Life in the fast lane

As I mentioned before, I'm staying in a house that is beside Saint Patrick's High School. Aside from the world class junior runners that I'm living with, there are plenty of athletes at the top level of the sport living and training in the neighbourhood. Many of the athletes based in and around the high school use its grounds to stretch, warm down, and run intervals. So are in the luxurious position of being able to see some of Kenya's top international middle-distance runners going about their day.

Picture: Geoffrey Mutai (second left) biding his time before hammering the field in Saturday's National Cross Country series Race in Iten. Mutai was second in Rotterdam Marathon and in Berlin marathon in 2010. The pace was INSANE!

The camp attached to the high school is just one of a number of high-performance running camps in Iten. While this camp is geared towards middle-distance running, others are marathon focused. There are also a lot of individual athletes living and training here outside of a camp environment. There are plenty of people around town who are happy to chat about training.

One question that has been on my mind for some time is 'how do these top athletes in Kenya live?'. Because perhaps if we understand that, then we are a step closer to understanding how the East Africans have been so dominant on the global running scene over the last few decades.

I don't pretend to know much about it after being up here for less than a week, but you can't help but notice what's going on around you, because the runners are everywhere from the moment you leave your front gate! Keep in mind that my observations here are anecdotal and preliminary, as I haven't been here for long.

The first, and perhaps most import observation I made is that the approach applied by athletes here is not rocket science. To the contrary, it is quite simple. You won't see fancy compression socks and expensive GPS watches. The successful runners here simply train smart and hard. The cinder track says it all really...

Professional athletes obviously don't have to work other jobs, so they can be much more flexible about training throughout the day and week. The athletes flex their training according to how they feel on the day, and will skip (or pull out of) a session if they are struggling. For the same reason, athletes have plenty of time to stretch and look after their bodies.

Picture: My speedy house-mates, Janet and Nancy, battle it out in the junior women's race. Placing 2nd and 7th respectively.

It seems like there is by no means a 'one size fits all' approach to training. Programs are perhaps less rigid than we are used to, and are tailored for each athlete. For example, a program will depend on the goals of the athlete, how the athlete is feeling on a given day, and what works for the individual. But there is a general daily structure that seems to be common for many runners. The day seems to be based around either two or three runs..

The day starts early. At 6am runners emerge from their homes en mass and take to the trails for the first run of the day, which seems to normally be an easy jog. From my limited observations, the pace starts off very slow, and speeds up gradually throughout. It can be fairly strenuous in the last couple of miles. Then a long stretching session after the run, then breakfast and rest time.

The second run, if there is one, is normally mid/late morning. This is the hard session of the day, meaning hill repeats/intervals/tempo etc. But athletes might skip the late morning session and instead run the session early in the morning or in the afternoon either.

Then the streets are filled with runners again at about 4:30pm when the sun is low in the sky and the temperature is dropping to an agreeable level. It seems like the evening run is normally easy pace.

The time in between runs is spent mainly resting, sleeping, and eating. Kenyans are generally pretty laid back, so sitting around like this is quite conducive with their culture anyway. You won't see many runners out and about during the hot period of the day between 11am and 4pm. Best to stay indoors and off your feet, as it is energy sapping to be moving and out in the sun.

Meals a very simple and unprocessed. Very little meat or saturated fat. For breakfast we've been eating plain white bread (no spread) and maybe fruit, with tea. For lunch, ugali or rice with lettuce or spinach, and tea. Then the same thing for dinner. I've been buying pineapple and mangoes for the house as a treat, but otherwise I doubt it would feature on the menu. You would think that the lack of variety of food would leave people deficient in certain vitamins and nutrients, but it doesn't seem to affect their running performance.

I haven't seen treats like chocolate or ice cream in the village. When these treats are not waved in front of you all day, it's amazing how little you miss them (or even think about them). The food that people normally eat here is healthy because of it's simplicity, though probably not providing all your essential vitamins and nutrients. But it is not particularly tasty, so people are not tempted to eat too much. I've been eating just enough at each meal that I'm not hungry any more, and not more.

By 8pm the village is quiet (except for the sound of barking dogs all around), and so it's off to bed early (before 10pm).

The key tenet of the approach seems to be a structured repetitive lifestyle. When you live in a running centric world like Iten, it seems to be easier to block out distractions and temptations that 'hinder' the rest of us in happening places like Dublin. Aside from the obvious work duties that get in the way of our training, I'm mostly talking about good distractions like meeting friends for coffee or a pint, going to movies or out for dinner, weekend excursions. Missing out on these things is a sacrifice that I think is made by many athletes here, though I don't think they have any desire for these types of things anyway.

There is no reason to break from this structured day, and certainly no reason to leave the house after your evening session (believe me, I experimented with this the other night). There is no reason to drink alcohol in this town. The 'pubs' are not an attractive option, so you're better off just going to bed after dinner in anticipation of another early morning.

I'm also posting on an Irish web-site forum called boards.ie if anyone is interested:

http://www.boards.ie/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=2056133497

Adjusting to altitude training in Iten

There are several running camps in Iten that house elite Kenyan athletes. I am fortunate enough to be staying in a running camp that is affiliated with Saint Patrick's High School (through a friend). But most international visitors that visit Iten stay in either the Kerio View Hotel or Lornah Kiplagat's High Altitude training camp, which are fairly flash places. Both of these hotels are full with athletes, including the British Olympic running team, and a team of elite runners from Sweden. These places cost between $30 and $60 a night, which is ridiculously expensive given that lunch costs about $1 in a local restaurant. But the hostels seem very nice and have good facilities.

By contrast, Markus and I are sharing a basic house with three seventeen year old girls located right next to the school (we have our own sleeping quarters). I feel privileged and lucky to be staying here. Our house-mates, whom are called Nancy, Antonia, and Janet, are world class junior runners. Nancy and Janet have both represented Kenya on the track, and Antonia is hot-on-their-heels for one of those elusive places on the Kenyan international teams. Two of the girls are from a remote mountainous area called Mount Elgon. Both of them had probably never seen a Mzungo (white person) before they were recruited by the training camp and moved to across the country for training. So they're naturally shy around me at this stage. These young and talented girls are in line to be in the next generation of Kenyan Olympic champions, and it is humbling to be their company.

I suppose that the experience of living in one of the international 'training camps' on the other side of the village would be quite different from our living situation here. Here we spend time and live with the Kenyan athletes (I haven't seen any Muzungos on this side of the village), while in those places you're more likely to hang out and train with other international runners. But either way I think being here means you can access a large group of potential training partners.

Iten is perched on the edge of a plateau that looms over the deep Rift Valley, at an altitude of 2600m. This means that there is less oxygen in the air, and the body takes some time to adjust to this. Iten's location, with impressive views over the Kerio National Park from far above, also means that the local residents bear witness to an impressive sunrise while they're out jogging every morning.

Running at this altitude is quite difficult at first, because your lungs are working much harder to sustain any given pace. Your muscles are drawing as much oxygen from your engine, but your engine is receiving less oxygen from each breath. For this reason, I was told when I arrived yesterday morning that I should not run at all on my first day in Iten. And then I should only run slowly for the first week.

I'm told that I probably won't be able to run any intensive speed work in the first while. But I'm hoping to start pushing the pace a bit after a few days, to test the water. Some people are affected more than others by the altitude, so it's hard to say this early on how quickly I'll acclimatise. I guess the local residents have seen plenty of over-eager Mzungos blowing themselves out up here before. The hard part is that I'm extremely anxious to get stuck in, and I feel normal just walking around.

After showing much restraint by resting up yesterday, this morning at 5:50am I bounced out of bed in anticipation of a 6am run. It was still mostly dark. Markus and I joined the girls for a 10k circuit in the area around the village.

The thin air is especially noticeable on the undulating trails around Iten, because you can feel every little climb. The Eldoret Road is the only tarmac road that passes by the village. Most runners use the extensive network of red dusty trails that span the area. The fire trails twist through forests and between small farms. I was completely lost within minutes, which meant it was very important to keep up with the girls! (more details about the runs to come)

Kerio District is full of world class runners, and all of them are sharing the same trails, tracks and hills for their training (up to three times a day). For a visiting runner, the experience of going out for a morning-run and stretching in the company of these athletes is a huge buzz: imagine an All Black fan throwing a ball around with Richie McCaw and Dan Carter, or a tennis player having a hit around with Roger Federer. So far so good.

Rasta time in Zanzibar

On New Year's eve Tom and I arrived into Nungwi village in Zanzibar. Zanzibar is a tropical island off the coast of Tanzania in East Africa. It is a long thin island approximately 100 kilometres in length (2 hours drive on bumpy roads). The island has some of the best beaches I have ever seen. Zanzibar plenty of tourists over the new year period, and parts of the coast are littered with fancy hotels that are mostly visited by wealthy Italians (I'm not sure why). But thankfully there is a village called Nungwi, in the north of Zanzibar, which is a more relaxed spot suited to backpackers.

We rocked up to Nungwi with our backpacks to find a group of local guys with long dreadlocks sitting in the shade listening to reggae music, accompanied by a contingent of Scandinavian females. There was a beach bar with a massive rasta flag behind it, and an amplifier plus mixer with two speakers the size of a fridge. I liked the look of it.

The scene was reminiscent of Robinson Crusoe (or 'The Beach', for the younger audience). There were local guys digging holes and others were nailing thatch panels to the tree-house like structures. It appeared to be some sort of commune. At first it seemed a bit sketchy. There were no rooms, just open bungalows accessible by step-ladders where a few mattresses were haphazardly spread out across the floorboards. There seemed to be no security, but none of the existing guests seemed bothered by this so we decided to go for it (we had no choice anyway).

It turned out to be an excellent decision, because the people were either chilled out rastafarians, or people who like hanging out with rastafarians (relaxed interesting people). It was a buzz sleeping in the open air, with the sound of the ocean offering a peaceful ambience. We made some good friends during our stay, and had a great time swimming, reading, drinking cheap beer, and sitting around chatting with the locals and the other guests.

A short walk away from the beach and you are in the middle of a small local village, where you could explore the windy dirt streets and check out what the locals are getting up to. Everybody is friendly and smiley, and says 'Jambo' when you walk past. It costs US$1.50 in the village to buy lunch, or $2 if you want a coke with it.

The local people seem to like lounging around during the day because it's very hot and ridiculously humid. I suspect that they only work for for as long as they need each day to pay for the essentials (food, power, cell phone), and they are probably less focused than westerners are on accumulating wealth (that is purely an anecdotal observation). They seem to make money by: fishing and selling fish in auctions, working in a hotel, operating a small fruit/bread/miscellaneous items store, digging holes for pipes, building, snorkeling tours, importing marijuana and sunglasses from the mainland (Tanzania) and selling to tourists on the beach.

Nungwi is now one of my favourite beach holiday destinations. The beach is gorgeous, and if you find the right place to stay, and go exploring, you can really immerse yourself in the culture of the place. A highlight was watching the local Muslim kids running around on the beach in the evenings. Groups of boys playing football, and girls running around in beautiful colourful full-body garments. Perhaps the low-point was when I exhausted myself by trying to run in 35 degree heat on New Years eve. I had to stop when I was 11km into a run, with 5km to go, because I was about to collapse in a heap! Though this ended well, because a local offered me a seat on the rear tray of his bicycle for a lift back to the village.

Anyway, that's enough indulgence for a while. It's time to hit the hills of the Rift Valley, so I'm heading back to Kenya. In the meantime, Tom is off to battle some wild animals and maybe Mount Kenya too.

Welcome to Africa: Nairobi

After dropping my backpack off at my guest house, I stepped out into the hot and crowded streets of Nairobi with some trepidation. I tried my best to look like I knew where I was going and what I was doing. I was thankful that I hadn't shaved for a couple of weeks, because at least I looked a little bit travel hardened. But the stubble couldn't hide my pasty white skin, which hadn't seen any sun since I visited Croatia in July. So there was little chance of slipping beneath the radar.

The route to the town centre was mostly a dirty shanty-town type environment, stimulating to all of the senses. It is an exciting place to walk around. I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of attention that I received from the locals, aside from a few friendly comments along the lines of 'Mzungo' (white man) and 'Jambo' (hello).

Anyone who thinks the Irish roads are bad should check out the footpaths in Nairobi. A patchwork of dirt and concrete slabs, the potholes are more like ditches, often filled with water. Rubbish everywhere. Walking through the city streets requires some nimble footwork.

I was leaping/jogging down the path over a particularly rough section next to massive market place that looked like a slum, when a young and colourfully dressed girl decided that she'd join in the fun and began skipping along beside me. She was delightfully laughing and playfully holding onto my t-shirt with one hand, and at the same time had her other hand out asking me for money.

I found a small store that I decided might be a pharmacy, and asked whether they could sell me some malaria tablets. The women said yes, then she said: You have already been bitten by mosquitoes on your face. I said: No, that's just my normal face.

Later that day, I was joined by Tom and we had a beer at a rooftop bar looking out over the city, before heading into the city to find a cool night spot. The first bar we walked into in central Nairobi was brilliant. It was an outdoor bar with a vibrant atmosphere and a decent local crowd. A band was setting up. Reggae type music seemed to be on the cards, and the band was fronted by a group of talented singers and dancers. Interestingly, the men in the bar were most taken by the large female dancer with her belly unflatteringly hanging out over her skirt. Before we'd taken our first sip of Tusker beer, we were propositioned by a couple of over-affectionate local girls, whom according to their responses were 'good' but also 'lonely'. We sent them off on their way.

Tusker, the local beer of choice in Nairobi

People were very friendly (especially the females), but unfortunately it's sometimes difficult to decide who is genuine and who isn't. Later on, I met a Kenyan diamond and gold trader called 'Geoff' who it turned out was looking for a Mzungo contact in Europe. I saw 'Blood Diamond' last week, so thought it best to kindly decline his request to swap business cards.

Everyone we met told us that we shouldn't walk in the streets of Nairobi after dark. I asked the taxi driver on the way home what he would do if his car broke down late at night in the city. He said he would stay in his car and quickly find another taxi to pick him up. It's a sad day when a city is so fraught with danger that even the locals can't walk the streets at night.

I wanted to take lots of photos of the city streets to give a sense of the madness but I was worried that I would either get mugged, or at the least I would look like an idiot flashing an iphone around.

It's great to be back on the road.

Training camp in the Rift Valley, Kenya

In the summer of 2010 I was browsing through a copy of the Irish Times when I saw an article about an Irish Brother (of the Catholic church) who lives in a small town called Iten in the mountainous Rift Valley of Kenya. The article explained that Brother Colm O'Connell had moved to Iten in the early 1980s to fill the role of principle at a Catholic high school called Saint Patrick's. During Brother Colm's time at the school he developed an enthusiasm for the sport of running, and began coaching students. Brother Colm has been very successful in this role, and in recent years the school has developed a reputation for producing some of Kenya's top athletes.

St Patrick's college is a central institution in the small village, and is a production-line of running talent that feeds into into the local supply of aspiring elite runners. The success of St Patrick's High School as a production-line of high-achieving runners has lifted the profile of Iten within the running community of Kenya (and globally). Iten has become something of a Mecca for Kenyan runners wishing to enter the professional running arena, and also for curious runners from all over the world who are looking to learn from the best in the business. The village is now home to a number of training camps, where runners congregate to train and live together.

The article sparked my curiosity in the place, and I im

mediately began investigating the idea and planning a trip. The plan I came up with was to head away just after Christmas and spend four weeks training in Iten. I'm also treating myself to a few days on the beach in Zanzibar (a tropical island off the coast of Tanzania) to celebrate the New Year, and I'll probably climb Mount Kenya on my way back to Nairobi in late January.

After discussing the idea with a few friends, I was put in contact with a couple of lads who had been to Iten before. Dan (from Melbourne) and Markus (from Germany) were both helpful, offering some tips and contacts in Iten. After passionately recounting stories of previous trips to Kenya, Markus decided to join me for a couple of weeks in Iten. Markus arranged accommodation for the pair of us at a local training camp (affiliated with Saint Patrick's High School) through a friend.

So training camp in Iten is ON! Starting on 4 January. But first Tom and I are off to Zanzibar to welcome the 2011 in style.

Dublin marathon pace-runner: October 2010

On 25 October 2010, I took to the streets of Dublin as a pace-maker for the Dublin Marathon. The conditions were perfect: no wind, blue sky, and approximately 8 degrees. I was not yet recovered from Berlin Marathon, so it was too soon to race. But I had previously agreed to help out as a pacer for the Dublin marathon organiser. I had plenty of mates running, and was keen to get out on the course with them in any capacity.

My job was to set the pace for a 2 hour 59 minute marathon (6:52 minute miles, or 4:16 min/km) all the way from start to finish. The idea is that runners who are aiming to break three hours for the marathon, can use me as a pacing guide throughout the race (in the absense of a pacer, many people tend to start marathons too fast). I'm also there to encourage people along the way. I had a massive red helium balloon (over a metre in diametre) tied to my wrist, and a sign in my other hand reading 3:00.

Pacing a marathon is the best possible way to witness all of the emotional and physical highs and lows of a marathon. As a pace runner, you can be immersed in the intensity of the challenge, with all the sportsmanship and camaraderie that goes with it. But unlike the other marathon competitors, you can fully appreciate the buzz of the event without being distracted by your own pain and suffering. The most rewarding moment off all for a pacer is reaching the finish line. It is exhilarating to see first-hand the sense of euphoria and exhaustion that fellow runners experience upon nailing a marathon.

All was going to plan for me until the 8 mile mark, when my oversized red balloon was defeated by overhanging foliage in a wooded section of Phoenix Park. The ‘BOOM’ that resonated through the trees was awarded with a jovial round of applause from the three hour bunch, who were apparently still energetic at this early stage in the race. Fortunately I also had a hand-held sign that would now become our most valuable signaling prop. Unfortunately, the sign was fairly modest in proportions compared with the balloon. It dawned on me that performing my pacing duties effectively for the remaining 18 miles was going to involve elevating the sign above my head - like so:




















By the half-marathon mark, both of my arms were wrecked, and I started noticing smiley kids holding bunches of small helium balloons. If only I could secure one: I could tie it to my wrist as a replacement balloon, and then turn my focus completely back to nailing the 6:52 mile splits. But I didn’t have time to stop and negotiate with a spectator for the release of a balloon, so my only option was to poach one from an unsuspecting small child. I considered this for several miles, before dismissing the idea on the basis that doing so would not being in the spirit of the event.

As the somewhat diminished three-hour pack approached the finish line at Merrion Square with 2 hours 59 minutes on the clock, it struck me as being rather ironic that my arms felt like they were about to drop off. In some ways, dead arms were a welcome distraction from the aching legs. I couldn’t help but feel a great sense of pride for the lads who had stuck with us throughout the morning, and had achieved their goals.

This was a great day out in Dublin. We proceeded to follow up the running marathon with a marathon pub crawl session around Dublin throughout the afternoon and evening.

3rd Annual Wicklow Way Santa Ultra 2010

While the good people of Dublin battled hoards of bargain hunters on Saturday morning in search of Christmas gifts, four hard core shopping procrastinators hit the snowy Wicklow Mountains for the annual Wicklow Way Christmas Ultra run. The route follows a 52km mountain trail from Glendalough (deep in the Wicklow Mountains) to Taylors Three Rock Pub at the foot of the Dublin Mountains.

Paul Mahon and Rene Borg descending along the WW with Roundwood in the background








The concept was initially thought up in 2008 when a kiwi mate and multisporter, Gavin Lloyd, and I decided that an ultra distance 'fun-run' would be a good way to engineer a suitable calorie deficit before Christmas. Now in it's 3rd year, the event has not yet failed to provide hostile and demanding wintery conditions.

This year the crew was made up of Paul Mahon, Eamonn Hodge, Richard Nunan, and myself. Eamonn and Richard were both first-time participants in the run, and were keen to prove a point after I purposefully suggested last week that Paul was the only Irishman tough enough to make the distance. We were joined for the first stage by Rene Borg and Aoife Joyce, who provided some helpful moral support upon turning around after an hour - "we'll think of ye lads when we're sitting in front of a fire in half an hour drinking hot soup"

Myself, Eamonn, Paul, Richard, and Rene: still fresh, at the foot of Scarr Mountain









Next was a road section at the foot of Scarr. We were hoping to make up some lost time after being slowed by a snowy section. But instead of hitting the usual potholed pavement, we found that the road had turned into an ice sheet! Unfortunately we hadn't thought to bring our ice skates, so we tentatively took to the ice in our running shoes and adopted an unstylish penguin waddle as we maneovered along the treacherous road.

Jase trying to stay upright on the road section above Lough Tay









Djouce mountain is tough, even in the summer. This is the highest and most exposed section on the route, at 700m above sea level. This year we reached Djouce mountain after 2.5 hours. The weather was accommodating, but the snow was deeper than previous years. On the one hand, trying to run over a mountain in knee-deep snow can be quite fun. On other other hand, it is slow going, and we had 27km still to cover before sun-down.

Paul struggling in knee deep snow on Djouce Mountain









By the time we reached Curtlestown (34km, 4 hours), we were pining for a hot meal and a pint of Guinness. Eamonn had made the mistake of mentioning Fish'n'chips hours before in a moment of weakness, and the thought had since lodged itself in my mind. The patience starts to wane after stumbling along snowy trails for hours on end. Every footstep seems to slip laterally, or backwards. So much effort required per yard gained. Normally the downhill and flat sections would be a welcome respite from the climbing. But in the snow, every gradient feels like uphill. At this stage I'm wishing that we'd just entered a 5k Santa run in Phoenix Park.

Five hours and 40km after leaving the car behind in Glendalough car park, we were descending towards Glencullen, dangerously close to Johnny Foxes (the highest pub in Ireland). We overcame temptation as we hit enjoyed a clear run on the final short road section, before attacking the final ascent up to fairy castle summit (570 metres).

Finally with 6 hours 10 minutes running time on the clock, we collapsed through the doors of Taylors Three Rock Pub in South Dublin. Although we were an hour slower than previous years, we were stoked to have overcome the deep snow and ice to finish at all! Another successful Glendalough Santa run in the bag.