Brace for the Cure

Last Saturday, our family had the unforgettable experience of participating in Egypt’s version of Race for the Cure out by the pyramids on the Giza plateau. The picture above shows the glory of the finish line as we sailed past the Sphinx with the magnificent pyramids behind us. Darren Kennedy, who took all the fantastic pictures that you will see, managed to capture this fleeting shot as we raced by. What a moment. What a day.

What a day indeed. What a thoroughly Cairene event, complete with the usual chaos, crowds, congestion and camaraderie. In the interests of full disclosure, I should tell you that while the background in the above picture is entirely real, the moment being photographed is completely staged. At no point during the ‘race’ were we running along a clear path with smiles on our faces. What you can’t see here are the several kilos of dust in our hair, our state of utter exasperation, and the condition of our lungs after breathing in exhaust fumes for several hours. Intriguing, huh? Exactly what kind of a race was this?

The day started off bright and early with the temperatures in the very manageable 80s. The Kennedys had spent the night at our house, partly to babysit for us the night before when Dan and I got to go to a charity dinner, and partly to be able to be ready for the early start to our day. One of Dan’s colleagues, God bless her, had organized the embassy participation, which thankfully included easy sign-up and bus transportation to and from the site. We marshalled the troops, got everyone into their running shoes, and made it to the pick-up point with time to spare. We had to wait a bit on the bus, but it was easy to pass the time with the general excitement that kids seem to have whenever they board a form of transportation that doesn’t involve the usual car and car seat combination.

We eventually took off in a convoy of various sized buses and a security escort and made good time along the Corniche, over the Nile, and into Giza. At one point, I wondered out loud if we should have just skipped the bus thing and taken our own cars to allow for more independence. What on earth was I thinking??? Things started to slow down markedly as we got closer to the pyramids and we ended up creeping at a snail's pace towards the entrance. Our organizer had told us that the bus drivers had instructions to drop us off at the top of the hill closest to the smallest pyramid, which was the start line of the race. Under no circumstances were we to get off the bus before that, no matter what. As we entered the vicinity of the pyramids, there were hordes and hordes of buses jockeying for position to head up the very narrow road to the top of the hill.

As we inched our way forward, we eventually came to a complete halt and the bus driver told us to get off. WHAT? No, no, no, we protested. No way. We’re not supposed to get off here. My sister launched into a stream of commands in Arabic, assuring him that this was NOT the arrangement. Poor guy. It turned out that we did indeed need to get off the bus to go through pyramid security, and he would pick us up on the other side. Off we got and pushed through the security turnstiles. The metal detectors were beeping wildly, but no one stopped to check a single person among the hundreds thronging through. Miraculously, we found our bus again in the melee and started the trek up the hill.

The race ‘course’ was all of 1.5 K, but it took almost an hour to get to the top. Yes, 60 minutes to move slightly more than a mile due to the amount of foot traffic and bus traffic. Along the way, we counted no fewer than four first aid stations, set up no doubt to assist fatigued runners as they made their way down the hill. When we finally arrived at the top, we disembarked into a crowd that was just milling aimlessly about. It was past 10am at this point, the scheduled start time, but nothing was happening. We heard someone over the loudspeakers telling the crowds that the food vouchers were to be used later (we all would need refueling after the grueling run) and that we were waiting for the remainder of the buses to make their way up the road because that same road was also the race course. After all, we couldn’t actually run DOWN the road that the buses were currently chugging UP. Could we?



So we waited. And waited. And waited. We passed the time taking some pictures of various groupings of our family running around in the billowing sand, keeping the glorious pyramids as the backdrop. Every so often, the guy would come back on over the loudspeaker and announce that it would just be a few more minutes, while the stream of buses continued endlessly. As we trotted about, we looked over at one point and saw the crowd surge down the hill. There had been no warning or announcement of any kind that the race had officially begun. Just a stampede of people in a cloud of dust. We conferred together and decided that we would wait for the bulk of the people to go first, then bring up behind. That proved to be a mistake.


As we sauntered over to the start line and began our descent, what had appeared to be an end to the bus traffic suddenly reappeared. Confused, we wondered what was going on, since the race had started. Not only were there buses, but there was also every other kind of vehicle, packed with people who were clearly not part of the race. As we walked (since running was impossible), we were constantly getting honked and/or run off the road by what turned out to be the regular visitors to the pyramids. We found out later that while the Department of Antiquities allowed the race to take place at the site, they refused to make any other accommodations, meaning that the road up to the top remained open to all the regular tourist traffic. And camels too, apparently.


At this point, the carefree joking and laughter disappeared and it became an exercise in survival. The Kennedy boys decided that they wanted to actually try to run, so they got off the road and started going down the rocky, sandy slope. About one minute in, Sammy bit the dust and it was over for him. By then, our two families had gotten separated by the sea of people, since we (the Wrights) had to stick to the road with the double stroller. We trundled along with our poor children, cheek-by-exhaust-pipe-jowl with all the tour buses, trucks and cars. Most of the crowds seem to take all of this in stride, if the singing, clapping and incessant whistle-blowing were any indication. This was clearly a social moment for everyone else except for us, those crazy Americans who turned up to this event actually expecting to run.




We finally got down the hill and joined up with the Kennedys after several shouted cell phone conversations. My sister had been almost run over by a taxi and was fuming. Sammy was a little teary after his fall, Emma was hot and bothered, and all of us were choked with dust from the vehicular traffic and human stampede we had just endured. Thanks to Darren, we managed to rally for that final glory shot that started this blog entry. We stumbled towards our bus and ended up having to wait almost another hour before we got on the road. At that point, we were just grateful to be out of the din of the crowd, sitting in air-conditioning and chowing down on some snacks. We were all ravenous from the sheer effort of surviving the onslaught. We headed home after we took bets on how long it would actually take our bus to get out of the parking lot. Miraculously, it only took about fifteen minutes and we were on our way.

Once we arrived back at our house, we all collapsed in varying states of exhaustion, desperately needing a cure from the Race for the Cure. Showers, naps, and more food brought us back to life and by the afternoon, we were able to start laughing about the whole thing. Theo managed to get in some stretching too, since riding in that stroller had really taken it out of him.



In spite of the total and utter chaos of the whole thing, seeing the brave survivors in their pink t-shirts, making their way down the hill, gave the whole ordeal a significance that far outweighed the bedlam. in a country where there is no preventive care or routine mammograms, where breasts are certainly taboo in casual conversation, it was pretty amazing to witness the turnout to this event. So, will we do it again next year? Hmmm. I’m not sure. The men are up for it, but I think my sister and I will just take a spa day.