Mile -15. The shuttle provided from the finish line to the start line is hopelessly lost somewhere in Teshie. Good thing, or else how would we know we were running a marathon in Ghana? If we wanted a reliable transportation to a marathon, we’d be in Boston.
Mile -18. The marathon is scheduled to start in 5 minutes. We are still lost in Teshie.
Mile 0. We arrive at the start line in Prampram almost an hour late. They’ve delayed the start for us. We hop of the shuttle, and we line up almost immediately. There is no time to use the facilities (sparse bushes, in this case.) Luckily, unlike my male counterparts who can easily wee anywhere in Ghana, I know how to hold it—and I will, for 22 miles.
Mile 1. Everything is beautiful. It’s not hot yet, we run past a group of drummers playing for us, I’ve got my running mix on my mp3 player, and I am feeling strong.
Mile 4. “California Love” feels less appropriate running through the morning sunlight in the bush around Prampram than it does running through Jamestown after dark.
Mile 5. Because the Accra International Marathon is small, each runner gets a lot of personal attention. Trucks pass up and down the race course, handing us water out the window and making sure we are okay. I notice that one of the escort trucks is provided by an insurance company. I chuckle.
Mile 6. Why are they giving us so much water?
Mile 7. What, water again? Oh, no—the truck driving beside me actually doesn’t want to give me water this time. They’ve noticed I am carrying medical tape, and a runner behind me has developed some bad blisters. I turn around, find the runner, and help him tape up his feet, and we both continue the race.
Mile 9. One-third done! Woot! But I’m not feeling so strong anymore.
Mile 10. Traffic police are stopping traffic to let each runner go through the roundabouts in Tema. The police wave and yell encouragement. I wonder if the economic gain from the race outweighs the cost of the traffic disruption.
Mile 13.1. Halfway there! Wait, somehow that doesn’t seem so encouraging…
Mile 13.2. It’s my turn to strip off my socks and tape up some aspiring blisters. I still need to pee.
Mile 15. Where the f*** are all the banana ladies? I’m hungry, as I have eschewed the abomination that is energy gels.
Mile 16. I have 10 miles to go, and I feel completely out of juice, but there is no way I’m not finishing. I pull back. My strategy at this point is to concentrate on making it through to mile 20, and then hope for an adrenaline rush to get me through the last 6 miles.
Mile 17. I’m running right along a gorgeous beach, with a view down the coastline. Wait, I have to run that far. I consider jumping in the ocean and swimming to the finish line. I bet it would be less painful. Even though the current is going the other way.
Mile 18. The route veers away from the coast. The breeze is less, and it’s hot as hell. Why aren’t they giving us more water? Can I buy insurance if the sponsor car comes by? Talk about adverse selection…
Mile 18.5. A man pulls up beside me in a car and tells me he wants to meet me. I don’t reply. It seems more polite than the only other imaginable response at this point.
Mile 19. I seem to have alien foot syndrome. Spasms in my lower leg muscles are causing my feet to twitch involuntarily, making it hard to keep proper foot alignment as I run.
Mile 19.5. Finally, a banana lady! She seems confused about my desire to pay 1 GHC for 1 banana, and take off with it without a bag or my change, but things work out.
Mile 20. Time to give a wake-up call to my nutrition and transportation sponsors, Kris and Par. The prospect of calling my friends while running has been a source of motivation for the last several miles. I call Kris, and he and Par are already at the finish line, along with my boss Jessica, who is also out to support me. I hope they brought plenty of beers, because it will be another hour before I get there.
Mile 21. What was I thinking? Too late to stop now though.
Mile 22. If you are going to run 22 miles to pee, you might as well do it in style. I stop at the Ramada to use the washroom. I take two sachets of water from the station here, drinking one and packing the other in the bottle at my waist.
Mile 22-26. There are no more water stations for the rest of the race, and the heat is stifling at this point, even with a breeze. I’m glad I packed my water bottle; it lasts me till about mile 24. We are now on my home turf—I run through Teshie often. The familiar terrain tricks my body into a more familiar pace, and I pick up speed a little.
Mile 26.2. I manage to finish, if not strong, at least without looking like I had to drag myself over the finish line. Jessica, Par, and Kris are there cheering for me. They help me find water, turn in my place tag, and generally not fall over. I finished 9th among women, which probably isn’t saying much in such a small race, but I’ll take it. They had out bags of jollof rice, which somehow seems right. I celebrate finishing in the proper fashion, with a bottle of Johnnie Walker, much to the delight of the Rasta musicians providing the post-race entertainment.
After. Par, my transportation sponsor, road my moto home for me. Kris, my nutrition sponsor—he provided every calorie used during the race with the exception of the afore-mentioned banana—loaded me into his car and drove me home. Jessica, Par and Kris all took photos for me. A day after the race, I am pretty stiff. I am not driving my moto because my calf muscle is too sore to shift reliably. My tape did well with friction issues, but I have a few blisters, including one wrapping around my smallest toe, making that toe about double in size. I’m hungry all the time. All in all, I actually think I got off pretty lightly, given that I was certainly underprepared, and the conditions were tough. I estimate that I drank 5-6 liters of water during the race (That’s twice the recommended amount for avoiding hyponatremia. I don’t think the people who made that recommendation have ever run a marathon in Africa.) The satisfaction of finishing a marathon was definitely worth it, and I think I’d like to give it another go. Big 5 marathon, here I come?
PS. If you’ve read this far, you deserve to know that the bottle of Johnnie Walker was filled with apple juice. A message to other JW fans in West Africa: break your bottles when you are done with them. You never know what they can be refilled (and sold) with!