Training Day 8: 10km, 60min

I promised to do a one-hour run yesterday to make up for the hour that I missed on Sunday but a combination of factors made sure I couldn't. For one, the 11km I walked took a toll on my feet; two, I was exhausted. I think the rain had an effect too. So, come Monday at 5am, I just slept .. and woke up at 8am!
The alarm went off at 459am and I was up, dressed, some toilet thingy and off. As is usual at that time, there were few people on the road - some matatus were still parked at the petrol station. I thought this odd. It was 510am, how could the matatus.. anyway, never mind.
The run started at 5.13am. The first 30 or so seconds were not so good to me. The oncoming vehicles had their full lights on; I could not move as well as I would have liked. Damn the drivers. Never one to let such little matters come between me and my lovely run, I went on. Left leg, right punch, right foot, left punch, hmm, hmm, left punch, right foot ... on and on and down the river.
As is the case when I run, I kind of draft the blog in my head. I imagine the first line, I rewrite it. I polish it. I discard it. I pick another. A song comes to mind (today it was Tupac, Freddy Jackson, Oliver Mtukudzi), I say to myself I'll mention it in the blog ... a Bible verse intrudes into my thoughts (it is always Ps 121:1-2), I shove it aside; another song, an expression from my previous night's reading ... it's just a world of its own...
So up the hill after the river. My legs are feeling my weight. I try to guess the ditance covered. 2km? No, that should be one-and-a-half. No, two-and-a-half? What the heck, I am here to do an hour at a pace that is slightly above that of a jog... so what is 2km anyway?
Now approaching the ILRI fence... or is it that the fence has come up too fast? What's the difference, I keep on. Left foot, right punch, right foot, left punch, leftfootrightpunch, rightfootleftpunch, leftfootrightpunch, rightfootleftpunch, on and on till I get to the roundabout. This time, I did just a lap and ran back. My plan was to run for 30 min - I set the alarm to go off 30 min after the start of the run - then retrace the route back. After the lap I ran down to just before end of the ILRI fence and the alarm went off then I turned back and ran to the roundabout, one lap and I was on my way back smiling to myself and feeling good.
Runner one appeared just as I was heading to the roundabout. He opened the door to other runners, in a manner of speaking, for I met 12 others by the time I finished my running. In my previous run, I counted 21 runners and Jack doubted it. His argument was that you can't count that number of runners. I did. Today, I counted 13. It's easy coz they run singly and at irregular intervals ...BUt his point must have been that when you are running, you pay attention only to the road ahead... A man's mind must be let to wander and ponder over such mundane things as who else is crazy enough to be running at that time, no?
I've picked up a slight injury of the inner thigh. The friction between the inner lining - more like netting to me - and my thigh resulted in a bruise on Sunday. It came back today at around the 7th kilometre. I must get those biker shorts ...
Finally, my run came to a stop, to be continued on Thursday - I am not ruling out tomorrow, just to recover that one hour I lost.
Sixty minutes, 10 kilometres more and the legs are smiling.
By the way, I rested Lisa, my old running shoes, for good. The current pair, bought at the Jogoo Road secong hand shoe stalls at a princely sum of 2,500/- (two-thousand-five-hundred-shillings my guy) are doing just fine. I nicknamed them Truphena - they are true to my feet and the road. Long live Truphena.

PS
Our Co-ordinator for the Lewa Marathon, Samuel Mbau, sent an e-mail asking us to re-confirm our participation. I wonder what he is up to.
Apologies to Mejumaa Mbaruku for 'snubbing' her at the track on Sunday. I am poor of sight so I use glasses. However, I run without them. She was at the track, all right, and with her two beautiful girls. She called out my name but somehow I didn't connect the 'calling,' the sound, with her. POle Mej. I feel like Samuel of the Bible who missed out on two calls from the Lord, all the while mistaking them for Eli's (1 Sam 3:1-9) ... (I'm not likening myself to Samuel and I'm not likening Mej to Eli but ... it's a nice thought!