I felt like such a fatty after all of my safari eating, so I was extra thrilled to have a new running partner. Mike and I decided to take a sunrise run toward Mt. Meru the following morning. There were only 2 days before the race, so I thought Mike would make it an easy 30 minute run, but we ended up running and walking for 2 hours. I had been traveling for 2.5 months, so I was out of practice and my knees were yelling at me. By the time I got back home, my quads felt clumsy and were slow to respond to my commands to stand or bend. I could about imagine how much Mike was going to hurt when this race was over.
The 3 of us took a bus from Arusha to Moshi, the base town for Mt. Kilimanjaro and we settled into a cheap hotel. We weren’t sure what fuel the marathon would provide (if any), so Mark and I decided to support Mike and the other marathon runners by providing cashew nuts, gummy bears, gum, sunscreen, bananas, water, and juice boxes. We debated about renting a taxi or rickshaw, but in the end decided to go with our own motorcycle. It turned out to be the perfect way to cheer on the 6,000 runners. We clapped, cheered, and danced alongside the pack for all 42 kilometers (26.2 miles). We cheered on Canadian maple leaves, American flag shorts, a Polska jersey, Duetchland t-shirts, Kenyan women, and throngs of Tanzanian kids.
The route layout was a little confusing; it looped back on itself twice from one of the main roundabouts in town. Tanzanian families lined the streets in clusters, staring incredulously as the runners passed. Some clapped; some joined in the race; others just stared. The front of the pack whizzed by at an incredible speed. The front-runners were a lean, black, streamlined pack of no more than a dozen men. There were maybe 12 water stations with cups of water and occasionally coke. Contrary to rumors, there were no bananas, no food, no fuel. I was shocked. Surely the $60 entry fee could cover a spaghetti dinner, free bottles of water, swag, or bananas along the way. Instead, runners were only provided with water, a yellow t-shirt, and a medal at the finish line. Fortunately, Mike carried Snickers bars, and we kept him supplied with gummies and bananas. The runners around Mike also benefited from the same. They joked with us as we cheered them on from the motorbike. “I want to swap your bike for my tennis shoes!” “This is so hard!” they cried. We smiled and kept cheering them on, “Good job!” “You got this!” “You’re doing it!”
The middle of the race seemed particularly discouraging to several runners. They were tired and the hills began to climb. Fortunately, there was a breath-taking view of Mt. Kili protruding above the clouds and lush green vineyards on each side. Some runners were too tired to care, but overall the mountain-view and the vineyards helped keep the temperatures low and spirits high.
Around 31 km in, a 10 year old kid in a green t-shirt started running with Mike. The young boy ended up finishing by Mike’s side. Mark and I were impressed. The finish maze was a bit confusing. We ran with Mike for the last 1 km to the stadium. He finished at 5 hours 1 minute, an astounding feat given that he had partied hard 2 nights previous and only trained for 2 weeks. We were proud to support the marathon runners and were encouraged particularly by the number of 50-60 year old men and women who competed; they were an inspiration.
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