That Kale chick


I’m running in the mornings again. I’d forgotten how good I feel after an hour of a brisk run and stretches to warm up and warm down.

God, I feel good! It’s like buoying in a post-coital bubble. Only better. I’m knackered but I’m not worn out, know what I mean? I’m pumped full of endorphins, my skin is salty and sweaty. My eyes are gorged wide open like Papa Shirandula’s – it’s like I’m looking around for the next high. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet wanting to punch something, somebody – anything – in the face. Aaaah, I’m even punching my open palms just to release some of the energy. That’s how amped I feel.

I wish I could share some of it with you.

The most difficult part of running in the morning is getting out of bed.

I’m glad my eyes snapped open at 4.58 a.m., before the alarm buzzed at 5. Because that meant my body was ripe and ready to wake up. I had rode the waves of sleep – the highs of REM and the dips of N-REM – now my body was rested and rousing itself out of the slumber. (Look that up, by the way, the science of sleep.)

An alarm will sometimes find you in REM, so you won’t be good and ready to wake up. But you’ll be forced to, and you’ll be in the middle of a dream, and your brain activity will be as if you’re wide awake, and your mind won’t be present in your body, it’ll be elsewhere, in dreamland, so you’ll wake up in a sour mood. With fatigue. And stinging eyes. That’s why folk fling those damn alarm clocks across the room into the wall in a fit of tantrums.

At 4.58, I tell myself to sleep for two more minutes until the alarm buzzes.

The alarm buzzes.

I stare into the darkness inert, listening to GB snore.

Then I begin the motivational monologue. “Chic, get up. Imagine get up. You’re already up anyway. Just get out of bed and go put on your running clothes. You already prepped them last night, there’re folded in a pile by the wardrobe door just waiting for you to put them on. And your trainers are right there. Right there. C’mon, you can do this. Remember how good you’ll feel after running. C’mon, you’re better than the sleep.”

I check my phone again. 5.10. Nanny Viv is up, I can hear her pouring Vim into the toilet.

I don’t remember the last time I ran in the morning. It must have been huko Jan, Feb… I’m not even certain.

I was losing too much weight, so I put a pause to the intensity and told myself to run only Sunday mornings. Muna started school so I figured to sleep in on Sundays, so there went the run. Then the baby-making storo came into the picture. Other excuses checked in. Before I realise it, three months have gone and my trainers are gathering dust wherever they were.

Not too long after that, we moved house. It’s taken me two months to settle into this new house. I sometimes get late to leave in the mornings because I’m looking for my pants or a blouse, just something. Weekends are about decluttering clothes and sorting out storage. Then there are boxes with old documents that still need to be sifted through.

I decided last week to begin running again because of three reasons. One, I’m that Kale chick who likes to run. It’s written in our DNA, we were made to run. I’m Kipsigis and from Kaplong, it’s the Tugens from Eldoret and the north who were built to run, but still. It’s in my blood.

I know folk who enjoy gym because of weight training, I loved cardio. I’d have stayed in gym if that had been the only item on my program.

Two, I’ve awfully added weight. My favourite jeans and favourite bra don’ fit anymore. I wore the jeans last Thursday and at some point in the afternoon, I had to unbutton them so I could breathe like a normal human being again. I was about to pass out, I swear. The last time I felt like this, I began to drink the homemade green smoothies daily to detox.

Then there’s my bra – my pricey comfortable bra from Woolworths. It was a treat to myself. Pricey, as I’ve said, yes but it makes up for its tag. Know how you sometimes can’t wait to get to the digs so you can take off that damn bra? Or sometimes, you take it off in traffic because the digs now feels like so far, like it’s on the Busia border? It’s never like this with this Woolies bra – I can live in it. What’s more, it holds my tatas up in a way that no other bra does. It’s Bra-zil in there, hahha. I even hang it on its own hanger because I don’t want its morals tainted by the others. But hang on, maybe I’m doing it wrong.  Maybe I should hang them all together so they can pick up tips from it. Hehhe.

Anyway. Third reason I run is because it’s cathartic. When I feel my heart beat and my pores perspire, the bad blood is my heart goes out so the fresh blood can flood it with its purity and oxygen. I feel like I’m signing myself a new lease of life. (Cliché, excuse me.)

And when I perspire, all the negativity exits my body – the bad karma my haters have flung my way, the slack, the anxiety and insecurities as an urban girl, the silent treatment I may have given GB next week, Muna’s tantrums, the saggy roll threatening to pitch tent around my waist, negative vibes, procrastination, lifestyle disease, immaturity…. It all leaves. I’m cleansed. Reborn.

I mean, take a look at this – it’s the second day in a row I’m posting to the blog.

Let’s not even get into what it’ll do for my performance in the sack. Aye? Aye? (I’m elbowing you in the ribs playfully as I say that.) Someone’s gon’ gerriit! (P-Unit accent.)

Listen though, I was convinced my body had forgotten how to run. By the time I stopped running back when I did, I was setting new personal records for myself. I was doing more kilometres over a shorter time, and I wasn’t dragging my feet back to the digs after, as if I’d been in a shamba digging.

Our human bodies are amazing, though. My muscles hadn’t forgotten.

When I eventually roll out of bed at 5.17 a.m., I go into auto-mode: I pee, wash my face and gargle some water. Then I strip down in the darkness to put on my running clothes. Hood my jacket, strap on my silly kiddies watch, lace my trainers and I leave the snoring man in the blackened room, out into the kitchen. I find Nanny Viv prepping the ngwaces and nduma for breakfast.

I have two tall glasses of water, stretch for 15 minutes in the living room then I’m out the door, into the cover of the breaking dawn.

The air smells like determination.

I didn’t think I could hack the run with my creaky knees and saggy thighs. But I do. Somewhere in my head, the file with my old running stats was retrieved, its dust blown off and it was inserted into the hard drive of my muscle memory. Then it all came back. I run the way I used to run. Granted, I have to map out a new route, a straight one nonetheless, one that seems longer than my old familiar circuit, but if someone was stopped and asked, they’d have said, “Nope, that Kale chick didn’t take a running hiatus. Surely, look at her go?”

Like I said, I feel good. I feel fucking good.

Time now is 10.40 a.m.

I’m headed to Ngong Road to meet some chap who makes pendant lighting using traditional sticks from Western Kenyan. It’s for my Crafts and Culture column, story will run on Saturday. It’ll be a good one, a Kenyan story – these are the ones I love writing. Informal and in the outdoor, underneath the sun.

Of course I’m assuming he’ll say yes to the interview. If he doesn’t, I’ll figure my way out.

Talk kesho?

Back to basics
Anatomy of a desk

Comments (5)

  1. Mercy

    But why, Bett, do you have to make me feel so bad about my non-running, sleeping in self? I have been doing morning jogs since January. In my head. If I had a silly kiddies watch, it’d show you the time I’ve put in.
    Jogging mode activated.
    Tomorrow. Maybe.

    • Bett

      Hahhha. We’ll come to your funeral (touch wood) talking about how you had jogging mode activated. Then everyone will roll their eyes. Even you in your coffin.

      You wait and see, Mercy, hahha. Just wait.

  2. Claire

    Good job Kale girl! Imagine you have given me the much needed vitality to try and run tomorrow!

    Keep encouraging newness🙂😊

    • Bett

      I’m gushing, Claire. Thanks a bunch.

      Well, did you? Get up to run? Or did you mean ‘tomorrow’ as a metaphor? Hehhe.

      Talk to me.

  3. Nduta Mburu

    I love it being a runner myself I relates although I don’t do darkness I run during the day

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Florence Bett-Kinyatti


Columnist Saturday Nation Writer Craft It Author of best-selling ‘SHOULD I?’ and ‘HOW MUCH?’ ~ Guiding word: Overdrive Subscribe to our Newsletter👇🏾 eepurl.com/igmN8P
  • Dear God, 
It’s me again.

I don’t pray as often as I need to, You know that. I don’t kneel by my bed in child-like humility, as Muna does. I don’t whisper a prayer in the morning. Or at noon. Perhaps just in the evening. 

This going-to-church habit is a constant false start. So is reading the Word. 

I’m often guilty but I also know: You and I have a language only we can understand. 

I speak to You through this gift You bestowed upon my Kale shoulders, this gift to write in colour. It’s a gift that sometimes feels like a curse, a burden I have no choice but to pursue. 

Yet other times – most times, actually – it’s the very breath of my essence. Everyday I sit to write, when the words flow from my head and heart through my fingers to the page, I feel You next to me. 

You are here, Lord. Hovering. Lingering. Swooshing about in Your regal robes, like a character from Bridgerton.

Sometimes You get so close I can feel You breathing on my neck and I’m like, ‘Err, God, do You mind, personal space?’

And You chuckle uncomfortably. ‘He-he, of course. Of course.’

I’m here to tell You, Thanks!

I hosted my first in-person event last March, Lord, thank You to all the lovely ladies who granted me their time and full attention. 

I’ve carried them in my heart since and every day, my prayer is that You bring them closer to the life of abundance they each seek. To their own version of wealth. 

I always call them by their name: Becky. Purity. Lindsay. Wangui. Naomi. Shiqow. Mercy. Liz. Winnie. Polly. Nduta. Lynet. 

And Mike. 

Dear Lord, I’m prepping for my next in-person event in June, Inshallah. 

Walk with me as I get there. 

Love always,

  • Highlights from our first-ever in person event hosted by Craft It and @financialfitbit 
Thanks to all the lovely ladies — and gent, hehe — who honoured us with the privilege of their time and attention. And colourful energy. It’s been weeks since and it’s only now that I’m coming down from the high. 

Thank YOU!

🎥 @mikemuthaka 

#craftit #author #MakeYourMoneyMatter #personalfinance #money
  • I am a woman.

I’m strong. I’m brilliant. I’m like a comet shooting across the sky, I’m so bright you have to put on shades to see me.

I’m almost 40, I’m almost fully realising myself as a woman and the power of womanhood I possess.

I’m so powerful that if KPLC connected me to the national grid, I’d power up this country and we’d never have another blackout.

Ho! Ho! Ho!


To recognize and celebrate International Women’s Day today, I’d like to recognize and celebrate eight women.

I have eight things to give away to each of these women:
a) Two tickets to my upcoming event on March 18 with @financialfitbit Theme is ‘Make your money matter’
b) Three autographed copies of my book ‘Should I?’
c) Three autographed copies of my other book ‘How Much?’

To participate:
1. Like this post
2. Tag women who deserve a win of either event ticket or book (tag as many women as you like)
3. Tell us what you’d like her to win and why she deserves the win
4. Make sure your tagged women follow @_craftit and @financialfitbit 

Here are the rules for the giveaway:
— One woman, one win
— Winners will be contacted via DM
— Giveaway closes at the end of this week, Inshallah, on Sunday 12 March
— Only open to people living in Kenya

All the best!

(Swipe right to see the women I’m celebrating.)

#craftit #internationalwomensday
  • My 2022 word of the year was Wholesome. 

Wholesome meant engaging in moderation and in pursuits that didn’t leave me feeling yucky.

An example: there’re weekend nights I’d go out then have too much to drink. On the drive home, I’d tell GB to stop the car every half mile so I could throw up on the side of the road. Then I’d take three working days recovering. 


No more of that nonsense.

Now I have only two doubles of Singleton whiskey and chase it with water. I eat less food and I eat better. I take my supplements. I treat myself to an early bedtime and arise with my body clock, no alarm.

I spend a lot more time hanging with my kids, Muna and Njeeh. 

I buy fewer things. 

I play the piano. 

I created a disciplined routine for my work and take Thursdays off. 

You catch my drift…

Wholesome has become my lifestyle. 

(By the way, I was asked, ‘Where does this word-of-the-year come from, Bett?’ I don’t know about other people but for me, the words present themselves when I’m journaling. My spirit tells me what it needs; I must be still enough to listen and brave enough to obey.)

My word for 2023 is Overdrive.

My two books have unlocked new opportunities for me as a writer and creative. As an urban brand. I’d honestly not foreseen them. 

I know that if I adjust my sails to where the wind is blowing, these opportunities will translate to wealth.

Last Friday, I listed all the work I’m already doing and all the new opportunities – potential and realised – knocking at my door.

I asked myself, ‘What am I taking up here and what am I dropping?’

The response, ‘None – we go into overdrive and smartly pursue them all.’

#craftit #urbanguide
  • Years ago, my best friend said to me, ‘Bett, we’re almost 40 – forget makeup, let’s take care of our skin instead.’

I had to laugh because this was coming from Terry. Terry my Kisii pal, this fine gyal with skin the colour of honey, the only practising SDA in my circle. 

Terry had spent her 20s and early 30s sleek with Arimis. That’s right, the milking jelly with a lactating cow on its logo. 

Arimis addressed all her skin pickles back then. It was her problem fixer. Her Olivia Pope. It’s the one thing that always said, It’s handled.

Now here she was preaching to us about a consistent skincare regimen in the AM and PM.


It wasn’t until Terry shared her selfies on our girls WhatsApp group that I stopped laughing. It wasn’t until we stood next her – and took these selfies – that I reeally stopped laughing: Terry’s skin was youthful and toned, plump. Hydrated. Moistured but not shiny. 

It looked like it had been kissed by the Greek goddess of radiance. 

So we gathered around her feet and said, ‘Forgive us, master. We are ready now. Teach us everything you know.’

She did. 

Terry and I now spend plenty of time before work and before bed squeezing out little portions of expensive skincare products from expensive tubes, we layer them on our face in a calculated measure.

This serum here is for the circles under my eyes and the fine lines around my mouth.

Turns out I’ve been giving away too much of my face: I’ve been looking too hard, laughing too easily.

I’ll have to spend the next year into my 40s with my eyes half shut and laughing little. I'll have a resting bitch face.

Don’t blame me, blame the retinol.

And age.

#craftit #urbanguide #urbangirl
  • I’m Bett. I’m the author of your favourite books about money. I’m hosting an in-person event in March, Inshallah: This is my personal invite to you.

#craftit #moneymaker #moneyinkenya
  • I am hosting my first money event this March, Inhsallah. It’s the first of quarterly events I have planned for the year. 

(Give me a moment here so I pull myself together long enough to write this. I’m smiling very hard right now, ha-ha, I look like a donkey.)


The event will be in-person. On a Saturday morning, a loose three hours which, I am certain, you’d have burned on some other pursuit you couldn’t account for later. (I’d probably be oiling the hinges of a squeaky door or decluttering my sock drawer.)

My guest host for this edition is Lynet Kyalo. 

Lynet is a personal finance coach under her brand @financialfitbit She also hosts @getyourbagrightpodcast 

Buy your tickets from our Market.

Early bird tickets are discounted until the end of this month.

Limited slots available. 

#craftit #millenialmoney #moneyevent #moneymaker
  • Sometimes I sit down and read my own book. 

Odd, huh?

Reading my own stories is like an out-of-body experience. Or getting introduced to myself again. An outward journey inward.

It’s fascinating.

I also read because I need to improve my writing for my next project.

We call them the Elements of Craft: things like sentence structure and punctuation, word placement, story length etc, they all inform your reading experience.

This is what makes the book easy to read, and has you turning the pages.

Cop your autographed copy and #betteryourmoney 

#craftit #howmuch #millenialmoney #moneymaker

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