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.