Run!! Coming To Get You.....

This is obviously "before"

So I ran 10km the other night.  While this is no big feat in itself and I have run further before, there is something however, pretty cool about running any kind of distance with packs of other people.  I would like to "come out" and announce that I am one of a possibly small group of people who actually like running.  It's true I do.  Even when I am as unfit as coma recovery patient, I still like the way I nearly chunder on my Nikes as I shuffle pathetically along a lonely road.  But it's when I'm already fit that my enjoyment of running really hits full stride.  Not sure what's going on there, because the whole experience is still physically painful, and as a rule I tend to avoid doing anything that hurts. Besides, for somebody who regularly runs, I still have a very unfortunate cellulite issue and would actually prefer to lie and say I never do any exercise as to have an excuse for that particular problem.   But there you go.  The gig is up.  I am a runner (with cellulite) and I'm proud.

So I entered the Tel Aviv Night Run, and as it was 10km, I didn't really train for it.  I just ran as much as I normally would -  in the gym, on the treadmill, while watching movies  It's pleasant, it really is.    The gym I go to is pretty close, and I'm convinced by now that it's a pick-up gym for singles.  I was first alerted to this possibility after I'd be going there a month or so and I kept noticing that there were men in the toilets all the time.  It took me quite some time to cotton onto the fact that it was a unisex toilet.  How strange.  I thought these existed only in gender progressive offices that were trying to be all cool - like at Google or something.  It's different in a gym though (don't you think?), sometimes you have to take your clothes off and that kind of thing.  There weren't any change cubicles either.  That really is taking the unisex toilet thing to the next level.  If you want to swap your sweaty top for a fresh one, basically you have to show everybody your boobs.  Don't even think about a scruds changeover either.

I have only ever had one shower there.  When the water went off at our house once, I decided that I would walk 5 mins to the gym and shower there.  I smelt - what can you do?  However while I was in mid-shower the electricity went off and the whole change rooms became pitch black.  Though at least no randoms could get a glimpse of my fanny I suppose.  Not that glimpses of my fanny are generally in demand or anything - but still.  Personally I would take a side look at a fanny on display for sure, and generally I am not that interested in fannies.  It's just the way it goes.  Anyway, I managed to find my phone in the dark, download the torch application, and thus wash the suds out of my pits.  The wonder of technology. And the wonders of everything fucking up in this country on occasion.  Pretty much every time I go to my gym, I see heaps and heaps of guys perving at themselves in the mirrors.  Bugger the fannies when you can look at your own pecs for half an hour non stop.  There is some super serious self-fancying going on there.  Once I saw one guy dancing, checking himself out and then lifting up his top while still dancing really perving on his abs.  Not just a little bit either, he was really workin' the gherkin' (or planning to later anyhow).  Dude - just get a full length mirror at home or something.  Jesus.  People need to know when to put it away.

Hey Ladies - you want it, I got it

Come on girls - I know you like this

I don't really have it - but I'm sure you want it anyway

But back to me.  As always, after all isn't this what it's all about?  Despite the fact that this blog started off about travelling with small children I seem to have made it all about myself......what can I say?  You have to go with what you know.  So last Tuesday's "Night Run" through the centre of Tel Aviv wasn't the 42.2 km I have run on 2 previous occasions.  Therefore I honestly felt it would be no big deal.  Unfortunately it was hellish and I was so puce in the face when I finished, that I looked like Alf from Home and Away after a large night on the Jack Daniels.

Complexion was never your finest asset Alfie

There were a significant number of people running - about 10 000 (including me, my husband, and my husband's nephew David).  This wasn't the largest number I have ever run with - when I did the Tokyo Marathon about 30 000 other people were running that day. It is, however, extremely interesting to compare the execution of a large public event between one of the most orderly countries on earth (obviously I'm talking about Japan) with one of the most disorderly countries on earth (Yes, you, Israel).  You would imagine that security was tight here.  Well there certainly were a lot of streets blocked off - but the guards at the gates seemed to be hanging out having a chat rather than doing any pat-down or anything.  There certainly were no rectal examinations.  Which brings me briefly to a story about a friend of mine when she heard that you had to do retinal scans to pass through immigration control in some countries.  Her response to this news was so cute -  "No way, NO WAY!!!  You actually have to pull down your pants in front of everyone while they scan your arsehole???"  This misunderstanding gave rise to the new phrase "Just sitting around on my retina" when asked what we were up to.

This guy got a bit confused too - (It's not just you Skaz)

As with the Tokyo Marathon, all runners were divided into groups A, B, C, D, E or F depending on what time you had indicated you expected you would finish in.  In Tokyo, everyone went to their exact place - spread out nicely in the vicinity of the large tower that said "C" or whatever letter you were.  As your start time approached, all the Japanese "C" runners moved slowly and carefully forward until we were given the signal to start, and we all shuffled together for the 10 minutes it took to actually cross the start line before it was "get up and go" time, and everybody was able to spread out a bit and begin the 42 kilometre journey through the middle of the city on a crispy, but clear winters day.  I remember it was 2 degrees in Tokyo that morning.  It was so cold that although I didn't feel like I sweated one bit over 4 and a half hours of running - however by the end, my skin was completely covered with a white crust of salt.  Bizarre stuff.

Mixing it Up

However, at the Tel Aviv Night Run, once you entered the gates it was all on.  There were people everywhere,  and the line up for the toilet was pointless because people just went straight to the front and cut in constantly.  There was music absolutely pumping and rubbish everywhere.  Although there were big letters on towers where you were meant to go to be with your group (as in Japan), everyone was completely mixed up.  People decided to start whenever they wanted.  As a result, there was a crowd crush to get through the first barriers to approach the bit of road in front of the starting line.  It didn't matter what letter you were - As, Bs, Cs, D, Es - everyone was packed together and pushing and shoving.  It was claustrophobic.  The MC, who was on a stage in front of us and was meant to be revving everyone up in between tracks, had to go into crowd control mode, as everyone was shouting abuse at him, and he, in turn was yelling at everyone "Rega REGA!!" (translation = wait, WAIT) complete with the "rega" hand motion.  It's my favourite of all the Israeli hand actions (and there are many - one day I will write a blog on them all).

"Rega!" - Doesn't quite have the intensity of the MC's though....

A picture of my bum at last - I have truly sunk to new lows

Nobody gave a shit about waiting of course, they just kept on pushing.  I was having a few issues breathing, and people around me already stank of sweat.  It was basically was a true example of one of my favourite terms "Clusterfuck" and it wasn't great.  Plus I had just taken 2 panadols (without a drink to wash them down), because a couple of days before I fell down the steps at home and bruised the shit out of my bum.  This kind of retarded action is common for me and happens so often that I feel no need to share it - however in this case, running sort of jarred it and made it hurt.  I decided not to be a pussy and do the run anyway.  I usually take pain killers before I run long distances anyway - I swear it helps.  But anyway, finally, after about 20 minutes of crowd crush and people going nuts about the crowd crush, we pushed through the metal barriers and were on the road approaching the start line.  A DJ playing pumping trance was on top of the start line going sick nuts - we were all ready to go!  The starting bell rang out and we were all off.

Looking serious lads

It was absolute chaos.  Pushing, shoving, jostling and weaving is what it was all about - basically it sounds like a visit to the corner store any day of the week here.  But it's difficult to hit a stride when you're over concerned in being knocked down by any number of people who don't give a shit about the fact that you are in their way.  At least the ducking and weaving took my mind off my bruises.  There was no way to know how fast you were going, unless you timed it yourself.  In Japan there were pace runners - running with helium balloons that had the number of minutes (or hours) you would finish the race in.  In Tel Aviv I saw a few pace runners at the start - but then nothing during the entire race.  Not a single one of them.  God knows what they were up to.  Stopped off for coffee maybe?  At some stages we had to run through people sitting outside at cafes - I was deeply jealous of them.  By this stage the 2 red bulls and the pasta I ate at 6pm were repeating on me.  What a mistake.  I always run on  an empty stomach, god know what I was thinking there.  As a result I felt like I was going to vomit the entire run.  Perhaps a sane person would stop or slow down, but I am a little psycho and really really wanted to finish it in under an hour (despite not being in the right shape to pull it off).

From 6-8km was pretty hellish.  Although I lost my husband, I had been running with his nephew for pretty much the entire race.  We were both pretty annoyed to see 2 "finishers" strolling down the traffic island into all the oncoming exhausted runners, wearing their medals and looking mighty satisfied with themselves.  I hated them so much, and wished I had the strength (and time allowance) to shove those medals somewhere they themselves would need a rectal examination to relieve the issue.  But I pushed on - and at about 8km I pulled my bitch move.  This is where you piss off on someone you have been running with the entire race just so you can come in earlier.  So despite my sweating problem, and my vomiting issues, and my tendency towards taking it easy, I really went for it.  And pulled a swifty on David.  Sorry Dude.

I finished the race in 60 minutes and 39 seconds.  God dam it.

The real 'before' and 'after'

Look of pain - and possibly also the look of needing to do a poo???

The next day I had to put up with all the smug people that had beat me when I went to drop the girls off at school in the morning.  One father claimed he didn't know his time and then started making all excuses about his music not working and having to fix it which slowed him down, I checked his time online - beat him by 8 minutes.  The other father wasn't saying anything, but by the chuffed look on his face I knew he had come in early.  I refused to ask him - and I know he wanted me to - I just know it.  Next time I will train like a maniac and I will kick his butt.  I WILL.  But in the meantime I have to suffer in the knowledge that I was 40 seconds too slow this year to even kick my own arse.  At least I have the bruise to blame (plus it would have hurt to kick it).  It was killing me the entire time, it really was....if it wasn't for that bruise I definitely would have come in under 60 minutes......for sure.....

I love an excuse - it was worth falling down the stairs and howling my eyes out just to have one.

The girls were impressed with the 'finishers' medals at least