The Tel Aviv Marathon

            It’s been just almost a week since the marathon, which is kind of mind blowing.  It feels like it’s been so long since then, but I’ve still been struggling to find the words to describe the experience.    

            I guess we can start at the beginning.  The day before the race was my final presentation for my MQP (Major Qualifying Project slash the reason I came here).  But honestly, I was too busy worrying about the race than to be phased by the presentation. 

            Those thoughts of doubt that naturally plague you when you’re gearing up for an endurance event of just a couple hours, came back in full force: What if I don’t finish?  What if I’m slow?  What if I’m really really slow?  What if my knee hurts?  What if?

            I reassured myself with confidence that I had done this two years ago, and than three weeks ago, I did fine just a few miles short. 

            But, let’s be real.  I was still crazy nervous. 

            After my final presentation to EarlySense, Isa and I had lunch with a bunch of my coworkers, and then I made my rounds of the office saying my goodbyes, before heading to the harbor to have a smoothie and enjoy the beautiful day.  On our way back to my apartment, we picked up some stuff to make for dinner, ate and then chatted with my landlords a little before bedtime.

            I ran around my apartment frantically searching for the insole for my left shoe, since I’d been back and forth over which insoles to race in.  I had almost given up hope and decided to run in my second choice when Isa suggested, “Is it in your shoe?”  Scoffing at the idea, I nonetheless took a look, because where the heck else could it be?  I had already overturned everything in the place.  And alas, under the orthotic inserts, was my missing insole.

            Why am I telling you this ridiculously minute detail?  The point is, marathons are a really long distance, so marathoners tend to be finicky and methodical.  Running a race that long with two insoles in your left shoe could open you up to an onslaught of injuries.  And alternatively, just make for a really long day.  You wouldn’t scuba dive without double and triple checking your equipment, right?  It’s the same idea.  Any little mishap too close to the race can send anxieties up.  And my engineering minded, ultracompetitive type A personality was ultra aware of all these things as I finished my preparation and went to bed. 

            The night before, I hardly slept.  But, hey, I didn’t expect to.  I kept having nightmares that we overslept or something else happened to make us late to the race.  But, at 5 a.m., my alarm went off and I was relieved to discover that I hadn’t missed it.  Relieved, in a weird, why am I doing this, kind of way.  Of course, as is the reality of life in Israel, where plans are constantly hacked, and you must start all over, Isa and I missed the train by like fifteen seconds since my transit app and the real world train schedules were about 2 minutes different.  As it turned out, the next one wasn’t for forty-five minutes since it was so early on a Friday morning (the equivalent of Saturday), just late enough that we’d risk missing the race.  Luckily, there’s always a plan B.  We hailed the nearest taxi and got to the start line with plenty of time to spare. 

            I grabbed some free water, and downed an energy gel before Isa announced she was heading off to the first spot where she’d watch me.   We said goodbye, and it was time to race (I mean, chat with people at the start line). 

            That’s the thing about running.  I can be a bundle of nerves at the beginning with all those questions plaguing me about why I’m doing this, what I’m doing here, and at the end I can question it all again because it’s long and it’s painful and it’s hot and I’m tired, but simultaneously, I know deep down that I will go out there and run these races for as long as I can, for as long as that little shred of me wants to give it a shot. 

            It’s not just the love of the adrenaline rush or the pride I feel afterwards, but the conversations you have with people, the things you manage to learn along the way, getting into the zone of just moving without thinking about anything but moving forward (it brings a whole new meaning to clearing your head), the beautiful sites along the side of the road, and the beauty in just being grateful for the tiniest things (that water bottle, that energy gel, that view of the Mediterranean, that spectator who just said good luck or you were doing a great job in a language you don’t understand, but they said it with a smile on their face, so you’ll take it). 

            It was horrible.  It was wonderful. 

            It was agonizing.  It was fun. 

            It was so worth it though. 

            I’m still working out the concept of negative splits, but I still hung in there.  I started out strong (maybe too strong but oh well), trying to maintain a 5:10 per kilometer pace, but I was definitely going faster than that.  I chatted comfortably with my neighbors, the vast majority of them either Israelis or Americans (who are now Israeli and living here fulltime).  The race started near Tel Aviv University and then continued out into some pretty landscapes (some level of countryside) and down some roads that looked familiar but I hadn’t been down since New Years Eve (Day) when I went for a long run in Tel Aviv. 

            Something I discovered far too quickly however, was that it was hot.  So hot.  Starting out, it was probably in the low 70s, but by the end of the race it was about 75.  I was born and raised in Buffalo, NY, so hot for me is basically anything higher than 65 Fahrenheit and on hot days, I have a tendency to just go home and eat a popsicle sooner than I should. 

            I powered through the half marathon mark, which was at Jaffa (a port at the Southern end of Tel Aviv).  I enjoyed the view of the beaches of Tel Aviv, the port and Jaffa in general.  At that point, my new life goal morphed into “Find the next water station”.  I was really glad I knew the Hebrew word for water (maim) but it never seemed to come fast enough. 

            The truth is, though, I was hot.  I was hot but I wasn’t dying.  I was hot but I wasn’t dehydrated.  I was hot but I wasn’t injured.  I was hot but I wasn’t at risk of suffering heat stroke.  It was between me and the inside of my head.  That little part of me that wanted to give in and bail, had been working for this for months, and been dreaming of this since the completion of my first (and last) marathon back in 2013.

            But, I did what I had to do to keep running, to not quit on myself, and get through the race.  I ditched my black shirt and ran in my sports bra.  I grabbed two small water bottles at every water station and poured one and change all over me while drinking what I needed.  I slowed my pace to the point where I stopped checking my watch. 

            But I still finished with a respectable time.  I don’t know if I ever hit the “wall”.  But, I guess I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t just waiting for it to be over about three miles from the end.  I guess I’d be lying if I denied being at a point where I was sick of talking to random people, sick of running, sick of seeing pavement, caught in a slew of runners…. But, come on, when you’re twenty-three miles in, there’s really no excuse to give up. 

            I crossed the line just shy of three hours and 45 minutes, feeling “good”.  It wasn’t a day to break records or quality for Boston, but it was still a day to be proud of.  I ran that race a little too fast at the beginning, but I still finished.  I hated my life just a little, but I wasn’t dying.  I doubled over for a minute or two to catch my breath and then staggered into the post-race tent, where I munched on an apple and conversed with a couple fellow racers and then I went to find Isa.  Which took me forever, because my post-race brain could barely fathom where we had agreed to meet.  I swear, she almost called in a search party.  But, I finally found her.  We called Tami to reassure her that I was alive, and then we made our way back to the train station and to the car.  We grabbed some food for later and then I took the longest shower of my life (and arguably, the best).  I said goodbye to Isa and basically barely functioned for the rest of the day until it was time to have Shabbat dinner with my landlords, which I have to say, was really enjoyable as always, even though I was completely exhausted.  Finally, I said good night and crawled into bed.

            It’s hard to believe that the race is over.  That’s the thing with marathons.  It’s such a long distance so I don’t usually wing them (the way I would a half marathon or a 5k) and they’re so long it’s really important to me how well I do, so I spend a long time building up to them and it’s always bittersweet when it’s over. 

            I mean, of course it makes sense that it has to be over sometime.  Otherwise you wouldn’t have put all the training into, but simultaneously it’s weird and part of you wonders whether to sign up for your next one immediately or just never run again (the jury is still out on that one). 

            The other bittersweet part of the weekend is that I was leaving.  Not quite leaving Israel, but leaving my apartment, Herzliya—the world that had become home in the last few months.  I cleaned my apartment and packed up (in between bouts of condoning my exhaustion and soreness and curling back up on the couch), said goodbye to my landlords and their family and boarded a plane to Eilat. 

            I still had so many adventures in store but it still felt like another chapter closed.