Last Saturday I did something I never thought I could do- run a 10K. Now, "run" is a loose term... We purposefully didn't time ourselves. But I was "not walking" for the entire distance. =) Apparently in Kenya, 10K is also a loose term. The group I went with are all pretty sure it wasn't actually 6.2 miles. But our certificates say 10K, and it was definitely more than 5 miles, so we'll call it a 10K.
It was an experience, starting way back with the registration and t-shirt purchase. I had been vaguely training for a 10K since the New Year, but I didn't have a race in mind, and in normal African style, there isn't, say, a website where one could check on future races or anything. Also in normal African style, I got the news through my relationships- this person heard something and told someone else, who maybe mentioned it in a conversation to someone I know who knew I had been running. Got all that? Anyhow, somehow I got an email. It said there was a 10K coming up, and one could register for it outside Nakumatt. Also normal- I went to Nakumatt multiple times a week for 3 weeks and never once saw a place to register for the race. But again, my network of relationships continued to insist it was possible, some of them had successfully registered, and I should persist.
A note on all this- I am not athletic. I can't quite wrap my mind around the fact that I _can_ run that distance, just like I'm pretty sure every morning when I get dressed that those jeans will be much too small for my body and this must be a joke. I run either before the sun comes up or after it goes down- partly to avoid the heat, mostly to avoid the public humiliation. So I'm taking a huge risk to agree to do this race, and I wouldn't do it without a friend I greatly trust running alongside me. (She's 15 weeks pregnant and ran a 10K with me- that says a lot about her friendship, her general hard-core-ness, and, well, my running pace). Anyhow, given my insecurities, if I'm going to do this race, ALL THE DUCKS HAD BETTER BE IN A ROW! I better know _exactly_ what's expected of me. When I did the triathlon in Los Alamos, they gave me a little bag with a schedule, a route map, important reminders, numbers to call, and my little pinned-on placard with my number. Perfect. I love specifics. Especially when they're encased in plastic.
But that's not really how life works here. When I walked by Nakumatt for the 4th time that day, hoping someone would show up to register me for the race, a young man had indeed arrived with some lime green t-shirts that said "Mater Heart Run." Great. I go to talk with him and discover he smells like he had just run a marathon, but I'm basically used to that these days and continue the conversation. He tells me all about what a good cause it is. Perfect. I'd like to actually run in the race; is that possible? Yes, yes, yes- did I tell you about what a good cause it is? Yes, you did; now, can you tell me a little about the race? Sure- there's a 3K, a 10K, a 21 K, and a 42 K. All right, how do I register for the 10K? By buying this t-shirt for $13 - simply having the t-shirt registers you. And it's such a good cause! OK, I got that- how do I know where to run for the 10K? It's such a good cause- you are helping poor children receive open heart surgery! Yes, but
where is the race? Downtown- for a good cause!
But where downtown? C'mon, buy a t-shirt- it's such a good cause!
I might buy a t-shirt and register if you could tell me some specifics about the race! (Deep breath) Do you have an information sheet? He looks at me like I'm clearly being unreasonable. It's such a good cause- why won't I just buy a t-shirt!?! Argh!!! I told him I might come back later.
In the meantime, I think through the fact that there are a group of us planning to do the run, and between us, we'll probably be able to sort things out. (And of course, it's such a good cause). So I go back, buy the t-shirt, and hope for the best.
Sure enough, communal intelligence comes through again- one's misinformation is countered by the others, and by the time race day arrives, we've agreed to act on what we think is probably true. How reassuring. And as we head for the stadium where we _think_ the race will start and finish, there are little clumps of green t-shirts getting off matatus and walking with friends. They're going the same direction we are, so that's promising.
The race experience itself was overwhelming: 3000 people in BRIGHT green t-shirts, mass step-aerobics as a warmup, speeches and more speeches, starting the "race" walking behind a marching band blaring some generic Kenyan/Mexican sounding brassiness. We couldn't quite figure out when to start running- they had said to stay behind the band until we got to the street, but which street? At one point we just decided to start running, but there were so many people that we were dodging and weaving and hitting human traffic jams... I definitely should have carried a camera to show you folks running in jeans and flip-flops, the nun running with a green t-shirt stretched over her habit, and my favorite: the woman running in a full burqa. Wow.
We lost most of the unusual characters at the first uphill, but Lara and I enjoyed the scenery, talked a little, and jogged a long loop around downtown Nairobi. I didn't feel as self-conscious as I expected to: Running White Girl is not all that much stranger than plain ol' White Girl, so I didn't get stared at any more than usual. We were still weaving in and out of crowds, and maybe that made the distance closer to 10K. But right about the time I decided, "OK, this is the point where I need to be disciplined and tell myself to keep running," we turned a corner and were looking at the stadium that held the finish line. Both of us agreed we could have pushed harder had we known how short it was going to feel.
So here are the triumphant Rosslyn runners; we were so proud of ourselves that we're talking about doing the half-marathon in October.
But I have one question: Do you think _that_ race will give me details encased in plastic?
