Kenya Rift Valley Training and Q&A

@grandmaster: my false sense of confidence was short-lived, because Tuesday was track session day. More to come on that.

@donothoponpop: most athletes wear shoes in training.

The trails are fairly rocky and rutted, shared with cars and motorbikes. *So it would be hard to run hard without shoes here. Trainers are the most important piece of kit. In fact, yesterday a guy I've been running with a few times asked me to give him my shoes. He said that his shoes are almost finished, and he has no money for new shoes.

Trainers cost about 35 euro here. Many aspiring runners struggle to get by, because they only come upon cash when they win a race. As you can imagine, it's hard to win a race here.

Some people can't afford spikes, so may race x country races in bare feet. this is because x country is often on grass.

Funnily enough, a 9 year old boy ran beside me in bare feet this morning for 10 minutes. He was on his way to school.

@ Krusty clown: my understanding is that at high altitude, the body adapts to the lack of oxygen by increasing red blood cell and haemoglobin count. *Therefor the body becomes better at delivering the scarce oxygen to wherever it is needed.

I've heard that after returning to sea level, the blood cell count remains at an inflated level for up to two weeks. So by the time I run London marathon in April, my red blood cell count will have long been back to normal.

The benefit that I hope to gain is to build a strong base here. I ran 160km in my first week here, and the next couple of weeks should be similar. It is much easier tackling that sort of mileage when i can rest in between runs. I doubt I'll be able to maintain that mileage when I return to Dublin.

The training is hard work because it's hilly and I'm operating off less oxygen. There is less 'cruise control' running. This means that I'm getting fitter.

The risk is that I may get injured. But I'm finding the dirt trails very easy on the legs. The other risk is that sessions are slower up here. For example, my tempo run yesterday was much slower than my target marathon pace. I think that's why they're big on running fartlek up here (because they can get the legs turning over faster).

After holding my own on the hills (with the junior girls), I was eager to try out a session on the track. Ahh... the track - well known destroyer of self-confidence for long distance runners. No better place to bring yourself back down to earth after experiencing the satisfaction of a good session.

There is one red dusty track in Iten, which is shared by hundreds of aspiring Kenyan runners. We arrived at 9:30am, on the second run of the day. The track was rammed with athletes. Most of them were running in packs at a pace probably equivalent to my sprint speed. I immediately felt out of place, which was a perfectly reasonable assessment of the situation. But that wasn't going to stop me from giving it a crack.

At initial count from the side-line, there were forty nine ripped athletes already circling the inside lane of the track. Finding a gap in the fast-moving foot traffic was going to be a challenge.

There seemed to be an anarchic system in place for sharing the track. Rather than allocating a lane to each group, everyone was using the inside lane, which was the width of two normal lanes. The idea is that when you're not actually running, you stand on the outer track. When you are starting an interval, you get a running start from the outside lanes and then hit the inside lane at pace in a gap between runners. It is like the runners version of the 'Arc de Triumph' roundabout. It works very well.

The plan was to run a pyramid session - starting with a 1200m interval, descending to 200m, then back up the ladder again (interim distances were not specified).

I managed to hold on to tail end of the group for the descending intervals. But by the time we'd run 1200m, 800m, 600m, 400m, and 200m, I was gasping for air.

I would be the first to admit that I'm seriously lacking speed, and this is something that I'm hoping to address in 2011. But it quickly became clear to me that, seven days into my altitude acclimatisation, I had not yet produced the extra red blood cells that I need to run a decent speed session at this altitude.

The problem is that it takes so long to catch your breath back between intervals. I have since read that runners embarking on altitude training often extend the rest period significantly for the first few weeks, so that they can hit the desired pace for the session.

I was well off my usual modest pace for this type of session, and I was hurting more than usual. I finished the session (because i'm very stubborn) but I was losing about 15 metres per lap on the group by the final 1200m interval.

It was inspirational to watch the athletes display their raw strength and speed on the track. Yet at the same time I felt incredibly discouraged. All of the hard work and time invested over the last couple of years, and I get hammered for my trouble. It's something of a motivation/demotivation paradox.

The comforting thing though, is when you see first hand how hard these athletes work to reach this level of performance. It makes you realise how much potential we all have, if we push ourselves beyond what we thought was possible.

I think the important thing for motivation, is to keep your own goals in perspective. It's easy to compare yourself to those people around you. But in this environment, it's not particularly helpful to do so.

Great read.. I was just wondering Kiwi runner, is there any chance of getting your name so I can follow your 10k, 10mile and marathon performances following your stint in Kenya? Aswell as hills of course. I am a keen hill runner myself.. How do you think your marathon training will help you for the hill running? Would marathon training be better for hills than say 10k training? i.e. more speed work?

After 20 minutes of jogging from the house, the girls and I arrived at a junction between two main trails. As per the usual, I had little idea of what was on the cards for the morning.

The conversation over dinner the night before had gone something like this:

"What are you running tomorrow morning?"

"We run 1 minute fast, 1 minute easy, for 20 times."

"Is it ok if I come with you?"

"We run with a group. Yes. Maybe you can run behind with the ladies if you have energy." (not helping my already diminished confidence level)

But the girls hadn't explained that 'the group' consisted of half of the population of Iten! At best guess, there were two hundred local runners gathered at the corner, rearing to go. And then there was me - questioning whether I should have instead done my own thing on this particular morning.

One guy stood on a fence and unhelpfully (from my perspective) gave instructions to the 'group' in Kiswahili. The smiley curious guy standing beside me quietly greeted me and asked me whether I was feeling strong today. I told him that I was feeling unnerved.

After a countdown from the apparent leader, the group took off. Happily, it was 'easy' first. After 60 seconds, the sound of footsteps got louder, and a gap started building between me and the runners in front of me. I quickly found my place in the pack - near the back, where there was much more space, fewer fellas, and most people around me looked like they had eaten something dodgy for breakfast. It wasn't so bad.

I took it steady, pacing myself carefully because the mid-morning sun was beating down and I had a long way to go. The good thing was, that there were a few people behind me.

After twenty minutes, I had that comforting thought of knowing that I was closer to the end than I was to the beginning. I had run 5.2km on undulating trail. Half of it hard, half easy.

At this point I started picking people off! It was just like the second half of Berlin Marathon, except this time I was only passing women, and it wasn't lashing with rain. I kept pushing until eventually I could see my housemates about a hundred metres ahead. Then all of a sudden after 37 minutes, everyone within sight of me stopped and started walking home.

In fact, we walked four kilometres back to camp. They seem to like walking home here.



Product diversification in Eldoret
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Iten is for Kenyan runners what Los Angeles is for aspiring actors and actresses - a chance to make the big time.

If you are good enough to make it as a professional runner, then you stand to be rewarded with the glory, fame and cash that comes with success. But very few will succeed.

There are a select few runners here who have lucrative sponsorship deals and/or make big money from winning races in Europe and the US. These athletes are heroes in Kenya. Their photos and stories dominate the main sports page of the Sunday newspaper.

Many of these successful athletes have bought property and built nice houses in the area. Their lives differ significantly from the average Kenyan. You can tell who they are, because they wear the latest Adidas kit and drive a motor
vehicle (while the regular punters ride the matatu). The successful professional runners occupy a high social standing in the community.

Lornah Kipligat is one example of an athlete who has invested her winnings in a business venture (Lornah's high altitude training camp). Another example is the former Dublin Marathon winner, Lezan Kumutai, who has invested in residential property and has also built a school in a small village close to Iten.

But most runners that you meet on the street in Iten have very little money or income, and are just getting by day by day (not that they need much money to support their regimented lifestyles). They live in basic rented shared houses with groups of other runners, all sharing the same goal. These runners are vying to be noticed by someone who might launch their career.

In order to make a living out of running, an athlete needs to either gain a spot on the Kenyan international squad (and hopefully pick up a big sponsor); or find a way to get to races in Europe. Specifically, those races that offer an attractive prize package and ideally an appearance fee.

However, runners face a catch-22 because they need to train full time in order to get good enough. Yet if they train full time, then they have no income to cover their cost of living in the meantime.

This is where talent scouts, agents, and training camps come into the picture. Some athletes are good enough and lucky enough to be scouted as juniors. Those who show the most promise (i.e. by winning national medals), may be noticed by scouts and coaches and offered places in training camps, where they are given food and accommodation. This means that they can focus entirely on training, from the time they finish school.

But very few are so lucky. And those who do find themselves in that privileged position are expected to continue performing in order to justify their place. For every one of these supported runners, there are many who are largely unsupported. Perhaps relying on their families for assistance. Let's call these the 'tier two' runners.

These tier two runners are battling to perform well enough to capture the attention of agents. For example, I have spoken to a 2:15 marathoner living in Iten who is struggling to get by because he can't find an agent who will fund his travel to races (because he's not quick enough to guarantee a good commission for a prospective agent). Like many others, he doesn't have the cash to get there himself. And he needs someone to organise transport and negotiate appearance fee with the race organiser.

By way of another example, I am told that a male 5000m runner won't be noticed unless he runs under 13:15. That gives you an idea of the standard required to make it as a professional.

The cost of failure is massive for these runners. Not only does it mean giving up the dream of fame and fortune, but also swallowing one's pride and returning to your hometown with your tail between your legs and perhaps being branded as a 'failure'. It is quite likely that you'll end up working on the family farm, operating a kiosk, or driving a matatu for a modest living. For an aspiring runner here, these prospects are fairly grim.

Most people here live very simple lives, particularly compared with the lifestyle of a successful professional runner. For example, the appearance fee earned by successful Kenyan runners in some European races would easily exceed the average annual wage in Kenya.

There is clearly an affinity between the people of Kenya and the sport of running. After all, it's not often in Dublin that groups of laughing children will sprint across a field to greet you and then run along beside you for several minutes (let alone the man dressed in a business suit who ran with me for ten minutes after I jogged past him the other night).

However, the reality is that, unlike the millions of amateur adult runners in western countries who run purely for the love of it, many of the runners here are simply trying to achieve a higher standard of living than what is available through other avenues.

Perhaps people read too much into the 'genetic advantage of African runners' theory. It seems to me that the financial motive for Kenyan athletes, combined with the undesirable alternative (a subsistence lifestyle), is part of the driving force behind the success of Kenyan running. With the sheer number of athletes dedicating their lives to running, it's little surprise that countries like Kenya and Ethiopia keep churning out champions.

Just a thought: imagine if your next pay-check (and indeed your livelihood) depended on your race performance. Now that is an incentive to train hard!

Its a wonder that soccer clubs dont set up camps in Kenya given the vast array of athletes who would play the game in order to make real big money. Then perhaps the Europeans could nick a few medals in the Olympics.

Interesting posts as always KiwiRunner.

How much longer are you in Iten and when do you get back to Dublin?