Week 4

Monday, October 8

The Mayor of Tucson

Abdi Abdirahman makes the most of what life has given him

Abdi Abdirahman hopped into his black 2007 GMC Denali and rolled out of the driveway of his three-bedroom home on the far western edge of Tucson. The car’s 22-inch Scorpion rims glinted like torch-fire in the fading sunlight, a not-so-gentle reminder of the June day’s 107-degree heat.

“This is what I tool around in—the Mayor of Tucson,” joked Abdi as he slipped a CD into the dash. “But this one isn’t tricked out like my first one. This is just a stock model. The first had four TVs, 24-inch rims, and 12-inch subwoofers. This is more the mature Abdi.”

Irrepressible in a way that once defined a youthful, exuberant America to a cynical old world, Abdirahman has an easy smile and unflagging enthusiasm that has endeared him to friends and rivals alike—and at times masks the fierce competitor within.

After his seventh-place finish at the IAAF World Championships 10,000 meters in Osaka, Japan, in August, Abdi (everyone calls him that) joined some of his American teammates to watch fellow Tucson resident Bernard “Kip” Lagat and national mile record-holder Alan Webb in the 1500-meter final. As team members Matt Tegenkamp, Dana Coons, Anna Willard, and others sat in the athletes’ section, down the aisle came Abdi with a big American flag billowing out behind him, ready to lead the cheering.

“I look at Abdi as 30 going on 16,” says his coach, Dave Murray, who first saw him run at Pima Community College in the mid-1990s and recruited him for his University of Arizona Wildcats. “He just enjoys being a professional athlete, doing what he does, and getting recognized around town.”

Today’s comfortable, fun-loving life is light-years away from Abdi’s early years. The civil war in his native Somalia forced him and family to flee to Kenya in the early 1980s. They lived for five years as refugees in Mombassa.

“I didn’t know where life was going to take me,” Abdi recalls. “Somehow God gave us a place working for an American oil company [Conoco-Phillips], but when the U.S. government was taking oil company workers, my dad wasn’t one of the first people taken. They didn’t believe he worked for the company.” The family scrambled to come up with the papers proving his employment. Finally, with the precious proof in hand, they reapplied to the American embassy. Their application was accepted, and they were soon on a plane from Mombassa to New York to Dallas to Tucson.

“If we hadn’t gotten those files, we’d still be in Kenya now or somewhere in Somalia where there is no government or jobs,” Abdi says. “I’d probably have a gun like all the people I grew up with, fighting some other tribe or being in a refugee camp. A lot of people I knew are dead now, at an early age. God was looking out for me. So every day when I wake up and go to sleep, I am so thankful. I never take anything for granted. Anything. Every little thing I have, I am so thankful for.”

The Black Cactus

With fellow Arizona grad Thomas Opio riding shotgun, Abdi drove 13 miles west, up into the Saguaro National Park, for his second run of the day. By the time he parked, the sun had dipped halfway behind the broad-shouldered Tucson Mountains, leaving the park in a dreamlike state as the veil of night drew down over the harsh desert landscape. 

Though Abdi felt good after winning his third national 10,000-meter title earlier in the month, coach Murray had instructed him to take it easy for a day or two. So he and Opio were carving out only seven miles of the 13-mile desert run the locals call Abdi’s Loop in recognition of the many miles the area’s best long-distance runner has spent on these hilly gravel trails.

As the two lean East African-born athletes headed east up a steep incline, the towering Saguaro cacti stood like sentinels, silhouetted against a fading sky. Abdi, who calls himself the Black Cactus, ran in front with his knock-kneed gait belying the easy speed it generated. Only the runners’ rhythmic footfalls broke the stillness. They left just small puffs of dust as evidence of their passing.

Following their 49-minute run, they drove back over the narrow, switchback mountain road to the gated community Abdi has lived in for the last three years. While Opio stretched in the living room of Abdi’s stucco abode and watched Sportscenter on the 65-inch Sony flat-screen TV, Abdi grabbed a quick shower before heading to a small strip mall nearby for dinner with out-of-town guests.

Sushi Hama

The routines of a runner’s life suit Abdi’s easy-going personality well, as does the rhythm of life in Tucson. He may have brought to the town called “Old Pueblo” by God’s grace, but he has developed a deep and abiding love for his adopted city.

“I get away from Tucson for a couple of weeks and everything doesn’t feel right,” says Abdi, who is a minor celebrity in this city situated in the northern reaches of the Sonoran Desert. “People say it’s too hot, but I don’t mind the heat. I can live here all year round. I just love the people. They are so friendly, and they give me love.”

Sushi Hama is one of Abdi’s favorite haunts. He eats there once or twice a week. When he walked in, head chef Carlos broke into a wide grin. Pointing at the television in the corner of the room he said, “I saw you on ESPN. We all watched you running.” He mimicked the arm action of a runner. “Yeah, national champion.” He gave Abdi a big thumbs-up.

Abdi basked in Carlos’s delight, and accepted the congratulations of the other chefs behind the bar as the patrons craned to see who this whip-thin man causing all the fuss might be. After Abdi had ordered, the restaurant manager approached. “Hey, man,” he said theatrically. “You promised to give the Sushi Hama sign on TV, remember? When I bought you dinner? I was watching. What, did you forget?

“I must have been dehydrated,” laughed Abdi, responding in kind to the manager’s good-natured kidding.

“That’s okay. We still love you,” the manager continued, massaging Abdi’s shoulders like a proud father.

Still Dreaming

Abdi knows that Tucson will always be his home. In January 2000 he became a U.S. citizen and later that year he represented his country for the first time, in the Sydney Olympics at 10,000 meters. Today, by any standard, he is a successful man. One day on a run through the mountains, Abdi came upon a “For Sale” sign offering a tract of land looking out over the city. “It’s about four miles from my house up in the mountains,” he said. “I train there all the time, and that’s where I’ll build my dream home.”

And yet, Abdi keeps his planning and dreaming in perspective. “Even if I wasn’t running, just to be able to live in this country I’d be the happiest person alive,” he said. “There are so many Somali people in America who are taxi drivers, just meeting the needs of their family. And those are the happiest people you can meet. Why? It doesn’t matter how much money they have. They know they have a place to go home to sleep, and have food to eat the next day. And that’s the most important thing for them. In Somalia they never know where their next meal will come from. To have a piece of meat is like a celebration to them. And in the U.S. we wonder where you will build your resort house 30 years from now.”

For Abdi Abdirahman, one very real dream remains: The final dream of Olympic glory. He came close in 2000, finishing 10th in the 10,000-meter final in Sydney. The next wake-up call is set for November 3 at the 2008 U.S. Olympic Team Trials – Men’s Marathon. Abdirahhman is one of the favorites to make the team for Beijing. We will see whether the Mayor of Tuscon can take the next step in New York.