My Run Chronicles: In The Footsteps Of Eliud Kipchoge

1818 hrs: I got home in a rush. I was determined to make the most of the evening. It had been nearly two weeks since my last run. I couldn’t miss this one again.

Casting off my work clothes, I hurriedly donned my running gear. In no time I was off to a brisk start, anxious to finish before darkness set in. It had rained all week except the previous night. That was a good sign. The trails would neither be muddy nor dusty—a perfect evening for jogging. The shorter, less adventurous routes would do for the day.

 Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. (Prov.4:26)

2km:  My legs signaled their first complaint. I was feeling heavier than usual. My breathing was getting more and more labored.

I hadn't gained weight. I don’t gain weight. Or had I?

"Must be the two inert weeks" I mumbled under my breath.

As I turned a corner, a bodaboda (motorbike taxi) guy came into view. He waved vigorously and shouted, "mkimbizi!"(runner!).

I was not sure whether it was a compliment or a mockery. I pretended not to have heard him and continued undeterred.

1840hrs: The trees cast longer and longer shadows across my path. The sun was setting right ahead of me- an orange ball of fire shimmering in the distance. As it moved majestically towards the blue hills on the horizon, the sky lit up with dazzling hues of yellow, then a tint of orange, and finally an incredible mixture of red, purple and blue. I marveled at the spectacle and silently praised God’s artistic posture. But I was soon pulled out of my reverie by the approaching darkness.

3km: The moon replaced the sun. It cast a gentle glow over the trails, but its light was insufficient to guarantee a stumble-free pace. I slowed down and kept near the well-lit residential areas. 

Soon I came across another set of bodaboda guys. "Tizi ehh?" (Exercising?) One of them shouted.

Of course, I wasn't going to stop, shake hands and give a brief. Picking up the pace, I kept on- steadfast.

Let your eyes look straight ahead, fix your gaze directly before you. (Prov.4:25)

4km: My legs became logs. Large sweat drops ran annoyingly into my eyes. I rarely sweat. Perhaps I was still warming up. Or maybe I had gained weight.

The paths took a gentle but rocky incline. I slowed to a labored trot. In the waning light, I saw three ladies walking and talking animatedly. As I huffed and puffed past them there was a momentary silence.
Then it turned to giggles.

Why do ladies giggle? I felt a little miffed.
I tried to ignore them.  It’s hard to ignore giggling ladies.
Why did God create ladies to giggle?
And why can't we ignore them?

This must be the exact opposite of what Eliud Kipchoge felt when all those women cheered him. I felt like I was having a 'Saul' moment. [p.s. a 'Saul’ moment brother, not a 'soul’ moment'.]What is a Saul moment? Read on my friend.

When the men were returning home after David had heroically killed (Goliath), the women came out from all the towns of Israel to meet King Saul with singing and dancing, with joyful songs and with tambourines and lutes. As they danced, they sang:
"Saul has slain his thousands,
[This is me]
and David his tens of thousands." [This is Eliud Kipchoge]

Saul was very angry; this refrain displeased him greatly. “They have credited David with tens of thousands,” he thought, “but me with only thousands. (1Sam.18:6-8a)

Was it my plodding pace or was it my posture? I've been told it's comical- My posture that is.
Anyway, I did what every man should do in such circumstances. I pretended (to myself) to ignore them completely and then, with the stiffest of mental efforts, put the nagging thoughts behind me.

I was almost at the steepest point of the incline. A sense of determination washed over me. The blessed adrenaline was kicking in. I was going to conquer this incline. It would be full tilt to the top.

Man against nature.

Feet on gravel.

Wow!

This was going to be a great run.

But as I approached the zenith, I thought that I heard footsteps behind me.
" Sasa unakimbia aje hapo?" ("Why are you running like that?") A sarcastic female voice inquired.

One of the girls, it seems, had decided that giggling alone wouldn't do. So, she ran after me and caught up (quite easily I guessed).

She had a distinctly Eliud Kipchoge accent so I knew immediately that I couldn't ignore her by outrunning her.

"So you think I am a joke?" I seethed between half breaths.

"Stop joking and run" (please read this in Kalenjin accent to get its full import). 

"I have been running for six km now." I protested. 

"Hiyo, hata usiseme" (it is too little, don't even mention it).

I was now beyond miffed. 

But just as I was about to eat humble pie, a hitherto lost memory floated before my eyes.

I remembered that I had only recently been told about my great, great-grandmother. She was of 'Nandi' blood. That was close enough to Eliud Kipchoge. 

I also remembered the day that I saw the marathon legend across a mini-market aisle in Eldoret.

"Eliud!" I shouted.

He looked up and waved.

At the counter, we met again.

He shook my hand and smiled.

I thought of asking for a selfie. For posterity and for boasting to my friends waiting in the car and those still posting on Facebook.

He looked like he was expecting a selfie.

I killed the thought.

"It is bad manners to take selfies with strangers," I thought.

My paternal side also boasted a long line of formidable fighters. My own father, legend has it, that he killed a ‘mbithi’ (wild boar) with his bare hands. Heck, I had my mother's Nandi blood, Eliud Kipchoge's handshake and a lineage of fighters on my side. The warrior blood boiled within me.

If you can't beat 'em, challenge them to a proper fight! I resolved.
I went for the nuclear option.

"I am doing 15-18 km today, why don't you join me?" I proposed.
"I used to do 25-40 km" she countered. But even then, the tone of her voice gave her away. I knew that I had won the sparring match.
"Lakini nili beat" (find a Nairobian to translate for you this).

She then gave me some unsolicited advice about not taking milky tea if I wanted to become a proper athlete. And then just as mysteriously as she had come up, she slinked off into the darkness. 

It had been a brief but intense skirmish. My ancestors would have been proud.

Therefore, I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. 1 Corinthians 9:26

1915hrs and almost 9 km: I came across an old path and decided to re-explore it. Somehow, I had forgotten the idea of a short, well-lit run. 
10 km: A dark and lonely trail welcomed me. I could barely see more than a few steps ahead. My legs were literally commanding me to stop but my breathing was easier, so I kept on. The corner home would be coming up at any moment.
11 km: I suddenly realized that I had missed the corner and was going back the same way I had come. Exhaustion was setting in. My legs were by then, not very different from two heavy logs forcibly carried along.
12km. I stumbled and fell, hands and knees into some kind of muck.

"Surely legs, obey thy master!" I growled in the darkness.
It was no place to mop about. I got up and continued.

2030hrs: I saw in the distance the distinctively cheerful lights of home. In the dark, I smiled to no one in particular, raised my hands high above my head, and waved energetically to imaginary crowds. Eliud Kipchoge would have been proud of my waving. The pedometer chimed one last time and promptly reminded me that I had been moving at less than a third of the great champion’s speed. 

Home sweet home.

    Youths will become tired and weary,

    young men will certainly stumble;

    but those who hope in the Lord

    will renew their strength;

    they will fly up on wings like eagles;

    they will run and not be tired;

    they will walk and not be weary. Isaiah 40:30-31

 Prologue

I got home tired, dirty but happy.

Mrs. gave me a once-over and shook her head.

“I got lost,” I said.

“Nothing new in that” she replied candidly.

The children laughed knowingly.

“Go and take a bath” Mrs. cajoled.

I went away.

No shower just yet.

I was tired.

I was happy.