In 1996, on a warm September evening in Rieti, Italy, a 20-year-old Kenyan called Daniel Komen ran one of the most incredible races in athletics history, slicing over four seconds off the world record in the 3000m. As he lapped the track that night, he had no idea what pace he was running and kept asking his coach each time he passed if he was running too fast.
In the last 15 years, nobody has come even close to his world record, despite the illustrious list of names who have tried: Hicham El Guerrouj, Haile Gebreselassie, Kenenisa Bekele.
By the age of 22 Komen had disappeared from athletics, his last major race being the 1998 Commonwealth Games in Kuala Lumpur. But here he is now walking towards me across a school field just outside Iten, a large flag in his hand.
He stops when he reaches me and hands me the flag.
“You start the next race,” he says, and walks off.
Many theories are offered up as the secret to Kenya’s success in long distance running, but one of the most commonly cited, especially by Kenyans themselves, is the hard, active life the children here lead. Most run long distances to school each morning, and when they get home they are sent out to tend to the goats or sheep. There are few televisions, let alone PlayStations or Xboxes.
Virtually every top Kenyan runner shares a similar background. I have yet to hear of one who comes from an even moderately wealthy family.
So today I’ve taken a break from my own training to come and watch a local inter-schools cross country race, to see if I can learn some more about the grassroots of Kenyan running.
Walking into the field is like turning up at a major sporting event. The course is marked out with fluttering Safaricom tape, and there are big corporate Safaricom banners everywhere. Safaricom is one of Kenya’s biggest companies, and it has sent a representative here to observe the race. The event is also being sponsored by CIS Insurance.
As well as Komen, there are at least another ten great Kenyan runners here watching, both retired and current athletes. This is not like the school cross country races I remember competing in.
Once the races start, another difference is evident. Every single child runs as though possessed, they charge like mini racehorses around the course. Even the children right at the back are pushing along at a decent pace. Nobody walks, as they used to when I was at school.
Another difference is that virtually all the children are running barefoot. Barefoot running is a growing trend in the west, based on the theory that conventional running shoes force you to run in an inefficient and injury-inducing style. It’s interesting to note that here the only children wearing running shoes are at the very back of the field.
In one race, the further back in the field the girls finish, the better their shoes, to the absurd extent that the girl with the newest, sleekest running shoes of all comes in last, while the girl whose shoes are only slightly worse finishes second to last.
Ironically, the prize for the winner in each race is a pair of Nike running trainers.
There are six races in all. Each one starts like a 100m sprint, even though it is slightly uphill. When the runners reappear a few minutes later, after looping around the back of the school, they’re still hurtling along, back down the hill.
Those children not running make lots of noise cheering on their classmates. It is all taken very seriously. In fact, some of the teachers are accused of taking it too seriously, and entering over-age children in races in the hope of winning.
The man on the PA asks for the teachers to be less “corrupt” next year.
I had thought I could quietly watch the races and then head home, but being a mzungu (European) means that as soon as I show up I am instantly made an “honoured guest” at the race.
As well as being asked to start one race – waving Komen’s flag and shouting “go” as loud as I can – I am also given a chair in the VIP tent afterwards, where I sit and watch as notable after notable stands up to give a speech.
The children all sit on the grass in the heat pretending to be interested, as officials from the local athletics body, the department of education, and the corporate sponsors take turns to stand up and explain their view of the world. Occasionally the children attempt to get up and walk off, but they are quickly ushered back by embarrassed teachers.
Then, without warning, the MC turns to me and says: “And now I’d like our honoured guest from Great Britain, Mr Adharanand Finn, to come up and say a few words.”
I get up and stand in front of a thousand curious eyes, wondering what I can possibly tell them that would be of any interest. My only credential for being called up to talk is my skin colour. But I have to say something.
In the end I just say that it is an honour to be here and to witness such passion and enthusiasm for running. And that after witnessing the races today, I can clearly see why Kenya is the greatest running nation on earth. It is hard to imagine anywhere else where a school race is given so much importance, or where so many children can run so fast.
I receive a polite ripple of applause, and as I sit down, I get a nod of approval from Komen. Who knows, I may have just spoken to Kenya’s next world record holder.
• The book Running with the Kenyans by Adharanand Finn will be published in 2012
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