I began to run around four years ago, when an Ethiopian friend of mine asked if I would like to take her place in a 10K run in Stockholm. She thought that with my Kenyan background I should be able to easily run it. I had neither reference for nor understanding of how difficult, or easy, it would be to run 10K, but I took up the challenge. Afterwards, I was filled with emotions that I had never felt before. I was proud, worn out and in harmony — all at the same time. Now, I’m training to be quicker and to last longer. I run three to four times a week, between 40 and 60 kilometres. I usually run one interval session, one long run, one for pleasure and one varied session, depending on how the earlier sessions have gone.
Running really affects me: It gives me energy, harmony and mental strength, and at the same time it takes energy, harmony and mental strength. It’s a continuous loop, a transcendental state. A bad day can never be useless if I have had a run in the morning, because I’ve done something meaningful; I’m not directly affected by stress or other external influences. I like to train intervals or run long distances with friends, but I don’t like to chat too much and I never run with music.
Running has taken me to new places, resulted in new friends and, above all, a new way of living. It feels like a new, exciting chapter in my life has just started. Without new goals, or obstacles, my desire to tell stories dwindles and without this it makes no sense to make music. Running is about breaking boundaries. There are no short cuts; it takes enormous amounts of time and dedication from myself and no one else. I have taken this simplistic view into other non-running contexts, and I have become much better at failing. I run for myself and no one else. If someone thinks I’m a runner, I’m fine with it. If someone sees me as a musician who likes to run, I’m fine with that too.
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