alighting from a matatu from Kikuyu at around two in the afternoon.  The whiff of nyama choma was by this time blanketing the whole road junction, but unfortunately, I felt nothing of it.  By this time I had regained my step and was feeling generally good, though I still felt the headache, but the joint pains had subsided significantly.  I was also holding a 2-day sick off sheet at hand and was eagerly waiting to get home so that I could take a nap, having missed a whole night sleep the night before.  

The feeling last night was worse than the feeling I had as I did one of my worst runs a few days ago, on July 1.  On that day I almost did not finish the 24km run, due to how my body had almost given up on me.  I however, soldered on and did a 5min 44sec average, recording one of my worst times in the history of the distance, but just glad to have lived to tell the tale.  I have not had a run since.  Coincidentally, that run was supposed to be the monthly run, aka June international marathon, that I was forced to do in July, since June was full of demos and uncertainties.

“They did not give you any medicine?,” the junior runner would finally ask when we got home, when she realized that I had nothing to show for my trip to Aga Khan.

“Nothing was found, not even malaria.  The doc told me to take a rest and have a review on Friday.”

She was as just as perplexed as I was, having witnessed my suffering for the last eight hours.  I had to chip into the mystery as were of reassuring her that all was fine.

 “Remember that Monday rain?  The one that I told you about?”

“Yes, I remember.  You got home soaked wet”

“Yes, that one.  That was the source of all my problems!”

And, who can forget that Monday rain?  The one that rained just as I disembarked from the bus after duty.  I had been rained on like never before in my life!  The subsequent evening travel from Thogoto to Jambu on that day had been misery, as I survived a fully packed matatu, four people per row, all mostly shivering in soaked clothes as it continued to rain outside.  I did not know that it would come to this.  Come to nothing!  Not even a tablet!

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 19, 2024

Alliance Classic Run 2019 – the Elephant

Alliance Classic Run 2019 – the Elephant

I liked the various disclaimers that the organizers forced us to sign against while registering online for the second edition of the Alliance marathon to be held Saturday, May 11, 2019.

“Entry fees are not refundable under any circumstance…” read part of the long-worded disclaimer page.  In fact there was a specific link to the ‘event waiver’ page, with a 12-point declaration, most starting with “I agree to…” or “I authorize…” or “I consent…”.  In summary… you were on your own on this run.  Don’t blame, don’t blame.

This was also the marathon that dented the pocket the most so far.  At 2,500/= ($25), this was the most expensive event that I had attended ever.  The Nairobi marathon was the most expensive at 2,000/=.  However, the cause for this run was worth every cent.  The proceeds would go towards the support of education for the less fortunate students.  It was a fund-raising event for AHSEFT – the Alliance High School Endowment Fund Trust.  

But that was not the juice.  We were quite awed when we finally got the runner T-shirts.  They were good.  They really put thought and quality to the predominantly white top.  Additionally, they branded our runner numbers with our names!  Mine was branded “3078 – WWB”.  We would at some point in the run read quite some nonsensical ones.  One runner’s bib was even branded with a vehicle registration number.

Not so early

I took a matatu at about 0620hrs for the 15minute drive to Kikuyu market stage.  I had already mapped out the route and knew that it was another 2km from the Kikuyu stage to AHS, aka ‘Bush’.  I had the option of taking another matatu through the short distance and part with a pound.  My instinct told me to instead walk this short distance.  However, it is at this selfsame moment that my legs failed to carry me.

“Am I suffering a panic attack,” I asked myself as I stopped in the middle of the footpath not able to take any more step forward.  The morning chill was not making things any better.

Then… the phone rang.

“Coach, where are you?”

It was Faye on the other end of the line.  I regained mobility and was soon jogging towards Bush, where I would join Faye, Janet and Onyi.  I had expected a lot more of our team members, since this run was being held at “our territory”, but that was not to be.  The sheer harsh morning weather, the morning rains, the cold, the chill, the mud!  All these must have discouraged quite some runners… and not forgetting the cost.  

Drama?

We would soon be on warm up and would equally soon be off to the starting line to start the run.  The three anthems had been played and sung – the Kenya national, the East Africa regional and the Bush local anthem.  The crowd was not big as we gathered around the starting line at the main field, this despite the run categories being 20k, 15k, 10k and 5k.  The start of run, at the goal post of the field, was smooth, with few jostles as we headed out of the gate and onto we-do-not-know-where.  

There was no drama at the starting line like that false start at Mutuini marathon.  This one just started with a 3-2-1 and off we went.  No lead vehicle, no chase vehicle, no big-board timers, nothing.  The route official had prior to the start of the run explained the route as, “It is chalk-marked with some guides positioned on the route.  However, the basic rule is keep running without turning, until you see the chalk mark with directions.”  He had paused before crushing the message down further by, “Those running 20km should just keep running and running and running for long”

Trail running

This was my first trail run.  I soon realized that the trail run is akin a cross country run.  It was bound to have obstacles, it should have obstacles… in fact, it surely had obstacles.  We ran it mostly on dry weather roads away from the otherwise busy tarmac roads.  The dry weather roads had been waterlogged from the previous nights and that morning’s rains.  It turned out to be more slippery than I would have imagined.  We were already screeching onto our brakes by the second k, as the trail become more slippery and water logged with every passing kilometer.

We would soon get our first water point on the 5km mark.  The route was not distance-marked at all, but I had decided to digitize my analog self by having a cellphone with a runner app.  This kept me updated on the distance covered on every kilometer split.  At that point it informed me that I was done with 5km in 24min.  That was relatively fast, considering the route condition.  

Then we faced a downhill section just after that five k.  I resisted the temptation to sprint it down.  In running, you need to learn some lessons such as ‘every downhill is likely to have an uphill’.  I therefore took it easy, not knowing the route, but relying on the adage.  And… And that is exactly what happened.  Hardly 500m ahead and the downhill just ended as we made a left turn.  The discovery on that turn was a long uphill route for about a kilometer.  I was ready for this, having conserved my downhill energy.

Downfall

We kept running.  The runners had completely thinned out.  I could see about three runners ahead.  We were each separated by about 100m gap.  I did not look behind to see who was following me.  I usually do not look behind.  I kept going.  We kept going.  The route was drier on some sections, but it was generally wet and slippery.  There would be one more surprise, when we made the left turn after the 7km mark.  It is the chalk mark that directed us to this turn, which seemed to head into a private farmland.  

That dreaded turn would almost mark the ‘downfall’, literally, of this run.  This almost one-kilometer section was running through a footpath on a swampy area.  There was no way out but to reduce on the speed and step carefully on the mud.  I was doing my first trail run and this was proving to be more challenging than I had imagined.  The torture would end with a water point on the 9k mark, as we made another left turn.

It was bound to get worse, and it did at the 11k, when we faced another uphill run section for about a kilometer.  After that, the route profile remained generally flat, with the ups and downs being a bit mild.  After the 14k junction, we merged with the 10k runners as we turned right.  The route then become full of runners.  It took real effort and skill to gain distance with such a crowded road section.  

It would however get worse, when the Bushians would somehow just be found walking on the whole road from the 17k mark all the way back to the finish point inside the school.  These students had no respect for runners and we had to really jostle for space on the extreme edges of the road to get past.  I somehow managed to get past this walking multitude.  I was still relying purely on chalk mark to direct my run.  I was not yet familiar with any of the running tracks that I had used, nor did I see any familiar landmark so far.  

Memories

Then out of nowhere I managed to see the very familiar entrance road to Bush, at the Kikuyu Eye hospital stage.  This is a road that I had used in many occasions, at least once a year while attending those PTAs.  That was four years ago.  This is a road that brought memories of all those fee hikes that were slapped on us in the name of building or bus or development or motivation… or the optional library books fund amount that was compulsory to all parents.  I just shook my head as the memories brought me back to this place.  That would not last long, since I was soon at the main gate and the end of the run would beckon in another minute.

The ending was not dramatic.  Just crossing through the goal posts and finding students who would hand you a number.  They handed me number 13.  I stopped my two timers.  The analog one, which I had stopped first after crossing the line, recorded 01:38:31 - 19.93km.  The digital one recorded a “20.03km 1h:38m:37s”.  It provided a map as evidence.  

Thereafter, I would go to the tent on my immediate left where there were three desks.  I got to the one written ‘20km runners’.  There I reconfirmed that my name was on the register, watched as the student attendants crossed it out and finally get a medal branded “AHS Alliance Classic Run”.  The green lanyard was printed in black with the wordings “Alliance Classic Run 2019 20km”.  Word would soon circulate on social media that the run circuit looked like “a weird elephant with a tail”.  

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, 11-May-2019