Jimmy and I spent this weekend at Senga Bay, a fishing and tourist village about halfway up the coast of Lake Malawi. Lake Malawi sits in a depression in the African Rift Valley, and people call it the Calendar Lake because they say it is 365 miles long and 52 miles wide. (Personally, I think this assertion is crap, but what am I going to do – Go out and measure it myself?) What I do know to be true is that there are many and good-tasting fish in that lake, so going for the weekend is a chance to eat well and local.
Saturday morning we headed out for a 2-hour run, the first of my new training cycle. I have to admit that I wasn't feeling particularly peppy. I am not one of those people for whom running is pure bliss -- who finds a lesson, if not an epiphany, in every run. I am still not sure about the whole "runner's high" thing, and my runs tend to be determined by similar criteria to the rest of my daily activities: my mood, whether I am tired, where I am on the lazy-meter.
Saturday morning, I was enjoying reading and sitting around, slightly hung over -- I had put down two gin and tonics in short order the night before while chatting with some Dutch medical students volunteering in Malawi. But after a couple of cups of coffee, Jimmy and I realized that despite the fact that all science would point to the fact that it is winter here, it's starting to feel an awful like what I know as summer.
There was no real route planned, but we headed across the sand of the village and up on to the main road, which, while not particularly scenic, at least promised sure footing. Or so I thought. Within 10 minutes, though, I was face down on the ground, bleeding from my elbows and my knee.
Which just managed to further foul my mood. Falling on my face while running, unfortunately, is a pretty regular occurrence, but it does nothing to part a dark cloud. Men rode by on bicycles, little girls carrying baby brothers and sisters on their backs, women pumped water at boreholes. I cursed at all of them in my head.
We shuffled along in silence, at least verbally (I was busy complaining to myself inside my head). Soon afterwards, we turned down a dirt road and were promptly joined by about 5 little girls in dresses. All of them were covered in dirt, but they were screaming and singing and laughing as they ran as a group, right on our heels. At one point, Jimmy said, “Do you think they need a surprise?” He counted to three and we both turned around and charged towards them like big white lumbering bulls with tennis shoes.
Of course, they were terrified and ran screaming the other way as fast as they could. Some hid behind trees, others laid down on the ground. But when they got over being afraid, we could hear them giggling behind us. Sure enough, soon they had regrouped and were back on our heels.
The rest of the run proceeded this way. We stop and bought cold cokes in bottles at a tiny roadside vendor while a crowd gathered to watch us drink. We turned down another dirt road and suddenly “Hellos” were coming from everywhere and little Malawian heads appeared like Jack in the Boxes: in the corn fields, from behind a mud hut, in the window of an unfinished brick building. Close to the end of the run I caught myself laughing each time a head would pop out suddenly in front of us – “Hello! Hello!” – and realized that despite myself, the persistence of strangers had changed my whole attitude towards the run.
We completed it tired, dehydrated, and slow – but finished. I am not sure what to expect from my training in terms of fitness, but I have a feeling that I will have more fans to cheer me on than I could have ever expected – or deserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment