Tel Aviv Marathon – Blog # 18 – It’s all in your head

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After shuffling home from the Jerusalem Marathon I stood in the shower for longer than Israel’s water shortage could ever justify and let the hot water massage away the heavy stiffness in all my muscles. After previous marathons, my body and brain instantly forgot how hard the run was the moment I crossed the Kav HaSee’um (the Finish Line). This was different. It took one very long shower and at least four hours before my internal auto-delete program began wiping away the painful memories, leaving only the highs of running the byways of my new hometown together with 1500 other meshuga’im(crazy people).

By evening – thankfully Shabbat - my mind started reviewing the detailed schedule of gentle workouts provided by my running guru, Jerry Ziak of Vancouver Forerunners, in preparation for the fourth annual Tel Aviv Marathon a mere 14 days later; walk-runs interspersing a few minutes walking with equal amounts of running, swimming, running in the pool to avoid impact, massages, and lots of physical rest and sleep in between.

This all made perfect sense, except for the fact that two days after the Jerusalem Marathon, on Sunday morning - early Sunday morning - I was about to start a week of work at the Tel Burna archeological excavations located half way between Jerusalem and Gaza. So instead of sleep, massages and gentle work-outs, I spent the week after the Jerusalem marathon rolling out of bed at 5:00 a.m., then digging and hauling buckets of Iron Age (9^th to 7^th Century BCE) dirt. Not exactly what Jerry ordered, but I love playing in ancient dirt and this was the only week of excavations at Tel Burna. And I did intersperse walking and running – while pushing overloaded wheelbarrows to the edge of the excavation site where we dumped the dirt into the valley below. And, then, pursuant to Jerry’s directions, I caught up on my sleep during an Ehud Banai concert at the Jerusalem Theatre the evening of the last day of the dig. (I understand from my wife Aimee that it was an outstanding concert.)

Two days before the marathon my family and I traveled to Tel Aviv’s Rabin Square to pick up my running package including my marathon shirt (a becoming shade of electric orange) my meespar chazeh (Running bib number 1623), and computer chip. Negotiating the Tel Aviv Streets with Aimee directing me with her smart-phone GPS I could tell this was going to be a different kind of marathon. For the first time I would not have to worry about staying warm and dry. Staying hydrated and avoiding collapse from heat exhaustion and sunstroke would be the challenge.

With daylight savings time coming into affect the night before the marathon, I took special care to make sure I set my alarm for the correct hour. The morning of the marathon, Friday, March 30^th, there was no debate over running attire. No rain jacket. No tights. And no garbage bags! Just shorts and short sleeves. And for the first time I did wear an Israeli marathon shirt; my brand new blue and white Jerusalem Marathon shirt. For me it’s bad karma to wear a marathon shirt before having actually running the marathon - you have to earn your shirt.

I got a ride to Tel Aviv with my downstairs neighbour and friend Ya’akov who ran the full Jerusalem marathon two weeks earlier but was now running only the half marathon in Tel Aviv. (The Hebrew word for wimp is “ch’nun”) We set out at 5:30 a.m., which meant I would be cutting it close for my 6:45 a.m. start time, though Ya’akov would have ample time for his 7:30 a.m. start. With the time change I would be starting the race, according to my body clock, at 5:45 a.m. I was glad that Ya’akov was at the wheel so he could deal with the challenges of driving Israel’s highways on a few hours sleep and finding a place to park in city that was largely unknown to me.

The Kav HaZeenuk (Starting Line) was along Tel Aviv’s southern waterfront just north of Jaffa. As we entered the city from the south through what looked to me the city’s industrial underbelly, we landed in gridlock together with the day’s 25,000 participants, who were all seemingly looking for the same parking spot that we were. The frozen chaos was no doubt compounded by the fact that the Tel Aviv Marathon had issued an inaccurate map that was only discovered a couple of days earlier. Ya’akov, being a lifelong Jerusalemite, was barely more familiar with Tel Aviv than I. As we inched forward I kept an eye on my watch. Fifteen minutes to the starting gun, and I had no idea how far we were from starting area. I took some comfort in the fact that many other runners were in the same position as me.

Miraculously, Ya’akov found a spot that others clearly had concluded was too narrow for any car. After telling me exit because there was no way I’d be able to get my door open, Ya’akov somehow slid his car into the spot and then squeezed out through the crack between his car and the one pressed up against it. That’s really when a marathon training regimen comes in handy. I quickly wolfed down my pre-marathon banana, wished Ya’akov well, and joined the waves of runners heading in what I could only hope was the direction to the starting area. As the flow thickened, and the batteries of traffic barriers and police officers appeared, I knew we were close. With five minutes until the zeenuk the Mediterranean Sea and the giant starting gate on HaYarkon Street came into view. With three minutes to go I entered the starting area in Charles Clore Park. The closest I’ve ever cut it to the starting gun. With one minute to go I sat on the curb and retied my shoes. And took a deep breath. It was hard for me to believe, but I had made it. Three marathons. Three starting lines. Now I just had to make to my third finishing line.

As appears to be the routine with Israeli marathons, Tel Aviv’s mayor Ron Huldai welcomed the international runners in heavily accented English – Gooood Morrrrrrrrning Tel Aviv! - then fired the starting gun. Run slow. Run slow, I told myself silently. I knew, and I felt it in my legs, that running slow was the only way my body would get me to the finishing line on the run. I also knew the gentle warmth of the 6:45 a.m. sunshine would loose its gentleness soon enough. The pavement already had the oily slickness of a hot summer’s day. Running north between rows of hotels and restaurants on HaYarkon Street, my legs already felt as if they’d run 10 kilometers. But I also felt a sense of anticipation as I embarked on a slow motion tour of a city that was largely a mystery to me.

After 15 blocks the marathon turned inland, eastbound on Allenby Street, named after Great Britain’s Field Marshal Viscount Allenby who led the British forces which conquered Palestine from the Ottoman Turks in 1918. Still early, the many shops cafes, pubs, and restaurants of Allenby were hours away from springing back to life.

At the intersection of Allenby and Rothschild Boulevard stands the landmark Lederberg house completed in 1925, which is surfaced with ceramic murals including one of Jerusalem with verse 31:3 of Jeremiah – Od evnach v’neevnet - Again I will rebuild you and you will be rebuilt. The verse refers to both Jerusalem and the Jewish nation. For one whose life has been renewed in Jerusalem, this verse touched a particulary exposed nerve.

We turned left onto Rothschild Boulevard and continued northeast for 10 blocks. Rothschild Boulevard is one of Tel Aviv’s most desirable and, therefore, expensive addresses. And I could see way. Rothschild contains a promenade down the middle lined with almost-century-old trees, benches, walking and cycling paths and charming kiosks – essentially a 10 block long story-book park laid out in the middle of street. As I ran by in the shade of the trees I pictured myself sipping cafe affuch (latte) and reading the Friday edition of Haaretz on a nearby bench. Hmmm, I think I could probably give up Jerusalem for this.

Lots of history on Rothschild as well, including Independence Hall in which modern Israel’s founders signed the Declaration of Independence on May 14, 1948, and the many Bauhaus buildings that led UNESCO to designate this segment of Tel Aviv a World Heritage Site. I guess even UNESCO takes a break from demonizing Israel, on occasion, to do the right thing. As we emerged from the shady charm of Rothschild, the sun reflected back into our eyes off the futuristic blank white walls of the Habima Theatre directly in front of us.

At each water station I drank more than I really wanted, to stay hydrated. As I approached the 10 kilometer mark, with my legs feeling like they’d already ran 20 kilometers. I caught up to a 70-plus-year-old runner wearing a Jerusalem marathon shirt. We chatted as we ran north alongside the rush-hour traffic inching forward on the Ayalon Highway, the major artery cutting north-south through Tel Aviv. Turns out my senior friend had, like me, ran the full marathons in Jerusalem two weeks before and Tiberias in January. He was sweating profusely and seemed to be struggling, just a little. He tapped his right index finger on his temple and said, “Hakol b’rosh” - It’s all in the head. This instantly became my mantra for the rest of the race. Whenever the going got rough, I thought of my older friend, tapped my temple and said out loud, “Hakol b’rosh.” As the run progressed I did a lot of tapping.

The marathon route preceded along the base of the three silver-black building-block glass towers of the Azreili Centre – Tel Aviv’s tallest buildings topping out at 49 floors; one circular, another square and the third triangular. After Azreili I was happy to return to the human scale of Rothschild and Allenby where we retraced our steps and encountered masses of half marathoners running towards us in a tidal wave of orange. Included within the orange wave was my neighbour Ya’acov, who gave me the now-traditional wave and greeting. Clearly half-marathons are the preferred distance among Israeli runners. And clearly Israeli runners do not follow my custom of never wearing an event shirt until after successfully completing the event.

Back on HaYarkon Street the marathon proceeded north for a number of kilometers along embassy row, to the far northern end of the city; passing the massive U.S. embassy first off, on the left, at 71 HaYarkon in the heart of Tel Aviv’s seashore area, all the way up to the Turkish embassy on the right at 202 HaYarkon (yes, the Turks are still here). Along the way we passed an apartment building on the right at number 181 known as the “Crazy House” which was built in the curvy-wavy style of the famous Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi. As always, any distraction from the pavement pounding – for even a few seconds - was welcome.

From HaYarkon the route veered left onto Rehov Namal (port) Tel Aviv and through the recently restored old port area of the city. Once the country’s biggest, Namal Tel Aviv is no longer a commercial port; its many warehouses are now filled with cafes, nightclubs, pricy boutiques and name-brand outlets whose marques bled together at the periphery of my vision – Castro…Replay…Blue Bird…Oasics. Kind of like Robson Street on the Mediterranean.

Up ahead towered the 160 meter high iconic smokestack of the Reading Power Station – no longer belching smoke since having converted to natural gas in recent years. Emerging from the port, we crossed the mouth of the Yarkon River, for the first of four times. This first crossing was on a pedestrian bridge which lead onto HaTayelet – the new walking/running/bike promenade which snakes through the still-largely undeveloped northern shoreline of Tel Aviv. One third of the way into the marathon, and still early in the morning, there was no one here but us marathoners. The only sound - the patter of running shoes, and the occasion word exchanged between runners. It felt good to take a break from the big city and feel the sea breeze.

The middle third of the marathon took us up and then back down the Yarkon River, across and back and then across again. The 9:00 a.m. sun was now starting to beat down on us, and I eased over to whichever side of the road or path offered the most shade. The river runs through Park HaYarkon, so thankfully there was some shade for most of its length. At every water station along the route – located at two kilometer intervals - I made sure to down more water than I felt like drinking, and started emptying out the remainder of every bottle onto my head. Every 5 kilometers I sucked down a GU running gel for a hit of carbohydrates, electrolytes and sugar – essential to keeping my body upright and moving forward. I then washed the GU down with water. Between the steadily rising temperature and relentlessly pounding sun, I felt quizier and quizier with each gel. I tapped my temple and repeated – Hakol barosh – it’s all in the head. And for the umpteenth time I tried to convince myself that, in Theodore Hertzl’s remarkably parallel words, Eem tirtzu ayn zo hagadah – if you will it, it is no dream.

At the 21.1 kilometer mark - half way – I felt like I usually do at the end of the marathon. But having kept to a slow and steady cadence from the start, my legs somehow kept moving at that pace. Perhaps because it wasn’t physically possible to move at a slower pace and still be running. And because, unlike Jerusalem two weeks earlier, Tel Aviv, thankfully, is as flat as Richmond.

As I passed the half mark the elite runners sprinted across the Kav Ha’See’um (finish line). Kenyan runner Sammy Tu set a course record of 02:15:14, just ahead of countryman Chamba Henry Kipkirui, who crossed the finish line in 02:16:59. Ethiopian Ada Abda Tula, the fasted woman, finished at 02:38:27.

With half the marathon still in front of me, I tried to distract myself by taking in the scenery through Park HaYarkon, and it’s many different gardens, sporting facilities, and outdoor performance venues. The Yarkon, which means “greenish” in Hebrew, is Israel’s largest coastal river, meandering 27.5 kilometers to the Mediterranean from its source near Rosh HaAyin. For decades, little better than an open sewer, the Yarkon River has undergone an impressive revival in the last few years.

Emerging from Park HaYarkon, I crossed the river for the final time and headed south back into the heart of the city along Ibn Gabriol Street, all six of its lanes closed to traffic. Lined with expansive sidewalks and shaded cafes, the street itself is not shaded at all. The mid-morning sun bore down on us. With more than 30 kilometers behind me I started visualizing the final quarter of the run while keeping pace to the mantra in my head – hakol b’rosh, hakol b’rosh. By this point I had stopped tapping my temple to preserve upper body strength. I poured water down my throat and onto my head at every refreshment station, but could not force myself to suck down my last GU gel. The good news - no more quiziness. The bad news – quiziness could no longer describe what now felt like full blow nausea. I started eying the side of the road for garbage bins in the event that the quiziness-nausea continuum progressed to the next logical phase.

At one point along Ibn Gabriol, I noticed a group of teenage Tel Avivians along the curb leaning towards me and squinting at my chest. Suddenly they all broke into a chant of – Frrrrreddy. Frrrrreddy. Frrrrrreddy. … Turns out they had been trying to decipher the name printed in Hebrew on my running bib. I grinned as I continued south while the Frrrrrrrreddy Fan Club continued its chant. That was worth at least three kilometers of added energy, and kept a smile on my face all the way to Dizengoff Street and the final five kilometers of the marathon.

Along Dizengoff, which is lined with small boutiques and cafes, I tried to trick my mind body into thinking it was on a sightseeing excursion rather than 39 kilometers into a now-sizzling-hot marathon. It didn’t work. But Dizengoff Street, named after Tel Aviv's first mayor Meir Dizengoff, did lead me back to HaYarkon Street and the final three kilometers to the Kav Ha’See’um.

I could picture the Kav Ha’See’um and feel that image pulling me down HaYarkon Street to the finish line. Knowing that my running escort - Aimee and my boys Ezra and Adin – was somewhere up ahead gave me a lift as I grinding my way down HaYarkon. Groups of runners, with finisher medals swinging from their necks, cheered me on as they walked up HaYarkon to their cars. Fighting to control the nausea, I made a mental note of each garbage can along the road side as it came into view. With the gate over the Kav Ha’See’um coming in to view 500 meters ahead, Ezra and Adin spotted me plodding towards them. They ran up, each grabbed a hand, and pulled me along towards the finish. My eyes locked onto the gate over the finish line; I was so focused on the finish line I did not notice the massive digital clock that showed my completion time. Only later when I checked on-line did I find out that I crossed the finish line, hand in hand with Ezra and Adin, at 4:40:47. Amazingly, my time was 16 seconds off my Jerusalem Marathon time of 4:40:31. I guess I’ll just have to get used to the fact that, in my golden years, I really have become a slow runner. On the other hand, I take comfort in the fact that I was still faster than 436 of the 1700 marathoners in the Tel Aviv.

A volunteer at the finish line gave me my marathon medal, which I immediately handed off to Adin. We walked over to the fenced-off food area where a second volunteer refused to let Aimee and the boys enter with me. The volunteer did notice that I wasn’t wearing a medal and handed me a second one, which I then passed onto Ezra. Needing to keep walking to avoid having all my muscles seize up, we circled around the fencing to back of the of the food area where there was a rear entrance, manned by security guards. Adin, my son in grade two, who has become a complete Israeli, said we can just walk in through here. So with Adin leading the way like he owned the place, we all walked right through the security guards and helped ourselves to the post-run treats. Chutzpa goes a long way in this country.

With all three Israeli marathons now under my belt, we walked back to our car, and drove home to Jerusalem. That wasn’t so bad I thought to myself, having already started to forget the 126.6 grueling kilometers of Holy Land that I’d run over the course of three marathons within two months and 18 days. Not to mention all those dark and rainy runs throughout the Jerusalem winter while training for the events. No reason I couldn’t do the same next year. In fact, why not bring a Israeli Marathon Mission from Vancouver to run in one of Israel’s three marathons next year? Hmmmm. Now there’s an idea worth pursuing. So stay tuned! And remember … Ha’kol b’rosh - It’s all in the head.

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Photos

Almost family portrait.
Note to self: Don't ask someone who has just finished a marathon, to take a family portrait. The guy was sweating and shaking and somehow cut Adin out.

Comments

[Phil Straus]

Very impressive, Frrrrrreddy!
Well-done, well-written, and well-told. Thank you. I ran the Broad St. run in Philadelphia on Sunday -- America's largest 10 mile run with 40,000 runners. No turns, just straight down Broad St. from North Philly to South Philly. Good fun.