Adharanand Finn - Running with the Kenyans: Passion, Adventure, and the Secrets of the Fastest People on Earth

Copyright 2012 by Adharanand Finn

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B ALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

All photos in this work are by the author except the following:
Chapter opener photo for : Courtesy of John Finn
Prologue, chapter opener photos for :
Courtesy of Marietta dErlanger

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Finn, Adharanand.
Running with the Kenyans : passion, adventure, and the secrets of the fastest people on earth / Adharanand Finn.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53352-4
1. Runners (Sports)Kenya. 2. RunningSocial aspectsKenya.
3. Track and fieldSocial aspectsKenya. 4. National characteristics,
Kenyan. \I. Title.
GV1061.23.K4F56 2012
796.424096762dc23 2012009641

Jacket design: Catherine Casalino
Jacket photographs: Marietta dErlanger

www.ballantinebooks.com

v3.1

When the divine is looking for you,
thats a pretty powerful force.

P REM R AWAT

On your marks

I hear someone elses alarm go first. Ive been waiting for it, in my half-sleep. A shallow, impatient slumber under the thin sheet, the name of the hotel stamped across it in green ink: BOMEN . The light from the hallway makes the room visible: bare walls; a dark, pink color in this light, but in the day an intoxicating bright peach. An energy-saving lightbulb hangs from its wire above my head.

A phone rings. Godfrey, in the other bed a few feet away, answers it immediately, as though hes been waiting for it to ring. He speaks in calm, wakeful Kalenjin, and then hangs up.

Chris, he says in the darkness. He knows Im awake. He wants to go down for breakfast.

My alarm goes off, buzzing meekly on the bedside table. I reach over and turn it off: 4:00 A.M . Time to get up.

The hotel is a clatter of pots and pans and people talking. Some of the guests must be turning over in their beds and wondering what is going on, checking their watches. I head out along the corridor. The leaves of a palm tree bristle at one end. At the top of the stairs I meet Beatrice, standing in the shadows, unsure whether to go down. She smiles, her teeth white against her black skin.

Lets go, I say.

Without replying, she follows me down.

In the dining room the waiters are ready. Theyve been pulled out of their beds in the middle of the night and pressed into their waiting suits. They dont look pleased.

Tea? Coffee? asks the headwaiter, holding a tray of pots and cups. We both shake our heads. I sit down at the table. Beatrice follows, sitting down opposite me. Outside, the street is silent.

I look at Beatrice. Ready? I ask her.

She smiles. I will make it, she says, nodding.

Japhet and Shadrack walk into the room. Two young men in their early twenties. Neither of them has ever been this far from home. Japhet is all big, toothy smiles, excited; while Shadrack, his eyes staring straight ahead, looks permanently as though he has just seen something both shocking and incredible.

The waiter is back at the table with his tray. Tea? Coffee?

Chai, says Shadrack so quietly he has to repeat it twice before the waiter understands. Japhet just nods. The waiter pours out the tea.

You both feeling ready? I ask.

Shadrack looks at me confused, as though Ive just asked him if he has ever been in love.

Were ready, yes, says Japhet, grinning.

The waiter, on a roll now, brings us all a plate of fruit. Shadrack pokes his watermelon nervously with a fork and offers it to Beatrice. Then the waiter brings plates of bread and fried eggs for everyone.

Whatever you do, Godfrey told us the night before, dont eat eggs for breakfast. I look at the others.

You like eggs before a race? I ask them. But theyre already tucking in. I decide not to make a fuss, but I leave mine untouched. Two slices of bread and butter is enough. I eat quickly and return to my room.

I had planned to go back to sleep after breakfast, but Im too awake, so I pack up my bags and sit on the bed. My foot feels fine. I rub it to make sure its all right, pressing my thumb into the sole where the injury was. I pull out a bottle of Menthol Plus, a balm from the pharmacy back in Iten. I rub it on my foot, then pull my socks on and sit back on the bed. Slow, deep breaths. An hour later, its time to go.

The dawn is casting a faint light across the parking lot as we all stand around beside the minibus, waiting for Godfrey. I left him combing his hair in the bedroom. He has a grade-one crew cut, but still he spends five minutes combing it each morning. The others stand quietly, patient. Finally he turns up.

Sorry, guys, he says, sliding open the minibus doors. The junior members of the team, Japhet, Shadrack, and Beatrice, climb in to the back of the bus. Chris, Paul, and Philip, all veteran runners, take the middle row. As the sole mzungu, white man, Im given the front seat next to Godfrey, our trainer and driver.

We bump our way out of the drive and along the dirt street to the main paved road. People are up walking around, herding goats, carrying large sacks across their shoulders. Crowded matatus, small buses, pull over and more people squeeze in. The day is already under way.

Inside our bus nobody speaks. Godfrey fiddles with the radio, but he already knows it doesnt work. He drives on, the road straight, rising up along the edge of the savannah, which spreads out vast and empty on one side. On the other side are makeshift houses, small fields of maize, kiosks painted in bright colors advertising phone companies.

After about twenty minutes we reach the main entrance gate to Lewa, a 55,000-acre wildlife conservancy 170 miles north of Nairobi. A long line of 44 cars is filing through. People are walking beside the road. We join in the line of traffic. The savannah spreads out on both sides now, filling the world. This is the classic African landscape. Dry, grassy plains dotted with spiky acacia trees.

In the back, theyre all getting excited suddenly, pointing out the window.

What is it? I ask.

Look, says Godfrey, pointing to one side, where an elephant is standing, as still as a statue, just a few feet away.

Is it real? Philip asks, craning over my shoulder to see.

We bump on through the clouds of dust from the other cars. The elephant has lightened the mood in the bus. Godfrey starts out on his pep talk.

Okay, guys. Here we are. I know we have a winner in this car. Youve all done the training, now its time to run. Remember that this is a marathon. You mustnt go too fast at the beginning. But you need to stay in touch with the leaders. You know you can do it.

Godfrey pulls the bus to a halt. Even though its still barely past 6:00 A.M. , hundreds of people stand lined up behind a rope, being pushed back by security guards. Runners in shorts and vests, numbers pinned to their chests, are streaming along the track toward the start. Before I know it, everyone is off the bus and has disappeared.