Training for My First Half-Marathon: TNT Takes on 13 Miles in Kenya

Elisabeth TNT takes a leap and runs her first half-marathon in—where else?—Kenya.

How on earth did I come up with the idea of running thirteen miles in Kenya? Yes, I keep fit, and that occasionally involves running, but never more than a couple of miles. Jogging along a flat surface has always seemed a little pointless to me. Well—until a few months ago, that is.

Let’s start at the beginning: For my May column I underwent weeks of sprints and distance running in order to train with track star English Gardner. Afterward, I found I needed a new challenge, and that’s when an invitation to race a half-marathon in Kenya for charity came through the door. Did the prospect scare me? Of course! The idea of running that distance on any terrain made me gulp. Running in the foothills of Mount Kenya? Double gulp. I imagined heat, altitude, hills, rocky ground. But I couldn’t say no.

I recruited Steffi von Meiss, a friend since my boarding school days, to join me. I silenced any doubts, brainstormed when and where I’d need electrolytes and gels, whether to wear shorts or tights, tank tops or sleeves. I made training playlists with build-ups and crescendos. Jacquetta Wheeler and her husband, Jamie Allsopp, changed their plans from rocking out at Glastonbury to come running with us too. They were reliable sources of backup: Jacquetta, with her model height, is a natural runner and already had a marathon under her belt.

My more pressing concern was a muscle inflammation in my left quad. Would I be able to endure? Taped to the nines in bright-blue Leukotape, I at least felt like a warrior. As for the rest? TBD.

The site of the race, the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy, is famously beautiful, a thriving game reserve with some of the most imperiled species roaming freely: white rhino, Grevy’s zebra, lions, and elephants. At Lewa Wilderness, our elegant camp, we slept under thatched roofs, lounged by the pool, and, after an evening game drive, took to deck chairs on the veranda, drinks in hand, to gaze across the plains.

The race here has become a bit of a cult challenge, summoning some of Kenya’s big running names and attracting sports nuts from all over. Last year Pippa Middleton ran the full marathon course in support of the wildlife charity Tusk. My group also raised money for Tusk’s conservation and educational efforts. Visiting one of its nearby schools and meeting the bright young pupils motivated me on race day.

We rose at the crack of dawn—the air crisp with the quiet of an African morning—were handed a quick breakfast of porridge and fruit, and whisked to the start line. I suddenly felt charged up. There were announcements, music—in true African spirit the start resembled more of a party than a sporting event. Our little group took care of last-minute arrangements: sunscreen, group photos, another sip of Lucozade. All I wanted now was to run! When we finally took off, I found myself crowded by other runners and stumbling on uneven, dusty ground. But my frantic energy gave way to pure excitement. The course widened, some runners fell back and some sped ahead, and Steffi and I found our rhythm. It was strange to have a noisy chopper roam above my head (the pilots making sure no predators took us by surprise), but I felt safe. My muscle injury bothered me, but the adrenaline kept me going. I especially loved the moments of silence late in the run. The sun came blistering down, but I was in my zone. Finally, the finish line. Steffi and I were shoulder to shoulder, sprinting through to the end. All was a blur from that point: With medals around our necks, we were pointed to makeshift tents where free massages on haystacks were on offer. I do remember one thing very clearly—our handsome Maasai driver Francis’s beaming face when he saw Steffi and me beyond the finish line: “I’m so proud of you girls.”

The next day we traveled down the coast to Watamu, the Kenyan village where my mother has a house. Standing on the whitewashed veranda, listening to the soothing sound of the ocean, I thought, Home at last. Steffi and I lounged on Lamu beds scattered around the terrace, walked along the beach, and took a dip, soothing our aching muscles. All the while the race was tingling in my memory. Will I go back next year? My dusty-pink Nikes say yes.

 

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