5K

There’s a point in the Vivo Energy Windhoek Marathon that makes the metallic taste of blood in your mouth all worth it.

The pre-dawn, upward slog from the City of Windhoek and the peak of a hill on Sam Nujoma Drive are behind you and suddenly the sun rises, bathing the entire scene in golden light.

If Jesus is coming, I imagine it will look just like this, set to the sound of Enya and harps. Should God, eventually, mercifully, cue The Rapture, I hope the light will be as soft, the air as crisp and the feeling of camaraderie will be similarly sweet.

Never content to simply live in the moment, I pause to take a photograph. The laboured breathing of runners who are taking the race far more seriously than I am replaces the sound of ‘Only Time’ playing cinematically in my head and I take a good look around.

On the path across the street, a trickle of dog walkers watch the green-clad marathon participants with curiosity while gripping their excited pets’ leashes for dear life. Taxi drivers irritably inching their cars along the race barricades look on as if we’ve collectively lost our minds, while other motorists yell, hoot and wave in encouragement.

As someone who signed up for the humble 5K fun run, promptly forgot about it and was suddenly issued an early-morning call time, a race number and a bright green swag bag, I’m actually having a blast.

I’ve trained for exactly zero hours. I’m walking, ambling unhurriedly near the back of the crowd and chatting to women pushing prams. I’m smiling at kids trying to get their folks to go faster and marvelling at a woman who thought to don her pastel pink headphones and is striding along in her own world, listening to … Enya?

As the actual marathon runners run their impressive 42,2 kilometres while attempting to improve their respective personal bests, the Windhoekers doing the 5K are another breed entirely. A diverse mix of regular runners, sometimes walkers and sporadic joggers taking to the street for a variety of reasons.

Up ahead of me, an old school friend has her partner’s name printed on her green race shirt. She catches sight of me and yells a sing-song “Mar-tha Mu-kai-wa!” as she pushes their baby daughter towards her partner’s former workplace in an all-terrain pram.

She’s out for the morning, walking in her partner’s memory after his tragic death last year. As a former athlete, striving mother and general badass, she’s determined not to come last and bids me farewell as she motors up a hill.

For my sister, completing the 5K is proof that the worst of her health challenges are behind her. A year ago, she was booked into a local hospital following some lingering post-pregnancy concerns that ultimately necessitated a gruelling, year-long regiment of physiotherapy and biokinetics.

She bursts into tears near the finish line because she never imagined she would walk that far, that fast, let alone uphill, ever again. The medal she receives is a tangible testimony of her recovery. She poses for a photograph with my mother, who runs the race like a beast, and then bites into the medal as though it’s gold because, to her, it might as well be.

As I walk past assorted groups of friends, couples and families, each out for reasons big, unfathomable and small, I realise the 5K is pretty special.

It’s the runt of the Vivo Energy Windhoek Marathon litter. It’s the province of novices, people who are game for anything and foodies heading towards a big, greasy, hard-won breakfast, maybe even topped with some bubbly or a beer.

But it’s also a site of community building, connection and remembrance; of the people we’ve lost and of various versions of ourselves. As my sister and I break into a run for the finish, strangers cheering us on as we go, I lose an alarming amount of breath but I know we’ll be back next year.

We’ll be stronger, better, fitter, faster, gunning for that gift of golden daylight on Sam Nujoma Drive.

–martha@namibian.com.na; Martha Mukaiwa on Twitter and Instagram; marthamukaiwa.com