Run Child Run
Run Child Run
“Run child run, run little girl run,” my grandfather’s voice echoes in my mind.
“On your mark,” the starter calls.
I make my stance, left leg in front, right leg back. The starting gun goes and off we go. I let my body lead me into a rhythm corresponding with that of the pacemaker, she’s going fast.
I push a little harder to stay with the leading pack of four, keeping at their back, but not too far behind to let them go.
“Run child run, run little girl run.” My grandfather’s voice rhymes with each stride I take. I follow his voice knowing he is running with me. He had gotten me to this point and I knew he would see me through until the end.
Growing up, my grandfather was my only family. His old wrinkled face was the only friendly face I had known for most of my early years. They all hated me, but not him, he loved and cared for me.
My aunties, cousins, and uncles all never wanted me around and a few weeks after starting school my classmates never wanted me around too. The moment classes ended for the day my torment would begin.
They would chase and throw stones at me. The first time this happened a stone caught the back of my neck, it hurt so badly. I climbed a mango tree and hid in the branches until nightfall. I only got down when all the voices that had been taunting me faded away.
Running in front of me is Cheptei, one of the highest contenders for the championship. She trips after jumping over a hurdle, hitting the ground with full force and almost taking me with her. I jump over her legs in the nick of time, if it had been any second slower I would have kissed the stadium ground too.
This throws my pace off and I struggle to close the increasing gap between myself and the leading three. I’ve slowed down, running alone a few meters behind the leading pack.
I look back to see the chasing group closing in on me.
‘Run child run, run little girl run,” grandpa urges me. I push my chest forward and press my legs on.
Today is the day, these moments, these minutes are all that matter right now. I’ve worked so hard to get here, to this stadium with this crowd, running with the best of the best from around the world.
Until a few months ago, I had never been anywhere outside Africa.
Eight-year-old Chelangat running from bullies would never have dreamed of this moment. Here on this stage at the world championships.
Eight-year-old Chelangat would never have believed she would travel the world over representing her country. From Berlin to Tokyo to Istanbul to Portland to London.
Little Chelangat, the outcast of her village, denied respect and love by her family because her father was from the other side. Her mother had conceived her out of wedlock by a man of a rival tribe. She had later gotten married, dumping her baby girl for her father to raise and moving as far away from her as possible.
The bell for the final lap goes. This is it, it’s do or die but I’m still in no man’s land. I’ve not been able to close the gap between myself and the leading pack. Elongot makes an early sprint for the finish line. I push my legs harder and catch up to Aga, flank to flank we run. She’s holding on, not letting me past her.
“Run child run, run little girl run,” grandpa barks.
I will my legs to go faster, running past Aga.
“Run child run, run little girl run,” grandpa roars at a faster rhythm. I push my legs forward and follow the pacing of his voice. I’m closing in on Elongot. And with all my strength I sprint past her and throw my whole being across the finish line.
The crowd bellows, their screams are deafening. I lie stretched out on the ground breathing hard and I look up to the sky.
“We did it grandpa,” I whisper. “If only you had lived another week to see me now.”
Sweat and tears of joy run down my face. The first gold medal for Uganda in the world championships for the women’s 3000m steeplechase and little old me had made it happen.
“Thank you grandpa, I love you.”
