Geoffrey Mutai, 2:03:02 Marathon runner, on Training, Competition, and the Champion Mindset

In July 2012, I had the privilege of interviewing Geoffrey Mutai, one of the greatest marathon runners in history.

Normally, it takes just an hour and a half to drive from my then training base to where Mutai trained, but on this particular day, the journey stretched to four and a half hours—a true test of patience and determination. I woke earlier than usual, the pre-dawn darkness still clinging to the horizon, and methodically packed my training gear.

As I stepped outside, the crisp air stung my cheeks, and the silence was broken only by the distant calls of early risers in the village. I set off with a sense of anticipation, hoping to arrive in time for a 30km long run with Mutai and his group. A reliable source had tipped me off about their training plan for the day, fueling my excitement.

However, things did not go as I had hoped. For two hours, I stood on the edge of the potholed road in the chilly, overcast morning, my breath visible as I waited patiently by the roadside for a public service vehicle travelling that route. Each passing minute heightened my anxiety, wondering if I would ever make it in time.

The journey began under sombre skies, with grey clouds hanging low and threatening rain. As the battered matatu rattled along, I sat by the window, watching scores of athletes—some with familiar faces—running along the roadside, their breath misting in the cold air. They moved in small groups, their brightly colored training gear a stark contrast to the muted morning.

Some exchanged words of encouragement, while others ran in silence, focused on the rhythm of their strides. I found myself captivated by their discipline and unity, and as we passed so many runners, I couldn’t help but wonder what it truly takes to become an outstanding athlete. The sheer number of dedicated athletes training in these highlands was both humbling and inspiring.

Heavy rain the previous day had forced many athletes to train on the tarmac instead of their usual trails through the famed Kaptagat forest. As the vehicle climbed to a higher altitude near Chepkorio, the landscape changed; it grew colder and mistier, even though it was already 8:30 am.

The mist thickened with every passing kilometre until it felt as though we were driving through a cloud. Headlights from oncoming vehicles were only visible at close range, and everyone crawled along at barely 20 km/h. With about 10 kilometres left, many vehicles and motorbikes could go no farther—the road from Kamwosor to Kapng’etuny had become impassable.

I trekked the rest of the way, at times wading through sticky red mud that clung to my shoes and soaked my socks. The long, wet grass brushed against my legs, leaving them chilled and damp as I navigated unfamiliar footpaths that twisted through quiet, mist-shrouded fields.

My backpack grew heavier with every step, and I could hear the distant sound of laughter, loud conversations among villagers and occasional banging of metallic milk containers echoing through the hills. After an hour and a half of trekking, legs aching and spirits tested, I finally reached Kapng’etuny.

Three athletes, mid-run and beaming with camaraderie, pointed me toward Geoffrey’s house and suggested a shortcut through the fields, but I trusted my instincts and stuck to the main path—a decision that soon proved wise.

After walking just a few more meters, I suddenly spotted Mutai himself in his four-wheel drive. Instantly, a rush of questions flooded my mind: Would a celebrity really stop for a stranger waving him down? Would he be willing to talk after I introduced myself? Should I present myself as an athlete or a journalist?

I waved him down, and to my relief, he stopped. I asked if he was heading to Eldoret. After introducing myself as an athlete and explaining where I needed to be dropped off, he invited me to join him in the front seat. He also offered a ride to a few locals on their way to the Kamwosor market.

What a generous neighbour the locals have in Mutai! His easygoing personality immediately put me at ease. As I settled into my seat, grateful for warmth and shelter, he surprised me by saying he had received my messages and was just about to call me—so he already knew who I was.

That small gesture—a world-class athlete remembering a simple message—spoke volumes about his humility. He shifted the vehicle into gear and navigated the slippery road with practised care, chatting with the other passengers and offering advice about the muddy conditions. Our conversation naturally turned to the challenges of training on such rough roads, and I realised that his resilience on the track, and on the roads, mirrored his resilience in everyday life.

A few minutes after reaching the smooth tarmac, I suggested we begin the interview while he drove, knowing his time was valuable and he had many other commitments.

He agreed, and so I began my questions

My interview with Geoffrey Mutai

Most of Kenya’s elite long-distance athletes train at places like Iten, Kaptagat, and Nandi Hills. Why did you choose to train here instead?

Mutai: For me, going to Iten feels like training at a lower altitude. I was born and raised here, and as you’ve seen, this area is at a higher altitude than those places. The only time I trained elsewhere was after I won the national trials for the World Cross Country Championships last year. Our team went to train at Kigari, Embu, but the results weren’t good—I became weaker. Since then, I’ve learned it’s best not to change my training base.

Despite being ranked number one in the world by the IAAF, you weren’t included in the Olympic team. Many people were disappointed. How did you feel, and what do you say to your fans?

Mutai: I really wanted to go to the Olympics, but it was beyond my control. There was nothing I could do about being left out. It was painful and a surprise, especially since, even after not finishing this year’s Boston Marathon, Athletics Kenya officials assured me I would be included and even encouraged me to go survey the course in London—which I did, flying there directly from Boston.

The athletes selected for the marathon team are my friends. We often meet, and I wish them the best. Like me, they had no say in the selection process. I realize that leaving out athletes like myself and Patrick Makau can motivate others, especially Ethiopian competitors, since sometimes races are won psychologically. The absence of top-ranked athletes gives hope to others.

For my fans, I’ve decided to move on and focus on my next race: the Berlin Marathon.

***Mutai ran the 2012 Berlin Marathon and won it in a 2:04:15 that September. That time remains as his official personal best****

Do you have a specific strategy when attempting a world record?

Mutai: I didn’t set out to run the world’s fastest time of 2:03:02 in Boston, just as Patrick Makau didn’t plan for his 2:03:38 world record. Achieving a world record depends on many factors aligning perfectly on race day—excellent health, ideal weather, and strong pacemakers. With the training I’ve done, I believe I have a chance at the world record if all those conditions come together.

A few days before the race, I consult with other elite athletes and race organisers to discuss the target splits for the pacemakers.

What are your thoughts on paced marathons like Rotterdam and Berlin versus unpaced ones such as Boston and New York?

Mutai: Good pacemakers make a big difference in paced marathons, allowing runners to conserve energy and focus on their strategy later in the race. My victories in Boston and New York don’t automatically mean I excel in every unpaced event. When I ran Berlin and Rotterdam, I was still gaining experience in the marathon, so I wasn’t as prepared as I was for later races. However, if pacemakers are inexperienced—either too slow or too fast—sometimes an unpaced marathon can actually be better.

How do local races in Kenya compare to those abroad? Do they help with your preparation for major international events?

Mutai: There’s a huge difference. The level of competition here in Kenya is incredibly high—almost everyone who turns up is an elite athlete. There’s a lot of jostling at the start, and getting to the front isn’t easy. I believe if someone can finish in the top 50 in a local Kenyan race, they could win almost any race abroad. I mostly run these local races to support and promote them, not necessarily to compete. After running in Kenya, races abroad usually feel easier by comparison.

Finally, what are your predictions for the men’s 10,000m and the marathon at the London Olympics?

Mutai: Most of the time, Kenyan athletes are out-kicked by Ethiopian athletes towards the finish in the long distance track events. It will depend on how the race will be run; a slower pace will favour the Ethiopians because of their finishing kicks. If the Kenyans work as a team to run hard in the first laps, then definitely, a Gold medal will come to Kenya. I have more hope in Wilson Kiprop since we have run in a number of races together, and I know him to be a guy who can adjust to any tactics used in the race, is self-disciplined in his training, and takes coaches’ advice seriously.

The marathon course has too many corners, unlike the usual one used for the London City Marathon. If the same course were to be used, it would be safe to expect all the medals to go to the Kenyans. But I still believe Wilson Kipsang is likely to win the Gold medal.

*** Abel Kirui won silver and Kipsang bronze in the marathon, while Kiprop unfortunately was injured before the 10,000m race***

It was a miracle that the interview seemed to take as long as the journey—a fitting parallel, as both had tested my patience, curiosity, and endurance. I thanked Mutai warmly for the interview and asked if he could drop me off, but, to my surprise, he also wanted to stop there to meet someone.

We alighted together, and he bought some refreshments from a roadside vendor, greeting the locals with easy familiarity. As we sipped sweet, steaming tea and talked about topics far beyond running—family, community, the changing weather—it struck me anew that he might not only be the greatest marathoner but also a genuinely great person. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the sounds of daily life in one of Kenya’s athlete training bases, I realised the true privilege was not just interviewing a champion, but sharing in the humanity that makes him remarkable.