Chapter 10 – Preparation can take you far

Chapter 10 – Preparation can take you far

Previous - Chapter 9

Missed marathon

“Coach, the marathon is fully booked. Registrations are closed,” Fay sent me a WhatsApp message.

“I hope you registered already,” she sent a second message before I contemplated a response.  She momentarily sent a screen shot indicating a congratulatory message from TCS Amsterdam Marathon 2019, celebrating their registering the 17,500 runners target for full marathon with 45 days to go before the run.

This was a big setback.  It was just the previous day, a Tuesday, that we had discussed this marathon at length.  I had already checked the organizers page and they had indicated that the 20,000 places for the half-marathon had been fully taken, same to the 7,500 places in the 8km run.  However, some of the 17,500 places for the full-marathon were still available.  The site had not indicated the number of places remaining.  I had assumed that that 17k number was so large that it would not be reached.  After all, people do not like the full marathon.  Didn’t the last marathon at Stavanger hardly register 300 people on this distance?

Fay and I had discussed my possibility of my attending this run, on the full marathon, after all it was the only available option at that time.  We discussed logistics, accommodation, travel within Amsterdam and even visa requirements.  When running in a foreign country there are four things that must be done all at the same time.  You cannot do one first and ‘hope’ for the others to just happen.  You must click 4 buttons at the same time – or none.  

First, you must register or be assured of registration.  Without it you have no run.  Registration has its own issues.  You must get your run category or get any other run if you must run.  You must have the means to register, which may include credit/debit cards or event other payment systems such as PayPal.  Registration fees are usually non-refundable.  That means that you cannot change your mind once you decide to run, unless you want to lose your money!

Secondly, you must travel to the event country, and then the event venue.  If you are not there, of course, you cannot run.  Travel has its own issues.  The issues are fully loaded.  You must look for transport, including flights, do your booking (and suffer cancellation fees if you make changes) and also worry about connections to your final destination, then arrange how to travel back thereafter.  Flights get expensive as you approach an event date – call it supply and demand forces.  The earlier you book the better.  I have already cautioned about change of bookings once done – it shall cost you… but delay in booking may cost you more.  That also means, just similar to marathon registration – be ready to lose (some/all) your money if you do not travel.

The third thing that you must plan for is the accommodation.  Security accommodation at the marathon town, during marathon time is just a crazy thing.  Everybody wants to book any available joint at the same time.  It is something you need to arrange in good time (two months before!) and then book, usually by paying.  The costs go high as you near the date of the marathon.  Availability gets towards zero as you near the marathon.  Location of available accommodation gets further and further from the start line as you get near the marathon, since most people would have booked places near the venue.  Be ready to stay as far as 50km as the D-day nears.

Finally, you have to sort out the logistics that go with the run.  The pre-, on- and post-run issues.  Get the travel relates things sorted including visa, permission from work/class and then pack properly, know how to get to your port of exit and finally how to get from your arrival port to your accommodation.  On run day you must know how you shall get to the venue and make your way to the starting line.  Of course, you must have arranged on how to pick your runner number, without it you cannot even stand one kilometer to the starting line.  You would usually pick the runner number a day before the run, if you are international runner or on the run day itself if allowed (usually not allowed).  You are lucky if you can get someone to pick for you, which is difficult in a foreign land.  After the run you need to know how you shall make your way back to your residence, how/what you shall eat and how/where you shall rest to recuperate.  Travelling back home after the run is taken care of by the travel logistics of point number two.

You must have all the four sorted out and generally finalized and then hit the ‘execute’ button and have  them all working out at once.  You cannot do one and leave the rest hanging.  Unfortunately, each of them is complex and involves many other issues that may even be beyond your immediate control.  I was in the situation of working out the four issues when I informed Fay that I was planning to register for the marathon.  They had not yet synched properly.  Some issues were still a bit gray, but things were shaping up.  I could now easily register.

“I shall register by tomorrow,” I had told her on the WhatsApp message of Tuesday.  I had to finalize the travel bit, which still needed permission issues to be sorted and my cash planning was not adding up on the full-cost-accounting bit.  All the four variables were proving to be quite expensive.  At some point I did second guess my wisdom in deciding to participate in this run.

So, it is a Wednesday evening.  I am all relaxed with some success in my planning the travel, where I had shortlisted my best flight options and had even managed to shortlist some accommodation options.  I had discussed logistics of moving around NL, by virtue of Faye being already there.  She would easily assist in getting some issues sorted, such as advise on where to get a bus or train, and how to get the runner kit.  I was therefore totally taken aback when I got that message that the marathon registration was closed.  I had not yet hit any of the four buttons to make this happen.  This was bad.

I checked the organizers website and as sure as the ten o’clock nighttime sunlight that shines over here, the registrations were closed for all runs.  A small footnote indicated that, “Registrations for the 3km kids runs were still open”

Surely!

I however reacted quite well.  Maybe it was because I had not clicked any of the four buttons to set the ball rolling, hence was not likely to suffer any loss at the moment.  The only thing I would lose was the mental energy and long hours of research and preparation.  No cash money had yet been spent.  However, it was still a disappointing moment.

“I shall send you the Amsterdam marathon FB page,” Faye would send a message at some point, “Sometimes runners who cannot attend sell their numbers there.”

I found myself on FB, which I hate.  I started monitoring the conversations and for sure we had issues of registration under discussion.  We had sellers and buyers, but mostly buyers, with few sellers.  I scrolled through and found five sellers of their full marathon registrations.  I messaged them and none responded.

“I am leaving for my evening run, I have messaged few people but no response.  However, there is nothing to worry, what will happen will happen,” I messaged Fay.

I failed to go for the evening run despite dressing up for it.  The weather was just too crazy.  It started raining, heavily, every time I opened the downstairs main entrance ready to get out of the block and go for the run.  Three more attempts failed and by seven I gave up, though it was still bright.  This run would not happen.

When I got back to the computer, I checked the FB messages and found one response of the five.  It indicated that I should provide my details and send Euro 77.50 for the registration.  I did not know when the person had responded, but must have been over one hour ago.  I responded to the message that I was just seeing it and the person should reconfirm if it was still possible to buy the runner number.  I spend another agonizing hour before the person send a “Sorry, already sold.”

The other four messages remained unanswered.  I was going to just wait, nonetheless, the worst that could happen was to fail to get a place.  So, I already knew the worst that could happen, so how worse could it get?  There is nothing worse than the worst anyway, so relax.  I went to bed feeling quite OK with the situation.  In fact, I was even happy that I would save the 50k that would otherwise be inevitably spent on this run.  I was already planning on the many things that 50k could do.  I was happy with the new plans for this 50k.  I was not thinking about this marathon anymore.  I have never been happier.

I woke up late on Thursday.  I open the Amsterdam marathon FB page expecting nothing of interest.  Just then I saw a response from one of the four remaining prospects, “I can sell you the number, send Euro 77.5 by PayPal”

The message must have been sent at night.  I was not expecting much from the message, from my previous experience with a similar case.

“Are you still selling?,” I responded and just gave up, and walked out to make some tea.

“Yes, I am selling, send the money.”

This was not real.  I now started wondering whether it was even a genuine person or a chatbot.  What if I get conned of my hard-earned money?  This was almost 10k Kenya money on the line.  I had to try something to confirm, so that I am conned on the side of caution, that being conned silly.

“What was your anticipated timing?,” I asked.  I had already known that each registration would indicate an anticipated running time, for purposes of being grouped at the starting line and also for the different start times.  This was information privy to only those who surely registered or attempted.  It was not foolproof but better than nothing.

“About 4 hours,” came the answer.

“So how do I get the registration in my name?”

“I shall send you the link and password for you to change the details”

As a sign of good faith, the person on the other end posted a screenshot of the TCS registration page, but with the password bit was masked.  That was a good start.  At least I was as caution as humanly possible.  However, I was not getting that password without transferring money – and conversely – there was no guarantee that the stranger would send me the registration link even after getting the money, despite the screenshot.

It was time to take a leap of faith.  “Preparation can only take you so far,” I remembered that saying.

I got the PayPal details and in a click of a button the Euro 77.50 had left my bank.  Then two things happened…

The respondent delayed in responding.  

“This is it!,” I kicked the room heater under the table, “I am done!!  I am conned!!”

I looked at the screen as if it was a strange object.  I really wanted that FB response to come through.  I felt like refreshing the page, in case I was not getting a good internet connection.  The connection was on, as per the icon on the lower right side of the screen.

Then, after a minute that seemed like an hour, “I have got the money, give me your email address.”

I have never typed that fast.  I could have even typed a wrong email before hitting ‘send’.

Another one minute that seemed like another one hour, then, “I have sent, check your email.”

I quickly switched tab to the email page...  And… the email was arrived.  It was there!  The email with registration details and password.

I was saying my “Thanks a lot,” on FB while I was already busy on another web browser tab logging in and confirming that I can surely change the details of the run participant.  For sure, there was a button to “Transfer registration”, which I quickly clicked and started replacing the seller’s details with my own.  I was so apprehensive.  My body was hurting!

The second thing that happened was the SMS notification beeped on my phone.  I knew what it was, a transaction confirmation.  I did not even bother looking at it.  Then a second beep immediately, and I glanced on the phone to see a flash of SMS that started catching my attention before the phone screen timed out.  

“I cannot be reading right!”

The second SMS was notification from my bank that my Credit card had been changed from Active to Restricted.  I know exactly what that means.  It means it is blocked.  They were just being semantically polite!

“This cannot be happening!”

How tense did these two parties want me to be in a mere five minutes!!  First the FB thing, now the bank thing!!

I had already seen that I had to pay an extra Euro 2.50 for transferring the registration, and an extra 0.09 for paying by credit card.  A card that I-was-now-not-going-to-use since it was blocked.  There was no chance of just pick up a phone and call the card centre as I would have done back home.  The only option that I had here at the Artic was to send an email and hope that the bank would check their email and respond in a minute.  This was something that was quite unlikely.  But I had no choice.  I was not even able to complete the registration transfer, since I was now stuck with the Euro 2.59 bill which I had to pay first… but could not pay.

I wrote the email in a flash and sent it out to the bank.  I was not going to chance on waiting for a response and so I searched the bank’s webpage looking for their SMS number or something.  The something I found was an instant messaging system, which required my name and email, which I quickly filled in.  It was not long before the familiar, “I am so and so, how can I help,” showed on the chat box.

Before I even started typing, I saw another, “I am so and so #2, how can I help”

What?  Chatbots?  What?  Call center?  They do not sync or listen to each other while communicating to customers?

I stated my issue, though I was still in doubt as to whether I was even on the right platform.  I had to re-double check the web address and secureness of the server.  Both seemed genuine.

After stating my issue, I got a response from the two still, though after that only one chat continued.  The person on the other side asked for the card number for verification.  I hesitated.  Would I be conned again?  Once you give out the card number you are as good as having given out an open cheque.  I had risked once with that Euro 77 and gotten away with it.  I surely had no other choice but to risk it again.  Otherwise, how else would I finish up the registration change?  I gave out the card number and almost immediately the chat ended with “We shall get back to you.”

And getting back they did, after about ten minutes, first by SMS that indicated that my card was back to active, then by email to confirm the same.  By this time my marathon re-registration page had already timed out and I had to restart the process from scratch.  This time I was to speedily working through the change of details process all the way to the payment.  The only thing that the change of registration could not do, despite checking, retrying and even looking for online tips, was to change the T-shirt size.  The original entrant had picked a size ‘S’.  I could not see any function, button or method to change the T size.  I gave up after five trials.  I would just have to ‘souve’ the ‘S’.  NMMT T-shirt would do for this second run, having just survived the last month’s event.  The only problem now was that the Kenyan flag on the left short sleeve had been washed out during the last laundry – but things happen.

But stories on the marathon page on FB were equally interesting, with many shouts of “I want to buy”, with very few “I want to sell.”  People narrated their ordeals with a view of persuading that sympathetic elusive seller, but to no avail.  Someone narrated on how he had already booked a flight and hotel, but still had no run number.  Someone, like me, had not imagined that the registration would close that soon.  Someone else had ‘forgotten’ to register and now the registration was closed.  Someone else was lucky to have registered but now wanted a ‘cheap’ place to stay.  For this one, the FBzens advised him that the cheapest place to stay was ‘the airport’.

I survived the morning registration ordeal, and now believed that I would survive the rest of the logistics.  Nothing else in the process could be this tense-full.  I did not even notice the day long rain.  But when the sun decided to reveal its bright head around five, there was only one thing to do – get out there and do the Wednesday run on Thursday.  I was going for a test run after the marathon.  I was not that tired, however, I could not just rely on feelings for such a the tiredness test – I just had to run it out on the road and see how it goes.

The evening run was smoother than I expected.  I did not have any pains, especially on my right leg that had caused the Sunday limp.  I was generally back to normal.  The evening run however turned out to be quite chilly.  I wondered whether I would continue surviving evening runs with these temperatures.  I may have to start running in full tracksuits – first time.  The run would finally come to an end and get judged by my gadgets:

Endomondo: 1.21.49 – 16.62km

Runkeeper: 1.21.59 – 16.93km

GOA: 1.21.48 – 17.63km

For today’s run, I would give it to Endomondo as the distance to keep – for no apparent reason, or maybe I just pick Runkeeper which was accurate to the cm during the marathon?.

Marathon unmissed

I cannot account for my last three days – Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  That would mean that I did not go out of the room.  But let me try.  On Friday I remember that noon seminar, after missing the ten o’clock seminar at Kjolv Egelands-hus.  After that I just stayed at Kjell Arholms Gate 34, where P10 is located and relaxed away my afternoon.  The evening had a chill, then a drizzle, then a chill, then a drizzle.  My ‘wheels’ were still not very normal after the previous Saturday’s marathon and the trial runs of yesterday.  I had already decided to skip the Friday run anyways.  

However, I would not ‘just’ skip the Friday run ‘like that’, and so after the chilly weather of six, I decided to take a ‘short’ walk that should eventually get me to Rema 1000 supermarket just down the road after UiS.  And marathoners can take long routes!  Eh!  It took me five kilometers to get to an otherwise one-kilometer distance to Rema.  I enjoyed the long walk and savored the cold, bright evening.  By the time I was back to P10, after my errand at both Rema and Kiwi, I had covered 9km. 

On Saturday I stayed indoors through the day.  The furthest I went was the washrooms, some 8 doors away on the long corridor of the east wing of P10 first floor.  On Sunday, when we would otherwise be going for the walk at the Atlantic Ocean beach, I found myself 24-hours indoors, trying to watch ‘24’ series, but failed on both.  I found myself leaving the room to get some food and stopped the series hardly halfway through after one of the episodes failed and needed a re-download.  Both my 24s would have to be tried another day.

On Monday I started my day by going to the town centre to transact at Western Union offices at the main bus station.  I was soon back and ready for the evening run.  For the first time I started by run at 6.45pm.  I was in fact almost cancelling the run since the cold in the evening and drizzles that accompanied it did not seem to relent, until that sweet timeslot.  I just left when the weather become stable – chill or no chill and started out round UiS twice, then up to the forests in the hills.  I wanted a 90-minute run.  

I got more than I bargained for when I checked out the timings just after 8.30pm when I ended the run.  For the first time I ended my run when it was dusk.  Previous, as late as two weeks ago, it would be sunny at this time, with the sun visible on the horizon.  For the first time there was no sun.  It was dark and dark it was for sure.  What a change in climate!  I was still wondering when I discovered that the Endo had ceased and gave that ‘has stopped working’ error message that I am now accustomed to…

Endomondo: has stopped worked…

Runkeeper: 1.44.54 – 22.39km

GOA: 1.44.58 – 24.03km

For today, I give it to Runkeeper, just because it downloaded a map to support the metrics, but how about if the map is not true to the distance indicated?  1.6km difference is a bit too much.  I am starting to doubt if Runkeeper was really keeping the run!!  I give it to it, but if it continues giving a difference of over a ‘k’ with my trusted GOA, then I am dumping its time.  But wait a minute, Runkeeper was accurate to the cm during the marathon, so, let me give my gadgets some more tests, rather more runs.

Preparing some more

It has been an uneventful five days since I did that Monday run.  I took a rest from my mid-week run on Wednesday, mainly because my right foot was kind-a-aching.  Kind-a because it aches after the run, pains ‘in the background’ rather ‘bone-ground’ after the run for another 24-hours, then it gets back to normal.  I just wanted to give it a longer rest and see how it would behave after a prolonged rest of 4 days.  It was with this in mind that I took the mid-day bus to town centre.  I knew that I had an hour to fully utilized my ‘adult’ ticket of KShs.370.  I had now avowed to never again risk my blood pressure by using the half-price student ticket that had an age limit.  I would rather reduce my trips to town and travel without pressure.  

My mission was to get some cash from the ATM, which I did without much ado on a street ATM machine, well exposed to the public, in the middle of the street.  That thing could spew upto KShs.50,000 at ago, just like that… of course in Norwegian Kroner.  I liked its ability to ask the user to select the currency denominations desired.  It would give out only ‘big ones’ for NOK 500 as the default, but the user had the option to mix-up the 500s, 200s and 100s at their volition.  Being ‘out there in the open’ also meant that I was rained on as I get the NOKs out of that machine.  However, I have already learnt that life continues ‘as usual’ come rain, come rain.

On Thursday I stayed in the room the whole day, while it rained and shone at alternating intervals, with the rainy durations become longer as the evening approached.  The night was full of rain, the windy type.  Friday started as a sunny day, and even went for the customary Friday seminars while it was bright, but cold.  After missing out on the seminar that was cancelled at the last minute, I did give the town centre another visit, just to confirm that I can work with the available hour to do a transaction and be back.  So, for another KShs.370 I got to the Kolumbus number X60 at 12.25pm for the trip to town.  

This was probably the worst of times to get a bus to town.  The UiS stage was so full of students that for a moment I thought that I would miss out on the one-hour time slot to travel.  However, I was among the first people to jostle for the double doors when the two-carriage bus stopped at the stage.  I did not mind standing all the way to town – but this was such a short trip.  I was alighting at Breiavatnet lake, ok, call it ‘the fountain’, which marks the town centre in exactly 15-minutes.  I did my business at the Western Union agency and was out of there ready for the X60 scheduled for 13.12pm as per the display on the screen on the stage.  True to expectations, I actually got the bus at 13.12 at ‘the fountain’.  It drizzled as I traveled the 12-minutes back to UiS.

After a see-saw of rain and sun, it was eventually time for the Friday evening run.  This was to be a 2-hour run for whatever distance that fits into that time slot.  I was learning fast.  Somethings have to be timed and fitted within the time.  The ticket had taught me that.  I did not bother with the ‘no GPS’ warning on the phone with Endo.  I just left and started my three gadgets.  Even during this ‘timed’ run, partly around UiS and mostly on the hills and trees neighbouring UiS, it still drizzled at times.  I was now used to it.  The chill was however real.  

The usual hikers and those with dogs were not as many on the hill sides.  In fact, I do not remember seeing anyone walking their dogs on this cold.  I also remember seeing just two couples in the whole of the vast forest land.  I would later meet the same two couples somewhere along the paths during the run.  Very few runners were brave enough on this chill.  I only recall seeing one gent and one lady at different parts of the route.  Each fully clad from top to bottom, unlike my short-sleeved Tee and pair of shorts.  I had already learnt not to even attempt to say “Hi”.  I was passing by though I was being hit by pangs of guilt with every missed greeting – but that was that.

When I heard that announcement by Runkeeper that I had done “One hour and fifty-five minutes”, I decided to get off the route and start my run back to P-10.  However, there was no shortcut to land me back in five minutes.  I was still too far in the woods to finish in five minutes.  I therefore just formulated a way back and hoped to be as near to the two hours duration as would be possible.  The stats would prove that I did try…

Endomondo: 2.05.02 – provided time but no distance

Runkeeper: 2.04.48 – 25.71km

GOA: 2.04.50 – 26.77km

For yet another day, I give it to Runkeeper.  I was too tired to give my reason for giving it to Runkeeper even as I queued until almost ten in the night waiting for a washing machine to do my laundry.  

I observed that two out of the four washing machines were not working, leaving the one-story block of forty students to struggle for two machines and two driers.  And students can take advantage!  They used this ‘shortage’ to set the washing and drying times on the machines to the very maximum that they could.  I visited the laundry room downstairs, just next to the entrance on the left wing of the block, about three times looking for a free machine, but none was available since I started checking on them at eight.  

I did my last visit to the laundry at around ten and decided to stay put in that heated room fully occupied by the eight machines, four on either sides – with driers on top of washers.  I just withstood the heat waiting for the users of the washing machines, which had now finished their cycles but there was no way to touch someone else’s laundry but themselves.

“This is unfair!,” I found myself telling the machine, which just stood there quiet, with the display “0” minutes left, with the Stop light flashing.

“This is not fair!,” I looked at the two quiet machines.  The two driers on top of these washing machines were equally finished with their cycles, waiting for the owners of the clothes to unload them.

“This is not workable,” I looked on the other side of the four working machines, where another four machines were all dead.  The two washing machines underneath the two driers were all not working.  They were not even powering.  I had an instinct that probably the main power line on that side of the wall was off.  I knew where the main circuit breakers were located, but did not know how to diagnose a switched off circuit since the writings were in Norsk.

“This is bad!,” I said loudly, having stayed in the heat for over fifteen minutes – all machines quiet – doing nothing!

Finally, someone came in, said nothing, and opened one of the washing machines and removed his clothes from it.  He proceeded to check the driers above and confirmed they were occupied.  He left with his wet clothes.  I started loading my material on this empty machine.  I still needed a second machine to load the rest of the clothes due to colour separation issues.  I set the 40 minutes timer and soon the loaded machine hummed back to life.  It did not take long before another lady would match to the room, say nothing, and unload one of the driers and leave, just as soon as she came in.  

It did not take long for the second washing machine to be emptied in a similar ‘quiet’ fashion, and the wet material to be put on the now empty drier.  I took the opportunity to load the rest of my laundry on the just emptied washing machine and was soon out of the heat to wait my forty minutes.  I had to wait another thirty minutes after concluding my wash to get a drier – and only one.  It took me another forty minutes to dry the first lot then use the same machine to dry the second lot of my clothing.  This situation of only two washing machines and driers was not working – and it was just a Friday.  How would the situation be on the ‘normal’ laundry day of Saturday?

Next - Chapter 11

Chapter 13 – Running and riding

Chapter 13 – Running and riding

Previous - Chapter 12

Holiday that never was

It was a Wednesday.  October 9 to be specific.  The weather continued to be ‘normal’.  Lots of spontaneous rains and cold as usual.  There would be a glimpse of sun when we were lucky to be out there at the right time, however, it was mostly dull, cold and cloudy.  I did my reading at the fourth floor of KEH.  This fourth floor is actually the third floor, since the ground floor is called the ‘first floor’ over here.  That reading session was not really a reading.  It was more of a seminar, where our peers compare notes on what their research was progressing and reveal their plans for their next actions.  All these, of course, in readiness for the next such weekly meeting.

I left KEH at 12.30pm intending to walk to the next shopping centre called Madla, which is located on Madlamarkveien road, about two kilometres from UiS.  I would otherwise have taken a bus, the green-coloured Kolumbus bus, and parted with NOK 37.00 for a ticket valid for one hour.  A bus ride on this 2km journey did not seem like the best way to spend 370 bob.  I was the only person who seemed to support that view.  Everyone else was taking the ‘buss’ for all journeys, including such short distances.  My walk started when the weather was still – still cold.  No sun.  No wind.  I had hardly walked for five minutes before it started shining.

“Perfect!  Those in the ‘buss’ can only imagine the sun,” I consoled myself as the green buses kept passing by on both directions on Madlamarkveien.

I could however see the rain falling in the ocean, which was just a stone throw to my left, just beyond the collection of residential houses on that direction.  I could easily have just turned left at any point and crossed through anywhere with a path to get myself to the ocean.  There was hardly any fence around any house.  I was not going to the Atlantic for now anyway and hence I continued my walk along the road to Madla.  So here I was – enjoying the cold rays of the sun, while the rain was falling in the ocean.  I could see that rain approaching my direction, ready to get to me any time soon.

“Ooopppss!.  Spoke to soon!,” I told the deserted road, as the first rush of cold showers hit me.

I was already conditioned to the way life over here, where you control the weather – it does not control you.  I was already clad in my jacket.  The only thing I had to do was to remove the jacket so that I can wear it over my backpack.  I kept walking along as the rain fell.  I liked the walk.  I even met two other people on my approach walking about, talking about, as if the now light shower was not even there.  The showers however persisted.  This was our life.  Once you pass by Madlamark Kirke on the same left edge of the road, and then the Pizzabakeren across the road after a two-minute walk, then you know that Madla shopping centre is not far.  I was there in about ten minutes.  The rain had stopped by then.

I missed to get the airtime that I had gone for.  The reason why I had to take this long trip was because Kiwi did not have airtime, nor do we have any roadside kiosks that sell anything.  You either get it at our Kiwi, at any other Kiwi, at our Rema-1000, at any other Rema or you do not get it.  The big Madla mall did not have any single joint selling airtime.  The predominant telecom provider, Talia, had the courtesy of advising me to go to Sentrum to get airtime for their competitor provider, Lyca.  That was a first.  A competitor being polite enough to advise you on where to get airtime for a rival network.  I walked back the 2km route while the weather was back to still – cold – no sunshine, no rain.

This cold weather gave me memories of how my five days had been.  I had spent the weekend fully indoors due to the cold environment.  I was rained on both ways on Saturday as I rushed to Kiwi to get provisions before the Sunday closure.  On Sunday I was fully indoors.  I did not even leave the second floor.  See – I have learnt the culture – first floor is actually second floor in their view.  Monday was a terribly mad weather day.  

It was cold from morning to next morning.  It rained from morning to next morning.  It was torrents at five o’clock when I would otherwise be leaving for my Monday run.  It was so cold that I confirmed, for the first time in eight weeks, that the heater below the table actually worked!  I had fidgeted around with the circular dial and surely got some heat permeating from it within a few minutes.  I could not have survived that day without a heater.  It was the coldest day, just believe me.  I could not argue with the forces of nature on that day.

That is how I ended up having my Monday run on Tuesday, yesterday.  My yesterday run was determined by the weather.  Instead of controlling the weather, it controlled me for the first time.  I had been on standby from three.  I had told myself that I would take the run as soon as the weather was favourable.  It had been full of short drizzled, but not as cold as Monday.  By three it was still, but the cold was visible.  I did not mind the cold.  I minded running in the rain.  I would chance with the cold, so long as it was not Monday-cold.  I was observing the outside from my two wide windows… then it happened… It started shining – to be truthful, the sun came out.  Whether it had a shine or not was subject to confirmation.  I knew that it probably just had the light.  It was now four.  I had never run this early.  I was not going to waste a sunny day.

I was soon out of P10, but that did not help, since by that time, at 4.20pm, the sun was already gone.  However, it was not raining and therefore my run was going to take place nonetheless.  The temperature was low.  It was cold.  I started my three timing gadgets.  The Runkeeper still complained of lack of GPS signal.  The wristwatch still complained of missing ‘accelero’ and the Endo just kept quiet, as usual.  I threw the two phones on either pocket of my shorts.  I was not interested in their narrative today.  I already know the distance of all routes and permutations, following the calculations that I did last time after all my gadgets had failed.  I was now done trusting the gadgets.  I now had the truth.  Technology can go run!  I don’t care.  I now know the distances even without the gadgets.

The weather was still – no wind.  It is the wind that I have learnt to dread.  These winds are usually stinging cold.  I can survive a ‘still cold’ run, but not a ‘windy cold’ one.  My first two preparatory runs on the 2km circuit around UiS went well.  Then it started raining while I was on my third circuit.

“The hech!!!,” I shouted to the empty roads that hardly had anybody around, not even vehicles on the long stretch of visibility.

The raindrops were cold.  Cold I tell you.  I kept going.  I was still glad that it was a ‘still rain’.  I ‘windy rain’ would have been worse.  I kept going nonetheless.  I was already in it.  I had tried to ‘trick’ the weather by starting my run early, while it was still shining, but the weather had once again confirmed who was to have the last laugh – sorry, the last cold.  I was glad when the rain stopped as I finished this third circuit and headed for the forest trail on the hills.  My run in the forest was ‘the usual’.  It was cold but still.  That helped.  I met a few joggers.  A few bikers.  A few people walking the dogs.  The usual events on the trails at the hills.  Nothing to write a blog about.  Little did I know that the rain would be waiting for me as I did my concluding run on the semi-circle of UiS as I headed to the finish line.  I just kept going because the finish line would soon be within reach.  And there it was – back to P10.

I stopped my gadgets, because I had to stop them anyway, not because it mattered what they recorded.  I had already calculated an actual distance as 19.5 + 2.8 = 22.3km.  Anything recording anything else that was far from that figure was a liar – And I do not care for liars!  So, this is how it went.  When I had settled down in the room, after a hot shower, I did check the gadgets, to discover the liars…

Endomondo: 22.19km in 1.43.03

Runkeeper: 21.70km in 1.43.14

GOA: 1.43.05 

24-hours of bus rides

Friday was cold.  Friday was rainy.  Friday was just crazy.  I had to cancel the planned Friday run.  The temperatures were just too low.  The drizzles were just too much.  I would do with one run in the week.  No need to worry.  I still had many days to the marathon.  Nothing beats preparation, call it planning, call it practice.  It is in this spirit that I decided to scout the airport route that I would be taking in exactly one-week time, as I head for the marathon.  I wanted to rehearse my timing to emulate how things should flow on the real travel day.  I had to be at the airport by 1300hours.  I did some preparatory study on how best to travel to the airport, in terms of the most optimal bus departure times, and the combination of buses to take to get me to Sola.  Of course, the rehearsal would mean going and coming back.

It was while figuring out the best option for my two trips, that would set me back Kr.37 for each hour, that I saw that ‘cheaper than three tickets’ slogan on the Kolumbus website.  They claimed that their 24-hour ticket was suitable for that slogan.  

“What do I do with 24 hours?,” I asked the computer.

It did not answer.  I had to take a juggle of the ‘74NOK for 2hours by getting 2 tickets’ versus ‘90NOK for 24hours by getting 1 ticket’ for quite some time.  I finally settled on the slogan.  I would go for it.  That also meant that I had some planning to do.  Not only would I scout the travel to the airport, but I would also have to ‘use’ as much of the 90NOK as I could squeeze out of it… everything within 24-hours. 

It was on Saturday, October 12, that the alarm woke me up at nine.  I had a nine-twenty bus to catch to town as travel no. 1.  I would then take the train to Sandnes as travel no. 2.  The ticket, whichever it is, is valid within the zone Nord-Jaeren for use in buses and trains – provided you restrict yourself to the ticket validity in time and eligibility in terms of allowed regions.  I had a ticket that was valid for one region for a 24-hour period.  My region was about 10km radius.  I was in town in about fifteen minutes.  I was to then go to the train station.  This would be my first ride on the electric train.  There was nothing special about the ride on the electric train – just the ‘welcome’ and the short time that I spend on it.

I got the ‘welcome’ when I got into the Stavanger Stasjon.  I had just matched in, a few minutes past nine-thirty.  I was to locate the train that would leave at 0944.  Then out of nowhere…

“Hello, I am here to give you this,” he handed over a piece of paper.

Strange, I tell you.  This was the first Norsk-person that had ever said a word to me ever, at their own volition.  I was not expecting it and it took me aback.

I looked at the hand that was handing over the folded A5 page.  I did not know whether to take it or not.  How about if it was a trap of sorts?  To then charge with something, like ‘possession’?

I took it, reluctantly, looking at the content.

“I wanted to introduce you to Jesus Christ, please read when you get home.”

“OK, thanks.”

I started walking towards what appeared to be the train platform, ready for boarding.  It was now heading to 0940.  He followed me.  It was inevitable to say something.

I looked back, “I was heading to Sandnes on line three.  Could you please show me line three.”

“Oh, that, I am also going towards Sandnes, but further,” he started, “This is line three,” he pointed at the very next train.  

We both got it.  It was now inevitable that we would sit on the same seat on the train which had 5 seats per row, three and two configuration, with an isle in the middle.  We got talking even as the train started moving.  Just small talk.  Who I was.  What I was doing around.  Who he was.  Why he was on a mission.

“I was a missionary,” he would say at some point, “I invite you to my place.  My wife is the best cook ever.  You will like her cooking.”

And just as I thought of saying, “Ain’t happening,” he added, “And she has been to holiday in Kenya before.  She talks great things about Kenya.”

I alighted exactly 16 minutes later, with Kris’ telephone number and the small pamphlet, which I shoved into the bag and walked downstairs from the upper train rails and moved to the lower street level.  My no. 3 travel would get me back from Sandnes to UiS by bus.  At least I had now gotten ‘payback’ for my ticket – at the very least, yet I had not even started my real mission for the day – travel to the airport.  I took a snack at P-10 and did not even have time to replan my trip before I realized that it was already 11.50 and I had a 11.58 bus to catch.

Off I ran to the stage and would soon be subjected to the heavy rains, forcing about eight of us to pretend to get shelter in the small bus stage structure.  We were generally being rained on, but most of the people at the stage had jackets for exactly this type of weather.  The first surprise that hit me at that stage was that there was no bus no. 7 for 11.58am.  The earliest bus would be a no. 6 at 12.10pm.  It was good I was doing this ‘mock’ travel.  I can just imagine the anxiety if this was happening ‘live’ next week such a day?

The 12.10 bus was on time and it drove us through the rain to Sandnes in 14 minutes.  I got the changeover bus no. 42 at 12.43pm that took me to Sola International, arriving there at 1320.  Had I managed to get the intended bus no. 7, then I should have arrived at Sola at 12.33pm.  My changeover would have been somewhere before Sandnes, at Sande terrasse.  The failure of that no. 7 had now thrown the initially well-timed journey into disarray. 

“Now I know,” I murmured as I alighted at Sola and walked around briefly to take in the sights and familiarize myself with the geography, in readiness for the real thing in a week’s time.  I also added to my knowledge base the fact that no. 7 bus operated weekdays only.

I was just getting back to the same stage no. 3 at Sola, in readiness to take the next bus for travel no. 5, when this evidently drunk person shouted at me just outside the ‘Departures’ door of the airport, on the external walkway.  I looked at him briefly, and let him say his Norsk things.  I kept walking and soon reached my stage and started waiting.  In the initial scheme of things, I would now be heading for Tananger, then from there to Stavanger, then plan the next ‘use of the ticket’ from Stavanger town.  Now with the lateness and with nothing like a simple washroom anywhere in site, I decided to head back to Sandnes with no. 42.  Unfortunately, there were still no such rooms anywhere within visibility.  I was therefore forced to travel back to UiS as travel no. 7.  I got back to the room at 1500.  I had made it to the airport and knew exactly how to get to it when I do it live next week.

I was done, right?  

Wrong!

The 24-hour ticket was still begging to be used.  It still had 18-hours of life in it!  I also remembered the missed sojourn to Tananger.  These two facts motivated me to take travel no. 8 as a trip to town with a no. 6 bus, followed by travel no. 9 as by taking bus no. 2 bus to Tananger.  This is the part of the route that was quite strange.  I had never ever been this side of town.  I just relied on the notes that I had taken while reading the Kolumbus webpage, to inform me on the various stages that I would encounter and also to guide me on when the ‘right time’ to alight would come.  I alighted at Tjora just on the main highway.  The time was now 1636.  Checking on the bus timetable affixed on the noticeboard of the stage, I could see that the next bus, no. 42 was expected at 1706.  I had nothing else to do at this remote location but to just wait for my next bus.  Thirty-minutes of waiting, doing nothing!

Just then, another bus no. 2 came by and stopped at the stage.  It stayed there without moving.  I knew that it would block me from getting my bus when it comes, now that it was past five.  Momentarily, a small van also drove in and parked behind the bus.  From observation, it was a change of driver moment.  The Kolumbus bus driver would soon leave the bus with his cash machine and get into the white van, while the one who drove the van got into the bus and stayed in the bus without driving off.  The stage was not still blocked by the two vehicles.  And just as I feared, my no. 42 bus soon approached and could not get a parking space, with the stage now occupied by two vehicles of the same organization.  I however still motioned for the no. 42 to stop and hoped for the best.

The bus did stop in the middle of the road just in front of the parked bus.  The lady driver told me something in Norsk as I got in using the entrance next to the driver.  I did not get a word.

“OK,” I responded.

This was now travel no. 10.  This journey took me back to Sola as a stopover, then back to Sandnes at 1715, just as the train that I was to take swished by.  I walked around Sandnes to pass some time even as the rain fell at Sandnes.  I was now timing the 1814 train as travel no. 11 back to Stavanger.  And as accurate as clockwork, the train to Stavanger was on the platform as scheduled, dropping and picking passengers before it sped along the line, powered by overhead lines, and went along smoothly.  I was in it.  Enjoying the evening view of the route, mostly on the waterfront.  The ‘neste stopp’ things was also available on the train, announcing all the upcoming stations.  A display in the train, just above the middle isle also displayed the next station.  A display next to it indicated the outside temperature as +10 degrees Centigrade.  I alighted at Stavanger Stasjon at 1830 and headed to the next bus stage, ready for my travel no. 11 – back to UiS in a no. 6, taking only 13minues to get to UiS.

It was not just past 1900.  The ticket was still as new as unused.  I had just squeezed about 10hours out of it, hardly half its value.  It had not even reached its half-life!  How resilient was this ticket?  It was still daring me for another 14hours!!  Surely!!!  How many lives does this ticket have?  Even though our very own Kenyan compatriot, Eliud Kipchoge, was making history in Vienna as being the first human being to run the 42km marathon in under 2hours, 1.59.40 to be precise.  Even though he had declared with this win that no human was limited.  Even though this feat was still in the news, just beating the previous day’s Nobel prize award to Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed.  All these events could not compare to the ‘immortality’ of this 24-hour ticket – it was a die hard, a never-say-die!  Believe it or not, I surrendered while it still had 60% life left in it.  I was done traveling.  Eleven travels within Stavanger was the best that I got, but it was still worth it.  Too bad – the immortal ticket has its limits.  It would be useless by the time I wake up in the morning.

Last run

I was relying on the success of this run Monday to bring me back to the level of preparation that I needed.  I had missed two important runs of the previous week – doing only one of the scheduled three.  The missed two were due to the weather.  It was becoming cold and rainy – let me rephrase – it was persistently cold and rainy since that was now our life.  My runs were now being pegged on ‘opportunity’ and not the schedule.  I was ready to get out for the run any day, any time when the opportunity would arise.  It would even be better if the opportunity coincided with the schedule.  For the last week, I only got such an opportunity to do my run one time.

I had only two runs on the cards this week.  One last ‘compulsory’ long run, and one last ‘final’ short run.  I had to hope that the ‘opportunity’ for these two shall present itself on schedule and with good separation between the runs.  I prepared myself for the Monday run, and hoped that it would work for me on this Monday.  It started with the weather forecast.

“It shall be cold today,” Mutua said, “But expect rains after six”

We were at the kitchen discussing emerging issues.  He had consulted his weather app while reporting this status.

“I should be on the road by four then,” I updated him.  I hoped this would happen.  I had to do this run today or latest tomorrow – today the better.

Isaac, my very next door neighbour and whose room was exactly opposite the kitchen door, would momentarily join us.

“Mwaniki PhD is here!”

“For crying out loud!, You still have like two years to go!,” I responded.

The group of three laughed out loud.  We were now used to this introduction.  Isaac was the youngest of the four prospective philosophers.  He also had the most ‘inexperienced’ in many things.  He kept narrating his first encounter of seeking for PhD registration at the UON, where his potential supervisor, a don that I meet often at the corridors of SCI Chiromo, had given him free advice,

“I see you are a young man full of ambition.  Kenya needs people like you.  However, first get a job, get a beautiful girl, marry, settle down, then come back,” he was told, at the very entrance to SCI.

While handing back his proposed proposal, he was given a final sendoff with, “PhD is a journey.”

He retold that story almost daily, whenever we meet at the kitchen or at the lab during seminars.  He also talked about his encounter at KU at the same season when he was seeking registration, where yet another don had examined his papers with a, “Yes, yes, good,” while flipping through the CV and proposal.

That initial reaction had given him some hope that this was it.  He therefore was quite hopeful as he waited with abated breath for his final good fortune...

“However, you do not have a pedagogical background!”

These two stories had become his definition.  He found these experiences as quite strange and unbecoming of institutions of higher learning.  The rest of us found these episodes quite normal in the Kenyan setting.  He was just getting back to Kenya from two first degrees in the US.  The rest of us had acquired our first two in Kenya.  He kept finding his reception back home as strange.  The rest of us kept finding this reception as what would be expected.  Didn’t I tell you that he was the most inexperienced? 

Of course, Isaac’s ‘inexperience’ went further than his encounters.  He was really struggling with surviving in the kitchen.  He seemed to have hardly encountered a kitchen environment in his life.  His cooking methods were mostly accidental – try something first, then discover if it works.  Several times he would put something on the cooker, match to his room and forget about it.  The smoke from the burning remains would draw him from the room.  

I would usually see ‘things’ in the cooking pots and wonder what they were, courtesy his methods of cooking.  Each kitchen user, it is was only the four of us, was expected to wash the utensils that they had individually used.  This was expected to be done as soon as possible, immediately after use.  However, washing utensils was Isaac’s weakest weakness.  He would just dump them around the sink, or in the sink if lucky.  He would be reminded to ‘take care of them’, which he would doc, usually very late in the night.  Even with this, he would still sometimes still forget to ‘take care’ of a spoon or a cup that you would still find dirty and ‘forgotten’ just around the sink.  

He did not believe in washing one piece of utensil.  There had to be a minimum first.  That would mean that his used cup or spoon could spend their day dirty on the sink, until when later on there would be some more.  So, it went without saying as to who was responsible for the dirty cooker-top or the spoon left unattended in the sink, when you can easily shove such utensils into the dishwasher and press start and forget about it, letting the machine ‘take care of it’.  How about when you encounter that mixture of food in the pan.  That mixture that is soaked in stew with rice, meat, potatoes, beans all in the mix.  With all these challenges, it was no surprise that he had settled on coffee as his daily meal.  I have never seen someone who liked so much coffee!  We would take coffee for dinner!!  He would switch to tea in the latter part of our stay as he got tired of being awake whole night.  It was just how our life was.

“I have to go prepare for my run,” I disengaged from the kitchen and left with my macaroni.  I had to prepare early since I had to be ready to start the Monday run whenever the ‘opportunity’ would present itself.

I sat by my reading desk, overlooking the two wide windows, monitoring the outside environment.  There was no sun, but there was no rain.  It looked cold, but the weather was still – no wind.

I kept monitoring and when the time check was four, and the weather remained as it was, I had to leave the room and go for my run, taking the ‘opportunity’ before ‘anything’ happened.  I left P-10 just around four-thirty.  My analogue was permanently out of communication with the shoe gadget.  It was just a timer with no distance metric.  The Runkeeper was still not getting a GPS signal as I started the run.  The Endo was still intact and ready to time, with full GPS signal.  I however was not relying on any ‘distance’ gadgets.  I was re-running a route whose distance was already measured and known.  In fact, I dropped the two phones on either pocket of my pair of shorts and just did the run.  I did not care of their verdict.  The only verdict that I cared about was time, not distance.

The weather was still as I started the run.  It was as cold as expected.  I can guess that it was about 12 degrees, if I compare with the 10 degrees that was displayed on the train as I alighted on Saturday.  It was almost same feeling, a bit better, but same in most ways.  The cold wind started hitting me as I started on the second kilometer, but it was brief for say two minutes.  I realized that this cold wind persisted whenever I was running on this particular point on the route for the three times that I went around UiS for the ‘preparatory’ part of my run.  I headed for the hills and forest trail after the three initial circuits.  The weather rained cold and still.  It was not windy – good one.  It was not rainy – another good one.  The cold was something I was now getting used to.

The profile of the forest trail was now etched in my sub-conscience.  I just kept going through the trail as if on automatic setting.  I hardly noticed anything strange.  What was expected was there.  Those walking their dogs.  Those jogging around.  Those just walking.  Few people biking around.  The rabbits running around and crossing the roads.  

“But wait a minute!  Are these rabbits or hares?,” I looked around while still maintaining my momentum on the road.

I did not seem to get a clear answer from my observation.  I would bet on them being rabbits for now.

It was not long before I did that final hill run towards UiS’s Kjell Arholms gate – the road that would lead to P-10 and the end of run.  I was glad to finally finish the run, mainly due to the cold that was quite cold, and that I would now get out of.  While the ‘gold standard’ true distance was 22.3km, the gadgets had a distance of their own:

Endomondo: 21.90km in 1.41.35

Runkeeper: 21.72km in 1.41.40

GOA: 1.41.55 

Very last run

Like flicking a power switch, the sun was switched on at exactly 3.37pm!  It had been a cold day from morning.  The environment was still, but the cold was evident.  I could see the cold from my sitting position, just facing the two large windows seated on my desk at P10-237.  The people walking out there were clad in layers of jackets.  My room was heated, first from the central heating-ventilation and air conditioning system (HVAC), and secondly with the under-the-desk electric heater, though I had not yet put this one on since morning.  It was therefore a surprise and a welcome relief when the heavens switched on the lights with that sun.  I however knew that the sun had nothing to do with the temperature.  It was providing ‘sunshine’ but not ‘sunheat’.  It was just a contributor to brightness and ‘feel-good’.  However, the sun had a way of mitigating some effects of the cold – maybe the psychological effects – the ‘feel-good’ effect, not necessarily higher temperatures.  I guessed that the temperatures were still in the tens, probably twelve degrees.

I was due for the final run on this Wednesday, October 16.  The final sun just a few minutes before I started the run was quite a welcome relief.  I was however apprehensive.  Would this sun last for the next thirty minutes when I was due to start the run?  Would I really get it when the time came?  I pondered over all these as I observed the ten or so young girls next to the white three-story block, which is the students hostel just across the road.  They were doing some cheerleading routine of sorts.  

They were all clad in long white stockings, short skirts, short sleeves.  They poured out of the dormitory just as the sun came out.  I could see them make formations and make gestures.  I could not hear if they were singing or talking from this distance, about two hundred metres away.  The thick glass of my window did not make things easier.  It did not take them more than ten minutes before they disappeared back into their block.  Oooppsss!  It did not take more than ten-minutes for the sun to be switched off once more.  It looked good while it lasted.  The day was back to usual ‘normal’ after hardly ten-minutes of sun.

By 4.30pm it was apparent that my final run would not be possible.  It was windy cold by that time, and the drizzle was visible outside the window.  I could see the clouds of showers hitting the white student residential blocks cross the road.  It was a cold evening.  The run was off – the last run was off!  The showers would then fall steadily as the now early darkness slowly engulfed the surrounding from six o’clock in the evening.

The unmistakable ring of the fire alarm jolted me back to reality around eight.  It was loud.  It was characteristic.  The alarm device was just overhead in my room.  Each room had such.  Mine was now beeping loudly.

“Now what?,” I shouted as I immediately left the room.

I met other six or seven Paviljong-ians leaving and heading downstairs.  We all gathered at the fire panel just next to the main entrance on the ground floor.  We gathered in a group of about twenty.  All were staring at the panel.  The alarm persisted – from every room – from every floor.

“Switch it off,” the gathered ones told a volunteer who was pressing on each button on the panel – randomly and without any idea as to what he was doing.  He would soon be joined by another resident.  They pressed all button and turned all keys on that control panel, but the loud beeping from everywhere did not stop.

“You shall soon see the fire engine here!,” proclaimed one resident.

“Switch it off,” the dormitory rep shouted.  The random trial and error on the panel continued.  It took about three minutes to get the panel to switch off the alarm.  The three minutes were all trial and error.  Finally, the block fell quiet.  Phew!

We had just talked about this very scenario the previous day, when the four of us were coming from our post-grad weekly seminar.  It was Mutua who brought about the topic.

“Imagine there was a fire drill at the library today.”

“Library? That giant place!”

“Yes, And I did not know about it.  I just saw people leaving when the alarm started,” he stated, “I also just took my laptop, put in the bag and left.”

“Where did you people go to,” Oby asked.

“The assembly point next to KEH.”

“I cannot believe that you took your laptop!,” I had commented, “When you hear the alarm you are supposed to just get out!”

“Without my laptop?”

“Yes, without!”

“Ai, hapana – na iki ibiwa?”

“Do you care more about your la-a-if or la-a-ptop?,” I asked.

I did not know that hardly one day later, we would be having a similar situation.  This time it was not a drill.  Something had triggered the alarm, and all of us obeyed the alarm, only to be stuck at the main entrance yard, trying to switch of the panel.  I do not know who had told us that the panel was faulty.  How about if it was a real fire detected in some room?  Even one of those unoccupied rooms?  The fact that all housemates believed that their rooms and kitchen had nothing ‘smoky’ did not mean that we should just declare this alarm as false!

There was relief and calm when the panel had finally been switched off.  Those from the ground floor disappeared to both directions of the floor, while the upstairs group climbed the wooden stairs full of chatter, on how this ‘false’ alarm had interfered with their otherwise peaceful evening.  At least my group had learnt to ‘leave everything behind’ when they responded to the alarm.

We had hardly settled back to our warm rooms when the second alarm burst its high pitch into our ears.

“Surely!!,” I cursed as I made another work stoppage and left the room to walk the long corridor to the entrance wing.  

I had the option of just turning right and going down the fire exit next to my door, but this did not seem like the appropriate time for such action.  I had earlier inspected this exit during the first alarm and knew that both the door and the foldable ladder external to it were working.  The emergency door was however not the bush bar type.  You had to unlock it from inside first, but after that you were out.  That would make this door non-compliance since such doors should not have any semblance of a physical lock.  However, it was still something available for use, and that lock was nothing to take more than two-seconds to open.

We soon found our group of six or seven making the corridor walk from first floor towards the ground floor once more.  This time the ground floor people did not even bother to join us.  They survived the high pitch that persisted in every room, as we once again struggled to silence the panel – using lessons learnt from the previous episode, hardly ten minutes ago.  The alarm was silenced, and we were back to our rooms.  Everyone had now vowed that they would ‘never’ respond to any other alarm – however loud!  One resident even suggested that we just ‘disconnect the fire alarm panel’ and that would solve the problem once and for all.

The end is near

I knew that life at UiS was coming to an end when the ten Kenyans, four post-grads and six grad students met the administrators of the Kenya-Norway mobility project, KeNoMo for a debrief at KEH CIPSCI room on the third floor.  Room 412 is on the third floor by all accounts, but over here the ground floor is first floor, hence this was the fourth floor.  I even remember arguing with the Politi over this issue as to whether I was staying on the first floor or second floor.  I had argued that Room 217 is on the first floor, since I only take one flight of stairs to my get to my room.  The madam had insisted that 217, even by definition was second floor.  We went through two rounds of arguments and I gave up, since I was on the receiving end of a residence permit and did not want to jeopardize the process.

The KeNoMo debrief generally gave us a feedback forum to highlight our experiences with the process and the stay.  Hellen and Ralph were available to take the feedback from 12.40pm all the way to 2.00pm.  I walked the 3 kilometers to Madla just to compensate for my missed run of the previous day, and pretended that this 6km circuit should count for a run.  It did not count.  It was a very ‘junior’ walk.  However, the environment had ‘refused’ to allow me do my last run and I just had to live with the situation.  How I would do in the real marathon now remained to be seen.  The real marathon started becoming a reality when I visited UiS ICT to get my laptop setup for printing and actually printed my ticket and runner confirmation number.

“This Amsterdam marathon is happening,” I muttered as I walked back to P-10, travel ticket in hand.

Next - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Running the marathon 2

Chapter 14 – Running the marathon 2

Previous - Chapter 13

Running to the venue

It was October 19.  The Saturday for the travel had come and I was ready for it.  I had already packed my bag the previous night and was planning to wake up as late as nine-thirty, which I did.  After a quick shower and a cup of tea, I was surely ready to leave.  It was just ten-thirty.  The Kolumbus bus route planner app had advised that I should be at the UiS bus stage ready for the 11.30am bus no. 6 to Sandnes.  I left P-10 at 11.25am, with just enough time for the 2-minute walk to the stage, 1-minute engagement at the ticket machine and a 2-minute wait for the bus.  You really want to maximize the validity of a 1-hour ticket.  You must just buy it at the brink of starting your journey.

I had my ticket ready, with a validity of upto until 12.27pm.  Then I started waiting for the bus.  It did not take me long to ‘discover’ that the bus would be late.  The small 14-inch inch screen at the bus stage booth that shows four-rows of the next scheduled buses was already showing that the number 6 would arrive at 11.35am.  Then later it changed this to 11.36am.  Then later it displayed an 11.37am.

“At this rate this bus shall arrive tomorrow!,” I cursed out loud, as I paced around.  I was already getting anxious!

It was not until 11.40am that it did arrive.  I got in, said “Yes” to something that the driver said in Norsk that I did not understand, and proceeded to take a seat.  I got to Sandnes just in time to switch over to the 12.15pm bus.  My ticket was still valid for another 10 minutes, and that was allowable, provided I started the journey when the ticket was still valid.  End of journey time, on the same bus, did not invalidate a ticket that was valid at the start of getting into the bus.  

The bus dropped me at the steps of the ‘Departures’ door at the airport building at Sola International.  I went straight to the KLM counter and showed them my cellphone which had the PDF confirmation that I had received from Air France prior, confirming that AF had booked me on KLM.  She asked for my passport.  I handed both the passport and resident permit.  She scanned both on her system and handed all my items back, and then handed over a boarding pass.

“Gate twelve,” she stated.

I walked upstairs.  It was about 1pm.  I joined a queue to the security gates for scanning of luggage and people.  The luggage, plus coats, shoes, belts, anything metallic was put on trays and let to go through a conveyor belt to the scanners.  Passengers passed through a door-like scanner, with sentries keen to ensure that everyone passed ‘clean’ without a beep.  Any beep would take you back to extract items from the pocket and so on until you would finally pass through cleanly.

The luggage also went through the x-ray scanner, with a sentry checking the screen on each luggage item before letting it go.  It is after scanning that things got ‘interesting’.  Two conveyor belts lead out of the luggage scanners.  Your baggage should in most cases come off through the conveyor next to your waiting position, just next to where you are standing after you have been scanned.  Normally, you should just pick the shoes, belt, bag etc. and leave.  However, things do happen.  You may get some of your items on this side of the convey for you to pick e.g. shoes, belt and then start waiting for your bag!  Where is the bag?  Oh, you realize that is has gone to the other conveyor belt, the one further away.  When your bag goes ‘the other side’, then be ready for some serious inspection and Q&As.  For whatever reason, my bag went the other side.  That was strange!  I only had running shoes in that bag!

And probably that was why it went the other side.

“Just take and go,” the Security person in charge of QAs and manual inspection said, after talking to the security person in charge of the scanning.  It must have been a mistaken conveyor function.  I was glad to leave that episode behind.  They ‘refused’ to stamp my passport.  They just let me go straight to the waiting area no. 12.  

The flight was short and uneventful.  We departed at 1415 and landed at Schiphol International at 1545.  I just walked out of Schiphol since there was no stamping of the passport as I walked through Schengen exit lounge.

I was now heading to the exit of the airport.  The plan was that I would get my host waiting.  The host was not waiting.  I would momentarily get a WhatsApp message…

“Coach, I am collecting the running kits.  Expect me there in 20-minutes.”

I hanged around Schiphol.  Walking aimless in front of the terminal exit.  I was just one door to the external world.  I did not want to go there yet, should I be stuck out there.

I would finally get a phone call with a “Where are you?”

I explained my position as “… somewhere out of the terminal… I can see something like burger king… and ABN AMRO… eh… near some exit.”

We exchanged information without knowing how to trace each other.  Finally, I remained outside ABN until found.

“We have to get the 4.35pm train.  I got you a train card.  Just top it up and you are good to go”

I found myself facing a machine with instructions in Dutch.  A blue button to be pressed looked like the best option.  There was something that sounded like, ‘insert your card’, which I did, selected ‘50 Euro’ from the options on screen, and soon got another message to scan the train card.  My 50 Euro card was ready to start me off.

I just followed suit, as per what Fay did.  We exited Schiphol and headed underground after scanning our train cards.  We got a large group of passengers underground.  The double-decker train would momentarily get to the platform and we got in and headed upstairs.  I heard a whistle sounding after about two minutes and then the train left.  The electric would soon zoom off, not so fast but not slow either.  I guessed that it was going at eighty kpm.

“How long shall it take?,” I asked Fay as we sat perched up there, next to a window.

“One hour”

“Then that must be about 80km away?”

“Around there, actually 90km”

So, we kept going, with nothing but an hour of ride to ride our way to Ede Wageningen.  We got to our station and alighted.  It was now just past five-thirty.  Each of us swiped our cards as we left the train station.  I was lucky enough to momentarily see the cost of this ride as Euro 14.90.  From there we swiped into bus no. 88 to Wageningen University and alighted at one of the stops near the Uni.  

We walked to the nearby shopping complex.  We shopped at Jumbo supermarket, paying for our goods in Euros, for a change, then walked the 300meters or so to Fay’s residence.  I noted that the prices in the supermarket were quite low compared to where I was from.  However, the Norsk were not in the EU anyway, so maybe there was some preferential pricing in EU that was not having an effect in Norway?

I was soon settled at Fay’s in the apartment that she was sharing with another African student.  Dinner would be quickly done with before we would momentarily say our goodnights.  I headed to my assigned room upstairs.  I took an early sleep for the first time in almost a year, since the next day was the day of the big run.

TCS Amsterdam 2019 marathon

I woke up on Sunday, October 20, very aware that it was a national holiday back home.  I would usually be celebrating the holiday with a long holiday rest.  Not today.  I was having an early morning breakfast at six-forty-five, ready to leave at seven.  Our duo would soon be joined at Bornsesteeg stage near Wageningen Uni by our third team member, Dori.  Bus number 88 soon arrived.  It was still dark despite being just past seven.  

One swipe of our travel cards on that bus took us to Ede Wageningen, a 15-minute travel on bus.  We walked the short distance to the next block being the train station, passed through the underground route and emerged on the other side of the train platform.  We swiped a second time, ready to get a train to ‘somewhere near Amsterdam’.  The train soon arrived and the three of us got in and travelled for over forty-five minutes.  We got out at some point, swiped out, and walked downstairs to the next train platform to wait for a ‘Metro’, read ‘city train’.  It was just past eight.  

At our underground platform of Amstelstation we did take the first train that came by – of course after card swipe.  This electric took off, with most people in it just standing.  But it did not take long.  I had hardly started to enjoy the ride when…

“Wait a minute?  This does not seem like the right direction!,” Fay exclaimed.

“What da-ya mean?,” I asked.

“This Metro is going in the opposite direction.  We have to get out!”

We were out at the very next station.  Dori was like, “Fay, you mean you don’t know the right train?”

“Of course, I do.  It is number 51, I just got it wrong.  Was in a hurry,” she responded, and turning to me, “Make sure you do not write this on your blog.”

“I won’t,” I told her, “A long distance runner has so much in their mind to even remember such small details.  I am now just thinking of the starting line.  Just get us there in good time.”

“I will,” she said.

Zipping up

The no. 51 train was soon snaking onto the platform.  We jumped in together the crowd at the platform before the doors closed behind us and it took off.  I could feel it toss and tumble as it took us speedily towards Amstelveenseweg, the stage near the Amsterdam Olympic Stadium.  It was full and continued being full as passengers forced themselves in at every station.  It was a standing train and was now mostly a marathoners train.  We had a light moment when at some train stop one passenger got in while his colleague was locked out of the door, with the train ready to go.  The person in had to force the door open for the colleague to get in.  It was a smileful moment.  But the ride was short and we would soon be disembarking.

The exit swipe-out points were congested, as the big multitude of runners jostled to get out of the train station.  It was just past nine.  The stadium gates were to be closed at 9.15am.  By that time all marathoners who intended to do the 42k should have crossed the gates that head into the stadium – or stay out.  We did not come from KE to stay out of the stadium.  Getting in was a must!

We did that last titration, at the portable washrooms just outside the stadium, before the start of marathon.  It was a strange observation that the men had ‘an open’ urinal just there, next to the portables, just next to our queue of men and women.  I could just see men assemble at this circular station that can stand four people, and just unzip!  Just there – in full view, before adults, children, men, women and sundry.

“Surely!  This ain’t right!,” I commented to Fay and Dori.

Dori just laughed it off, feeling shame-on-herself.  Fay was not even hearing anything.  She wanted to get over with all this and be at the stadium before gate closure.  It was now 9.13am, and the people in the four cubicles did not seem to be in any hurry to do their thing.  We just waited.

We dashed to the full stadium.  It was full.  Full at the stands, full on the pitch.  We made it into the stadium just around 9.17am.  The gate was not yet closed.  

“I have to go, see you later,” I said my goodbye in readiness to join my running group.

“You dash to your Pink area.  I shall join my Green.  All the best,” Fay responded.

“Enjoy your run and see you at the finish,” I left to find my way through the crowds to my assembly area.  Different runners had gathered at the different colour sections within the running tracks of the stadium.

The runner numbers had been printed with some colour-coded strips, just below the run number – white for invited athletes and those intending to run it upto 2h 40min, Yellow for those who can run under 3hrs, Pink for those intending to run between 3hr and 3hr 30min, Orange for those intending to run 3hr 30min to 4.00 and Green for those intending run in the 4.00 to 4.30 range.  There was even a Blue for those over 4.30 but upto the maximum time limit of 6-hours.

Colour-coded

The ‘White’ and ‘Yellow’ were let to leave at 9.30am.  And I later learnt that the official timing started at that time.  After their exit, the Yellow and Pink groups assembled at the starting line, rather, assembled at half of the stadium track, waiting to be allowed out.  At 9.35am, this combined group was let out of the stadium.  

I assumed that the next Orange group was let out at 9.40am, but I would not get to know this because I was out when the 9.35am run started inside the Olympic Stadium.  The stadium track heading out of the stadium was full of athletes.  Running was almost impossible – overtaking was completely impossible!  We just started off walking and slowly jogged out of the stadium.  By the first kilometer the road width had even thinned out and runners had to stop and wait for the crowd of runners ahead to fit themselves onto the narrow road, before we resumed our walk.  There was not much running that was possible for the first 15km – and that to me was the undoing of this run!

I had to keeping being on the lookout for an open space, usually at the edge of the road, and then sprint to overtake the runners and keep running to take advantage of such gap.  This opportunity would manifest for some 100-meters or so, and then I would once again be blocked and forced to run at the blocking group’s slow pace for over five minutes.  I would do another sprint whenever the opportunity presented itself, only to be completely blocked once again by the next crowd ahead.  This style of running was really usurping my energy.  The run was supposed to be evenly-paced and evenly-ran.  This was not happening – and these short bursts of high energy consumptions was starting to waste me.  

Things would however improve on the 15km mark when we started going around the long river.  Fay had corrected me that such features were actually canals, and not rivers, though this long stretch was surely the Amstel river.  I was not sure whether this was a river or a canal myself.  It was too modest to be a river, but I did not what a canal was either.  I kept referring to it as a river – what’s the difference anyway?  It is a body of water, flowing, possibly.  What happened to ‘if it behaves like this, it is this’?  Ah, who cares? 

The giants

We did the 14k to 20k on one side of this river, then we crossed the river on a footbridge to face the 20k to 26k stretch on the opposite side.  It is on this stretch of 20-26k that I saw the first traditional Dutch windmill just affixed onto a house besides the running track – static.  Majestic!  Gigantic!!.  That thing was massive.  From my estimation, each of the four fins had a radius of about 20m!  Affixed to a middle hub.  That would make a total tip to tip diameter of about 50m – a half the length of a stadium field!  Wow!  Amazing!!  If only I could take a picture?  But not when on motion aiming for a good run, in good time.

On this river we also saw a guy, and later a lady flying high over the water – they call it, eh… water jet or flyboard aruba or something – I am not sure, but it ain’t a marathon, or maybe it was an upwards marathon?.  I also saw marathoners starting to lose their senses, so I guessed, since I just noted them stopping to pee next to the road, without a care in the world of the multitude of runners moving along next to them.  Some runner seemed even ‘too tired’ and just stopped and let go at the edge of the tarmac.  I shook my head with amazement as I kept going.  

This would not be the last time that I would see of such episodes.  Coincidentally, I only saw men do this.  Again, who cares?  Do what you want to do on a long run.  Just do not infringe on the rights of other runners.  This behavior was however about to cross the line, bearing in mind that each water station in 5km intervals had ‘proper’ washrooms.  But before you judge, just remember that the real marathon starts after half-marathon distance – and when it does, insanity slowly starts sneaking into each runner.  These sporadic episodes were surely observable after we had crossed the river, past the 21k mark.

We know you

I was still amused by what I was seeing when I was interrupted by the cheering crowd, 

“Barack!, Go! Go! Go!”

I was taken aback.  I was not expecting this.  I just waved back as I wondered how someone would know me over here.  I was 10k km from folks who knew me!  This name calling would be repeated about five or six times over the course of the run.

“But how did they know me?,” I kept asking myself even as I waved back.

At least the person who shouted, “Kipchoge” at me knew me ‘somehow’, but the others?  Knowing me ‘exactly’?

That part of the run, the river circuit, was as smooth as expected, especially after the runners had thinned out.  We had already been given our dose of energy drink, water and chocolate cubes at 5k, 10k, 15k, 20k, 25k.  As advertised.  Without failure.  At 26k I took a washroom break!  I could not survive the rest of the journey without a break.  From there it was more chocolates and bananas and gel at 30k and 35k, in fact from 15k we did have all these niceties.

I have already known since time immemorial that the 42k starts at 21k, but let me add that the same 42k is also lost at 36k.  That means that your 42k run success is determined in that 15k range between 21k and 36k.  Beat that section and you have beat the marathon.  I was very careful with this range.  I was especially cognizant of the 36k.  I preserved the chocolate that I had picked at the 35k water station and bit a small piece thereafter, keeping it in the mouth to melt away, seeping up the sugars as I went along.  

In less than 5-minutes, the 36k came and went.  It was a bit smooth.  But not for few others.  I started seeing people just drop off the run, sit on the side of the road or just stop and stand or stop and start walking or even stop and stoop.  That distance was a very bad part of the course to lose your steam, with the end now near in sight.  Unfortunately, then is where the body fails you and want you to abandon the run, end in sight or not.  I could feel for them.  Walking the last six was not an experience that you would even wish for the enemy of your enemy.  The body is by then just hit with many things at once – tiredness, muscle aches, lightheadedness, loss of focus and the shoes start pinching with every step.  Add to that the torture of having to walk for say one hour if you take the walking route?  

I was not out of the woods yet myself.  At least I had managed to stay on my feed and was still running.  I now had to survive the last six.  Just six more and this would be over.  The trick now was just to keep going until you see the finish line.  Do not check on time.  Do not check on distance.  Do not be distracted by other runners or the cheering crowds – just keep going, focusing on the finishing line.

Allez

The 40k would emerge at some point.  By then I was just thinking about the finish line.  I was not even seeing the many cheering crowds.  There was even a sign along the road with “Go Go Go Allez Allez”.  There were at least two live bands on the route.  There were live DJs in at least ten places along the route.  The count of the various music points, DJs or otherwise were over thirty in the 42km course.  

I liked the DJs and their kits – their machines would usually be their full mixing decks affixed on top of some vehicle, with the DJ protruding through the roof of the same vehicle.  I remember seeing a VW beetle, VW combi, Martin Mini, some sedan that looked like a Datsun – just funny vintage cars parked along the road used to DJ.  There was even a DJ in a boat on that river circuit, or was that a pianist?  He was just there – standing next to something that was either a mixer or a keyboard – loud classical music coming from his traveling boat.  

There were also some small portable ‘music boxes’ for lack of a better word, hauled on 2-wheels, parked besides the road.  These ‘things’ were playing some form of traditional accordion-like music.  They called it ‘draaiorgel’ (barrel organ) playing ‘levenslied’ – life music.

I also learnt that as a runner you can waste so much energy checking on your timer for those splits when doing these long runs.  There is little chance of changing your achievement by simply relying on your gadgets.  Just learn to run your run, and let the gadgets confirm what you eventually did, when the run ends – my view though – as I headed for the finish, a phone on either side of the pockets of my shorts and the wristwatch on my left wrist – all the three unchecked, unattended, ever since I started the run.

Interview

I was glad to (finally) see the finish line inside the Olympic stadium.  Two hundred metres was the only obstacle that lay ahead.  This run was surely done!  Nothing, repeat, nothing, was now standing on my way to conquer this marathon.  I was happy!!  It was a good marathon.  A marathon like any other.  Just a marathon with a difference – it has some difficulty that I do now know from where, since the course was fairly flat.  

So, while a Kenyan took the men’s crown in 2.05.09 and our Ethiopian neighbours took the women’s gold in 2.19.26, I did bring my runner number 3518 to an end in 3.22.59 as per the analog wrist gadget that had refused, yet again to sync with the foot gadget.  Runkeeper gave me a 42.78km - 3.23.26, while Endomondo gave me a 43.25km - 3.23.13.  

The TCS Amsterdam international marathon 2019 had been conquered!

We finished off as a photographer pulled me aside to get a few pics for the TCS album.  

“Barack, right?”

“Right!,”  I was facing another how-did-he-know moment when I saw him staring at my runner number.  The name was conspicuously written just above the number 3518.

“Kumbe!,” I sighed, even as the official photographer clicked away.

The Tata Consultancy Services, TCS Amsterdam marathon gave me a final official chip time of 3.22.23, and position 2289 (combined men and women) based on a ‘gun time’ of 3.27.29!  Surely!  The gun went off 5-minutes before we even started!!.  You cannot allocate positions ‘by the gun’!  

Thereafter it was a queue for medals within the stadium, followed by being provided with polythene sheets to keep us warm – this was a first one.  Out of the stadium we did get that final Isostar 500ml energy drink and a banana, before we limped off back to the stadium to watch other runners finish their races.  We all, at our terraces, celebrated and cheered each one of these athletes for their achievement.  Fay would soon be doing her own lap of honour as she shattered her new 42k record.  We were a happy duo celebrating our representation of team KE, team NMNM2, team IK, team KE-in-NL, team KE-in-NO, team ‘Wageni’, team ‘Wageningen’, team 'Wageniwengi', team 'Wangige'!

It was while traveling back to Wageningen on the ‘NS Intercity’ train for the 1-hour travel that I saw a ticket inspector for the first time come by our sitting place on the upper deck to check on our tickets.  She demanded to see the cards, upon which she would scan each on a small portable machine.  I learnt that this would show whether the ticket was initially swiped, and whether it had money to sustain the journey.  

I had already used this train twice before and there had been no such ticket inspections on these previous two trips.  The first one on Saturday evening, upon my arrival in Netherlands.  This was the noisy travel with Fay, when we sat on the upper deck and chatted away for one hour.  The second time was earlier on this morning, where we still sat at the upper level of the decker.  However, this train ride was strangely quiet as we travelled to the stadium.  We hardly said a word before some lady came to our sitting position of four to give us the “Shhh!,” quiet sign.  I gestured to Fay and Dori in a manner of, “What is going on here?”.  Fay would tell me in hardly audible whispers that this was a ‘silent’ coach.  

However, this was the evening train and we had achieved something earlier on.  We were all chatty in this evening train.  It was after the marathon.  We had our medals on as we travelled in the intercity towards Ede.  We were glad to be back to a normal ‘you can talk’ coach, perched on top of the decker.

“What would happen if I did not have a ticket during this inspection?,” I asked the two.

“I don’t know.  Maybe they fine you!?,” Dori stated.  

“They would fine you something like sixty-five Euro!?,” Fay responded, forgetting to add that this would be over and above the usual fare that you would have to pay first.  The normal fare was about 15 Euro per train ride for a 1-hour ride, such as this particular ride that we were having.

Running alone with confidence

“Three phenomenon at once!”

That was my sigh as I opened up the curtains and looked out the windows at ten on this Saturday, October 26.  It was shining.  I could see the brightness of the sun hit the white student hostels just across the road from my sitting position.  And secondly, it was raining.  The droplets were slowly staining my window pane and kind of blocking my view of the outside.  And finally the third occurrence… the large rainbow was prominently colouring the sky, in the background just behind the student hostel blocks.  

The view was spectacular from my sitting position.  It was only spectacular because my room heater was on, at about 32 degrees, the windows were tightly closed and the cold out there was only in my imagination.  The winter was on its way.  Eight weeks ago, the trees and shrubs were green.  Hardly two months later, the few remaining leaves of the trees and shrubs were now coloured yellowish-orange.  The once dense leaves had mostly fallen off to the ground, littering the underground with layers of dead leaves.  These were becoming an eyesore on the tarmacked parking spaces.  It made them leafy-dirty.  

The branches of trees and shrubs were now becoming more visible – actually the plants were becoming skeletons of the plants that they once were.  At this rate, it would not be more than a month before there was no leaf left on anything.  Even my favourite forest area, where I did my runs, visible on the background from my sitting position, just beyond those student hostels, was starting to turn yellowing from its usual dark green.  Whether the forest shall also shed off to a skeleton remained to be seen.  

I was already taken aback….

I had intended to sleep early after the marathon on that Sunday, October 20.  I did not, since it would turn out not to be possible.  My host was having an African party in NL.  Apart from Dori whom I already knew from that trip to the marathon and was from Rwanda, and James from Kenya who co-shared the apartment with Fay, I had the opportunity to meet another three guests.  Two gents from Kenya, whom I learnt were both graduate students, and one lady, Loraine, from Namibia.  We just sat at the dinner table, dinner going on, and talked about dis-and-dat for over two hours.  The house cleared around eleven.  I slept past midnight.  

The house was empty when I woke up on Monday morning, past ten.  Fay and James had already left for school.  I was scheduled to visit a friend at Amersfoot, two trains away.  However, my day become uncertain when the person that I was to visit cancelled at the last minute due to unavailability.  I just stayed indoors until evening, when I was taken around a tour of the University of Wageningen, a life science university.  To be politically correct, sorry, academically correct, the place is called Wageningen University and Research (WUR).  However, there is political correctness to this name, since I learnt that the institute was formed by a merger of a university and a government research institute.  

At 100-year of existence as at 2018, the institution was surely well established.  At the ‘walk of fame’, a paved walkway of about fifty-metres, I saw at least three Nobel laureates associated with that university.  At a different section of the campus, a work of art, the giant ‘bumble bee’, flies without moving, on top of the water, just next to a pedestrian walkway bridge.  In the water, under the bee, one can clearly read the illuminated sign – “Must leave”

“It is getting dark, I must leave,” I tell Fay.

It is already dark, though it is hardly seven in the evening.

“It is cold, can you feel it?”

“This is nothing,” I respond, “I can shed my jacket and survive.  Norway is twice this cold.”

It was a marvel to see the number of bicycles that were in use at Wageningen.  It was like everybody had a bike and was using one.  I even got a glimpse of two bicycle parking lots  – one was open air, which to me was supposed to be a typical motor vehicle parking yard, converted to a bike yard.  A second one was covered, with bikes neatly parked.  I estimated about ten rows of bikes, each row holding probably one hundred bikes.  There were probably more bikes than people at Wageni!  I also saw many more bikes parked next to various uni buildings.  “This is just crazy,” I told my observing self.

I was to sleep early on this Monday, in readiness for my early morning travel back to Amsterdam then back home.  However, I found myself just typing on the keyboard, writing my stories until I realized that it was way past midnight.  I surely had to sleep, or otherwise would risk oversleeping on one of my many changeovers planned for the next day as I travelled.

It was Tuesday morning already before I knew it.  I left the apartment when it was still dark.  I was not very sure of the route to take, even from the apartment to the stage.  I was still getting familiar with the geography, having just stayed for two days.  Fay showed me to the walkway outside the house.  James had said his goodnight and goodbye the previous evening.  I was now on my own.  The timing from now henceforth had to work like clockwork.  Any missed travel or connection would spell my doom.  I was only wary of missing the location of my first bus stage.  If I got to this bus stage, then I was surely making it to Schiphol.  I walked from the apartment with apprehension.  It was still dark, but the streets were well lit, though quite quiet.  It was cold, but comparatively, not as cold as the North, where I was traveling back to.

Led by pure instinct and self-belief, I made my way through the residential estate and found myself at the bus stage.  It was now 6.25am.  I was waiting for the 6.30am bus no. 88.  I found one other person waiting at the stage.  Another person, suitcase in tow, would soon join us.  The three of us waited for the bus at Bushalte Bornsesteeg and were swiping into the bus at exactly 6.30am.  

“I am making it home,” I sighed as I took a seat in the well-lit bus, that had a driver only, no assistant, no conductor.

Getting this bus at this time was the only hurdle, which I had now overcome.  There was no more hinderances.  The rest was going to be smooth.

I was settling down to the boring ride, when I remembered that there was ‘internet in de bus’.  I quickly searched the Wi-Fi on my phone, got the one ‘in de bus’ and was soon catching up on my route planner.  I alighted at Ede Wageningen at 6.48am and swiped out of the bus, then crossed over to the train station in the next block.  I recall seeing a fare charge of about Euro 2.44 on the small screen of the swiping machine just as I alighted from that bus.

“Three-hundred shillings?  For a 8k distance!,” I Kenyan-thought about it even as I headed to the train platform.

I swiped into the train platform and was ready for the train at Platform 3.  The display monitors updated us that the train was expected at 6.56am.  The train actually arrived at 7.00am.

I remembered that final warning from Fay, “Do not get to first class... Unless you want to pay double.”

I looked around for a coach labelled ‘2’ and got in, then perched myself on the upper deck.  It was still dark outside despite being seven already.  The upper deck was virtually empty.  I found only one other person on the deck that could sit twenty of so.  I sat next to a window and started peering out in the dark.  I could occasionally see streetlights and vehicle headlights somewhere in the background as the silent train sped along towards Schiphol.

It did not take long to remember that I was entitled to ‘internet in de train’.  I once again searched my phone for the train Wi-Fi, clicked on a button that I assumed meant ‘OK’ or ‘Continue’, and there I was online...  Journey planning, WhatsApping, checking mail and catching up with the going-ons in the world.  But that online presence would not last long, since I would soon hear the first English announcement in the whole of the hour trip.  Before that particular announcement, I had heard some station names being mentioned in the midst of Dutch announcements, whenever the train approached the four intermediate stations – Driebergen-Zeist, Utrecht Centraal, Amsterdam Bijlmer ArenA and Amsterdam Zuid.  I especially remember ArenA as the place with that big Ajax Amsterdam stadium, clearly visible from the train.  Now finally, the English announcement was loud and clear, “We are now getting to the last stop at Schiphol airport.  All are asked to alight”

I double checked my two phones as I got off the train.  I recalled that after the Sunday marathon, while on the train back from Amsterdam to Ede-Wageningen, I did lose my phone.  At some point, I had tapped my pockets while perched up on that decker, seated on one side, with Fay and Dori opposite.  We were chatting while the train pulled at my back.  I had decided to check on my ‘smaller’ phone to see if it was capable of the free Wi-Fi.  That is when I had noted that I did not have the phone with me.

“I cannot find my phone!,” I told the gals, “I believe that I must have lost it somewhere in Amsterdam.”

There was puzzlement.

“Are you sure? Check your pockets!”

“I have!  There is nothing!”

“Are you sure that you had it today?”

“Positive.  I even remember viewing the stats from Runkeeper after the run.  I for sure had it upto the point when you went to have your medal engraved outside the stadium.”

I was already resigned to losing it already.  There was no chance of finding it, in case it had fallen somewhere on the route since the end of the marathon.  I had walked on so many paths since the finish.  

In consolation, I stated that, “I only worry about my bank app.  I cannot transact without it.  And I cannot replace it until I can call my bank, whom I cannot call until I get back to Kenya, which I cannot do until mid-November!”

Out of desperation, I decided to send a text message to the phone, using my other phone with the Endomondo.  The SMS just indicated that the phone was lost and if someone found it then the person should communicate to my email address.  Desperation, I told you.  Then….

Beep beep!

Beep beep!

All the three looked around, as we heard the vibration alert as the ‘SMS-received’ notification sounded from somewhere on the floor under my seat!  The phone had slipped and fell from the pocket, landing under the seat.  It was such a relief to pick it up and now ensure that both phones remain ‘at hand’, never in the pocket, just in case.

Back to the moment.  It was exactly 8.00am when I got out at Platform 4 of the underground station and took the escalator to the upper ground level.  I did a final swipe out of the ticketing system and saw a charge of Euro 16.20 for that one-hour train ride.  I ‘Kenyan-thought’ about this eighteen-hundred shillings charge, and just shook my head as I headed to the ‘Departures’ gate of Schiphol.  It was a second time in one hour that I was doing such a ‘Kenyan-thinking’.

Getting through the airport was smoother than I thought.  I walked the long distance to my gate and queued for security check.  While I passed through the metal detector scanner without incidence, my bag failed me for yet another time – the second time in 4-days!  My shoes and laptop, which were on separate trays, successfully passed through the scanner and I would soon be receiving them on the conveyor belt out of the scanner.  I put on my shoes and picked up the laptop to now await the bag.  However, my bag was redirected to a conveyor belt that led to another security person.  

I saw some lady receive the bag at the end of that conveyor belt.  I followed in that direction to await my fate.

“%@(*S#@#!,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I responded.

“Is this your bag sir?”

“Yes”

I have noted that airport security have this habit of adding ‘sir’ and ‘madam’ to make them seem harmless, when they are about to hit you hard.

“I want to check inside, can you open?,” then added, “Sir”

I moved next to the table where the bag had been placed in a tray.  We were standing on either sides of the table, bag in the middle.  I started opening the big zip of the main bag.  Clothes were clearly visible.  She motioned a ‘close that one’ message.

“How about here,” she pointed to the top zipped compartment.  The small one where I would usually keep small handy items such as keys, money, cards and other small emergency items.  It was a strange place to be checked.  I unzipped the small purse and removed the small items.  USB cables, keys, some money, ATM cards, then… 

Then I finally removed the TCS Amsterdam marathon medal with its blue lanyard and gold of the medal.

“Yes, this is it!” she said, causing a pause to my movement.  She took possession and looked at the medal.

I was surprised, waiting for what next.  I was unsure.  I was even about to bolt!  

Did these TCS people deliberately set me up!  Could it be real gold?  Something that needed some export permit or something?  Damn you TCS – setting me up with that lure of gold.

I then observed both relief and disappointment on her face.  Relief probably due to the apparent lack of a dangerous situation, but disappointment due to the unlikelihood of a big bust!  We just regarded each other.

Finally, she broke the stalemate, “This medal showed on the scanner, sir”

“I am just from the marathon,” I said for lack of a better statement.

“OK, you can close the bag and take your medal,” she said while handing back the medal with her gloved hands.

“It is OK, thanks,” I was also relieved to have averted an otherwise bad situation, if there was something bad to have come out of this.

“OK, but I know you can outrun me!,” and as if to conform, “Sir”

I just smiled at that.  My legs were too painful at the moment.  I could not outrun anybody for the next three days.  I kept this secret to myself.

Apart from a change of boarding gate for the KLM Citihopper flight, nothing eventful happened thereafter.  However, this change of gate at Schiphol was happening for the third time at this facility with the same airline.  Maybe that was the norm.  I had already learnt not to trust the gate number indicated on the boarding pass.  This would likely mislead you to the extent of missing out on your flight.  Always trust the display screens – never trust the boarding pass.  

Events would start unfolding when we boarded at 9.45am ready for the 10.00am departure.  It is then that we found ourselves stuck.  We just sat in the Embraer 190, a 100-seater that was full to capacity, and waited as 10.00am came and went.  We were just stationary, waiting for the start of our about 750km flight North, across the Atlantic ocean – actually across the North Sea.  We had boarded this plane that had been parked ‘deep’ in the tarmac, having taken a bus from the boarding gate to the plane’s parking position somewhere isolated in the parking tarmac.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, expect delay in departure by about twenty-minutes.  We are advised that the skies are busy today.”

“Now what do to?,” I asked myself, “Even a simple bus has internet, for crying out loud!,” I cried out loud as I sat there, next to the window, top of the wings, with no internet and no story book.  Just staring at the long fifteen-metre right wing, with a single engine beneath it.  Wondering of the marvels of aviation.  Wondering if we shall ever leave NL.

I did not wonder for long.  We taxied off at 10.15am and joined the long queue of airplanes waiting to access the main runway.  Our time to join the runway came and we left at 10.25am and cruised mostly at 550km/h in the cloudy skies.  We touched down at Stavanger Lufthavn Sola at 11.38am, for a 3-minute taxing.  We disembarked and walked to the terminal building and got out of the terminal in less than 3 minutes.  There was no passport checks or stamps.  Just out of plane and out of the building.

Of course, I did not have check-in luggage and hence did not have to wait for anything at the luggage claim.  However, I vote Sola as the most efficient airport in the world!  But read that again.  The size of the airport in terms of passenger traffic could as well be a determinant to the efficiency – the smaller the better.  While at it, we have bigger ones that are efficient and we also have bigger ones that are not.  I am not naming names.  

The carefree feelgood moment of speedy clearing would not last long.  Things would change as I got to the Kolumbus bus no. 42 at the door of the arrivals gate, ready for my trip to UiS.  I would have a change of bus at Sandnes, where I would either get an X60 or a no. 6.  Since I was paying cash, I had to pay up NOK 57 for the hour ticket, instead of the normal NOK 37 (KShs.370) if I had got a ticket from a ticket machine.  I am normally pained when paying Kr.37.  You can imagine how parting with Kr.57 feels like!  I am even lucky that I remembered to carry some Kroners.  I normally would have just had a credit card on such a travel.  This time luck was on my side because….

I got into the bus just as the person in front of me was in negotiations with the driver.  He was also an arriver.  

“You take credit card?,” he asked.

“No.  Cash only!”

“How about Euros?”

“No.  Kroner only!”

“So, what to do?  I only have credit card and Euros!,” he showed the driver his wallet.

“I don’t know.  I am just a driver!”

That was quite a welcome for this fellow traveler, as he was forced to disembark, uncertainty in each of his retreating footsteps.  He looked like a first-time student of sort – just my observation.  I could not think about him for long since I had trouble of my own.  Being slapped with almost double the fare was also quite a re-welcome, simply because I paid cash.  Surely, you cannot penalize passengers, where there is no chance of getting a ticket from a machine!  There is no ticket machine at the airport!  Was this ‘forced’ fare escalation a way of getting back at travelers?  What wrong have we done?

All these memories were coming to me late into Saturday, four days after the event, as I sat looking out at the trees and shrubs that had mostly shed-off their leaves in a hurry.  For sure, at this rate there would be no leaf left on any plant by next week!  This progression was more serious than I thought.  The weather was not relenting either.  It rained or drizzled every day.  The sun kept giving us the ‘luxury of its rays’ in short bursts of five minutes or so, for very few times in a day.  The outside remained cold – truly cold if you were there to experience it and visibly cold by just looking out.  

I was observing how things can change.  Back home they have coined a phrase for this – ebindu bichenjanga!  It is true.  It was just last month, September, when the sun would set down at 10pm.  I would do my runs until almost eight.  By then it would still be as bright as mid-day.  Hardly one month later and it is dark by six-thirty, pitch dark by seven!  It was just last month that it was bright by four in the morning.  Now it is still dark by seven!  Surely!!  

This environment was just messing up my physiological clock.  I wanted to be home!  And the worse was yet to come, when we had to reset our clocks backward by one hour – a once-a-year event on the last Sunday of October – in a few hours’ time.  I could not miss it.  I had to stay awake.  This was surely the knockout in the craziness of events at the Arctic.  In Stavanger, this ‘extra’ hour was handed down at 3.00am early morning.  Imagine having an occasion when your clock reads 3.00am, then one hour later, it reads 3.00am again!.  What a night it was!  I could not sleep a wink.  I had to see this double 3.00 with my own double eyes.  How I shall miss the other once-a-year event, on the last Sunday in March when NO shall ‘lose’ 1hour as clocks are forced one hour ahead, as 2.00am is forced to be 3.00am!

It is on this same Sunday that I would be missing the Nairobi International Marathon, for the first time in ten years.  However, while Team KE was running the Nairobi city marathon back home, while I was appreciating a personalized e-magazine from TCS, with my pictures, videos and all.  Back home, a street run in the city, with sweat and sweet joy of running was ongoing – over here it was a relaxed seat in a heated room, with online results and online certificate to celebrate.  Just another Sunday with everyone doing their runs – onstreet or online.

Next - Chapter 15