Shortly before eight o’clock in the morning, marathoners get ready for the start of the race. (Elizabeth Yuan)

“Hot and hilly. And amazing.” When people ask, that’s how I sum up the International  Peace Marathon of Kigali that I ran on May 14, 2006.

When Liz’s alarm went off, I groaned and slowly sat up. “How ya feelin’?” Liz asked.  “Completely exhausted and depleted,” I answered. I had been sick with stomach problems the day before and wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to run the race. I took some Cipro, tried to rest and rehydrate, but I still wasn’t feeling well.

Two of our Rwandese friends, Robert and Banga, met us and our two American friends, Hunter and Alice, and we all six piled into the car for Amahoro Stadium, where the race would begin and end. I had just finished a small bottle of Gatorade and was clutching another bottle of water and an energy bar. Robert was behind the wheel wearing his cool white rasta cap, and his car was booming to hip-hop music, which immediately gave me a mental lift.

The idea behind the marathon is peace, and it was the brainchild of a Luxembourg woman, Bettina Scholl-Sabbatini, who has been to Rwanda nearly 20 times and loved it. Her group, Soroptimist International of Europe, undertakes projects geared towards women in developing countries, and the marathon was conceived under a program called “Women Building Peace.” The inaugural race last year was so successful that organizers wanted to make this event an annual one.

At the starting line, Liz and I met a few of the other foreigners, among them Simone Kayser, winner of the Marathon des Sables, the weeklong 155-mile (250 kilometer) ultra marathon across the Moroccan Sahara. Most of the runners around us were Africans, mainly Rwandese.

I lined up at the back of the pack. The race began and the overall pace was F-A-S-T. I was the last one out of the stadium, and I had to remind myself for the first few kilometers not to worry about trying to keep up.

The fastest of the half-marathoners, many of them running in bare feet, stampede past the rest of the crowd about a half-mile into the race. (Elizabeth Yuan)

About five minutes later, the half-marathon started. The runners approaching from behind sounded like they were part of a stampede. I glanced over my shoulder and then quickly faced forward. They were upon me. Arms brushed mine as legs flew by, jarring me slightly out of rhythm. For a moment, I really thought I’d get trampled.

The equatorial sun beat down hard. By 8:30 a.m., it was already 70 degrees Fahrenheit (21 degrees Celsius) and very humid. I love heat!  But running 26.2 miles (42 kilometers) in that temperature with the sun bathing my head for at least the first half was taxing. Runners soon poured water on their heads and in their mouths and then back on their heads. I did the same.

Sometimes I was carrying two water bottles at once. Whenever that happened, I soon lost one to a thirsty runner along the route. “Give me water,” the runner would plea, with an outstretched hand and a rapid pace.

Melanie Wallentine, in white shirt and white cap, runs several yards past a sign indicating hills. (Elizabeth Yuan)

Rwanda is known as the “land of a thousand hills.” I’d say there are 10,000. Before I left Utah, a friend said, “I imagine you’ll hit at least 30 of them in the marathon!” I don’t know how many there were, but it was hilly!

And it was a four-lap course. So, by the third lap, I had those hills memorized. And, I knew I still had one more lap.

Early on, cheers from the side of the road sounded initially to me like, “C-rash! C-rash!”  And they seemed to contradict the kindness and gentleness I had experienced up until then in Rwanda. I was stunned. But, after about the 20th time, I realized the spectators and runners were shouting, “Cour-age! Cour-age!” and were offering full support.

Also early on, several young runners, primarily half-marathoners, grabbed my hand, shouting, “Quickly, quickly,” and pulled me along at their pace. I actually felt lighter, as if they were carrying a part of me. I don’t remember the last time I ran that fast in a long distance race. (Ok, never.) But, for a few minutes, I did feel like a deer prancing along in the woods. Still, even the lightness couldn’t counteract the reality that my breath was becoming labored. After a few minutes, I patted the person on the back, said, “Thank you,” and dropped back to my pace. But the gesture of support was endearing.

A few kilometers later, a young girl in pink began running with me at my pace. Her name was Lucy, and she was 15 or 16. We ran side by side for many kilometers. We talked a little, and I thoroughly enjoyed her company. At one point, someone in the crowd playfully taunted her, yelling in Kinyarwanda, “Hey, that white person is beating you! Hurry up!” Later, she seemed to get dizzy or disoriented. She muttered, “I’m … tired.” I handed her one of my gels and said, “Take this.”  It seemed to help, and I was happy I brought extras.

Melanie gives fellow marathoner Gaspard Nsengamungu, a native Rwandan, a little sponge help over the head. (Alice Hou)

Then out of nowhere appeared two or three of Lucy’s friends who were also running the half, or the “semi,” as they called it. They scrambled around me, so that I was in the middle, and we all ran together for a while, elbow to elbow. Another priceless experience.

There were constant shouts of “Umuzungu!” which means, “White person!” in Kinyarwanda. One time I turned to one of the shouters, pointed to myself, nodded my head and acknowledged, “Yes, Umuzungu …” That drew a few chuckles.

As I was completing the half, the stadium crowd began to roar. They could NOT be cheering for me, I thought. And then, the epiphany occurred. The first place marathoner must be right behind me. I looked back to see a Kenyan plowing towards me. I scurried across the finish line, so that I wouldn’t get run over. Yup, a Kenyan had won — and I still had two laps to go.

In my first three marathons, I still felt good when I reached the halfway point. In this marathon, I felt awful and wanted the race to be done. The third lap was mentally and physically the toughest. I was running out of gas and beginning to feel a bit nauseous. I told myself I wouldn’t quit unless it was medically necessary, so I’d better work on a strategy. “Carbs, water, and keep moving” became my mantra. I pulled out my SHOT BLOKS that my friend Edwin had given me before I left, and said, “Ok, these had better work.” Soon the nausea went away.

I was still tired but feeling a little more functional. I also thought of everyone who had supported me during my training. And I sent a silent Mother’s Day wish to Mom and Grandma. I thought of my late brother, Victor, and felt him near. And I thought of the people of Rwanda and knew they’d been through so much more pain than I could ever feel on a marathon.

Somewhere in that second half, a Rwandese guy started running with me. We ran side by side for much of the second half. I’m not sure which was more limited, his English or my Kinyarwanda, but it didn’t matter. We communicated just fine. When his energy reserves began to deplete, I shared my SHOT BLOKS with him, and we kept going. With about 7 or 8 kilometers (4 to 5 miles) to go, he began to hang back, but I kept my pace.

Melanie and the girl who joined her in the final kilometers of the marathon head down the homestretch toward the finish line in Amahoro Stadium. (Hunter Pape)

Just as I was feeling my own energy deplete with about 5 kilometers (3 miles) to go, a smiling little girl in sandals and a multi-colored dress started running with me from the side of the road. I thought she would just run a few steps, laugh, and then go back home. But, she kept running – and – running – and – running – and – running. Arms swinging hard, she took two to three steps for every one of mine. But she kept up with my pace. I looked down. She looked up. I smiled. She smiled. We ran.

We glanced at each other from time to time, and I was spurred on by her determination and enthusiasm — and her luminous smile.

As we entered the stadium, I took her hand, and we ran the final lap around the stadium. Some cheers rang out from the few remaining in the crowd. After we crossed the finish line, I picked her up and swung her around. She wasn’t out of breath at all. I gave her my last SHOT BLOK and some water. Through a friend, I asked the girl’s name and age and “Is your family worried about you?”

With stoic confidence and poise, the seven-year-old responded, “No. I told them where I was going.”

Out of 253 people, 96 finished. I came in at around 5:08 with a small handful of people behind me. Trust me, I was just happy to finish. It was my most difficult marathon so far.

What a thrill to run a marathon in Rwanda! I would encourage any runner who truly wants an exhilarating running experience to run a marathon with Africans — in Africa.  There’s nothing like it.

Melanie’s roommate was InTheFray Contributing Editor Elizabeth Yuan, who was among the majority of runners who did not finish the race.

In The Fray Contributor