Paddling Forward - by Jacqueline Teitelbaum
It was in the spring of 1999, nearly eight years ago, when Josh burst in the front door waving a flyer from Terra Santa, all fired up with the news that "it's here, in Israel! Finally, there's sea kayaking in Israel!" My husband's enthusiasm is usually infectious, but I wasn't having any of it. I had just been diagnosed with breast cancer and all I could think about was the treatments that lay ahead, and whether they would work. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll wait for you. We'll get through all this and then we'll take the course together." "OK," I shrugged - what else was there to say? Josh, being Josh, collected information. We had more catalogs for more makes of kayaks than I had worries. He accompanied me to the chemotherapy room carrying stacks of the stuff to read and compare while bags full of drugs were pumped into me. A foldable boat seemed like a good idea. Maybe a double (!). Which is better, Folbot or Feathercraft? What color? Where will we keep it? Where will we go with it? The nurses approved - they liked seeing people make plans for the future. The side effects were harsh. I watched a television nature program about a lioness that had been poisoned. She lay by the riverbank, slack-jawed and drooling, waiting to either die or get better. (She got better.). I looked at her and saw my reflection, though she got to keep her fur while all my hair fell out. Time crept forward; our prayers gained in intensity. Lance Armstrong won his first Tour de France - and we were encouraged. A woman we had never met, my age, with three daughters just like me, died of the disease - and we were devastated. When the treatments ended in December, I was a wreck. Hauling myself out of bed in the morning was exhausting. Was this as good a time as any? Josh phoned Terra Santa and booked our first lesson … and Friday morning kayaking became the highlight of the week. Omer and Saggi were (and still are) first-rate teachers and sterling human beings. I was never alone on the water, and was never, ever made to feel like a drag on the group, even though it was months before I could manage even a few kilometers. I couldn't go fast, and I couldn't go far, but I was getting stronger and, like the lioness, I was leaving that riverbank behind. Some time later, we went with the club to the Sea of Galilee. The first day, we set out from the city of Tiberias and paddled halfway around (about. 25 km) at a leisurely pace, stopping for lunch, snacks, sightseeing, and more snacks. The next morning we were to paddle about 10 km straight across to reach our starting point. But halfway there, I started to fear I had bitten off more than I could chew. Worn out, I had to stop. Josh doubled back to check on me, and Karel was there too. No one was in a hurry. We sat and talked a while on the mirror-flat water. When I felt a little better, we went on, but it was hard. I kept my eyes on the city ahead and my mind on just one stroke at a time. And I got there, finally. The others were already long out of their boats and splashing around in the water. I got out and went for a swim too, but it was mostly to hide my tears — of relief, that I was done paddling for the day, and of triumph, that I had managed on my own steam. No matter that today I could make that crossing before breakfast; no matter that the Sea of Galilee is really a small lake: it was my personal Tour de France.
