Real people, not statistics

This morning, one of our friends here in Neve Daniel sent me this e-mail:

Hi – I am sitting here crying because one of the women murdered tonight was my son’s gannenet. Yehuda is six and is mentally retarded – his teachers are our world because they bring him such joy when the world is such an overwhelming and confusing place. Cochava was an angel, and we were with her an hour before she died – she was on her way home from the gan welcome back orientation when she was murdered.

Here is how Israeli National News reported the terrorist attack:

Yitzhak and Talya Imes were the parents of six children, the eldest one being 24 years old and the youngest one being a year and a half old. Talya Imes was nine months pregnant when she was killed by the terrorists.

Kochava Even Chaim was a teacher in Efrat. She left behind her husband and an 8 year-old daughter. Her husband,one of the first Zaka first aid volunteers to arrive at the scene, discovered suddenly that his wife was among the victims.

Avishai Shindler had only recently moved to Beit Haggai with his wife.

Meanwhile, the New York Times and most of the Western media reported that four “settlers” had been killed and discussed if this might disrupt the “peace” process.

Just the other day, Palestinian Authority President Mauhoud Abbas said that “Israeli security does not justify continued occupation.”  While I may take issue with the term “occupation,” I would say that the life of a kindergarten teacher justifies a hell of a lot.

How ironic that for days leading up to this heinous murder (I should say heinous murders — four people were killed, including a pregnant woman) the media was filled with stories about how wonderful a job the Palestinians were doing in terms of security. Yeah, great job. I feel much safer.

The mosques in Gaza  let us know how Palestinian really feel. “Praise be to G-D over this heroic act” was blared out all night over the mosque loudspeakers. “Mosque?” Isn’t that supposed to be a term for a religious establishment?

Here is the Palestinian’s definition of “heroism.” A car with four people was fired upon by a passing vehicle. To make sure that these men and women — returning from school orientation for their children — were dead, the “heroes” stopped their car, aimed their rifles at point blank range and fired repeatedly into the bodies. The “heroes” then fled the scene satisfied that their “heroic” action was a success.

Meanwhile, the PR firm working for the PA gave the following statement to Palestinian Prime Minister Salam Fayyad to read:

The attack, and its timing are meant to harm the PLO’s efforts to garner international support for the success of the peace process and its demands, in order to bring about an end to the occupation.

Sounds like he’s all shook up, right?

You know something Salam? Not really interested that you feel this attack has hurt the PLO’s interests. Because at the end of the day, we are people — not talking points or statistics.

Our lives are not concessions.  When you complain that the murder of a kindergarten teacher should be regretted because it hurts your interests, it simply shows how little you understand about the concept of peace. (Ironic considering your name, Salam.)

When you can look at this act with same gut wrenching horror as a six year old who just lost his teacher, you will be ready to make a real peace.

But until then, spare us the rhetoric while we bury our dead.

The e-mail I received concluded like this:

I wish I could scream out to the world how unfair this is, how senseless to waste such a beautiful giving life, but I have no outlet to tell everyone. Then I realized maybe you will be writing about what happened, and so perhaps you can include this part of the story, to put a person behind the story.

So please, if you also feel like screaming any crying, forward this article and tell the world that kindergarten teachers, pregnant women, fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives are real people, not just statistics.

Why on Earth should one’s hobby make one miserable. As I tried to clean the mud out of my nose later that night, I felt comfortable that after riding Alyn for four years and raising over ten thousand dollars for the children’s hospital, I had done my share. Let someone else take over.

Of course, by the time the ride ended, I realized how important the funds we raised for the hospital are. These funds enable children to continue to receive the wonderful care that Alyn has to offer. Hmm…maybe my preference to stay warm and dry was just a bit selfish when compared with the needs of the Alyn kids.

Then I thought about how many people have heard of the Alyn ride,  and how proud I have been to mention that I had ridden four years in a row. How would I feel explaining to someone that this year I skipped the ride because I was afraid of getting a little dirty.

I could just imagine someone in the Alyn office saying “well, let’s skip the therepy sessions for little Moshe this year. Frankl decided to stay home and watch TV.”

Couldn’t have that.

No, that just wouldn’t do.

So yes, I am signed up for #5 and ready to tackle the new enduro route. The enduro route is for us gluttons for punishment who are not satisfied with the length of the traditional off-road route. Since the ride is in the South this year, I don’t have to worry about the cold and the rain. Intense heat, on the other hand, is fairly typical for the middle of the desert.

So I am in the midst of training again and looking forward to doing my share to help Alyn continue putting together the lives of young bodies shattered by car accidents, deadly diseases, and a variety of other nightmares that all parents pray their children will never have to face.

But unlike those who choose to suffer for a week by riding their bikes, these kids have no choices. Some are learning to walk again, to eat, to speak, to live.

And here is where you come in. Because no matter how many hours I spend on the bike or what the weather is, I cannot be successful without raising the funds for Alyn that are at the core of this magnificent event. So I will give a little physical suffering if you will give a little financial. Believe me — I would not be asking if I was not 200 percent convinced that the money collected is literally saving children’s lives.

So please click here to make a donation and  help me support the children of Alyn.

I know he does not quit, so how could I?

With my deep appreciation for any amount you can manage.

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel

The region I live in has both Jewish and Arab towns. From the news, you would get the idea that we are constantly at war with one another. Don’t get me wrong, there have been some terrible acts in the five years we have lived here. People have been killed in gruesome terrorist acts including a young man from Neve Daniel. We are aware that many Palestinian children are indoctrinated to hate Jews from very young ages.

We recently replaced the glass windows on our car after an Arab threw a rock through one of them. Yet terror does not characterize our lives. In fact, if you think about how close Arabs and Jews live to each other out here, the acts of terror have been few and far between. So when something happens, I do not demonize the entire Arab race. I demonize the demon who performed the demonic act. Meanwhile, we live at peace with the vast majority of our Arab neighbors.

Of course a lack of open warfare does not really indicate peace. Arabs and Jews eye each other warily. We use Arab labor to build our homes because Arabs work for a fraction of the price as Jews. Yet it is a relationship based on need. They need jobs and we need cheap (for us) labor. We never see each other as equal human beings. We see them as either bomb throwing terrorists or guys carrying buckets of cement all day. They see us as evil land-stealing thieves or guys who can afford to pay them more than what they would get working for their brethren.

So while I can denounce those who slap the label “Apartheid” on Israel because it paints a picture that does not exist, there is no question that we lead separate lives than the folks in the village just over the hill.

So I was pleasantly surprised by my first visit to the new supermarket in the region. It sits at a crossroads and is equidistant to Jewish and Arab towns. While I expected to see a lot of Arabs working there, I was surprised by how many Arabs were shopping there. For some reason, seeing an Arab woman with kids in her shopping cart trying to find the banana yogurt made me feel really good.

It wasn’t just her. The place is teeming with a mixture of Arabs and Jews, religious and secular. While it does not look so weird to see people working behind the counters together, it does look different to see all these different types of people shopping together. And then it is no longer Arabs and Jews shopping together, just different people looking for the best deals on favorite foods.

Am I being naive for believing that just because we like the same yogurt we can all get along and find peace? Yeah, I know I am. But if you have read any of my earlier posts, you know that I am an optimist. I don’t accept when people say “that’s not possible” because I know there would be no State of Israel if everyone had thought that way.

Peace will never come through long winded documents that have no connection to realities on ground. It will not be established by the UN, the EU, the U.S., or the likes of Bibi Netanyahu or Mahmoud Abbas.

No, peace will always have to be based on people seeing each other as human beings with the same hopes and desires. It will take a very long time, decades perhaps, but it has to start somewhere. And in the yogurt aisle is as good a place as any.

Not sure if the sun was setting or rising here

The sun is rising and my legs are burning from the accumulated lactic acid of the night’s running. We just passed 50 kilometers and still have another five to go.

Three of us are left from the four who started out together. I really feel like walking a bit or maybe taking a nap inside one of the hay bales we keep passing in this never ending field. I tell the other guys that I can’t keep up and they should just go ahead. But they slow down insisting that we finish together.

Not wanting to make them walk, I speed up and try to imagine how nice the finish line will feel. For some reason, all I can think about is eating a bowl of tomato soup. I promise myself that within an hour, somehow I will find a bowl and either eat it or soak my feet in it.

This is the Mountain to Valley Infinity Race, although the “insanity” race might be a more appropriate term. The total distance is 208 kilometers, and it is run by teams of 4, 6, or 8. There was even a two man team, (but unlike myself, those guys are really nuts.)

The race is divided up into 24 sections. Each section is between six and thirteen kilometers long. At the end of each section, the runner checks in with race officials and exchanges a wrist and ankle bracelet with the next runner on the team. Then you hop in the car and try to make it to the next exchange point before the runner.

We had four teams entered from the Bet Shemesh Running Club. So each segment, four of us would run together. We had set up the four man groups by putting together runners who run ”roughly” the same pace (although “roughly” can really hurt if you are the slowest one in the bunch.)

Unlike other races, we would not be competing against each other. The goal was just to finish this all night adventure.

First run. 6km downhill. Easy

We started at 2:30 P.M. on the Hermon mountain. This is actually the highest part of Israel. My group was the first to run so we got the segment that wound down the mountain for a short six kilometers. Not only is this a very easy run, but the views were simply spectacular. I mentioned to one of my teammates how much fun this was. He mentioned back that when we finished, we would only have 49 more kilometers to run. I stopped talking.

Our next segment was 9.5 kilometers on a trail that ran parallel to the Jordan river. The terrain was about as flat as could be and the weather was perfect. We ran a good pace — not all out but not wasting time either. At the end we exchanged bracelets again and headed for the Hula Valley where our next run would begin.

By the next run, the sun had set and we switched on our headlamps. As the temperature was dropping, I switched shirts and tried to keep warm while waiting for the runners to come in. It still didn’t feel that bad. Our next run was  only seven kilometers and some change.

Running is much easier when you can see

Most of this run was on a flat trail, but towards the end we were running up a rock strewn path. Unlike regular running on a road in daylight, you had to stay focused on the ground a few meters ahead of you at all times. One wrong step and you could easily hurt yourself. After the uphill, there was a steep downhill that also was a little dicey. But, once again we finished and even had a little friendly sprint at the end. Then on to run #4.

In between runs I tried to eat some Nutella on bread and drink a lot of water. It’s tough to figure out how much to eat. Eat too little, and you run the risk of bonking. A bonk is when your body is so hungry it starts to consume itself for more energy. Been there, done that, not fun. On the other hand, eat too much and you could have all sorts of issues I would rather not get into.

The first problem with run #4 was that by the time we drove up to the exchange point, the previous runners were already there. So I had to jump out of the car and just run without preparation.

This run was 13 kilometers plus. The first few were fine. But after awhile the distance was really getting to me and we slowed the pace a bit. Someone suggested we switch off our lights and run by moonlight. This was fine until a few minutes later one of the runners fell in a ditch. After that, we switched the lights back on.

Much nicer to run with friends than alone

This run was entirely on trails and some were quite uneven. By this time, it really was the middle of the night. We saw lots of other runners and passed a few of them. I was very relieved to see the fourth finish line. Luckily they had water right at the table. But it was the first time I seriously worried about the rest of the evening. We had two fairly long runs left.

It was around three in the morning by our fifth run. I was feeling a lot better after drinking energy drink, water, and a few bags of pretzels. Pretzels were about the only thing I could stomach at this point. They did the trick. Unfortunately, one of the guys who had been running with us blew out his knee about halfway through the run. We slowed down to make sure we finished together. I felt terrible for him….. On the other hand, I won’t say I was that disappointed that we had to slow down a little.

Finally, it was about quarter to six and we took off our headlamps as the dawn started to break. I really wasn’t sure how the run would go, but at least, the final finish line was within reach. We took off through what looked like a corn field.

The only nice thing I can say about that last run is that I was fully aware it was the LAST run. Despite the fact that you get breaks in between segments, after awhile the accumulated millage just wears you down. The whole night seems a bit of a blur.

My hardest moment was the last five and a half kilometers. Lactic acid was burning in my legs, and I had developed a few rather nasty blisters on my much abused toes. Yet there really was nothing to be done but just slog it out. My pace was by no means setting any records, but I was determined not to walk.

How happy was I to see the finish after running all night? Let’s put it this way, even if someone offered me a lifetime supply of my favorite chocolate liqueur, I would not have agreed to run ten more meters.

Luckily, since I was with the group that had started the whole race, we got to sit back while the rest of our club had to keep on running. I used the opportunity to visit a cafe and ate a little breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Yes, I got my tomato soup. No, I did not soak my feet in the bowl. Quite frankly, I was afraid to take off my shoes and inspect the damage.

I love finish lines

All that was left was to gather at Kibbutz Timrat at the final finish line. One by one, all the other teams came in. When the last Bet Shemesh Club runners appeared, we all joined them so that 16 of us could share in the finish line glory of knowing that we had completed an event that pushed us way outside our comfort zones.

After completing two marathons, numerous half marathons, ten kilometer races, and a triathlon, I have to say that this run was to me the most fun and possibly the most challenging (I do NOT want to show disrespect to the Marathon.)

I only hope that next year I can convince a few more guys to form a Neve Daniel Team. Anyone out there been diagnosed with a mild case of insanity?

Israel may be a relatively small country, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy to run across it. Our run — which was by no means direct — traversed about a third of the country not counting the desert.

Why do I do this stuff? I sometimes wonder myself. But I know that the feeling I get when I can confront my own limits and somehow briefly surpass them is about the most rewarding feeling I have ever experienced.

Look inside yourself, you may be surprised what you find.

Me and CD Zlotnick after the race

This morning I found myself in the Alon Shevut pool getting ready for the start of my first triathlon. Triathlon? Oh yeah, that’s the crazy sport where lunatics swim, bike, and run because they can’t kill themselves by just doing one of them. Of course, this is not the ultra crazy Iron Man. Just a little Friday morning fun.

My original plan was to train like crazy and hope that everyone else who showed up were fat guys from Queens. (I think this is actually Lance Armstrong’s Tour De France plan.) The first part of the plan worked out.

I trained enough to wear out a pair of pedals, bike tires, my wife’s patience, and several toenails. However, the second part of the plan did not work out as well. As I looked around at the other contestants, it didn’t look like anyone was from Queens.

The swimming was in the Alon Shevut pool. Alon Shevut means the “lonely oak tree.” In 1948 when Israel declared its independence and desire to live in peace with its Arab neighbors, this area was attacked by those same Arab neighbors who massacred them and burnt down their homes.

Everything was destroyed except a single Oak Tree. People used to try and see the Oak from the old border. Children who had been evacuated prior to the hostilities used to come look at the Oak from a distance as they grew up hoping to one day return.

In 1967 the area was liberated from Arab military occupation, and today is home to tens of thousands of Jews and Arabs. Unlike our cousins, instead of driving the neighbors out, we just re-built our towns next to theirs. Today, we thrive living in our ancient homeland.

President Obama, do you really think that continued Jewish presence here is illegitimate?

One thing I was not prepared for in the swimming leg was the mass of people all trying to swim in the same area at the same time. I never realized that swimming was such a contact sport. I kept getting hit by arms, legs, and even some one’s head at one point.

Every time I went to breathe, I inhaled water instead of air thanks to the people swimming all around me. I was quite relieved when I finished swimming and headed for my bike. I had the 20th fastest time in the water.

Biking is by far my favorite sport, and I was very glad to start passing some of those pool lizards huffing and puffing on their bikes. Boomer and I have ridden through this area more times than I could count, and I felt at home riding in my backyard.

The bike leg took us first from Alon Shevut to Neve Daniel along a path called Derech Avot, the Path of the Patriarchs. It is so named because this is the path of the Biblical story of the Akedah, the binding of Yitzhak. While your take on the Biblical story is up to you, what is historical fact is that this area was the heart of the Ancient Judean Kingdom.

Along the side of the path is a Mikvah, a Jewish ritual bath that Jewish pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem used to use. There are various ancient Jewish laws describing how to build a Mikva and this one meets them all. All around the area the archaeologists have found other evidence of Jewish life going back thousands of years. This was the ancient heartland of the Jews. It was the Israeli nation hundreds of years before Islam (“the religion of peace”) was born.

President Obama, do you really think that continued Jewish presence here is illegitimate?

I love biking, and I was actually a little hesitant to jump off the bike and throw on my running shoes. I have run many 10km races, but never after swimming and biking. My legs were quite surprised in that they thought we were done for the day when I got off the bike. They were anticipating slippers, not running shoes. I had done well and posted the 10th fastest time on the bikes. But the running shoes awaited. So out we went again.

Part of the run was through the Elazar “outpost.” This is an area that at one time the government of Israel said Jews could legally build their homes on. It’s not like there were Palestinians there who were thrown out of their homes. No, despite the news, such things are actually quite rare.

This land was “legal” until the government decided to deem it “illegal.” So it became one of those terrible collections of houses that the world thinks is the reason we are not sitting in a circle with our Palestinian neighbors singing “Kumbaya.” Yet, Jews being a bit stubborn, decided to build anyway. Despite constant lawsuits from left wing Jewish groups (“Piece Now”), they are still there.

We came around a bend and I could see Nachalin in the distance. Nachalin is an Arab village just a few kilometers away. It is not a nice place, being the hometown to a few notorious terrorists.

At night and in the morning, I can always hear their call to “prayers” and am quite glad that I don’t understand what they are saying. All those in America who think banning the words “militant Islam” from U.S. policy papers is a great idea, have probably never visited the lovely community of  Nachalin.

As I was looking over at Nachalin, I ran past a contingent of Israeli soldiers in full combat gear with M-16s. They were out making sure the neighborhood was quiet and no one seemed to give them a second notice.

I guess it’s just a strange part of life out here that we just accept the need to have combat soldiers guarding our runs. I don’t think the Palestinians ever send soldiers to guard their athletic competitions. Then again, I think they’re too busy singing songs ’bout killing Jews and other fun stuff to focus on athletics.

President Obama, is it really the Jews who are to blame for stalling the ”Peace Piece Process?”

Ah, now I knew I was only a couple kilometers from the finish and with the sun out and some fun songs on the MP-3, I started to pick up the pace. I passed a number of people who were looking a bit green by this point. I think some of them were those whose feet kept hitting me in the mouth during the swim. Yep, didn’t mind passing them one bit.

At last I could see the finish line and really dug deep to cross in style. The event was part of the Gush Etzion Sports Championships that has been sponsored for eight years by my friend Yonaton Segal in honor of his father Zev. What a wonderful way to honor a loved one with an event that pulls hundreds of people from all of Israel together. I know that many of the athletes — especially the really good ones — would have no other reason to come out to the Gush.

I was quite pleased when I realized that my run had brought me up to eleventh place overall and second in the “over forty don’t know their age” division. But the real joy of such an event (and yes, you can be having fun even while grimacing) is not your exact place. It is to be able to embrace this special land and breathe in the holy air around us not from a car or lying around inside a house, but by pushing your body to the breaking point out in the hills.

Is there a finer way you could spend a Friday morning?

So what do you think? You coming next year? Didn’t you promise to do that at Pesach.

L’shana haba B’ Triatalon Gush Etzion Im Yarden

Shabbat Shalom from our Blessed Nation

In just a couple hours sirens will sound across the nation of Israel. The piercing shriek reminding us of all those who have fallen in Israel’s defense can be heard from all cities and towns in our land.

It matters not whether those who hear pretend to ignore the call and what it represents or break down in tears thinking of the ultimate sacrifice that so many have made. The fact of the matter is that tonight, the very land calls out to its sons and daughters and forces us to remember.

We remember the survivors of the worst Nazi death camps who upon liberation fell in Israel’s defense while their physical and mental scars were still bloody. We remember those who were struck down liberating the Western Wall and reuniting the holy city of Jerusalem from a nineteen year brutal military occupation. We remember those who fought to their last bullets and breaths when attacked on the Golan on our holiest day of the year.

But there are so many more for us to remember, it overwhelms us. Where does it end? Soldiers who fell in Lebanon and Gaza. Soldiers killed at the checkpoints the world keeps telling us to remove?

The statistics are staggering when you think that for every soldier who has fallen, there is a mother who will never hold her child again, a father who will never see his child smile again. Brothers, sisters, friends — everyone who was close to a soldier who fell can never be quite whole again.

Yet, somehow, we carry on. There are still more Jews who are moving to Israel than leaving it. We come not because we are ignorant of the risks, we are painfully aware of them. But we still come.

Because in a world that oftentimes seems to be ruled by injustice, we stand for something pure, something honorable. Forget all the rhetoric, we Israelis just have one simple goal: To live out our lives in our ancient homeland and for once determine our own destiny as a people.

There will always be those who try and stop us. Some will use guns and rockets, Others will use UN Resolutions and absurdly named “peace” plans. Yet at the end of the day, we will survive and thrive as a nation.

Thanks to all those we remember tonight.

From an immigrant who has never had to do anything harder than ride a bike around this beautiful country, words cannot express how much I owe to all of you.

Let us carry the message of the siren from this night throughout the year.

Always in our thoughts and prayers.

Now and forever.

So isn’t running 42 kilometers by definition dangerous? Actually, not as much as you would believe. Hundreds of thousands of people around the world run marathons and the vast majority are fine except for some temporary aches. (If you are interested, here is an article on the subject: Are Marathons Dangerous? )

Serious medical issues during marathons are rare. With the right preparation, a marathon should be an event that you can look back on all your life with pride and a fond memory. I encourage people to set this goal and then take the time to learn about what it takes. Please don’t take my description of the 2010 Tiveria Marathon as a universal account of what will happen to you.

I believe that G-d gave us bodies that can be vastly improved. Just like the fact that the world is imperfect, our bodies are also. Making our bodies healthier to me is the same as making the world a better place. It should be a goal in life. I do not feel at all that my activities abuse my body, I feel quite the opposite. Richard is right (see last post‘s comments). Our bodies are temples. That’s actually why I do what I do.

So with all that, why was I lying on the ground barely conscious in Tiveria? In simple terms, I was dumb. I could have avoided all the unpleasantness by running a bit slower and drinking a lot more right from the start. As Chaim – the coach and top runner of the club – put it:

So much work had already been done, so much sweat had already been spilled.  All that stood between us and our long awaited goal was one solitary, herculean effort.

Yes, we knew that prudence directed that we modify our goals. However, we had spent too much time carefully planning “marathon pace,” too many workouts carefully running at that precise pace to change our carefully laid plans on the fly.  Yes, we paid lip service to the need to adjust our pace in deference to the weather and run conservatively but we also knew that when the gun went off,  that we would put it all on the line and toss caution to the cruel Eastern winds in a do or die attempt at marathon glory.

Our exuberance and the sheer joy of being out there obscured the fact that it was hot as hell without a shade tree in sight.

Sounds really dumb, I know. Of course do not take “do or die”  literally. I know of no one who would seriously say that running anything was more important than life. But standing on the starting line, it honestly did not feel that hot. For those of us who have never run in this kind of weather, we had no idea just what an impact it can have.

Running a marathon is as much mental as it is physical. You simply must run smart. I did not. However, when I felt really bad, I still had an awareness of my surroundings. There were medics and race officials all around, and they were keeping an eye on us. I knew that I was suffering, but so was every other person running those last ten kilometers.

I believed that if the situation was going to become life threatening, the race officials would step in and cancel the rest of the run. I was very determined to finish, that is true. But I simply did not believe that I was putting myself in grave danger. Perhaps in hindsight I was wrong. Yes I did take a risk. But how great was that risk?

The fact of the matter is every day we place ourselves in danger. Every time we get into a car we take a chance. Those who smoke, eat poorly, and neglect any type of exercise are taking a big risk. By comparison, running a marathon – and especially all the training that you do to get ready – makes you much healthier and lowers your risk of dying tremendously.

To all my friends who moved to Israel from America and elsewhere, did we all not take on a greater risk to our lives? Would we not be safer in suburban America than in a “West Bank Settlement?” Did you ever carry a gun on your way to the mall before moving here? Did your house have a bomb shelter?

Did we not “place ourselves in danger” by moving here? I live within a few kilometers of Arab villages where terrorism is considered “heroic.” Yet I am taking chances by running around the Kinneret?

Let’s be honest here. Accepting some level of risk is a part of all of our lives. That doesn’t mean that we should be reckless and skip a water station while running a marathon. But it also doesn’t mean that we should shy away from our dreams. Simply saying that a big challenge (that hundreds of thousands complete) is too dangerous is a cop-out.

You can take Burgers Bar, I’ll take running marathons.

–

A few more answers to questions I received:

Was the crockodile real?Yes. I have no idea why he was there but there is a crocodile farm not that far away (Hamat Gedar).   The theory is that he escaped. I am sure he was just as confused to see thousands of people running down the road in the heat as we were to see him.

What was with the salt? Sweat contains lots of salt. When it evaporates, you are left with salt deposits. When you have been sweating seriously for a few hours, you look like the coast of the Dead Sea. You need to eat electrolytes during the race to replace the salt (stuff like Gatorade).

Why is your time in the picture different than your finishing time? Unless you are one of the elite runners, you do not start as soon as the gun goes off. You start when the computer chip you have attached to your shoe passes over the start line. The clock at the finish is the time since the first runners started. Your race ends when your shoe crosses the finish line.

Are you nuts? No. I think that people who watch life go by sharing the couch with a bowl of potato chips are nuts.

Are you trying to die? No, I’m trying to live.

Yesterday I completed the Tiveria Marathon for the second time.

It was a day that I will never forget.

And you know what? I’ll wait until the end of this post to determine if that is a good thing.

It has been said that trying to describe a marathon to one who has not completed it is like describing color to someone blind from birth. But I will try.

Finishing itself is a victory

The marathon is 42.2 kilometers or 26 miles. That’s far. Really far. After about 25 kilometers, your body does not react as it usually does. Without drinking and eating special glucose “gels” you will simply collapse. The reason is that you have used up all the sugars in your muscles and they start to digest themselves as your body continues to call for more energy.

While this is occurring, your mind can also break down. You can find yourself talking to yourself and even fighting with your own thoughts which can cry out for you to stop.

Having run the marathon last year I knew all this and had prepared for it. What I did not contemplate – especially considering that this is January – is that brutal heat can take all your carefully laid plans and chuck them in the garbage. It turns a race for a personal best time into a race for survival. You stop running to achieve a fast time, you run to end the agony as quickly as possible.

Training with the Bet Shemesh Running Club had improved my running enormously. I learned pacing, nutrition, and recovery and made some great friends — compatriots in suffering. My speed was way up, and when I finished the Bet Shean Half Marathon a few weeks ago in an hour and thirty-two minutes, I felt I was on track for an amazing time in Tiveria.

In the morning at the hotel, as my roommate and I prepared for the race by smearing Vaseline on our toes, sun block on our noses, and surgical tape on our nipples (yes, that’s right), I laughed and remarked that this is not what a normal person would do on a Friday morning (or any other time for that matter).

Standing at the starting line, I did not even realize how hot it was, I was too excited. I looked around at the crowd of spectators and thought about how much better it is to be a player than a watcher. (One of the reasons I made aliyah as a matter of fact, but that’s another story).

The starting gun went off and the moment I had been waiting for since the race ended last year was finally upon us. We ran packed together for the first few kilometers until the crowd thinned out as everyone settled into their own pace.

The first 21 kilometers was fun. Eight of us from the club ran together, our white, orange and black uniforms forming a solid block. We kept to a great pace (4:45 per kilometer). I had planned to run this pace for half the marathon, and then see if I could kick it up for the second half.

At kilometer 15, there was a crocodile in the road. I really don’t know why he was there but the police made all the runners give it a wide birth. From now on I know that seeing a crocodile is a really bad omen for a runner.

I was grabbing bottles of water along the way and eating my gels. Everything was going completely according to plan. I was happy as the kilometers clicked by and thought about how amazing it would be if I could finish in three hours and twenty minutes.

You know, sometimes not everything goes according to your plans. That’s just life. There is nothing you can do about it except try and adapt and keep moving ahead.

As I reached the halfway point something happened, something bad. I felt like I was running backwards. One by one the guys who I had been running with passed me. Then others runners passed me. I tried to keep up the pace but my legs would not obey. I started feeling dizzy and had no idea what was going on.

The real danger of dehydration is once it hits, it is very hard to do anything about it. At the next water stop I drank a whole bottle and poured another one on my head. It didn’t help. Several kilometers later I couldn’t run any more and started to walk. The 3:30 pacer passed me, and I readjusted my goal to beating last year’s time of 3:50.

I started running again but slowly. I took my headphones off as the music was making me sicker. A race medic came by on a bike and gave me a water bottle. I started running one kilometer segments and then walking for about 30 seconds. Then I was walking for a minute.

I tried focusing on the quote that

pain is temporary, pride last forever

but as I tried to focus on the temporary nature of pain, from somewhere deep inside, I heard my body yell “FU!”

So instead I came up with a better quote for the circumstance, from Dean Karnazes, a well known ultra-marathoner.

Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must.

Just never give up.

All I wanted during those last few kilometers was to finish. At around the thirty-fifth kilometer, I saw a guy being loaded into an ambulance. Later I was to find out that it was one of the fastest runners from our team who had collapsed. He would be joined by dozens of other runners who passed out from the heat.

I hadn’t realized what a toll the sun had taken on everyone. Hundreds of runners dropped out. Our club had many members who didn’t come close to their goals. I didn’t know any of this. All I knew, all I could focus on, was that I wanted to cross that finish line.

Around the fortieth kilometer I started dancing. It wasn’t on purpose. My legs simply could not keep moving, and I was having trouble controlling the muscles. I started walking again slowly and tried to get them back.

Then I collapsed.

I ended up laying on the ground while my teammates tried to get me to drink. I was pale, encrusted with salt, and had very vague recollection of what was going on.

Over the next few hours I felt even worse. It seemed clear that the pain I experienced was much stronger than the pride of finishing the marathon. Lying on the floor of my hotel room, I looked over at my running shoes and said “I hate you. I hate both of you.” My feet were in such bad shape I went home barefoot.

Yeah. That's right.

But you know, today is a new day. Memories of pain fade. And although I came up short of my goals in the marathon, I feel an amazing sense of pride. Right now, as bad as the feeling of pain had been, the feeling of pride is that much more.

I may forget the details of the run, but I will never forget the details on how I feel right now. Which somehow, despite the above description [originally I was going to call this post "A Day in Hell"], makes it all worth it.

We only live once. Don’t keep putting off your dreams. Whether it is finishing a marathon or something else that you have always wanted to do, now is the time to start.

Our boundaries are not caused by the difficulty of our task, they come from within.

See what you are capable of.

All it takes is will.

Shabbat Shalom from a tired but proud runner in our blessed nation.

With great appreciation for Chaim Wizman and the rest of my teammates in the Bet Shemesh Running Club. We’ll get ‘em next year.

Well look at the price paid by the Palestinians for all these accomplishments-they live in a prison and all efforts to create that 2 state solution seem to go nowhere. The Palestianians [sic] have lost and continue to lose their land, crops and homes to settlements. The Palestianians [sic] are abused , attacked and terorized by settlers with no protection from the Isreali [sic] police and the IDF.

Germany achieved many scientific and engineering marvels and look at the price paid by the peoples of the world during WWI and WWII by the German war machine and aggession [sic].

I don’t know who wrote the comment, but I appreciate the opportunity to set the record straight.

Strawberry fields forever.. in Israel!

First, I had referred to Israeli advances in all sorts of scientific endeavors. The idea that the Palestinians have paid a price because farmers in the Jordan River Valley developed a new way to grow pesticide free strawberries –  and are sharing it with the world – makes no sense.

Advances in medicine, telecommunications, and high speed computing have nothing to do with the dispute with the Palestinians. If anything, they like the rest of the world have benefited from Israeli advances. Ask any Palestinian seeking treatment in an Israeli hospital what he thinks of Israeli medical science.

At Alyn, I have seen kids from Gaza who are only alive due to Israeli technology. So I hope the author of the comment will at least agree that Palestinian suffering is not due to Israeli accomplishments.

The next comment was that Palestinians live “in a prison.” I will not deny that Israeli border restrictions make life difficult for people in Gaza. But the rulers of Gaza are engaged in a war with Israel. The war could easily be ended any second if they accepted and recognized Israel and disavowed the use of violence. But they choose not to. Can you name any country that keeps an open border with a country with which it is at war?

One wall of the "prison" is an Arab country

Besides, I always wonder why it is just Israel blamed for the “siege” of Gaza. Last time I checked on a map, Gaza borders on Egypt. Where are all the attacks against the Egyptians for keeping Gazans in a “prison?”

“all efforts to create that 2 state solution seem to go nowhere”

Well Prime Minister Netanyahu has invited Abbas over and over again to sit down and negotiate a 2 state solution. Abbas has answered that before negotiations begin, Israel must agree to give up everything. Well what would be the point of negotiations then?

We (Israel) have legitimate claims to the land in dispute as do the Palestinians. The only way to reach compromises is through serious negotiation. Yes, I share your dismay that the “peace process is going nowhere.” Why don’t you send an e-mail to Abbas about that?

“The Palestinians have lost and continue to lose their land, crops and homes to settlements.”

Some of the 250 Jews massacred in pre-State Gush Etzion

Sorry, but its just too simple a way to look at this dispute. Jews have also lost land, crops, and homes to Palestinians. The Jewish community in Hevron is a fraction of what it once was. Why? Because the Jews were murdered and the survivors driven out. Now when Jews try to reclaim historical Jewish property there, they are accused of stealing someone else’s land.

I live in Gush Etzion. There were thriving Jewish communities here before 1948. In 1948, the Jews were massacred and the towns were burnt down. In 1967, the rebuilding began and goes on to this day. What’s wrong with that?

Today, we have a court system where those who claim that someone is taking their land can seek redress. And it may surprise you, but the courts have been quite vocal in defending land that is proven to be owned by Palestinians. But you have to understand that you cannot simply label the entire “West Bank” Palestinian land. Doing so is simply inaccurate.

“The Palestinians are abused, attacked and terorized by settlers with no protection from the Isreali police and the IDF.”

There may be isolated incidents where this happens. But there are far more incidents where the police and IDF protect Palestinians from the tiny minority of Jewish extremists. Personally, as a settler, I vehemently reject any type of attacks on Palestinians or their property.

From today’s Ha’aretz:

A special border police battalion was assigned to protect the farmers from settlers’ attacks during the harvest, which began this week.

The forces – at least twice as large as in previous years, IDF officers say – were deployed around the illegal Havat Gilad outpost at the beginning of the week. On Tuesday they protected harvesters near the Yitzhar settlement and intend to safeguard other West Bank areas including around Hebron.

The Palestinians are our neighbors. They built my house and almost every other house, synagogue, and shop in Neve Daniel and every other settlement. The majority of settlers like myself believe in peaceful coexistence. Stop believing everything you read in the media. We do not terrorize them. Last time I checked we were the ones who had to guard our communities.

Is the World that dumb?

So finally you close with the old Jew baiting reference to the Nazis. Lots of people who dislike Israel try and use this, but it just doesn’t fit. We don’t murder or enslave Palestinians. We employ them, work with them, and treat them in our hospitals. While our enemies like to use propaganda to convince the world that we are monsters, these are just Big Lies.

Still, I appreciate that you wrote in and hope that you will consider my response.

I’m not a Nazi. Just a guy who runs and loves his country.

Put on a pair of sneakers and just run.

Running in Israel is more than just exercise. Every step you take, every hill, every trail has some history behind it.

Get your heart beating fast, it feels good. Gaze out at the views and think how incredibly fortunate you are to be right here, right at this point in history.

Work up a sweat and reflect how many people throughout history longed for every square inch of land passing below your feet. Reflect on how many people made the ultimate sacrifice so that you could live here freely.

Run faster with your arms pumping.  You feel like nothing can stop you as the kilometers fall away one by one.

When I moved to Israel four and a half years ago , if you would have told me that I was about to run my second full distance marathon, I would have thought you insane.

Of course, four and a half years before that, if you would have told me that I would be living in the land of Israel, I would have viewed you as equally insane.

What is it about this place that makes us stretch to reach and pass our limits?

Perhaps the air encourages dreaming. Hertzl was right, “If you will it, it is no dream.” Right you go Ted. Perhaps more than you ever imagined.

Every day, Israelis turn dreams into reality. Sorry to all the post-Zionists, but we have never been and never will be a nation like all the others. A tiny spit of land with very little natural resources continues to produce miracles every day.

Every day you can read about breakthroughs in high tech, agriculture, medicine, you name it. From innovative start-ups to Nobel Prize winners (I mean the ones awarded for actual accomplishments), we produce more than our share by far.

In a few years, when you are driving your electric car around and watching how Saudi Arabia is trying to find an export market for sand, you can thank this tiny and often maligned little land.

And yes, despite what you may read, it is the Israeli “war machine” that has done more to safeguard civilians than any other army in history. By the way, that was said by a Brit, not an Israeli. Don’t believe me? I don’t care, the facts are out in the open.

This is the land where the difficult becomes the average and the impossible becomes possible.

We can do whatever we dream. All it takes is will.

Now get some sneakers and join me in Tiveria for a little run around the Kinneret next week.

No limits.

Terrorists? Yes. Children's toothpaste? No way.

A woman is at the airport with several small children. At least one is crying and one needs a change. She puts all the carry-ons on the conveyor belt and fumbles for a collection of boarding passes and passports. Several drop on the floor, and she attempts to pick them up while holding one barefoot child and trying to keep track of the rest. (All their shoes have been placed into bins that seem to have disappeared completely.)

“Just a second lady,” says the uniformed TSA official. Another one appears with a  frown and holds up a tube of Tom and Jerry toothpaste. “We found this.”

There is a pause because the TSA officials assume that the problem will be obvious to the traveler. When she just looks confused they inform her that she has violated federal anti-terrorism transportation safety rules. They hold up the toothpaste and glare at her for almost endangering everyone’s lives with the purple toothpaste.  For a second the children actually are quiet as they watch the strange men in blue uniforms with gloves throw away the only toothpaste they like. Then they start to wail.

In the next line, another man approaches the security checkpoint. He gives his name as Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab. He seems very nervous. The security officers looks him up the the computer and see that he in on a terrorist watch list. Another entry in the computer indicates that Mr. Abdulmutallab’s father had called the U.S. Embassy to try and turn his son — the Al Quada terrorist – in.

Much to the relief of the TSA officials, a search of his carry-on reveals no purple toothpaste. They give him a smile and direct him where to pick up his shoes. He walks by the mother standing in the middle of screaming, unchanged, barefoot children all clutching at her demanding that she get their toothpaste back immediately.

Just one question.

WHO ARE THE IDIOTS WHO DESIGNED THIS SYSTEM??????

There is no airport with more terrorist threats against it than Ben Gurion. Yet I have never had to take off my shoes and do the barefoot shuffle through security. How does Israel prevent people from blowing up our planes?

"No toothpaste?"

I don’t think I am divulging any state secrets when I say that for starters: Guys who are named Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab and have proven ties to international terror organizations do not get on the airplane. They are not searched for Tom and Jerry toothpaste — they are searched for explosives.

Way before they even get that far, single travelers with no luggage are questioned to see if they appear half as nervous as Umar was said to be.

This is not rocket science. Do not praise the incredible Israeli ingenuity on this one. Praise us for computer chips, solar power, and agricultural breakthroughs. Those require clever people. The security procedures just require people who are not idiots to be in charge.

Why is it so difficult to understand that the most effective way of stopping a terrorist from blowing up a plane is by not letting him board one.

No clothes flights. Coming soon.

Yet we all know that this common sense approach will be ignored. One day in the not too distant future I will be sitting on the plane stark naked and with absolutely no baggage as per the latest TSA  rules. I will turn to the guy sitting next to me and watch as he pulls some strange looking substances out of his artificial…

Just use your imagination.

We can wait

I acknowledge ahead of time that many of my neighbors will disagree with me. But the fact is, public opinion among “settlers” is not and has never been represented by one or two shrill voices. So while many are gearing up to fight the settlement freeze temporary lull in initiating certain residential construction, I think the energy could be put to better use.

I don’t feel this way because I think that a slight delay in building Jewish homes is either just or will bring about peace. No, it is clear to everyone (except maybe the White House) that the lack of peace in the Middle East has nothing to do with settlements and everything to do with Arab intransigence. And that’s the point.

Bibi skillfully turned a demand to freeze all Jewish construction in Jerusalem and Judea and Samaria into a ten month lull that only applies to residential units in which work has not started.

Not only did he manage to gain U.S. acceptance of a plan whose overall impact will have little practical significance, but he received international praise for the move. He has shifted all the pressure off of  Israel and squarely onto the shoulders of the Palestinians. I am sure they will not disappoint us by giving every reason to start massive construction within a year.

Why will it have little tangible impact? Because it effects a small handful of people.

Right now construction can continue on synagogues, commercial buildings, and schools. Parks and playgrounds may be built. Homes already under construction may be built. Planning for homes not yet started may continue. And Jerusalem — as defined by Israel — will continue to grow by thousands of Jewish homes.

No homes are being destroyed. There is no “expulsion.” Even outposts which the Supreme Court have ordered to be dismantled are spared.

True, there are some people who have will have their new homes delayed for a few months. Every Yishuv probably has two or three families that were ready to start construction but now must wait.

But there are always delays when you build, this one is just a few months longer than most. But it’s only a delay. We have no refugees living in tents desperately waiting for a shelter to be built. No one will starve because they have to wait a few months to build a home.

In the end, after ten months nothing will have changed. If we are smart, we will use this period to make sure that come October 1, 2010 we are ready to renew construction at 12:01. Architectural plans will have been completed, contractors hired, and materials delivered.

In return for abiding by the lull, Israel will gain enormously. Once more, it will be clear to the world that we are a law-abiding nation interested in true peace.

The only ones that will really suffer due to the construction lull are all the Palestinians who work on the building projects. They are the ones being asked to go ten months without work. I have no idea how they will support their families. But that’s not my primary concern.

All ready for 10/01/10

The popular image of settlers within Israel is that we are out of control extremists who accept government benefits but ignore policies with which we disagree. This is not a great public profile to have if we need the support of the majority of regular Israelis.

So I am proud to be a Judean Hills resident who supports the Prime Minister and will not fight the construction lull. Instead I look forward to hearing the sounds of construction next Fall.

Shabbat Shalom from our Blessed Nation.

I am Gilad, son of Aviva and Noam Shalit

I am Gilad, son of Aviva and Noam Shalit, brother of Hadas and Yoel, who lives in Mitzpe Hila. My identification number is 300097029.

I want to send my regards to my family and to tell them that I love them and miss them very much, and pray for the day that I will see them again.

It has been three and a half years since Gilad Shalit was taken hostage by Palestinian terrorists. For three and a half years, Hamas has toyed with Gilad’s family, toyed with Gilad’s friends, and toyed with Gilad’s nation.

More civilized than Hamas

Hamas stages parades where Palestinians dress up as Gilad and crawl about on their hands and knees begging for freedom. The crowds roar with laughter at this quality “entertainment.” I would call Hamas “Neanderthals” but to do so would be an insult to all prehistoric, semi-upright walking creatures.

Enough already. Bring Gilad home now.

Of course, I would love a daring commando raid that would bring him out without having to make any disgusting deal with the beasts who rule the Gaza Strip. I would also prefer taking Hamas hostages and executing them one by one until Gilad is set free.

But you know what? It wouldn’t work. These are people whose leaders hide behind baby carriages. They really don’t care about whether their own people live or die.

There are many who point out that releasing terrorists will only reward kidnapping. Others correctly observe that many of these terrorists will return to terrorism within hours of their release. It’s not as though they will put down the bombs and become gardeners. We know that.

But I also don’t believe that the Palestinians have a current shortage of terrorists. It doesn’t matter if there are ten thousand potential bombers or eleven thousand. Every Israeli citizen knows that within a few kilometers of where he lives is someone who would like to kill him. That has been the situation throughout Israel’s history, and that will be the situation in the future. It’s a sad price of living here.

And while one could assume that releasing terrorists will cause them to try and kidnap more Israeli soldiers, I was not aware that they had stopped trying. We always read about the IDF arresting or shooting terrorists who are trying to grab soldiers.  They do not seem to lack motivation right now.

So what would an exchange of Gilad for terrorists look like? For one, we would have to sit through the nauseating images of happy terrorists dancing in the streets. As long as the Shabak cameras are recording the images, that’s fine. My gut tells me that every couple of weeks on the back page of the paper we will read about some “work accident” where several of these “freedom fighters” finally get to meet Allah.

But could you imagine how it would feel to see Gilad reunited with his family? Gilad is not just one young soldier. Gilad represents all of Israel’s children. Israeli parents allow their children to serve in the IDF because we know this is the only way our country can survive.

But I know of no parent who walks away from an IDF induction ceremony the way he or she could walk away from a graduation. Every day that an Israeli has a son or daughter in the army is a day with some anxiety lurking deep inside.

All of us want to know that if G-d forbid our child is captured by the enemy, the government will do everything possible (and try to do everything impossible) to get him or her back alive.

Let’s not wait a few years and then have another spectacle where our enemy hands over a coffin to us. We don’t know if any released terrorist will succeed in killing again, but we do know that Gilad is alive. For now.

So last stop this pointless debate and bring Gilad home now.

I want to send my regards to my family and to tell them that I love them and miss them very much, and pray for the day that I will see them again.

Gilad, we are all praying for that day too.

Take a "shot" at us, please

What do you do when someone who wants you dead gets sick? What would most reasonable people do?

Let me rephrase. Let’s say that the United States faced a serious terrorist threat on its Southern border. Let’s also say that the Mexican government was not taking any action to stop the terrorists from launching missiles at Austin, Texas.

Now, pretend that the President of Mexico dismissed U.S. complaints and basically said that it was Americans own fault that they were being shot. If the U.S. just turned over a major chunk of its territory to Mexico, then the terrorists would be happy and stop shooting people.

Still with me in the dream? O.K., next President Obama declares that he is willing to sit down and negotiate with Mexico anytime and any place. The Mexican President’s answer is that there can be no negotiations until the U.S. in advance stops all construction in every city that Mexico claims for itself.

Now, in a major city in Mexico, amidst streets and schools named after terrorists, a few people get the swine flu. In return for flu vaccinations, does the United States:

• Demand that Mexico put an end to the rockets being shot at the U.S.?
• Request that Mexico please sit down and negotiate a peace agreement?
• Nicely ask Mexico to stop rallying the World against the U.S. on false charges?

I don’t think so.

The only reason I ask is that I see that Israel has just shipped twenty thousand Swine Flue vaccinations to the Palestinians. These are the same vaccinations that I am told are not yet available in Neve Daniel. Yes, if I get Swine Flu, I may be sick as a dog for a few days but at least I will be comforted by the knowledge that 20,000 Palestinians are feeling fine and immune from the bug.

Great. I like to see a well thought out use of my tax dollars.

Please stop shooting while we try and FEED you

Skeptics might tell me that at the very least Israel will get some good PR out of this whole episode. Like when we sent trucks loaded with food and medicine into Gaza during the war. Right, that story made it onto page one of the Goldstone Report, didn’t it? Anyone remember praise for Israel from the UN Human Rights Council for that humanitarian gesture?

Didn’t think so.

Speaking of Goldstone, if you have not seen the little video we did at HonestReporting and signed the petition, please take 2 minutes now. Click here to watch.

So stay warm and if you can somehow obtain a vaccination without having to shoot at Israel, go for it.

Sometimes this country is so nuts the only thing you can do is jump on a bike and ride through the mud for a few days. More sensible than half the stuff our government keeps cooking up.

Shabbat Shalom from our really nuts but always blessed nation.

My ride number

I just spent a week riding through mud.

Not the kind of nice warm Dead Sea mud that tourists buy. I’m talking about freezing cold mud. It gets on your arms, your legs, in your nose, and between your teeth. Every day after the ride you take a shower wearing your riding gear to try and get some of it off. But it’s just not possible.

The mud gets on your bike chain and in your gears. It gets in your brakes and clogs your pedals. Your bike weighs a ton no matter how often you try and clean some muck off.

What an amazing week.

I'm shivering!

But let me go back a bit. For the fourth year in a row I was riding in the Alyn 5 day bike ride to raise money for the Alyn Children’s Hospital in Jerusalem. I was joined by fellow Team Neve Daniel members Pinney and Lawrence.

Also along with us was our friend Bob, who we like so darn much we just put him on the team. He has a daughter my age, and he can still hang with the best riders in the pack. Also honorary team member Yael from Kfar Meiman, showing us that girls can ride crazy too.

This year, the ride would spend four days on the Golan Heights and one day riding from Modi’in to Jerusalem. Except when it rains, the Golan is an ideal place to ride a mountain bike since the views are spectacular and the Heights are full of amazing bike trails.

Like I said, except when it rains.

It rained.

It flooded.

The Golan turned to mud.

Team Neve Daniel at the Start: Dry and Happy

We started the ride on Sunday in Rosh Pina. Within the first hour, I knew it was going to be a tough year. Riding fast down a winding trail, another rider swerved to the right to avoid a big rock. There was just one problem — I was on his right side.

Down I went and when I got up I found I had a gashed leg and a bent derailleur (the thing that changes gears.)  As I was contemplating what that would mean for the next five days, the skies opened up and dropped what felt like a lake on us. The rain was so thick, you could hardly see where you were going. Then it started to get cold. Yael reminded me of the article I wrote before the ride about how we should just accept the inevitable and embrace the rain.

I told her to shut up.

We rode on road for a bit up a very steep climb and then turned onto the first segment of the North-South Golan trail. Here was my first experience of real mud riding.  For what seemed to be hours, we road through the mud. The key is that you must keep moving, no matter how slowly. If you stop and put a foot down, it will become almost impossible to start again.

Team Neve Daniel after the Mud

After the mud came puddles. Big puddles. These were not the type of puddles that kids like to jump up and down in. These were long stretches of the trail where water went from one side to the other and you had no choice but to ride through. At some point your bike could sink up to the hubs and you wondered if you were about to take an ice bath. (Lots of riders did). Every time you peddled your foot went through icy water. (Every morning I dreaded lacing up the cold wet shoes.)

To be perfectly honest I was not pleased with my performance. I felt tired and miserable and had a million reasons why I did not want to continue riding. My leg hurt, the bike couldn’t stay in gear, and the forecast was not gloomy — it was catastrophic.

Yet the next day, I decided I would have a better attitude. I put on all my rain gear, looked in the mirror, and gave myself a little pep talk. I was actually pumped up when I left the room and headed for the staging area.

That was when word came down the line that something had happened that has never happened before in the Alyn Ride’s ten-year history. The whole day’s ride was canceled. Due to massive flooding and extreme winds, the powers that be decided it would be too dangerous to ride. What followed was a rather dull day. As we ate dinner in the youth hostel and watched water leaking from the ceiling, no one was very upbeat.

A backpack gave my mud jacket an interesting look

It rained through the night and into the next day. Yet, the decision was made to ride. The route was changed so that the only off road segments became optional. But the route would still be a challenge.

We started with a 24 kilometer climb up the slopes of Mount Hermon to the Beduin village of Masade. The climb was fantastic although the fog was so thick that you couldn’t see anything but a patch of road in front of you. Along the way up I found the rider who had knocked me off on Sunday. We exchanged some pleasantries which gave me the added incentive to ride hard and leave him in the dust rain. (He did apologize in the end, and I did NOT knock him into the ditch at the side of the road.)

The real problem was that when we got up to the top, the temperature dropped and the winds picked up. I changed into the last dry shirt I had and still froze. Coming down the winds pushed us across the road. There was nothing to do but put your head down and pedal. Around this time I again started wondering if it was worth it. Actually, I felt miserable and decided it wasn’t. I decided that I would finish the ride but no way would I ever sign up for this hell again.

Later in the day we had a few off road bits including a dangerous descent which put my good friend Simcha into an ambulance and out of the ride. I didn’t see Simcha’s fall, but another guy in front of me lost the traction on his bike wheel and went skidding down into the ground. He yelled that he was o.k. so I kept going – gripping the bars, saying a prayer, and looking forward to getting to the bottom.

At the bottom were several kilometers through what were basically a few flooded fields with mushy patches of mud to ride on. The riders were so spread out that I could scream like a banshee all sorts of colorful words. I was in my own little world. My own freezing, wet little world.

Then an interesting thing happened. We came out on the road and all of a sudden I felt a surge of energy. I hammered down on the pedals and felt myself flying. Kilometer after kilometer just clicked by. I no longer felt the cold. When I reached Keshet, the end of the day’s ride, I felt exhilarated but completely spent. By  5:30 I was sound asleep. (Thankfully I woke up for dinner.)

Boomer and Pinney's bike: Our trusted steeds

The next day was more mud and more climbs including a 2 kilometer haul over a 15% grade. Yet the sun came out and that made everything much better. I even fell into one of the mud lakes, but I didn’t freeze to death. I joked about it and let the sun dry me off. We rode down one final descent to the Kinneret and all of a sudden there was just one more day of Alyn.

Of course today was more like Alyn rides I have done before. Tons of climbing going from Modi’in up to Alyn in Jerusalem, but it was warm and we knew the end of the ride was coming, so everything felt great.

We finished by charging up the hill from Ein Karem to Alyn and got to ride past all the cheering people who had come to see us finish. We got mobbed by our families and high- fived each other like we had just won the Tour de France.

Even better, there to greet us were all the children being treated at Alyn. A young child in a wheelchair put a medal around my neck and his smile said it all. Now I felt guilty for ever having such negative thoughts. What the hell is a little mud compared to what we were really there for?

I will leave you with one example of why this ride is important. There is a little boy who lives in a town near Sderot. During the Gaza war, his leg was blown off by a Palestinian rocket (HELLO JUDGE GOLDSTONE?? YOU HOME??? — Sorry).

Anyway, after he was stabilized, he was fitted with a prosthetic leg. Yet learning to walk with an artificial leg is not easy, especially for a child. At first, walking is very painful. But that is exactly what you need to do for your body to get used to the leg. This boy would just not walk — it was too painful.

So at Alyn, instead of medicine, they gave him….  a rabbit. His job was to try and walk after the rabbit. Now it was no longer painful therapy – it was a game. And that is how this boy is learning to walk again. That’s Alyn for you. This kind of therapy is not covered by health insurance – it is covered by Alyn Ride insurance.

So if a boy can forget the pain and learn to walk even when it hurts him,  I guess a bike rider can forget about a  little mud and cold and just enjoy learning what he is capable of doing.

Kol HaKavod to Alyn for staging another great ride under very trying circumstances and thank you to each and every one my sponsors for making this week possible.

Next year?

Not even a question.

I’ll be there.

How about you?