Marathon Blues

This week I attended an all-class reunion for my high school in Boston,  15% of their alumni have moved to Israel since the institution opened its doors 75 years ago, and the turnout of close to 200 people of several generations was quite impressive and unexpected, even for those who planned the event.

Having not particularly enjoyed high school, because I felt that they continually stifled my individuality in favor of the "Box A" or "Box B" approach, I was hesitant at first, and enjoyed myself more than I had anticipated.  I quite concur with my friend Sarah, perhaps the most moving moment was one in which the entire room of native Bostonians stood up and sang Hatikva together, in Jerusalem at the Menachem Begin Heritage Center.

One of my classmates who attended has created quite a successful life portfolio for himself, considering he spent most of high school getting suspended.  A married man with three children, an independent business person who has recently moved his office to Modiin Illit, so that he may employ Ultra-Orthodox women.  A speaker of three languages - Hebrew, English and Russian- he frequently appears on Russian television as a political analyst, and he in fact served as the MC for the evening.

Besides all that, he has recently become the Chairman and organizer of the Alyn annual Charity Bike Ride, which this year took place in the wake of the bombing of the North of Israel. 

OK, so he has the house/wife/kids thing going on, and he manages to stay in shape so he can bike ride across the country.

I am jealous of his ability to work out on a regular basis despite the many demands of his daily routine.

Last year, I trained sufficiently and ran the 10K in the Jerusalem Marathon. Persevering in the hail and the shrieking wind, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and was on a high for weeks afterwards, having accomplished this particular personal goal.

This year I tried training, but my knees complained bitterly, awaking an old injury from the age of 18.  My Chiropractor and I tried to create a program that would ease my knees and the rest of my body into a comfort zone, but as a single mother I didn't have the time to enact our plan in an ideal manner.

The mature me and the doctor in me has accepted that this year it is not meant to be, and I have renewed my commitment to run next year once again.

Yesterday a patient told me that he had run from Herzelia to Tel Aviv and back, a total of approximately 20 kilometers, and that it was "easy and fun," that he "almost didn't notice the distance." I genuinely congratulated him, and inside felt a little piece of my own heart sink.  Every time I see a sign for the Marathon, whose finish line is located right near my house in Gan Saccher, my hearts sinks just a little bit more.  It is starting to eat away at my confidence, as I reconsider what I have achieved in my life toward true excellence.

Maybe I should take the day off and go to the beach in Tel Aviv...