Stepping Outside the Gate

I took about thirty minutes and went out of the gate for the cottage at Simbolei Academy and just waited. In Iten, you don't have to wait long to see the world class go by, making six minute pace look like a saunter.

Found a track in Iten

I went out meandering yesterday evening and managed to find another track in Iten about a kilometer from the cottage where I’m staying. It was in use when I got there, with several people doing interval work in the rain showers, with the coach providing directions and encouragement from the side. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the right lens on to get great pictures.

The taller young lady, I think British from her accent, kicked up small clouds of dust as she toed off on her hard repeats of 700 meters. A lot of power in her stride and a lot of grace, though the latter was limited by the bandaging she had on her right thigh, upper and lower. I’m assuming a nagging type of hamstring problem. It only showed in her arm carriage as she fought the leg a bit. She had a pacer for parts of the workout.

Meanwhile, on the outside edge of the track (though the picture I took was after she dropped to the infield) was a lady that I’d guess is a marathoner. Steady as a metronome, she turned her laps looking comfortable and strong.

While I sat under a tree looking for some protection from the showers, another runner joined me. Martin and I swapped notes on the runners, and talked a bit of America. Martin has been there and raced in the Boilermaker 10K and Peachtree. He’s looking for an opportunity to go back.

Others dropped in on the track to cool down from a longer run out on the roads, just as the rain began in earnest. Also around were a couple of young men, one American, the other from parts unknown, goofing and taking their pictures on the track. Based on body build and running form, I’m guessing they were strength coaches.

About the time the ladies left the track, I decided I should brave the rain and get back to the cottage. Tucking my camera under me shirt, I slogged up the dirt/mud roads to the cottage, watching the two ladies run past at a pace I couldn’t have kept if I wanted to, plus another (American?) lady on a bicycle. Another runner past me on the way down to the track, giving me a friendly ‘Hi’ though she looked a bit unsure as to why I was around.

Seems to be a common issue. The young Kenyan at the store that I shopped at earlier in the day asked if I was here to train. The presumption is that all the white people are training, with the occasional paragliding pilot tossed into the mix. I don’t fit the parameters.

To Town I Went

On that early walk into town to shop, I past Wilson Kipsang’s Keellu Resort Centre and the Eldoret Stage point. Few people in Kenya own personal vehicles and the majority get to and from places on private transport called matatus or on motorcycles. The matatus run on regular routes and for a very reasonable fee, they’ll drop you at a stop close to your destination. Because they run smaller vehicles, the service is faster than an American bus route, with more frequent pickups. It’s highly effective.

The motorcycles run point-to-point, ferrying one to three people (plus driver, of course) to their destinations. Rather than the mammoth 650cc or 750cc Honda Goldwings or Harleys populating the US streets, they favor 175-275cc enduro bikes that are highly maneuverable. In Eldoret, they weave between the cars and trucks and matatus in a fashion that would seem to be reckless. Not surprisingly, they are on the losing end of many an accident. In Iten, they seem a bit more sedate, though that may simply be the result of less congestion.

On the way back, I dropped a card off at Keellu with a request to chat with Mr. Kipsang. I would guess that the odds are long that a World Record marathoner who also has businesses to run while have time for me, but I thought there was no harm in asking.

Evening Time at the Cottage

So, after getting drenched in the deluge during my walk back from the track, I changed into dry gear and set dinner to cooking – beans and potatoes, a small piece of beef cut in small cubes, seasoned with tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt and pepper. It took a while to simmer down and thicken to a nice soup broth, so I went out onto the patio of the cottage and read,

Movement from the corner of my eye distracted me, though. High atop one of the nearby trees, a pair of cranes stood. The newcomer, a male I suppose, was diligently trying to impress the female, first ducking and weaving its head in an intricate series of twists. That provoked no response, so he moved onto a full ‘look-at-me’ dance complete with thrumming the air to show off his wings.

Alas, she still wasn’t interested.

For a finale, the storm, after delivering buckets of rain and some impressive thunder, blew past, just in time for the sunset. I watched it light the edge of the clouds and spread glowingly out, until it peaked and faded. At the last light, it was time to go inside for my stew while the night time sounds rustled in through the windows. .

First Day - Iten

Okay, if I walk into town, I can get internet service again. Cool. So, first morning run in Iten, and more high quality runners than you would see at a major t&f meet, Kenyan, American, European. Really friendly to the tragically slow runner in their midst, though. I'll get articles up on the blog, but I'm going to have to write them separately and upload once a day. Not sure how pictures are going to work.

The place that I rented, the cottage at Simbolei Academy is very well located for runners. Within a mile, you have the High Altitude Training Camp. the track, Wilson Kipsang's Keellu Resort Centre, and the Kiero View Restaurant (they have cottages and paragliding, too). Stepping our the main gate puts you on the same road that the professionals are using. I was out by 6:30 - a fair number were already winding down their morning run. Others will wait for later in the day, especially the Europeans/Americans.

Interestingly, all the Kenyans train in full jackets and pants, despite temperatures in the high fifties, low sixties. My guess is that they regulate heat better than most groups which is a decided advantage for racing long distances.  Zero body fat plays a role as well, something that I don't need to concern myself with.

Run gently, everyone.

The Kids Moved Out, and the Dog Died. It's Time.

The title of today's post comes from a comment I've been making to friends for the last couple of years. I've wanted to make a trip to Kenya, but life considerations took precedence. First, I only get a limited amount of time to be a dad. Unless I ran into a pressing necessity, like putting food on the table, I wanted to be there for the girls. A two month trip, solo, didn't fit, so like many other things that parents put aside, this one got shoved onto the 'Someday' list.

The second was the dog. Stitch, the last of our dogs (until the next one), had enough health issues to depress any human. Being Stitch meant always being happy. He was happiest when I was around. I was his 'guy'. Probably didn't hurt that I'm the big softie in the family. Towards the end of his life, he would stress when I took business trips and greet me with exuberant barks on return. Then he would bring me all his special toys, and share. Until just near the end, he would follow me wherever I went in the house.

You don't abandon loyal partners, ever.  

Now I've reached the point where all the girls have moved out, and started their own families. They're busy crafting their own futures and creating their own memories with my grandkids. Pretty awesome to watch, but I'm no longer critical to the events. Nor do I have a faithful four-legged companion to feed, pet, and holler at when he'd be underfoot.

It's time. Yesterday I went down to the post office to start the paperwork for a passport. I haven't needed one in decades. I showed up with application and birth certificate in hand - and had the original birth certificate, the one given to my mother - rejected. Apparently, they need a certified copy. In 1962, no one thought it necessary to certify that the actual government-issued document needed additional certification. For a mere $52.25, this is fixable.

I don't expect that this will be the last roadblock that pops into view. In the meantime, I've started laying the groundwork for the visit. There's a surprising lack of detailed information on Kenya. I'm working my way through two travel guides, but they focus on the major touristy places. My story waits in the rural areas, far from Nairobi. Since it's a running story, I'll hit Eldoret and Iten, at least for visits.

I contacted the High Altitude Training Center, founded by Lornah Kiplagat, and have exchanged very pleasant emails with Kevin. There are a fair number of training centers in the region, catering to both Kenyans and Westerners looking to improve. Since that's not why I'm heading there, I sought out Lornah Kiplagat and the HATC because of the Lornah Kiplagat Foundation, a separate entity.

Kevin has been most helpful, inviting me to a tour of the facility when I get there and trying to find someone who can guide me into the rural communities so I can meet the families and being to understand their lives.

The story that I want to write involves Kenyans coming to the US and the resulting culture shock. Most of those runners are coming from the most impoverished regions, not the cities. As I considered the idea - and thought about people to reach out to in the US like Bernard Lagat - a growing realization struck me. Almost all the Kenyans coming this way are male.

Photo from the Lornah Kiiplagat Foundation website.

Why?

I have some ideas. Indeed, Lornah's foundation's site gives a goodly part of the answer:

Unlike the western world, participation in (primary) education is not a given in Kenya. Particularly girls are not always given the opportunities that are rightfully theirs. The large setup of most families means that parents often cannot afford to send all of their children to school. As a result, usually only the boys are sent to school and the girls lose out. A missed opportunity according to Lornah Kiplagat.

I could probably build a story just off that comment, but I'm betting that isn't the only factor. I could invent other stuff and pretend, but that would leave me with a story that isn't authentic. No bueno. I need to be in country and learn to think as a Kenyan. A couple of years would be nice, but I don't have that much time, so I'm starting with a six week trip.

Assuming they let me have a passport. I'll keep you posted. Target date for wheels-up and headed to Kenya is December 27th.