Ngong circum ultra-2025

By modern elder

17/12/2025

How ngong circum season 1 went down,as captured by Mũya Modern Elder

PETER DRURY ON NGONG-CIRUM RUN

It's 6.30 AM in the morning. The sleepy town of Kimuka is a beehive of activity. The stream of German, Japanese and English machines at the LB lounge parking yard tell a story. The passengers didn't come all the way to just lounge, what they came for would make a non-runner cringe.

As the mist covers the hills yonder and the chirp of the birds unable to draw the sun rays from it's sunset sheath, it's a sign that time waits for no man. This mission must get started, cold or no cold, mist or no mist, sun or no sun.

The frozen limbs are stretched for blood stream flows to power up the hitherto moribund muscle fibres. Excitement is in the air, high fives, hugs and selfies garnish the start formalities. Feet are shod with brands local and foreign ready to hit the tarmac and trail, sand and pebble and any puddle of water along the way. The runners are well padded for the weather. Most with a camel back clinging on the back like a hump with supplies to last the escapade.

Soon action begins. As LB lounge fades in the horizon, so does any thoughts of this adventure being a walk in the park. The elevations raise the heart rate as noses and mouths draw in and draw out the fresh morn air. Chests are heaving in rhythmic flow with the pounding feet. Occasionally a cyclist here, a motorist there remind us that this is a shared resource and only the strong get to hog the bigger lanes.

As the bodies find rhythm, elite runners zoom past like the elevation is child play. We drool at how high they lift their legs as each stride makes them fade fast in the horizon right before our eyes. We close in on Ngong Town and the body is now fully warmed up, 20% done, 80% to go. Will we survive it? Our inner selves ask. Only time will tell.

We get off road and begin a play of hop step and jump dancing our way in uneven road surfaces. Mindful of our pace, "tusichome" we slow down. Watchful of our feet, "tusianguke" we scan the ground for every steppable path. Onlookers cheer us, others are unperturbed perhaps wondering why grown men and women are quarreling in the morning with the ground. Stray dogs love our rhythm and occasionally they come to smell our sweaty bodies as they do some pacing duties.

For those like 5 virgins without enough gas to power up their calories and hydration banks, a stop over at local dukas does the trick. It's a welcome relief to drop the heart rate down and catch a breath. This ultra does not want makasiriko.

A few more drops, climbs bends and long stretches with lingala tunes belting in the background, we get to Magadi road for a first photo shoot. So far Franco's Mario has carried our tired legs to nearly half marathon mark. We have 29km to go and we are feeling good. The high fives can tell. Then it happens.

Look away, we are tempted but we wont. The elevation to corner baridi stares us right in the face like Goliath with a taunt, "am I a boy that come with those shoes to scale up here?" Undeterred, like David, we summon our best effort and one foot after the other, the seeming giant is down and we are soon descending towards Kisamis. Who said we cannot do this?

34km mark and hope is high. The tea is hot and we are lured in like Eve at the garden. As we imbibe the brewed African beverage with a serving of hot fried cheetah skin like flat bread, commonly known as chapati, our madimdims fade off like the blind man whose faith made them see. We can see the finish line. Only 16km to go? Twende kazi.

So we embark on the gravel road, the final leg. The homestretch. The endless loose pebbles, crossing dried river valleys and sandwiched by shrubs and bushes, we wonder whether we lost our way. The robotic motions now are just to keep moving, to where? We don't know but we trust we are on the right path.

Temptations to DNF at this point are high. Some had to pull out for one reason on the other. Others are walk running. You can see from the faces the grit and determination despite the backdrop of pain and suffering. Walk we will, crawl we shall, limp we must but we will stop at nothing to get to the finish line.

Coke, good ol coke now starts to play out in the head as heat and wind greet the worn out body at the 45km mark. This is a test of endurance. With no shop in sight and the camel back running dry, the mathematic must math properly before the next hydration point.

Miraculously and with popeye like shot of energy, the gravel road comes to an abrupt end and behold the craved for tarmac. It is now 48.5km mark. Looking out for directions ad with nduthi riders lurking in the horizon and temping the tired body to hop in, the poster beams in the horizon, LB lounge to the left. relief, ecstasy greets the mind. Feet engaged with a final kick of the 1.5km it is a fast finish.

As the tired body bends in gingerly through those back gates, the greetings of earlier finishers turn pain into pleasure. 50km done. Kukonda is a guaranteed but food is plenty. This was the lounge. This is what brought us here. To suffer and find pleasure in it. An oxymoron? Yes, but one we are happy with.

Till the next one.

Thank you Bundi J N Ngirwa and co.