Out of Thin Air: Running Wisdom and Magic from Above the Clouds in Ethiopia

Let me take you to the highlands of Ethiopia, where the world’s fastest runners gather in the blue darkness before dawn. Here, the day begins not with the sun, but with the ancient wail of church speakers and the soft shuffle of feet on dusty streets. In this world, the air itself is believed to hold magic, and the first breath you take outside is a promise of transformation. The Amharic word for dawn, 'goh,' is more than a time—it’s a call to action, a signal that life, training, and hope are beginning anew.

On these mornings, runners don’t just prepare their bodies—they engage in quiet rituals. Shorts and shoes are laid out the night before; hoods are pulled up against the cold. The team bus, a ramshackle chariot, winds its way through the city, collecting athletes like precious cargo. Inside, the bus is a blend of sleepy silence and anticipation, Christian icons and Nike stickers sharing space on the dashboard, a microcosm of tradition and ambition. The journey itself is a ritual, a transition from the everyday world to the sacred space of the mountain.

When the runners finally step out at Entoto, their breath turns to mist, rising toward the eucalyptus canopy. Some believe this is the very place that gave birth to Olympic champions. 'The air is special,' they whisper, and it’s not just the altitude that makes it so. There’s a collective faith in the transformative power of this place—a belief that running here will not only shape your lungs and legs, but also your destiny.

As the sun flickers through the trees, the group begins to move. There’s a marked reluctance at first—nervous laughter, sleepy limbs—but soon, the simple act of running together dissolves fear. The path ahead is uncertain, sometimes vanishing into mist, but no one runs alone. The forest is alive with the soft patter of shoes and the rhythmic exhalations of hope, as if each runner is breathing in not just oxygen but possibility itself.

It is here, in the half-light, that the boundaries between science and magic blur. Altitude is real, but so is the belief in what it can do. Runners speak of angels and demons, of energy that flows from the mountain into their veins. They joke about running up hills at 3 a.m., about chasing hyenas for courage, about dreams that predict impossible times. The magic is not just in the air—it’s in the stories, the rituals, and the unwavering faith that greatness is possible.

As the session ends and the sun rises fully, the mood shifts from trepidation to joy. Laughter rings out, stories are shared, and even the bus driver naps in the grass. The morning’s pain is already receding, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and connection. Here, running is a pilgrimage, a daily act of renewal and belief.

This is the first step on our journey—a world where the dawn, the air, and the act of gathering are imbued with meaning. Next, we’ll follow the feet of those who lead, and learn why running together is the true heart of Ethiopian success.