Thoughts of a Kenyan Runner

I came across this amazing blog entry called “It’s not easy to be a Kenyan runner” written by an elite Kenyan runner. It’s long and rambling and kind of diatribe-y at times, but it’s a compelling and honest piece of prose. I highly recommend taking the time to read it.

At times it’s hilarious. He starts by ridiculing the whole barefoot running movement – and this from a guy who actually grew up running barefoot to and from school because there was no money for shoes:

“So when I remember those moments and think about what people say about running barefoot, I’m convinced someone is out of their mind or they just want fame or money.”

Great stuff!

And he reveals the not-so-secret secret of Kenyan runners:

“I share the same fate with most of Kenya’s runners and that is ‘running from poverty’.”

He talks a lot about what running means in Kenya and the kind of discipline and suffering it takes to drive your body single-mindedly towards being the best in (perhaps) the most competitive sport on the planet:

“Often people ask me how many miles do you cover per week, what do you eat, do you think running barefoot can help my run. And to be honest I came to find out that running with a watch that keeps track of my miles and heart rate affects my training, I like to keep it real by running in hours or in minutes, forget about the heart rate, how do you expect to improve while you are setting limits on yourself? For me I’d rather die doing something that means something in my life than die being afraid of it.

Here is the difference between a Kenyan runner and an American runner. It is what they are running for. Most American runners will tell you they are running for fun, and some will say they run because they love it, but for a Kenyan runner is far from that, even for me. I hate running but I love what it does for me when I win or make money out of it.

We run because we want to make our life better, we want to help our siblings get better education, we want to have a big house and everything good that comes with it - that will make me happy when I’m old till I die. Heh no one wants to die poor! We run with a sense that I want to own something, something bigger that people thought I will never own, and to show them, you go out and win a race and come back home and build a building so everyone can see, respect and be inspired by you.

And with this burden at our back, we find ourselves with a lot of pressure and guilt to overcome, we have nothing to do but devote ourselves into nothing but training 3x a day, eat and sleep. Running becomes a god that you worship, and your faith dwells in a belief that if you plant everything right, you will reap abundantly, so everyday a sacrifice is and must be made.

There is no other way or shortcut but to train hard without holding anything back for later, and all you think of so you can make it to the top is to train more than anyone else, train till your ribs become like guitar strings. Ignore the pain, never quit, even when it rains there is no excuse for not training, for this is a battle of life, and when in a race, you run because your life depends on it.”

My own running is a joke compare to this – tepid. And it’s hard not to feel a little inadequate next to this guy’s intensity. Hard not to feel how easy I’ve had it. But his mindset is a kind of glorious madness, isn’t it?

Or is this just the mechanics of greatness – settle on one thing and drive and drive and drive until you reshape yourself into the best at your chosen pursuit – and then keep driving? But there is a steep cost: as this guy says, he doesn’t love running – he runs to fulfil a vision of a better life. The running is a means. That’s it. And it’s the money and the desire to escape poverty that fuel it. No romanticism here. Romantics are slow. Love of running won’t make your ribs like guitar strings. It won’t buy food.

But what about the love of running in and of itself? Is this just middle-class self-indulgence? Is it something we should feel stupid about – we who aren’t haunted by material need? Or is it a privilege – its own kind of greatness?

I’ve touched a little bit of the psychology of driven people (although certainly not to the same extent) – I was driven as a student in university – and I did finish top of my class. But by the end of my university days, I hated what I was doing – and when I lost the need to be the best and to win scholarships, my work fizzled and died. My need wasn’t enough – but the need of Kenyan runners is most definitely enough.

Makes you wonder, though – I read an interesting observation in an article once: you don’t ever see the children of great Kenyan runners becoming world-class runners – they don’t go through the suffering of it because they don’t have to. They don’t have to run to school; they get rides.

Oh well. It’s only life, after all.