Kilimanjaro Marathon: Moshi, Tanzania: March 12, 2007

Running 26.2 miles through eastern Africa made me equally the most excited and nervous I have ever been for a race. It is an awesome experience to run in the place that produces many of the best runners in the world, but there is also a not so fine line between going for a run and getting the runs. To make the conditions even more stressful, Moshi, Tanzania is near the Equator, at about 4,000 feet, and the course has a “gradual” uphill. Here’s a word of warning: anytime a race director feels the need to qualify an uphill with the word “gradual” he or she is a dirty liar (more on that later). I also decided that since I would be running the marathon in the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro, how could I not climb to the summit of the tallest mountain in Africa for six days following the race (more on that later too). My sixteen year old brother Kevin is an avid mountain climber, and somehow I convinced my mother to take him out of school and let him travel to the wilds of Africa with his big sister, the VP of In the Running Dana, and Dana’s little brother. Kevin flew with me from New York to Nairobi, for his first trip ever on a plane, let alone his first trip to Africa. After every delay imaginable leaving New York (nothing like getting screwed on both ends with a JFK to Heathrow itinerary), we arrived in London ten minutes after our connection to Nairobi was supposed to leave. Undeterred, Kevin and I cut through multiple security lines in the name of saving the world, and sprinted from one end of the terminal to another. My deep apologies to the unassuming travelers we literally ran over along the way. We arrived just as they were shutting the gate. Knowing air travel only from this experience and the movies, as we were touching down eight hours later in Nairobi Kevin said, “Okay I put my sneakers on because it’s time to sprint through the airport again right?” I told Kevin if we ended up sprinting through the Nairobi airport at top speed that would be a really bad sign…our running adventure was off to a great start!

After an overnight in Nairobi, we took off the next day for Tanzania on a seven hour bus ride. If you have seen the recent movie “Blood Diamond,” the characters frequently use an expression “TIA,” short for “This is Africa.” It’s true that everything operates on a different scale and schedule in Africa. We were warned that everything would be in “African time,” which means that everything happens significantly slower than high strung New Yorkers like me are accustomed to. The same can be said for my marathon time…but we’ll get to that. Highlights on the bus ride included crossing the “border” i.e. one single gate that we crossed on foot along with several apparently undocumented locals and their goats; and a few hours after our entry into Tanzania getting stopped by “immigration officials” on the side of the road, wearing Yankees hats, 50 cent t-shirts, looking at all of our papers, saying something in Swahili, and getting off the bus. During one of our stops, my brother got a good lesson in how to make a business deal. The local kids started offering him money or bartered goods for everything- his shirt, watch, sandals, and then finally one kid goes, “hey, what are those things on your teeth,” to which Kevin replied “what, my braces?” The kid offered him the highest price of the day for his braces, to which Kevin replied, “Are you kidding, I’ll pay you to take these things from me.” Kevin was then dragged back on the bus by his big sister before we witnessed both African dentistry and a long phone call home to our mother in New York.

We arrived at our hotel in Tanzania in the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro (a stunning snow capped peak in the clouds rising with breathtaking grandiosity from the plains of Africa), and to my great intimidation, I got a glimpse of my competitors. I started talking to a guy who had celebrated completing his third Ironman Triathlon in Hawaii by tattoo-ing the Ironman logo down his arm. Next to him was a guy with a shirt that read “Ethiopian Distance Run,” and abs that he probably washed his shirts on. Moving along, the next guy had a shirt that read “Canadian Death Run Survivor.” At this point, I didn’t even want to know how he came back from the dead in Canada…but I was wishing he hadn’t. And this is before you even factor in any of the African runners, who could have run in a prom dress and stilettos while reading a book and would still kick my butt. I was clearly in a crowd of mile-hungry, pain-digesting, take no prisoner endurance athletes. I mean, if you pay a lot of money to deposit yourself in the middle of Africa, run a marathon at altitude, and then climb a huge mountain…you must have at best a good life story, and at worst serious mental issues. Dana tried to reassure me, but at this point, I was pretty sure I was either going to be dead after this marathon, or at the very least, dead last.

I awoke marathon morning at the enjoyable hour of 4am, after spending most of the night awake from nerves and some friendly bacteria that started a party in my small intestine at dinner. The race started at sunrise in the Moshi stadium, with the beautiful snow-capped peak of Kili looming overhead. I spent the first part of the race debating whether I should: (a) conserve my energy for what would likely be a brutal final ten miles of heat and hills; or (b) if I should try to put some time in the bank while it was still somewhat cool and flat. I ended up falling in line with a group of guys attempting 3:30, which is about my pace. They were pursuing strategic option (b), but more importantly they were telling humorous anecdotes to distract us all from the task at hand. Despite some major exhaust fumes on some of the roads, the first half of the race was very enjoyable. The locals came out to cheer (or maybe mock) us, with big smiles and high fives from the kids. By the half-way mark of the race (13 miles), the course started to get brutal. At this point it started getting really hot and the course followed a road that basically went up for several miles, then back down. The race directors advertised this as the “gradual” uphill…but the word gradual clearly has a different definition in Africa and/or to a marathoner at mile 15. There were some major casualties going up the hill, and most people shuffled along individually. After seeing mirages of the turn-around point for about 40 minutes, I finally reached it and knew I only had a 10K (about 6 miles) to go. I offered encouragement to the runners continuing the struggle up as I made my way down. In a marathon, downhills can be just as painful as uphills because of the stress it puts on your tired leg muscles, and this was no exception. I wasn’t as winded, but man was I in pain. At this point in the race, bands of local kids joined all the runners, asking if they “may escort you” in the race. Smart kids to join us on the downhill not the uphill portion! At one point I had about 13 Tanzanian kids running with me, ranging from what looked like a 7-year old to a 15-year old. They weren’t allowed to take water from the water stops, but I figured it was hot and they were running too, so this resulted in me grabbing about five cups of water for all of us at each stop. The race was on a Sunday, and many of the kids were running in their best church outfits. The embarrassing part is that even in their dresses and flip flops, they probably could have beat me to the finish if they wanted to.

I finally made it to the finish line in the University stadium. I practically blacked out across the finish line from heat and dehydration, finishing about a half an hour slower than my PR. Even though my time was the slowest I’ve ever run, I felt like the marathon was the hardest effort I have run. Funny how that works! It seemed like the entire town was in the stadium, and went nuts during the awards ceremony when the Tanzanian winner of the woman’s division accepted her reward. I mingled with some South Africans, and caught a glimpse of Joan Benoit Samuelson, who was in town running the half marathon. Dana and Kevin had run the 5K earlier in the morning and Tris had stayed in bed for a few extra hours before coming to spectate. Somehow they ended up getting their hands on tons of awesome Kili marathon gear and beer…more even than the marathon finishers! What can I say…TIA.

The day after the marathon, Kevin, Dana, Tris and I embarked on our six-day climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Our group was comprised of the four of us (two young professionals, a high school kid, and a freshman at Boston College), a female tank commander for the Canadian military in the Sudan, a 69 year old Czech half-marathon champion, a German who wore nothing but gear from his last trip to Mt. Everest, a secretary from Calgary, and another Czech who had such a low resting pulse rate during our medical checks that he might be considered legally dead. Kili is the tallest mountain on the continent of Africa at over 19,000 feet, and you spend four days acclimatizing up the mountain, and two days sprinting back down. The climb takes you across four separate ecosystems, and for all the pain, the rewards are some of the most spectacular views and landscapes I have ever seen. The final day of the climb is the most difficult day: after six or seven hours of hiking you arrive at high camp, have dinner, and go to bed. Then you wake up at around 11pm, and climb for six hours with headlamps up a final, steep ascent to summit around dawn. I had five layers on both the top and bottom, and thought that we must have been the only people who visited Africa and were freezing cold half the time. The altitude was debilitating on the final day- a few steps left us winded, and it was too cold to even stop and rest. At one point my brother started to feel nauseous from the altitude and started tossing his cookies, to put it mildly, on the side of the trail. One of our guides walked over, took a look, and said, “No blood- you’re fine, keep going.” I was convinced at the time that this just might have been the day that the sun would decide not to rise. However, by around 6am we had completed the hardest part of the climb to Stella Point, circled the crater rim (Kili is an extinct volcano), and finally reached the snow and glacier capped Uhuru Peak at sunrise. Kili is unique as a free-standing mountain because without the obstructions of other mountains, you can actually see the curvature of the Earth from the summit. You’ll notice in the pictures that we tried to hold up In the Running shirts at the summit, but I think our delirious happiness and the biting wind limited our ability to pose for a glamour shot. The guides hustled us off the top as the weather can change very quickly and you still have to get back down! Going down you basically ski down loose scree, and then collapse back in camp.

The Kilimanjaro Marathon and climbing the mountain were two of the hardest things I have ever done. At the end of the trip we were able to visit Asunta Wagura, the founder of the Kenya Network for Women with AIDS, to learn more about her organization and her good work. We visited KENWA’s headquarters in Nairobi and witnessed some of the direct health care services that KENWA provides to individuals affected with HIV/AIDS. She mentioned to us that In the Running is so important because her traditional donors are experiencing donor fatigue. We can help her reach out to new people who believe in her mission and the spirit of philanthropy. Seeing the direct services she provides inspired me that we are doing the right thing with In the Running, and we have to keep doing more.

Next up…Sao, Paulo Brazil in June!