Fun & Games in Kabul

With tensions mounting and my time in High Asia drawing to a close, I was invited by the Afghan Athletics Association to compete as a special guest in the "Run for Peace" 10,000m road race here in Kabul. The race began at the Darilam, a former castle of Afghan Kings that rests on a hill overlooking Kabul and is wrought with history. Of course, it was destroyed by none other than your friendly neighborhood Taliban, something about being offended by its presence.

I was told the event would be the 10k distance and would start at 8:00am. I was resting in the VIP tent and was about to begin my warm-up when I was told the race would soon start. I entered the holding pen for the athletes and immediately learned that I was the only western man in the race. I also observed that I was the oldest, as everyone there seemed to be between 18-28. The next youngest man was a fellow Afghan track coach, the ripe old age of 34. I was two days shy of my 45th…

It didn’t take long for my fellow competitors to notice I was from out of town. Fortunately, this was the "Run for Peace & Unity 10k" and not the "Kill the White Guy and then run 10k". After asking where I was from, the next question everyone asked was if I was Moslem. I tried to deflect the question by saying I was Southern (By the grace of God) which returned the expected look of uncertainty. Again, luck was on my side as I was herded with 2300 of my newest friends to the starting line. I have been fortunate in my travels to associate with movers and shakers and tried to avoid dealing with mass crowds of the impoverished for safety reasons. Yes, I admit it. I have actually taken 1 or 2 precautions to ensure my safety these past 12 months. As I seeded myself accordingly near the start of the race, apparently each of the 2300 men felt they could win the race and moved cattle like to the front. "Officials" with AK-47’s simple tore branches from trees and started beating the men back to the start line. I felt behooved to move a few steps rearward. The herd moved back and forth across the start line like a beating heart while the race director decided how to start the race. No worries. After the last beating, the herd started on it’s own and my Tour Du Kabul was underway.

Usually, a road race is conducted on foot, however, on more than one occasion I noticed competitors passing me on the back of bicycles while others had gotten a head start and jumped into the race a mile or so into the event, sprinting past me only to slow to a jog a few hundred meters later. By the time I reached the Kabul River and entered the Old Town, the race had spread out to a manageable degree.
I was pleased to see everyone wearing shorts as we passed the thousands of spectators, many of who were burka clad women. The reason I was pleased was that during the Summer, and after consulting numerous knowledgeable individuals, I was told it was appropriate to wear shorts for the purpose of athletic training and sports. One warn twilight Summer day, I was running a couple of extra minutes in my neighborhood and passed the Norwegian Embassy. The Afghan guard took exception to my attire and became rather unsettled. A moment later, he had cocked his Kalashnikov, pointed it at me and began shouting. Oddly, I became annoyed and not scared and my first thought was to take the gun away from this teenager who was a foot shorter than me. I soon reasoned that would not be prudent and soon his commander was yelling at him saying "We do not shoot white people for wearing shorts". For my 99-year-old grandmother who is reading this, it has cooled off here in Kabul and I am back to wearing long running pants.

I was on pace to run about 40min for the 6.2mi which wasn’t so bad given I was running at elevation of 6000ft with lots of dust and pollutants. Unfortunately, after passing the 9km banner, the race kept going and I as I turned for home, I saw hundreds of Afghans cutting the course and entering Olympic Stadium. I went from 50ish to 500th ish. However, when the Afghans entered the stadium, no one crossed the finish line because there was a food tent in the middle of the track, causing an food deviation. I probably crossed the line 3rd…
Afterwards, more questions followed, all of which were preceded by "Are you Moslem?" I was told I was dirty because I didn’t shave my armpits (Yes, all Moslem men shave there and lets leave it at that…) and that I would burn in the sky if I did not convert to Islam on the spot. Still, the 99.5% rule held in that the vast majority made me feel welcome at the event.

I was soon rescued and taken to the VIP balcony along with the dignitaries and the14 teenage girls who ran a separate 4km race and needed be sequestered from the deprived men. The men then stormed the fence for the Real reason they ran the race: Every finisher received a new SIM card for their cell phone and the faces pressed against the fence reminded me of footage of the final hours at the US Embassy in Saigon. Still, it was a unique experience to rub shoulders with those who live in the rural areas and that I normally would never have met. Overall, sport, like music, unites.

Unfortunately, as this was a race, I was unable to take pictures. Stay tuned for Fun & Games in Cape Town!

JLH