In some ways it’s just another race. A bunch of people running around a field. But I’ve travelled over 200 miles, on a dangerous road full of pot holes and lorries overtaking on corners, to stand and watch as they run by.
The Kenyan national cross country championships is probably the most competitive running race in the world.
Coming here has the feel of a pilgrimage. It may be a long way to Nairobi from my base in Iten up in the Rift Valley, it may mean I have to spend the night in an out-of-the-way hotel with a large, empty dining room playing mournful country and western music, but this is one race an athletics fan in Kenya just has to witness.
Half of Iten seems to be here, sprinting back and forth around the course to get as many glimpses of the runners as possible. As well as enthusiasts like myself, the coaches and agents are all here, encouraging their runners along with gruff shouts.
Guest of honour at the event is one of Britain’s greatest ever long-distance athletes, David Bedford. He gets to start one of the races and, of course, is asked to make a speech.
“It’s truly amazing to witness so many great athletes in one place,” he says.
A few thousand local fans have turned out to watch. For a cross country race, this is quite a lot, but I can’t help thinking that here in the capital city of the world’s most passionate running nation, there would be a few more. There is no entry fee for spectators, and the Uhuru Gardens venue is right near the city centre.
However, the long lines of people we saw walking to work as we drove to the course may explain why more haven’t turned up.
Some fans are appreciating it, though. One man turns to me with a big grin as the lead women go by, and says: “I’ve just seen Linet Masai [the eventual winner] with my own eyes. Not on the internet.”
The speed the runners are moving at is hard to fully appreciate. But as the men’s winner, Geoffrey Mutai, hurtles around the last corner and almost goes the wrong way, it’s like trying to redirect a speeding train to get him back on course.
He finishes the 12km race, over rough, hilly terrain, on a windy day, at altitude, in a staggering 34 minutes 35 seconds.
To illustrate just how tough these races are, the four current world champions – senior and junior men and women – are all running, but none of them manages to finish even in the top 10. Leonard Komon, who in the last few months has broken the 15K and 10K world records – the latter by a massive 17 seconds – can only manage 6th place in the men’s race.
Before I leave, a friend introduces me to a young girl from a small village up in the Rift Valley. She has her head shaven like any other Kenyan schoolgirl, her teeth are stained. She offers me an embarrassed handshake as I’m told she is Mercy Cherono, the world junior champion from 2010.
It wasn’t years of dedication, being driven to races by her parents, that turned her into a world champion. Her school doesn’t even have a track to train on. Instead, from nowhere, from the toughness of her daily life, has come a talent to outrun the world.
Today, though, she came 13th, outrun by a host of other girls from small, dusty villages.
After it’s all over, I get back into my car and set off on the long drive home. Was it worth the 450-mile round trip? In some ways, it wasn’t. I could have easily just watched the highlights on TV. But part of me had to be here. Yes, to witness the convergence of such an incredible abundance of raw talent, to feel the force as they charged by, was worth a few hours driving.
• The book Running with the Kenyans by Adharanand Finn will be published in 2012
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