Is my first time running in a race, that being said I ran the 10k route today. There were three options 10k, half a marathon, a whole marathon. It was a surreal experience, not just because it’s my first time running in a race but also because it’s in Bethlehem. A city suffocated by walls that the route for the 42k had to repeat a 10k four times.
I watched a runner on a wheelchair being pushed by another runner. I saw a runner strolling while lighting his cigarette, after he was done he went back running. Another had an energy drink in one hand and a fresh pastry in his other hand. All normal. Again the start line is the same if the finish line. In a way that when I was running the way back I would hear lots of guys calling for their friends on the other side “yala abo el saeed, tal3a!”,”Ra7 el ktheer, dal el qleel”. A 12 year old kid just sprinted past me like lightning. A group of 3 young men peeked from the window cat-calling by saying things like; esh ya asmar, ya 3azeem, and so on. Another group of 3 older men sat by the side of the road in front of an open barber shop, and one of them shouted enthusiastically ” you pay 40 shekels to run in the street? Come and give me the 40 and I will push you forward” I couldn’t but laugh out loud at him. There were many stops along the path with volunteers cheering for us, handing out cups of water, dates, and even bananas. The most poignant part of the whole experience was running next to the wall. I hated that wall, even if it held some of the most beautiful paintings and murals, it is very demonic to me. I ran next to the wall that separated lives, families and possibilities. Some runners in front of me ran while touching the wall. I had a gambet of different feelings; victory, fear, anxiety and anger. The sentiment of anger was the strogest of them all, and it was anger that pushed me more to finish the race. it’s truly fascinating what the feeling of anger can make us do.
A thought that struck my mind while I was running and that is how pitiful this act of participating in the marathon is. It’s a shameful attempt to “protest” against the occupation so I can feel better about myself; that I did something, that I drove all the way from haifa, practiced running for a month, and paid 40 shekels so I can fight the occupation and its thralls of constricting the movement. But what’s real is that I did all of that for me. For my conniving conscience. I saw that look of despair in the eyes of the people that lived here. They were going to their work, or to their opium of hookah bar. They were sad. And even desperate. Who gives a fuck about running a 10k when you can’t pay for your daughter’s school trip or high education. At that moment I felt stupid and lame and empty. Very lame. And very very empty. How often do we think and stop of what we are doing? Amid all these distractions of life how often do we think of our purpose and of our contribution?
That’s what you can think while you ran in the 10k race in Bethlehem-the holy place where Jesús was born. Right there next to the Middle East building you will think of your purpose and you will feel stupid because you will be moving and so many people moving around you, running past you. So you’ll feel stupid and you’ll be defeated.
After getting over that meager existential crisis, you’ll think of the race, of running, of how many kilometers left and you think of stopping just to take a breath but you think you can’t stop now, because embarking on running again is harder than not stopping and keep pushing yourself forward. So you’ll think of the food you’ll eat after you’re done; probably a big Falafel bread from Abo-Dawood Shop just on the western northern corner of the Manger square. Along with a big cup of fresh orange juice. You’re getting closer, a guy next to you says “just 300m left, you can do this” so you push yourself more and more till you make it to the finish line. There they will crown you with a finishing medal; it’s wooden and the logo of the Right to Movement carved on it. Safa and I went straight to the center station for the coordinators. We sat there, stretched, drank lots of water, and had a free massage(which was heavenly). The people outside were cazy: loud music, baloón, and dancing. Two people fainted and there were paramedics all over the place. It was ironic to distance yourself and look at the whole scene, where people danced on the left, and people were being carried on shoulders towards the ambulance on the right. People kept arriving for a long time and we soaked the sun.
Now that the marathon is over, I’m overwhelmed by this indescribable feeling. It’s a feeling you will have on the bus after the long-waited trip of school is over, or the feeling of finishing a great TV series. But more than anything it’s like the feeling of laziness mingled with inspiration to run the 21k next year. It’s accentuated by the sound of the Jomaa prayer, for it evokes the lazy Fridays of my childhood.
Today I ran the 10k marathon. I met new wonderful people. Walked along the streets of Bethlehem and beit Jala. I met a great artist. I thought a lot. And pondered a lot. Some got clearer and some just became more distant and obscure. But it’s okay.
My next goal is to run the 21k next year. And it’s happening.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 