Doing the independence marathon, the hard way
There is a popular saying that the last 10km of a marathon are all in your head. They are wrong; it’s in the legs. Luckily, mine held up and got me a standing ovation at the end. And a medal, writes Kalungi Kabuye
Marathon medal.
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WHAT’S UP!
There are several ways to do a marathon. You can run it very fast, like the elite runners do, chasing personal bests and maybe qualification for the Comrade Ultra Marathon. You can sign up to be among the ‘hard’ ones, but take it easy and just hope to finish.
Or you can do it the hard way, and walk it. That is what I did: all 42km of the Independence Marathon on October 4.
If you ask any seasoned runners, they will tell you that walking is much harder than running. Not in that it requires more physical fitness or strength; obviously running takes more physical effort, and when runners run out of strength, they walk.
But walking takes a lot more mental strength than running. First of all, it takes a long time. While elite runners will take a little over two hours to run the full marathon, the stragglers will largely be done within four or five hours.
By contrast, it took me eight hours to complete the 42km. By that time those elite runners had finished the race, gone home, taken a shower, had a nap, eaten lunch, and
So, it is very easy to give it all up. One needs to stay focused and determined to continue, while everything around you is saying ‘quit’.
And it is lonely. While very many people walk the 21km, very few choose to walk the entire 42km. I can walk the 21km in about 3 ½ hours, and that is enough pace to actually overtake the slow runners and those who run-walk. And still be able to find coffee and some breakfast.
So, walking 21km, while it is still hard, is largely taken as a social thing by Ugandans. But sadly, not the 42km, at least not yet. It is estimated that about 3,000 people walked the entire London Marathon, which has an official cut-off time of eight hours.
But on that Sunday, the 4th of October, I was alone. At times, literally. After the start at Metroplex, the 42km route headed to Namboole, then doubled back and headed to Busega. Because one side of the Northern Bypass was closed to traffic, when the full marathon runners took off, there was a time I literally had the road to myself. No cars, no bodas, even the walkways were empty.
There was a female slow runner (but running all the same) who overtook me twice. Once when headed to Namboole, and then after doubling back. Each time she said ‘on on’, and I replied ‘on on’. I eventually caught up with her at the Hoima Road interchange, and was the only person I passed. I left her at Busega walking with a marshal, so imagine my surprise when I eventually got back to Metroplex, only to see her all freshened up and well-stretched. Since she obviously didn’t complete the whole route, I didn’t overtake anybody and was technically the last finisher.
Why did I do it? I have done the 21km half-marathon more times than I care to remember, and it is not that exciting anymore. And the 42km guys have that aura of being different, almost supermen/ women, if you please.
When Robert Kabushenga called on the 42km runners to go to the starting point that Sunday morning (it was still dark), I joined them. I recall a few shocked and surprised faces: “You’re doing the 42km?” Yup, I am.
Then around the Sentema Road interchange (Masanafu), the driver of one of the medical cars swerved towards me and asked if I wanted a lift back. I was solely tempted to flip the bird, but again I ignored him.
When the route was announced, I knew this was my chance to attempt my first competitive 42km. I have walked up to 50km before, but that was with plenty of coffee and bathroom breaks. I really needed this challenge, and hopefully a medal at the end.
I have walked the Northern Bypass so many times I bet I can do it in my sleep, so I know there are no real hills. But after 30km, with that hot sun beating down on you since 8 am, the flyovers looked like real hills. And that rise from Kisasi to Najeera especially looked ominous.
The road was opened to the public around 10:30 am, so I had to retreat to the sidewalks. The water points were also removed, so I had to look out for any small shop selling water. I was surprised to find there were very few. After Kalerwe, there were none, I found out to my detriment.
By the time I got to Kisaasi, I thought I would faint. I could have branched off to Kisasi shops, but my body just wanted to get back to Metroplex. Luckily, I found a lady selling tomatoes who had some water. She had no fridge, but who cared?
There is a popular saying that the last 10km of a marathon are all in your head. They are wrong; it’s in the legs. Luckily, mine held up and got me a standing ovation at the end. And a medal.
Will I do it again? Sure, but I wish there were a few more of us.