The Run, Tanzania

Hearing his wife leave to go to work, the old man rolled over on the mattress on the floor, got to his knees and then to his feet, and then sat down again to pull on his running shorts and shirt. It was cool in the bedroom with the air conditioning on, and he could feel the outdoor warmth and humidity as he went downstairs. He made himself a little tea and checked his email briefly to allow his body to wake up a little. He picked up his keys from the table, let himself out the door, locking it behind him, and sat down once more to put on his running shoes.  The sun was shining today for the first time in more than a week and he felt the heat of it, even at 7:30, on his face.

Nodding to the guard, he went through the gate and then picked his way around the puddles on the path to the main road. It had been raining for days (it was the rainy season after all), and he decided he would run along the main road again. He had tried last week to run on the back roads and came back with squishy feet and shoes from sinking into unexpected mud-holes.

He walked to the corner, turning down the invitations from the bajaji and piki-piki with a couple of waves, and started jogging.  As usual the first few minutes were hard as he tried to get into the rhythm.  Running against traffic on the right side of the road, he saw mostly solid SUV type vehicles and a few bajaji's with one or two people inside heading toward town to go to work. The shoulder, like the road, was fairly smooth, with stretches of soft sand where the water had flowed across and left a track of fine sediment.

Bajaji - also known as Tuk-Tuk in other countries

As his breathing settled into its regular 3/2 rhythm, his mind started to wander back a year or so, comparing running here in the Bahari Beach area with running in Mumbai.  It was so much less crowded here in the almost country-side environment 45 minutes ride from downtown Dar Es Salaam,  than it had been in Kohinoor, also 45 minutes from downtown Mumbai.  He could run much more smoothly and evenly without having to dodge the holes and piles of debris in the roads. Sure, he sometimes had to wind around a muddy depression, but the edges were smooth and rounded, unlike the sharp lines of tilted, broken concrete in the big city. 

He turned the corner off of the main road and on to the side residential road.  He liked this route because of the lack of traffic and the shade. He was close to the ocean here, too, and often the cooling breeze felt good on his face, though he was sweated profusely after five minutes.  He waved at the car containing a parent and a couple of kids from the school - no doubt he would hear from his wife this evening that her students had seem him out running on their way to school.  He neared his favorite area where someone had planted a number of Baobab trees years ago, reached the end of the dirt road and turned around for the run back. He liked those trees - so different from other trees with their fat trunks and upside-down feel.

Picture from : http://www.gaucheweb.net/_/rsrc/1296202241379/ana-s-blog/december2010/baobab%20tree.jpg

The first time he had come this far, more than a month ago, he had had to stop and walk several times, and he felt good that he could now simply keep putting one foot in front of the other now.  Back to the main road, he started to pick up the pace a little and pushed himself for the last few minutes.  Finishing his run in what, for him, felt like a sprint, he slowed to a walk, put his hands on his hips and caught his breath. He walked back to the compound, knocked five times for the guard, and walked to the back of the apartment, where Joyce, the housekeeper, had begun doing the laundry.  After exchanging greetings with her, he walked around to the other side of the apartment to sit in the shade and do his after-run stretches.  His sweat dripped from face and elbows to create small puddles, but the breeze in the shade was cooling. He felt good.

The run

He climbs slowly up the five flights of stairs to their apartment on the fourth floor, sweat dripping from his arms, face and shirt. He pauses between the second and third floor to stretch his calves and back with one foot placed three steps up the stair from the landing. After a few seconds, he switches legs, noticing as he does the drops already pooling beneath him. Some days he does all the steps to to top and then back down to the apartment, but not today.
Arriving at the flat he takes the key from his pocket and slides it into the lock, trying to open the door quietly.
"How was your run?"
"Fine" His usual response. For some reason he is reticent to speak much about it. Occasionally, he'll admit it was a tough day or a hard run. Today was more like normal so he just said "fine".
"Where did you go?"
"My usual route".
He thought back over it. He had walked down the stairs, out the gate and down just past the school to the first speed bump, where he clicked the timer on his watch and began to jog. Around the corner onto Kirol road, he went stiffly and without much speed, then past the buses parked in front of the mostly empty Kohinoor Mall. He went by the spot where a few weeks ago there had been a dead dog being worked over by the crows. It had surprised him how soon the spot disappeared.
He came to the corner where a man always seemed to be having his morning bath,then past the intersection of the road leading from the little "village", where he always had to watch for rickshaws. As the road straightened out he started to get into a little rhythm , thinking about his breathing. He had read a "Runners World" article about running with an odd rather than even stride per breath ratio, so sometimes he thought about it as he ran, using either a 3:2 or a 4:3 tempo, depending on how he felt. He liked it.
Approaching the next corner , where the road led to the Vidyavihar train station and his longer route, he began to feel his hips loosen a little. He went straight through the narrow street near the temple, then around the curve by Fatima High School and Jolly Gymkhana. He always enjoyed this stretch, with the trees on either side and the early morning exercisers on the cricket fields at Jolly. Then the slight rise into the residential neighborhood past the little Jain shrine. He looked for the old couple now, walking so slowly and carefully. The first few times he ran past them, they looked at him blankly, but the last few times he had seen recognition and even a response to his greeting. He wondered how old they were and if maybe the man had had a stroke.
Left down the lane then right around another school on the corner, up the next road and he neared the business area on Mahatma Gandhi Road and his halfway turn. Taking the little one-way loop, he looked to see if they were feeding anyone at the temple on the corner. A couple of times there had been some monks or priests serving our food to fifty or sixty people lined up outside. There weren't any today.
On the way back he ran more smoothly and easily, hitting his rhythm. It usually takes him about a minute less on the return trip. Of course he is soaking wet by this point, with sweat dripping off several points, including the tips of his little fingers as he swings his arms. Running back along the way he came, with the sun at his back, he sees a few other joggers running the other way, back to Jolly Gymkhana. He exchanges little nods of respect with several of the older gents as they recognize each other's efforts. Reaching the last long straight-away coming to the Kohinoor mall, he picks up the pace just a little, then makes the turn onto his street and runs just a little faster. (Of course, faster is a relative term in the heat and humidity). Finishing his run, he turns into the gate, then walks down the end of the apartment complex and back to cool down a little before climbing the stairs to the apartment.
"How was your run?"
"Fine."

You ain't much ...

The old mill on Windmill Island, Holland Mi

One of the pleasures of living in Holland is the chance to go jogging in the cool early mornings.  I was going around windmill island the other day and I had to stop a use my cell phone to take a couple of pictures.  The sun was just up and the sky was clear and the cool air was invigorating.
Something about the windmill just called out to be photographed.  The windmill is actually and old one that was brought over some years ago from the Netherlands.  It works and you can actually buy stone ground flour from the mill in the little tourist shop there on Windmill Island and a couple of other places in town.  The miller lives in our neighborhood and I've been cornered by her before at historic district events.  She is one of those odd ducks so dedicated to her work that sometimes it's hard to talk about anything beyond that.  She regaled me for ten minutes about how she had to travel all over the midwest to find the correct hard wheat to mill because some of the softer and newer varieties of wheat don't grind as well on her stone - then another ten minutes about how to sharpen the stone by hand.  I tried to be polite .

Anyway - I very much enjoy the cool morning jogs. Not sure I'll have these kinds of opportunities much on a day-to-day basis in Mumbai, so I need to relish them now.

Windmill Island - sun to my back.

About the title of the post - there's an obnoxious saying around here that goes: "You ain't much if you ain't Dutch" I just kinda thought it appropriate to these pictures