I didn’t know training partners this fast existed

    I woke up Tuesday morning to rain, and seriously contemplated blowing off the morning run. Crawling out of a warm bed to go for a run in the dark in hard enough, but it's just that much harder when it's raining out. Still though, I'd planned on meeting with Kemboi and had missed a couple runs with him the last couple days, so I didn't want to ditch him if he was running in the rain. I realized later on that this wasn't a very logical train of thought because of the regularity with which Kenyans avoid doing anything in the rain. I ran up to the intersection and waited for Kemboi for a minute or two then, after talking with a matatu director who knew him, went to the compound where he lived to see if I could find him. No one was else seemed to be around, so I decided to just head home. Considering that I was finishing an aborted morning run in the rain and the dark after not meeting the guy I had hoped to, I was in a pretty good mood. The amount that the Kenyans avoided the rain was interesting to me, coming from Seattle where you would quickly turn into a hermit if you tried to avoid doing anything in the rain. I guess the situation is somewhat different here because the number of dirt roads means that travel is more difficult in the rain than in the US, and I've heard people say the traffic gets pretty treacherous in the rain, but still.

    Tuesday at school no school work or regular classes happened as usual. The day before the winning "house" had been announced, and today they would have a party as a reward. The tally for determining the winning house is determined by "good marks", which students get for helping teachers, going out of their way to help someone, or anything of that nature a teacher wants to reward. Also factored into determining the winning house is their performance on exams and during Sports Day. That party took the whole afternoon, and as far as I could tell there wasn't much of anything going on during the morning. A couple of eighth graders came in to talk to me and, since I was on my computer, I ended up showing them some of the pictures on my computer of the landscape in Montana. They were impressed by the mountains and lakes, the landscape of the Rockies is a lot different from the mountains here, and in my opinion the mountain views are a lot more beautiful there. Most of the pictures I had were really scenic views from out camping, including some phenomenal shots from a trip into the Pintler Mountains a couple summers ago that I didn't even go on, and I worried that I was giving them a pretty unrepresentative snapshot of what things looked like over there, but at least they got to see a glimpse of what the mountains there look like. They wanted to look at my music too, which I was happy to let them. I really don't listen to much of the same music they listen to, I think partly because of age and cultural differences, but also because I have a pretty off beat taste in music and don't listen to very much new pop music, which seemed to be the main thing they listen to. Since they had the whole morning off I showed them an episode of Flight of the Conchords, but it seemed to me that much of it was lost on them, I'm not sure if that's more because of age or cultural differences. All of the TV shows here seem pretty terrible to me. All the shows here are either Nigerian or Mexican, with the Mexican ones being originally in Spanish and roughly dubbed over in English. Those honestly remind me a little bit of the Vintage 21 videos, both in quality of the dubbing over and the quality of the acting. Most people I've talked to agree that the shows here are pretty poor, but lots of people still watch them. I wonder if they see something I don't or if they just watch them because that's what's available.

    The kids who didn't have the party were just set loose for the afternoon while the others had the party. The system feels a little weird to me to just leave ¾ of the kids outside while you throw a party for the winning group, but I understand the reward for achievement they are trying to demonstrate to the kids. It also surprised me they were willing to turn that many kids loose for that long with basically no supervision, but overall there has been less supervision of kids during breaks than I would think necessary and things still seem to run pretty smoothly. I wondered if some of the kids who were at the party wouldn't mind just going out to play for the afternoon, but I didn't hear any sentiment to that effect from the kids. It also seemed to me a bit wasteful to have a day of the kids coming to school where, from what I saw, nothing really happened except a party for a quarter of them for half the day. After lunch I went out to play with the kids that weren't having the party, and I wondered how long we would play since they had the whole afternoon off. Normally we had about 40 minutes to play then the bell would ring and the kids would reluctantly head in for class. Today we kept playing into the afternoon, and I could tell some of the kids were running out of steam/attention. After we had been playing for over an hour there were about 20 kids that were really playing, at any given time about 10 kids standing around talking/arguing/playing with dirt (think little league outfielders), and probably five kids climbing on the goal post, which I kept an eye on to make sure I wouldn't have to explain how some kid had managed to paralyze himself while I was out there playing with them. I tired of the game myself, but some sort of paternal instinct discouraged the idea of leaving all these kids out here playing by themselves, even though that must be what normally happens. After a while a kid came to me saying he had cut his foot, which he definitely had, though not too bad, but it was bleeding pretty steadily and I figured it would be good for him to head in and get it patched up. I told him to head in, but he was hesitant, I think because he was worried about getting in trouble for coming in while the party was going, so I headed in with him. The party the winning house in the classroom area was done and they were moving over to the cafeteria for some cake. I took the kid over to the secretary for him to get a bandage, but it looked to me like they just sent him out to keep playing. I had been a little bit surprised I hadn't seen more cut up feet for the amount kids run around without shoes on, but I wondered if it happened pretty regularly and just wasn't seen as much of an issue, it was just something that happened.

     As I headed back out I ran into Roger and he told me to come over to have cake, which I was happy to do because I was pretty tired of being out in the field. We headed into the cafeteria where all the kids had been loaded up a plate of sweets similar to jolly ranchers, something like flavorless cheetoes, and popcorn. This was the most junk food I had seen since I'd been here, and I must say it didn't hold a candle to American junk food. It's been both a good thing and a bad thing that I haven't really had any candy since I've been here. It's great for getting in shape and training for cross country and I'm eating super healthy, but I really miss having some chocolate or sugar from time to time. After everyone had food and was seated a couple of the teachers gave speeches about how the kids had earned this and the teachers were proud of them, but also lectured them about how they needed to work hard to get this again. Overall the speeches seemed pretty stern to me considering the occasion, with some of the teachers saying more about what they needed to do and what they needed to fix to win again than praising the kids for their efforts. Maybe it wasn't really out of place considering that most things about the school system here have seemed pretty harsh and unforgiving to me. Most of the teachers spoke, and the speeches seemed to drag on to me. I thought again of if some of the kids would prefer to be outside playing rather than listening to the teachers tell them how hard they need to work.

    Earlier in the day I had called Kemboi to ask about where he was that morning, and he was surprised that I had gone for a run in the rain. Sure enough, he had just slept in and waited until it wasn't raining and ran at 10. Since I knew where he lived now, we agreed to meet at his house at 5 in the evening to run. When we got home I got my running clothes on and headed up there. He lives in a group of houses all inside of a metal front gate, so I knocked on the front gate, unaware that I could just open the door and head in. One of the women out cleaning clothes reluctantly opened the door with an appropriately confused look on her face, and when I asked directed me to Kemboi's house. Kemboi invited me in as he got ready for the run. This was another case of fighting against the instincts my parents had instilled in me growing up, going into the house of a person you had met once was definitely on the list of things to be avoided at just about all costs. But I had grown more and more comfortable with the area, and with the new experiences in Kenya in general to where it was easier to distance myself from the lessons I had learned growing up in the US. Kemboi's "house" was one room, as were the rest of the houses in the complex. You had to duck out of the way of clothes that were hanging on lines between the houses across the concrete communal area to get to his front door. He had his bed, a couch, several chairs, and a small TV crammed in there, along with a pile of dishes and cooking supplies in one corner. The kitchen, bedroom, and living room were all just overlapping corners of this space. Metals hung all the way around the room (which isn't that far, but still) along the ceiling, along with running hats and a couple pictures of him. I examined the medals and asked him about some of them. They were all from international marathons and half marathons, and these weren't participant ribbons. He had won a couple races in Malaysia and had a couple top 3 finishes elsewhere in Asia and Europe. This was another case of expanding my global perspective, realizing the being in the United States, we don't even necessarily ever see the fastest runners in the world on our continent. Kemboi was a talkative guy, and as we (mostly he) talked I begin to think that I'd mistaken his talkativeness for cockiness. He spoke matter-of-factly of the places he'd run and what the races had been like. So far the runners I had met had struck me as pleasant, but quiet and shy, and that wasn't the case of Kemboi at all. He was animated and opinionated, and as we took off on our run I was excited about running with him because any question I asked him had the potential to set him off on a story or a rant about training, racing, Kenya, or life in general.

    Rather than heading up the main road the way I had always gone, we crossed the road and walking along a long concrete block that looked to me like it might be used for irrigation and across about the ricketiest bridge that you could imagine and along a path through the houses. As this point we started jogging at just faster than a walk, and Kemboi said this was to loosen up a little bit. The path we were on took us up to a side road, which we turn on and Kemboi announced that this was where the run would actually start. I braced myself to get ready to take off at the kind of pace I imagined a 2:07 marathoner must run for his easy runs, but we picked up the pace just slightly and were still moving along at a slow jog. I spent the next several minutes waiting for the pace to pick up, but it never did. If he ran a 2:07 marathon that meant his pace for 26.2 miles was about 4:50 per mile. My race pace for a cross country 10k (6.2 miles) is somewhere in the neighborhood of 5:30 per mile, so it's safe to say that if we were running at paces relative to our race pace he would be running at least a minute per mile faster than me. Maybe this is the secret to Kenyan training, I thought. But at a very fundamental level it doesn't follow that you can suddenly run so comfortably at faster than 5:00 miles because you've ran all your training miles at 8:00 pace (Warning to non-runners: the rest of this post and the next couple will get into considerable observations and ramblings about distance training, so it may be somewhat dry if this isn't your cup of tea. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, if it's of use to you then go ahead and read, but if not throw it out immediately). I asked him if he usually ran this slow and he explained that this was a "speed walk", which is what he always did in the evening. The purpose of these runs was to burn fat and build strength, he said. In fact, when I had to jump off the road to take a dump part way through the run, when I came back he said that was a good sign, that my body was getting rid of the extra fat because of the run. I'm not an exercise science nut, but that still sounded pretty backward to me, and I found that a lot of what Kemboi said seemed pretty backward, and some of it sounded downright ridiculous. There were a couple things that I was pretty quick to dismiss, but as I thought about things more, I came around to thinking that it doesn't matter if it's correct, because it's part of the training plan and though process of a 2:07 marathoner. I can bring forward whatever evidence I want that my view or though process of the strategy of different runs is more correct, but Kemboi's evidence will be the prize money he wins in New York, and I care a lot more about running fast than I care about biology, so if there's a disagreement between the fastest runners in the world and the scientists that don't have any results to show other than the lab results, I think I will tend to side with the fast runners. Basically, I don't care what's technically correct, I care what makes you run fast, whether it's correct or not, because for me that's the definition of correct.

I was delighted with how eager he was to answer my questions, but I never got short, direct answers, and often the answers didn't have much of anything to do with the question I asked. That didn't bother me too much though, because I didn't even necessarily know what questions to ask, I just wanted to hear his thoughts on training and figure out what he did and what Kenyans do in general. I thought back to conversations I've had or discussion boards I've seen online of the American running community trying to pin down what it was that made the East Africans so dominant and now I had the prime opportunity to try to understand what they do first hand, and even do it with one of their elites. We did enough runs together over the course of the week that I don't remember too clearly what we talked about on what runs, so probably the next blog post I'll devote just to talking about the runs we did and the wisdom Kemboi imparted to me on those runs, which I think will also make it easier for those of you who don't give two hoots about this to skip over it. Kemboi was very amused by the idea that people would assume I was some elite European runner that had come to train with him. I added to it saying that if I ran alone people just though I was a foolish lost little white boy, but running with an elite marathoner changed me into an exotic elite runner that was serious enough about training to come train with the Kenyans. Kemboi exclaimed several times during the run about how if I kept training with him I would be strong in a week. If I run with him for a week my legs will fall off, I thought. There didn't seem to be any problem in his mind with a random walk-on Division II college runner jumping into training with a world-class marathoner and keeping up. In fact, "It's no problem" and "It's OK" were probably his favorite phrases, and they surfaced probably at least every couple minutes, and if I ever complained about my legs feeling bad or needing to take a day off, that was the standard response. As we were finishing the run he suddenly exclaimed, "I like you!" and I responded that I was very grateful and excited about getting to train with him.

We had run 70 minutes, some on roads I was familiar with, but had connected them with roads that had previously been some of endless unknown roads that meandered off through the fields into the unknown. Several times kids yelled at me or came to run with us as they usually did, though I think they were more hesitant now that I was running with Kemboi, and people yelled at me less in general, which I can only attribute to the change of perception from being a silly looking shaggy lost kid to some sort of imported elite runner. When the kids did come run with us, Kemboi didn't seem to mind at all but if I said something or encouraged them then he would sometimes too. I'm pretty sure kids never come out to run with elite runners in the US, but I don't think kids come out to run with Kemboi if I'm not there. He mentioned when one of the kids was running with us about how important it was to get kids running early and to encourage them, not sounding much different from what I would expect (and hope) anyone that's invested in the running community in the US would say.

After the run we did Kemboi's stretching and strengthening routine, which took maybe two minutes and we did most of it as we were walking back down the path toward his house. We stretched our calves and hamstring, did a variation of some leg swings, and then a funny shoulder and hand strengthening one where we basically held our arms over our heads and rapidly opened and closed our hands. He invited me back to his place to grab some water before I headed home, which I was happy to oblige. He poured glasses of water and then added a little bit of concentrated fruit juice to give it some sugar, basically what I considered to be a low-tech Gatorade. We both pounded down the first glass and then drank another one more leisurely. We also had some bread and tea, which seemed to me to be an integral part of the post-run routine for him, and relaxed a little bit while he put on a national geographic video on his tiny TV. It occurred to me that for the time he was in Eldoret he lived a pretty solitary life. He trains and lives alone, and during the day goes into town alone. He has a girlfriend, which from talking with him I it seems to me he started going out with in large part just so he would have some companionship for the time he was here. He's friends with a lot of the runners, but explained to me that he was pretty hesitant to show them where he lived because he said often they would let other people know who would come to rob him, which seemed interesting to me considering how willing and eager he had been to invite me to his home. I can't remember what all we talked about this night and what we talked about later in the week, so I'll include most of that stuff in the next post.

I felt pretty good after the run, and I was excited that I might actually be able to train a decent amount with Kemboi. This was one of the dreams I had had for the trip, a best case scenario, and it was really happening. The next day at school would be the pack up day, and considering how lackadaisical today had been I decided to skip to be able to run with Kemboi at 7:00. With school ending I would be able to concentrate on training, something I hadn't really done for the whole trip. During my standard summer since college started the main focus of the summer was getting in as good of shape as possible for the cross country season in the fall, and I think this is probably the first year where that isn't my primary goal for the summer, and it feels kind of strange. However, as I said when I was deciding to go on this trip, it would be good for bringing closure to my running career because either I would get in great shape and be inspired running with the Kenyans and end my career by having a great senior season then riding off into the sunset or I would have another bummer of a season and I figured if I can't have a good season after training in Kenya it's time to call it quits anyway.

    
 

    

Not Running with the Kenyans

    I had told Kemboi, the man that flagged me down on Saturday, that I would meet him to run on Monday at 6:00 AM. I hadn't done any morning runs yet because it was dark outside, and I wasn't sure whether I should feel better or worse that rather than just going running out in the dark I was going out to meet somebody in the dark. I have to admit that I was reasonably nervous as I took off. Running down a side road toward the hills in the dark in a foreign country where I was seen as extremely rich, I had to fight the survival instincts that told me this was a bad idea and I really should turn back. It was interesting to me to be trying to unlearn some of the basic safety rules that had been ingrained in me as a kid as far as talking to strangers and going unfamiliar places, and I could feel those rules pulling at me every time I did something that wasn't completely safe. But this trip was all about meeting strangers and going unfamiliar places, so I pressed on in spite of the nagging fear. The road was rough enough that I had to pick my way carefully in the dim light just before dawn. Kemboi had told me to me him at the matatu "stage" the main intersection in the gathering of houses up the road before you got to the fields. I underestimated the time it would take to get there, and arrived about five minutes late, but given the lack of punctuality standard for Kenyans I wasn't worried about it. Kemboi wasn't there though, so I asked around with the matatu conductors a little bit and decided if he wasn't there I'd just do my shakeout on my own. I had found since Saturday some skepticism had gathered in me about if Kemboi was as good of a runner as he claimed to be. I headed through the houses and up to the dirt road. A couple of high schoolers started running with me, and one ran with me all the way until I turned around. It was explained to me later that the high schoolers who were walking to school or catching the bus were generally the poorer ones because most students would board at the school if they could afford to. We chatted about why I was here and how school was, and he mentioned that it was a struggle paying school fees but God willing he would get through. I can't remember how it came up, but another interesting comment he made was that sometimes he wished he "could grow wings and fly to your country". The run back was really nice in the gathering light, and the mosque on the way back looked even more beautiful with the sun rising behind it.

    Monday was another pretty relaxed day at school, and today I brought my laptop so I could spend some of my time writing, which was good because I've had a pretty tough time keeping up with everything that's been going on. Even then though, I can only write so much at a time without it feeling like I'm cramming to finish a term paper, and I don't want to give a crammed term paper type description, so I usually just drop it right there and wait until later to write more. I don't mind writing, but this blog is starting to feel like an assignment just because of the volume of writing. Still, I can't bring myself to write any less because every time as I'm writing a whole list of things I want to make sure to include pop into my head. I got a call from Kemboi asking where I'd been, and I told him I must have just missed him and that I'd try to show up tomorrow morning. I was surprised at his persistence in wanting to run with me, and it made me somewhat more skeptical of whether he was actually an elite runner because it seemed to me that people of that caliber wouldn't bother to follow up with a random kid they met on the street that said he'd be up for going for a run.

    On my run that evening I explored one of the side roads back into the fields a little bit and then came back to play some soccer with the high school guys at the field. The roads back in there really do seem to be endless, sometimes narrowing down to not much more than a two track and looking like they will dead end at a grass hut that actually serves as a farmhouse, only to emerge onto another dirt side road that disappears into the distance. The bugs were worse than usual, and I got a decent number in my mouth and my eyes. I came back to play soccer with the high schoolers at the field and played just about until dark, feeling comfortable enough with the route home to wait longer to take off than usual. I played pretty well and was happy to be able to keep up and hold my own again. The guys didn't seem to me to be going easy or treating me any different, including once again wordlessly allowing me to enter the game, which I was very grateful for. I think there might have been one or two new guys who hadn't been there before when I played, and they seemed a little surprised, I think as much as anything by the fact that the others didn't take notice of me. In my whole trip I don't know that there's been a group that has treated me with the equality that these guys have, and the exact reason is because they didn't go out of their way to welcome me or encourage me. I know that sounds a little cold, but to be treated (at least from my perspective) as one of the guys that doesn't warrant any special treatment was great.

This trip has greatly raised my opinion of soccer. I already enjoyed watching and playing it, but being here it has been one of the strongest unifiers I've seen, and I think that would be dramatically more significant in a country where I couldn't speak the same language as the people. Soccer is one of the only sports I know of that is nearly universal and that kids play over most of the world, and in much of the world, including here, it is the primary sport that kids play and follow the professional leagues. Despite all the cultural differences I could step onto a soccer field anywhere in the world and play with them, and share some kind of bond with them in that way, regardless of if we couldn't speak a word to each other and didn't understand each other's cultures.

Running with the Kenyans

    I was woken up the next morning far earlier than I cared to be by a whistle and someone yelling it was time to go running. Judging on the late night from the night before I figured we would get a more leisurely start in the morning but apparently there's no rest for the weary. I rolled over and hoped the noise would stop, but it only became more insistent so I reluctantly crawled out of my sleeping bag and threw on my running shorts. Roger was already up and another of the women with us (she'd be upset I can't remember her name) that had been the one yelling at me. I wondered how they were up and alert because they had still been going strong when I went to bed, and it was 8:00, but Roger was showing no ill effects of the late night festivities. The whole group from the bank was there and most dressed in athletic wear, and Roger announced that I would be leading them on a warm up jog out to the "tarmac". Tarmac is used to describe in paved road, which took me a little bit to catch onto, but now I love the usage. It was only about half a mile, but even then the people covered it more easily than I would expect a random group of bank employees to do so in the US (or even be able to do).

While they went off to do their team building activities I headed out for my weekly long run, which I usually do on Sunday. I would have preferred to eat before going for a long run, but Roger had told me this would be the best time to run and I didn't feel too hungry. I headed out along the main road, which had a generous dirt shoulder perfect for running. We were near Kaptagat, and Roger and Allen had both told me that this area was home to a lot of the fast runners the Rift Valley is famous for. I explored a couple side roads, but all ended in private property. This was yet another place that reminded me of rural Montana, full of large fields and grazing land for cattle. About 30 minutes into the run I was running along the main road when I saw a runner who looked like he couldn't run a marathon slower than 2:15 if he tried coming toward me, so I crossed the road and asked if I could join him, to which he welcomingly agreed. He said his name was Said (that's my best guess of how to spell it), and when I asked him about what he was training for he mentioned going to Qatar to race in a couple months, and that was good enough confirmation in my mind that he was one of the elite runners that was feared and respected by runners around the world. He seemed pretty shy about it, and if it weren't for me asking him specifically about what he was training for, he could have been just a pleasant guy out for a Sunday morning run. That's not really true though, because you could tell from his running form and build that he was elite. If you've seen world class runners before I think you what I'm talking about, and if you haven't, the best way I can describe is that they seem to barely touch the ground, they just float along unbelievably smoothly and effortlessly, almost ghost-like. And also, as you might guess of elite Kenyan runners, he had thighs that looked like they were about the same thickness as my arms, almost impossibly skinny. I was surprised with how relaxed the pace was, really not any faster than I had been running on my own, and still very much conversational even for me. I wondered how far he had run though, thinking back to Manuel the day before. I had many more questions for him, but he stopped, saying he was done with his run in what looked to me like the middle of nowhere. I wondered if he just wanted to get rid of me, and whether that was the case or not, I figured I better get going, so I thanked him for letting me run with him and turned back to run farther down the main road. After I left and I was thinking about it, I realized I hadn't gotten his last name, which I kicked myself for a little bit because I wouldn't be able to look him up later. It was weird to think about making sure I could have people's last names so I would be able to google them to find race results later. I hadn't run too far along the main road before I came upon another pair of decidedly elite looking runners. I asked them if I could run with them, and they agreed but much more timidly, and maybe reluctantly, than Said had. They ran completely in silence, with one of them giving me subtle hand signal of when a puddle was coming up and we needed to hop up onto the pavement. They stopped at the same spot that Said had, making me think maybe there is a bunch of runners that live right there. When they stopped running I thanked them for allowing me to run with them, and they were much more cordial now that the run was over. Their names were Justin Kipchembei and Abraham Yan (I doubt those are exactly right, but that's my best guess). Abraham said it was a pleasure running with me also, and when I asked which way was better for running they pointed me back toward the resort where we were staying. I didn't run into any other elites the rest of the run, and the interactions I had were pretty unspectacular and unenlightening. The thing I found the most interesting was that they ran at such a relaxed pace. I don't know how far they were going but they weren't running any faster than I run on a standard long run, and actually a little bit slower. I must say also that watching them run is absolutely beautiful. They remind me of gazelles, gliding along so effortlessly it seems they could run forever at any pace they pleased.

I followed the main road past the resort and kept going, taking the first side road I found and running along that, quickly picking up a crowd of kids coming back from church. This road might have been about as remote as anywhere I had run, and I was kind of worried about dogs but that didn't turn out to be a problem. I had two boys, maybe eight years old, on my way back to the main road that ran with me for over a mile, one of them in rubber mud boots that didn't fit that well, which made it pretty impressive he was able to keep up even by my standards of footwear here. Several of the girls that ran with me were running in their Sunday shoes. As I was coming back to the road up to the resort, I noticed on the sign for the resort announced that the elevation was 7742 feet. I had guessed that I was at maybe 7000 feet or a little under, so I felt that much better about the run knowing that it had been that high. I think that also means Eldoret must be higher than I thought it was because I thought Eldoret wasn't any higher than about 6500 and I didn't think we had climbed very much. I'll have to check that when I'm online again.

I got back to the tents and the area where they had all the games stuff out to find the whole area deserted. I drank the water I had in my Nalgene, but I needed more and I knew I really needed to get some food in me after running for an hour and 45 minutes. I asked one of the employees that was down by the pool where National Bank was, and he said it was a long ways from here, and then told him I was looking for the bank group that was there, which turned out to be Family Bank, and I was delighted to hear they were eating breakfast right now. I headed up to the extravagant main lodge, and quickly found Roger and Allen in line for the incredible breakfast buffet that was sitting there. I grabbed a couple of glasses of fruit juice and some water, then went back to the tent and changed then came back and gorged myself on mangoes, cereal, an omelette, and chocolate milk. It was probably the best post-run meal I've had since I've been here and was all the better for the fact that I had been worried about if I would be able to eat anything right away. I did go a little bit gung-ho, particularly with the mango, and I felt like a python that's just eaten a deer, but a very satisfied python. It had turned out to be a pretty sunny day and I went down where they were doing the team building and laid on the grass. The bank people were in groups doing an activity and Allen and the lady-who-is-not-named-but-should-be go a huge kick out of me wallowing around on the ground complaining about how full I was and how I couldn't move. They went to help some of the teams with the activity and I fell asleep on the grass.

I spent the rest of the morning and into the afternoon hanging out with Mr. Mayaka and another of the I-should-probably-know-her-name ladies on the deck by the pool. It was weird to be doing the typical tourist thing, and I felt kind of out of place. Roger and Allen came over at lunch time and we ate another meal of chicken and ugali and I'm starting to wonder just how common that is. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening Mr. Mayaka launched into the lyrics of the song "One More Night" (I don't know if that's the actual name but that's the main lyric), which was hilarious every time. Mr. Mayaka and the other lady told me about how I was "strong" for getting up to run in the morning, and that Allen and Roger were strong too for getting up. I've really enjoyed the usage of the word "strong" here, it's used a lot more often as a compliment for someone being persistent, or in good shape, or setting a marathon world record, or in this case for being willing to get up early. After lunch I crashed for a nap, definitely feeling the combination of the short night and the long run. When I woke up in the evening most of the other tents had been torn down and I felt bad for holding up the show if everyone else wanted to get home, but I should have learned by now that I would have to try a lot harder to ever be the one holding up the show. I packed up my stuff and took down my tent then joined the other sitting out on the grass. It was one of those perfect, laid back times hanging out with friends when you wonder, "Why don't we always do this?" Roger and his friends were super fun to hang out with and it was all the better sitting around relaxing and watching the sunset. To me it was the epitome of what I loved about how laid back Kenyans are about time. Everyone had to work the next morning, but no one was in any rush to get out of there, everyone just wanted to sit and watch the sunset and talk, and we'd worry about getting back to town after that. We got back probably around 9 or 10, put things away, then ate a late dinner and went to bed.

Getting in touch with nature

    The plan for Saturday was to take off camping, which I was super stoked for. I really like camping and I was looking forward to having some time to hang out with Roger, but also I really couldn't see this not being a valuable experience as far as seeing Kenya. I hadn't been out of the cities so far other than travel, so I'm pretty eager to get out and see what the remote areas are like. I headed out for a run at about 10:00, and the way every excursion so far in Kenya has worked I wasn't too worried about holding up the show because the standard so far has been that I get ready for something and wait at least an hour for other people to be ready. I thought about heading up to see if I could meet David, but I'd ran that route a lot this week and it didn't seem it was worth it to me to go hunting for him when there was such a small chance of finding him. I didn't even know where to look other than to run past that junction. Also, I was actually getting kind of tired of running with the kids. I decided to run up past the field where the high schoolers play football and run along the road that way, because that way was less hilly, didn't involve running along the main road at all, and didn't involve going past the garbage heaps. Plus, I hadn't played with the guys since Monday and I wanted to get up there with at least some regularity to be able to build some relationships with them.

    As I got to the end of the run my stomach indicated to me that to try to make it home before taking a dump would be foolish and only end in agony and embarrassment (You know how some movies and TV shows are for mature audiences only? Well I should warn you that some of this content is for immature audiences only. Mature audiences might need to skip this paragraph. Another friendly mature audiences notification: from what I know of myself, my lifestyle, and my increasingly comfortable relationship with this country it is doubtful this is the last story of its type that is included on this blog. Please tread carefully. And to those of you johnny rainclouds out there who would say that these stories are childish and inappropriate, I would raise two points. First, if anyone told you that this blog doesn't contain childish material then that person misled you and you should take that up with them. Second, squatting in someone's corn field twenty feet from the road on one side and their pen of cows watching you apathetically on another side, you learn some valuable things about a country that you just can't experience by watching a national geographic special (Note within a note: I believe this might be the longest parentheses tangent I've gone on, and if you think that's unrelated to this being the first woods potty story, I think you're mistaken. For whatever reason talking about going to the bathroom out in the wild really gets the creative juices flowing for me, if you know what I mean)). The most inviting prospect was a corn field next to the road which actually provides pretty solid cover because you go about five rows deep and you can be twenty feet from the road taking care of business and people pass by on the road a short corn cob throw away blissfully ignorant (until you throw the corn cob). I was somewhat wary of picking leaves, since I had no knowledge of the local botany. This proved fortunate, because the first promising leafy plant turned out to have some subtle thorns along the center of the leaf. International disaster averted.

    I took care of business and when I popped out of the corn, a guy in a track suit was just coming jogging along the road back toward town, the direction I would be headed. I asked if I could join him, to which he timidly consented. I don't know if I've addressed the Kenyan obsession with track suits, but matching waterproof jackets and pants are considered to be pretty standard running apparel. I was still a little surprised because it was probably at least 75 degrees, which is pretty solidly into the temperature range where I run shirtless, but Kenyans' idea of what's hot and what's cold has definitely proven to be significantly different from mine. He was running at a slow jog, much slower than I would have preferred to run, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk with a runner, given how rare those opportunities had proven to be. His name was Manuel, and he said he had been running since nine, and would run to town then head back. I figured that would be at least a three hour run, which I would have doubted in the US, but here I couldn't rule it out, and his pace suggested that he could very well be on a three-plus hour run. I would have guessed him be a little older than me but not much. He said he was just starting training and would be taking for something in February, it sounded like out of the country but I couldn't really figure out what it was he was talking about. He seemed pretty reluctant to talk though, so once he'd answered a couple of questions I stopped asking questions and we lapsed into silence until we got to the field, where I saw the guys were playing so I split off and told him I was glad to have met him. Probably at least half the guys there had been there on Monday when I'd come to play, and they allowed me to enter the game without any introductions, which I appreciated considering the number of introduction I'd had since I'd been here it was good to just join the group with a couple of head nods. I played much better than I had on Monday and, while my ball handling skills still clearly weren't on the same level as the other guys, I held my own and didn't make any major mistakes, and actually made a couple decent plays. Between the heat and the speed of the game I got tired out quicker than I thought I would, and since we were planning on taking off for camping after about half an hour I thanked the guys and took off. One, who I don't think had been there on Monday, asked if I could come tomorrow, which I said I couldn't but that I would be around for a little while and would try to come again. It encouraged me to be asked to play again, and I wonder if they were surprised that the random mzungu that came to play was able to keep up. I still wish I was better than I am, but it felt good to be able to play. I wondered if I kept playing with them if I would actually really improve my soccer skills by the time I left.

    Jogging back down to town a man on the road flagged me down more aggressively than the average passerby saying hi. I stopped to talk with him, and he asked me where I was running and if I wanted to train with him. He was pretty talkative, and quickly listed off his PR's: 13:05 for 5k, under 28:10 for 10k (I can't remember the exact time, but between 28:00 and 28:10), and 2:07 for the marathon. If someone had said that in the US I would have been pretty skeptical, because I think I know the 2:07 marathoners in the US (mostly because there aren't very many), but here it could really be true, and even if it wasn't I'd still be excited to have someone to train with, and if he was that fast then it would be all the more exciting. His name was Kemboi Maratona, which didn't ring any bells for me but very few Kenyan names would. When I said I was from the US, he exclaimed that he was good friends with Bernard Lagat, which I wasn't sure to be more impressed or more skeptical about. Since I couldn't remember my phone number we went to a nearby phone shack and he wrote down his number for me. I barely did any talking as he talked about how we could train and I would become very strong. I promised to text him when I got home, which I did, and I was pretty excited about having a regular training partner here.

    I was more right then I knew about us leaving late for camping. We actually didn't leave until about 3:00 I think. Roger and his friend Allen (not to be confused with his son) were doing a team building exercise with the staff from a couple branches of a local bank, so they were taking all sorts of balls and games and other stuff for the team building activities they were planning on doing. For one of the first times since I had been in Kenya it looked like they were actually in a hurry and worried about being late. We headed out of town and quickly got out into the country, on the opposite side of Eldoret from everywhere I had explored out running. On our way we passed the Kip Keino altitude training school, which I don't really know any more about other than to say that they have a bunch of fast runners train there. We were moving right toward a big storm cloud and it looked likely we would get dumped on.

    The place we headed to was a resort up in the hills that was used as a stop on overland trips of foreigners taking organized trips across Africa. All the buildings had grass roofs and a rustic look, but otherwise reminded me something of a nicer version of a KOA campground. There were a bunch of uniform dome tents set up when we got there, and there was white people milling around, showering and settling in. It looked like they had just gotten in. In the time we were at the resort, and maybe even just that night, I saw more white people than I had seen my whole time in Kenya. I realized that I was starting to stare at them the way people stared at me. I also had to fight the feeling of condescension and elitism that they weren't seeing the real Africa like I was, they were just going on a trip where they stayed at nice resorts like this one. As I thought about it, apart from it being a pretty immature, inappropriately competitive attitude, I couldn't take any credit for the situation I was in anyway. The only reason I was in the unique situation I was in was that Heather and Patrick had gotten married and that Patrick's family had encouraged me to come here, so there wasn't any reason at all to look down on people that were taking more initiative than me to come see this area. The skies remained pretty dark as we headed down to the lower part of the resort. We set up four tents of various sizes on one of several very broad terraces heading down toward a river at the bottom side of the campground. It was a really nice location, and they clearly did a good job of making sure it looked nice and pretty "African". The worries about being late were gone, I found out because the group themselves were also late. They came late enough that they didn't do any activities but rather we just headed to the hut down by the pool (and a pretty darn nice pool I must say) to hang out and eat dinner. Several of Allen and Roger's other friends, including one of the teachers at Angela's school, Mr. Mayaka, came up to camp with us, so we all hung out together, which was pretty fun because this was my first time seeing Roger hanging out with a bunch of his friends, and they're a pretty hilarious group. There were two guys from Rwanda who were in Eldoret for a workshop that I think came up with Mr. Mayaka, and they were pretty funny guys to hang out with. They thought the term "OK" was pretty funny, and through the night they and Mr. Mayaka would abruptly ask each other or me, "Are you OK?" They also told us about the term "bad goat" to refer to a friend who is a bad influence. Through the evening Roger and Allen alternately accused each other of being a bad goat.

    As usual dinner came much later than I was used to and I was famished. We had ugali and chicken, similar to what we often eat at home. I had expected something different, I'm not sure why, but it seemed strange to eat the same thing we would eat at home. I ate more than anyone else, but when we got done, one of the ladies that was with us asked me if I had eaten any of my chicken. I looked at the pile of bones on my plate and said that I had, somewhat puzzled. She replied that half the meat was still sitting on my plate and proceeded to talk me through stripping all the meat off the bones by sticking the bones in my mouth and picking and sucking the meat off of them. At the end I had a pile of bones that looked more like everyone else's. I was pretty happy with my performance in stripping the bones and felt like that was a good thing to have learned. After dinner people were getting pretty cold so we headed up to the main lodge. The hut where we had eaten dinner was open, and we were sitting out on the deck that would have a nice view over the river if it was light out. The main lodge, though a pretty subtle building on the outside, was pretty luxurious inside. There was a small stream running through the middle with a bridge over it that was oversized for emphasis. There was also a big fireplace, which we went to go sit around to warm up. I was pretty tired and in the comfortable chairs next to the fire and fell asleep pretty quickly. After a while I woke up and went down to the tent to go to bed. The last couple summers I haven't gotten in as much camping as I'd like to, and it was fun to sleep in a tent, although this was still a long way off from camping as far as I'm concerned.

Meeting a legend

    The way the school term ends here, or at least at Kip Keino, remedies one of the things that drives me crazy about the American school system. They have three days scheduled for exams, and then two days afterward for wrapping up, and most importantly looking over exams. I know it's pretty tough on the teachers to get exams corrected in that time, but it always bugged me, most specifically in college but at lower levels too, that you take the final exam and then school ends and the only feedback you get after that is your final grade for the whole course. It seems to me that in the name of learning the best thing we could do is to be able to at least be able to look at the final exams so we could see what we need to work on and what we did well, and better yet to have class time devoted to this so that students could ask teachers about these things, so that students could be assured of leaving a course at least with an understanding of the problems that were important enough to the overall course objectives to be put on the final exam. Anyway, these last couple of days are pretty relaxed as the stress of the exams has past and now everyone is looking forward to the break. The day past much as others had at school, except that I feel that kids are becoming more comfortable around me and are more willing to talk with me, which is pretty fun. I can't pinpoint specific conversations but I've had some good ones with kids about what things are like in America, what school is like here, where they'll go to high school, and what kind of music and movies I like. The music and movies have been a great connector because that is probably the biggest thing that allows me to identify with the younger kids here. If I compare what school was like for me to what school is like here sometimes they glaze over, but if I start naming recent action films, many of the boys will light up if I mention movies they have seen. The conversation I had that was probably the most genuine one I've had at the school was with a couple of chatty seventh grade girls and two of the eighth grade boys I talk with about as much as anybody (Humphrey being one of them), harassing the girls about Twilight, High School Musical, and girly movies in general. I don't think there was anything I could have done that would have been more endearing to the boys, and in truth I think the girls didn't mind it either because I was able to slip back into eighth grade boy mode, making fun of all things even slightly girly. That was also one conversation I think they enjoyed (both boys and girls) because it was clear to them that I wasn't being diplomatic or trying to teach them anything, I was just trashing just about every movie the girls would bring up. Basically the way the conversation would go is that the girls would bring up a movie or show they felt wasn't girly, I would share a disapproving glance with Humphrey and Chris (the other eighth grade boy), and they would giggle and smile, throwing in their own comments along the way, as I proceeded to explain to the girls why that movie was girly and could not be tolerated, usually butchering the plot line and characters along the way, and more than once being rightfully accused of having never watched the movie. It turned into a spirited debate about what constitutes a girly movie and what people thought of vampire movies in general, and overall was pretty fun and got a lot of laughs from all sides.

    The highlight of the trip came in the afternoon though, when Roger informed me we wouldn't be taking the bus home. The reason was that after school he had to meet with none other than Kip Keino. He and Roger needed to talk over some details of Roger's upcoming trip to China, so we would ride back into town with him. I found myself actually pretty jittery about meeting him, which was in juxtaposition to everyone else who didn't seem to think it would be a big deal, because it wasn't. Roger told me he would come over to the school regularly just to see how things were going and talk with people, so he was far from locking himself away. In fact, Roger said the reason it had taken so long to meet with him was that he was such a busy guy. Apparently he still travels around the world for engagements, and I know he's part of the Kenyan Olympic Committee (and maybe the president?). We waited around a while before he showed up, and when he did, it was a surreal experience for me. I think I have a tendency to idolize people I look up to, particularly runners, more than I should and it was surreal to have a legend like Kip Keino standing in front of me shaking my hand (I haven't washed that hand). He looked like a good-natured, friendly grandpa (I think he's in his 70's) and had an easy-going smile. Feeling like I was stumbling over my words I said it was something of a dream come true to be able to meet him, and one of the other teachers in the room asked if I knew who he was. It was reasonable question from his perspective, but to me it was such a ridiculous question I wasn't sure how to respond. I put my arm around Kip and said that my dad had told me stories about him when I was young and that he had been one of the runners I admired most when I started running. Thinking about it now all of that is somewhat exaggerated, but at the time I just didn't even know how to communicate what I thought of this man. I do remember my dad mentioning Kip Keino with a degree of reverence when I was starting to learn about running when I was young and I read about him in my huge world record holders book I had, so from an early age I knew he was one of the great runners of the era and thought of him as the first Kenyan runner (which isn't all that far off as far as international racing goes). We took a picture on my camera and then headed out to Kip's car which was waiting at the front door. Looking back on it now, I kind of feel like Kip treated me as another fan that wanted a handshake and a picture, but maybe that's just because I got it too set in my head that I would have a chance to sit down and eat lunch with him or something. He was a very hup-yo, matter of fact guy that didn't waste any words and that everyone around clearly respected highly. For whatever reason I had an image stuck in my mind that he would be the kind of guy that would sit and chat for hours and eventually get down to business when pushed, but that was clearly not the case. He was a man on a mission and as far as I'm concerned you would have to have the heart of a lion to be willing to get in his way. We headed over to the farm first so Kip could buy some milk, and he joked about being the only farmer in the world who bought milk from himself. Apparently Kip insists on it though to make sure the book keeping for the farm lines up, which is even more notable in a country like Kenya where corruption is so rampant.

    There was so many things I wanted to talk with Kip about, but I had the feeling that anything I said would come out stumbling, stammering, and generally incoherent, and the reason we had met with him was so Roger and him could talk, so I decided to keep quiet unless spoken to. I did a better job than usual of catching Swahili words that Roger and Kip were saying, but still not enough to follow the conversation. I made a goal of picking at least one word out of any statement either of them made, and was pleased with how well I did. Kip seemed to be somewhat frustrated as they talked, and Roger related to me afterward that he had been telling Roger about how he felt like he was getting pushed out of the decision making for the school, and some were pushing to change the name of the school. Kip Keino's story and what he has done is so inspirational and so good that it caught me off guard that he's dealing with those kind of problems, but it was a valuable reminder that it doesn't matter how noble your actions are or how much success you've had, you will still have problems and obstacles and frustrations to deal with. When they dropped us off by the house I shook Kip's hand again and told him it was truly an honor to have met him, to which he responded that it was an honor to meet me too. Even though the meeting and interaction itself was pretty unspectacular, meeting him was still really an inspiration. I think being around someone who has accomplished everything that he has, both on and off the track, can be both motivating and paralyzing. Meeting him is definitely motivates me more towards being the best runner I can be and also the best person I can be, but it also makes me feel like anything that I could accomplish is so insignificant compared to what he did that it's not really meaningful. I mulled over both those feelings as I took off on my run.

    Lost in the excitement of getting to meet Kip was that I was supposed to meet David to run at 5:00. I felt somewhat selfish missing the meeting so that I could meet Kip, and thought that Kip probably would have told me to skip meeting him in order to meet with David, but that was such an opportunity I just couldn't bring myself not to take advantage of it. It didn't help that David hadn't showed up on time the day before, but it still didn't sit well with me. If I had showed up and David wasn't there I at least could have felt that I did everything I could have to make things work. As it was I was worried that David showed up and waited around for me only for me to not show. I decided to run up there anyway, and got there about 6:00. I paused just briefly, but showing up an hour late I didn't think there was too much point in waiting around. And that, I thought, just might the end of my very brief relationship with David. I thought back to my thoughts from the day before that the main thing was that he got the shoes and if we got to run that was a bonus. I worried though that if he wasn't running with me maybe he wouldn't train on his own and he would just continue on working at the factory and never give running a shot. That wasn't for me to worry about, I decided, and that the situation, as it always had been, was in God's hands and he had brought about this whole situation so he could do whatever he wanted that might work in a more wonderful way than I could imagine. I didn't want to be too possessive of the situation and feel like if I wasn't involved in the final conclusion that it hadn't gone right. And is there ever a final conclusion? It's not like this chance meeting between David and I would just dead end in one direction or another like a choose your own adventure where you either get eaten or make it back to the space ship, but it would inevitably affect all sorts of people around him. That set me off for most of this run on another rambling, ponderous train of thought and prayer about how people are linked together and what my purpose in being here is and the circle of life and all that good stuff.

    A couple of my little buddies from the day before came out to run with me, and a couple asked if I could bring them shoes. I told them that was my only pair of shoes but maybe I would be able to bring more but that they shouldn't expect them. I thought this could turn into a slippery slope if I started giving shoes to the kids, because then the other kids would definitely want them, and they could even cause fights over the shoes if I only bring one or two pairs. One of the little boys ran with me for about 40 minutes again, and I decided if I was going to bring shoes for anyone I would give them to the strongest runners, because those were the kids who had the best chance of going on to keep running and maybe make something of themselves at it, which would make the shoes much more useful than just a kid having a better pair of shoes (which would still be a great thing, I don't want to minimize that).

To quote Calvin and Hobbes, The Days are Just Packed

    Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were all exam days, and my daily routine was similar enough that I really can't remember clearly what happened on what day so I'm going to roll all of these into one post. This is really what I planned on doing originally anyway, but I've found for nearly the whole trip that each and every day has held enough new experiences and stories to fill up its own post. The morning assembly only happens on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, with classes going through songs and prayers on their own on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I ducked into the eighth grade class for this on Tuesday morning, but I've found I can't be the fly on the wall in classrooms that I'd like to be. I've spent enough time at the school that the eighth graders now seem old and mature, practically adults to me after spending time with the second and third graders. On Monday at the break after lunch one of the eighth graders named Humphrey came and talked to me, asking me about America and why I was here. He struck me as a pretty sharp kid, and I asked him about what school was like here. He's become one of my better friends of the kids here, and definitely one of the ones most willing to come talk to me of his own volition, though he doesn't strike me as a terribly outgoing kid. The eighth graders sang several songs, seeming a little bit self-conscious and hesitant to me, maybe because I was there, maybe because they were old enough to feel like singing songs at the beginning of the day was something for little kids. One of the kids was appointed by the teacher to pick out a scripture reading, after which several students said prayers. Roger had come in with me and went over to talk with the teacher, while I stayed by the door. After they were done Roger talked to them a little bit about how he liked the scripture passage and that if it was their turn to pick out the passage they should take care to pick a passage that had a specific message for everyone to think about and apply to their lives. He introduced me and asked if I had anything to say, and for about the third time in two days I had a classroom full of kids looking at me expectantly as my mind raced. I thanked them for allowing me to watch and learn from them and told them to not hesitate at all to come talk to me or pull me out to jump in an activity or a game of football, that's exactly why I'm here. Since then I've gotten to hang out with some of them, but for the most part the eighth graders have been busy enough with exams and the end of school that I haven't spent too much time with them.

    Roger had a set of power point slides that he had translated the text of from English to Swahili that he wanted me to put back onto the actual power point slides. The presentation was about Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympics, and it was for the international gathering of schools he was going to in China in August. The presentation had been translated into a number of languages, and the organization wanted it translated into Swahili to be able to make connections in Tanzania, where Swahili is the national language and English isn't commonly spoken as it is in Kenya. I was glad to have something helpful to do rather than just wander around and join in on PE whenever anyone was out on the field. It was pretty monotonous work, but I learned a lot about Pierre de Coubertin as I went and picked up some more Swahili words that were being used a lot. I went over to lunch alone and sat with a table of kids on my own for the first time, which was a huge excitement to them. I can't remember if it started on Tuesday or later in the week, but playing soccer with the kids after lunch made me very popular with the second and third graders. The funny thing is I really didn't do anything other than get the ball, which they could have gotten permission from any of the teachers to get the ball themselves, and then played on whichever was the weaker team, at whatever effort level would equalize the game. My guess is that having a definitive authority figure for picking teams and resolving disputes was the main thing that made me so valuable to them. I remembered playing football (and now I'm talking about American football) on the playground in elementary school, and when disputes broke out, no one had sufficient authority or was objective enough to make a definitive ruling, so we would just argue about it for a while and then get back to playing, usually arguing as we would play. It appeared to me that the situation is about the same here, another connection for me that young Kenyan boys aren't so different from young American boys. What this meant though, was that during lunch I would usually have at least six or seven little boys come over and timidly tap me on the shoulder and ask if we were going to play football, to which I would usually rustle their short, curly, rough black hair, smile broadly, and exclaim, "Of course we are!" To which they would flash a sometimes toothy grin and run back over to their table to spread the good news among their friends. Another thing the developed as the week went on is that from Tuesday on I never carried my own dishes over to the window. It's pretty standard for a teacher to give their dishes to a student to take to the window for them, but in my case almost as soon as I sat down kids would ask me if they would take my plate, my saucer, or my cup to the window. It's turned into something of a competition, with me barely finishing my food on one plate before a kid snatches it away to go take it to the window for me.

    Watching the kids play football, I've been impressed with the talent level. Without a doubt the thought of passing the ball or spreading out rather than running for the ball is still a long way off, but the kids are pretty good for their age. I'm not sure if this is a particularly good group with some of the world-class athletic genes that a lot of these kids are blessed with or if the football being played in school yards around the country is this good, or if I'm just underestimating the general ability of kids that age. Overall, I've felt that there's quite a bit of untapped athletic talent, both running and playing football, and from the talking with people that's a widely held consensus. From what I've seen for kids here the glory is in becoming a star football player, and that is the game that I see being played almost exclusively in the streets and on the playgrounds here. However, the talent isn't getting developed, and of people I've talked to quite a few point to corruption in the national governing body for football, as well as lack of resources in many areas. Playing with the kids after lunch and during PE I've tried to work on the concepts of passing and teamwork, but with that many kids it's pretty hard to do, and they're too excited to just be out there to listen very much to any tips I have to give them, so I mostly just let them play. I figure the main purpose of that time is that they run off some steam and get some exercise, they can work on their fundamentals later on.

    After school on Tuesday Roger and I headed into town to pick up some food for dinner. We stopped at a butcher that had one of the hind quarters of a cow hanging in the window, and it looked as if he had just worked his way up the cow selling the meat and was near the end. We went and Roger talked with him some about how much we wanted, and he went into the front window area to start cutting strips off the cow. He didn't make clean cuts of meat though, rather looking as if he was trying to include as much bone as possible. Roger pointed that out several times, and eventually walked out without buying the meat, mumbling about how the guy was trying to rip him off, and went to what looked like a more established and reputable butcher, although one where the prices were somewhat higher.

    As I was jogging along one of the side roads near Roger's house doing strides, when a kid maybe a little younger than me asked me where I was from. I told him I was from the US and about the nature of my visit. He told me his name was Muhammad and he was from Britain. He was here because his mom does a lot of real estate dealings down here, and he said he enjoyed visiting here. I hadn't noticed the English accent right away, but it was readily apparent now. I was somewhat envious of him being able to regularly experience a different country and culture. He said he was late for prayer and needed to go. I realized afterward that with his name and the mosque being right there he was probably Muslim.

    Wednesday at school passed much the same with me finishing the slides for Roger and then digging into my continuing Swahili education as well as working my way through the book I'm reading. I have enough words and knowledge of the structure of things to make simple sentences, and I covered Roger's blackboard with the simple sentences to test how much I could actually say with my limited vocabulary. The sentences turned out along the lines of "The big, heavy, door has not come" or "The important games start today". I hoped that as I talked with kids in the classroom they could correct them and help me expand on them, but that never turned out to be very useful. Kids who are fluent in Swahili I've found aren't very good teachers because they will tell me the names of everything around us to the point where I can't actually retain anything they've said. I've been able to get some useful information from them if I come to them with a specific term that I've seen or heard that I can't figure out. In that respect I think the more Swahili I learn, the more I'll be able to learn because I will be able to pick enough out of conversations to ask questions about the words I don't know. Right now I don't know 90% of what's said so it's hard to know where to start as far as asking questions about a specific conversation.

    On my run Wednesday I went up past the garbage heaps again, planning to explore more of the roads up there. I'm getting pretty comfortable with that area, and there are even some people that I can recognize from one time to the next, especially the guys that hang out by the creek next to the garbage heaps. They are still maybe the group I'm most wary of, but I have to admit they're pretty friendly guys and always yell at me as I run by. One of them, who's name I found out is Michael, often runs back up the hill to the main road with me on my way back through. On my way back down toward the garbage heaps a man asked me if he could come train with me, which I was very excited for because I still had done all my running pretty much alone other than the little kids that would run along with me. I stopped to talk to him and he explained that he would like to run competitively, but he didn't have running shoes or clothes and he had to keep working his job at a factory in town to support his family. I would have guessed his age as maybe mid to late twenties, and he had the build that suggested he could be a very good runner (then again, so do probably 70% of Kenyans). If the story was true, this was exactly the kind of person I wanted to help. If I could provide the break that would allow him start running that would be fantastic, plus one of my pairs of training shoes that I had been running in for most of the track season were starting to wear out so I was about ready to get rid of them anyway. I asked him what size shoe he wore, and he told me some European size that didn't mean anything to me, so I looked at his feet and asked if he wore about the same size shoes as me. He said he did, but I'm pretty sure he would have said that regardless if it meant getting a pair of shoes, but it looked to me like my shoes probably would fit him alright. I told him to meet me at the junction we were close to the next day at 5:30 and I would give him the shoes then and we could start training. I asked his name and he said it was David something, one of those fast sounding Kenyan names that starts with a K. A couple people had been watching me carefully as I talked to him, I like to think making sure that he wasn't taking advantage of me or anything but who knows, most notably the family that lived in the mud hut maybe just 30 meters away. As I said goodbye to David and started running again, several of them that were standing there motioned and yelled "kuja" in Swahili, which means "come". Maybe I was too eager to show that I understood what they were saying, or maybe I was just in a great mood from having met David, but I headed to the small yard next to their mud hut to shake hands and say hi, something I don't think I normally would have done. I used up my applicable Swahili in about a sentence and a half, but that was enough for them to respond in Swahili, at which point I had to apologize for not being able to actually speak Swahili. I went around and shook the hands of everyone that was there, which included some older men and women that had been sitting in the yard, and spoke with them just a little bit about where I was from and what I thought of Kenya. We pretty quickly ran out of anything to say, and I kind of figured they had something specific they wanted to ask me or say to me because of the way they had asked me to come into the yard, but apparently that wasn't the case, so I told them it was nice to meet them and headed back out to the road to continue my run. I was absolutely thrilled about meeting David, because that was exactly the kind of meeting I hoped and prayed for when I came here, but had absolutely no ability to create myself. I consider it to completely be an answered prayer, and he said as we had been talking that he has just been working and praying and trusting God to provide, so it sounded like it was answered prayer for him as well. It was all the better because it was clearly something that neither of us could have planned, just a case (if he was sincere, which I'm going to go ahead and believe at least for now) of both of us trusting God to work in our lives, and he provided in a really cool way. I also felt good about it because I knew I was going to have a pair of shoes wear out while I was over here and figured I would give them to someone here, but really didn't have any idea of how that was going to work and this was a more perfect situation for it than I ever could have orchestrated on my own. This was great because I wasn't just handing out the shoes to someone on the street and running off, but was hopefully starting a relationship with the shoes as the starting point.

    That night and the next day I prayed quite a bit about the whole situation, both praising God for having provided it and asking that this whole thing would work out in the way that would bring the most glory to Him and that he would show me the part that I have to play in that. This is the kind of situation that I definitely don't want to limit to the narrow scope of the possibilities I see, because as great as some of those are, there have been so many times in my life that what I have imagined has paled in comparison to what God actually did that I almost don't want to think about the possibilities for fear of my actions trying to enact one of those scenarios rather than being prayerful and faithful to what God is doing. Through the day on Thursday I began to wonder about what I would do if David didn't show up. It was such a fragile arrangement, because he didn't have a phone and I didn't even know my phone number to be able to give it to him, so if we couldn't rendezvous at the appointed time, there was no fallback for being able to meet a different time. That was exactly the kind of thing that sent me into more prayer though, because this was clearly a situation that I didn't feel would have come about without God having his hand over everything that had happened, so there wasn't any reason to suddenly feel that the situation was unfeasible or illogical, because I believe most of the special things that God does aren't feasible. That's what makes them so special. If they were feasible, then there are so many other things we could attribute the success of the situation to. But when something works and there's no reason why it should have worked, there's no alternative but to praise God for bringing it about.

One of these nights on the news there was a story about the police instituting a "go slow" policy to protest Parliament scaling back the salary ladder for them, which seemed funny to me because from what I've heard unless you have money it's doubtful the police will do anything. It was interesting to hear Allan's take on this because, for how critical he is of police, he explained that they were doing what they had to because they really don't get paid enough to support themselves, so they don't have much of a choice other than to take bribes. I asked if paying the police more would get rid of the corruption, which Allan said he thought it would but who knows if that will ever happen and the current situation doesn't seem particularly promising.

On Thursday some of the younger kids were done with exams, so I got to play some more soccer with them, which is a good time, but quickly gets exasperating if you try to teach them the finer points of the game like, oh for instance, passing. Other than that I spent a lot of time reading and working on my Swahili, which is starting to come around just a little bit.     At the end of the day Roger told me that he was staying at school that night in the dorms with the kids that board. From fifth grade on, students stay at the school for the whole term in dorms. That's the way most high schools works and I guess a number of primary schools too. I couldn't imagine spending that much time away from my family when I was in fifth grade, but I guess that's just the way things operate here. I was interested to stay for the night, because I thought staying in the dorms would be an interesting experience and running out here would provide a chance to explore some new territory and maybe find a connecting route to home, but I hadn't brought running clothes and I was supposed to meet David with the shoes tonight. I headed home on the bus alone, and apparently Roger had assigned one of the kids who lives in the same neighborhood to make sure I made it home without getting lost, which I found funny because I knew the way pretty well, plus the bus stopped right at the group of houses where Roger lives so I probably had less than 200 yards to walk.

    I made sure to take off for my run so that I would get to the intersection we planned on meeting at right at 5:30. It was a little bit clumsy running with the shoes in my hands, but not too bad. I wasn't looking forward to the run up there though, because for the first time since I've been here I'd obviously be running with something valuable, and even worse something it was pretty clear I was planning on getting rid of. It ended up not being too bad, although lots of people asked me for the shoes, most noticeably the guys down by the creek. The setup with David was a lot better though in my mind because it required that he follow up by showing up today to pick up the shoes, and then hopefully to continue running with me. There was already a stigma with being a mzungu that I had stuff to give away, and I hated to enforce that idea and wondered if people would be bugging me for things when I was running from now on. One of the things I had appreciated about being out running was that if people asked me for anything, I pretty obviously didn't have anything with me and when I told them so they'd leave me alone. A couple people (including a group of high school girls I have to admit) have asked me for my phone number out on runs and I've told them, in complete honesty, that I don't know my phone number since the phone I have here is different from my regular phone. I got to the intersection and my heart sank as I didn't see David there. I thought it might have been too wishful to think that this meeting would work, considering that extreme rarity with which people actually show up when they say they're going to show up. But now I was in something of a conundrum. Should I just stand there waiting? If I do, how long would I wait? Kenyans can pretty routinely show up a couple hours late for an arranged meeting. Should I go ahead and continue with my run? If I do should I take the shoes with me or leave them? I was pretty sure if I left the shoes that they would disappear, which wouldn't be too bad because I'd have no problem giving them to just about anybody up here. But because of David's situation I thought for him they could mean more than just having a new pair of shoes, they could be a big break for him. Also, I didn't want them to just be a pair of shoes that were found on the side of the road. Maybe selfishly, I wanted them to be a gift of love to someone. I wanted them to be an encouragement to whoever got them, and maybe an inspiration. They struck me as an opportunity for a special, unique encounter and I didn't want to pass that up if I could help it. Still, if I didn't meet him did I plan on running all the way home with them, with no way to contact David again to get them to him? All this ran through my head but I only paused for maybe a minute there, then jogged down to the more major intersection about 200 yards farther along the road. He wasn't there either though, and I hesitated there a minute pondering what to do. It was true that I really hadn't come up with any backup plan, maybe because I really wanted to believe this would work and thought this must be exactly the way God would make things happen.

As I paused at the intersection kids started gathering who had been working in the corn field along the road, talking quietly and giggling, one of the pretty standard responses I get out on runs. Since I didn't keep running though, a small crowd of curious and amused faces gathered. One of them asked me what I was doing, and I told them I was waiting for a friend to go running. I answered some of the standard questions they had, then told them I was going to jog back to the other intersection, and most of them, probably about 10 or so, joined me, many laughing uncontrollably that they were running with a mzungu. Many of them ran well ahead of me as I jogged to the other intersection, then watched expectantly as I stopped. One of the things that gets somewhat uncomfortable is people, especially kids, staring expectantly at you, as if you're about to do a trick or burst into flames or something. One of these days I think I might scream "NO! Nothing is going to happen! I'm just going to stand here and watch the grass grow! Go home and find something more interesting to do!" I suspect some of them are just waiting for me to crack, but I won't give them the satisfaction just yet. They peppered me with more questions as we stood at the intersection, but they didn't swarm around me like the kids in Nairobi but made sure to keep their distance, despite their curiosity and fascination. I found that some kids when I say hi to them or wave, will bolt like a dog to make sure they are a safe distance away. If I remember right in that specific situation I took a step toward them at one point – they were standing probably 10 feet away – and they instantly begin to scatter to keep their distance. Most specifically they asked me if I liked Kenya. I told them I really liked Kenya, and they asked me if I liked the USA. I told them I really liked the USA too, and from that they deduced that Kenya is like the USA. I told them no, Kenya is very different from the USA but I like both of them. That conversational merry-go-round took a minute or two to sort out, the process exacerbated by responding to ten curious, laughing, shouting kids rather than one or two. By that time it had been about 10 minutes and I decided it wouldn't help at all to wait for David any longer. That still left me what to do with the shoes. I didn't want to run with them for my whole run, but I knew they were something that was valuable here so I wanted to make sure I handled them well. I asked the kids who around here could use a pair of shoes that size, but couldn't get a response from them. There was actually a high school age kid coming up to the intersection I tried to give them to, but he wouldn't take them, maybe suspicious of why someone, even a mzungu, would just be giving away a pair of shoes. The kids were still waiting expectantly for me, eager to run more with me. I told them that they should show me good road to run on, and a couple of them took off down the road I hadn't explored yet from that junction, so I followed, with the rest of them running with me, forming a giggling, energetic pack. Like the kids in Nairobi I couldn't believe the foot ware, or lack thereof, the kids were wearing and still keeping up no problem. Many were barefoot, and many others were wearing flip flops or sandals. Only a few had shoes, and of those most were in such a condition that they would have been thrown away in American households long ago.

I couldn't bear to just leave the shoes, so I continued running with them, unsure of what I would do with them other than to trust that God would make it clear to me what my role in relation to them should be that would best serve the Kingdom of Heaven and show God's love to those around me. As I thought about it, I prayed that if the best thing for me to do was to leave them along the road that my own desire to see the conclusion of this episode so I could have closure about it wouldn't get in the way. One of the things that really bugs me in the world, both on a global scale and in daily lives, and that I try to check my own actions against, is doing good things so you can feel good about helping others rather than because the thing you are doing will actually be helpful to other people. That set me off on a whole line of thinking and pondering and praying about how we really don't ever see the end of consequences of our actions and have no idea how far our actions and interactions will ripple out into the world. This triggered me into all sorts of big idea thoughts about the effect I was having on the world and how I fit into the fabric of humanity and all the poetic, philosophical stuff, so I was pretty distant and preoccupied for most of this run. The road they took me down connected to the beautiful main road I had run on Monday. By this time there were only two little boys still running with me, with the rest scattered along the road, some yelling for me to wait for them. At that corner I hid the shoes in a bush there, and decided if someone grabbed them from there then so be it, and if not I would pick them up on my way back through, with no idea f what to do from there. Those two made it with me until just a minute or two before I was ready to turn around. I decided to make it to the top of a hill looming in front of me, and told them I would be coming back in a couple minutes. At the top of the hill I came to a junction between two roads and the sign for a secondary school that I recognized as being on the road that I had been exploring out toward the school. With that realization, I was able to unite and visualize most of the network of roads I had run so far in relation to each other. When we got back to our turn off the shoes were still there and I picked them up, still praying and pondering what to do with them, hoping that things would be made clear. In the back of my mind I entertained a faint glimmer of hope that maybe we would go back to the intersection and David would be waiting there, but I focused on not getting too set on that being the only situation to hope for. One of the kids that had run with me for almost all of the last 40 minutes asked me if he could have the shoes as we were on the last stretch back toward the junction. I told him that I had brought them for a specific friend of mine, but that if we didn't find them he could have them. Having a default situation relieved a lot of my anxiety about the situation, though I wasn't sure whether a pair of size 10 shoes would even be useful to this eight year old kid. I guessed if he tried to wear them or run in them he would actually be moving slower clomping around in the shoes than now, when he was easily keeping with my pace barefoot. Even worse, I could easily see him getting beat up and the shoes stolen by older kids. All of this melted away as we approached the intersection and David was standing there waiting. He apologized for not being here at the set time and said he had been waiting here hoping that I would come back by. I wondered how long he would have waited if I wouldn't have shown up. A wave of relief and joy swept over me as I gave him the shoes, and we agreed to meet there at five the next day to go for a run together. Seeing him now in brighter daylight he looked younger, and I thought he might even be younger than me, which just made me more excited about the prospects of him being able to make a career out of running. I was thrilled that the shoes were in David's hands, because as far as I was concerned that was the main thing. If we were able to run together and he able to make a career out of it that would unbelievably wonderful for me, but even if we never see each other again, he now has a better opportunity to explore that path. And, I thought, even if he never even attempts to make a career as a runner, if he needed the shoes enough to tell me that story, and then to show up and wait for me for who knows how long the next day, then the shoes still went to a place where they were needed. This was another great example of God working things in a way better than I could have imagined. To me the ideal situation would have been for us to meet just like we planned and go for a run. But because of the way things worked out, I had connected with a whole crowd of little kids and had run with them, and I have no idea where any of that will lead, but it's exciting to think about. It made for a great run home, full of joy and praise at the wonderful experiences and people God was exposing me to. As I passed the garbage heap and headed up to the main road Michael came out to run up the hill with me again and told me I should come the next day with a pair of shoes for him, to which I responded that that was the only extra pair of shoes I had.

Thursday evening was the first time since I've been here that I was home alone and I have to admit that it was a welcome feeling. I've had a great time with everyone I've stayed with and have really appreciated their hospitality, but the nature of a trip like this to see a new country and meet a whole slew of family makes for a severe lack of alone time, one of my concerns going into the trip. So far it hasn't affected me too bad, but now being alone for the evening was a relief. I cooked fried egg sandwiches for dinner and watched Man on Fire, and the combination of American food and an American movie felt like a breath of fresh air. Both still make me miss home, and to be honest, as much as I have enjoyed the trip and want to get as much out of the remaining time as I can, I'm eager to be home as well.

    

Teacher Mr. Daniel

    Monday was the last day of classes before exams at Kip Keino, and at the morning assembly the teacher who talked to the students urged them to make whatever final preparations were necessary to be as successful as possible with their exams. From class five up the exams are standardized, I think nationally, and for eighth graders how they do on the exams plays a key role in determining how good of a high school they are able to get into, something like a more determinative version of the SAT. Roger had English with the fifth graders first thing in the morning, so after the morning assembly we headed to their room, and he told me to wait in there while we went to get some papers from his room. When I entered the room, the kids were still coming and getting their things organized so I didn't have 30 kids standing to greet me in unison, but even as they put their things away and prepared for class they watched me warily. To my fascination and fright, after they had their things organized they stood next to their desks looking at me expectantly. I continued to lean on the teacher's desk quietly as the last one's put their things away and joined their comrades standing, trying to look calm and collected and like I was in control of the situation, but inwardly frantically thinking what I was supposed to do or say. When all of them were standing I greeted them, "Good morning class," to which they responded in perfect unison, "Good morning Daniel," with some of them who weren't sure of my name faltering there. "How are you this morning?" "Fine, thank you Daniel." Every response they gave to any teacher always ended with the teacher's name, and it seemed to me that some of them were uncomfortable even just calling me Daniel, worried that that wasn't respectful. I told them to take their seats, to which they replied in unison, almost mechanically, "Thank you Daniel." I asked them if they were prepared for exams, to which they in unison responded yes. I gave them some advice on preparing for exams as far as sleeping and eating, but was quickly running out of my very limited list of useful things I had to say to a class of fifth graders and was wondering where Roger was. The thought flashed through my mind that maybe Roger had left me expecting me to give them some tips on English from an American perspective, but I brushed that thought aside as nothing terribly useful came to mind and I remembered Patrick beating Heather at scrabble and wondered if these kids were more well versed in English grammar than I was, five years removed from my last grammar lesson. Now it was I who wished to disappear through the floor. I had just started into a stumbling and round about compliment to them about how impressed I was with the ability of Kenyans to speak English and Swahili so fluently, as well as learn their mother tongue, when finally Roger arrived. He started class by talking about the World Cup game from last night, which I immediately kicked myself for not thinking to talk about myself. He praised the women for playing a great game, not flopping (faking fouls when they get bumped, which if you watch very much soccer, and especially the Europeans, you will see a disgusting amount of it), not arguing with the referees, helping each other up, and also playing the game at a very high level, all of which was very true. Since it was the day before the exam they had a review lesson, going over the concepts that kids called out as being ones they were struggling with. I realized in a lot of cases that I could fix the sentence or statement that was in error, but couldn't tell you anything about what the rule or concept was of why the sentence should be that way, other than that it sounded right.

During break Roger asked me if I wanted to head out for PE with the third graders, which I said I would love to, so he pointed out the teacher who was taking them out that I should go with. I was glad to do PE as much as I could, because so far it had been my best chance to connect with the kids and have fun with them. As we headed out though, the teacher asked me what I wanted to do with them. All of a sudden I realized that both her assumption and Roger's was that I would teach the class, which formed another pit in my stomach like standing in front of the fifth grade class. I quickly came upon the idea though that I could teach them all the running warm up drills and stretching I did, and the more I thought about it I got excited because it was yet another opportunity to maybe inspire of these kids to run when they wouldn't have done so otherwise. Also, this was something I'd done before with Missoula Youth Track Club, so my confidence was building by the minute as we walked out to the small field near the dormitories. The teacher gathered the kids up and announced that I was going to be teaching the class, which seemed to me to be met with a mix of surprise and excitement and confusion. I gathered them up and did a quick explanation of what we were doing, but I wanted to get moving quickly, because this was PE class but also because if you expect third graders to pay attention to you for more than a minute while they're standing around outside you're probably going to end up pretty frustrated. I ran them through the set of warm up drills that I always do before workouts and races. They were a little bit tough to corral and keep on track and most of them weren't doing the drills quite right, but they seemed to be having a good time and were getting good exercise, and I hoped maybe remembering some of what I was teaching them. I started to show them how to stretch different muscle groups at the end, but we ran out of time, which I can't say I really had a problem with because I was just glad things had gone smoothly so far. I went back with them and stood around outside their classroom as they took off their PE shoes and headed into the room. Several of the students came up to me to shake my hand and thank me for the lesson. I wasn't sure if they were told to or if they just did because they've learned to be respectful like that but either way I was impressed that third graders were doing that on their own. I asked the teacher if I could sit in on their next class, which she said was fine and asked me if I wanted to say something to them, to which I replied that I most definitely did not want to say anything to them, just sit and watch. Their next class was Swahili, so I sat in the back of the room and watched. I'm afraid that I was a distraction for most of the class, as I saw a large number of the kids constantly turning their heads to see what I was doing. I was able to understand the grammatical aspects of the Swahili they were learning, but not the Swahili the teacher was using to explain the concepts to them. At first I thought this a little odd, but I realized it's no different than in American schools. Everyone comes to school able to speak, but teachers still have to start at the very basics when teaching proper grammar. The teacher was an energetic lady who was great at interacting with the kids. She would ask them if something was right, making sure to sometimes tell them something was right and sometimes something that was wrong to make sure they were really thinking about it. There were several times where the students started giggling a little bit when she said something wrong because it just seemed silly to them that their teacher would say the wrong thing. In my education all the way through we were drilled to raise our hand to answer a question individually, but here the norm seems to be for the whole class to answer together in unison. From when I'm greeted entering a classroom to the group poems at the talent show on Saturday to the way class is conducted, speaking in unison is done by the class regularly. In a classroom setting speaking individually seems to be the exception rather than the rule. I would imagine this gradually changes as they move through the system, but it is still there far more than it ever was for me, and I think for Americans in general. Several times she had to leave the classroom to talk with people and whenever she did she instructed the students to read the terms she had put on the board, which from what I gathered were phrases concerned with matching plural subjects with plural adjectives and singular subjects with singular adjectives, or something along those lines. Towards the end of class it seemed they were given time to work on their workbooks, at which time several kids came over to me to ask questions. I didn't want to be a distraction, but the teacher didn't seem bothered they were out of their seats so I went ahead answered all of them. They had a big world map in the room so they wanted me to point out where I live. It's been interesting seeing how familiar people are with the US when I try to describe where I live. Some don't know anything past "USA", some know the names of the states, so I can tell them Washington and Montana, but Montana isn't well known, understandably so, and Washington is often confused with Washington D.C. Very few know Seattle, but quite a few know Los Angeles and some know San Francisco. I think the most common city names I've heard that people ask me about or are familiar with are Los Angles, Chicago, and New York. With a lot of the school kids, who I figure are probably learning about the world and learning geography, I ask them if they know where the Pacific Ocean is, to which many enthusiastically say yes. I tell them that I live right next to the Pacific Ocean and right next to Canada, all the way up in the corner of the US. I don't know how much that sticks with them, but that's my best shot.

In the afternoon I headed over to small store along the road with Hayato to get a drink. The novelty of pop in glass bottles absolutely hasn't worn off and sitting there with him out in front of the store relaxing, enjoying the sun, and sipping on coke out of a glass bottle seemed to me like the kind of thing that Coca-Cola could shoot for a commercial. I was glad to have some time to talk more with him, because he seemed like a great guy but I hadn't really gotten to find out anything about him. It intrigued me that he stayed on the farm, because that meant he had his own little world out here that didn't involve much more than the school and the farm if he didn't want it to. I could see that being either wonderful and peaceful or extremely boring and I was interested to hear his thoughts on that. From he said it sounded like he found it more boring than anything, but I couldn't tell if he didn't mind it too much or if that was just his Japanese politeness masking his dissatisfaction. He said the biggest thing he was disappointed with of the whole experience was what a good school Kip Keino was. He had come on this trip because he wanted to be able to bring sports to kids who didn't have that, which definitely wasn't the case at Kip Keino. At Kip Keino he was something of an accessory, who they found work for but didn't really need. This echoed a sentiment Roger had mentioned earlier, that Hayato was "wasted here". There are many schools out here who have no PE or recreation at all, he said, which is what he really wanted to help with. He said after the break he would try to find other schools he could volunteer at, but he would have to keep volunteering at Kip Keino because that was the school his organization was partnering with. He had been here for a year and had another year to go before returning to Japan, where he said on his return he would look for a teaching job there. He had finished a four year degree to be an architect but then got a two year degree in sports education, or something along those lines, and seemed to want to do that. We talked some about Japan and America, then sauntered back over to school, stopping for a while to talk with the guard at the gate before heading back in. Maybe it's just because I don't have any responsibilities, but the pace of things here seems much more laid back than I remember elementary and middle school being.

I decided to venture down a new side road on my run, which was one I had avoided before because it seemed too crowded, but I could see the hills beyond so I suspected I could quickly get onto some wonderful dirt roads and my familiarity with the area had greatly increased to where I was confident I could find my way home just based on the lay of the land, even if I was in an unfamiliar area. My guess proved to be a good one, as I ran for maybe 10 minutes up crowded streets waving at laughing groups of children, but then suddenly I was up onto a broad dirt road along the fields that vanished into the distance. As I made my way along it, I was filled with an unbridled joy and excitement. It was probably about 5:30 so the sun was still bright but brought less heat than earlier in the day and the road gently rolled through the countryside. I remember thinking that at any point during that run you could have taken a picture of me with the road ahead of me and put it on of those inspirational posters that every high school teacher has about 10 of in their classroom that says something like, "The race is not won by the swift, but by those that keep on running." I felt like I might just burst out of my skin it was such a beautiful sight and such peaceful surroundings. On my way back a group of teenagers out in an empty field were kicking a soccer ball around and yelled and waved at me to come play with them. I was near the end of my run and there was still a decent amount of daylight left, so I headed up across the field to join them, which I think surprised them that I actually came. After basically no introductions we continued just casually kicking the ball around until a couple more guys showed up, then a couple took off their shirts and we started playing shirts vs. skins, probably about 7 on 7. For the first minute I was completely lost trying to figure out which way we were going because everyone seemed to be going everywhere. After a little bit I figured out we were basically just playing keep-away, rather than trying to score. I was grateful for the soccer background I had, but it was still far from sufficient for me to be able to keep up with these guys. I missed a couple of passes completely and was definitely the worst player out there but I wasn't totally incompetent, so it was a good time. It was fun to play with some high schoolers, since all the soccer I had played since being here had been with kids third or fourth grade or younger where I was just trying to play at whatever level would keep the team even rather than struggling to keep up with the flow of the game, so it felt good to play at a much higher level. As the sun was going down I headed out, thanking them for letting me play. They told me to come back and play tomorrow, to which I said that I wasn't sure that I could come back tomorrow but that I'd try to be back eventually. On my way back into town I noticed that coming in from this side you could clearly see the mosque near Roger's house, and it looked beautiful, especially as the sun began to set. I came back and did my running drills and strides then lay out on the grass outside watching the light fade from the sky and the stars start to come out as I stretched and listened to the evening call to prayer from the mosque. This, I thought, is how life is meant to be lived. All felt right with the world.