Wilfred Bungei has been sober for 14 years and 11 days today. He knows because he counts. Not birthdays; he forgets those. He counts the days since September 20, 2012, his last drink, not long after his sons refused to get into his car because he was too drunk.
Counting is an old, familiar friend. For a decade, as an athlete, he counted in hundredths of a second. He ran the 800 metres, a cruel race because it sits directly between a pure sprint and an endurance race.
For seven years, between 2001 and 2008, Bungei was one of the fastest 800m runners on earth, yet he couldn’t win the two titles that define a career. Fifth at the Athens Olympics, as the favourite.
Fourth at the World Championships in Helsinki. Fifth in Osaka. Then, in Beijing in 2008, running at night in dark glasses, he won Olympic gold by five hundredths of a second. Kenya exhaled. He was finally validated.
Then he retired, and suddenly he was facing himself, with a lot of time on his hands. He slipped into alcoholism. “As an alcoholic, you have only three destinations,” he says. “Rehabilitation, death, or jail.” He chose the first.
But “recovering alcoholic” is not how Bungei wants the story to end. “I’m no longer in recovery,” he says. Nor does he seem particularly keen to live forever inside the shadow of that Olympic gold medal. He is a father first. He is a farmer. An entrepreneur. A World Athletics commentator. A sportsman who still has ideas about what Kenyan athletics could become. He has tried politics, been humbled by it, and is now looking for other ways to contribute.
The medal is still in the house. But it is memorabilia now, not identity. Bungei no longer lives by the stopwatch. He counts himself lucky.
I will never win gold in my lifetime. Please describe the feeling of winning an Olympic gold medal?
[Laughs] It is beautiful. It was the most emotional thing that had happened in my life. Even talking about it now, it’s still emotional.
Remember, Kenyans had hoped for a long time that I would win the Olympics. I had chased that moment for a very long time, and then it came at the last minute of my career.
I knew many Kenyans were rooting for me. I was the team captain and we had already ‘harvested’ many golds, and the men’s 800 metres race came last. Everyone was like, “Let’s hope our captain wins”.
If I had not won gold in 2008, there was no way I would have pushed myself to 2012.
Competing at that level comes with a lot of pressure. What happens to that pressure when you retire? What do you do with the competitive streak inside you?
It brings a kind of uncertainty. I ended up messing myself up for a year and a half, because you go from being Wilfred Bungei, an athlete 365 days a year, to almost nobody. Athletes need a transition; otherwise, most end up in unfamiliar territory.
You have always talked about this battle with alcoholism, when did you realise you had a problem?
First, I was involved in several road accidents. But it got the point where my children would not get in the car once they realised I’d had alcohol. That was the wake-up call.
My children are my life. So those moments made me realise that alcohol was becoming a barrier between my children and me. That was my rock bottom. Today, September 29 marks 14 years and nine days since my last drink.
Amazing. Do you actively count the days?
Absolutely. I don’t even celebrate my birthdays because I don’t remember them. What I remember is the day I left alcohol. Because as an alcoholic, my friend, you have only three destinations – institutions, meaning rehabilitation, death, or jail. I count because, for an alcoholic, it’s a day at a time.
In these 14 years, which was the toughest year?
None. The last day I had a drink, I made a decision. The first thing I did after I got out of rehabilitation was open a hotel that had a bar. My counsellor was like, Wilfred, that is a recipe for relapsing. I told her I’d made my decision. Friends who would come offering me a drink couldn’t believe I had quit drinking.
Let me get this correct: your alcoholism was purely sparked by the post-retirement period?
Absolutely. We have so many medallists. We earn a lot of money, but a number of us may not have much to show for it. But I’m happy that the current group of athletes at least have some investments.
What do you remember about rehab? Did people recognise you?
I was recognised immediately. We used to call ourselves inmates. I was a binge drinker. I would drink heavily for seven days, then go a month or two without. So, when I went there, I told them, ‘I know I have a drinking problem, but normally I drink only for one week, and then I can go even three months without. That was the excuse.
Fortunately, I went to what I would call the best rehabilitation centre in this country: Nairobi Place, in Karen. I had the best counsellor there, Fatima. The programme was supposed to run for six weeks. I went in and said I had a busy schedule, including scheduled trips. Fatima told me, “Wilfred, don’t come here and tell us you’re an Olympic champion. You are nothing but an alcoholic.”
Former 800m World Champion Wilfred Bungei, during an interview at Kazi Mingi farm in Uasin Gishu County on October 14, 2025.
Photo credit: File | Nation Media Group
That changed how I looked at myself. You hear that, Biko? I want you to put that quote in.
I have to. Those words must have been sobering, literally…
Yes. To date, she’s my best friend. I respect her like no other.
I went in there with kimbelembele, (all haughty), and I wanted to get out immediately, after around five days. There was a vote by the inmates, all of us alcoholics, on whether Wilfred should go home.
Biko, I knew they were going to vote that evening, so I went around convincing everybody why they should vote for me to go home.But somebody told me, “Wilfred, don’t worry. Five days in, all of us felt the same. Just finish the programme.
To cut the long story short, they voted that evening, and surprisingly I got zero support in my quest to go home.
What role did your family play while you were struggling?
My children wondered why I was drinking so much. A child would cry, and I would ask myself, why should that child cry? But it was because my addiction made them unhappy.
When you came out of rehab, what damage did you realise you had done to your sons? You have two sons, right?
We don’t count children in Kalenjin, Biko.
[Laughs] Okay. What damage did you find you had done to your children?
We call them the Al-Anons. We are the alcoholics, and the Al-Anons are the immediate family members who go through hell while we are drinking. The Al-Anons also need some sort of rehabilitation. For my children, it took time. And remember, this was at a time when rehabilitation was stigmatised. It was unlike now, when people appreciate it.
When I was researching you, the alcoholism came up. Do you worry about your identity being defined by being a recovering alcoholic?
Yes, definitely, because I’m no longer in recovery. So you can’t categorise me that way. My story is a journey through sobriety. I can give you my word: if God gives me the next 10, 15, 20, 30 years, I won’t touch alcohol at all. Ever.
So, what is your biggest identity now, as a man?
First and foremost, I’m a father. I’m an entrepreneur. I’m a commentator for World Athletics. Last year, I worked with World Athletics in Tokyo. I think I’ll be working at the upcoming Standard Chartered Marathon.
Did you spend your money well during your career, or was that a problem?
I don’t regret any investment I made at the time. When I was very young, I lived with my uncle in Karen, and he taught me about investing in property and in farms. Of course, outside athletics, I’ve done several things that, in terms of investment, may not have been right. For example, I invested in politics in 2017, and I ran for a parliamentary seat in 2022. Running for a parliamentary seat will definitely dent your pocket.
What motivated you to run for Parliament in 2017 and 2022?
There has been a lot of propaganda around my political ambitions. In 2022, people were saying Bungei just wants to recover his money (after the 2017 run). But I was like, guys, I spent a lot of money on this; tens of millions. I will never recover it, even on an MP’s salary. I never ran to be called Mheshimiwa. I had a bigger name than that.
I had two reasons. One, our athletes have not been appreciated enough by this country. We hear of cases of renowned athletes who struggle to pay their own hospital bills. This country is not so poor that we cannot have legislation where every athlete who ever represented Kenya gets a stipend, let’s say Sh30,000 a month, and SHA. MPs retire after only two terms, and they earn how much? That was one piece of legislation I could push.
Two, development. I did everything where I was born, even my businesses, in Kapsabet, because I felt that was my opportunity to change the lives of my people. And I realised you can’t do much as an athlete unless you’re in politics. But I’ve decided politics is not for me. In politics, things are different, man.
What were your aspirations growing up in Kabirirsang, Kapsabet?
To change the lives of my siblings and my parents, because I grew up in a humble family. I was fortunate because I was surrounded by great athletes. Kipchoge Keino, Henry Rono, and Wilson Kipketer were my neighbours. I could see their lives had changed. One was driving a car; another had built a nice house. So I came to believe that running was the easiest way for me to make a difference.
Being an Olympic champion certainly made you richer. Did it make you happier?
[Pause] Not really. At my age right now, I think I’m happier, because back then I didn’t even know what happiness was. I spend time with my children; I see their success and their progress. I appreciate this more than the hullabaloo of being an Olympic champion, walking in the street and people shouting your name.
How do you think your children would describe you?
Wait, he’s coming here. You can talk to him. He’s actually the one who said, “Dad, there is no way I’m getting in that car.” But he knows who I am now, so let him say it.
[Wilfred Junior, who is 20, joins the call. Dad leaves the room]
Wilfred, describe your dad then and your dad now…
I think they’re very similar, just different situations. He’s always been very headstrong. He’s very charismatic. One of the biggest differences between then and now, apart from a clearer mind, is that at that time he was very demotivated, of course, due to alcohol.
Now, whatever he decides, whether it’s farming, athletics or politics, he pushes forward with more fuel in his tank.
My dad is now open to doing everything, from journalism to farming. He coaches me on the track, he is even my masseur because I’m currently training. He’s like a chameleon. That’s something I really respect.
An uncomfortable question: what do you think he needs to work on now?
That’s quite a deep question. I think the biggest thing is that he can focus on something, then leave it halfway, then come back to it later. I prefer that once I start a project, I stay on it. But he can do 20 different things at once.
Your son is really well spoken. He sounds like a solid young man. Where did he go to school?
I know. For me, the best investment I can make, my brother, is in these young ones. The best thing you can be is a father. So describe me as a father. Forget all the other names.
