Ntinda Hills

Because I fell sick I've had to run 36 kilometers the last five days. All the runs have been great, and my legs, although a bit heavy now and then, are fine.

It is really hot and humid these days. Last Tuesday, on my first 11 kilometer run of the year, it was unusually hot and sticky and I was swearing and cursing half ways in. Covered in sweat I so badly wanted to rip of my t-shirt and run bare chested, but I know that around here that would offend the majority of people. Gotta respect that. After all, Cultural Studies is one of the subjects I am currently studying. When in Rome and all that... So I left it on, suffered and felt a tiny bit sorry for myself. That soon stopped however, when a fellow runner wearing a rain jacket, rain trousers and a woollen hat caught up with me and joined me for a kilometer or so. I have seen him before; we always greet each other - and because of his outfit I was pretty sure he was a boxer. This time he ran alongside me so we talked a bit. With a big smile he confirmed that he is a boxer. We chatted a bit about boxing and he was smiling throughout. Then we went each our separate ways. I promised myself that from now on, whenever I start feeling sorry for myself, I'll think of what it must feel like running in the tropics dressed up like that.

We're moving on Wednesday and that means a very sad goodbye to the hills and the people here in Ntinda. It is sad because I will miss every single suicidal boda boda driver, snotty kid, fellow runner, giant pot hole, awe inspiring boxer, smiley newspaper vendor, smelly goat, rabid dog and breathtaking sunset I have come across while running in the hills over the last couple of years. I guess that, as much as I have become part of street life around here, the street life has become a part of me too. It has been such a great way for me to experience and interact with the locals. If Bugolobi is just half as enjoyable, then I won't complain.

Marathon Madsen