Israel, Part I

So once upon a time, I was born. Somewhere in Rhode Island. Home of clam cakes and coffee milk and Del's Lemonade. From an Israeli-American couple. With dual citizenship.

Consequentially, I "only" have to run 2:43 in the marathon to compete in the Olympics. Some people have abnormally good genes, some people are born at altitude, some people grow up running to school, or start running in school. I was born with another gift: A dual identity, a rich cultural background, and a guaranteed trip to the Olympics for something 100+ women in the US can do.

So obviously I have to try, because who wouldn't? Let's be real, though, 2:43 isn't easy. But it's a hell of a lot easier than 2:26, what I would've needed to make the US team in 2012.

Anyways, fast forward to two weeks ago, and I was on another goddamn airplane flying cramped up in a tiny seat not sleeping for something like a ten hour overnight trip. It'd be worth it, though, to see my family.

The next morning, I went for a nice easy run around Ness Ziona, kind of made up where I was going and somehow found my way home, looking something like this: 

"It's too hot"

A day and a half later, I was with my mom and savta (grandma) getting ready to race a 5K "for fun," ten hours jet-lagged, still unaccustomed to the Israeli diet of hummus, pita, diced cucumbers and tomatoes, fresh squeezed juice, Milky, and Krembo. I told my mom, "I'm going to puke." 

Milky

Krembo

I decided I'd just run to win with an honest effort. No jogging it in, but no worrying about time, either, since I was feeling pretty terrible before I even started running.

So I did just that. I ran a super slow (for me) 5K a solid 1:20 off of my PR, but tried hard and won. And it was fun in the totally miserable way that only runners understand.

Plus, I got another photo for my "Talia face" collection

Then I almost did puke. I went to talk to the dude by the ambulance to ask him for ice, because I felt so hot, so goddamn hot everywhere I didn't know what to do. I was going to melt away under the sun and dissolve into the thick, wet Israeli air, my gut twisted and drowning in Milky, so much Milky, why does Milky have to be so good? 

"You'd be better off just lying on the grass," he said, so I did. And started to itch. Everywhere. I was allergic to the grass.

I won $150 to some local spa. In typical Israeli fashion, we weren't able to reach the owner to book an appointment before I left, so I gave it to my aunt and cousin and told them to go together.

The real point of all of this was to scope out some clubs so I can run in the Israel marathon championships if I choose to. And it kind of worked. A little. Sort of. OK, not really. It was pretty chaotic. Still fun, but chaotic. And it warrants its own post.

TO BE CONTINUED