Running Wild

This weekend I ran my very first (short) long distance race! Six of us “baturi” (white people) ran the 5km race, and with over 1500 runners racing down the narrow strip of dusty pavement, it was certainly a memorable “first race” experience.

My running partner from the local stadium encouraged me to run the 5km race, as she and the other athletes were running either 10km or 21km. I have never run in an official race, I usually just run in team sports; such as in soccer, where I run after the ball; or in rugby, where I run after the person carrying the ball, or away from the person wanting to tackle me. So yes, I can run, but I have always managed to avoid organized running or races, the idea of running with masses of people on pavement has never really appealed to me.

Well, as it happens, I have quickly become friends with a group of athletes at the local stadium where I’ve started jogging several times a week. Now these are not recreational athletes like me; but rather professional athletes who compete across Africa and Europe in various short or long distance running events. So, I am definitely not about to challenge any one of them in a foot race, but the “marathon” I participated in yesterday was just a fun community event, so I decided to run my first race with 1500 other natural-born runners (not so smart, I know).

We woke up bright and early Sat morning, drove our scooters out to the race grounds in the very dark morning, and quickly lined up to collect our t-shirts and race numbers. The race officials had previously informed all participants that there was a limited number of t-shirts; so to ensure we would get a t-shirt, they encouraged us to arrive no later than 5am for the 7am race, ugh… In any case, with the help of a strong cup of coffee, I managed to get myself there on time (I am NOT a morning person).

7:00 AM – The race is supposed to start at 7AM sharp, so everyone has already gathered at the edge of the road (starting line), and you can feel the excitement buzzing through the air as runners of all ages and sizes begin jostling for the best starting position. Many children are participating in the 5km race, most are barefoot or wearing flip flops, and the privileged are wearing well used second-hand runners, men and women of all shapes and sizes in shorts, tights, pants, and even skirts. As the only group of white people participating in the race, we quickly became unlikely celebrities and we provided some great pre-race entertainment for the other runners as we stretched out our cold, morning muscles. I’m sure the kids next to me were taking bets on how quick the white girl was going to drop out of the race! White people can’t jump, and I’m pretty sure they don’t run either…

7:30 AM – After several false starts, close encounters with the stampeding mob, we were still waiting impatiently behind the starting line. Initially, my competitive nature got the better of me, and I thought it would be best to get as close to the front of this mob as possible, but thankfully some common sense kicked in (and the voice of reason from my running buddies), so we fell back to the middle of the pack to avoid the pushing and shoving that was bound to happen as soon as the horn sounded.

7:45 AM – The 21KM and 10KM runners were off, the 5KM group was supposed to wait, but of course, mob mentality set in and we were off!! Pounding down the pavement, the runners were off at fast run, trying to secure a position in front of the melee, women and children were knocked to the ground as the crowd pushed forward, and I did my best to maintain my balance as I ran with my elbows out. The first 200 metres were pure chaos, but as the rhythm of feet and flip flops slapping the pavement set in, I was quite enjoying the feeling of running a race in the crisp, clean, morning air, ah… so exhilarating! I found myself thinking “I could do this more often, this is kind of fun!” That was after the first 500 metres. By the time I reached the first kilometer marker, the harmattan (fine dust) had filled my lungs and cloaked my airway, my mouth was dry and my eyes were tearing as I tried to keep my contacts moist in the dusty and smoke polluted morning air. At the second kilometer, I nearly lost my footing as I tripped over several young boys who had stopped suddenly, but focused only on the finish line, I regained my balance and did not dare to stop and check on the boys – I’m sure they were fine…

8:00AM – I am still running, I can see the finish line in the distance, but it’s up hill and I think there are several hundred runners that have already crossed it – those must have been the pushy ones at the front. I rounded the corner, and now at a fast run I am focused on the finish line, trying to hold off the 10 year old boy gaining on me from behind, suddenly I am stopped in my tracks about a 100 meters BEFORE the finish line, as a race official directs me to stand in the growing line of race contestants. What’s this? I don’t get to break across a finish line with my arms out wide and head flung back as I expel every last bit of strength to cross that line in victory!? Well no, because the finish line is setup so that everyone must cross it single file, then collect your medal (the first 1000 runners), water, and breakfast baguette. Slightly disappointed that I couldn’t sprint across the finish line, but I did still beat the 10 year old boy the back of the line, AND I got a medal along with the other 66% of the participants, so all in all, the race was a success. J

My athletic friends from the stadium, well yes they did in fact win first place in their races (shown in picture with trophies), so I figure if I train with them all year maybe for the next race I’ll at least get to run across the finish line and not have to wait at the back of a single file line. The shorter girl in the picture, on the right, she set the record for the 21km run last year: 1 hr, 9 min. Wow. Ok, so I am at a bit of a disadvantage, both of these girls come from a mountainous area of Benin known best for its long-distance runners.

Great fun, I’ve never participated in an organized race in Canada, so I’m not sure what they are supposed to be like, but this was certainly an adrenaline pumping race and definitely worth doing again. I made quite a few friends through the other runners, shared some laughs, and I promised that the “baturi” would run again in next year’s race.

Achi densu!

(“Later” in Dendi)