The Great Ethiopian Run
Friday, May 7th, 2010In November 2009, James Holden participated with 30,000 other runners in the Great Ethiopian Run. At 8,000 feet altitude, this is one of the world’s toughest long distance events. Here is his account of his experience…
The Run of Freedom - By James Holden
The chanting began about one kilometre into the race. Started by a handful of runners, the cadence quickly swelled until it felt as if I was surrounded by a thousand Zulu warriors, voices beating out a rhythm in time with their pounding feet.
Somewhere behind me in the crush was my friend Israel. I lost him in the melee that was the first five minutes of the race, his slight frame swallowed by a vast emerald tide of Ethiopians, each proudly wearing their bright green race-day t-shirt.
Israel is our local guide. Like many Ethiopians he loves to run. It is Ethiopia’s national sport. More than that, it is their passion, whether they are running themselves or supporting their heroes. And they have much to be proud of because Ethiopia is arguably the best in the world at distance races.
Over the past three Olympic Games, Ethiopia has won 22 medals in long distance races, including 10 golds. At the same games their nearest rival Kenya has won eight medals and only one gold. And over the past three world championships Ethiopia has won nearly twice the number of medals as Kenya.
The top runners in Ethiopia make good salaries plus bonuses for successful races. They also attract lucrative sponsorship deals from companies who want to be associated with athletes such as Haile Gebrselassie, the first man to run a marathon in under two hours, four minutes.
Each year only a few runners make it into the national squad; its members can often be seen training on the outskirts of the capital Addis Ababa, running up the steep road that climbs Mount Entoto. But these very long odds do not stop the hundreds who come to Meskel Square at dawn each morning. This is where the hopefuls train, jogging along the dusty terraces that overlook the square because running offers the chance of an escape from insidious poverty and a far better life.
Successful runners are superstars in Ethiopia. Names like Kenenisa Bekele, who is the current world record holder in the men’s 5000 and 10,000, Tirunesh Dibaba, who won Olympic gold in Beijing for the women’s 5000 and 10,000 and has the world record for the 5000. And of course Haile Gebrselassie, probably the greatest distance runner of all time, who holds numerous world titles in distance running and is the current world record holder of the men’s marathon.
Gebrselassie is also one of the organisers of the biggest road race in Ethiopia, the Great Ethiopian Run. The organisation behind the annual 10 kilometre race was founded in 2001 to hold mass-participation running events throughout Ethiopia – so far it has staged some 50 races. Each year the Great Ethiopian Run focuses on fundraising for particular causes. This year it was children from poor and disadvantaged backgrounds and AIDs awareness.
But last November I wasn’t in Ethiopia to run. I was there to lead a group of Australians around the northern historical circuit, a tour that takes in the hand-carved subterranean rock churches of Lalibela and the tumbledown castles of past emperors’ in Gondar. We also spent time in the Simien Mountains, a vast tangle of interlocking valleys and sheer cliffs inhabited by troops of gelada baboon, the world’s only grass-eating primate.
When we returned to Addis from the north, Yared, our driver and also a keen runner, presented me with a t-shirt that would allow me to enter the annual 10-kilometre Great Ethiopian Run the following day. It was a surprise, but a welcome one and a perfect end to the tour. I managed to buy Israel a t-shirt on the day of the race so he could run with me.
So on Sunday, a little before 9.00 am, when the race was scheduled to start, Israel and I joined around 33,000 people gathered at the western end of the expanse of Meskel Square.
Loud music – a mixture of Ethio-pop and western contemporary – blared from large speakers. Small groups were dancing, while others were chatting, many with arms around shoulders or leaning on each other. Occasionally the crowd surged forward on a rumour that one of the country’s running heroes has been spotted somewhere in the square.
The hazy day was warming but the altitude tempered the heat and there was still a slight chill in the air. The race was to begin in a few minutes and at the opposite end of the square the elite runners had already started. The mass pushed forward again, anxious to be on the move. A thin line of police held us back, letting us forward in spurts of 20 metres or so at a time.
Suddenly the police were gone and we were away.
I took little notice of Meskel Square as we poured in, filling all fourteen traffic lanes; I was too busy picking a path through the throng and trying to find a comfortable running pace (something that eluded me for the entire race!)
We flowed out of Meskel and made our way uphill towards La Gare railway station, a long, sand-coloured and, ironically, Romanesque building built in 1896 to celebrate victory over the Italians after their failed invasion of Ethiopia. At the top of the rise a huge running river of green stretched out away from me towards Mexico Square.
We turned north at the Supreme Court. I was told later that many Ethiopians run each year to express their anger at the government as they pass the edifices of its office. For most it is the only chance they have for expressing their frustration because political rallies are generally not allowed in Ethiopia.
At the Supreme Court the runners scoffed, “In this temple of justice, there is no justice.” At the Ministry of Defense they mocked: “There are no men of courage in this building to defend the people.” At each government building they had a new chant, each one as barbed as the last.
On Yohanis Street things got nasty. It wasn’t the runners, many of whom were singing, laughing, chatting or holding hands. It wasn’t the police, who were turning a deaf ear to the political slogans.
It was the hill.
We were already over 2200 metres above sea level and now we expected to run uphill. In fact much of the course seemed to have a spiteful upward slope. Nearby runners could see I was struggling so they stayed with me until the top near the Hilton Hotel, shouting encouragement to the ferengi (foreigner): “Stay strong, stay strong.”
The course flattened as we ran past a rock band and under a jet of water to cool us off. That turned out to be the only water on the course apart from opportunists selling bottles by the side of the road and a salty pouch that was handed to us at the end of the race.
The last two kilometres were downhill (apparently) but they didn’t seem to be much easier than other parts of the course.
Forty seven minutes after leaving Meskel Square, I was back there again. I was hot, thirsty and tired but elated at finishing, even it was nine minutes outside my personal best.
I have my medal and my bright green t-shirt. I also have amazing memories of one of the hardest but most rewarding runs of my life.
I’m going to do it again and I hope next time I will have enough spare breath in my lungs so I can join in with the ‘Zulu’ chanting. Then, even if it is only for a few moments,
I will be able to pretend I am a fleet-footed Ethiopian, running for the sheer joy of it and running to be free.
