The GREAT Ethiopian Run

We arrived at Meskal Square at 6:30am to run the 10 kilometer race, along with 36,000 others, only 300 of which were not Ethiopian. Again, my white skin and straight hair made me a novelty. The square was a sea of red and purple, the colors of this year's official T-shirt, and continued to fill in overwhelming waves. Despite there being 36,000 runners, there were only two starts, the mass and the elite. I made my way into the mass start, trying to push toward the front of the jubilant crowd, which proved next to impossible with everyone standing shoulder-to-shoulder, hands resting on the stranger's back in front of them or clinging onto a friend. I waited in this chanting, clawing, dancing body for a half an hour, fearing what would transpire when the gun finally went off. Indeed, my worst fears were confirmed. Someone clung onto my shoulders, another the back of my shirt, and a third onto my arm, hoping that these holds would propel them forward. The pack shot off, many stumbling. It was impossible not to, considering that one could only see a few inches of pavement in front, if that, carefully placing each short step. My goal was to remain a separate entity apart from the pavement.

The scene at Meskal Sq

My mind had to think faster than my feet and with constant attention, my thinking soon caught up to my pace. At the bottom of a long stretch of slow-rising hill, the sea of bobbing red bodies went on in front of me for as far as I could see. I soon felt almost comfortable enough to try to weave my way around other runners, the many hundred that had jumped into the race in front of me from the sidelines just after the start. As I turned a corner, another man took a dive, and suddenly, other runners stopped and stood surrounded him, chanting in Amharic to to warn others of the fallen man. This warning did not phase me as I started pushing by other runners and walkers. I was intent on not succumbing to passively riding the crowd; it is not uncommon to run the Great Run in upwards of an hour and a half or two hours due to the human obstacles and party atmosphere. I was starting to enjoy the thrill of the congestion and the energy of everyone around me. Along the course, there were multiple points where bands were playing. These spots were particularly difficult to navigate, as runners would stop abruptly to join the impromptu dance party that stretched across the entire width of the course. There were also sprinklers and camera crews that caused mass movement toward these attractions, every runner eager to run through a cooling stream of water or be captured by the camera.

Joanna and I after the race

As is typical during my runs in Ethiopia, I receive a lot of encouragement from fellow runners. One man that had been running beside me (it was impossible to stick with anyone for more than a few minutes due to the dodging, jam-packed pattern of the racers) stated enthusiastically, “We run together. Yah? You and me.” And I responded, somewhat apprehensively, “Ishi (Okay).” He was delighted. As we continued to weave, our separation was inevitable, leaving me somewhat relieved. However, he was only the first of a series of men that were persistent in pacing me. With each one that cozied up to me, I had some new, unpredictable interaction, “I think you German” (It was a statement, not a question), “You have running experience, yah?” and “Stay with me” and “Come on!” Proud of their city and charmed that I was taking part in an important annual event with them, they were eager to make my experience all the more enjoyable.

Though I started out feeling as if I could run much faster than the crowds would allow and relieved that I may finally be adjusting to the altitude (though it may have just been the adrenaline of the event), by the last quarter I was feeling tired. I was relieved to see the 9 kilometer marker and pull into the final stretch that would return me to festive Meskel Square. I received a purple-ribboned medal (the first 12,000 finishers received purple, the next 12,000 green, and the final 12,000 yellow) that declared proudly, “2011 Commercial Bank of Ethiopia Great Ethiopian Run” on one side, and in larger print on the other, “Great Ethiopian Run 2004.” This is no mistake. The Ethiopian calendar is 9 days (or 10, changes daily) and 7 years behind the western calendar. Confusing, yes!

Walking back to the team van, a man caught up to our group. He ecstatically told me that he had seen me at the finish and my backside had been his motivation, that he had been intent on catching up to me. Great, he found me again! I'm not sure how many tourists it would take to diminish the fascination with ferengi, niche, china (the names for white people that I hear constantly when I'm in public) among Ethiopians. Although at times amusing, being the center of attention becomes quickly tiring. Although this race would have never happened in the States, due to safety concerns, and I enjoyed (almost) every minute of it, I am looking forward to my first run back in the States where no one seems me as anything more than another mediocre jogger.