Sorry for the delay between posts. The internet connection had been down, my whole last week in Kenya. I am actually in the US now, but will fill in a few posts that I wrote before I left.
It is going to be very difficult to transition back into 'just a guy out running' when I get back to the States. I have touched on the fact that I get noticed everywhere I travel, but not the specific reactions on daily runs. I get chased on every single outing. I can't honestly think of a single workout, where I have not turned to see a pack of giggling school children tearing after me. This usually occurs on my solo runs, when I am not flanked by a crew of elite runners.
I am talking Beatles and Rolling Stones chased. It's hard to stay 100% focused, when you have roughly twenty five school girls trailing me, while laughing their heads off. Even more disconcerting, is the fact that often the lead pursuant lasts by my side for minutes. Rocking what amounts to a traditional catholic school uniform, with or without shoes, which are irrelevant because the school shoes probably hinder performance. I've had to swallow my pride on numerous occasions, when running what I deemed to be a brisk pace, but proves to be no bother for a gaggle of ten year-olds. Don't worry Mom. I don't pull a Mr. Macho, and drop the hammer on a bunch of kids, more likely because of the deep set fear that I might not be able to drop them! I usually just continue about my pace, until even the stubborn drop off. But not without a signature see ya gesture of both arms spread outward, in a praying motion, to say 'Is that all you got?'
Do alarm clocks rule, I mean ruin, your peace every single morning? Waking up is actually quite easy for me. Forgive me, for I am just a city kid, and anything related to animal husbandry is completely foreign. Roosters actually can't contain their excitement until dawn, opposite to common cartoon logic. No, they start roughly at 2 AM and repeat with gusto on the hour, until what ever time it is chickens go sleep. So I have woken up about three times every morning, before actually planning on waking up. The pessimist in me says, "Aww I hate roosters, ruining my sleep everyday." I have gained exceptional perspective on this trip. Now I say, "Sweet! I get to stay in bed for a whole extra 3 hours!" So waking up is not too hard to do.
Training:
I know that I have kept harping on how I can feel the marked improvement at altitude, but I can feel the ease of each run still developing. That said, I am still getting housed on my fartlek workouts. I had not been able to get a straight answer concerning run distances earlier on, so I stopped asking the guys. On Thursday, I found out that our previous fartlek workout, which took a total of 56 minutes to complete, spanned about 18km (a little bit longer than 11mi). I rolled in about 3 minutes after the lead pack, and tried to do some mental math, but couldn't fathom how fast the recovery portions were being run. No wonder I am getting dropped every single workout. The recovery pace is below 5:30/mi pace! At least I roughly know my way around, and can wander back towards the direction of home if stranded.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Shock and Awe
I am not talking about another US offensive. Most of my more memorable moments have involved complete and utter baffling scenarios. Here are some of the more noteworthy instances.
Last week, I visited the home of my roommate, Reuben. His family lives way out in the sticks, makes Kapsabet look like NYC. We stepped off the matatu into a desolate looking area, in the Rift Valley region. He said that we would have to take a bike taxi to the house. We spotted one boda-boda, but had to track down the owner of the bike. This is not India, so I don't plan on riding triples on this bike, for an unknown distance. I don't think the rider really was eager for that option either.
After some haggling, we secured another bike, and began to walk them down a path. We walked for near 10min. I almost said, " Hey I am not paying for you to escort me, while walking your bike next to me." Finally I hopped on the back of the bike, and Reuben actually rode someone else's acquired bike, behind us. I'm glad I kept my mouth shut, because the ride took about 25 min through arid farms, over rough rutted dirt roads. Once we finally arrived, Reuben arranged to keep the one bike, and the bike taxi guy left back to the highway. I kinda felt stranded, as the guy had clearly refused to come back, all the way out here in two hours.
The family shamba, farm, was a model of efficiency and obvious diligence. Reuben's father, is an absolute character. If I were to describe him, it would be a more youthful Kenyan version of Mr. Furley (Don Knotts to everyone in my generation and younger), from Three's Company. We ate a great meal of chicken and mashed potatoes. Then we took a tour of the farm, and he showed me all the various crops he was growing. Reuben showed me the mud-walled home, that he built himself.
The memorable part came when it was time to leave. I had recovered from my morning run sufficiently and felt adventurous. I told Reuben that he could ride on the back of the borrowed bike, while I pedaled us back to the road. This bike was not fully equipped for riders, but it did have a metal cage on the back for goods. Reuben agreed, and I mounted the bike. Bikes in Kenya do not come in sizes, and the only size would equate to a maybe 61cm frame size (I ride a 58cm bike which is big). The bike also weighed at least 50lbs, due to the various steel mountings all over the bike.
I straddled the bike and took a few pedal strokes and Reuben took a running start and hopped on the back of the bike. Immediately I began to swerve under his weight, he is about my size. We took a few big correction swings, where I swore we were going to bite it, but I got it under control. Now back home I ride a single speed bike around town and to work. Once I got the bike under my control, I wanted to test my boda-boda skills. Within 400yds., I was tearing down the road at a breakneck pace(pun intended). The wind muffled most of Reuben's screams, not sure if it was terror or laughter. Often I barely had time to make last minute corrections, for turns. The bike handled like a runaway Buick, without power steering. So many times, I came extremely close to dumping the entire bike and included riders. As we raced through the country side, I yelled at sheep, cows, children to clear a path for the out of control transport. The only reaction we received from farmers, working their fields, was dropped jaws and unbelieving stares. I am pretty sure a white guy, carrying a Kenyan guy, while riding a bike at ludicrous speeds, is not an everyday occurrence in those parts. We made it back to the starting point in roughly 7 minutes! Yeah we had a bit of downhill to our advantage, but Reuben assured me that was the fastest he had ever seen one those bike move. We actually didn't have a planned dismount, just an emergency bail next to a barbed wire fence, just before crashing down some rocks.
The second encounter, was filled with shock on my side. About six weeks ago, before my family sent me a whole collection of books, I checked out the local library. It is situated on the road, between my house and town. I decided to stop by one day, to check out what they had to offer. This is not an ordinary American style library.
The compound has a menacing fence surrounding it, and A GUARD CARRYING AN AUTOMATIC RIFLE! I meekly approached the guy, and said I just wanted to check the place out. He told me that I had to check my backpack with him. I squinted and tried to figure if this was legit. I told him, "I'm just going in for a few minutes and will be back out." He replied, still holding the rifle, "These are the regulations and you must leave your bag with me." Rifle trumps all persistence.
The library is separated into two buildings, children and adult books (yes I understand how that sounds). I find the head librarian at the main counter. He asks me why I am here. I tell him that I am just staying around here for a few months and might want to come here and read or even check out a book. He gave me a grave look, and started to look me over. Do I look like an international paperback book thief? Because this guy sure gave the impression that I would fit the bill of such a criminal.
He walked behind the desk and pulled out a form, that I would have to fill out. He told me that I would have to get a local to vouch for me, in case I skipped town on some fees. On top of that I had to get that person's national security ID number and even then this person would be checked out and had to be in good standing within the community. I said to him, "Do I really need to do all this, even if I just want to read here?" He didn't flinch and said, "Yes. Yes you do no exceptions." I took the form and tried to give the impression that 'yeah of course everyone has to pass the Homeland Security background check in US before they can read the next Stephen King book.'
Thankfully, I received a shipment of about ten books, from the family in California, which have held me over this entire time. This trip has been a great eye-opener, in so many ways. I return home in ten days and will post many pictures, once I get to a stable internet connection. Thanks to everyone who has posted comments, I really appreciate it and it helps with homesickness.
Training:
I am just hitting my last big week of training this week, before I come back down into a taper. I will be running a half marathon about a week after I arrive home. The rain has slowly backed off, which has allowed the roads to become more conducive to training.
I have been counting down the amount of hard workouts, that I have left in Kenya. I only have one of each variety left, but a little sad because I have finally began to hold my own. I can't wait to see what the effects of the altitude and dedicated training, will have once I return to sea level in Charleston.
Hope all is well in the states.
Last week, I visited the home of my roommate, Reuben. His family lives way out in the sticks, makes Kapsabet look like NYC. We stepped off the matatu into a desolate looking area, in the Rift Valley region. He said that we would have to take a bike taxi to the house. We spotted one boda-boda, but had to track down the owner of the bike. This is not India, so I don't plan on riding triples on this bike, for an unknown distance. I don't think the rider really was eager for that option either.
After some haggling, we secured another bike, and began to walk them down a path. We walked for near 10min. I almost said, " Hey I am not paying for you to escort me, while walking your bike next to me." Finally I hopped on the back of the bike, and Reuben actually rode someone else's acquired bike, behind us. I'm glad I kept my mouth shut, because the ride took about 25 min through arid farms, over rough rutted dirt roads. Once we finally arrived, Reuben arranged to keep the one bike, and the bike taxi guy left back to the highway. I kinda felt stranded, as the guy had clearly refused to come back, all the way out here in two hours.
The family shamba, farm, was a model of efficiency and obvious diligence. Reuben's father, is an absolute character. If I were to describe him, it would be a more youthful Kenyan version of Mr. Furley (Don Knotts to everyone in my generation and younger), from Three's Company. We ate a great meal of chicken and mashed potatoes. Then we took a tour of the farm, and he showed me all the various crops he was growing. Reuben showed me the mud-walled home, that he built himself.
The memorable part came when it was time to leave. I had recovered from my morning run sufficiently and felt adventurous. I told Reuben that he could ride on the back of the borrowed bike, while I pedaled us back to the road. This bike was not fully equipped for riders, but it did have a metal cage on the back for goods. Reuben agreed, and I mounted the bike. Bikes in Kenya do not come in sizes, and the only size would equate to a maybe 61cm frame size (I ride a 58cm bike which is big). The bike also weighed at least 50lbs, due to the various steel mountings all over the bike.
I straddled the bike and took a few pedal strokes and Reuben took a running start and hopped on the back of the bike. Immediately I began to swerve under his weight, he is about my size. We took a few big correction swings, where I swore we were going to bite it, but I got it under control. Now back home I ride a single speed bike around town and to work. Once I got the bike under my control, I wanted to test my boda-boda skills. Within 400yds., I was tearing down the road at a breakneck pace(pun intended). The wind muffled most of Reuben's screams, not sure if it was terror or laughter. Often I barely had time to make last minute corrections, for turns. The bike handled like a runaway Buick, without power steering. So many times, I came extremely close to dumping the entire bike and included riders. As we raced through the country side, I yelled at sheep, cows, children to clear a path for the out of control transport. The only reaction we received from farmers, working their fields, was dropped jaws and unbelieving stares. I am pretty sure a white guy, carrying a Kenyan guy, while riding a bike at ludicrous speeds, is not an everyday occurrence in those parts. We made it back to the starting point in roughly 7 minutes! Yeah we had a bit of downhill to our advantage, but Reuben assured me that was the fastest he had ever seen one those bike move. We actually didn't have a planned dismount, just an emergency bail next to a barbed wire fence, just before crashing down some rocks.
The second encounter, was filled with shock on my side. About six weeks ago, before my family sent me a whole collection of books, I checked out the local library. It is situated on the road, between my house and town. I decided to stop by one day, to check out what they had to offer. This is not an ordinary American style library.
The compound has a menacing fence surrounding it, and A GUARD CARRYING AN AUTOMATIC RIFLE! I meekly approached the guy, and said I just wanted to check the place out. He told me that I had to check my backpack with him. I squinted and tried to figure if this was legit. I told him, "I'm just going in for a few minutes and will be back out." He replied, still holding the rifle, "These are the regulations and you must leave your bag with me." Rifle trumps all persistence.
The library is separated into two buildings, children and adult books (yes I understand how that sounds). I find the head librarian at the main counter. He asks me why I am here. I tell him that I am just staying around here for a few months and might want to come here and read or even check out a book. He gave me a grave look, and started to look me over. Do I look like an international paperback book thief? Because this guy sure gave the impression that I would fit the bill of such a criminal.
He walked behind the desk and pulled out a form, that I would have to fill out. He told me that I would have to get a local to vouch for me, in case I skipped town on some fees. On top of that I had to get that person's national security ID number and even then this person would be checked out and had to be in good standing within the community. I said to him, "Do I really need to do all this, even if I just want to read here?" He didn't flinch and said, "Yes. Yes you do no exceptions." I took the form and tried to give the impression that 'yeah of course everyone has to pass the Homeland Security background check in US before they can read the next Stephen King book.'
Thankfully, I received a shipment of about ten books, from the family in California, which have held me over this entire time. This trip has been a great eye-opener, in so many ways. I return home in ten days and will post many pictures, once I get to a stable internet connection. Thanks to everyone who has posted comments, I really appreciate it and it helps with homesickness.
Training:
I am just hitting my last big week of training this week, before I come back down into a taper. I will be running a half marathon about a week after I arrive home. The rain has slowly backed off, which has allowed the roads to become more conducive to training.
I have been counting down the amount of hard workouts, that I have left in Kenya. I only have one of each variety left, but a little sad because I have finally began to hold my own. I can't wait to see what the effects of the altitude and dedicated training, will have once I return to sea level in Charleston.
Hope all is well in the states.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
No Mail for You! NEXT!!!!!!!
It is nice to know that some American staples have crossed international borders. For instance, I have received a few packages, from the wife and family during my time here. The average travel time of each package is roughly two weeks. Which is not too bad, considering how far out in the country I am staying.
Let me tell you about the Kapsabet Post Office. I was fortunate enough, when I first arrived to meet the Postmaster, in Kapsabet. I had inquired with him, how I should I direct mail from the States, to eventually end up in my possession. He said, " Just put, Attn: Postmaster, your name and ph# below, and I will call you when it arrives." I was blown away, to get such first class service without having to sign up for anything special.
Two weeks later, I get a phone call from the Postmaster, alerting me that a parcel has arrived for me. Here is where it becomes a slice of home. That was the last phone notice I received. Since then I have had maybe four other packages sent my way. I do not deal with the Postmaster, and hadn't seen him since my first week in town. My point of contact is now a United States Postal Service clone, or drone you might say.
Here is our routine. "Hi, I would like to see if you have any packages for Neil McDonagh." The reply, "Do have identification?" "No, I guess I will come back tomorrow." The next day, I bring proper ID and they say there is no package for me. I happen to be at the track the following morning, and since it is on the way, I stop into the Post Office. I ask the same clerk, if there are any packages for me. "Do you have ID?" I say, "But I just showed it yesterday to you, don't you remember me?" Honestly at that point, I hadn't seen another white person in two weeks. I found it highly unlikely, that I may have a body double roaming the streets without my knowledge. She of course holds her ground, and deadpans me, " You need identification."
This lady really does not like me. Do I know why? No. Although I am pretty sure that whatever list I have landed on, is not short. The only thing I can compare our interactions for the past eight weeks, is a direct mirror of, Jerry and Newman, from Seinfeld.
I enter the post office.
"Helllllooooo Bernice."
"Hello Neeeeil."
ID through the metal, bars. Bernice disappears with great regret, and without haste. She always disappears for between a 10-30 sec. count, which I presume is enough time to lean against a wall and possibly pick a piece of lunch lodged between a tooth. Re-enters stage right, and my ID is promptly thrown back on the counter, as she walks back to her desk. No explanation, or maybe try again tomorrow salutation. This lady really does not like, which is why I always pay my customs fee in the fashion of the movie, Big. A hodgepodge of bills and coins in no order or reason. I just feign ignorance that I do not understand the intricacies of the Kenyan shilling.
She has been really stonewalling me with my last package. She has resorted to telling me to go to some outside window, around the back of the building. This window is manned by what seems to be a janitor, who seems baffled by my request, notably the English part of it. Next time I refuse to go to the back window, and she takes less than a half-hearted look. I am steamed, because I am really looking forward to this last package.
Jackpot! Two days ago, I am back at the teller window, but this time I have the ace up my sleeve. I am chatting with my buddy, the Postmaster. I tell him I have been waiting a while on my last package. He makes a face, and glares at Bernice. I hand her my SC Driver's license, with a big smile. She returns after a minute or two, with my package and maybe four other US Mail priority boxes, which look to have been punted from USA to Kenya. As I am filling out the required forms, in front of the Postmaster, I can't help but revel in the situation. As I get up to leave, the Postmaster tells me to drop by and say goodbye. I assure him that of course I would. I also assure Bernice that I would come by to say goodbye to her for the last time, with a huge smile, volleyed back with an equally forced grin. Some things really aren't that different.
Training:
The most notable thing over the past few weeks have been the fartlek workouts, that I have been joining. The group is usually in the range of thirty guys. They argue about the scheduled plan for the workout, which I always excuse myself from, because I know I am of no concern. When members of your group were pace-makers for Haile G's WR marathon a few weeks ago in Berlin, you realize that "easy" is a whole different ballgame.
I usually get dropped somewhere on the 2nd or 3rd rep. Of course, yesterday's workout was no different. The workouts span almost an hour by themselves. Yesterday's workout consisted of 3min hard with 1 min jog recovery (not a jog by the way, just not all out) repeated eighteen times! The workout covered roughly 18km. These workouts kill me. I also realize that fartlek workouts have been the weakest link in my training routine, and it really shows. I just hold my ground and finish the workouts and try and keep the pack in sight, up on the yonder hills.
*Postal Employee names have been changed, but if you go there, it will not be hard to find the characters mentioned.
Let me tell you about the Kapsabet Post Office. I was fortunate enough, when I first arrived to meet the Postmaster, in Kapsabet. I had inquired with him, how I should I direct mail from the States, to eventually end up in my possession. He said, " Just put, Attn: Postmaster, your name and ph# below, and I will call you when it arrives." I was blown away, to get such first class service without having to sign up for anything special.
Two weeks later, I get a phone call from the Postmaster, alerting me that a parcel has arrived for me. Here is where it becomes a slice of home. That was the last phone notice I received. Since then I have had maybe four other packages sent my way. I do not deal with the Postmaster, and hadn't seen him since my first week in town. My point of contact is now a United States Postal Service clone, or drone you might say.
Here is our routine. "Hi, I would like to see if you have any packages for Neil McDonagh." The reply, "Do have identification?" "No, I guess I will come back tomorrow." The next day, I bring proper ID and they say there is no package for me. I happen to be at the track the following morning, and since it is on the way, I stop into the Post Office. I ask the same clerk, if there are any packages for me. "Do you have ID?" I say, "But I just showed it yesterday to you, don't you remember me?" Honestly at that point, I hadn't seen another white person in two weeks. I found it highly unlikely, that I may have a body double roaming the streets without my knowledge. She of course holds her ground, and deadpans me, " You need identification."
This lady really does not like me. Do I know why? No. Although I am pretty sure that whatever list I have landed on, is not short. The only thing I can compare our interactions for the past eight weeks, is a direct mirror of, Jerry and Newman, from Seinfeld.
I enter the post office.
"Helllllooooo Bernice."
"Hello Neeeeil."
ID through the metal, bars. Bernice disappears with great regret, and without haste. She always disappears for between a 10-30 sec. count, which I presume is enough time to lean against a wall and possibly pick a piece of lunch lodged between a tooth. Re-enters stage right, and my ID is promptly thrown back on the counter, as she walks back to her desk. No explanation, or maybe try again tomorrow salutation. This lady really does not like, which is why I always pay my customs fee in the fashion of the movie, Big. A hodgepodge of bills and coins in no order or reason. I just feign ignorance that I do not understand the intricacies of the Kenyan shilling.
She has been really stonewalling me with my last package. She has resorted to telling me to go to some outside window, around the back of the building. This window is manned by what seems to be a janitor, who seems baffled by my request, notably the English part of it. Next time I refuse to go to the back window, and she takes less than a half-hearted look. I am steamed, because I am really looking forward to this last package.
Jackpot! Two days ago, I am back at the teller window, but this time I have the ace up my sleeve. I am chatting with my buddy, the Postmaster. I tell him I have been waiting a while on my last package. He makes a face, and glares at Bernice. I hand her my SC Driver's license, with a big smile. She returns after a minute or two, with my package and maybe four other US Mail priority boxes, which look to have been punted from USA to Kenya. As I am filling out the required forms, in front of the Postmaster, I can't help but revel in the situation. As I get up to leave, the Postmaster tells me to drop by and say goodbye. I assure him that of course I would. I also assure Bernice that I would come by to say goodbye to her for the last time, with a huge smile, volleyed back with an equally forced grin. Some things really aren't that different.
Training:
The most notable thing over the past few weeks have been the fartlek workouts, that I have been joining. The group is usually in the range of thirty guys. They argue about the scheduled plan for the workout, which I always excuse myself from, because I know I am of no concern. When members of your group were pace-makers for Haile G's WR marathon a few weeks ago in Berlin, you realize that "easy" is a whole different ballgame.
I usually get dropped somewhere on the 2nd or 3rd rep. Of course, yesterday's workout was no different. The workouts span almost an hour by themselves. Yesterday's workout consisted of 3min hard with 1 min jog recovery (not a jog by the way, just not all out) repeated eighteen times! The workout covered roughly 18km. These workouts kill me. I also realize that fartlek workouts have been the weakest link in my training routine, and it really shows. I just hold my ground and finish the workouts and try and keep the pack in sight, up on the yonder hills.
*Postal Employee names have been changed, but if you go there, it will not be hard to find the characters mentioned.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Waffle House, Kenya
After church, I usually head into town, to get my fill of emails and blog postings. Church here runs from anywhere around 90min to maybe 3hrs, depending on how much the guest preacher has on his chest. By the time I make my way out of church, my breakfast of buttered wheat bread, has began to fade leading to a hungry tummy. Thankfully a few hotels (restaurants) are open on Sundays.
Eating at most establishments is an enjoyable experience. If all tables are spoken for, just sit down at any one that has an open seat. No one cares, and a waiter will be with you shortly. When I say shortly, I mean that there will be a guy standing over you in 30 seconds. He will ask you what you want, because most people have made up their minds before they enter I guess. If you ask for some time, that translates to exactly one minute. So honestly you should think about what you want before you enter. On Sundays, I usually like to order, Yai fry chapati, which is 2 fried eggs rolled up pigs in a blanket style, by two big chapatis. Chapatis are a cousin of the pita and tortilla, being sweeter than the tortilla and lacking the pouch ability of a pita. Basically, they are tasty, that's it.
The waiter will most likely not look at you or write down your order. He will repeat the same process to about three more tables, before he returns to the kitchen. Then yelling, Waffle House style, commences, and you are convinced that your meal is being made. Sometimes it takes a few tries before you hit on something the kitchen has made, or is willing to make that day. Beaten, a few times I have asked, "Ok,.....What is ready now?" I have been amazed that my orders always come out correct. The only translation issue has been, what I viewed as the international 'Gimme the bill' motion, of air handwriting. Over here that means, "Bring me some more tea please."
Training
I have been training pretty hard, this past week. I can feel my fitness gaining, despite the daily heavy rains trying to hamper every run. I joined into a big fartlek run on Thursday. Determined to not make any bonehead watch mistakes, like last time, I just used my stopwatch plain and simple.
The workout consisted of : 1min/1minRest/2/1R/3/1R/4/2R/5/2R/6/2R/5/2R/4/2R/3/1R/2/1R/1/done probably collapse
As usual I was dropped by the 3 min portion, but surprised that some other guys were behind me! At the 6min mark I had finally caught another straggler, thankfully because I was thoroughly lost. We ran together hard, until at the final 2min repeat, he dashed off into a maize field. No doubt to answer an urgent call from nature. I finished the workout very strong, and was very pleased with the outcome. I finally hooked up with the main group, for a 35 min cool down back home.
Sadly , I have been doing some of my training alone, because I just can't pull myself to join some of the kamikaze sessions. I wish I could, but I just see only burnout and a flaming wreckage of legs. I have a ticket back to the USA, these guys are fighting for one.
Hope everyone is doing back home.
Eating at most establishments is an enjoyable experience. If all tables are spoken for, just sit down at any one that has an open seat. No one cares, and a waiter will be with you shortly. When I say shortly, I mean that there will be a guy standing over you in 30 seconds. He will ask you what you want, because most people have made up their minds before they enter I guess. If you ask for some time, that translates to exactly one minute. So honestly you should think about what you want before you enter. On Sundays, I usually like to order, Yai fry chapati, which is 2 fried eggs rolled up pigs in a blanket style, by two big chapatis. Chapatis are a cousin of the pita and tortilla, being sweeter than the tortilla and lacking the pouch ability of a pita. Basically, they are tasty, that's it.
The waiter will most likely not look at you or write down your order. He will repeat the same process to about three more tables, before he returns to the kitchen. Then yelling, Waffle House style, commences, and you are convinced that your meal is being made. Sometimes it takes a few tries before you hit on something the kitchen has made, or is willing to make that day. Beaten, a few times I have asked, "Ok,.....What is ready now?" I have been amazed that my orders always come out correct. The only translation issue has been, what I viewed as the international 'Gimme the bill' motion, of air handwriting. Over here that means, "Bring me some more tea please."
Training
I have been training pretty hard, this past week. I can feel my fitness gaining, despite the daily heavy rains trying to hamper every run. I joined into a big fartlek run on Thursday. Determined to not make any bonehead watch mistakes, like last time, I just used my stopwatch plain and simple.
The workout consisted of : 1min/1minRest/2/1R/3/1R/4/2R/5/2R/6/2R/5/2R/4/2R/3/1R/2/1R/1/done probably collapse
As usual I was dropped by the 3 min portion, but surprised that some other guys were behind me! At the 6min mark I had finally caught another straggler, thankfully because I was thoroughly lost. We ran together hard, until at the final 2min repeat, he dashed off into a maize field. No doubt to answer an urgent call from nature. I finished the workout very strong, and was very pleased with the outcome. I finally hooked up with the main group, for a 35 min cool down back home.
Sadly , I have been doing some of my training alone, because I just can't pull myself to join some of the kamikaze sessions. I wish I could, but I just see only burnout and a flaming wreckage of legs. I have a ticket back to the USA, these guys are fighting for one.
Hope everyone is doing back home.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Tour de Kapsabet
Lately I have been taking advantage of the bike taxis in town. They wait around the market area, near our house, which is about 2 km outside of Kapsabet. The ride is all downhill, and avoids the rider from spending about 20 minutes of their time walking on the side of the road. The ride costs 10 shillings (about 12 cents USD), so in my eyes, not a bad deal.
What is a bike taxi? Well, it's a single speed dutch looking black bike, with a pad behind the "driver" and a little set of min-handlebars attached to the back of his seatpost. I had avoided taking rides with these guys, for about 7 weeks. Mainly, because I didn't think they were particularly safe, and I enjoyed the walk into town, most days. I have begun to head into town around 7AM, a few days per week, to benefit from the only time when the internet connection is bearable. On those days, I usually postpone my run until maybe 10 AM or so.
Just like everyone else, I have rationalized why I am not being 100% lazy, by riding the bike taxi, or boda-boda as they are called here. I see it as a way to avoid breaking a sweat on my way into town, and usually walk back. The ride itself is not bad, but every bike I get on, the mini-handlebars are cocked a little bit off center. What does that matter? Well it matters a lot, because I can't see ahead of me and it makes for a sensation that I am about to careen off the shoulder of the road into some thorny brush. The riders are decked out in anything, as long as it would never be considered for a rigorous athletic job. My past two drivers, have been wearing sportcoats, and each seems to make light that I am far heavier than their average passenger. If I feel that is true, or the guy just plain weak, then I tip him an extra 10 shillings.
Training:
Training has been going smoothly, and I can see the improvement almost daily. On the hill routes, I climb without excising a portion of my lungs. During my recent track workouts, I have been able to finish strong and possibly hold a brief conversation, if absolutely necessary. I am doing double runs on my hard days, and usually only single runs when I run longer than 1hr 15 min.
With that said, I am looking forward to dropping out of the altitude, and getting my fair share of oxygen again.
Hope all is well in the States.
Neil
What is a bike taxi? Well, it's a single speed dutch looking black bike, with a pad behind the "driver" and a little set of min-handlebars attached to the back of his seatpost. I had avoided taking rides with these guys, for about 7 weeks. Mainly, because I didn't think they were particularly safe, and I enjoyed the walk into town, most days. I have begun to head into town around 7AM, a few days per week, to benefit from the only time when the internet connection is bearable. On those days, I usually postpone my run until maybe 10 AM or so.
Just like everyone else, I have rationalized why I am not being 100% lazy, by riding the bike taxi, or boda-boda as they are called here. I see it as a way to avoid breaking a sweat on my way into town, and usually walk back. The ride itself is not bad, but every bike I get on, the mini-handlebars are cocked a little bit off center. What does that matter? Well it matters a lot, because I can't see ahead of me and it makes for a sensation that I am about to careen off the shoulder of the road into some thorny brush. The riders are decked out in anything, as long as it would never be considered for a rigorous athletic job. My past two drivers, have been wearing sportcoats, and each seems to make light that I am far heavier than their average passenger. If I feel that is true, or the guy just plain weak, then I tip him an extra 10 shillings.
Training:
Training has been going smoothly, and I can see the improvement almost daily. On the hill routes, I climb without excising a portion of my lungs. During my recent track workouts, I have been able to finish strong and possibly hold a brief conversation, if absolutely necessary. I am doing double runs on my hard days, and usually only single runs when I run longer than 1hr 15 min.
With that said, I am looking forward to dropping out of the altitude, and getting my fair share of oxygen again.
Hope all is well in the States.
Neil
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Do the Bungei Boogie!
I had the privilege of attending the Wilfred Bungei, homecoming celebration yesterday. The event lasted all day long. Following a long motorcade procession into Kapsabet, there was a unveiling of 'Wilfred Bungei Street' and a tree was planted. I had hopped into the back of a pickup truck, with some buddies, and after a few hours of waiting the caravan headed to the Bungei home. People were pouring in from all over the countryside, on foot and wheeled transportation.
I was blown away by the crowd, that had already assembled. We quickly departed vehicle and made our way down the hill, to the main area. Wilfred's home lies about roughly 5mi outside of Kapsabet, in a very rural farming region.
(Here is just a small snap of the crowd assembled. I would estimate the size of the crowd between eight and ten thousand.)
(Wilfred getting served cake, by a lady. Bronze and silver medalists, Alfred Kirwa and Janeth Jepkosgei stand behind.)
(Wilfred waiting to be last called, among all present Olympians.)
My neighbor apparently used to be my neighbor in S. Carolina!
Scrubbin' the red dirt off my shoes, on a Sunday afternoon.
Matatu driver fixing a flat in, no lie, under 5 minutes.
After the 10k race. This guy competed too, I think he is Ghandi's older brother.
Where's Waldo? Amid the confusion before the 10k race.
If you drink tea, in England or the USA, I have rubbed my bare hands all over it.
Disturbing find at the local grocer.
I was blown away by the crowd, that had already assembled. We quickly departed vehicle and made our way down the hill, to the main area. Wilfred's home lies about roughly 5mi outside of Kapsabet, in a very rural farming region.
(Here is just a small snap of the crowd assembled. I would estimate the size of the crowd between eight and ten thousand.)
Quickly we are whisked under some ropes and across the main open part of the field, towards a tent with some chairs set up. I asked my buddies, " Why do we get to sit here, do you know Wilfred personally?" They laughed and told me that it was because of me. Then I took stock and looked around. Yup, only white dude around. I guess they thought I was some sort of big hotshot. Anyone could make that mistake when seeing me in shorts and a dirty backpack stroll up to the velvet ropes.
There were tons of speeches, and Wilfred didn't make his appearance for over 2 hours. In Kenya, a microphone is a dangerous thing. Be prepared for a long haul once the speeches commence, because everyone gets a shot and they are making the best of it. If you once were the chairman of the local Goatherder's Union Local 789, then you get to rock the mike for up to 45 minutes.
Some workers soon came over to our VIP tent and brought us all Cokes, to quench our thirst. About 20 minutes later, a staffer approached me and told me "You must come with me." Of course my American mind began to race, "Well you had a good run, and they have found out you are a nobody." Nope. I guess some people had become worried, that I was not fed yet, and quickly escorted my friends and I to a gated compound. This compound happened to be Wilfred's personal house, and there was ample security outside, to keep the riff-raff out. There was a huge buffet and a bull had been slaughtered, for the party. After receiving our grub, I looked for a seat under one of the awnings. Again, a grave-faced staffer grabs my arm, and I am escorted inside the home. It sure looked like the home of an Olympic gold medalist, and there were hordes of high class folks inside. The staffer took us past a curtained partition and we were seated at the dining room, to enjoy our meals. Attendants frequently brought us sodas of our choice, and generally handled any requests.
I began to realize that, "Well hey, if that's the way it's going to be!" We excused ourselves from the home, after finishing the tasty meal, and returned to the main event festivities. I had been snapping photos the entire time, and figured that just like the press photographers, the roped boundary did not apply to me. Sure enough I was right. No one batted an eye when I walked to the center of the festivities and snapped away to my delight.
The highlight of the ceremony, was the introduction of every person in attendance, who had competed in any Olympics. The names read off, was like the reading the All-Time World Record Holders' list. Speaking of world record holders, I caught a ride back into town, from former WR holder, Moses Kiptanui. With about ten other guys, we piled in the back bed of his Land Cruiser 4x4 pickup truck. Moses seems to do everything in life fast. That includes driving down crowded dirt roads, simulating Rally-Car driving tactics. Honestly I think he was driving 80 mph, judging by the amount of dust and dirt lodged in my facial pores. All said, the event was amazing and can't believe I was able to experience the event.
There were tons of speeches, and Wilfred didn't make his appearance for over 2 hours. In Kenya, a microphone is a dangerous thing. Be prepared for a long haul once the speeches commence, because everyone gets a shot and they are making the best of it. If you once were the chairman of the local Goatherder's Union Local 789, then you get to rock the mike for up to 45 minutes.
Some workers soon came over to our VIP tent and brought us all Cokes, to quench our thirst. About 20 minutes later, a staffer approached me and told me "You must come with me." Of course my American mind began to race, "Well you had a good run, and they have found out you are a nobody." Nope. I guess some people had become worried, that I was not fed yet, and quickly escorted my friends and I to a gated compound. This compound happened to be Wilfred's personal house, and there was ample security outside, to keep the riff-raff out. There was a huge buffet and a bull had been slaughtered, for the party. After receiving our grub, I looked for a seat under one of the awnings. Again, a grave-faced staffer grabs my arm, and I am escorted inside the home. It sure looked like the home of an Olympic gold medalist, and there were hordes of high class folks inside. The staffer took us past a curtained partition and we were seated at the dining room, to enjoy our meals. Attendants frequently brought us sodas of our choice, and generally handled any requests.
I began to realize that, "Well hey, if that's the way it's going to be!" We excused ourselves from the home, after finishing the tasty meal, and returned to the main event festivities. I had been snapping photos the entire time, and figured that just like the press photographers, the roped boundary did not apply to me. Sure enough I was right. No one batted an eye when I walked to the center of the festivities and snapped away to my delight.
The highlight of the ceremony, was the introduction of every person in attendance, who had competed in any Olympics. The names read off, was like the reading the All-Time World Record Holders' list. Speaking of world record holders, I caught a ride back into town, from former WR holder, Moses Kiptanui. With about ten other guys, we piled in the back bed of his Land Cruiser 4x4 pickup truck. Moses seems to do everything in life fast. That includes driving down crowded dirt roads, simulating Rally-Car driving tactics. Honestly I think he was driving 80 mph, judging by the amount of dust and dirt lodged in my facial pores. All said, the event was amazing and can't believe I was able to experience the event.
(Wilfred getting served cake, by a lady. Bronze and silver medalists, Alfred Kirwa and Janeth Jepkosgei stand behind.)
(Wilfred waiting to be last called, among all present Olympians.)Training:
Running has gone pretty well, as of late. Thursday I hopped in my first group fartlek workout. For the non-running crowd, a fartlek consists of alternating paces without stopping, for a set period of time. I was wary of joining this workout, because I knew this is a Kenyan bread and butter workout. The bigger the group, the more intense the workout usually goes. The plan for the fartlek, was 1min on followed by 1 min 'easy' for a total of 20 repetitions.
I figured that I should be able to handle said workout. I set my watch for a revolving timer to alert me of the minute mark. After some muscle shaking, the group of thirty or so guys headed out. Pretty much right off the bat, I felt out of sync and couldn't comprehend the timing of the pace changes. Sure enough, by about the fifth rep I was dropped. Only one guy was back running with me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I was the owner of a watch. By about rep #6 I looked down and realized that I had just won a Kenyan Darwin Award. I had forgotten to clear an old workout setting and it had the rest only set for 30 sec. So not only was I running with top level talent, I was also spotting them an extra 30 sec of rest. I informed Elliott of my blunder and he laughed, but didn't seem to really care. The crew was out of side by now, and I was thankful that he still with me. We just finished out the workout, with the short rest, and enjoyed our seven mile cool down jog back to town.
This post is dragging on, but I have done other things than run this week. I visited the inside of a tea factory and got some cool photos. I will fill you all in later in the next week. But since there is a good weekend connection, I will upload some photos.
Hope all is well in the States.
Neil
Running has gone pretty well, as of late. Thursday I hopped in my first group fartlek workout. For the non-running crowd, a fartlek consists of alternating paces without stopping, for a set period of time. I was wary of joining this workout, because I knew this is a Kenyan bread and butter workout. The bigger the group, the more intense the workout usually goes. The plan for the fartlek, was 1min on followed by 1 min 'easy' for a total of 20 repetitions.
I figured that I should be able to handle said workout. I set my watch for a revolving timer to alert me of the minute mark. After some muscle shaking, the group of thirty or so guys headed out. Pretty much right off the bat, I felt out of sync and couldn't comprehend the timing of the pace changes. Sure enough, by about the fifth rep I was dropped. Only one guy was back running with me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I was the owner of a watch. By about rep #6 I looked down and realized that I had just won a Kenyan Darwin Award. I had forgotten to clear an old workout setting and it had the rest only set for 30 sec. So not only was I running with top level talent, I was also spotting them an extra 30 sec of rest. I informed Elliott of my blunder and he laughed, but didn't seem to really care. The crew was out of side by now, and I was thankful that he still with me. We just finished out the workout, with the short rest, and enjoyed our seven mile cool down jog back to town.
This post is dragging on, but I have done other things than run this week. I visited the inside of a tea factory and got some cool photos. I will fill you all in later in the next week. But since there is a good weekend connection, I will upload some photos.
Hope all is well in the States.
Neil
My neighbor apparently used to be my neighbor in S. Carolina!
Scrubbin' the red dirt off my shoes, on a Sunday afternoon.
Matatu driver fixing a flat in, no lie, under 5 minutes.
After the 10k race. This guy competed too, I think he is Ghandi's older brother.
Where's Waldo? Amid the confusion before the 10k race.
If you drink tea, in England or the USA, I have rubbed my bare hands all over it.
Disturbing find at the local grocer.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Party Time
Kapsabet has been buzzing the past week, with the return of Olympic 800m champion and freshly minted millionaire, Pamela Jelimo. A convoy of vehicles made their way from Eldoret to Kapsabet, parading the star in New Year's Day fashion. Once she arrived into town, mobs of people descended upon the local track stadium to greet the star. She now owns the honor of having 33% of the streets in Kapsabet named after her. Ok... that means just one street ( do the math), but still that's not bad.
After all the hu-bub in town, everyone made their way to her village. When I say village, I am being extremely generous. I have run past this location, which is marked by roughly 10 mud and stick constructed huts. Thousands of people descended upon her secondary school, to help celebrate. So many people in fact, that they had to park the numerous vehicles over 2 miles away from the party. The star was under a barricade of heavily armed soldiers the entire time. This was no doubt to protect the mob from crushing her, and to keep the marriage proposals at bay. The party was hopping and not even a two hour torrential rain storm could keep down people's spirits.
I have finally been able to increase my training volume, after adjusting to the altitude. Slowly, I have inserted some speed workouts into my program. Monday was the first time I had been on any track, USA or Kenya, and it really showed. I had a relatively easy 4xmile workout, but with a fast finish planned in the 4:30 range. The first three repeats posed no problems, but when I went to ratchet up the pace, it got interesting. The muddy track was giving me fits, even with my track spikes, making 70 second laps feel like WR pace. Try as I might, I could only muster out a 4:45 and I was gassed after that effort. The silver lining is that apparently the track is long by 5 meters, which is a small pat on the back. Still, attempting to run 5km race pace felt like two heavy hands were squeezing my lungs with all their might.
Most days I finish runs without gasping, which is quite the silver star considering things. I am not sure if I have inadvertently performed a powerful rain dance, but it still rains heavily almost every afternoon or evening. Hence, every AM run is muck filled and feel like I am wearing snowshoes by the end of each session. I have all but packed away my white socks and shirts, back into my traveling bags. I now only use black socks, and dark colored shirts for training, to make washing a less stressful endeavor.
I have been checking out the surrounding region a bit lately. A couple hundred feet higher than Kapsabet, lies Nandi Hills. This region is famous for the sprawling tea plantations covering the rolling hills. I was surprised to be out of breath just trudging up a few of these hills, and realized that an extra thousand feet really makes a big difference. The roads among the tea fields are in much better shape than Kapsabet, because it is vital for the plantations to truck out their product. I have snapped a bunch of photos and hopefully can upload them this weekend.
Q&A:
Q:Why are they so fast (diet, genetics, training, etc.)?
A: I would say a mix of genetics (years of altitude) and hard training. Sure a lack of western food is a help, but there doesn't seem to be a magic meal. If so I haven't had it yet! The training here is so extreme that the ones who do survive are nearly unbeatable.
Q: Lady runners?
A: There are women running here, but nowhere near the amount of men training in the area. I would say the ratio of men training to women is 95%-5%. Some women train with slower guys, and I imagine that is a big help.
Q: How do people get by money wise?
A: Good question. Many are supported by their families back home, in the villages, or other relatives. A small minority perform odd jobs during the middle of the day, to supplement their cash flow. It doesn't take much to survive here, roughly $1 usd a day is easily enough to get you along. Many runners pack into small primitive apartment style homes, just like migrant workers, all waiting for their big break. Some have been waiting for that break, for over 10-15 years. This alone has been one of the most astonishing things I have come across training in Kenya.
After all the hu-bub in town, everyone made their way to her village. When I say village, I am being extremely generous. I have run past this location, which is marked by roughly 10 mud and stick constructed huts. Thousands of people descended upon her secondary school, to help celebrate. So many people in fact, that they had to park the numerous vehicles over 2 miles away from the party. The star was under a barricade of heavily armed soldiers the entire time. This was no doubt to protect the mob from crushing her, and to keep the marriage proposals at bay. The party was hopping and not even a two hour torrential rain storm could keep down people's spirits.
I have finally been able to increase my training volume, after adjusting to the altitude. Slowly, I have inserted some speed workouts into my program. Monday was the first time I had been on any track, USA or Kenya, and it really showed. I had a relatively easy 4xmile workout, but with a fast finish planned in the 4:30 range. The first three repeats posed no problems, but when I went to ratchet up the pace, it got interesting. The muddy track was giving me fits, even with my track spikes, making 70 second laps feel like WR pace. Try as I might, I could only muster out a 4:45 and I was gassed after that effort. The silver lining is that apparently the track is long by 5 meters, which is a small pat on the back. Still, attempting to run 5km race pace felt like two heavy hands were squeezing my lungs with all their might.
Most days I finish runs without gasping, which is quite the silver star considering things. I am not sure if I have inadvertently performed a powerful rain dance, but it still rains heavily almost every afternoon or evening. Hence, every AM run is muck filled and feel like I am wearing snowshoes by the end of each session. I have all but packed away my white socks and shirts, back into my traveling bags. I now only use black socks, and dark colored shirts for training, to make washing a less stressful endeavor.
I have been checking out the surrounding region a bit lately. A couple hundred feet higher than Kapsabet, lies Nandi Hills. This region is famous for the sprawling tea plantations covering the rolling hills. I was surprised to be out of breath just trudging up a few of these hills, and realized that an extra thousand feet really makes a big difference. The roads among the tea fields are in much better shape than Kapsabet, because it is vital for the plantations to truck out their product. I have snapped a bunch of photos and hopefully can upload them this weekend.
Q&A:
Q:Why are they so fast (diet, genetics, training, etc.)?
A: I would say a mix of genetics (years of altitude) and hard training. Sure a lack of western food is a help, but there doesn't seem to be a magic meal. If so I haven't had it yet! The training here is so extreme that the ones who do survive are nearly unbeatable.
Q: Lady runners?
A: There are women running here, but nowhere near the amount of men training in the area. I would say the ratio of men training to women is 95%-5%. Some women train with slower guys, and I imagine that is a big help.
Q: How do people get by money wise?
A: Good question. Many are supported by their families back home, in the villages, or other relatives. A small minority perform odd jobs during the middle of the day, to supplement their cash flow. It doesn't take much to survive here, roughly $1 usd a day is easily enough to get you along. Many runners pack into small primitive apartment style homes, just like migrant workers, all waiting for their big break. Some have been waiting for that break, for over 10-15 years. This alone has been one of the most astonishing things I have come across training in Kenya.
Friday, September 19, 2008
8 AM SHARP!
The race program read: Marathon 7 AM , 10km 8 AM SHARP! Now since I have been here, I have slowly gotten used to 'Kenyan Time'. Funny how just about every country outside of USA, Japan and Germany, seem to have their own 'time'. Now if you have ever travelled to races with me, you are aware that it would take a huge bout of will power to arrive just before the scheduled race time. I did my absolute best to trust everyone's suggestions.
So I decided to jog from the house with the brother of road racing stud Linus Maiyo, at 7:25AM. The start line was 4 miles away, so that wouldn't put us too far ahead of the race start time. I was cool as a cucumber until about 7:58 AM and we had not yet reached the start line. I guessed it was a good sign that we had seen quite a few runners along the road, during our warmup. Even though in the back of my head I knew I was not going to miss the race, I scooted ahead in search of the start line.
I arrived at a portion of road heading uphill, and track suited Kenyans were clogging both sides of the road. I asked a bystander if this was the starting line, and he more or less confirmed my suspicions. I have become perfectly used to having people gawk at me, where ever I travel or run. Today was an extreme case though, because I warmed up to the start in just my singlet and shorts. So I was getting quite a few stares, on top of the usual ones regarding my complexion (I would think it's understood I am the only white competitor or participant).
There are maybe 250-300 elite looking runners just hanging out on the shoulders of the country road. Not a single one of them is stretching or taking any form of warm-up jogging. 8 AM has already past without any notice. There is not a single official present, and nobody seems conflicted. The equatorial sun is starting to make an appearance, by this time. I find a group of runners, that I know and hang out with them. As the time passes, more and more elite looking runners begin to trickle into the start area.
Finally some officials show up before 9 AM. They are in a foul mood, because the marathon was delayed for an hour before it started. They immediately began to have people line up on the shoulder of the road, but failed to do anything with the line. This repeated a few times, and then the main loud official, told unregistered runners to assemble on the far side of the road. I had actually signed up two separate times during the previous week, so I felt safe I did not need to be on that side of the street. After about 25 minutes of late comers walking by with bib numbers, my buddy Isaac and I realized that we had better get some numbers.
We pushed and shoved through the mob, to the numbers guy, and were able to get signed in after a few minutes of yelling my name repeatedly. Meanwhile the start area is still receiving a flood of runners, from all over the area. Notable joggers, Martin Lel ('08 Olympic Marathon) and Asbel Kiprop ('08 Olympic 1500m), were in attendance. 9 AM has passed without any real notice, and I begin to let the stress fade, and revel in the hilarity of the situation. The officials are screaming at the stubborn crowd of athletes, with little luck.
I have now become more concerned with my emerging sunburn, and scout for a patch of shade beneath a truck tailgate. There are now roughly between 600-750 runners milling around the start area. Isaac has urged me to stay near the starting line, in fear of being stuck 100m behind the start. The big official begins a bellowing pre-race instruction speech. The main emphasis is centered around the immorality of cheating. "It is a dishonor to yourself, your sport, your family" roared the big man to the attentive crowd, " and most importantly it is a crime against your GOD!" I had to turn and step aside, to hide my laughter at the fire and brimstone speech.
We made our way to the starting line and secured a spot about three deep from the front. The race officials pushed back the eager mob, and there were actually two false starts. Finally a fourth time the crowd surged, without any starting command, and the race was off.
I thought I was prepared for how fast the race would start. I was dead wrong. Within maybe 400m, I was already pushed back to roughly 200th place, with the leaders already out of sight. My mind was scattered, and I was not jogging. I judged my pace to be roughly 4:45/mile, and I was getting left in the dust! As I figured after the first five minutes, many of the runners started to drift backwards. By the time I reached the 1.75mi killer hill, I was still much further back than I had expected.
I began to surge up the hill, but I was feeling the elements by now. The two hours spent standing in the sun, had taken their toll, as I felt my head tingle with onset heat exhaustion. I mopped my brow and focused on surging up the hill. I only picked off about 30 runners up the hill, and at the crest viewed a huge mob of runners well past the incline heading towards town. I was feeling pretty rotten by now, with the sun, lack of oxygen and general shock of my unfamiliar position.
All along the course I heard shouts, of 'Mazungu' or just general laughter aimed in my direction. My eyes lit up when I saw the water station, at the 8km mark, which was probably meant for the marathoners. I made a direct angle to grab a bottle and dumped the contents on my head saving a splash for drinking. Cooled down a bit I bore down for the last bit into town. All along the last 5km runners were using my passing as their own internal motivation. Every thirty seconds a previously passed runner would draw even for a few moments, but sadly drop back again. We took the last hill into town, and aimed for the track.
Once we popped onto the track I could feel the cheers picking up, or just the observational 'mazungu" cries. I took them as cheering regardless. We had 300m left to run on the track to the finish. I rolled up about 10 guys in the first 200m but the last two fellows saw me in the rear view mirror. They were able to hold me off in the final stretch, as I heard "from South Carolina, USA!"
I looked at my watch and a modest 31:14 was my finish time. I think the course was about 30 sec short, but under the circumstances I was happy with the outcome. Directly after the finish line there was a small black sheep bleating his head off. Apparently just before I pulled onto the track, the little guy had wandered onto the road, and since both sides of the track were lined with people he had nowhere else to go. From first hand accounts people said the lamb raced the last 300m like a pro! All the way through the finish he went and standing next to me in the water line, he was making his displeasure known.
After the race I got pictures with many other racers, and some really old ones. I would venture to say that I came in somewhere around 150th-200th place, out of I don't know, a lot I guess. This is the lowest position I think I have ever had in a race, and I was beaten by livestock to add insult to injury. I took a bunch of photos and hope to get them up later.
*Sorry for the late post, the internet has been running slow in the entire country. Seriously.
So I decided to jog from the house with the brother of road racing stud Linus Maiyo, at 7:25AM. The start line was 4 miles away, so that wouldn't put us too far ahead of the race start time. I was cool as a cucumber until about 7:58 AM and we had not yet reached the start line. I guessed it was a good sign that we had seen quite a few runners along the road, during our warmup. Even though in the back of my head I knew I was not going to miss the race, I scooted ahead in search of the start line.
I arrived at a portion of road heading uphill, and track suited Kenyans were clogging both sides of the road. I asked a bystander if this was the starting line, and he more or less confirmed my suspicions. I have become perfectly used to having people gawk at me, where ever I travel or run. Today was an extreme case though, because I warmed up to the start in just my singlet and shorts. So I was getting quite a few stares, on top of the usual ones regarding my complexion (I would think it's understood I am the only white competitor or participant).
There are maybe 250-300 elite looking runners just hanging out on the shoulders of the country road. Not a single one of them is stretching or taking any form of warm-up jogging. 8 AM has already past without any notice. There is not a single official present, and nobody seems conflicted. The equatorial sun is starting to make an appearance, by this time. I find a group of runners, that I know and hang out with them. As the time passes, more and more elite looking runners begin to trickle into the start area.
Finally some officials show up before 9 AM. They are in a foul mood, because the marathon was delayed for an hour before it started. They immediately began to have people line up on the shoulder of the road, but failed to do anything with the line. This repeated a few times, and then the main loud official, told unregistered runners to assemble on the far side of the road. I had actually signed up two separate times during the previous week, so I felt safe I did not need to be on that side of the street. After about 25 minutes of late comers walking by with bib numbers, my buddy Isaac and I realized that we had better get some numbers.
We pushed and shoved through the mob, to the numbers guy, and were able to get signed in after a few minutes of yelling my name repeatedly. Meanwhile the start area is still receiving a flood of runners, from all over the area. Notable joggers, Martin Lel ('08 Olympic Marathon) and Asbel Kiprop ('08 Olympic 1500m), were in attendance. 9 AM has passed without any real notice, and I begin to let the stress fade, and revel in the hilarity of the situation. The officials are screaming at the stubborn crowd of athletes, with little luck.
I have now become more concerned with my emerging sunburn, and scout for a patch of shade beneath a truck tailgate. There are now roughly between 600-750 runners milling around the start area. Isaac has urged me to stay near the starting line, in fear of being stuck 100m behind the start. The big official begins a bellowing pre-race instruction speech. The main emphasis is centered around the immorality of cheating. "It is a dishonor to yourself, your sport, your family" roared the big man to the attentive crowd, " and most importantly it is a crime against your GOD!" I had to turn and step aside, to hide my laughter at the fire and brimstone speech.
We made our way to the starting line and secured a spot about three deep from the front. The race officials pushed back the eager mob, and there were actually two false starts. Finally a fourth time the crowd surged, without any starting command, and the race was off.
I thought I was prepared for how fast the race would start. I was dead wrong. Within maybe 400m, I was already pushed back to roughly 200th place, with the leaders already out of sight. My mind was scattered, and I was not jogging. I judged my pace to be roughly 4:45/mile, and I was getting left in the dust! As I figured after the first five minutes, many of the runners started to drift backwards. By the time I reached the 1.75mi killer hill, I was still much further back than I had expected.
I began to surge up the hill, but I was feeling the elements by now. The two hours spent standing in the sun, had taken their toll, as I felt my head tingle with onset heat exhaustion. I mopped my brow and focused on surging up the hill. I only picked off about 30 runners up the hill, and at the crest viewed a huge mob of runners well past the incline heading towards town. I was feeling pretty rotten by now, with the sun, lack of oxygen and general shock of my unfamiliar position.
All along the course I heard shouts, of 'Mazungu' or just general laughter aimed in my direction. My eyes lit up when I saw the water station, at the 8km mark, which was probably meant for the marathoners. I made a direct angle to grab a bottle and dumped the contents on my head saving a splash for drinking. Cooled down a bit I bore down for the last bit into town. All along the last 5km runners were using my passing as their own internal motivation. Every thirty seconds a previously passed runner would draw even for a few moments, but sadly drop back again. We took the last hill into town, and aimed for the track.
Once we popped onto the track I could feel the cheers picking up, or just the observational 'mazungu" cries. I took them as cheering regardless. We had 300m left to run on the track to the finish. I rolled up about 10 guys in the first 200m but the last two fellows saw me in the rear view mirror. They were able to hold me off in the final stretch, as I heard "from South Carolina, USA!"
I looked at my watch and a modest 31:14 was my finish time. I think the course was about 30 sec short, but under the circumstances I was happy with the outcome. Directly after the finish line there was a small black sheep bleating his head off. Apparently just before I pulled onto the track, the little guy had wandered onto the road, and since both sides of the track were lined with people he had nowhere else to go. From first hand accounts people said the lamb raced the last 300m like a pro! All the way through the finish he went and standing next to me in the water line, he was making his displeasure known.
After the race I got pictures with many other racers, and some really old ones. I would venture to say that I came in somewhere around 150th-200th place, out of I don't know, a lot I guess. This is the lowest position I think I have ever had in a race, and I was beaten by livestock to add insult to injury. I took a bunch of photos and hope to get them up later.
*Sorry for the late post, the internet has been running slow in the entire country. Seriously.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Photos Round Two
All right here are some more photos.
I think I will be too tired to post anything tomorrow. Hope you enjoy these shots, tried to mix it up this time.
I think I will be too tired to post anything tomorrow. Hope you enjoy these shots, tried to mix it up this time.
I don't plan on hopping the wall, at my house.
This is where I bathe.
All the loot my in-laws sent me, yes I am loved.
Catching a morning track session, from the stands.
No Playstation3 for this guy.
Big storm that rattled us, heads off for damage up north.
Traditional building materials.
My local buddies at the woodworking shop. Of course they are posing inside a coffin.
Absolutely No Comment.
My daily stretching partners.
The Matatu Stand in Eldoret. Notice young child about to be run over.
French Toast on the outside charcoal cooker. That's my new American buddy, Jay.
A boy chicken.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Boiling Point
What does this title refer to? The always present simmering political tension in Kenya and Africa? My frustrations with 3rd world accommodations? Difficulties with the language barrier? A local Hatfield vs. McCoy feud brewing out in the country-side? The process I go through to prepare my daily bathing routine?
Wrong all wrong! Coffee. Plain and simple, coffee. Like many Americans, most of my days are started with a good ol' cup of Joe. Now I am not one those types who is a troll until my AM fix. But 30 days consecutive, a man can only bear so much. It's amazing, that in a country known for its' gourmet domestic coffee beans, that it is near impossible to find a restaurant serving anything other than instant coffee poured into hot water.
On a recent trip to Eldoret, I set out to find a solution. After asking about single cup coffee filters at three separate locations, I nearly gave up. Holding on to hope I figured with some interesting rigging, a regular filter and some grounds. Three days after I have gotten a pretty good cup of coffee. Sure it is strained through a torn piece of shirt, and is quite time intensive for one cup, but it gets me the finished product.
I am gearing up for the local 10k on Sunday. It seems that this field will have a 99% to 1% ratio of elite to recreation runners. This might be one of the most confusing races I have ever run. I have been warned that Kenyan road races, are plain battles of attrition. Racers start with reckless abandon, and many just fall to pieces, after trying to hang on to ridiculous early paces. This course should lead to some interesting tactics. The first 2km are aimed sharply downhill, and the next 3km are all uphill. I have noted the 5km mark of the course, and plan to make a mental note of restraining until that point. The rest of the course is rolling with a downward slope, and finishes inside the local track 'stadium'.
Logistics are also an issue because the race is point to point. I have decided that since I live about 6km from the start, that I will just wear my race kit and warmup to the start line. Since none of my friends have cars, and leaving your sweats under a bush is a laughable notion, I will just have to bear the elements. Thankfully my roommate can bring some sweats for after the race. I will see about getting some photos up on Sunday but I can't make any promises.
Hope all is well.
Wrong all wrong! Coffee. Plain and simple, coffee. Like many Americans, most of my days are started with a good ol' cup of Joe. Now I am not one those types who is a troll until my AM fix. But 30 days consecutive, a man can only bear so much. It's amazing, that in a country known for its' gourmet domestic coffee beans, that it is near impossible to find a restaurant serving anything other than instant coffee poured into hot water.
On a recent trip to Eldoret, I set out to find a solution. After asking about single cup coffee filters at three separate locations, I nearly gave up. Holding on to hope I figured with some interesting rigging, a regular filter and some grounds. Three days after I have gotten a pretty good cup of coffee. Sure it is strained through a torn piece of shirt, and is quite time intensive for one cup, but it gets me the finished product.
I am gearing up for the local 10k on Sunday. It seems that this field will have a 99% to 1% ratio of elite to recreation runners. This might be one of the most confusing races I have ever run. I have been warned that Kenyan road races, are plain battles of attrition. Racers start with reckless abandon, and many just fall to pieces, after trying to hang on to ridiculous early paces. This course should lead to some interesting tactics. The first 2km are aimed sharply downhill, and the next 3km are all uphill. I have noted the 5km mark of the course, and plan to make a mental note of restraining until that point. The rest of the course is rolling with a downward slope, and finishes inside the local track 'stadium'.
Logistics are also an issue because the race is point to point. I have decided that since I live about 6km from the start, that I will just wear my race kit and warmup to the start line. Since none of my friends have cars, and leaving your sweats under a bush is a laughable notion, I will just have to bear the elements. Thankfully my roommate can bring some sweats for after the race. I will see about getting some photos up on Sunday but I can't make any promises.
Hope all is well.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Public Service Announcement
I personally vow to never judge a man for entering a nail salon. Ok, maybe if he is getting a manicure, but not a pedicure. This trip has marked the most attention my feet have ever received on a daily washing basis. Why do I wash my feet with obsessive conviction? Let me tell you why. I see a lot of people walking around barefoot, everywhere that I travel. It's not that I am particularly sad that they are shoe-less, because most seem oblivious to their lack of footwear. What has harnessed my attention, is the various states of the feet I view. Feet that look squished, like in a cartoon. Feet as big as sledgehammers. Toes longer than an unused crayon. Feet with no visible toes. Feet that look like hands. To make things worse a very helpful friend (Brent Johnson) insisted on showing me a medical textbook of third world foot diseases, before I left on the trip. Thanks Brent! I think of those haunting pictures on a daily basis.
So what am I getting at? Please people in America, wash your feet with the vigor with which you wash your hair. If I see feet like that when we visit the beach together, I make no guarantees of any possible reaction on my part.
I know I touched on public transportation earlier on. The most common means of travel between any town further than walking distance is a matatu. A matatu is usually a Toyota diesel passenger van, built to seat maybe 15 people. In Nairobi the danger of matatus lies with the pedestrians outside the vehicle. In the country and rural areas, far greater danger rests inside the vehicle.
On typical route, most matatus are filled to the brim. Fifteen people? Ha! Try in the middle twenties of passengers. Most passengers are picked up in big towns, where all seats are taken and half of the others are doubled up. Picking your seat is a crucial step at a town stop. The fare collector, a tout, rides in the back with everyone else, and is in charge of finding new potential passengers or alerting the driver of a departing rider. There is rarely a case of a matatu that is too full to pick up one more person and their seventy or eighty bananas. Unless you ride in the front seats, being squished is a given. Most rides could be summed up as a claustrophobia sufferer's nightmare. Each ride is a stew of human BO, and every ride has its' own recipe, because everyone stinks a little different.
The driving is basically a version of any old Atari driving game. Just avoid potholes regardless of which side of the road your country encourages you to drive. If you are so inclined, just drop one side on the dirt shoulder, or if needed plow down the dirt sidewalk for a quarter mile or more. I consider myself to be pretty resilient and rarely get car sick or seasick. The only thing that keeps me within any boundaries, is the thought of how much more horrible the ride will be if I happen to have a reversal of fortune (like that competitive eating reference) inside a matatu.
Training has been going pretty well the past few days, despite the constant rain. I ran the monster hill route, from my first week, on Friday and also today. My first go around had a time of 71 min, which knocked me back. Friday I ran 67 min, and felt equally tired from that effort. I did not plan on running hard today and felt that I was going steady the whole way. I actually made a concerted effort to run the battery of hills easier this time, but rolled in at a surprising 64 minutes. I am actually starting to feel the strength come around. I have even been silly enough to enter a local 10k, on Sunday. I am going to venture a Top 10 finish may be out of reach, judging the local talent.
Thanks for all the comments and hopefully I can get some more pictures up. Unfortunately Sunday seems like the only where an Internet connection is photo upload worthy.
Hope all is well.
So what am I getting at? Please people in America, wash your feet with the vigor with which you wash your hair. If I see feet like that when we visit the beach together, I make no guarantees of any possible reaction on my part.
I know I touched on public transportation earlier on. The most common means of travel between any town further than walking distance is a matatu. A matatu is usually a Toyota diesel passenger van, built to seat maybe 15 people. In Nairobi the danger of matatus lies with the pedestrians outside the vehicle. In the country and rural areas, far greater danger rests inside the vehicle.
On typical route, most matatus are filled to the brim. Fifteen people? Ha! Try in the middle twenties of passengers. Most passengers are picked up in big towns, where all seats are taken and half of the others are doubled up. Picking your seat is a crucial step at a town stop. The fare collector, a tout, rides in the back with everyone else, and is in charge of finding new potential passengers or alerting the driver of a departing rider. There is rarely a case of a matatu that is too full to pick up one more person and their seventy or eighty bananas. Unless you ride in the front seats, being squished is a given. Most rides could be summed up as a claustrophobia sufferer's nightmare. Each ride is a stew of human BO, and every ride has its' own recipe, because everyone stinks a little different.
The driving is basically a version of any old Atari driving game. Just avoid potholes regardless of which side of the road your country encourages you to drive. If you are so inclined, just drop one side on the dirt shoulder, or if needed plow down the dirt sidewalk for a quarter mile or more. I consider myself to be pretty resilient and rarely get car sick or seasick. The only thing that keeps me within any boundaries, is the thought of how much more horrible the ride will be if I happen to have a reversal of fortune (like that competitive eating reference) inside a matatu.
Training has been going pretty well the past few days, despite the constant rain. I ran the monster hill route, from my first week, on Friday and also today. My first go around had a time of 71 min, which knocked me back. Friday I ran 67 min, and felt equally tired from that effort. I did not plan on running hard today and felt that I was going steady the whole way. I actually made a concerted effort to run the battery of hills easier this time, but rolled in at a surprising 64 minutes. I am actually starting to feel the strength come around. I have even been silly enough to enter a local 10k, on Sunday. I am going to venture a Top 10 finish may be out of reach, judging the local talent.
Thanks for all the comments and hopefully I can get some more pictures up. Unfortunately Sunday seems like the only where an Internet connection is photo upload worthy.
Hope all is well.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Dust Off the Projector
Here's an attempt to upload some re-sized photos, that I have taken so far. I have a bunch more but this will be a test round.
This is where chickens are kept. I saw a mongoose about 5 min later, which happens to be the most wild animal I have seen to date.
Tryin' to get artsy, after a thunderstorm in the field outside the house.
This is just a test run and the images may be too small for viewing. Hopefully this will give an idea of the terrain, in the mean time I will try and get some more images up on the blog.
Front driveway to the house.
This is where chickens are kept. I saw a mongoose about 5 min later, which happens to be the most wild animal I have seen to date.
Ok, so maybe this dog doesn't represent the killer dogs roaming the hills.
One of the many groups hammering out intervals on the track.
Martin Lel and his giant group of pacers, whom he financially supports.
Tryin' to get artsy, after a thunderstorm in the field outside the house.Our kitchen, the Viking range stove is getting delivered next week...I think.
Local bike shop, situated under a tree near my house.
This is just a test run and the images may be too small for viewing. Hopefully this will give an idea of the terrain, in the mean time I will try and get some more images up on the blog.
Hope all is well.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
A Proper Gentleman
I have become accustomed to encountering new rituals and cultural traditions over the past month. I attempt to take all things in stride, and not show any hint of surprise. Yesterday though I was caught off guard. I had decided to run a 20min tempo run, in the middle of my morning run. Since my training partner was planning on doing a track workout later in the morning, he did not follow along with me. Nothing too exciting occurred on the hard tempo portion of the run. As I was walking for a minute, following the hard portion of the run, another Kenyan runner came upon me and encouraged me to start running. I agreed, and latched on with him as we made our way back towards home. We exchanged names, and began to make a steady clip back to base. We didn't really talk that much, because his English was as good as my Swahili. Decked out in a full track suit, as most guys here are on morning runs, Dixon was beginning to perspire. I was dressed in shorts and tee because I can't stand sweating like a pig. Next thing I look over and Dixon has removed from his pocket a pressed white handkerchief. He promptly dabs his brow dry and returns it neatly folded into his pocket, all without breaking stride. Not too sure why it took me by surprise, probably because I never expected to see anything of that sort while running. He repeated the process maybe five times, each time with equal formal bearing. I challenge any of you to find a more classy runner, anywhere!
Now that I have pretty much a daily routine, I have seen time move along at a brisk pace. One portion that hasn't moved to briskly happens to be on Sunday from 10am-1:30pm. I have been attending church with my training partner, up to this point. This church is spirited, almost a bit too much for my tastes. I think the real problem lies in my lack of a full grasp of the Swahili language. Singing before the service starts, lasts a full 90 minutes, and everyone but me knows the choreographed accompanied dance moves. The pastor at the church is amazing, I fully believe him to be a close blood relative to the late James Brown. During the 90 minute lead up, he plays a distorted bass guitar and has an attendant hold a microphone to face while wailing at the top of his lungs in Swahili. To be honest, I think I am just overwhelmed. Once the service starts, yelling is continued, but I am allowed to sit. Service is in about 97% Swahili and I usually miss the 3% English parts anyway. I just sit and find a book in the bible that I am unfamiliar with (there are a lot of them) and just have a private study session. I think I am going to have to surrender to the advertised, "All English 9:30am Service" at the Anglican church down the road.
I have barely noticed my slow adjustment to life here in Kenya. No longer do I dread having to head into the "shower" room, with my tub of boiled water. Going to the bathroom no longer causes pangs of anxiety to wash over me. I think my body has forgotten the muscle memory of a hot shower, and other private seated activities. That said, my mind has not given up hope, and I still regard such luxuries with great anticipation. I now laugh along with people in the market, when a child or a drunk introduces themselves to me. Sunday evening, while walking a friend to the taxi stand, a sharp dressed old man approached us. He began speaking what I thought was Kalenjin, and held out a hand for a shake. I shook it politely, but he was not finished, still firmly grasped he began to stroke my white forearm with great intrigue. That was the cue for me to forcefully remove the drunken gentleman from my path, to the laughs of all the vegetable stand ladies.
A few answers to questions people have asked:
Q: Are there any coaches here?
A: Yes there are a few. Their interaction is vague though. They may coach only a handful of athletes, the rest are just kind of shooting from the hip. People take ideas from successful athletes, and just try and copy it.
Q: What are people wearing for shoes?
A: I have not run with any barefoot people yet. Although the state of some people's shoes is quite sad. The main option for them here, is to buy 2nd hand shoes from the market. They sure can clean a shoe here, but if that pair is plain smashed out then guys are out of luck. Shoes are a big deal over here, and no one really runs in new shoes, unless you are a big time sponsored runner.
Q: Have I spoken with Martin or Sammy since the Olympics?
A: No, I have not spoken to either. Sammy actually lives and trains in Japan. Martin may be just taking it easy for now, but I imagine I will bump into him sometime in the future.
Thanks again for all the comments. Take care and watch out for all the storms in the Atlantic. I am praying that they will not make landfall or weaken before they hit.
Now that I have pretty much a daily routine, I have seen time move along at a brisk pace. One portion that hasn't moved to briskly happens to be on Sunday from 10am-1:30pm. I have been attending church with my training partner, up to this point. This church is spirited, almost a bit too much for my tastes. I think the real problem lies in my lack of a full grasp of the Swahili language. Singing before the service starts, lasts a full 90 minutes, and everyone but me knows the choreographed accompanied dance moves. The pastor at the church is amazing, I fully believe him to be a close blood relative to the late James Brown. During the 90 minute lead up, he plays a distorted bass guitar and has an attendant hold a microphone to face while wailing at the top of his lungs in Swahili. To be honest, I think I am just overwhelmed. Once the service starts, yelling is continued, but I am allowed to sit. Service is in about 97% Swahili and I usually miss the 3% English parts anyway. I just sit and find a book in the bible that I am unfamiliar with (there are a lot of them) and just have a private study session. I think I am going to have to surrender to the advertised, "All English 9:30am Service" at the Anglican church down the road.
I have barely noticed my slow adjustment to life here in Kenya. No longer do I dread having to head into the "shower" room, with my tub of boiled water. Going to the bathroom no longer causes pangs of anxiety to wash over me. I think my body has forgotten the muscle memory of a hot shower, and other private seated activities. That said, my mind has not given up hope, and I still regard such luxuries with great anticipation. I now laugh along with people in the market, when a child or a drunk introduces themselves to me. Sunday evening, while walking a friend to the taxi stand, a sharp dressed old man approached us. He began speaking what I thought was Kalenjin, and held out a hand for a shake. I shook it politely, but he was not finished, still firmly grasped he began to stroke my white forearm with great intrigue. That was the cue for me to forcefully remove the drunken gentleman from my path, to the laughs of all the vegetable stand ladies.
A few answers to questions people have asked:
Q: Are there any coaches here?
A: Yes there are a few. Their interaction is vague though. They may coach only a handful of athletes, the rest are just kind of shooting from the hip. People take ideas from successful athletes, and just try and copy it.
Q: What are people wearing for shoes?
A: I have not run with any barefoot people yet. Although the state of some people's shoes is quite sad. The main option for them here, is to buy 2nd hand shoes from the market. They sure can clean a shoe here, but if that pair is plain smashed out then guys are out of luck. Shoes are a big deal over here, and no one really runs in new shoes, unless you are a big time sponsored runner.
Q: Have I spoken with Martin or Sammy since the Olympics?
A: No, I have not spoken to either. Sammy actually lives and trains in Japan. Martin may be just taking it easy for now, but I imagine I will bump into him sometime in the future.
Thanks again for all the comments. Take care and watch out for all the storms in the Atlantic. I am praying that they will not make landfall or weaken before they hit.
Monday, September 1, 2008
HMMGRLLUH
That is the best phonetic spelling I can make of the noise I emit as 7 lean Kenyans blast by me on #13 (or any other) out of 20 hill repeats. I am beyond tired after workouts, and often later into the day that I often forget where I am when I wake up from naps. I blink at the unfamiliar ceiling, but the ship rights itself when I hear Michael Bolton blaring from the main room. Nowhere in America would I stand for such auditory crimes, then remember 'Oh yeah I'm in Africa'.
Days have pretty much settled in here. Morning training around dawn, then tea with buttered bread, wash then a nap, and most days I make the 2km walk into town. We get a steady dose of visitors, whom they are visiting I can't always instantly figure out. If they just speak Swahili or Kalenjin most of the time, then its obvious that they are visiting my roommates. If in the first 10 minutes the question , "Who do you support in your country's election?" is asked, well they obviously have come to visit me. As far as Kenyan citizens are concerned, if Obama wins then all Kenyans will be allowed to live in the USA, regardless of immigration red tape. To play the fence and astonish them I reply "You are aware that they are both pretty awful choices?". This usually garners a reply of, "Surely you must vote for our Obama." which is laughingly received. I think Obama has been to Kenya at most 2 times.
Training the past few days has been noteworthy. On Saturday I joined up with the same group of seven guys, for hill repeats. I breathed a sigh of relief when they said we would be using a different hill. I was fully prepared for another extended warmup, in the 45 minute range. What I was not prepared for was the fartlek, that was substituted for the warmup. On about five separate occasions, the pace dropped from maybe 6:45/mi to 5:20/mi, all without warning. I was wondering if I was just having a rough day, but when one of the elder international road racing studs, dropped back and informed me, "These guys are crazy." I calmed down a bit.
Once we arrived at the hill, 45 min later, it was stated that it stretched 200 meters and we would cover it in a time of 38-42 seconds. "Not too bad" I thought, well repeat number one set the tone. 34 seconds read my watch, ok that was fast. Maybe everyone else will realize that we are way fast and settle down. Number 2, 33.5, ok well that pretty much did it for me. Through shrewd calculations in my head, I figured holding 33.8-34.9, was my only ticket to finishing this workout alive. Well the good news is that I did not get dusted as bad as the previous hill workout. Whether that was due to the decreased length of the hill, I shall not bother with such details. I averaged between last and second to last on pretty much every repeat, even the ones that I started out leading. They were closing out in the sub 30 range, while I held on for dear life at 33's. I am not tooting my horn understand, but this is up a hill! The highlight of any hill workout with these guys is that the cool down finishing spot, is never more than a mile away. Which also amazes me in how lost I get on the twisty country roads.
This morning we met up with the huge group of runners for a planned 1hr 20min run. Little did I know at the start, but a few newcomers came to poach this run. Once we left the paved road at minute five, fun time was all over. The pace firmly was placed down around 5:15-5:20, which I judged easily by my breathing and the four women in the group falling back as if a sniper in the trees was picking them off one by one. I drifted off the back of the pack and started to worry about getting lost on a long-ish run out in the countryside. Thankfully one guy happened to drop back, and I was able to keep up with him. The amount of training that is done without structure here is absolutely astonishing. It is like a giant runners' pick up game here, no plan, just hammer time everyday. Maybe that is why there are about a thousand runners here, and only a handful ever experience true fruits from their training. At the 35min mark, five guys I know dropped back to a reasonable pace with me. This group of guys, actually adhere to a structured plan of sorts. They mentioned that some new guys showed up and scoffed at the easy run notion. I am lucky that a few guys here believe in recovery. We finished the run in 1hr 14 min, a full 9 min faster than the last time I completed that loop.
I have all but shaken my chest cold, and my training is showing more promise daily. I am starting to feel the benefits, and I can not wait to race back home. Hope everyone is well and thanks for the comments.
Days have pretty much settled in here. Morning training around dawn, then tea with buttered bread, wash then a nap, and most days I make the 2km walk into town. We get a steady dose of visitors, whom they are visiting I can't always instantly figure out. If they just speak Swahili or Kalenjin most of the time, then its obvious that they are visiting my roommates. If in the first 10 minutes the question , "Who do you support in your country's election?" is asked, well they obviously have come to visit me. As far as Kenyan citizens are concerned, if Obama wins then all Kenyans will be allowed to live in the USA, regardless of immigration red tape. To play the fence and astonish them I reply "You are aware that they are both pretty awful choices?". This usually garners a reply of, "Surely you must vote for our Obama." which is laughingly received. I think Obama has been to Kenya at most 2 times.
Training the past few days has been noteworthy. On Saturday I joined up with the same group of seven guys, for hill repeats. I breathed a sigh of relief when they said we would be using a different hill. I was fully prepared for another extended warmup, in the 45 minute range. What I was not prepared for was the fartlek, that was substituted for the warmup. On about five separate occasions, the pace dropped from maybe 6:45/mi to 5:20/mi, all without warning. I was wondering if I was just having a rough day, but when one of the elder international road racing studs, dropped back and informed me, "These guys are crazy." I calmed down a bit.
Once we arrived at the hill, 45 min later, it was stated that it stretched 200 meters and we would cover it in a time of 38-42 seconds. "Not too bad" I thought, well repeat number one set the tone. 34 seconds read my watch, ok that was fast. Maybe everyone else will realize that we are way fast and settle down. Number 2, 33.5, ok well that pretty much did it for me. Through shrewd calculations in my head, I figured holding 33.8-34.9, was my only ticket to finishing this workout alive. Well the good news is that I did not get dusted as bad as the previous hill workout. Whether that was due to the decreased length of the hill, I shall not bother with such details. I averaged between last and second to last on pretty much every repeat, even the ones that I started out leading. They were closing out in the sub 30 range, while I held on for dear life at 33's. I am not tooting my horn understand, but this is up a hill! The highlight of any hill workout with these guys is that the cool down finishing spot, is never more than a mile away. Which also amazes me in how lost I get on the twisty country roads.
This morning we met up with the huge group of runners for a planned 1hr 20min run. Little did I know at the start, but a few newcomers came to poach this run. Once we left the paved road at minute five, fun time was all over. The pace firmly was placed down around 5:15-5:20, which I judged easily by my breathing and the four women in the group falling back as if a sniper in the trees was picking them off one by one. I drifted off the back of the pack and started to worry about getting lost on a long-ish run out in the countryside. Thankfully one guy happened to drop back, and I was able to keep up with him. The amount of training that is done without structure here is absolutely astonishing. It is like a giant runners' pick up game here, no plan, just hammer time everyday. Maybe that is why there are about a thousand runners here, and only a handful ever experience true fruits from their training. At the 35min mark, five guys I know dropped back to a reasonable pace with me. This group of guys, actually adhere to a structured plan of sorts. They mentioned that some new guys showed up and scoffed at the easy run notion. I am lucky that a few guys here believe in recovery. We finished the run in 1hr 14 min, a full 9 min faster than the last time I completed that loop.
I have all but shaken my chest cold, and my training is showing more promise daily. I am starting to feel the benefits, and I can not wait to race back home. Hope everyone is well and thanks for the comments.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Retraction Time
Ok, I was going to do this post yesterday, but the Internet was not co-operating. As has been already pointed out by a comment of the last post, not a single thing in my last post referenced the title Tri-Lingual. Let me take you in for a sneak peek of my writing style.
Not that I am channeling a stream of consciousness, ala James Joyce, but I just sit down and start writing. Yeah I try and remember the more memorable portions of the last few days, but a focused structure I lack. Basically I just imagine that I am having a conversation with somebody who agrees with absolutely everything that I say. Which is precisely the reason why I have to imagine such a person, being highly unlikely that such an individual exists. So if you ever wonder where I am heading with something, so am I.
What I meant to tackle with the last title, was the difficulty picking up language in the countryside. Kiswahili is not that hard of a language to pull from, but Kenya is a tribal republic. There are 42 or 47 different tribes here, and they all have there own dialect. It is most common to find people speaking those dialects out in the rural areas. Some people who are travelled can speak and understand numerous of these languages. I am struggling enough with Kiswahili and have no clue when somebody switches over to Kalenjin or some other tribal speak. I rely on someone to go, "Hey he just greeted you in tribal language". Which garners a response of, " Ooh, didn't catch that either". The similarities are indistinguishable and it really doesn't make me any more confused. Just that if I were bright enough to remember any of those words and think I picked up a new Kiswahili nugget. I would fail miserably when I introduce my new find into any one of my three Kiswahili conversational topics.
When I was in Eldoret, I had the pleasure of eating a hamburger. Actually pretty funny because I am not a hamburger guy in the US. Not that I am a health nut, far from it, but some things really bring you back home. I have met a fellow American here in Kapsabet, and he is practically a local, knowing Kiswahili and all. He has really helped me out and shown me the ropes around here. We picked up a few essentials that are not available out here in the country. Cereal, crackers and a bag of roasted/salted peanuts among the good finds.
It is not that I do not enjoy the food, but I have stewed cabbage and ugali with about every evening meal. Not sure if my digestive tract is thanking or cursing me. Last night we actually went over to my new American friend's house for his BDay dinner, including mash potatoes, which I promptly had thirds.
It looks like the rain is slowly starting to back off, from its' daily appearances. Which makes training much more enjoyable, since the roads are in much better condition when allowed to stay dry.
Today was another one of those big group runs. We met at 6:30 am and the weather was maybe high 50's and the sun was barely peeking out. I just said forget the status quo and wore shorts & running tee. This is compared to the long tights and full windbreakers of everyone else. I know that by 7am it will be in the high 60's and I can't stand being sweating like a pig for another 60min.
We meandered for about 20min at a leisurely pace, until we reached a familiar hill that usually takes about 15 min to climb. Today I made sure to stay near the front of the group, to avoid any delayed surges from dropping me if I wasn't paying attention. I felt better as the group pulsed up the hill, and I held my own sufficiently while conversations all died down. Once we plateaued on a ridge a few people got chatty again. But as usual I have only a relative hint where I am located. So that keeps me pretty much on task of not getting dropped, which I held just fine. The run finished up a tarmac road about 1 mile back to the starting junction.
Most group runs here turn into a big kick sometime over the last mile. I prepared for the increased pace. I held the front group until about 400m to go, and they gapped me by about 5-10yds, but my pace was still jamming. A short little guy, probably about 96 lbs. little, didn't seem too pleased that a mizungu was so comfortably climbing the hill alongside him. He laid down about 5 mini -surges which I basically ignored and held pace, but resulted in him getting caught each time brought great enjoyment to some fellow runners behind us. I turned and smiled laughing which brought roars of laughter among them. Little man was none too pleased and raced his guts to finish 1/2 a step ahead of me, to his buddies delight.
We finished the run in 1hr 20min, how far I don't know. If I were to try and guess the pace of runs. We start around 7:30-8:00 for 10-15 min, then 5:50-6:30 for a good period of time and then much faster for roughly the last 10min of every run. I have been told that this group used to just hammer like madmen every run, but upon lack luster competition results, just save it for speed workouts now. I am really starting to feel comfortable training, and don't feel embarrassed of the thought of getting dropped.
As usual thanks for the comments, they are great and hopefully I touch on most questions.
Not that I am channeling a stream of consciousness, ala James Joyce, but I just sit down and start writing. Yeah I try and remember the more memorable portions of the last few days, but a focused structure I lack. Basically I just imagine that I am having a conversation with somebody who agrees with absolutely everything that I say. Which is precisely the reason why I have to imagine such a person, being highly unlikely that such an individual exists. So if you ever wonder where I am heading with something, so am I.
What I meant to tackle with the last title, was the difficulty picking up language in the countryside. Kiswahili is not that hard of a language to pull from, but Kenya is a tribal republic. There are 42 or 47 different tribes here, and they all have there own dialect. It is most common to find people speaking those dialects out in the rural areas. Some people who are travelled can speak and understand numerous of these languages. I am struggling enough with Kiswahili and have no clue when somebody switches over to Kalenjin or some other tribal speak. I rely on someone to go, "Hey he just greeted you in tribal language". Which garners a response of, " Ooh, didn't catch that either". The similarities are indistinguishable and it really doesn't make me any more confused. Just that if I were bright enough to remember any of those words and think I picked up a new Kiswahili nugget. I would fail miserably when I introduce my new find into any one of my three Kiswahili conversational topics.
When I was in Eldoret, I had the pleasure of eating a hamburger. Actually pretty funny because I am not a hamburger guy in the US. Not that I am a health nut, far from it, but some things really bring you back home. I have met a fellow American here in Kapsabet, and he is practically a local, knowing Kiswahili and all. He has really helped me out and shown me the ropes around here. We picked up a few essentials that are not available out here in the country. Cereal, crackers and a bag of roasted/salted peanuts among the good finds.
It is not that I do not enjoy the food, but I have stewed cabbage and ugali with about every evening meal. Not sure if my digestive tract is thanking or cursing me. Last night we actually went over to my new American friend's house for his BDay dinner, including mash potatoes, which I promptly had thirds.
It looks like the rain is slowly starting to back off, from its' daily appearances. Which makes training much more enjoyable, since the roads are in much better condition when allowed to stay dry.
Today was another one of those big group runs. We met at 6:30 am and the weather was maybe high 50's and the sun was barely peeking out. I just said forget the status quo and wore shorts & running tee. This is compared to the long tights and full windbreakers of everyone else. I know that by 7am it will be in the high 60's and I can't stand being sweating like a pig for another 60min.
We meandered for about 20min at a leisurely pace, until we reached a familiar hill that usually takes about 15 min to climb. Today I made sure to stay near the front of the group, to avoid any delayed surges from dropping me if I wasn't paying attention. I felt better as the group pulsed up the hill, and I held my own sufficiently while conversations all died down. Once we plateaued on a ridge a few people got chatty again. But as usual I have only a relative hint where I am located. So that keeps me pretty much on task of not getting dropped, which I held just fine. The run finished up a tarmac road about 1 mile back to the starting junction.
Most group runs here turn into a big kick sometime over the last mile. I prepared for the increased pace. I held the front group until about 400m to go, and they gapped me by about 5-10yds, but my pace was still jamming. A short little guy, probably about 96 lbs. little, didn't seem too pleased that a mizungu was so comfortably climbing the hill alongside him. He laid down about 5 mini -surges which I basically ignored and held pace, but resulted in him getting caught each time brought great enjoyment to some fellow runners behind us. I turned and smiled laughing which brought roars of laughter among them. Little man was none too pleased and raced his guts to finish 1/2 a step ahead of me, to his buddies delight.
We finished the run in 1hr 20min, how far I don't know. If I were to try and guess the pace of runs. We start around 7:30-8:00 for 10-15 min, then 5:50-6:30 for a good period of time and then much faster for roughly the last 10min of every run. I have been told that this group used to just hammer like madmen every run, but upon lack luster competition results, just save it for speed workouts now. I am really starting to feel comfortable training, and don't feel embarrassed of the thought of getting dropped.
As usual thanks for the comments, they are great and hopefully I touch on most questions.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tri-Lingual?
Thanks for all the great comments so far everyone. I will try and hit on all the questions.
I am doing well here in Kapsabet, actually currently in Eldoret enjoying a modern-esque internet connection speed. At this point I have not tried to upload any photos, due to the slow upload speeds of computers in town. Although I think I will try and put them on a CD and compress them and see if I can post some shots that way.
We have been slogging through daily rains here in Kapsabet. When it rains the roads become absolute muck for the next 12 hours. Which seems to cancel many evening run opportunities and just long enough to turn your shoes into earth encrusted moon boots. I literally almost slide down hills because I have an inch thick layer of reddish mud covering any tread on my shoes. Which brings me to tell you about our Saturday afternoon activities. Shoe washing! These guys take washing shoes to an elite level (compared to the lowly amateur ranks). Since we don't run on Sundays, shoes can have the opportunity to dry on the line . I'll break down the process: laces out, insoles out, shoes in bucket of water for a few hours, detergent added, vicious scrubbing commences for about 30-40min, rinsed in cleaner bucket of water, laces scrubbed and then hung with shoes on the line.
I kid you not. These shoes could pass off as brand spanking new. I was blown away when I was shown my shoes on Sunday. It's not all for vanity though, because the dust/mud cause quite a caked mess on your shoes in barely a week. The mud is a tenacious variety that hardens quickly on shoes, rendering them to the same flexibility of that old 3rd baseman's mitt you found in your parent's attic. So that is why we wash shoes almost weekly.
Exercising is not common here in Kenya, especially outside any main city. No one runs unless they have dreams of becoming an elite runner. There is no jogging boom here. The percentage of elite/jogger ratio is probably flipped here, in comparison to say the Cooper River Bridge run or any huge road race. So of all the runners here, 98% are elites. Still takes some getting used to seeing sub 14min or even sub 13 min 5k guys on every corner of town.
What do people do for work in Kapsabet? Various things really. The outlying region here is all farms of maize, and tea mostly. The Rift Valley region is one of the most fertile places in the world. There are a lot of cows, goats, sheep and donkeys roaming about town, many seemingly owner-less. We avoid routes for running that are dog infested, with good reason. Many people work at road side stands, selling various wares. Due to the infrastructure difficulties relating to road conditions, there aren't any big industries out here. I have noticed a size able amount of jobless folks (mostly men) who hang about petrol/market areas. Everyone walks pretty much every where here. You can pay 10 shillings to get a backseat bicycle ride, saving a 15min walk, but you get blasted by diesel smoke of passing vehicles as a treat.
Training today was what I dreamed running in Kenya would be like. About 50 guys met up this morning at 6:30am and headed off for about 60min planned run. It is in my best interest keep up because I never know where I am, every dirt road looks the same and twists without reason. The run started slow-ish for about 25 min then it really got going. Just like a cycling peleton the back of the group experiences the whiplash the worst. Every surge seems to coincide with a hill, and me having the maximum amount of mud caked to my shoes. I held on fine towards the back end and then the last paved hill back into town, was a blistering pace. I plan on hopping in a 10k race or two while I am over here, pretty sure I will be humbled beyond belief. I really do feel a lot better breathing and altitude adjustment-wise, which is a huge relief.
Hopefully I can make some headway on photos and possibly get them up. Thanks for all the comments, and don't worry about sending me anything. I am able to get most items in Eldoret, if necessary. Hope everyone is well.
I am doing well here in Kapsabet, actually currently in Eldoret enjoying a modern-esque internet connection speed. At this point I have not tried to upload any photos, due to the slow upload speeds of computers in town. Although I think I will try and put them on a CD and compress them and see if I can post some shots that way.
We have been slogging through daily rains here in Kapsabet. When it rains the roads become absolute muck for the next 12 hours. Which seems to cancel many evening run opportunities and just long enough to turn your shoes into earth encrusted moon boots. I literally almost slide down hills because I have an inch thick layer of reddish mud covering any tread on my shoes. Which brings me to tell you about our Saturday afternoon activities. Shoe washing! These guys take washing shoes to an elite level (compared to the lowly amateur ranks). Since we don't run on Sundays, shoes can have the opportunity to dry on the line . I'll break down the process: laces out, insoles out, shoes in bucket of water for a few hours, detergent added, vicious scrubbing commences for about 30-40min, rinsed in cleaner bucket of water, laces scrubbed and then hung with shoes on the line.
I kid you not. These shoes could pass off as brand spanking new. I was blown away when I was shown my shoes on Sunday. It's not all for vanity though, because the dust/mud cause quite a caked mess on your shoes in barely a week. The mud is a tenacious variety that hardens quickly on shoes, rendering them to the same flexibility of that old 3rd baseman's mitt you found in your parent's attic. So that is why we wash shoes almost weekly.
Exercising is not common here in Kenya, especially outside any main city. No one runs unless they have dreams of becoming an elite runner. There is no jogging boom here. The percentage of elite/jogger ratio is probably flipped here, in comparison to say the Cooper River Bridge run or any huge road race. So of all the runners here, 98% are elites. Still takes some getting used to seeing sub 14min or even sub 13 min 5k guys on every corner of town.
What do people do for work in Kapsabet? Various things really. The outlying region here is all farms of maize, and tea mostly. The Rift Valley region is one of the most fertile places in the world. There are a lot of cows, goats, sheep and donkeys roaming about town, many seemingly owner-less. We avoid routes for running that are dog infested, with good reason. Many people work at road side stands, selling various wares. Due to the infrastructure difficulties relating to road conditions, there aren't any big industries out here. I have noticed a size able amount of jobless folks (mostly men) who hang about petrol/market areas. Everyone walks pretty much every where here. You can pay 10 shillings to get a backseat bicycle ride, saving a 15min walk, but you get blasted by diesel smoke of passing vehicles as a treat.
Training today was what I dreamed running in Kenya would be like. About 50 guys met up this morning at 6:30am and headed off for about 60min planned run. It is in my best interest keep up because I never know where I am, every dirt road looks the same and twists without reason. The run started slow-ish for about 25 min then it really got going. Just like a cycling peleton the back of the group experiences the whiplash the worst. Every surge seems to coincide with a hill, and me having the maximum amount of mud caked to my shoes. I held on fine towards the back end and then the last paved hill back into town, was a blistering pace. I plan on hopping in a 10k race or two while I am over here, pretty sure I will be humbled beyond belief. I really do feel a lot better breathing and altitude adjustment-wise, which is a huge relief.
Hopefully I can make some headway on photos and possibly get them up. Thanks for all the comments, and don't worry about sending me anything. I am able to get most items in Eldoret, if necessary. Hope everyone is well.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Red Carpet
Ok before I start into my post, I must congratulate my wife Jenny. She just completed the Chicago triathlon. By completed I mean she WON THE ENTIRE THING, finishing 19th overall men included! This race had 8700 racers! The Pros raced a different course and she would have placed 11th if you used her time. Way to go Jenny! I wish I could have been there to watch you.
Alright I have had a few comments and emails now about the food over here. Well pretty much everything is fresh produce, that ends up getting stewed in a single pot over a kerosene camp stove. Pretty much every evening we have Ugali with our meals. Ugali consists of maize flour mixed with water, and heated until it firms up into a steaming loaf. It's pretty bland, but you are supposed to just grab at it with your hands and then cover whatever the main entree is with it then eat. Utensils have been sparing, and most meals are eaten with our hands, make that just your right hand. Culturally the left hand is taboo, used for other unscrupulous tasks mainly. I don't eat that much meat, and when I do it is goat. Thankfully I bear no strong ties to any goats back home. The meat isn't bad, but I struggle with the bones all over the place. The butcher pretty much indiscriminately hacks at a huge hunk of meat with an axe, regardless of bone-meat location.
Now to the red carpet treatment. Last night I got to tour a dairy cooling plant, down the road from my house. All because I am the town white guy! They were all fired up to teach me how the farmers bring the milk and it is chilled and then the cans are returned to the farmers. It was actually pretty cool process to check out. We scored a jug of clean water and a tea kettle of free milk from one of the silos too. That's right I have made some huge connections.
Every time I go over to someones house for tea or a meal, that bend over backwards. The hospitality is unreal, and I am blown away every time. Well I got to eat special ugali and porridge from a different type of darker flour. Not too shabby actually. Everyone I meet has been saying I need to try Soh milk, a Kalenjin traditional milk. It is boiled (I hope) and then put into a gourd for up to one year. It is usually only brought out for special occasions or guests. Well I had my first taste the other day. When asked my opinion, after waiting for the room to stop spinning, I replied, "It's interesting". I didn't have to heart to mention the presence of chunks would lead to believe the shelf life inside the gourd, might be significantly less than one year. Maybe in the one week time frame. I grimaced enough to bring my glass below the halfway mark, and hoped no one would stare. I didn't die later on, which I view as a huge positive.
Also have been asked about the plumbing situation. There are 8 units of living quarters, broken into 2 buildings where I live. There are plumbing fixtures but just for laughs. There is a big water tank near the latrines that people use to fill up. Anything plumbing wise is done manual style. When I say shower, I mean boil some water, cool it off, then go into a 3x4 room with a hole in the wall to the outside. I then splash that water on myself until I figure I am cleaner than I started. Bathrooms, there are two options, public vs. private. We share access to a private latrine with one other unit, kept under lock and key. Inside there you would find a toilet that has been covered with concrete just showing the operational end. Once again, manual is the word, you take a bucket to dismiss your work. The public is a fly infested hole, that bears use only when you are urgent, or far too lazy to get the key to the private one. Oh yeah I bought toilet paper (worried I wouldn't find it), looking silly after stealing handfuls at the airports on my arriving flights.
Training:
I think I am rounding the bend of adjusting to the altitude. I am still obscenely tired after training but I am holding up better during each run. I have also shaken all but the last bits of my cold, that emerge 30 min mid run in hacking form.
This morning I ran 1:23 for I don't know how many km. Every time I ask how far I have gone I get an guesstimate answer that seems completely made up on the spot. So I am just tracking my training by time for now. I will start hills and fartlek (ex. 2 min hard-1 min easy for 30 min) workouts this week.
Hope all is well, and I really like all the posts from everyone.
Alright I have had a few comments and emails now about the food over here. Well pretty much everything is fresh produce, that ends up getting stewed in a single pot over a kerosene camp stove. Pretty much every evening we have Ugali with our meals. Ugali consists of maize flour mixed with water, and heated until it firms up into a steaming loaf. It's pretty bland, but you are supposed to just grab at it with your hands and then cover whatever the main entree is with it then eat. Utensils have been sparing, and most meals are eaten with our hands, make that just your right hand. Culturally the left hand is taboo, used for other unscrupulous tasks mainly. I don't eat that much meat, and when I do it is goat. Thankfully I bear no strong ties to any goats back home. The meat isn't bad, but I struggle with the bones all over the place. The butcher pretty much indiscriminately hacks at a huge hunk of meat with an axe, regardless of bone-meat location.
Now to the red carpet treatment. Last night I got to tour a dairy cooling plant, down the road from my house. All because I am the town white guy! They were all fired up to teach me how the farmers bring the milk and it is chilled and then the cans are returned to the farmers. It was actually pretty cool process to check out. We scored a jug of clean water and a tea kettle of free milk from one of the silos too. That's right I have made some huge connections.
Every time I go over to someones house for tea or a meal, that bend over backwards. The hospitality is unreal, and I am blown away every time. Well I got to eat special ugali and porridge from a different type of darker flour. Not too shabby actually. Everyone I meet has been saying I need to try Soh milk, a Kalenjin traditional milk. It is boiled (I hope) and then put into a gourd for up to one year. It is usually only brought out for special occasions or guests. Well I had my first taste the other day. When asked my opinion, after waiting for the room to stop spinning, I replied, "It's interesting". I didn't have to heart to mention the presence of chunks would lead to believe the shelf life inside the gourd, might be significantly less than one year. Maybe in the one week time frame. I grimaced enough to bring my glass below the halfway mark, and hoped no one would stare. I didn't die later on, which I view as a huge positive.
Also have been asked about the plumbing situation. There are 8 units of living quarters, broken into 2 buildings where I live. There are plumbing fixtures but just for laughs. There is a big water tank near the latrines that people use to fill up. Anything plumbing wise is done manual style. When I say shower, I mean boil some water, cool it off, then go into a 3x4 room with a hole in the wall to the outside. I then splash that water on myself until I figure I am cleaner than I started. Bathrooms, there are two options, public vs. private. We share access to a private latrine with one other unit, kept under lock and key. Inside there you would find a toilet that has been covered with concrete just showing the operational end. Once again, manual is the word, you take a bucket to dismiss your work. The public is a fly infested hole, that bears use only when you are urgent, or far too lazy to get the key to the private one. Oh yeah I bought toilet paper (worried I wouldn't find it), looking silly after stealing handfuls at the airports on my arriving flights.
Training:
I think I am rounding the bend of adjusting to the altitude. I am still obscenely tired after training but I am holding up better during each run. I have also shaken all but the last bits of my cold, that emerge 30 min mid run in hacking form.
This morning I ran 1:23 for I don't know how many km. Every time I ask how far I have gone I get an guesstimate answer that seems completely made up on the spot. So I am just tracking my training by time for now. I will start hills and fartlek (ex. 2 min hard-1 min easy for 30 min) workouts this week.
Hope all is well, and I really like all the posts from everyone.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Not Soo Fast
Well I am back on the mend already. Got some antibiotics in town and I have shook all but the last remnants of the cold, that had knocked me back over the weekend. I was even able to run the past two days.
Yesterday I ran for 45 minutes but felt significantly weaker and was only up for slogging through the run. Trying to tackle the terrain here at less than 100% is not very pleasant and I felt it the second that we finished. This is even after completing what was said to be an "easy" route, which contained to separate hills that took about 5 min each to climb.
Today was a bit better at 56 min and finishing at a nice clip. Although I am still hacking up gross stuff, thankfully in this rural area spitting/snot-rockets are not a frowned upon activity. I get so many children greeting me with "How are you?" on my runs that I have to save my breath and just wave. Pretty sure they do not understand that I am currently at a genetic disposition to breathing and talking at this altitude. For me I can barely do both while running!
No one really stretches here or does any sort of weight lifting. At first I thought, 'Hey this is great my kinda philosophy', but then a lot of these guys have nagging injuries that they can't explain. Most of them are hip or IT band issues, which would lead to believe that stretching is still beneficial. Once I feel better, I plan on engaging in some body weight exercises as well as my usual stretching routine.
I also have realized how gradual I must take my adjustment here. After being told by knowledgeable people in the US, that it takes about 4 weeks to adapt to the altitude then you start to benefit. Well as far as the adapting is concerning..... I believe you. So I doubt I will be stepping onto the track until the end of September range. Until then I plan on just doing long runs, fartleks, and hill workouts. I think that should fill my plate just fine.
Hope everyone is well! Great to see USA take 2 heat of the 5k last night!
Yesterday I ran for 45 minutes but felt significantly weaker and was only up for slogging through the run. Trying to tackle the terrain here at less than 100% is not very pleasant and I felt it the second that we finished. This is even after completing what was said to be an "easy" route, which contained to separate hills that took about 5 min each to climb.
Today was a bit better at 56 min and finishing at a nice clip. Although I am still hacking up gross stuff, thankfully in this rural area spitting/snot-rockets are not a frowned upon activity. I get so many children greeting me with "How are you?" on my runs that I have to save my breath and just wave. Pretty sure they do not understand that I am currently at a genetic disposition to breathing and talking at this altitude. For me I can barely do both while running!
No one really stretches here or does any sort of weight lifting. At first I thought, 'Hey this is great my kinda philosophy', but then a lot of these guys have nagging injuries that they can't explain. Most of them are hip or IT band issues, which would lead to believe that stretching is still beneficial. Once I feel better, I plan on engaging in some body weight exercises as well as my usual stretching routine.
I also have realized how gradual I must take my adjustment here. After being told by knowledgeable people in the US, that it takes about 4 weeks to adapt to the altitude then you start to benefit. Well as far as the adapting is concerning..... I believe you. So I doubt I will be stepping onto the track until the end of September range. Until then I plan on just doing long runs, fartleks, and hill workouts. I think that should fill my plate just fine.
Hope everyone is well! Great to see USA take 2 heat of the 5k last night!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
GOT SICK!
Well since my last post I have come down with what appears to be a common cold. Started to get a fever on Saturday night, and returns every afternoon, along with a cough/sore throat. The roommate had the same thing a few days earlier, so I am not too worried. It is pretty tough to stay calm when you have a fever here in Africa, and keep your mind from jumping to conclusions. I picked up some meds from the pharmacist yesterday and already I feel back on track.
Took today off of training to give myself a chance to recover fully. I don't think I was doing myself any favor by running yesterday though. Sunday and Monday sure hadn't shaken the beating from Saturday, my butt hurt so bad that the only that didn't make me wince was actually going uphill! I have met half of the town and probably 85% of the athletes here, with 75% of them still convinced I am coach/manager who can give them $$ or a passport to races.
Locals have informed me that the rainy season here is during April, but it has rained every single day that I have been here. When it does we just wait until about 11 AM to run, giving the roads a chance to dry out. Running around here it's impossible to find any route devoid of hills. The general format that most the athletes follow on a basic run; shuffle jog 10min, easy pace 10 min, mod pace rest of run and hard pace last 1-2km. Everyone wheres long sleeves and sweatsuits, if not they wear tights. I tried it but feel like a wrestler trying to drop a few pounds. I already stick out, so who cares if I am the only one in short sleeves and shorts?
They eat big portions here of ugali, rice, lentils and anything else they are serving. We purchase fresh fruits and veggies from the market stand most evenings, for our meals. So the food situation is not bad at all. Although I relegated to drinking bottled water all the time for precaution.
I have been watching the Olympics, and marvel at international coverage of T&F. They show every event and all participants, with minimal blabbering or sob stories. Roommates and friends were pretty fired up yesterday after Kenya took 2 golds, 1 silver & bronze in Men 3kSC and Wmn 800m.
If anyone has any questions about what it's like out here I would love to answer them.
Hope all is well in USA.
Took today off of training to give myself a chance to recover fully. I don't think I was doing myself any favor by running yesterday though. Sunday and Monday sure hadn't shaken the beating from Saturday, my butt hurt so bad that the only that didn't make me wince was actually going uphill! I have met half of the town and probably 85% of the athletes here, with 75% of them still convinced I am coach/manager who can give them $$ or a passport to races.
Locals have informed me that the rainy season here is during April, but it has rained every single day that I have been here. When it does we just wait until about 11 AM to run, giving the roads a chance to dry out. Running around here it's impossible to find any route devoid of hills. The general format that most the athletes follow on a basic run; shuffle jog 10min, easy pace 10 min, mod pace rest of run and hard pace last 1-2km. Everyone wheres long sleeves and sweatsuits, if not they wear tights. I tried it but feel like a wrestler trying to drop a few pounds. I already stick out, so who cares if I am the only one in short sleeves and shorts?
They eat big portions here of ugali, rice, lentils and anything else they are serving. We purchase fresh fruits and veggies from the market stand most evenings, for our meals. So the food situation is not bad at all. Although I relegated to drinking bottled water all the time for precaution.
I have been watching the Olympics, and marvel at international coverage of T&F. They show every event and all participants, with minimal blabbering or sob stories. Roommates and friends were pretty fired up yesterday after Kenya took 2 golds, 1 silver & bronze in Men 3kSC and Wmn 800m.
If anyone has any questions about what it's like out here I would love to answer them.
Hope all is well in USA.
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