BOMF- 16k race up Mt. Kenya while straddling 2 hemispheres

6k (3 and 3/4 miles) to go, about 10,000ft above sea level, I took a glance behind me and there he was just 100 meters away....a heart wrenching feeling having ascended so far all alone. I quickly commenced a mentally taxing, tactical triage as I calculated a way to create enough distance between us. The tactic, an acceleration at each of these acute gradient switchbacks in the oxygen depleted air that might establish just enough distance causing the chase to abort....

From 16K up to Mt. Kenya to 11800ft

Physical activity has not been my strength while being in Nairobi. The roads lacking sidewalks, the reckless Kenyan drivers nor the client's demands are conducive to a regular exercise routine. So when an email populated my outlook requesting someone to fill a spot in a 16k (~10 miles)race up Mt. Kenya (from 7800ft to 11800ft)I apprehensively accepted. Influenced by the fact that I would at least get to see Mt. Kenya even if I knew it was going to be a struggle to traverse the 16K up the mountain.



The race was coordinated by the Nairobi Hash House Harriers (HHH or H3). A group started by some British colonial soldiers in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur. H3 started as a weekly rendezvous every Monday for a social run and fair amount of alcohol consumption (as I would soon discover). Since then the H3 has become a worldwide phenomenon facilitating running/drinking groups around the global. The fraternity like network is deep and vast and is accompanied by a chorus of songs and Hash names (which if I listed any of the names would quickly turn this blog into R-rating).

At the starting line the sun shone through the intermittent clouds from its midday apex making the temperature on the ground a pleasant and dry 65. The herd of potential finishers were a solid mix of ex-pats, Kenyans and Ugandans (the reason I know they were Ugandans is because they were hazed and chastised at the end of race tradition called 'Up Downs'). The herd totaled ~50.

Nervous prerace jitters were quelled by friendly banter and relaxed discussion. The race commenced with a woman sharing an antidote about Mt. Kenya, that "the mountain was like a woman...unpredictable". No sooner did she finish that sentence and a crack of thunder announced a steady rain fall.

The cold rain came accompanied by a chilly mountain breeze as we proceeded up the mountain. This could be a long and painful 16k, as drips of cold water hung from my nose and my quads already began to burn from the casual uphill that led us through the first 4K to the main gate. The rain mixing with the red earth created a thick and gooey crimson paste that had begun to coagulate on the soles of my new Nike Free 7.0s. Adding noticeable weight to my stride and a significant reduction in traction against the already sloppy and treacherous terrain.

The early segments of the trail were undulating and adjacent to a river that I assume was berthed from the glacial peak of Mt. Kenya. In this gorge was lush green tropical foliage, now blanketed by a cloudy mist. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse across the valley up the sheer green mountain face. Even though my heart was pounding and my lungs were gasping, I was enjoying the vistas of the lush green valley. That would shortly come to an end...

I noticed that all the Kenyans, although out front, were really easing into the run because I was actually able to keep pace. This had to be ominous of the trail ahead. Then unexpectedly I observed that my cadence was creating a gap at each, ever-increasing, incline until at 6k into the race I had accumulated a fairly significant but not insurmountable lead against the rest of the pack.

Like a periscope, every few hundred meters, I would survey my competition to assess their positioning. Piercing through the cloud line the air was rice wafer thin dissipating on contact with my tongue. The slight traces of oxygen in the air left my lungs screaming for more and my heart laboring as each beat rattled my body. I found myself dizzying and loosing my orientation. The only thing saving me from completely failing were the steer gradient switch backs that were covered in slimy mud that could only be crossed at points through engagement with all four limbs. Quickly, once the overly treacherous parts were forded I reinstated my methodical pace up the now aglow mountain. Since I had elevated through the cloud line the only layer between me and the sun was the thin,blue, oxygen depleted ozone.

Now out of paranoia, probably partially supplemented by the disorientation due to the altitude, I would glance back every 10 meters or so to see if there was any competition. Coming to the last 4K I knew strategically I needed a lead big enough to keep myself out of visible sight of my pursuers. This was not going to be easy since this was at least twice as far as any of my three previous runs in Kenya and only the fourth time running at altitude yet more than twice as high as any of run I have ever done.

Natural and self inflicted pain culminated at the '2K To Go' mark. Just over a mile to go but a mile further up the mountain, past base camp, past the resting point, yet further into the ever thinning and oxygen depleted air. The gradient appearing even more drastic as a group of high altitude monkeys observe my broken and defeated body. The only motivation...I was still in the lead with less then 10 minutes to go and no competitors in sight.

I receive encouragement from the race coordinators "ON! ON! you are almost there". The temperature ever cooling and my sweat and rain soaked kit added to the chill. Then rounding a final switchback in a heavy legged jog or calf piercing walk, I could see the finish line etched in the dirt by the hiking boot of one of the race coordinators. I gasp "Is this it?" they affirm and my time is marked 1 hr 43 min and 13 secs (a quick caveat- none of the Kenyans who were running were sponsored by Nike). No more than 30 seconds later my closest competitor a Kenyan named Vincent crosses the line. We embrace recanting a tale of the near catch, broken spirit and physical exhaustion. Together we descend the 2k back to base camp where the warmth and sustenance of a fire, chai and food await.

Base camp and our recovery point, a octagon half walled structure with a large stone hearth in the middle. The chimney protruded up through a skeletal roof patchily covered by charred and jagged wooden shingles speckled against a blue sky backdrop. The camp was tucked into a bamboo forest, one of the indigenous flora that can exist at this elevation. Sykes monkeys surrounded the base camp presumably attract by the noise as runner after runner complete the journey up the mountain and the smell of the maize, chapatty and bread being cooked on the open hearth. Guides had to constantly stand guard with bamboo switches to keep the swarming monkeys at bay.

The conversation around the fire, as we congregated to warm ourselves, was filled with disbelief and amazement that the non-Kenyan, the mzungu (white guy), the newbie made it to the finish first. I proudly represented BOMF as I sported my 'Back On My Feet' T-shirt all 16k up Mt. Kenya in honor of my friends back in Baltimore, at BOMF and at Christopher's place (CP). CP representing in the base camp, on Mt. Kenya, in Kenya.

The final point of reflection....I was straddling the northern and southern hemisphere. One side of the sign a flushing toilet's vortex turns clockwise and the other side of the sign the vortex spins counter-clockwise, on one side officially it was summer and on the other side it was winter. Needless to say at least topically the hemispheres were fairly similar.

This blog is dedicated to all my dear Back On My Feet and CP friends! You are with me in spirit and I with you.