TANYA GRIGGS

Hola peeps.

 

It’s been 3 weeks since my first ever marathon and the buzz is only just dying down. I have already signed up for the 2024 Paris marathon and aim to do same for the Lisbon marathon in October this year. Will def take along my soigne goodluck outfit of a black sleeveless top and lime green shorts. The latter of which I bought in the UK to use for kickboxing classes there.

 

I completed the 42.2km in 4hrs 17mins and 13 secs but I am sure it coulda been done in 3hrs 30mins, if both hamstrings hadn’t broken down around km 30. I walked from then to km 40, then ran, well, sorta ran, the last 2km. It was hard but well rewarding. I chose to breathe through nose mostly when running and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the cheering crowd, or the sight of fellow runners, but my usual ailments (knees and index toes) didn’t manifest themselves at all.

 

Typically, during long runs my knees start hurting after 15-20 kms, especially the left knee, which is weird as the ACL surgery I had in 2021 was on the right knee. Even worse, my index toes tend to blister and clot after about 15kms. It’s so bad both index toes are now permanently darkened from the blood clots. However, when I finished the marathon and took off socks my toes were untouched. If it’s the crowds that made me push myself and not ail as I normally would, perhaps I’d have a cheering section in everything I do so I could excel at it. A cheering section when I blog, so I wouldn’t procrastinate? One for when I poop, so….nah, I love peace and quiet when I do my business.

 

Speaking of poop – y’all knew this was coming, right? – I got this idea to enroll celebrities to act as human civets. If folk can sell different blends of coffee I don’t see why there cannot be a human version of kopi luwak, where instant coffee can be coffee beans excreted by someone with diarrhea and premium coffee could be from someone a celebrity with serious case of constipation. Wanna tell me folk won’t buy coffee made from coffee beans that’s fermented through Kim K’s intestines? Already have a name for the brand…wait for it….Scatter Splatter. I am freely sharing my ideas with y’all ‘cos I trust y’all and wanna be accountable this year in getting long-gestating - geddit? - biz ideas off the table, particularly my tee shirt ones and the rent-a-driver idea from 2005. I believe if I had properly focused on the latter it coulda evolved into an Uber. Not gonna let that happen to Scatter Splatter.

 

So back to the marathon. I was supposed to arrive in Paris the morning of Friday March 31^st, but flight from Nairobi to Paris was delayed so didn’t get in until about 330pm. Had to spend the night before in Nairobi so used the opportunity to catch Creed 3. I really wanted to dig the movie, but apart from Jonathan Majors’s performance the entire movie was a tad…what am I trying to say here? The script was naff. A paint-by-the-numbers type script that woulda worked for a Lifetime Channel movie of the week, if the script writer was dyslexic. Man, it coulda been so much more. Okay back to the marathon experience….

 

So, from Charles De Gaule airport, I took a cab directly to the collection center to pick up my bib and other accoutrements. Then, headed for a fancy pansy dinner with some friends from the US at Le George at the Four Seasons Hotel. It was almost midnight before I got back to my hotel.

 

A confrere I used to run with in Juba, but now based in Addis, showed up with his wife for the marathon. It was dude’s first marathon as well, and as he had arrived early on the morning of the 31st he had figured out the transportation system around our hotel. At his suggestion we embarked on an even-paced 7km run on Saturday morning, then went into Paris proper for a meal, well, more like McD’s. When I began running long distances with this guy and other mates in Juba my prevailing fear had always been having poop cravings without any nearby loos. Once I overcame that fear the next one became what I would think about for hours on end, since I don’t listen to music when I run. I reckon that only stopped being an issue earlier this year. Anyway, I settled on McD’s primarily ‘cos I didn’t wanna have doodle pangs during the marathon the next day. Met up with American friends one last time and was back at hotel by 9pm.

 

Woke up at 140am on Sunday April 2^nd, the day of the marathon, to poop and it was one of those splattery poops I usually get from consuming dairy or beans. Since all I had the day before was McD’s and some apples, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why poop was mostly liquid. Did my business quickly and had 2 apples before going back to sleep at 2am. Woke up twice before alarm went off at 630am. Nerves? Maybe. It’s either that or French apples are laced with dairy, ‘cos I splatter-pooped again at 655am. Hurriedly emptied my bowels and prayed I’d be good in time to set out from the hotel at 730am. Though my race wasn’t to commence at 950am – I registered with the contingent intending on completing the race in 4hrs – we left early ‘cos my pal and a Brazilian lady we met at the hotel registered to complete the race in 3hrs 45mins, so their start time was much earlier at 9am and we had to get there early.

 

Arrived at Champs-Elysees about 830am and just about found the spot for dropping off our bags before we rushed to the starting spot for mate’s start time. Did I tell y’all it was bloody cold? Glad I chose to go on sh0rt 7km run with mate the day before to get a feel of the weather. If I hadn’t I’da shown up for the race proper in just a sleeveless top and woulda frozen butt off before the race kicked off. I ended up donning a short sleeve top underneath the sleeveless jersey.

 

The 4-hr crew kicked off our race about 951am and I slowly navigated my way through runners for the first km at a deliberate slow pace as I normally do for the first km during runs in Juba. By the 2^nd km I had outgunned the pacesetters and was making good progress. Around km 7 or 8, some Asian guy came up beside me and asked what my target was. Told him 4hrs, as it was my first marathon. Dude asked if we could run together ‘cos my pace is good and his target’s to finish in 3hrs 40mins. “Wow”, I thought to myself. “So, this guy has noticed I am making good pace and I am not out of breath at all. Hmm, might to able to complete my first marathon is less than 4 hours after all”. We lost each other as we went on ‘cos he was a tad faster than me, but his words cheered me on. I kept passing other runners and looking at their bibs to see those with 3hr 45mins target times. “Ha. Look at these slow coaches.” Saw some 4-hr folk already walking by km 15. “Sad, sad folk”, I muttered. Even had enough energy around km 3 to congratulate a runner on his costume. Dude was outfitted like those creatures in the Avatar movies. I am talking full makeup, complete with a tail.

 

About 2 weeks before the race while perusing YouTube for running hints, I came across a guy that suggested breathing primarily through nose when running; so I attempted doing that during two 10km runs and a 20km one the week before the marathon. I did okay, so decided to try it during the marathon. I was fine and performing well with it, and most importantly, I wasn’t in my head. I prayed for family, prayed for work colleagues, prayed for African rulers, hummed songs in my head, thought of jokes and laughed to myself. One of the memorable signs held by the crowd that cracked me up read something like, “This is a lot of work for a free banana”. Best of all, knees that would start hurting right about 20km mark didn’t give any indications. I had chewable Vitamin C tablets in my pocket in case I needed to suck on something for energy, and I saved those until about km 25. Good thing I had used that last 20km run as a marathon recital ‘cos I had nearly choked on a Bounty mini chocolate bar during the run, so decided I would not eat at all during the marathon proper.

 

I usually don’t glance at watch during runs so as not to get in head, but felt I was making good time in the marathon as there were indicators at every km. Right about km 30 both my hamstrings gave way. I tried to keep running, but pain shot through my lower back as well. I stopped running and started walking like the mere mortals I had scoffed at earlier. “Don’t worry Tunde, walk for 1km then you can resume running again”. I tried to resume running at km 31, but my feet wouldn’t move without pain. Right about km 32, some guy from the crowd patted me on the back to encourage me. That kind gesture gave me a second wind. At that point I could hear the theme song from the Rocky movies flood my brain. Yeah, yeah, I could do this! I imagined the training montage from Rocky IV, that I first saw at Feyi Fasan’s house in Festac as a 9-year-old. I started running again. Face to face, Out in the heat, Hanging tough, Staying hungry….It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight….after 150m this tiger started getting cross-eyed. I just couldn’t move my feet. Tried to convince myself to attempt speed-walking like those guys at the Olympics I always made fun of. I couldn’t even do that. Around km 35, I stopped walking and ate cakes on offer, drank bottles and bottles of water, even ate a banana, even though I don’t like bananas. Anything to take my mind off the pain, you know. Around km 37 the Avatar dude ran past me. Oh no, not the Avatar dude. Then, one 4-hr pacesetter did, then another. Damn it, I wasn’t gonna finish in 4 hrs after all. Kept walking, determined not to quit. It wasn’t until I got to km 40 that I was able to start running again. I cursed myself for not training properly for the marathon, then forgave myself because I knew I wasn’t able to train due to insane travel schedule. Promised myself I would sign up for the Paris marathon next year and complete it in 3hrs 30mins. Promised myself I would sign up for the Lisbon marathon in October and would train properly for it. Kept pushing myself not to stop running and imagined myself running down the easiest 2km downhill route in Juba. Pushed and pushed  until I saw the “350m left to go” sign. Tried to race faster, but that 350m was more like 3km. It just kept going and going. Eventually, I crossed the finish line and discovered my Garmin watch that had been playing up for past few months had run outta battery power, even though I fully charged it before I left the hotel for the race. Weird thing is that when I recharged it at the hotel after the race, it would last for days without requiring a recharge. Could the jerky movements from running cause the battery to run down easily? Why though, since it’s a watch meant for sporting activities? Anyhoo, that was the last thing I needed to think about.

 

I limped towards the water stand and picked up 2 bottles of water and 2 apples. Then the finisher’s tee shirt and the medal. The cold now hit me. Man, I was shivering. I sat on the tarmac for a bit while I ate the apples and didn’t care if they were laced with dairy. I saw some dude throwing up and consoled myself that at least I wasn’t one of those. Limped towards area where I stowed bag with lower back killing me big time. Found mate standing there and we hugged and congratulated each other. His legs also gave way, but around the 35km mark. Right there we both decided we would sign up for next year’s marathon and complete it sans injury. Hey, did I mention it was cold?

 

We picked up my bag, took a few photos to mark the occasion, and called his wife to meet us at a designated spot. We shuffled our way to the spot and I bought us two hotdogs while we waited for his wife to show up with our warm clothes. Found her, donned on joggers, a fleece, and my Naija baseball hat. Then, we proceeded to walk along Champs-Elysees ‘cos she needed to shop, you know, being in Paris and all. Didn’t get back to hotel until past 8pm, even though my race was done by about 230pm. We stopped by a restaurant for her to get a bite while mate and I tried our best to get warm. Of course, we showed our medals everywhere we went and received loadsa congrats. Rewarded myself with two Lacoste polo tops, one with a customized alligator crest and my name stitched across the right sleeve. Called my daughter that night and told her all about my marathon experience. She couldn’t be bothered, if I am being honest. Ha.

 

Left Paris the next afternoon by train to Brussels, where I hung out with a Spanish friend from uni and her cousin. Lucia was an exchange student from Spain who came to Bradford for a year, but we stayed in touch.  Last time I saw her was in 2000! She lives in Valencia, but coincidentally chose to visit Belgium while I was there, so she, her cousin and I did touristy stuff by visiting Brugges on the 4^th and Gent on the 5^th. I left Brussels for Stuttgart on the 6^th to surprise an aunt I hadn’t seen in decades. Did 2 nights in Stuttgart and on eve of departure my cousins took me to see the movie Air in an English-language cinema. Man, I envy their ability to speak multiple languages. April 13^th made it 8 years in Juba, man. It’s high time I get serious about speaking Juba Arabic.

 

Returned to Juba on Sunday April 9^th and promised myself I won’t be leaving these shores for a long while. Good thing too, as Juba’s so small whenever I would bump into random peeps afterwards, they’d tell me, “Welcome back”. First, it was some dude in the elevator at work. How did this guy know I was away since I probably see him only once or twice a year? Then, I went to one of the government offices and some dude asked how the marathon went. What?! Best not attempt to commit a crime in Juba as a foreigner ‘cos you’d get easily caught.

Forgot to mention Nike called me on the day I arrived in Paris and asked to put Kemi on the line. I was in a taxi on way from the airport so had sufficient time to talk. Nike started the call with a prayer, so I knew then this was not just any other call. They decided to talk to me ‘cos mom had apparently noticed I don’t reach out to her and had complained to them about us not being close anymore. They wanted to find out what was wrong and appealed to me to forgive her. They said she’s real upset and Nike confirmed she had cried the last time they saw in Beachland. I was sad to hear she was hurting, that was not my intention. Contrast that with the last dinner we had in 1996 before I departed for uni in the UK. I could see her getting teary-eyed and boy, was I glad. So, this woman who has caused me so much pain is gonna miss me after all? Good! Serves her right.

I explained to my sisters that they both were aware of what issues I have with our mother, and my decision in October last year to keep my distance is non-negotiable. About us not being close? We never were, at least not since my teenage years, so I don’t get what the big deal is. I further explained that the Bible asks us to honour our parents and I have never flouted that. She could never accuse me of being rude to her or ignoring her calls, could she? I thanked them for calling and got off the phone. Nike raised a good point when she asked how I would feel if my daughter adopted a similar stance towards me when she’s older. Well, she hardly talks to me now, so I already have good practice. I kid. In all seriousness, I mulled that question a tad while pooping on the morning of the marathon. Guess I’ll have to do my utmost not to aggravate her to the point where the risk of that happening is high.

 

Speaking of my relationship with her, I was in Uganda in March and experiencing David engage with Madiba provided some sort of relief that I wasn’t doing anything wrong with my daughter. It’s just what parents go through with their 11-year-olds. Although they live in the same city, and he sees him at least twice a week, David must still literally extract conversations from his son.
David: You hungry?

Madiba: Nah.
David: What was the name of the restaurant we went to in South Africa, the one with the tasty burgers?

Madiba: Can’t remember. Is it really important?

David: You prefer cheesy popcorn to sweet and salt ones, right?

Madiba: No.

David: But you used to like cheesy popcorn.

Madiba: That was when I was younger.

 

Over the Xmas holidays in Lagos, I finally got my daughter’s denim jacket customized with the images she wanted. I wasn’t impressed with the quality of handicraft but presented it to her all the same. Surprisingly, she loved it and couldn’t stop taking pics wearing it. Her inability to take a series of pics without making funny faces further confirms she’s my progeny. Of course, I tell myself each time I won’t send her pics to all and sundry, but then I start forwarding to family and then I can’t stop myself from sending to acquaintances that I feel might be interested. I have turned into that parent I never thought I would become.

 

During our hangout in January, I discovered my daughter cannot dance. Obviously, she didn’t get that part from me. Some guy was playing song in the mall we were at, and my daughter was jumping all over the place like a white person without rhythm. I know that’s tautology, but that’s how bad her dancing was. When I teased her for not being able to dance, she retorted that what she was doing was an “expressive dance”. Sure, it was. During my next visit in the fall, I need to find a way to teach her to dance. She can’t be letting the side down, man.

 

While in the UK, I underwent my bi-annual dentist visit and I musta been a pretty good boy ‘cos I got a clean bill of health. However, I was informed I am wearing out my enamels as I tend to grind my teeth in my sleep. The dentist recommended a mouth guard to curb this. Trying it out was weird at first but getting used to it now, on the nights when I remember to put it on. I dunno if it’s related but since I got comfortable sleeping with the guard on, I no longer wake up in the middle of the night to pee. However, I find myself drooling sometimes and having the strangest dreams. Weirdly, I have noticed I don’t drool when I go to bed extra tired or fall asleep with the lights on. Hmmm. During the first week of wearing the guard, I dreamt of swimming pools every night. In one of the dreams, I walked out of the pool to discover my bald head now had baby hair around the hairline. Another time, I woke up in Malaysia and my tour guide was a 5-year-old boy with a fully formed green grass moustache. Last night, I dreamt I was eating extra tough tripe, probably while chewing on the guard.

From the UK, I did my usual whirlwind tour of the US: 2 nights in Atlanta, 2 nights in Dallas, one night in Redding, CA, 2 nights in Santa Clarita, CA, 2 nights in Houston, then back to ATL for return flight to the UK. It was supposed to mostly be a leisure trip, but I tried to squeeze in some work in there. Because work stuff wasn’t primed, I spent about 10 days in the UK before returning to the US for one night in Abilene, TX, one night in Dallas, a final night in Houston, then return to the UK. Now y’all understand why I couldn’t train properly for the marathon? I could only executed runs of 9.6km in Redding, then 13k, 26k and 30k in the UK. The last one was on the day of my departure from the UK to Kampala.

Yeah, after 2 nights in the UK I flew to Kampala, where I spent about 5 days before returning to Juba. The stopover in Kampala was to pick up Schengen visa required for my trip to Europe. Spent less than 2 weeks in Juba before flying to Paris for the marathon. Now you can understand why I stated earlier that I ain’t keen to travel anywhere for a while? Although, I learnt yesterday I may be drafted as part of a South Sudan delegation to a conference in Uganda next month. I find out for sure on Monday. Might be time to get my own plane.

 

Speaking of, maybe I shoulda included that as part of RTT declaration session. Y’all remember Rapid Transformation Therapy, that expensive therapy I told y’all about last year, right? Weird to say this, but most of my declarations have come true. I suppose there’s something for declaring plans out loud and committing to them, ‘cos I projected I’d complete 2 marathons within a year and I am half-way there; talked about long-term debtors repaying funds and some have come outta the woodwork to pay back funds, both on a personal level and for the business in Juba; the Human Flag is still a work in progress; relationship with daughter is improving; I commit to a Bible study group weekly, whenever I am in Juba; and convinced parent company to go into renewables. The only major outstanding declaration is the plan to make $2m a month. Perhaps, Scatter Splatter could be it. Ha

Tot ziens and God bless.

PS
Before I go – Arsenal is about to face Southampton in the EPL – I need to tell y’all about a remarkable lady named Tanya Griggs. I met her in 2002 in Atlanta when I went to a bar with a mate who was visiting from outta town. We never dated or even tried to, and she always teased me about that, declaring I was too young for her. At that time in Atlanta, a professional, single African American man could openly date multiple African American women, with the women being aware of each other, but still hanging on hoping to be the one he ends up marrying. What was so sexy about Tanya was she was never willing to settle. Even though she was in her 30s at the time, she was adamant that anyone she dated would be exclusively hers.

 

Even after I left the US for the UK, then Nigeria, and now South Sudan, Tanya and I never lost touch. I made a conscious effort to pass through the US once or twice a year primarily ‘cos of Tanya. She was always the best part of my visits. Unfortunately, Tanya recently passed away on the 9^th of April. Almost from the time I met her she had been undergoing dialysis, and a few years ago was diagnosed with cancer. She was the bravest person I know and never let her diagnosis stop her from putting others first. No matter what she was going through she always made time whenever this bald Nigerian visited the US. I love her and miss her so, so much. Who else is gonna tease me about my “pervy massages”?