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Published: January 25th 2012
The run up to the January 12
thTiberius Marathon began a couple of weeks earlier during our Hanukah road trip while camel riding near Shacharut in Israel’s southern deserts. At that time I learned an important and painful lesson about camel behavior: camels stand up back end first, then front end, such that if you don’t hold tight to the handlebar at the front of the saddle as the camel rises you’ll be thrown violently forward off the saddle and over the head and neck of the camel. The camel sits down in reverse order – front legs first, then hind legs – but the affect is the same. You are catapulted forward as the camel folds its front legs under its body.
At the midway point of our camel trek, we stopped for a tea break. Yaniv, our guide, directed the camels one by one to sit. I, as is my habit, was taking pictures at the time. Feeling overly confident with my camel riding skills, I was holding my rather large and heavy camera with both hands, and was twisted around backwards photographing to my rear. That left no hands on the saddle’s
handlebar, and my mind focused entirely on composing and shooting photographs, and not on Yaniv or my camel. Suddenly, I felt myself being whipped forward and launched into the air. Instinctively, I held tight to my camera with both hands, and squeezed my thighs to the sides of the camel. Somehow, I managed to stay on the saddle long enough for the camels rear legs to descend and reverse the forward trajectory of my body. At the same time I could feel my “meefsa’ah” (groin) strain to its limit in an effort to keep my body in the saddle. Simultaneously my mind shot two weeks ahead to the Tiberius Marathon and flashed – “this is not a good thing.”
True enough, in the days leading up to the Marathon on January 12, 2012, it became clear that all was not good with my meefsa’ah-groin. I consulted with my yoga guru Tzvi Shalom in Jerusalem, my running guru Jerry Ziak of Forerunners in Vancouver, and my sister-in-law Neri’s physio guru Kevin, also in Vancouver. Based on advice from my team of gurus I started applying Voltaren cream like mad and embarked on a regimen
of gentle dynamic stretches to the affected area, but arrived at a painful conclusion: I was probably screwed, and there was a better than even chance that I would not run the race. At the same time I figured that if I could somehow get myself to the starting line, anything can happen.
So I cut way back on my running, tried to avoid any sudden turns, twists, or other body movements that could aggravate my meefsa’ah, and distracted myself from groin issues by turning to my usual pre-marathon obsession – checking the long-range weather reports. Which were looking consistently bleak. As the days ticked down, the best I could get out of the many weather websites was intermittent showers. Most sites showed either heavy rain or thunder storms. In a country that is experiencing long-term rain shortfalls, particularly during the rainy season (which is now), and in which the water level of the Sea of Galilee remains well below the “red-line”, I felt a bit guilty cursing the forecasts. But I accepted what seemed like the inevitable and, the day before the marathon, packed all my rain running gear while hoping for
a (selfish) miracle.
After school on January 11, 2012 C.E., we loaded the car and headed out under deep grey skies. Still, there was no precipitation as we turned north into the “Beekah” desert valley along the Jordon River. Drive time from Jerusalem to Tiberius, located on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, is a little less than two and half hours. About a half hour south of Tiberius the sky opened up. The rain fell in sheets as we entered Tiberius. Good, I told Aimee, this way the rain storm will exhaust itself by race time the next morning at 9:00 a.m.
We pulled into the marathon starting area by the Leonardo Plaza Hotel, where I needed to pick up my running package, including my “meespar chazeh” (official running bib with my number). By then the streets had turned into churning rivers. Runners clutching running packages darted in and out of the headlights as they rushed through the rain back to their cars or hotels. The headlights projected light through horizontal columns of rain pounding down on the streets. I stepped out of
the car and splashed through the streets to the nearby Leonardo Club Hotel which housed the marathon “expo” and picked up my package. Unlike in New York where participants have to present a passport and computer generated confirmation of registration before even entering the expo, I simply told the volunteer handing out running packages my name and number – 178 – and she gave me my package.
Rather than head to our “budget” hotel located up a hill about a kilometer from the city centre, we made our way to “Avi’s Restaurant” which we had pre-selected based on reviewing local restaurants the night before on the internet. A good choice. Avi – a larger than life character who seemed to know virtually everyone in the restaurant, and made a point of getting to know those he didn’t - took our order. He suggested half portions for the boys, which were plenty big, at half the price. Aimee and I split a grilled fish, which was more than enough for the two of us. Ezra decided that he had to have lamb on a skewer, which was not on the menu. So Avi persuaded
Boys wait to get a special ride.
Unlike every other marathon we've ever seen, the roads are closed and there is no way to see the runners enroute. The guys manning the mic offered to take us (after telling them that we came all the way from Canada to see Fred run) in their vehicle, but after waiting around an hour, learned that they were not allowed either since their vehicle was too large to turn around safely.Ezra that the “pargiot” (spring chicken) on the menu was really lamb, and Ezra seemed well satisfied with the “lamb.” Adin had his usual chicken schnitzel and fries swimming in “chometz” (vinegar).
The Prima Tiberius “budget” hotel turned out to be great. Not really cheap, but at least much less than we would have paid in the town center. We all managed a good night sleep – something I rarely get on the night before a marathon – though I awoke at dusk to check on the weather. Our suite looked down over the lakeside town, the lake itself and mountains beyond. I squinted at the passing cars but couldn’t tell if their windshield wipers were on. Ezra snuggled beside me and reported that, yes, indeed, the wipers were on. We stared silently into the rain for about a half hour. I hoped that somehow the rain would stop if I kept looking. The half way point of the marathon on the far side of the lake at Kibbutz Ein Gev looked very very far away. It certainly looked a lot farther than the 21 kilometers that I knew it was. At the
southern most tip of the lake a patch of sunlight reflected off the silver-grey water. Hope!
I was feeling nothing from my meefsa’ah, which was a good sign. I ate my pre-race banana, while chewing over out how best to dress for running a marathon in this weather. I decided on full rain gear, pulled on my rain-resistant Nike running tights (thanks Jerry), pinned my running bib to my long sleeved 2009 New York Marathon running shirt, placed six GU running gels in my pockets, and zipped up my Segoi rain running jacket. I guessed I would be overdressed once the run started, but prefer to be too warm rather than too cold. I told Aimee I figured I had a 50-50 chance to finish, given the state of my meefsa’ah. We packed up the room, I said my goodbyes and stepped out onto the street as Aimee and the boys headed to breakfast.
I tried to avoid stepping in the channels of water flowing down the hill to the city center, and to avoid slipping and twisted my groin. Despite my efforts, my feet were
wet within seconds. No big deal I told myself, it was going to happen soon enough anyway so I may as well get it over with. As I walked down the hill to the “kav ha’zeenuk” (starting line) the rain eased off to a light drizzle. Arriving at the starting area with a half hour to spare, and with my groin feeling encouragingly pain free, I looked for a dry place to try and stay warm-ish and dry-ish. Thanks to Avi there was one dry chair under a canopy at the entrance to Avi’s Restaurant, a mere 20 meters from the starting area. I huddled on the chair and waiting. I watched other runners drift past towards the assembly point in front of the kav ha’zeenuk. Half were dressed for the rain, like me, but many walked by, shivering, in shorts and singlets or t-shirts. Groups of African elite runners, mostly from Kenya, ran past, circling the starting area, warming up for the race. Many recreational runners use the first several kilometers of the race to warm up. Elite runners, however, start full out, so must be fully warmed up and limber when the gun goes off.
With a few minutes to gun-time, I silently thanked Avi for his warm dry chair, stepped back into the drizzle, and slipped through the crowd to the back of the pack of runners. Most were Israeli, though there was a significant sprinkling of international runners. And by contrast to the demographics in North America marathons, which are a least 50% women, the field of runners was around 90% male. I looked across the crowd for Aimee and the boys. As it turns out they didn’t make it to the kav ha’zeenuk in time for the start, but did enjoy a rushed, but excellent breakfast back at the hotel.
The gun went off. Runners and spectators cheered. I, as is my custom, walked to within steps of the kav ha’zeenuk, before shifting to an easy jog. Groin felt good. As is also my custom, I jogged the first 10 kilometers at a pace slower than my natural running pace. It’s a marathon, after all, so I try to avoid getting caught up in the excitement and squandering all my fuel early in the run. The pavement was wet, obviously, but
within ten to 15 minutes the drizzle stopped, never to return. And before long the pavement too was dry. … Perfect marathon conditions.
The marathon route – an out and back course which doubles back on itself – hugs the southern half of the Sea of Galilee and divides into four even parts. Tiberius is located, more or less, at the midpoint on the west side of the lake, and Kibbutz Ein Gev is at the mid point on the east side of the lake at the foot of the Golan Heights (I know, I know, Immanuel, I’m not being absolutely accurate!). As such, the first quarter of the marathon (approximately 10 km) heads south along the west side of the lake to the southern tip of the lake at Tsomet Tsemach (Tsemach Junction). The route then turns north along the east side of the lake to Ein Gev, at which point it does a 180 degree turn and returns along the same roads to Tiberius and the kav ha’see’oom (finish line). The entire route was closed to traffic except emergency and event vehicles, and news media vehicles.
Looking across the lake to Ein Gev, I again thought – that sure looks farther than 21 kilometers away. But it was the start of the race, the drizzle had stopped, I was feeling good, though wondering how long it would be before I started feeling my groin, so to speak. Running south towards Tsomet Tsemach, we passed Kibbutz Degania founded in 1910 - the world’s first kibbutz and birthplace of Israel’s most famous soldier, Moshe Dayan. This section of the route included the marathon’s two tiny hills. After training in Jerusalem - which is all hills, and steep ones at that - the two hills were little more than gentle undulations in the countryside. By this point the sun was popping in and out from behind the clouds, and I was wishing I’d opted for a short sleeved shirt and had left my tights and rain jacket back at the hotel.
Rounding the southern end of the Sea of Galilee, I looked up at the Golan Heights towering in front of me to the east – conquered by Israel from Syria 44 1/2 years ago during the Six Day War
in 1967. Prior to the War, the border ran along the base of the heights slightly inland from the shoreline along the southern half of the lake, and almost right at the shoreline along the northern end of the lake. The band of territory along the southern half of the lake was wide enough to include several Israeli Kibbutzim (kibbutz-es) and their fields. The marathon’s turn-around point at Kibbutz Ein Gev was the northern most Israeli village (pre-1967) sandwiched between the lake and the Golan Heights. Prior to 1967 the Syrian army, securely perched atop the Golan Heights - which rise 500 meters almost straight up from the lake shore - regularly fired down at kibbutznicks (kibbutz residents), killing many civilians and forcing the residents to spend many nights, and days, in their bomb shelters. Running north along the quiet country road to Ein Gev I thought about how completely exposed I and the other runners would be if the Syrian snipers were still up on the slopes to my immediate right. The word “turkey-shoot” came to mind. …. Running north in the shadow of the Heights I also marveled at the lushness of the fields and slopes I was
running through, especially after the recent rains.
During this second quarter of the marathon I eased into my natural running pace, slightly faster than my pace during the first quarter. Still no meefsa’ah issues. I looked forward to seeing Aimee at the boys at the half way point – they were planning to drive there by way of the northern end of the lake. (As it turns out the northern end of the lake was closed to traffic as well due to the marathon.) As I neared Ein Gev, a runner passed me to the right with a dog leashed to his belt. I sped up to keep pace, and asked him if dogs were allowed in the marathon. He replied that he never asked – a wise choice when you’re unlikely to get the desired response. His marathon running dog was equipped with four little burgundy running shoes purchased, he said, in the States. We chatted a bit about training with our dogs, then I wished him luck and slowed to my running pace as they sped off.
Moving through the middle section of the
marathon I also thought about the wonder of running 42.2 kilometers amidst farms, fields, and villages, together with over 1000 Israelis (and an Israeli dog with burgundy running shoes) off all ages - fit, strong, healthy, happy, and purposeful - who represent a nation which has recreated, at the vortex of the most violent and hateful corner of the world, and against all odds, this lush and vibrant tiny country from a backwater of deserts and swamps.
The middle section of the marathon also offered a special treat. The one thing I love about an “out and back” marathon route is the opportunity to see the elite runners in full flight as the double back towards us slower runners. (In a marathon course such as New York which goes from Staten Island to Manhattan – i.e. from point A to point B - one never sees the elite runners.) At around the 14 kilometer point for me the elite runners were returning from Ein Gev at around the 28 kilometer point for them – running almost exactly twice as fast as me. And looked it. They appeared to be sprinting full out, yet
completely fluid, feet barely touching the ground. Among the leaders were a number of Israeli-Jewish Ethiopian runners. Many minutes went by before the first “elite” white runner went by. Aimee, who watched the elite runners finish the race, said 30 minutes went by between the first African finishers and the first white runner. One of the Israeli runners running along side me observed that “Yaysh lahem mechonah legamray acheret” (they have a completely different motor). The winner broke the course record at two hours and seven minutes – an exceptionally fast time that is only four minutes off the world record, and faster that some finishes at the New York Marathon.
Another thing surprised me - at first - about the elite runners; many dropped out of the race at around the mid-point. Some were visibly injured and limping, others simply walking along the side of the road. I thought about that for a moment, and realized that for an elite runner who fails to stay close enough to the leaders to win or place, there’s no point in carrying on. To the contrary, there’s good reason to stop. These athletes are professionals who compete to win or place. If there’s no chance to do either, all they’d be doing by continuing is exhaust themselves and risk injury. They’ve all got other events coming up. It would we be counterproductive to jeopardize their chances of succeeding in those events for an event that they’d already lost.
At the turn around at Ein Gev I looked for Aimee and the boys and felt a let down at their absence but, simultaneously, felt a lift at knowing I was heading home. At the same time, after running 21 kilometers, I was starting to feel the cumulative impact of the race on my body; which still felt okay but had started to telegraph my brain that things were about to get harder. I looked to my right across the lake to Tiberius on the far side. It appeared farther away than ever, and the thought of running all the way there seemed just a little bit inconceivable. I was now appreciating the scenery less, and had stopped contemplating the wonders of Israel’s history altogether.
One observation did put a smile on my face, and distracted my mind from thinking too much about the upcoming two hours of running; runners, particularly men, lose much of their inhibitions during marathons. For example, two years ago the New York Marathon posted signs on the Varazanno Narrows Bridge warning runners not to urinate off the deck of the bridge. In past years so many runners on the top deck of the two-decker bridge urinated off the side, that runners on the lower deck were getting sprayed when the wind blew the urine back against the bridge. So I was not surprised to see many male runners moving to the edge of the road and peeing without inhibition throughout the race. I should mention at this point that, along the Ein Gev–Tsomet Tsemach segment of the marathon, there is a paved bike path running parallel to the west side of the road. At around the 25 kilometer mark I saw one male runner move to the right side of the road. Just another pee-er I assumed. This one, however, kept going and jogged right up to the edge of the bike path, pulled down his pants and squatted with his bare butt facing me and the other marathoners running along the road. Now that was a loss of inhibition to a degree I’d not witnessed before! … But what the squatter had apparently not realized was that marathoners were also running on the bike path, including a man and women who ran by inches in front of him as he squatted. I noticed that the couple quickly veered back onto the road after passing the squatter, I assume hoping to avoid any further close encounters of this (fourth?) kind.
As I rounded the bottom of the lake for the second time at Tsomet Tsemach I hit the three quarter mark – 30 kilometers – of the marathon. I knew I was really in a marathon at that point. With little forewarning, running suddenly became much harder, and my pace much slower. My meefsa’ah-groin was sore, but after holding out for 30 kilometers I felt pretty sure it would hold up for the remainder of the run. I no longer thought about anything except finishing the marathon. Running. Not stopping. Not walking. No way. With 10 kilometers to go I visualized myself running the 10 kilometer Stanley Park Seawall. I pictured where along the seawall I’d be as I continued north towards Tiberius – Brockton Point, Lumberman’s Arch, Lions Gate Bridge …. I visualized where I was in the New York Marathon – Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem, the hill up Fifth Avenue from 110
th to 96
th Streets, snaking through the Central Park and out to 59
th Street … I recalled how strong I felt running through the Park high-fiving hundreds of people along the road side as I picked up the pace towards the finish. …. Now it seemed impossible that I could ever have felt strong at the end of a marathon. And now there was no one to cheer me on, let alone high-five me. Just me, my increasingly resistant body, and my brain which had run out of ways to distract me from the overwhelming desire to … just … stop.
Through all this I made an important discovery (or least it appeared so at the time). I had needed to pee for some time now, but held out with the hope of making it to the finish line so as not to waste time. Now, I also feared that if I stopped to pee, my leg muscles would seize up and prevent me from starting to run again. At the 40 kilometer mark I felt like I was about to burst a pipe, and also knew that if I somehow managed to keep going a little longer I might end up having to pee along the final kilometer of the race - which was the one section of the route actually lined with many spectators. In spite of it all, I still harboured enough inhibitions to want to avoid this. So I jogged off the side of the road … and peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’d. And then much to my surprise, I started running again, and was actually running stronger than I had before my pit stop. I realized that I had been expending much energy trying to restrain myself from urinating which, in turn, was making it harder for me to run.
Near the entrance of Tiberius my right calf muscle did, in fact, cramp up. Completely. But having experienced this very thing before late in marathons I kept my cool. I stopped and slowly stretched out the resistant muscle – slow was all I could manage at this point - and ran the final kilometer through the streets of Tiberius. Two hundred meters before the kav ha’see-oom (finish line) I saw Aimee and the boys, whooping and leaping up and down. I was sooooo thrilled to see them. There is no better way to describe it. The boys ran, jumped, twirled, and hooted alongside me as I ran to the finish line – crossing at 4:11:40. Thanks to them, I was feeling no pain. My meefsa’ah and I had made it. And I was experiencing the real runners high (the mythical runners high is the one that supposedly occurs when one is actually running) that comes with being finished.
I always marvel after a marathon how quickly I forget how hard those last miles can be. And I mean really forget. Almost as if I’d never experienced that overwhelming desire to make it all stop. I recall a runner’s joke about pledging never to do it again – until next time.
We hung around for about a half hour soaking up the happy atmosphere that always infuses the finishing area of marathons; chatting, eating, drinking, watching other runners re-unite with their families and running buddies comparing notes on the morning’s triumphs and disappointments.
Before saying good-bye to Tiberius Aimee did a shop at the local outdoor market while I kept walking to stay warm and prevent my muscles and joints from seizing up. With marathon stragglers continuing to will themselves to the finish line, and city streets still blocked to traffic, it took us a while to find a way out of town. Once through the road blocks we saw the final – six hour plus – runners shuffling into town. Then, we were home free and on our way to the hot mineral pools at Chamat Gader, located at the convergence of the borders of Israel and Jordan and, a short distance away, Syria. Earlier, during the marathon, near Tsomet Tsemach at the bottom of the Sea of Galilee, I stared at the signs to Chamat Gader and dreamed of soaking away the pain in the soothing waters of the spa.
We arrived at Chamat Gader after a 20 minute drive from Tiberius. Ahhhhhhhhh. Such a “Mechaya” – a Yiddish word which essentially means a pleasure, but describes a much deeper, warmer, fuller, more satisfying and life-affirming pleasure than the English word can convey. We soaked and swam in the hot pools for a couple of hours under the night sky, sharing the pools with many other marathoners, as well as the usual crowd of Russian and Israeli Arabs that fill all vacation sites throughout the country. The Russian-Israeli woman looked much like the women in paintings by Peter Paul Rubens – except more so – but in platinum blond and way-too-small bikinis. The Arab women in the pools were attired much more modestly; many in dresses that covered them from the tops of the heads to the ends of their limbs. One smoked a cigarette melodramatically while wading through the water.
From Chamat Gader we drove to the mountain top kibbutz of Ma’aleh Gilboa to spend the evening with Ross and Emily Singer and their family, before driving back to Jerusalem along the same desert road we’d taken the afternoon before. Aimee and the boys slept while I looked back over a long, but very satisfying day. And did not think once about the long term weather forecast or my wonky groin.
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Barry Promislow
non-member comment
Good on you.
To finish and in such good time after worrying about an injury is indeed a mitzvah and more so for including all of us in it. As I said to you when I saw you in Vancouver your Blogs would make a great book - "A year off in Israel" and would I think be interesting to everyone, not just family. Looking forward to seeing you again in May ( our schedule is May 10th and 11th - but we can't leave the car in Ashdot after 3 and the ship doesn't leave until 11 pm. Can you find our for me if we can fly from Tel Aviv to Alexandria on Sunday - that way we could spend Shabbat with you as well and catch up to the ship 4 days later - all we miss is the day at sea ( saturday).