Amadu goes back to the future

How many times in life do we truly get a chance to relive our past?

Yesterday felt like I was doing exactly that. I really didn’t realize it would prove to be such a retrospective day.

Almost exactly one year ago few of us ran the IST Half Marathon from the PC bureau in Bamako to our training compound just outside the city.

I was still fuming from my pathetic excuse for a race in Ghana and wanted to make amends. This race was for myself and no one else. I told no one I was running this race. It wasn’t even about winning the race. I was scared that I had lost that fire, that fight that I always prided myself on.

My old cross-country coach, Mr. Raby, used to use a term called “sisu.” I don’t think any of us knew what that term meant at the time, but now it’s my new favorite word. This comes from Wikipedia (of course)…The literal meaning is equivalent in English to “having guts”…However sisu is defined by a long-term element in it; it is not momentary courage, but the ability to sustain an action against the odds. It works prefectly for long distance running, or even for living in a challenging situation for a long period of time (Mali).

So, yesterday, with sisu written of my left arm, eight of us set out from the PC Office at 6am and made our way through Bamako.

I had heard about a couple of speedy newbies, fresh out of college, where they’d been on cross-country teams. While I certainly had dreams of winning the race, I think I knew that realistically it probably wasn’t possible.

They gunned it right out of the gate, and I stayed with them for the first three miles or so. My mind was running a mile a minute and I knew I had a decision to make. 13.1 is a long way, and I knew that I couldn’t keep that pace for the whole race. However, I am also one of the most competitive people I have ever met. To drop back would’ve been to essentially give up all hope of winning the race. My mind told me though, that I would die and probably have to walk a lot if I tried running at a pace that was much faster than I was capable of.

For a second, I closed my eyes, to keep myself from looking at the runners in front of me. I tried to imagine the pace I wanted to run. It may not sound like a big deal to you, but to me what I decided to do was something, I never thought I would be able to do. I made a conscious decision to drop back.

So, as I watched three runners get smaller and small, I was surprised that I seemed to feel happy. This was the way I wanted it, the way it should have been. This was not about the people in front of me, nor the people behind me. This journey was my own, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I ran about the last 10 miles on my own, with no one in sight of me in either direction.

With a few miles left I started to struggle. The sun was heating up, and I hit the one hill of the mostly flat course. But, soon I recognized where I was. I was running back through the market and greeting every person I passed. For some reason greeting gave me a boost and always left with me with a huge smile on my face.

Soon, I made the turn to head towards our training compound, just a couple of miles left. At this point I knew I was going to make it. I was clearly running out of gas, but I knew how close I was. Sisu. I was not about to stop now. As I got closer and closer to the finish, I started to recognize more and more. Paths I had taken, and gotten lost on. Memories flooded into my head. Relationships built. Trying times overcome. Being there for friends, and friends being there for me. All of us going through it together. Still for some reason going running at six in the morning. Once again, thinking of all these things, I cracked my goofy smile.

Now, across the bridge, I sprinted it in, as three much faster runners waited for me. I got my butt kicked, but was still extremely happy with my race. I ran a 1:50:18. Graham, a newbie, ran a scorching 1hr 36!

Just a few minutes later, my good friend Colleen came through the finish. She and I have now run two halves and a full marathon. I told her that I was now retiring from African running. Soon after, we had all finished the race, and posed for pictures.

I had so many competing emotions running through my head. Mostly though I was content. Pleased with my race, and now walking through the compound reliving the ghosts of one year ago. I walked past huts I had lived in, and ones other friends lived in. Pausing and remembering each time. The cafeteria, the basketball court. Every small little gesture brought me back. Going to wash my hands, taking a shower, eating lunch. All these things reminded me of where I had been one year ago.

Back then, the thought of spending two years in this place seemed incredibly impossible. The fact that I was not here for a vacation, but to live here and work here for over two years was truly setting in. Now, somehow, I have settled in. Time has somehow managed to fly by, and now I have well under a year to go here. And still, I have so many things left to do and see.

I was really sore, but couldn’t resist the temptation of feeling a basketball in my hands, and then arching, spinning towards the rim. Swish. Is there a more beautiful sound? A few other runners joined me for a few minutes. But, soon I again found myself alone.

I walked up to the free throw line. Dribbled twice with my right hand. Lined up the NBA logo on the ball. Sent the ball towards the basket. The same incredibly crooked basket we all adapted to, and spent every afternoon unwinding after an interminable day of sessions.

Shooting free throws, is, to me, the most calming, relaxing thing I can do. I find the more I can clear my head, the less I think about, the better I do. Really the same is true of running. The more I thing about every little detail, the worse I shoot. I’ve taken thousands of free throws. It’s all muscle memory, I can tell if it’s going in before it leaves my hand. Release. Rotation. Splash. I shoot my 100 free throws and walk off the court.

After lunch, we leave the newbies at the training compound. They have to go through all those sessions we went through. Colleen and I head back to Bamako. I meet up with another good friend, Holly, for an amazing pizza dinner at a restaurant called “Le Relax.”

I have earned this night of sleep. This one of those days I won’t soon forget. I go to sleep with the mosquitos biting my ankles. Somehow they don’t seem to bother me anymore. They are as much a part of this place as I am.