A Bronze Medal

So now I have a very beautiful Bronze Medal to hang somewhere as a souvenir. It’s a pity that this medal will be lonely in the frame. But I will keep it safe and dangling, maybe I will be motivated to add another. Or maybe I will just look back and enjoy the memories. Either way, yesterday was a memorable day in many ways. It reaffirmed that sometimes the barriers we fear are non-existent in reality. The limits that deter us are just us. They are in our minds. Yes, yesterday didn’t just start yesterday.

It started with just a casual talk during lunch some days back. A very respectable person asked if I was running in the Marathon. I was astounded but couldn’t show it. Running? Me? Never! I tried to remember the last time that I had participated in athletics. I traced every step that I have taken to be here but couldn’t see where I found bliss in running. I mean I spent my secondary and high school days running away from running, like literally. I would run faster than everyone just to escape running. At some point, I celebrated an injury that claimed my toenail. Although the pain was unbearable, the relief from running was warm and wonderful. I would attend classes with my right shoe in the bag and tears streaming but my mind was very settled. At least there would be no running for that entire year. Looking back, I will just say, ‘forgive me for I knew not what I was doing’.

Yesterday was remarkable. It started early and ended late, typical of beautiful days. I knew it was a day meant to be memorable. Some days betray themselves. They have that thing in them to show that they will be good. For example, having been at work on Saturday my fear was that I was going to wake up late and miss the organised transport to the jamboree venue. The bus was departing at 4am so I had to be up at about 0315hrs. I was anxious. What if? What if I oversleep and fail to hear the alarm? What if the alarm fails to alert me? I rechecked if I had set it at AM. For someone attached to 12HR notation, it was a very necessary thing to do. But for all the fears and anxiety, I actually woke up at 0200hrs, over an hour ahead of the set time, giving me time to read The Standard and Sunday Mail online. I doubt if the Online Editors of these newspapers ever sleep on Saturday nights. Lord I hope this day will be good, I made a silent prayer before rushing for a shower.

‘I should be thankful, Lord, I know I should, But Lord I hope this day is good’, I continued singing. It’s one of those songs that make me miss Don Williams. I repeated the chorus again and again while emphasising on the magic words, Lord I hope this day will be good. Talk of the power of music. When I was a mere form 2 boy, I was thrown into the deep end by my then English teacher. She crafted a trick to have me join Public Speaking Club. I tried every trick to counter that to the point of begging for my own Aaron. Yes, it didn’t work. A week later I was on the podium addressing people. My prepared speech went on well and I hope the questions hit home. Why Maths and English are such are a burden to pupils in rural schools? For impromptu, I picked a slip written ‘Music’. Yeah, just music. I spoke about it for 60 seconds before running out of time. It was easy speaking about music given that we were singing all the way to the competition venue.

And yesterday was a little different. People tried singing but faced a number of hurdles. Familiar songs were very few.
Those which were sort of known by everyone were too old and now unpopular. It seems people are not composing sports songs anymore, thanks to technology and Zimdancehall. Who would want to sing ‘Tinohwina here iye nhasi – Will we win today’ when Killer T will be beaming ‘Hondo’ from the speakers or earphones? Some guys tried and got tired. Backers were far and detached. The voices were mumbling and failing to blend. I missed my days at St James Nyamhingura Primary School. Dressed in a uniform whose colour I still struggle to place, we would sing passionately and enthustically, ‘Ndakwira pamusoro pegomo baba, ndaona NS yahwina... Baba tungamirai vana wahwine’ God help our school to win. We would sing as if our team’s performance was intricately connected to our voices, to us. But then talk of the power of music, the 11th man in soccer – the supporters’ influence. When things were not going our way, we would sing songs that would demoralise our opponents. ‘Maiti kune sadza here, ibhora chete… Hona miromo papata… - You thought there is sadza (thick porridge) here? It’s just football stupid’ That was then.

Although I used to run away from running, I would appear on competition days. It was classic. I enjoyed watching it happen from a distance, seeing people showcasing and showing off their gifts. The gifted singers and mascots will be doing the same from the terraces. It was priceless. Sometimes all we need is just motivation, a little motivation to stretch beyond our limits. I would see people getting energised by just calling their names, just reminding them that we still believe in them. Just reminding them that they can do it. After the race, they will tell you they were getting tired but got revitalised by the gallery.

But yesterday I knew the tables had swapped. I wasn’t in the gallery, no. I was on the tracks, hoping and praying for motivation to finish 21.1 kilometres. I had no history of such running, even when running away. One afternoon during lunch when I was asked why I wasn’t running. I murmured and muttered. I couldn’t say I am not interested. I couldn’t say I am not able. So, I resorted to what I thought was the soft and easy way out, ‘registration was closed before I could register, unfortunately’. I regretted. But someone was quick to remind me that in fact registration was still open and they were willing to add my name if I was interested. Fate was sealed. Which race, they asked. 21.1 km, I responded. ‘Why not 42km, you have an athletic body?’ They asked. ‘I will do that next time. 21 will be fine for now’, I smiled and left. A few days after, which were a few days before the race, my registration was confirmed, and a race number was issued. But the real challenge that I couldn’t circumvent was trying to find practice time. And yes, just a day before the race, I had not practiced except for stretching and a couple of press-ups and sit-ups. Does that help when one wants to run 21km?

We got to the venue right on time. I stretched a bit as others were busy selfing. Back in school, we used to say, ‘You can’t fatten your cow on the market’ when someone was studying and sweating just before the exam. But later we rephrased that after realising that some were passing after studying on exams eve. We would acknowledge that indeed a cow cannot be fattened on the market, but we would recognise that sometimes it would gain some weight and fool some buyers. We would put that in exams context and now I wanted to apply it in a marathon context. Warning: Don’t Try This at Home.

And the countdown started. Three, two, one… Go! For a moment you will be tempted to sprint but then got reminded that it is 20-odd kilometres. Before I could find my pace, a colleague found me. ‘Let’s go buddy, let’s go… Let’s maintain this pace’. I picked up speed and tried to maintain it. But then there was a problem. I was no longer running my own race. Instead, I was running his race. How can I maintain something that is not even mine? He told me how and where he trained, getting ready for this race. I had no references. But still, he wanted me to keep pace with him. 2km into the race I felt depreciated and exhausted. Yes, it was just two kilometres into the race. I told him to go. I told him I will catch up. I didn’t, I couldn’t. I recoiled back into my own pace and started to run my own race. No stress.

When I thought I had run a long distance and was almost halfway to go, I saw a sign written 5km. Thank goodness I was too tired to interpret it. In retrospect, I realised that it meant I had only run 5km, under 25% of the whole distance. You know sometimes I like popcorn. I don’t like them because they have any nutritional value but because it’s just some pops and they are ready to eat. They are not satisfying, they are not fulfilling – we just love them because they are easy to make. So many things are like that in a day to day life. They are popcorn. They are easy to make and less rewarding. Whilst I wanted the race to pop like popcorn, I was reminded that it’s a half-marathon stupid. I continued running.

And there is a stage when decisions must be made. 
I felt really tired but never discouraged. I made a decision to run. I came all the way to run, not to quit at halfway. Nothing, not the cold, not even the marauding wildlife could deter me. And in that state of self-determination, I carried on. My mind was ready. I have always thought I can do long distances. Although I had no interest, I somehow knew I am able to do it.

I just found myself conversing with a ranger. His pace was the same as mine. Perhaps he was running my race. ‘I am doing this for fun’, he said. I wanted to concur but then my legs failed to cooperate. I guess they couldn’t find what was funny. Along the way, we could grab some freebies. Water, coke, sweets, bananas and oranges cuts, among others. That’s the journey. Sometimes we get so much consumed by our pain that we forget what’s around us. We don’t pay attention to the sweets and gifts being thrown at us. We are so bitter and angry that we find fault with everything and everyone, yet some things are meant to aid our journey. We blame others for our own choices. Nobody chose for us to run, we did on our own.

As I was running, I realised you will never run alone. There is always someone you can relate to. Don’t keep pace with someone whose pace you can’t keep. You see, people were running for different reasons. Some are career athletes who were running for the prize money, some for fun whilst others were just doing it for fitness. Find the reason you are running and stick to it. Don’t compete with someone whose motive you don’t know. You’ll not win the race. As I was running, I made friends and broke friendships. Yes, upon realising that I couldn't cope with their pace, some would leave. I did the same to others as well. Interestingly, I always found someone to run with. Looking back, I could see people running in groups. Looking ahead, I could still see the same. People who identified with each were running together. There is always someone ready to run with you.

There I am at the Famous Vic Falls Bridge in sky blue Makomo t-shirt

There's fear before and fear after.
Fear before is justified especially when treading on uncharted ways, unfamiliar paths. You don't know whether to keep straight or to turn, because either the turns don't exist or they are invisible. You're bound to be afraid. But fear after is quite strange. After successfully completing the race, I felt no so bad. A few sprains and strains and blisters but not bad. I could walk, I could stand and even sit whatever way I wanted without pain dictating. But then fear struck. As it is usually, fear after getting the results is propagated by people. Someone complimented me for being strong even after the race. I smiled and thanked him. But he wasn't done yet. He then described graphically how I was going to feel pain the following day. Heavy legs. Wriggling and wreathing. Can't fit shoes. Swollen feet. Blistered toes. He then patted my back as if to say, 'brace up my friend'. At that moment I felt pain. I couldn't stand anymore. I just sat. It took me a while to discover that the pain I was now feeling was not physiological but just psychological. Fear after disturbs your celebrations. It makes you regret participating in the first place. After successfully harvesting a commendable tonnage of corn, our fear was pests like weevils scattering it all. You'll look at the heap there and instead of celebrating your sweat, you'd just stress as you start picturing rodents munching everything leaving shells and waste. Fear after is not a bad thing sometimes because it prepares you and gives you time to take corrective measures. For example, with pests, we would buy pesticides. With the after-effects of running, I took measures which enabled me to be fit and strong for work the following day.

The 'right tools for the right job' mantra made more sense. Running requires special running gear to avoid eventualities. This applies everywhere. Improvisation has its own shortfalls and limitations.

After more than two hours, I completed the race. I sighed and smiled. Chance and time have been given to them all. What a day it was. The 19th Anniversary of Umdala Wethu, Joshua Nkomo. And Tonderai Chiutsi celebrated his birthday.