Please tell me what is wrong with lawn bowling?
Don't bother pondering this question because there is nothing wrong with lawn bowling at all. Nothing. Zippo. It's fun. It's physical activity. It's painless.
I think a better question is what makes a person want to push themselves past their natural limits? What makes those same people seek out pain? Are they vain? Are they nuts? Are they sado-masochistic? Are they finished using their bodies and want to send them off with a bang?
When the Isramen started arriving at the finishing line I just couldn't help but ask myself those questions. It wasn't like they all came across the line smiling and waving to the fans. (Well, Glenn did but that was because he inadvertently rode his bike an extra 20 km and he was privately mocking himself.)
These people came across that finish line like they had been wanting to have a bowel movement for the past four or five hours and just couldn't find a suitable place to have one.
Oh, and besides the truly pained expressions on their faces, there was all the lovely sweat and salt stains. Add to that the Vaseline stains and you could basically wave good-bye to those sports clothes.
The first of our friends to cross the finish line was Mark. Mark, in my estimation, is not human. I suspect that he is more machine than man. He finished the Half Israman in just less than seven hours. Stopped for quick drink of water, found his bike and his bag of clothes, gave them to us, and then headed to the airport so that he could fly home in time for the Sabbath. Simple as that. Word has it that he didn't feel any pain the next day.
Now back to reality. Josh came in next, about 20 minutes later. He looked like the perfect subject for a Tide commercial. Trust me, those stains will never come out. Just toss that stuff and get new equipment.
Chaim was next, another 30 some minutes later, and he really looked like he was being propelled by an external force beyond his control. The external force was so strong that he did not even stop at the finish line; he just kept going for another few minutes with his kids running after him.
Glenn, as I mentioned, ran in like the Cheshire Cat. He had that look of someone who had a secret. And I guess making a wrong turn and riding your bike too far was a worthwhile secret.
Carl arrived after Glenn and he was scowling in equal proportion to Glenn's embarrassed smile.
And this set the tone for the next 24 hours. Apparently there were simply so many ways to detail the events of the past eight or so hours that they just kept rejigging the details.
It reminds me of all those company annual reports I worked on years ago. I always thought that 2+2= 4, but the truth is that numbers can be reworked as much as words. And Josh was busy reworking those numbers into more machinations that I could imagine. Who was first in his age category? Who was first in each segment of the race? Who was first based on factoring in the weather? Who was first, if you didn't count their bike weight? My head was spinning, but Josh (soon helped along by Chaim) just continued to rework the math.
And then came the justifications. "I would have cut 20 minutes off my time if there was no wind;" "I would have cut an hour off my time if I had a $6000 bike and A $500 helmut." "I would have cut 17 minutes off my time if I didn't have to work at my job all day." You get the idea.
I think the real justifications should have been: "I would have cut time off my race if I was waaaayyyy younger and 30 pounds lighter." Well, to all of you, C'est la vie.
Rather than going into all the details of the event, here are the highlights from what I can surmize:
1. The wind was hell; particularly the side winds at 90 km a hour.
2. The ride wasn't as scary as it looked – except for the wind.
3. The run was difficult – again because of the wind.
4. The ladies who helped us "transition" from biking to running were wonderful.
5. There is not enough Vaseline on earth at times like this. Always use it liberally.
6. Ow ow I ache all over.
7. I am never doing this again.
8. I am never doing this again in Eilat.
9. Where shall we go to compete next?
Congratulations to all and one final note. The best display of the day was Sarah running back over the bridge to find some information we forgot to check. She returned to our meeting point running at a nice gait and with a big smile on her face.
Showing posts with label Eilat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eilat. Show all posts
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
There is always a dawn after the dark
Before I can write about the Half Ironman (actually called The Israman in this case) in Eilat this past Friday, I feel compelled to state what seems to me to be the obvious: Most men over the age of 40 should not wear wetsuits or Speedo bathing suits. Yes, they may be in great shape inside but you have to be sensitive to those of us who only see the outside.
Let's just agree that that is a given and then we can proceed.
Friday morning started for the Isramen at about 4:30 a.m. Although I wasn't in the competition, I apparently was intended to "feel" the spirit of it, so I was up at 5:00 a.m. It wasn't even weird when my phone rang at 5:25 a.m.and it was my friend Sarah sitting in the hotel lobby with her four half-comatose children waiting for me and my comatose crew to join them so that we could go cheer for a bunch of fathers who opted to jump into the Red Sea at promptly 6;00 a.m. Basically, we were the co-opted and it wasn't pretty.
We dragged the kids down the streets of Eilat at 5:35 a.m. According to what I know about night-life in Eilat, many tourists had probably just gone to bed. The streets were quiet but when we arrived at the launch point, there were other crazy people just like us.
And then came the moment of truth. Out of nowhere materialized our motley team. We took all sorts of obligatory photos and then this un-Godly horn blew and they all ran for the water.
Imagine it. All these people in wetsuits and colour-coded swim caps running towards the water at 6:00 a.m. in the dark and under the cover of a light rain. It was really a fashion parade of swimwear do's and do not's. I would like to add that the eight women competing all looked great in their wetsuits, but I really had doubts about some of the men. A few looked more like buoys than ironmen. And I also have to mention that it would be a cold day in hell before you convinced me to don a wetsuit and run towards the water and then blindly jump in.
(I grew up where the water never warmed up. You could rest assured that you would get muscle spasms in the arches of your feet if you innocently walked into the ocean even in early August. To me, bodies of water are a nice thing to play beside. Also a great place to fill your sand bucket.)
Once all the competitors were out in the water, it was impossible to tell who was who. However, my friend Sarah who is also a veterinarian has a theory. She thinks that kids are like little baby penguins and the likes. They can identify their parents instinctively even when they are clumped together with a group of other similar looking members of the species.
I would love to poo poo her but Zeve immediately proved her point. We were on the outlook for Chaim to return to shore and at one point I thought I saw him. Zeve checked the spot where I was looking which was about 200 meters away and he said to me matter-of-factly: "That's not Abba. Those aren't his goggles."
He was right but how the hell did he know that? Who can see someone's goggles when they are 200 meters away and their head is bobbing up and down AND it is a hazy early morning? By that point it was about 6:30 a.m. and there was some early morning light but I would have sworn that was Chaim and I would have been wrong. Hence, Sarah's point was made.
Josh, Sarah's husband, was the first out of the water. He was followed by our friends Mark, Glenn and Carl. (keep in mind that there are several law and MBA degrees between them and as far as I can tell, the sanity quotient of chopped liver.)
Now the trick to this part of the program is to get out of your wetsuit (not so easy) and get undressed and redressed in public, before jumping on your bike and riding away (leaving all the spectators with the scary visual imprints of naked, wet athletes).
I didn't see Josh or the others do whatever it was that they had to do because I was waiting for Chaim. That was a small gift from God. We really don't need to know our friends THAT well. Yes, you can have too much information -- particularly when it involves Vaseline in unspoken places.
Here's a little something I learned. Some competitors work as teams. One person unzips the first and then the first unzips the other. Also, I now know that there is something to be said for taking off your wetsuit in the water. Apparently it is easier. I can't say for sure, because I don't own a wetsuit nor do I ever wish to.
Chaim surfaced after about 35 minutes in the sea and he did his zipping thing and ran off to change his clothes on his designated chair next to his pre-positioned bike. (It is really quite a smooth operation.)
He had been debating riding in wet clothes versus changing into dry duds leading up to the event. I guess he had made a decision on that because by the time we got to him, he was already partly changed into dry clothes. It's funny to see all the people standing around watching people undress, dry off and put on dry clothes. I think that there are a lot of armchair athletes out there who need to get a life of their own. This is nothing worth looking at.
I think that is enough for now. Suffice it to say that they all rode off for a pretty brutal, almost entirely up-mountain 90 km bike ride and then a 21 km run.
I know I am leaving you hanging. Yes, the suspense is killing you. I will write about their triumphant return later today.
Let's just agree that that is a given and then we can proceed.
Friday morning started for the Isramen at about 4:30 a.m. Although I wasn't in the competition, I apparently was intended to "feel" the spirit of it, so I was up at 5:00 a.m. It wasn't even weird when my phone rang at 5:25 a.m.and it was my friend Sarah sitting in the hotel lobby with her four half-comatose children waiting for me and my comatose crew to join them so that we could go cheer for a bunch of fathers who opted to jump into the Red Sea at promptly 6;00 a.m. Basically, we were the co-opted and it wasn't pretty.
We dragged the kids down the streets of Eilat at 5:35 a.m. According to what I know about night-life in Eilat, many tourists had probably just gone to bed. The streets were quiet but when we arrived at the launch point, there were other crazy people just like us.
And then came the moment of truth. Out of nowhere materialized our motley team. We took all sorts of obligatory photos and then this un-Godly horn blew and they all ran for the water.
Imagine it. All these people in wetsuits and colour-coded swim caps running towards the water at 6:00 a.m. in the dark and under the cover of a light rain. It was really a fashion parade of swimwear do's and do not's. I would like to add that the eight women competing all looked great in their wetsuits, but I really had doubts about some of the men. A few looked more like buoys than ironmen. And I also have to mention that it would be a cold day in hell before you convinced me to don a wetsuit and run towards the water and then blindly jump in.
(I grew up where the water never warmed up. You could rest assured that you would get muscle spasms in the arches of your feet if you innocently walked into the ocean even in early August. To me, bodies of water are a nice thing to play beside. Also a great place to fill your sand bucket.)
Once all the competitors were out in the water, it was impossible to tell who was who. However, my friend Sarah who is also a veterinarian has a theory. She thinks that kids are like little baby penguins and the likes. They can identify their parents instinctively even when they are clumped together with a group of other similar looking members of the species.
I would love to poo poo her but Zeve immediately proved her point. We were on the outlook for Chaim to return to shore and at one point I thought I saw him. Zeve checked the spot where I was looking which was about 200 meters away and he said to me matter-of-factly: "That's not Abba. Those aren't his goggles."
He was right but how the hell did he know that? Who can see someone's goggles when they are 200 meters away and their head is bobbing up and down AND it is a hazy early morning? By that point it was about 6:30 a.m. and there was some early morning light but I would have sworn that was Chaim and I would have been wrong. Hence, Sarah's point was made.
Josh, Sarah's husband, was the first out of the water. He was followed by our friends Mark, Glenn and Carl. (keep in mind that there are several law and MBA degrees between them and as far as I can tell, the sanity quotient of chopped liver.)
Now the trick to this part of the program is to get out of your wetsuit (not so easy) and get undressed and redressed in public, before jumping on your bike and riding away (leaving all the spectators with the scary visual imprints of naked, wet athletes).
I didn't see Josh or the others do whatever it was that they had to do because I was waiting for Chaim. That was a small gift from God. We really don't need to know our friends THAT well. Yes, you can have too much information -- particularly when it involves Vaseline in unspoken places.
Here's a little something I learned. Some competitors work as teams. One person unzips the first and then the first unzips the other. Also, I now know that there is something to be said for taking off your wetsuit in the water. Apparently it is easier. I can't say for sure, because I don't own a wetsuit nor do I ever wish to.
Chaim surfaced after about 35 minutes in the sea and he did his zipping thing and ran off to change his clothes on his designated chair next to his pre-positioned bike. (It is really quite a smooth operation.)
He had been debating riding in wet clothes versus changing into dry duds leading up to the event. I guess he had made a decision on that because by the time we got to him, he was already partly changed into dry clothes. It's funny to see all the people standing around watching people undress, dry off and put on dry clothes. I think that there are a lot of armchair athletes out there who need to get a life of their own. This is nothing worth looking at.
I think that is enough for now. Suffice it to say that they all rode off for a pretty brutal, almost entirely up-mountain 90 km bike ride and then a 21 km run.
I know I am leaving you hanging. Yes, the suspense is killing you. I will write about their triumphant return later today.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
If you are half iron man, what is the other half?
My husband Chaim's ego decided that he should compete in the upcoming Half Ironman competition in Eilat. And apparently the rest of his mind and body just went along for the bike ride, swim and run.
I mean, let's face it, he wasn't born yesterday. Not even close to yesterday. I can't tell you how old he is because I am under strict instructions to answer all inquiries of that nature with the following statement: (Yes, I have been married to him for almost two decades but...) "I don't know". I know that sounds ridiculous but that is the official stance and I just tell people it never came up in conversation!
So, back to the Half Ironman. This competition involves an almost two kilometer swim in the sea, a 90 km bike ride up and down some apparently pretty nasty mountains, and a 21 km run. In total this should take the average non-professional athlete about seven hours.
My first question is why would anyone want to do such a horrific thing to themselves? Truth is I am totally adverse to exercise so I am probably not the best person to take a stab at answering that question. I think the answer is sort of the Himalayin standard: "Because it is there." Well so are crocodiles and I never feel the urge to swim with them.
And my second question is if you are only striving to be half an Ironman, what do you want for your other half? I am not even going to try to answer that. I would probably pick a second half of cotton candy or something light and easy like that. I think your other half must be 100% crazy, but as I mentioned, I consider carrying the groceries from the car to the house as weight lifting.
So we are off to Eilat first thing Thursday morning. We have to get there with enough time for Chaim to completely psyche himself out. Apparently he isn't freaked out quite enough yet. I thought today's test swim in the Mediterranean Sea might be enough to deter him. The water was rough and well, it is February, so even though we live in the Middle East, it isn't exactly balmy here. But no, despite the truly unpleasant experience he reported, he has decided to go ahead with his crazy plan. And we, his family, are all being dragged along to watch him.
At least we have matching bright yellow "Go Daddy" T-shirts.
That should make it easier for the ambulance to pick us out of the crowd when it comes time to take him to the hospital and the attendants need family consent.
I mean, let's face it, he wasn't born yesterday. Not even close to yesterday. I can't tell you how old he is because I am under strict instructions to answer all inquiries of that nature with the following statement: (Yes, I have been married to him for almost two decades but...) "I don't know". I know that sounds ridiculous but that is the official stance and I just tell people it never came up in conversation!
So, back to the Half Ironman. This competition involves an almost two kilometer swim in the sea, a 90 km bike ride up and down some apparently pretty nasty mountains, and a 21 km run. In total this should take the average non-professional athlete about seven hours.
My first question is why would anyone want to do such a horrific thing to themselves? Truth is I am totally adverse to exercise so I am probably not the best person to take a stab at answering that question. I think the answer is sort of the Himalayin standard: "Because it is there." Well so are crocodiles and I never feel the urge to swim with them.
And my second question is if you are only striving to be half an Ironman, what do you want for your other half? I am not even going to try to answer that. I would probably pick a second half of cotton candy or something light and easy like that. I think your other half must be 100% crazy, but as I mentioned, I consider carrying the groceries from the car to the house as weight lifting.
So we are off to Eilat first thing Thursday morning. We have to get there with enough time for Chaim to completely psyche himself out. Apparently he isn't freaked out quite enough yet. I thought today's test swim in the Mediterranean Sea might be enough to deter him. The water was rough and well, it is February, so even though we live in the Middle East, it isn't exactly balmy here. But no, despite the truly unpleasant experience he reported, he has decided to go ahead with his crazy plan. And we, his family, are all being dragged along to watch him.
At least we have matching bright yellow "Go Daddy" T-shirts.
That should make it easier for the ambulance to pick us out of the crowd when it comes time to take him to the hospital and the attendants need family consent.
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