Majestic marathon

In a city where few people agree on any issue, the marathon brought about a beautiful sense of unity.

By ARIEL COHEN
The Jerusalem Marathon (photo credit: MARC ISRAEL SELLEM/THE JERUSALEM POST)
The Jerusalem Marathon
(photo credit: MARC ISRAEL SELLEM/THE JERUSALEM POST)
Running the Jerusalem Marathon can be described as nothing more than an act of hubris for the most foolhardy souls.
The city of Jerusalem sits on large hills – hills that were meant to protect the city from intruders and intimidate them with their height, majesty and power. Not hills meant for jogging on a Friday morning.
Yet last Friday, 25,000 runners from 60 countries took to the streets of Jerusalem to do something even the ancient Romans must have thought was poor judgment. And for what reason? To face the common struggle, and to feel alive.
The Jerusalem Marathon appears similar to any other road race, as it had all the bells and whistles: an expo with packet pickup and more Nike vendors than one could count, music at both the start and finish line, and neon race shirts for the thousands of runners. But many elements of the races were uniquely Jerusalem – for example, the first event kicked off at 6:45 a.m. and all running was complete by 1:30 p.m., no doubt in order to accommodate Shabbat.
“The city itself is so unique; it’s a very modern metropolis situated in the most historic area in world history. It’s the story of Israel in one city, in one run. This city inspires you to do crazy things. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience,” David Wasserstein, a friend from university and now a teacher in Rehovot, told me as we chatted nervously the night before the race.
Wasserstein ran all 42.2 kilometers, while I opted for the 21.1-km. option. While his path was undoubtedly more challenging, we both had the same motive in signing up for the race: to run Jerusalem.
From conversations with others during the race, I soon realized we were not alone in our sentiment.
Few people ran for love of climbing hills or in hopes of shattering their personal record.
In a city where few people agree on any issue, the marathon brought about a beautiful sense of unity. We were all in this together, and the capital was there in support – with no political boundaries, no religious or gender divides.
Whether your running apparel was short-shorts, tzitzit and a kippa, or a hijab (all of which were present on race day), each runner had a common mission.
The race began pleasantly enough with a few kilometers near Sacher Park, rounding up by the Knesset and onto a staggering hill in the neighborhood surrounding Mahaneh Yehuda, then down onto Jaffa Road, circling even steeper and lower before ascending up into the Old City. Keep in mind that this was only the first 5 km.
But if the topography was humbling, the gorgeous towering views of east Jerusalem and the surrounding hillsides helped ease the pain of the climbs. Full marathon runners reached the tips of Mount Scopus, where they could see the entire city from the top of its cruelest hill.
Mayor Nir Barkat called the race “one big celebration throughout the city,” and he was right – everyone came alive for marathon day. Along the route we were kept entertained by clowns on stilts and people dancing in costumes at the entrance to the Old City. A small group of runners completed the race with balloons taped to their bodies (which looked very painful and must have had some meaning with regard to charity, though no one seemed to know what).
At various kilometer markers along the route, competitors were treated to live music from both professional bands and local schoolchildren on guitars. No matter if it came in the form of clowns dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire near the Armenian Quarter or young Orthodox children singing into a microphone on the last hill by the finish, and music was a most welcome diversion.
The race finished by winding through a residential neighborhood full of short, steep hills; these twists and turns played a cruel game on the leg muscles of runners, leaving us completely trashed as we ran through the finish line, again by Gan Sacher. In any case, the streets were teeming with residents of the capital, cheering on the runners; I’ve never had so many random stranger scream “Kol hakavod [kudos]” at me in my life.
“The race was everything I expected and more, especially with regard to the elevation. It was a festive atmosphere but by far the most unique and beautiful run I will ever go on,” Wasserstein told me after the race.
“I will say Jerusalem’s topography has humbled me greatly. King Herod really should have flattened the whole city,” he joked.
The race would have been easier if it didn’t wind through the hills of Jerusalem, that’s for sure – but it wouldn’t have been nearly as special. It’s a race those in search of a best time should stay away from, as the ever-changing topography of the course will keep you from that.
After crossing the finish line I couldn’t feel my legs anymore, but the energy of the other athletes was palpable. Time may not be the reward, rather the high of running through the hills of a seemingly impossible city together with thousands of other runners – which carries you through every kilometer.


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