Kigali International Peace Marathon

May 15, 2008

Five minutes into my first run in Rwanda, I had to turn around and check the number of our duplex so I would be sure to make it home. All the houses looked the same, all the gates blocked visibility, and all the hills insured that even “fun” runs would be moderately difficult. Ten months and several reddened running shoes later, I have set courses around this beautiful city, conquered dozens of the thousand hills, and have successfully made it back to the gate that marks my start and finish line each day.
Running in Rwanda has given me a sense of independence in a culture that is completely foreign to me and thus created a dependence on the continual help and kindness of others. It has been my energizer before teaching, my clarity in confusion, and the best remedy for jet lag. I have been accompanied by stunning sunrises, a constant chorus of “Muzungu”, friends, and a continual string of uninvited running partners as I have plodded through this new territory.
All of the hills and miles did not prepare me for the event on May 11 – a date I had starred in my calendar and counted down with long Sunday runs. The Kigali International Peace Marathon was held at the Amahora stadium. Anticipation woke me at five and even the drive to get to the stadium was a feat in and of itself as the main roads were blocked and the sidewalks sprinkled with runners warming up. There, runners were gathered from seven until nine o’clock on the back field where the 5K fun runners were then released to start the marathon. Hundreds of kids with proudly displayed numbers and timing chips tied to ankles, wrists, sandals and shoes took off.
After smiling at the sea of kids, the half marathoners were gathered, friends in the stand sent encouraging waves, the anticipation ended, and the work began. As my running partner and I started settling into a reasonable pace, a swarm of marathoners thundered past us. My jaw dropped as I watched these amazing athletes glide on the four loops that made up their playground of 26.4 miles. After the sixth mile, my jaw was no longer dropped in awe but set in determination to make it to the next water station where I would beg Jenny to let us walk for two minutes or push through to the next area where I knew friends and my students were holding cameras and water bottles and I could relieve my mind for a second of the immensity of the course. I kept running, Jenny kept up the encouragement and pace, and the miles past one footfall at a time.