I have only fleetingly mentioned the monster that lurks in these here parts- The Mount Cameroon Race Of Hope. This internationally reknown mountain race is certainly not for the fainthearted. It is a heart breaking, ball busting, leg wobbling run 31 kilometres in distance, with an ascent, and then descent, of two miles in height. All you have to do is run the race from the city, up to the mountain summit and back down again, as quickly as possible.
I was lucky to see the race, purely by chance, the last time I was in Buea. We caught the leading runners coming home. The first one crossed the line, as third place collapsed a distance behind him. Second (close by, turned around to see this) went back and lifted him up with the aid of fourth, who chose not to run by. All three runners crossed the line together. It was a real moment of sporting chivalry, and something to behold. The prize money here is by no means insignificant to most of the African runners attempting to win the race.
Thinking about my experiences in Cameroon, I contemplated two everyday considerations ingrained in the local Buea psyche- The Race of Hope and religion. They reminded me of something I first heard many years ago. I think the words encapsulate the town perfectly.
Runner, talking to a crowd, after a race, many years ago:
"You came to see a race today. See someone win. Happened to be me. But I want you to do more than just watch a race. I want you to take part in it.
I was lucky to see the race, purely by chance, the last time I was in Buea. We caught the leading runners coming home. The first one crossed the line, as third place collapsed a distance behind him. Second (close by, turned around to see this) went back and lifted him up with the aid of fourth, who chose not to run by. All three runners crossed the line together. It was a real moment of sporting chivalry, and something to behold. The prize money here is by no means insignificant to most of the African runners attempting to win the race.
Thinking about my experiences in Cameroon, I contemplated two everyday considerations ingrained in the local Buea psyche- The Race of Hope and religion. They reminded me of something I first heard many years ago. I think the words encapsulate the town perfectly.
Runner, talking to a crowd, after a race, many years ago:
"You came to see a race today. See someone win. Happened to be me. But I want you to do more than just watch a race. I want you to take part in it.
I want to compare faith to running in a race. It's hard. It requires concentration of will, energy of soul. You experience elation when the winner breaks the tape -- 'specially if you've got a bet on it. But how long does that last? You go home. Maybe your dinner's burnt. Maybe,you haven't got a job. So who am I to say, "believe, have faith," in the face of life's realities?
I would like to give you something more permanent, but I can only point the way. I have no formula for winning the race. Everyone runs in her own way, or his own way.
And where does the power come from to see the race to its end? From within."
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