10 km marathon, half marathon and FULL MARATHON
8 - Kampala Marathon, Kampala, Uganda, 22 November 2015
From the day I committed to the 100BEFORE40 project, when and where I go for holiday is primarily determined by whether there is a race taking place in that area at that time. My wife has repeatedly warned me that one day I will find myself in a war zone, just for a race. I do not know if this is supposed to be scary or not, but it’s something I hear a lot from my wife. She does not let me plan holidays anymore. If it is planned by me, it is not a holiday, but a running excursion she says. Because we wanted a holiday (more like going home) in Uganda in 2015, my wife did not let me plan the trip. She took care of all the finer details of the trip. She planned when we would go, for how long and where exactly we would be at specific times. I had no choice, but to agree to everything. And that was it. We were going to Uganda for a week in November.
A week before the trip, I could not resist the 100BEFORE40 itch. I decided to check if there would be any race taking place in Kampala while we were in town. Much to my delight, I stumbled upon the Kampala Marathon. It was taking place on 22 November. I decided to run the race. However, there was one little problem. I had left the trip planning to Agatha. This was a holiday, not a running excursion. We were supposed to be in Kisoro on the day the race was taking place. Kisoro is about 470 kilometers from Kampala. There was no way I would convince Agatha and the kids to drive back to Kampala for the race and back to Kisoro for the rest of the holiday. I had no choice, but to go on a solo adventure. I had very good friends and “brothers from other mothers” in Kampala that could take care of me and show me around. I checked with them and they confirmed that the race was indeed on. We agreed to finalize the details when I landed in Kampala.
emphasis is on "Full" here
We arrived in Kampala on 17 November. I did not waste time and by midday the following day I had registered for the marathon. My good mates Sam Kakande and Bernard Mukasa registered for the 10-kilometer marathon. I know this is wrong in runners' talk, but I was not going to be the guy that spoiled the marathon for a lot of people. As we were queuing to register, many people kept saying they were doing the marathon. Most of them did not look like chaps that could run a half marathon, but here they were telling their peers that they were doing the marathon. Strangely, when they registered, they walked away with the 10-kilometer race numbers. It dawned on me that for these chaps, any running race was a marathon. In fact, the race organizers had marketed the whole race that way. Runners had a choice of a 10-kilometer marathon, half marathon, or the full marathon. Sounds elitist of me, but this will become very important later.
On 19 November we took the long drive to Kisoro. My plan was to leave Agatha and the kids in Kisoro and take an overnight bus to Kampala on Friday. I would get to Kampala on Saturday morning, run on Sunday morning, and take another overnight bus to Kisoro. The last time I had been to Kisoro I had vowed that I would never drive, let alone take a bus, at night. The drive to Kisoro is one of the most beautiful and scary drives I have encountered. The route goes through some of the most magnificent mountain passes I have traveled on. The roads are narrow and there are very sharp curves on these mountains. I struggle to understand how trucks and buses maneuver the sharp curves. As a result, I vowed to never travel at night on these roads. Well, I would do anything for running. I threw this vow through the window. It was what it was and I was going to run the race.
one of the lakes on the route to Kisoro
The Kampala Marathon was my third marathon in November 2015. I had completed the Soweto Marathon on 1 November and the Bela Bela Marathon on 14 November. Despite having run the Bela Bela very hard just a week before and missing out on a sub 4h00 finish by six minutes, I was raring to go. I arrived at the start line with Bernard around 6h45. I had been informed that the marathon would start at 7h00. There was a huge fun fare at that time. People were warming up led by a group good looking young men and women that was on the stage. The warm-up looked more of an aerobics class than people getting ready for a marathon. The large crowd worried me. I did not want to start the race at the back of such a huge crown. I decided to check with the race officials where the start was so that I could wait there, right at the front, while the other “marathoners” enjoyed the fun fare.
From the day I committed to the 100BEFORE40 project, when and where I go for holiday is primarily determined by whether there is a race taking place in that area at that time. My wife has repeatedly warned me that one day I will find myself in a war zone, just for a race. I do not know if this is supposed to be scary or not, but it’s something I hear a lot from my wife. She does not let me plan holidays anymore. If it is planned by me, it is not a holiday, but a running excursion she says. Because we wanted a holiday (more like going home) in Uganda in 2015, my wife did not let me plan the trip. She took care of all the finer details of the trip. She planned when we would go, for how long and where exactly we would be at specific times. I had no choice, but to agree to everything. And that was it. We were going to Uganda for a week in November.
A week before the trip, I could not resist the 100BEFORE40 itch. I decided to check if there would be any race taking place in Kampala while we were in town. Much to my delight, I stumbled upon the Kampala Marathon. It was taking place on 22 November. I decided to run the race. However, there was one little problem. I had left the trip planning to Agatha. This was a holiday, not a running excursion. We were supposed to be in Kisoro on the day the race was taking place. Kisoro is about 470 kilometers from Kampala. There was no way I would convince Agatha and the kids to drive back to Kampala for the race and back to Kisoro for the rest of the holiday. I had no choice, but to go on a solo adventure. I had very good friends and “brothers from other mothers” in Kampala that could take care of me and show me around. I checked with them and they confirmed that the race was indeed on. We agreed to finalize the details when I landed in Kampala.
 |
| emphasis is on "Full" here |
We arrived in Kampala on 17 November. I did not waste time and by midday the following day I had registered for the marathon. My good mates Sam Kakande and Bernard Mukasa registered for the 10-kilometer marathon. I know this is wrong in runners' talk, but I was not going to be the guy that spoiled the marathon for a lot of people. As we were queuing to register, many people kept saying they were doing the marathon. Most of them did not look like chaps that could run a half marathon, but here they were telling their peers that they were doing the marathon. Strangely, when they registered, they walked away with the 10-kilometer race numbers. It dawned on me that for these chaps, any running race was a marathon. In fact, the race organizers had marketed the whole race that way. Runners had a choice of a 10-kilometer marathon, half marathon, or the full marathon. Sounds elitist of me, but this will become very important later.
On 19 November we took the long drive to Kisoro. My plan was to leave Agatha and the kids in Kisoro and take an overnight bus to Kampala on Friday. I would get to Kampala on Saturday morning, run on Sunday morning, and take another overnight bus to Kisoro. The last time I had been to Kisoro I had vowed that I would never drive, let alone take a bus, at night. The drive to Kisoro is one of the most beautiful and scary drives I have encountered. The route goes through some of the most magnificent mountain passes I have traveled on. The roads are narrow and there are very sharp curves on these mountains. I struggle to understand how trucks and buses maneuver the sharp curves. As a result, I vowed to never travel at night on these roads. Well, I would do anything for running. I threw this vow through the window. It was what it was and I was going to run the race.
 |
| one of the lakes on the route to Kisoro |
The Kampala Marathon was my third marathon in November 2015. I had completed the Soweto Marathon on 1 November and the Bela Bela Marathon on 14 November. Despite having run the Bela Bela very hard just a week before and missing out on a sub 4h00 finish by six minutes, I was raring to go. I arrived at the start line with Bernard around 6h45. I had been informed that the marathon would start at 7h00. There was a huge fun fare at that time. People were warming up led by a group good looking young men and women that was on the stage. The warm-up looked more of an aerobics class than people getting ready for a marathon. The large crowd worried me. I did not want to start the race at the back of such a huge crown. I decided to check with the race officials where the start was so that I could wait there, right at the front, while the other “marathoners” enjoyed the fun fare.
 |
| dance like you have never danced before, it will warm your body up |
I approached a gentleman who was wearing a bib that had “official” written on it. Before I even asked him the question, he looked at my race number and said, “Ssebo, the FULL marathon has already started. Others are already gone.” I was shocked and disappointed. I asked him how that was possible when the marathon was starting at 7h00. He explained that it was only the 10-kilometer marathon that was starting at 7h00. The full marathon and the half marathon had started at 6h30. It was 6h55 at that time.
the fun fare at the start of the 10km marathon
I was a good 25 minutes late and had to play catch-up. I had not seen the route or the route profile. I did not know what lay ahead of me, but there was no way out of it. I abandoned my race plan. I had planned to start slow and enjoy my tour of Kampala, but things had changed. I flew during the first 10 or so kilometers. I did not want to be right at the back when the marathon and half marathon runners split. I wanted to be in the middle of the pack and ensure that I was not cut-off. I did not know if there were cut-off points on the route or what the final cut-off time was. The new plan worked well and by the time I got the half way point, there were a few people behind me.
Running the Kampala Marathon was a good idea, I must say. I got a chance to explore some parts of Kampala that I would never have driven through. Kampala has the worst traffic jam of all the few cities I have been to. The combination of bad driving, bad roads, and countless motorbikes (boda boda), makes driving around Kampala a nightmare. Everyone talks about “THE JAM”. You would be forgiven for believing that “THE JAM” is some organ of state or government department. Everyone, I know, is terrified of “THE JAM”. All their movements in the city revolve around “THE JAM”. Whenever I am in Kampala, my movements are also restricted by “THE JAM”. As a result, I had never really got a chance to explore the city. The marathon gave me that chance. We ran through upmarket parts of city. We also ran through down town Kampala and some high-density suburbs. The level of inequality was profound. Kampala is like many other African cities. It is modeled along the haves and have-nots living on different ends of the city. I was glad I had decided to do the Kampala Marathon. It gave me an opportunity to experience Kampala first hand.
The highlight of my race came around 25 kilometers into the race. I was still feeling good at that time. I was confident I would finish the race under 4 hours and 30 minutes (official time), despite having started the race 25 minutes behind time. As I was about to pass a chap I had trailed for a kilometer or so, the chap said something to me in one of the local languages. I greeted him and told him that I did not understand the language he was speaking. I added that I was visiting from South Africa and only understood English. He apologised for having assumed that I was a local guy. I was impressed by this chap. He was in his hometown, yet he apologised for assuming that I was one of the local chaps. He asked if he could run with me. His request could not have come at a better moment. I really wanted to run with someone who knew the place and would give me a “guided tour” of the city. I gladly told him that I would really do with some company.
The young man told me that his race was not going well. He said he had come to the race with the hope of winning it and grabbing that USHs14,000,000 prize money that was up for grabs. Up to that point, I had not paid much attention to his ability as a runner and his appearance. I had simply assumed that he was a social runner just like me. When he mentioned that he had come with the hope of winning race, he caught my attention. I asked him if his last marathon had gone well and what his finishing time was. He dropped a bomb shell. He had never run a marathon before. I was shocked. This chap had never run a marathon, yet he thought he would win the race. It sounded insane to me. Not in my wildest dreams, despite this being my eighth marathon, would I have thought I would win the race. But there was this young man; a novice who had traveled from his home believing that he would win the race.
I always look for good in people and avoid judging anyone. I started telling myself that this young man was a goal-getter. He had thought of something, winning the race, and went for it. I asked him if he had been among the leading pack at some point. He said he had started in front with the leading pack and stuck it out for about 10 kilometers. I did not believe him, but I told him that at least he had tried. The leading pack would have gone out at a pace of less than three minutes per kilometer. I did not think this young man could even run less than four and half minutes per kilometer. If at all he had been with the leading pack, that must have been for the first 200 meters or so. I asked him where it had gone wrong for him. He said his biggest mistake must have been not eating anything before the race and that had resulted in him quickly running out of energy. At that point, I knew that this young man’s determination had nothing to do with his ability as a runner. There was more to his determination than ability. In fact, it became clear to me that it was more of desperation than anything. A person who has never run a marathon pitching up for such a big race believing that he would win the race? It must be desperation, I concluded.
the young man's shoes
Desperation pushes people to do anything. This young man was obviously looking for a quick way out of his situation. He had approached the race as a lottery. For him it was a matter of trying his luck and hoping for the best. He must have thought winning a marathon was like a coin toss. It is either heads or tails (win or lose), just like that. He seemed not to appreciate the effort and hard work that goes into running a marathon, let alone winning it. As these thoughts were racing through my mind, I became more interested in this young man. I looked at his attire to see if his looks could have at least deceived anyone into believing that this chap could win the race? Even if he had decided to cheat by hiding behind a bush and only running the last two or so kilometers, everyone could have easily noticed that he had cheated. His shoes were a complete give away. They were nowhere close to running shoes. I do not know how he managed to run in those shoes. Let us just say it was desperate times.
show your big foot
One of the biggest things running has taught me, and I admire most, is the camaraderie on the road. We all help each other out there. I had my energy gels and hydration supplies. I shared as much as I could with this young man. However, he slowed down with every kilometer that passed. By the time we got to 35 kilometers, he was completely finished. The poor planning of the race exacerbated the situation. There was only water at the water points on the full marathon route. Strangely, the water points for the 10-kilometer marathon had glucose sachets, something that was not available to the people that needed it most. When we got to the water point at 35 kilometers, the marshals had left. We did not see any water points from that point onwards. There was a truck removing the route markers ahead of us. I stuck around with the young man. There were a few people behind us and I was confident that we would make it before the final cut-off time, even though I did not know what it was. However, disaster struck during the 40th kilometer. The young man said he was tired and hungry. He asked if we could sit down a bit. I knew that once he sat down, he would not get up again. I tried to persuade him to keep going, but he sat down and that was it. I hung around for a minute or so waiting for the people that were behind us. There was no sign of anyone. I then decided to chase the chap that was about 300 meters ahead of us. I said my goodbyes to the young man and off I went.
I was a good 25 minutes late and had to play catch-up. I had not seen the route or the route profile. I did not know what lay ahead of me, but there was no way out of it. I abandoned my race plan. I had planned to start slow and enjoy my tour of Kampala, but things had changed. I flew during the first 10 or so kilometers. I did not want to be right at the back when the marathon and half marathon runners split. I wanted to be in the middle of the pack and ensure that I was not cut-off. I did not know if there were cut-off points on the route or what the final cut-off time was. The new plan worked well and by the time I got the half way point, there were a few people behind me.
Running the Kampala Marathon was a good idea, I must say. I got a chance to explore some parts of Kampala that I would never have driven through. Kampala has the worst traffic jam of all the few cities I have been to. The combination of bad driving, bad roads, and countless motorbikes (boda boda), makes driving around Kampala a nightmare. Everyone talks about “THE JAM”. You would be forgiven for believing that “THE JAM” is some organ of state or government department. Everyone, I know, is terrified of “THE JAM”. All their movements in the city revolve around “THE JAM”. Whenever I am in Kampala, my movements are also restricted by “THE JAM”. As a result, I had never really got a chance to explore the city. The marathon gave me that chance. We ran through upmarket parts of city. We also ran through down town Kampala and some high-density suburbs. The level of inequality was profound. Kampala is like many other African cities. It is modeled along the haves and have-nots living on different ends of the city. I was glad I had decided to do the Kampala Marathon. It gave me an opportunity to experience Kampala first hand.
The highlight of my race came around 25 kilometers into the race. I was still feeling good at that time. I was confident I would finish the race under 4 hours and 30 minutes (official time), despite having started the race 25 minutes behind time. As I was about to pass a chap I had trailed for a kilometer or so, the chap said something to me in one of the local languages. I greeted him and told him that I did not understand the language he was speaking. I added that I was visiting from South Africa and only understood English. He apologised for having assumed that I was a local guy. I was impressed by this chap. He was in his hometown, yet he apologised for assuming that I was one of the local chaps. He asked if he could run with me. His request could not have come at a better moment. I really wanted to run with someone who knew the place and would give me a “guided tour” of the city. I gladly told him that I would really do with some company.
The young man told me that his race was not going well. He said he had come to the race with the hope of winning it and grabbing that USHs14,000,000 prize money that was up for grabs. Up to that point, I had not paid much attention to his ability as a runner and his appearance. I had simply assumed that he was a social runner just like me. When he mentioned that he had come with the hope of winning race, he caught my attention. I asked him if his last marathon had gone well and what his finishing time was. He dropped a bomb shell. He had never run a marathon before. I was shocked. This chap had never run a marathon, yet he thought he would win the race. It sounded insane to me. Not in my wildest dreams, despite this being my eighth marathon, would I have thought I would win the race. But there was this young man; a novice who had traveled from his home believing that he would win the race.
I always look for good in people and avoid judging anyone. I started telling myself that this young man was a goal-getter. He had thought of something, winning the race, and went for it. I asked him if he had been among the leading pack at some point. He said he had started in front with the leading pack and stuck it out for about 10 kilometers. I did not believe him, but I told him that at least he had tried. The leading pack would have gone out at a pace of less than three minutes per kilometer. I did not think this young man could even run less than four and half minutes per kilometer. If at all he had been with the leading pack, that must have been for the first 200 meters or so. I asked him where it had gone wrong for him. He said his biggest mistake must have been not eating anything before the race and that had resulted in him quickly running out of energy. At that point, I knew that this young man’s determination had nothing to do with his ability as a runner. There was more to his determination than ability. In fact, it became clear to me that it was more of desperation than anything. A person who has never run a marathon pitching up for such a big race believing that he would win the race? It must be desperation, I concluded.
 |
| the young man's shoes |
 |
| show your big foot |
One of the biggest things running has taught me, and I admire most, is the camaraderie on the road. We all help each other out there. I had my energy gels and hydration supplies. I shared as much as I could with this young man. However, he slowed down with every kilometer that passed. By the time we got to 35 kilometers, he was completely finished. The poor planning of the race exacerbated the situation. There was only water at the water points on the full marathon route. Strangely, the water points for the 10-kilometer marathon had glucose sachets, something that was not available to the people that needed it most. When we got to the water point at 35 kilometers, the marshals had left. We did not see any water points from that point onwards. There was a truck removing the route markers ahead of us. I stuck around with the young man. There were a few people behind us and I was confident that we would make it before the final cut-off time, even though I did not know what it was. However, disaster struck during the 40th kilometer. The young man said he was tired and hungry. He asked if we could sit down a bit. I knew that once he sat down, he would not get up again. I tried to persuade him to keep going, but he sat down and that was it. I hung around for a minute or so waiting for the people that were behind us. There was no sign of anyone. I then decided to chase the chap that was about 300 meters ahead of us. I said my goodbyes to the young man and off I went.
which marathon, 10km or Full?
I was less than three kilometers from the finish. The route markers had been removed from the road, but I was not going to let this one elude me. My only hope was chasing the chap who was in front. I could not wait for the people that were behind any longer. There was no guarantee that they were continuing with the race. I chased the chap ahead and managed to keep him in sight for a while. When we got to a part that had short turns, the chap disappeared. Stuck and not knowing where to go, I asked some guys, that were packing up at what must have been a water point, for directions. I asked if I was on the correct route for the marathon. They confirmed that this was the marathon route. I thanked them and continued. Boy, that was the worst mistake I made during the whole trip to Uganda. I only realized that something was wrong when my GPS watch recorded 43 kilometers and I was nowhere close to the finish. The chaps I asked for directions had shown me the 10-kilometer marathon route, instead of the Marathon route. My struggle ceased being about finishing the race and became one of finding my way back to the start. It was hot and I was thirsty. I decided to stop running and walk back. The last blow came when I got to a water point on this 10-kilometer race route. The chaps at the water point had packed up and were waiting for a car to fetch them. They had boxes of water. I could see it. I asked them for a bottle of water and they said they were no longer handing out water. I could not believe that they had just refused to give me a bottle of water. I thanked them, for nothing, and continued walking.
the 10 km marathon start
I finally made my way to the finish after 5 hours and 32 minutes. The official time must have been 6 hours by then. I asked one of the officials if I could cross the timing mat so that I could get my finishing time. I was not interested in any medal, certificate or whatever it was that they were giving finishers. I just wanted an official finishing time. The chap said to me “Ssebo (Sir), you are only arriving now? Everyone must have left you too far behind.” It was the most irritating thing I heard the whole day. Rather than showing me where the timing mat was, he wanted to engage in some small talk. I just moved right along. When I got to the place where the timing mat should have been, I was told that the mat had been removed already. I could not believe it. Everything about the race was bad. The communication before the race was bad. The route was not clearly marked. The marshals I asked for directions did not know what they were doing. Marshals had refused to give me water when the water was right in my face. Now there was no official time for me. Dejected, I bought a bottle of water and a soda and sat under a tree to cool down a bit. I later met up with Bernard. He had successfully finished his marathon, the 10 kilometer one.
I was angry and vowed never to do the race again or recommend it to anyone. As you know, if it’s not on Facebook, it did not happen. I documented the race on Facebook as follows:
I am still battling whether to count this race as part of 100 marathons before 40 or not. I did not get an official result and it ended up being an ultra-marathon, 47 kilometers.
I was less than three kilometers from the finish. The route markers had been removed from the road, but I was not going to let this one elude me. My only hope was chasing the chap who was in front. I could not wait for the people that were behind any longer. There was no guarantee that they were continuing with the race. I chased the chap ahead and managed to keep him in sight for a while. When we got to a part that had short turns, the chap disappeared. Stuck and not knowing where to go, I asked some guys, that were packing up at what must have been a water point, for directions. I asked if I was on the correct route for the marathon. They confirmed that this was the marathon route. I thanked them and continued. Boy, that was the worst mistake I made during the whole trip to Uganda. I only realized that something was wrong when my GPS watch recorded 43 kilometers and I was nowhere close to the finish. The chaps I asked for directions had shown me the 10-kilometer marathon route, instead of the Marathon route. My struggle ceased being about finishing the race and became one of finding my way back to the start. It was hot and I was thirsty. I decided to stop running and walk back. The last blow came when I got to a water point on this 10-kilometer race route. The chaps at the water point had packed up and were waiting for a car to fetch them. They had boxes of water. I could see it. I asked them for a bottle of water and they said they were no longer handing out water. I could not believe that they had just refused to give me a bottle of water. I thanked them, for nothing, and continued walking.
 |
| the 10 km marathon start |
I finally made my way to the finish after 5 hours and 32 minutes. The official time must have been 6 hours by then. I asked one of the officials if I could cross the timing mat so that I could get my finishing time. I was not interested in any medal, certificate or whatever it was that they were giving finishers. I just wanted an official finishing time. The chap said to me “Ssebo (Sir), you are only arriving now? Everyone must have left you too far behind.” It was the most irritating thing I heard the whole day. Rather than showing me where the timing mat was, he wanted to engage in some small talk. I just moved right along. When I got to the place where the timing mat should have been, I was told that the mat had been removed already. I could not believe it. Everything about the race was bad. The communication before the race was bad. The route was not clearly marked. The marshals I asked for directions did not know what they were doing. Marshals had refused to give me water when the water was right in my face. Now there was no official time for me. Dejected, I bought a bottle of water and a soda and sat under a tree to cool down a bit. I later met up with Bernard. He had successfully finished his marathon, the 10 kilometer one.
I was angry and vowed never to do the race again or recommend it to anyone. As you know, if it’s not on Facebook, it did not happen. I documented the race on Facebook as follows:
"Really crappy race. I would never recommend it to anyone, not even my worst enemy!!! I do not understand why there was so much hype about this race and why they say it's the biggest sporting event in Uganda. Even got lost on the course and ended doing an extra 5km, got to the finish only to be told that the timing mats have been taken of the finish point already. — at Kololo Airstrip"
I am still battling whether to count this race as part of 100 marathons before 40 or not. I did not get an official result and it ended up being an ultra-marathon, 47 kilometers.
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