Crossing the Bridge .. 

The first thing that happened when we got to the race site was that everyone was separated from each other. In the beginning, it was a bit like a horror movie where you wonder why the characters bother entering rooms alone because you KNOW there is a blood sucking zombie waiting on the other side of the door. Similarly, I simply did not understand why people kept walking away from each other in that insane pre-race atmosphere when we knew it would only lead to a chain of never ending phone calls to find each other. I did my bit to insert myself into this charged situation, by calling as many people as possible and providing directions that did not make any sense whatsoever.

Waiting in line for the port a potty, in an exquisitely Turkish moment, my lovely pre-race companion took the opportunity to impart some life lessons – made all the more piquant by the putrid port a potty that we smelt before we used – This race is like life itself, he said. There are people in the beginning and people at the end. But you see, you have to run it alone.   

One of my friends dressed as a kangaroo came over to complain about how her bib was still somewhere on the European side. Another friend came back bruised by an inadequate baggage drop situation. I started complaining that we were going to start the race without anyone, even though there was no question that I was surrounded by multiple someones. Like everything in (my) life, suddenly it all came together about 5 minutes before the race when everyone just magically found each other.

The view from the bridge was breathtaking and the view on the bridge was as moving as any Ottoman miniature. Just before the start of the race were some lovely gobekli gentlemen selling simit and cay. Couples, covered and uncovered ladies, and buff (and not so buff) men flexing their muscles were taking pictures against the backdrop of the Bosphoros. A handsome piebald beleidysi doggy ran a little while with me. A group of enterprising men had set up a backgammon table. Somewhere during the race, a man I didn’t think I knew slowed down to let loose a volley of fluent Turkish my way.. from which I surmised that he knew my name and that I was from Yeni Del-hee. It turned out that we had met two weeks ago while I was on vacation in the south eastern part of Turkey and he had recognized me amongst the thousands of runners on the bridge.

I am a bit sheepish – perhaps if I was a runner runner, I would be at least a bit frustrated by all this non-running traffic and chit chat on the bridge. But in reality, these vignettes made the race for me. In those transcendent moments on the bridge, I felt connected to so many people who in most cases did not even speak the same language as me. No matter where they were from or where we were going, we were all joyful to be on the bridge – some by playing blackgammon, some by holding hands, some by running, and some, admittedly a little more prosaically, by taking selfies.

On Sunday, I marveled at the singular course of events which led me to this gorgeous sexy beast of a city that I call home, at the completely indescribable chaos that embraces and energizes me every day, and all the crazy cool kangaroos in my life. In an ideal world, I would have trained three times a week, increased my mileage by a maximum of 10% every week, eaten less simit, been in perfect condition, dominated the 15 km,  and obviously, my hair would have looked amazing in all the fotos.

Instead, what really happened was that I had the best weekend ever.

Running Brave

As the Canadian of the gang, and hailing from the manically over-athletic city of Vancouver, sports (and running in particular) have been part of my cultural consciousness from the get-go. I signed up for my first 10k race in the spring of my grade 10 high school year - the Vancouver Sun Run (aka Vancouver's Eurasia). As we all gathered at the start line..with thousands of runners milling around and the excitement rippling through the air, a tangible endorphin static...I was hooked. I don't remember much about that race, but I will never forget being joined with tens of thousands of fellow runners, all united in the same crazy pursuit.

About ten years later, I decided to officially train for the Sun Run - inspired by my new friend Suzy who was a marathon runner and a coach at one of the community running clinics. In the weeks leading up to the race, I was on a legitimate runner's high. My training was going swimmingly, I had shed a few pounds, and a new-found strength hardened my muscles. I remember telling Suzy, in one of my starry-eyed post-run highs, that I "felt a runner coming alive in me for the first time." I was on top of the world. And then, just as quickly, I walked (or ran, I guess) straight into a double-knee injury that knocked me flat on my back - and out of the running world - for about two years. It took 3 or 4 months before I could even walk without pain. I resigned myself to the fact that running just wasn't for me - and with no small amount of disappointment and grief.

I didn't seriously consider running again until moving to Istanbul. I realized that I needed an outlet from the traffic and pandemonium of this wonderfully chaotic metropolis...and I decided to try again. Slowly slowly...yavas yavas...I came to realize that the only thing holding me back were my own fears and perceived limitations. When I stepped outside of the boundaries of what I, in my mind, could or couldn't do, I realized that the "couldn't" category was getting smaller by the minute. I set my mind on small, measurable goals, and realized that some runs would be easier than others. Some parts of runs would be easier than other parts. And I focused on fighting for the feeling that never fails to come after pushing yourself beyond what you think you are capable of.

As I stood at the start of this last weekend's Eurasia...and my seventh race in Turkey...a lot of thoughts competed for my attention. How races never fail to join people together in a happy community that seems harder and harder to create these days. How I can know not a soul around me, and yet feel so physically connected, as our feet pound the pavement in the same rhythms and our breathing patterns gradually sync. How fear can hold us back from doing what we most desire. And yet when I look around at my fellow racers - all different shapes and sizes, all ability levels, some with disabilities - I can see that they haven't let fear hold them back either. And I am honoured to be part of this brave and beautiful community.

Vancouver Sun Run 2008

The Impressions of the 36th Eurasia Marathon in Istanbul, told from the perspective of a sensitive Russian soul

On Sunday, November 16, 2014- the race day, I felt that Kara Goucher was so very right when she said, “That’s the thing about running: your greatest runs are rarely measured by racing success. They are moments in time when running allows you to see how wonderful your life is.” I felt it a few times at the moments when I was ready to cry (that happened to me twice, yes) and when I cried (yep, I did it).

But first, I guess, I should place my thoughts and events in order….

The Eurasia Marathon is becoming bigger and bigger a deal and, living in Istanbul, I cannot miss such an opportunity. Not in the marathon part though, I dare to run only 15 km. Although it is not the first of my races and the second Eurasia one, I went to bed with my heart fluttering a little bit. And I woke up a few minutes before my alarm clock with my body and brain fully alarmed. Taking a taxi was a clever decision, although after Gayrettepe, the roads were closed and the taxi driver spent some 10-15 minutes looking for alternative routes to deliver my friend and myself to the ferry station. Meeting my wonderful excited friends made the day brighter and happier. Also, the weather was just perfect for the run: it was not too cold, so our limbs could operate all the time, but it was chilly enough for a comfortable run.

The spoiler of the day was using the portable toilets and checking in the bags. The portable toilet experience was far from nice or funny, though it does seem a bit funny today. Some of my friends simply could not use it and left it as soon as they entered the world of filth and disgusting smell. Some friends dealt with it, but you could hear coughing apparently caused by the lack of proper J air and some time was spent recovering from the toilet adventure. Well, I thought it was a bit funny, but I left the magnificent portable body-cleansing place coughing too, in spite of my covering the nose with some tissue. But what can we do sometimes?

Dropping the bag was another adventure of mine, which nearly created a hatred for the world and human beings in my sensitive heart. However, remembering the commonly used behavior in my dearly loved place, I just started pushing everyone with my elbows, or whatever I could push people with at the contact time. I passed through the narrow path between the buses and the fence and managed to drop my bag at the correctly numbered bus despite the returning people walking closer to the bus and the drop-off line being on the further side. To stay positive, I decided that it was a chance for me to get some extra adrenalin for the run and I did it!

But all those tiny negatively charged events were successfully forgotten when the time got closer to the start. And here the sensitive part starts. First, there was a group of huge Turkish guys behaving noisy and silly next to us, but when the anthem had started, they all stood to attention and started singing the anthem of Turkey loudly and proudly. That was the first time when I nearly cried: I am always impressed with how much Turkish people love their March of Freedom; how they believe that they have something to live for, to be proud of. I really felt proud to be a part of Turkish nation too (well, ok, I am Russian, and I am proud of it, but I’ve lived in Turkey for 4 years, so I am partially Turkish too).

And finally the race had started. The number of the participants was so huge (I think there were about 2 thousand women and 4-5 thousand men in 15 km), that I could not even hear the countdown and it took some time to get to the actual start line which was right by the bridge.

Crossing the bridge is one of the moments making it really worth time, money and effort to participate in any distance part of the race. The gorgeous view and curves of the Bosporus, the mosques and palaces on its banks, and just the feeling of being on the bridge open to walking only once a year are breathtaking. It was the time of amazement and enchantment. Especially because this year I did not really push myself to run fast, so I could enjoy the views to full extent.

Running down the Barbaros Bulvari provided another teary moment. On one of the road bridges, there was hanging a portrait of Atatürk, the great founder of the Turkish Republic. And the way people were looking up to him, cheering and waving at him made me feel proud to be a part of Turkish culture again. Though I have to immediately explain that by no means do I support the cult of personality. Russia learned her lessons from it. However, the way people believe in Ataturk, believe in what he made for the country, how he made it (or started working on it) quite open-minded and democratic, believing that they need a leader like him these days- all these made me feel amazed that this is what makes people believe in the better, in the need to support their country.

And a few kilometers later, there was the time to cry…. When I was crossing the Galata Bridge looking at the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and the chaotic streets, the storm of emotions rose from my heart. It is pathetic, I know, but I simply could not fight the feeling of happiness and pride running into the actual Constantinople. My mind was overwhelmed by the fact that so many peoples tried to conquer it; that the Ottomans carried their ships over the land to attack it; that many people had a dream of ruling it, living there… I will not enumerate other thoughts of the grandeur of the place. And I did start crying. I cried of the fact that I could just run into this magnificent part of the city without any negative consequences for anyone….

What else can I ask of life?