Urban Swaras Join us
Author Archives: Zipporah Ongwenyi
Well, yesterday I proved that I have lived long enough. First, I ignored all the tell-tale signs the universe was sending me- my running watch died last week, and I l forgot my music on the table in the house on the morning of the run. I am one of those people with an unhealthy attachment to my watch and my music while running.
Date: October 28, 2012
Post marathon, I am nursing a flu that was steadily creeping up pre-marathon, and which saw me run with a jacket throughout in order to forestall the effects- it didn’t work. I am therefore a sneezy, nose blowing, coughing mess, and not many people want to hang around me. Left alone with my thoughts, reflections and lemon mixed with ginger-garlic-honey-vodka-turmeric-cardamom, and whatever else anyone suggests, I have a chance to reflect on the Stanchart Nairobi Marathon.
Date: May 19, 2012
Those of the Christian persuasion, and who regularly read the good book, will recall a verse in the book of Proverbs which says that the end of anything is better than its beginning. I have always found that statement questionable. But as regards Saturday run from Mutua’s place, I must say there is some truth.
The start of the run was largely uneventful, except that I saw some faces I have not seen in a long while( Mercy, Ndichu, Liz et al), and I remember that I was standing arm in arm with Mercy when Jael arrived and swept her sister in a bear hug, and in comparison, threw me a weak “Hi”. (Yawa, Jael! Show some love..). I digress.
Yesterday, 1st of May, I finally managed to shake off the cobwebs on my feet and made my way to the arboretum to join the fraternity. Please be reminded that my last run was Moshi, which if you recall, was a traumatic hilly experience that saw me cross the border back to Kenya quiet, subdued and limping, as opposed to the loud papparazi that I was on the way there. That is now water under the bridge as I have since seen the hand of God in the hands of Kariakim, and my injuries have been harassed back to form. Almost.
This is Monday, and as promised, follow the link at the bottom to view photos; right from departure on flight TPG something, something, something, piloted by the very interesting pilot Cockar, with whom Ndinda made a good acquaintance (I have no idea how the other flight was piloted); to the various stops on the way to Moshi where at one stop a good number of you disappeared into the bushes in a bid to reduce body weight ahead of the run, and at another some of you went behind the curios and ate and I had no idea people were eating!!! (though I identified myself with the Cameroonian contingent and had very sweet mandazis to show for it)
Last Saturday run from Ivangara ended with me screaming in the shower. And it is not what you think. Rather, it was the pain of water touching my raw wounds; while still on the first kilometer, right after crossing the road at James Gichuru, and waving thankfully to the driver who stopped to let us cross, I kissed the ground. Practically. I must have tripped on the protruding root of a tree, or something- I may never know. It seemed that everything went in slow motion and the next thing I knew was Avani et al helping me get up from the ground, serious concern written all over their faces.