The Tiberias Marathon

FRED TISCHLER

In this short series, Fred Tischler, who is living in Israel for the year with his family, writes about his experiences running all of Israel’s full marathons in one year – in under three months, to be exact. Here, he writes about the Tiberias run, which took place on Jan. 12. In future issues, he will write about the March 16 marathon in Jerusalem and, if his body doesn’t decide otherwise, the March 30 marathon in Tel Aviv.

In the run up to the 2012 marathon in Tiberias, Israel, I was consumed with my usual pre-marathon obsession – checking the long-range weather reports, which were looking consistently bleak. With a day to go, I accepted the inevitable and packed all my rain gear. After school on Jan. 11, we loaded the car in Jerusalem and headed out under deep grey skies. About a half-hour south of Tiberias, the sky opened up, with rain falling in sheets.

We pulled into the marathon starting area after dark, where I picked up my participant’s package, including my meespar hazeh (running bib with my number). Other participants clutching their running packages darted in and out of headlights as they splashed through the rain back to their cars or hotels.

I awoke at dawn and squinted through the hotel window at the passing cars, but couldn’t tell if their windshield wipers were on. My older son, Ezra, snuggled beside me and reported that, yes, indeed, they were. We stared silently into the rain for about a half hour. The halfway point of the marathon on the far side of the Kinneret, at Kibbutz Ein Gev, seemed very, very far away; much farther than the 21 kilometres I knew it was. At the southernmost tip of the lake, a patch of sunlight reflected off the silver-grey water. Hope!

I ate my pre-race banana, while chewing over how best to dress for this weather. I pulled on my rain-resistant Nike running tights, pinned my running bib to my long-sleeved 2009 New York Marathon running shirt, placed six GU Energy running gels in my pockets, and zipped up my Segoi rain running jacket. I said my goodbyes and walked out onto the street as my wife, Aimee, and our two boys, Ezra and Adin, headed to breakfast.

My feet were wet within seconds. As I arrived at the starting area, the rain eased off to a light drizzle. I looked for a place to stay warm-ish and dry-ish. I found a solitary chair under a canopy outside a restaurant 20 metres from the starting area. I huddled on the chair and watched other runners drift past towards the assembly point in front of the kav ha’zeenuk (starting line). Some were dressed for the rain; others walked by, shivering, in shorts and singlets. Groups of African elite runners, mostly from Kenya, circled the starting area, warming up for the race.

With a few minutes to gun-time, I slipped through the crowd to the back of the pack. Most of the 1,600-plus participants were Israeli, with a sprinkling of international runners. In contrast to the demographics in North America marathons, which are at least 50 percent women, the field of runners was around 90 percent male.

The gun went off. Runners and spectators cheered. I, as is my custom, walked to the kav ha’zeenuk, before shifting to an easy jog. As is also my custom, I jogged the first 10 kilometres 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 energy early. The pavement was wet, obviously, but, within 10-15 minutes, the drizzle stopped, never to return. Before long, the pavement was dry.... Perfect marathon conditions.

The route hugs the southern half of the Sea of Galilee and divides into four even parts. The first quarter (approximately 10 kilometres) heads south along the west side of the Kinneret to the southern tip of the lake at Tsomet Tsemach (Tsemach Junction). It then turns north along the east side of the lake to Ein Gev, at which point it switches back and returns along the same roads to Tiberias and the kav ha’see’oom (finish line).

Heading south, we passed Kibbutz Degania, founded in 1910 – the world’s first kibbutz, and birthplace of Israel’s most famous soldier, Moshe Dayan. This section included the marathon’s two tiny hills. After training in Jerusalem – which is all hills, and steep ones at that – these two were no more than gentle undulations. 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 at the hotel.

Rounding the southern end of the Sea of Galilee, I looked up at the Golan Heights, conquered by Israel from Syria during the Six Day War in 1967. Prior to that war, the border ran along the base of the heights slightly inland from the shoreline. The territory along the southern half of the lake was wide enough to include several Israeli kibbutzim. 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 Heights – which rise 500 metres almost straight up – regularly fired down at kibbutzniks, killing many civilians and forcing the residents to spend many nights, and days, in 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. At the same time, I marveled at the lushness of the fields and slopes, especially after the recent record-breaking rains.

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 burgundy running shoes. We chatted a bit about training with our dogs, then I wished him luck and slowed to my running pace as they sped off.

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 they double back. At around the 14-kilometre point for me, the elite runners were returning from Ein Gev at around the 28-kilometre point for them. They appeared to be sprinting full out, completely fluid, feet barely touching the ground. Among the leaders were a number of Israeli Ethiopian runners. Aimee, who watched them finish the race, said almost 30 minutes went by between the first African finishers and the first non-African. The winner, Patrick Twambe of the Democratic Republic of Congo and France, broke the national record at 2:07:29 – an exceptionally fast time that is only four minutes off the world record.

At the Ein Gev turn around, I felt an emotional lift, knowing I was heading home. At the same time, after running 21 kilometres, I was starting to feel the cumulative impact of the race on my body. I looked to my right across the lake to Tiberias on the far side. It appeared farther away than ever, and the thought of running all the way there seemed inconceivable. I was now appreciating the scenery less, and had stopped contemplating the wonders of Israel’s history altogether.

As I rounded the lake for the second time, I hit the three-quarter mark – 30 kilometres. With little forewarning, running became much harder, my pace much slower. With 10 kilometres to go, I visualized myself running the 10-kilometre Stanley Park Seawall back in Vancouver. I pictured where along the Seawall I’d be as I continued north towards Tiberias – Brockton Point, Lumberman’s Arch, Lions Gate Bridge.... Unlike my experience running the New York Marathon, there was no one to cheer me on. 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.

Two hundred metres before the kav ha’see’oom, I saw Aimee and the boys, whooping and leaping up and down. The boys ran, jumped, twirled and hooted alongside me as I crossed the finish line at 4:11:40. Clearly, no prize for me, and no threat to Patrick Twambe. But I was experiencing the real runner’s high that comes with being finished (not the mythical one that I’m told occurs when one is actually running). I always marvel at how quickly I forget how hard those last miles can be.

We soaked up the happy atmosphere that always infuses the finishing area of marathons; chatting, eating, drinking. We watched kids sprint across the kav ha’see’oom with their parents, marathoners re-unite with boyfriends and girlfriends, and running buddies comparing notes on the morning’s triumphs and disappointments.

With stragglers continuing to will themselves to the finish line, and city streets still blocked to traffic, it took us some time to leave town. Once through, we drove to the hot mineral pools at nearby Hamat Gader, located at the convergence of the borders of Israel, Jordan and Syria. Ahhhh. Such a mechaya, a Yiddish word that essentially means “a pleasure,” but describes a much deeper, warmer, more satisfying and life-affirming experience than the English can convey. We soaked and swam in the hot pools for a couple of hours under the night sky, sharing the pools with other marathoners, as well as Israeli tourists. From Hamat Gader, we drove back home to Jerusalem. Aimee and the boys slept, while I looked back over a long, satisfying day, and forward to the upcoming Jerusalem and Tel Aviv marathons in March. I did not think once about the long-term weather forecast.

Vancouver native Fred Tischler is spending the year in Jerusalem with wife Aimee, sons Ezra and Adin, and Labradoodle Rosie. Ezra recently described the family experience to Aimee – “For you and Baba (Dad) this is like a big long road trip, but for me [and Adin], this is really hard work.” True to Ezra’s words, the boys are at the regular neighborhood school, while Fred and Aimee are upgrading their Hebrew, taking academic courses and pursuing various creative endeavors.

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