
www.toonpool.com
Having put on my shoes, shorts and t shirt, I leave the flat, lock the door and walk down the internal fire escape, past the detritus which people in the adjoining flats have put there and forgotten about, the abandonned child's bicycle, uniformly grey in the shadowed light and accumulated dust, the boxes in which computers arrived, cat shit on the 4th floor. I disturb the cat on the 3rd floor (it doesn't shit on its own floor) and it keeps pace just ahead of me all the way down to the ground floor, where it gets just far enough away from me, turns and gives me a withering look. I use this descent as a form of stretching, something I have always been advised to do before running but have rarely done.I trot under the building, past the pool, crystal blue, to the high fence which I scale and drop down onto the sand below, across the open desert separating my block from the brand new pink block and down past Noodles, with whom I have been having an undeclared war. I seem to have had at least a partial victory as they have moved all the tables and chairs and some of the plants off the pavement, thereby allowing pedestrians to use it again, whereas before they had purposefully obstructed the walking public. I used to walk through regardless, moving out of my way anything which obstructed me. Maybe they are concerned about the local councils' endeavour to get rid of all unsanctioned occupation of public land, regardless of how temporary it may be.
Rubbish is part of life in and around Salmiya. (I speak for Salmiya, 'minha terra', but of course it is endemic to all Kuwait). Despite the fact that you see yellow overalled men sweeping litter into bins, this is only on the main roads. Go ten metres off those roads and trash abounds. There are bins but I have seen many people approach bins, throw their rubbish when they are within 5 metres and turn away, oblivious and unconcerned as to whether the garbage reaches it. So, much of it lies somewhere near and the cats liberally spread it around. I pad through the crap, past Macdonald's and I cross Salem al Mubarak Street, down the side of Zahra Complex, (beautifully clean pavement here). There is a curiosity set in to the side of Zahra Complex. There is a flight of stairs, perhaps eight steps and they go nowhere. The steps are bounded on three sides by wall.
I cross the coast road and as I make the beach-side pavement I remove my t shirt. The beach path is empty. There are not many who venture out when the sun is high. I run past the Hard Rock café, keeping to the beach side, no shortcuts, and I can sense the sniggers of those diners inside, cool, elegant and relaxed. "Weirdo! Hahahaha."
There is the first cartilage clunk! I try to work out what prompts it and it seems that if there is a slight irregularity in my stride, "Clunk". So I try to maintain an even gate but still, every now and then, "Clunk". I reckon it's not going to be a problem though, I used to have a similar clunk in my right knee but that disappeared over time. I am, however, finding it is a struggle to keep running the whole distance. I know it is not that I cannot physically run the distance but the heat is just phenomenal (around 46° today) and after 4 km or so I walk. I don't like to do this, as I have registered to run in a 10km race in England in mid July and I need the miles but it is just too hot. I turn at the Scientific Centre and retrace my steps, stopping at the water fountains to replace some lost fluid. If there is any breeze at all, you don't appear to sweat, it dries as it leaves the pores; otherwise, you drip. The t shirt wrapped around my hand serves as a mop. On the grassed areas, now pristine, (all the KFC and Macdonalds garbage that the people who go there in the evenings leave, barely 2 metres from waste bins, has been removed), the workers who cleaned it doze in the shade of trees, waiting to be collected and taken back to their rabbit-hutch accommodation at the end of the day. The security guards shelter inside their air-conditioned cabins, snoozing or reading the newspaper. (Why the need for security guards on this utterly deserted stretch of coast beats me. They are still there in the evenings, when the sun goes down and the people come out for a walk and to soil the grassed areas but it is hard to imagine riots breaking out amongst the family groups and couples who stroll up and down). Back around Hard Rock and I'm across the road, putting on my t shirt and heading home. I end the run/walk with a punishment. I run up the 14 flights of stairs to the 7th floor and arrive with my heart jumping out of my chest. This is my 'hill training', which I am not sure I really need, as the race is described as flat.

















