I’m picking up running again because apparently, that’s what you’re supposed to do when your heart and mind need to mend. Right?
And because it’s something I used to do for fun.
I love running. I love it so much that watching someone else do it is enough to bring me joy.
I haven’t intentionally pursued it in ages because of so many excuses, but I have really missed the runner’s high. I have missed the version of me who’d confidently say something like, “What? Small small 10K like this? Let me lace up!” The person who had built up the stamina to run 21km at the drop of a hat.
Speaking of which, 21km was my first race so many years ago with one of my best girls, Evelyn. We did the Rotary Club’s Kampala 7 Hills Run without training, and hydration was still a foreign concept. All we had going for us was FOMO and vibes. But boy, did we have fun! But also, did we question our life’s choices? As the name implies, the race route traversed all of Kampala’s hills: Mengo, Rubaga, Namirembe, Makerere, Nakasero, Old Kampala, and Mulago. On the stairs towards Namirembe Church, both of us were fighting the temptation to sit down or just straight up lay down on the grass like many were doing; we looked at each other like, whose idea was this?
Do you want to know what’s crazy? We donated blood afterwards.
The blood bags were warm, and our blood was bubbling as if kitokota nga sikyisanikire. Evelyn’s was kutokotaling so hard that the syringe almost came loose. Good times.
My only regret from that race was that we collected ribbons instead of medals like they do these days (for most races). For every hill conquered, each hill was colour coded; you’d get a ribbon to show for it. At the finish line, we boasted a grand total of 14 ribbons between us. What do you know about us? Twaliwo.
We used to jump at every opportunity to marathon; btw, we haven’t run 42km yet, but we’re coming. Come Monday, casually telling someone (everyone) at the office that you were in a marathon yesterday and you feel amazeballs was everything.
Back to the medals because I am salty that I do not have a single medal in my life 😒 , and I was telling Evelyn about it the other day. I feel like I honestly deserve a medal for making it this far-ish in life, you know. I figured if I went back to running and competing (lol) in marathons, life would eventually award me some medals. Back in the day, we just ran for exposure. Can you imagine?
Over time, I stopped running. I stopped writing. I stopped chasing things that gave me joy. You know how it is with life events… Death in the family, unemployment, and all the external factors that life throws at us, until eventually, the only energy in you is just enough to see tomorrow, so you can try again tomorrow. At least I had my crochet, my reading, and my friends because, eh.
This is the part where I could really use a medal…
Evelyn invited me to spend the Easter Weekend at her parents’ in Mbarara back in 2021, and the most wonderful time was had. We also went for a small small 10k run. Every time we talk about running, she brings up that run. I had so much fun on that run; I felt good, the skies were blue, the air was cool and had that fresh minty thingy going on, the knees were well lubricated, the shoes fit perfectly, I didn’t feel any stones in them, my socks weren’t doing anything weird, the bra was even offering emotional support, everything was perfection.
Running felt like it was something akin to easy breezy, because at the time, it really was.
She’ll be like, “Naki, that form and pace was killer! I hope you can get it back…”
Sooo. This is me chasing pace and form. This is me rekindling my love for running, for writing… Finding the version of me who’s cool with booking herself a table for one, because why not?
Here’s me chasing the one who ran 21km on FOMO and vibes.
The fearless one who booked solo trips, and figured out everything else while in motion.
I registered myself and my baby brother, who isn’t a baby anymore because he is 18! (Where did the time go?) for 21km in the Independence Run on 4th October, 2026! I bought us running shoes; my brother-in-law, who also happens to be one of the most important people behind the marathon, shared a training program; basically, it’s over for everyone. Mainly because my brother is threatening to end up on the podium. We’ve even joined the Strava and Garmin race challenges, which feels like a very official way of announcing that quitting is no longer an option.
Elite runner coming through.
Watch your right.
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