The Race

On running a 10K in Kampala, Uganda... You will remember my early mention of trying to stay fit in the land of starch. It has become increasingly difficult to complete my AM runs since the beginning of the rainy season. Our wonderful Busega roads which before were merely full of potholes and ruts (nearly deep enough to lose a small child in)have now become lakes and rivers (I've promised Jennifer to catch a fish for her from my favorite lake, "Lake Busega" which spans the entire road, is approximately three feet deep and has cliffs on either side. Did I mention that I've been wearing a life jacket while jogging?) The only thing that has kept me diligent in running has been the spectre of the MTN Kampala marathon/10K--which happened to be last weekend.

Esther came down from Soroti for the weekend, and we randomly were invited to a pre-race "carb-loading" party hosted by a guy named "Queenie" who I had never seen before and will probably never see again. One might wonder why, in the name of all that is good on this earth, I might need to "carb load" when I haven't eaten anything BUT carbs since arriving three months ago...Anyway, so we loaded up with carbs, and at 6:15 AM set out for parliament ave in kampala. We had stayed the night with our friend who works at the embassy and was running the marathon and so didn't have to fight public transport to get to the race. We did have to fight for the right to use the port-o-potty, however, of which there were two (2!!!) dear runner friends, please offer me your sympathies. You all know that the bathroom is the single most important thing one needs before a race. Sadly, when I did fight my way to the front I found that the pot was not, shall we say, hygenic. I was forced to evacuate as quickly as possible.

I found myself standing in the pre-race crush, listening to the fuzzy announcer shouting in a combination of english and luganda, staring at the sea of yellow around me. Most of the runners had chosen to wear their race shirts to run in, unlike most of the mazungus who were all dressed, typically, in their high-tec wicking running outfits. At some point the crowd began moving forward, the announcer yelling "start, START!" and we shuffled along towards the starting line. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the line--crossed the mat that supposedly recorded the time I started from the chip I wore on my sneaker (I really wonder that they could be so high tech but couldn't arrange for one more toilet?????)and set off.

The course was blessedly flat for the most part, and the police managed to keep the taxis and bodas "mostly" out of our race lane..there was one point where a taxi cut me off and I was forced to reprimand him in an appropriate manner (ie, I banged my fists on the side of the bus: ) There were several water stops (it wasn't that hot, maybe high 80's by the time we finished at 8:30)but there were no distance markers along the way so it was a bit difficult to pace oneself. Nevertheless, I enjoyed myself (in that way you enjoy yourself during times of extreme discomfort which you have brought upon yourself by your own bad judgement and poor training)and enjoyed the variety of responses that the bystanders gave us. In US it is common for spectators to cheer, clap, encourage. Here it seems more standard to stare at runners sweating and panting as if they are a new type of circus entertainment or a bizarre cult.

At the end of the race I stumbled across the finish line, turned in my computer chip and looked for the requisite post-race food. It turns out that the equivalent of the oranges, banana and bagels we often find after races in US is a packet of sugar. So we grabbed our packets of sugar, bottles of water, and chugged. Delicious!

The bathroom situation turned ugly again at the end of the race, so Esther and I decided not to stick around for the award ceremony and caught taxis back to Bulobi. Our times weren't too bad, especially since I have no idea how far I've been running in the mornings (and because half the time I'm not running, I'm fording streams and dodging traffic)all in all, a good time.