The running man

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Every guy has a private moment. A time when they plunge into themselves and everything fades to grey. Some people have that moment in the car, sitting in traffic with that faraway look. Some have it in a bar, silent at a corner, staring down at their reflection in their drink. Some take trips. My pal, a biker, often gets on his dirt bike and with a knapsack on his back rides out to nowhere in particular, pitching tent in barren lands or booking himself into seedy motels for the night. He usually has dinner alone, then maybe catch a drink later and chat up some hungry looking and very tacky hookers. Some guys get on a bus for a weekend in Sotik where they book themselves in a hotel and spend a weekend in solitude, staring out the window to a distant nothingness. “Thinking things over” they call it. I don’t thrive alone; I wither and die when I’m alone. I seek the comfort of human company, the sound of a cough, the peals of laughter, anything to signify that I’m not alone and that the rapture didn’t come and I didn’t make the cut. I can’t stay in the house alone for two days; I will probably slit my wrist. Psychologists reading this have perhaps tagged me as “disturbed and dysfunctional man with issues regarding to self.” Which is another way of saying suicidal.

My private moment is when I run. There is a scene in Forrest Gump where Tom Hanks just runs; he runs through towns and over bridges, past farms, he runs past kids and runs past buses. He just runs. I love that scene because it speaks to me. To tell you my story about running I have to tell you the story about Santa. Not Claus, just Santa.

Five years ago, I was on my first job fresh from campus. I was living in a bedsit. I had a bed, a small coffee table, a television, a DVD player, a side unit which contained a few utensils – which I hardly ever used – and a gas stove. Bliss can’t start describing this bare existence. My landlady who lived in the main house was Sudanese, the most kindly lady you ever met. She worked in Juba. A single mother of three kids, all teenage, when she was around she would send food to my house at night. They owned two German shepherds and a little white poodle which one of her daughters carried everywhere. Her kids would constantly throw parties in the bar in their backyard garden. Those were loud nights.

Enter Santa. He was the guy who took care of the home when she was away. He is the guy who made sure there was order when she was a way. He made sure that the kids weren’t running wild or smoking pot in the house. I paid Santa my rent. When I had a problem with plumbing, Santa took care of it. Santa lived inside the main house and his room faced my little manor. He wasn’t the landlady’s gigolo or anything because his woman would come to visit constantly. Those were loud nights.

Now every morning Santa would wake up at the crack of dawn and lock up the German hounds. Then he would go jogging. When I would step out of my little hut to head to make hay, I would run into Santa at the parking lot; sweaty, jumping rope, stretching and doing push-ups. He jogged four times a week. He was fit, fast, stronger and obviously happy. I on the other hand was stuffing my face with fries, drinking cheap brandy, and adding weight. Santa’s woman loved to stare at my paunch, but only because Santa made fun of it. She found him funny, I didn’t, but I admired his discipline. One day I went and bought some cheap running shoes, truck suit and decided to join Santa at 5am for his jog. I’ve never looked back.

For five years I’ve set my alarm at 4.50am three or four times a week. The five minutes is always to lie in bed and ask myself, “why, oh God, why?” The ten minutes is to dress up, brush my teeth and step out of the house. Question is why brush your teeth… it’s not like you are going on a date. Well, I realized that brushing my teeth woke me up completely, it made me alive and I love the taste of mint. Over the few years I have worked around the frequency of the morning runs depending on many factors; my weight, health, the weather, moods, my schedule et al.

The hardest part of waking up at that ungodly hour is not even in waking up; it’s putting your feet on the floor. Normally once my feet embed on the floor; there is normally no looking back. Over time I’ve learnt how important running gear is, and the axiom in running is similar to life’s; cheap is gonna break your back. I realized that at the beginning I used to frequently suffer ankle and back injuries, then some fitness writer pal of mind identified the culprit; my running shoes, some Nike knock-offs. Shoes are key, bad shoes will break your back- literally- and they will kill your knees and ankles. A decent pair of running shoes goes for not less than Ksh. 7,000 a pop. But they last for a long time! At that time of the morning, you need warm clothes; hoodies, perforated t-shirts inside, a head gear and warm trucks. Oh, and bikers. I remember one time I couldn’t find my bikers and I said, the hell with it I’m an African, well, my African ass got so badly bruised for a week I was walking around like I had a VD.

I step into the cold at 5am. In July it’s particularly nippy at 5am. At 5am a sadistic breeze hits your face in a million little needles. Your breath crawls up your face in a haze of mist at 5am. At 5am the streets in my estate are bare, not a soul, and its deathly quiet. The street lights burn stoically and when I run past them they throw a long shadow against the fences. I run with music – and I play my music loud. I jog to the croaky sounds of David Cook, to the worldly and soothing voice of Chris Martin, I pant to Michell Branch and I lose breath to Gavin DeGraw. Fast music gives me a nudge, it excites me, it’s encourages me to move ahead even if it’s painful.

But when I’m in top flight nothing else really matters but the tarmac shifting under my feet, the galloping of my heart and the biting wind licking my nose. Apart from an idle dog that will bark furiously as I pass a gate, I’m always pretty much alone, just the way I want it. I meet cabs at that time, mostly headed to pick guys who are perhaps catching an early morning flight. On Sunday mornings I meet cabs dropping off drunken and dazed souls back from a night on the tiles. They stare through the cab window at me as if I’m an animal in a zoo. They look ghoulishly lost through those cab windows.

Everybody who is out running out there knows each other by face or by running apparel. It’s a relationship founded on silence. Nobody converses; we pass each other like ships in the dark. You try not to stare as you pass each other, you soldier on in pursuit of whatever it is that lives in that morning hour. There is a guy who wears blue shorts; short stocky and runs like he’s possessed. There is the lady with

a big rack and snow white sneakers. There is the couple that walks fast and converse in hushed tones. There are two big women who do more gossiping than walking.

Then there are the rich old men. Those are a study. After running for all these years I can tell the rich folk easily; they wear matching, and very expensive, apparel. Their faces are always lighter, not brown, just lighter, and they don’t sweat, they perspire…like aristocrats. And they always carry handkerchiefs to wipe their brows with, which I find odd because part of the experience is to feel sweat trickle down your cheeks. Anyway these are the guys who have worked their asses off for decades, acquired mad wealth only to be sat by their doctors and told that they have to manage their weight or the diabetes will kill them, if the blood pressure doesn’t get them first. So they jog with more purpose than the rest because to them is a matter of life and death. But they never last, you will see one and he will disappear for months only to surface again, with different apparel no doubt.

And so I meet these people, and we all nurture a silent relationship. But running brings with it a freedom, a privacy and a joy that is indescribable, and it’s addictive. When you run you feel removed from everything for that hour. And you think. You think of things you wouldn’t think about while you chowing, or when you are in bed. And the thought pattern at that time is clearer and colder. I have made some of the biggest decisions of my life while running; I have come up with some of my own memorable intro to stories when I’m running. When I have a writer’s block, I wear my running shoes and it clears my head off clutter.

Running builds confidence. Running builds a strong back. Running makes your heart stronger which makes you love better. Running strengthens your back. It makes your skin glow. It helps you breath deeper. Running keeps silly ailments like common flu at bay because it boosts your immunity. Running makes you happy. And everybody wants to be happy and it all starts with tying your shoelaces.

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47 Comments
  1. You make me feel like buying new sporties and hitting the road with my skinny self… Lucky you have found something to loose yourself in, coz in loosing yourself you find yourself…Some deep ish right there.

    Keep jogging, heavy lunches at bay..tsk! and be happy…:)

    I love the ending ( it all starts with tying your shoelaces.) Good stuff!

  2. Kigali & Bujumbura are inhabited by a running mass. Sports is a must for everybody and it is here that you find both the young and the old jogging, running and exercising almost every morning and evening

    It sort of rubs off on you and you find yourself doing the same…… You feel challenged for not doing it

  3. I once almost started running. Then decided I didn’t love myself that much. Since you’ve made it out to be such a good fun thing, I’ll go back to thinking about it

  4. You are slowly becoming on eof my favourite writers, and yes, i am one of those who love the stories where you make a total ass of yourself.
    Anyway, its simple, its beautiful, keep up the good work.

  5. like ships in the dark…has a ring to it 🙂 you’ve almost inspired me to start running… but being a delicate soul and not given to running unless my life is in danger (and that rarely, if ever, happens), i think i’ll start with the comforts of the gym…

  6. I used to but a pack [sp] of dogs had other thoughts. 2 early mornings coming back home minus shoes, having done 100m unprepared dashes killed it. With this, I’ll be back, hounds or no hounds.

  7. @ Warioh. Nice name, very bold. Thanks for reading.
    @Cold Turkey: back this month, I hope?
    @carolyne: Lol
    @Shiro: saw you on tv jana….:-)
    @kavuki: Thank you very much for dropping in and reading.
    @Skbr…how do u pronounce that?
    @Karuu: Your president, Kagame, runs yeah? Do you get teh East african newspaper back there? There is a 3-part series on him by the great Charles Onyango Obbo. Great read. get in online.
    @Late july why dont u give it a short early August? 🙂

  8. Nyce. Ai baba, did i just read 7k for running shoes?! Do you know, when i used to stay in a hostel, it cost that same amount monthly?Besides, i think some red and white bata bullets from Bata would do some good. If not some mitumba rubber shoes from Ngara. Tahehe.Congrats for running for all these years.I always felt unfortunate that i lived in estates where there wasn’t enough space to barely do some good walking, let alone running.Not to mention cause some major stares and glares from peeps on the street. But when i finally came these sides, pple run all the time! Literally. Be it morning, afte (why would i run at 1pm when i would be munching some nice hot fries?!hehe.)evening or 11pm.But since i finally got the excess space i always craved for, i decided to make most of the opportunity and join the jogging bandwagon. They’ve said i have a nice physique,(but i don’t say) so some jogging def. does me well. but, oh boy, oh boy, wait until i get lazy, or moody, or i find some excuse with the weather, all the jogging mumbo jumbo is done away with.And i end up just considering a soft drink for either lunch or dinner, that should kinda ensure i don’t gain weight. hahaha. But am sure i’m not the only one who does yo-yo exercising.I know i might regret not running when still so young with an active metabolism, but i think, for now, am happy to have pizzas and sleep in. Hehehe.

  9. I am the Santa and writer pal combined in this story mate!

    And one thing; don’t use the running shoes for more than 6 months.

  10. No.It starts with putting your feet on the floor.
    Hubby n i used to run two years ago, then we stopped just like that. Limuru is too cold and it takes EXTRA inspiration to step out on a drizzling morning!
    Am inspired.

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  13. i feel like running,i loved this post,its inspiring…not to shove fries n beer when you are younger and running has so many advantages,i might as well try it!

  14. I am a tad bit overweight (fat) but I have always said that even if a lion chased me, I would throw super-loaf at it like that jungle guy in the bread advert. Anyway, you have made me think of running. But what really puts me off is the panting bit, opening my mouth because my nostrils can’t let in all the air my lungs need and then the cold air makes my mouth dry arrrgh! But I need to run for my health and you just inspired me.

    1. And while you are thinking of it, do not breath through your mouth while running, you gonna injure something in your mouth and you’ll soon be catching some very strong smell of blood. Good news is that when you run, even if your nose was blocked, it will unblock, and remain so for the entire revered exercise of running. Happy running!

      1. I have experienced that strong smell of blood. But now that I am wiser, thanks bro. I will try it.

  15. This is a great piece about running.
    I am an upcoming pro who is reading this with a cast in my ankle after i broke a small bone during a fast run in practice in the Ngong area.
    How i wish guys knew what they are missing by not running.

  16. I found myself out of a job in Nov 2010 and by Feb 2011 I had gained tremendous weight because all i did was wake up and watch tv all day..under someone’s roof. One day (i don’t remember the precise date) i woke up and hated how i looked and i took a skipping rope i had bought in Jan 2008 & started skipping. Fast forward to 1st June 2011 (I remember that day because it is Madaraka day) I mustered enough courage to have my first jog. I chose that day because it was a holiday and kids did not go to school and people did not go to work, hence the neighbourhood would be deserted and no one was going to look at me ‘ghoulishly’ 🙂 as i jogged. I have also not looked back since. I jogged everyday of the week: Monday to Monday, and avoided taking a break because i did not want to enter a comfort zone. I got depressed when i woke up and there was rain because that meant i would miss my jog that day. My lifestyle at the moment does not accord me that morning jog i enjoyed almost everyday around Bomas of Kenya in 2011/12, I now find myself in gyms (which i visit because i have to keep fit -read, look great:-) – but that doesnt bear the same fruits as a morning jog) at various parts of the World, and occasionally, depending on my sleep pattern and flight time, i jog in various parts of this world, sometimes in the morning, but mostly in the evenings. I love my job and am enjoying it at the moment, but i look forward to the day i resign and get my body back to the regular morning jog. Hail the morning jog!!

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