Kavendela Makava — known in running circles as Mumo wa Musau — is 62 years old.

If you met Mumo today, you would see a lean, steady man who looks completely at home on a trail or halfway through a long-distance run. You would see someone comfortable in motion.

What you wouldn’t see is the version of him that weighed close to 130 kilograms. The version with high blood pressure. The prediabetes. The quiet accumulation of risk.

“I was everything,” he says without flinching. “Obese. BP. Prediabetic. Name it — I had it.”

Today his weight ranges between the 60s and 70 kgs.

“I lost a person in weight,” he adds.

And it’s not a metaphor.

What makes his story unusual is that it didn’t begin with self-hatred or dissatisfaction.

“Actually, I loved myself the way I was,” he says. “I completely refused.”

For twenty years, family friend Joyce Nduku — known to many as “Tata,” the marathon granny — had been pushing him gently but persistently to get active.

He laughed it off. Every time.

He never did sports in school. In his own words, he was “the best at sneaking out of the field.” Exercise simply wasn’t part of his identity.

Until COVID.

When lockdown came in 2020, something shifted.

Suddenly the risk factors were no longer abstract. They were being discussed daily. High blood pressure. Obesity. Underlying conditions.

“I checked all the boxes,” he says. “I realized I was about to go.”

The lockdown removed his ability to distract himself. It removed routine. It removed excuses.

Joyce stepped in again — this time more firmly.

“She became my accountability person,” he says. “Every day I had to send her what I did. Whatever I did.”

Walking. Moving. Sweating. Reporting.

There was no hiding from that.

Early in that journey, during one of his first walks at Ngong Road Forest Sanctuary, he met marathon champion Douglas Wakihuri.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t dramatic.

They spoke for about ten minutes.

Douglas saw what he was trying to do and gave him simple, practical advice.

“Don’t worry about distance. Don’t worry about time. Just move. And sweat.”

He told him not to go on extreme diets. To hydrate properly the day before activity. To stop eating by 6 p.m. To let his clothes, not the scale, measure progress.

And then he did something that made the advice stick.

“He told the security guards not to let me in if I showed up dressed wrong,” Mumo laughs. “That’s when I knew this was serious.”

At that point, he couldn’t run 100 metres.

He started with walking.

The security guards — many of them runners — encouraged him, checking in with him regularly.

Slowly, 100 metres became one kilometre. Then five kilometres. Then small bursts of running.

“I had to change clothes after workouts,” he says. “Everything was soaked.”

His personal mantra? “TMG”. Tumbo Must Go.

Later that year in 2021, when runners couldn’t travel for the Vienna Marathon, Kenyan runners created the Vienna Loop relay.

Mumo joined Team Kobe, a group of older runners supporting the effort while others ran the full virtual marathon.

His leg was seven kilometres.

“At that time, that was big for me,” he says. “I was the only newbie. I didn’t want to disappoint them.”

That sense of not wanting to let others down appears again and again in his story. He did not walk this road alone. He was held, nudged, encouraged.

And that mattered.

Running at 130 kilograms came with strain. He became a regular at Dr. Kariakim’s Sports Wellness Clinic for physiotherapy.

The advice shifted.

More walking. Less pounding.

So he leaned into hiking. Really leaned in. He would spend most weekends on the trails.

“I could suffer more,” he says thoughtfully. “And you are out there longer.”

The outdoors became part of the appeal. So did endurance. So did seeing what lay beyond the next ridge.

Then Mount Kenya entered the chat.

He got COVID at one point, and after recovery, he tested his lungs by hiking from Met Station to Mackinder’s Valley. The following weekend, he completed the summit to Lenana Peak.

He has summited Mount Kenya multiple times since.

“I find groups doing something I haven’t done,” he says. “And I join.”

As hiking became consistent his body began to change dramatically.

“My clothes started falling off,” he says.

He refused to buy new ones at first. Instead, he punched new holes into his belt and took photos to track progress.

“Don’t weigh yourself,” he repeats Douglas’s advice. “Let your clothes show you.”

Triple XL became double XL. Then single XL. Now L.

He still keeps some of the old clothes.

“They remind me where I came from,” he says. “And where I don’t want to go back.”

His first full marathon in 2024 was unplanned.

Joyce (there she is again!) had asked him to film her during Standard Chartered Marathon.

Somehow, he ended up pacing her.

“I wasn’t prepared,” he says. “I was training for Kilimanjaro.”

But he finished.

That experience widened his circle. Hiking friends merged with marathon runners. He met new communities, including those preparing for Kili Marathon 2025.

Then he saw posts about Intertown runs — people running from CBD to Isinya, from Kakamega to Kisumu, who treated towns as running checkpoints.

“I thought, who are these crazy people?” he laughs.

He didn’t attempt the full route. He joined halfway and ran about 43 kilometres.

That was enough.

Soon, he was part of the group.

Today, he hikes at least twice a month when possible. He incorporates walking into daily life. If he can walk instead of drive, he walks.

“Once you join, you are enrolled,” he says. “Getting out needs therapy.”

He now holds others accountable the way he was once held. He walks with them. Encourages them. Shares stats.

His long-term goal is Everest Base Camp.

“Not the summit,” he clarifies. “Just hiking to base camp. I’m doing it for the views.”

He pauses.

“I want to see what’s beyond.”

At 62, former classmates sometimes don’t recognize him. Family members call him crazy — but in a good way.

He never played sports in school.

Now he runs ultras. Summits mountains. Walks whenever he can.

And somewhere between refusal and discipline, between triple XL and size L, between Ngong and Lenana Peak —

He didn’t just lose weight.

He found a second life.

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