An Olympic Champion sent me a song last evening, and suddenly, after listening to the music, I was teleported back to Kapsabet, circa 1998, for one of the most unforgettable—and unintentionally hilarious—musical disasters of my youth.
Picture this: a grand graduation ceremony for pastors and musicians, with a crowd so huge it would make a presidential rally jealous. Schools, colleges, church choirs, and enough security personnel to guard a rock star were all packed in. Everyone who was anyone in the region was present!
By some cosmic joke (or perhaps a clerical error), my school was scheduled to perform a song right before the guest speaker—prime time! My friend Birech, ever the rockstar, was on lead guitar. I, meanwhile, clung to my rhythm guitar and my dignity, desperately trying to look cool and not like someone who’d just realized they were wearing mismatched socks.
Now, this wasn’t some edgy original—this was a song so common that even the local goats could hum it in their sleep. Birech started plucking away with the confidence of a man holding a winning lottery ticket; I strummed like I was defusing a bomb, and our soloist grabbed the mic as if it were a lifeline. A dignitary at the dais smiled at me—possibly mistaking my sweaty panic for musical passion. But then I noticed the other musicians, all around, eyes sparkling with mischief, quietly tuning up as if they were about to launch a coordinated attack.
Then it happened!
Suddenly, the ground trembled—not from my legendary rhythm skills, but from an avalanche of sound. A high-pitched guitar screeched into the lead, and just like that, every instrumentalist within a mile joined in, creating a musical earthquake. Most of the instrumentalists had plugged their instruments into speakers powerful enough to broadcast to Mars. My poor box-guitar was lost in the sonic tsunami; even pressing my ear against it, I could barely tell if I was strumming or just hugging it for comfort.
Birech, unbothered, kept shredding away, probably convinced he was headlining Wembley. I kept going too, though I had no idea if I was still in the right key or if I’d invented a new genre: silent guitar panic.
As I recovered and came back in 2026, I realized I had just discovered one of the songs that motivates one all the way up to the middle of an Olympic podium and the power of music in running.
This was probably the song that the Olympic Champion, former world record holder, and multiple world champion would listen to in their warm-up before running.
Key Reasons Why Runners Listen to Music before Running
- Altered Brain Chemistry & Motivation: Rhythm and tempo literally change how the brain operates. Listening to a power song gives your brain a chemical high—dopamine for motivation, norepinephrine for alertness, and maybe, if you’re lucky, the sudden urge to do an air guitar solo in public.
- Tuning the Nervous System: Athletes use varying tempos to manage their pre-game nerves. Upbeat, fast-tempo tracks raise heart rates and can make you feel like you’re about to run a marathon or wrestle a bear. Slower ballads, on the other hand, are there to calm your nerves and remind you not to hyperventilate in front of a crowd.
- Blocking Distractions: Headphones create a personal mental bubble—your own private soundproof tent. Athletes use them to block out screaming crowds, overzealous relatives, media pressure, and that one teammate who’s always practicing motivational speeches. It’s all about channeling laser focus to the task at hand.
- Building a Psychological Ritual: Hearing the same familiar song over and over acts as a cue to the brain—like a superhero donning their cape. It signals it’s time to switch from regular human mode to game mode, linking today’s performance with the memory of past glorious victories (or at least the time you didn’t trip over your own shoelaces).
As you plan to start a training program for your next marathon or 5K, consider finding music that motivates and helps you get to the finish line.