Year: 2016

In the 10th year of WUS, the Wussies got whacked with all kinds of surprises.  Sean moving to Colorado?  Greeley getting hitched?  Boots moving up to the Big Apple?  2016 had weddings and real estate transactions galore, expanding and consolidating the WUSsie empire.  Wussies also thrive on new blood, and it’s always a great idea to bring your friend who’s never run on trails before to WUS.

Best new gear: birthday hats
Best running outfit: jeans with no shirt (Dennis, Whitegrass snowshoe 5k)
Best wardrobe fail: floral mummu singlet (Cricket)

Best surprise WUS appearance: Brian Greeley
Best surprise race performance: Adam
Best surprise pace performance: Martha
Best post-race interview: Daniel
Best trail running debut: Ashlinn

Best alcohol performance (male): Trevor (beer mile)
Best alcohol performance (female): Kirstin (Signal Knob parking lot)

Best new concept: Post-divorce Bachelor party
Best new concept (runner up): SIP 9am shift

Best tolerance of pants during summer: Angie
Best ghosting: Joco
Best selfies: Katie
Best acceptance of pain: Julian

Best blog post: Horrible Prizes
Best insane determination to make a race start: Aaron (Boston Marathon)
Best insane determination to complete an imaginary race: Katie (TWOT 200)

Best decision 2016: Sean moving to CO
Best running power couple: Adam and Robin

Best parking lot home brew: Art
Best fair warning: Britt’s cake smush
Best Freudian-slip-new-nickname: ‘Jewy’

Best WUS business establishment procurement: PJ (foot rub parlor)
Best WUS real estate procurement: Kerry

Best new running game: three truths and a lie
Best truth: PJ

Best use of a race to get people to go to a wedding (or use of a wedding to get people to do a race): Escarpment
Best question: ‘What’s a leader bear?’ (Andrew)

Best bromance: Daniel and Phil
Best bromance that never was: Joco and Greeley

Sean is leaving Leesburg.  For real.  2016 really is the year of low probability events.

Are we thrilled that Sean’s going to wake up every morning with a view of the Rockies?  That he’ll never miss a day of fresh powder for the rest of his life?  That he’ll live in a town where he can walk to a coffee shop.  Or a bar.  Or, hell’s bells, refill a prescription all by his little self.  Where a free shuttle bus will whisk him from Frisco to Breck faster than Sean can down a mountain dew.

But does my stomach pang every time I try to imagine running Magnus Gluteus without Sean?  Or Catherines.  Or Race for the Birds.  I’m trying not to think about it.  Sean loves trail running more than anyone I know.  He laughs harder than anyone I know.  Maybe the two have to go together, given how frequently Sean end-os on those rocks.

So how does a runner cope with sharply conflicted emotions?  Why, alcohol, of course.

The 10 mile loop up to Signal Knob was just long enough to justify the long party in the Signal Knob parking lot.  Sean’s been recovering from last spring’s knee surgery all summer, so it’s been a while since we’ve been able to chase him down rocky trails.  Or, should I say, watch him whizz by like the Flash and dissolve before our eyes into the trees.

Sean brings out the younger versions of folk, and even old-man-chronic-back-aches Zaruba was flying down like a spring chicken.  And speaking of recoveries, a highlight of the day was definitely seeing Schmidty hurdling over those rocks as if his pelvis had no idea it was being held together by a long piece of metal.  Sean told me Brian could hike 4 miles.  He did 8.

All hell broke loose when Sean cracked open a bottle of fine Spottsylvania bourbon in the parking lot.  For future events, we should coordinate and make sure only one person brings a bottle of bourbon.  Mr Corris won’t be making that mistake again.

We spent a chunk of the afternoon trying to convince Zaruba to spend more time with us in DC.  If we can’t have Sean’s giggles, can we at least have Zubs’s stories?

Truth is, I know we’ll still be seeing plenty of Sean, perhaps as much as I see him these days in Leesburg.  I promise, on the sacred paw of my cat Leda, that I will try in earnest to make it out to Frisco 2x a year (winter and summer), and I will set-in-stone make it out once a year.  In return, Mr Andrish, you should know by now that I will not forget your promise to visit DC once a year.  DC sure is nice in April and May during Frisco’s dreary mud season.  And we got Promise Land, Race for the Birds, Lobsterfest….

WUS celebrates 10 years of drinking beer, not getting arrested, and fitting in some running in there

The Woodley Ultra Society running club has survived since 2006, owing to the strength of its core principle: trail running should be fun.  And preferably combined with tasty beverages and gooey pizza, in an establishment where the staff knows us well enough to not care that we stink.

Recognizing the importance of beverages in the history of WUS, we celebrated the tin anniversary with a Beer Mile, trail-style.  Kerry O. and Kirstin attended as the sole representatives of the original WUS group, which has mostly scattered to other nationally recognized trail running meccas like Bend, Frisco, and….Alexandria.

The high turnover of WUSsies means that newcomers are often the lifeblood of the club, and it was fitting that the Mile winners were both newbies.  Trevor B., WUS’s latest pride and joy, cruised to victory in the men’s race, even besting the JLD Donut King.

The fact that Sheila hasn’t WUSsed in a year appeared to be no limitation during her dominating victory in the women’s race.  But the Beer Mile is a race where the losers and winners pretty much get the same prize at the end: the chance to see Martha totally blasted out her mind.

 

Results

Trevor	8:17 – mic drop
JLD	10:02 – so tantalizing close to being Donut/Beer double champ, maybe if he WUSed more
Sheila	11:15 – queen of suds
Dr. JJ	11:40 – winner, PhD category
WHTom	11:53 – winner, best effort to make it to a Beer Mile
Marmot	13:19 – winner, didn’t poop my pants!
JoCo	18:21 – winner, best Beer Mile blowup
O’Sullivans	21:31 – winners!  always.  inscribed in the WUS rulebook
Kir and Ma Walcott	26:14:00 - first ma!
Brienne	DNF – but brought tasty snacks
Angie	DNF – but performed a vital task that unfortunately cannot be credited due to the tenuous nature of Angie’s employment
Liana	DNS – best reason for not doing a Beer Mile
Jabooter	DNS - best nickname
Aras	DNS - best performance by a toddler in what must have seemed a horror movie of bright lights and belching zombies
Momma Julian	DNS - best performance in soothing a toddler trapped inside a horror movie
Aaron	DNS – points points points!  for timing….for tolerating the drunk marmot….for finding Trevor’s wallet
Sarah and Scott	DNS – best visual depiction of a marmot

As commemoration of 10 years of WUSsies, we stretched our memories to come up with a top-10 list of WUS lore:

10.  Neal dropping a deuce in the fancy Georgetown house’s backyard in the final stretch of the Donut Run.

9.  The WUS when Aaron & co tried their best not to interuptus the coitus that was brazenly occurring along our WUS route.

8.  ‘I would run the s%*& out of that hill’ – PHT 2015

 

7.  The night Tom C. tried to get Matt to pass him the damn pepper.

6.  The Plague of Frogs WUS.

5.  The WUS when Joe and Michele were Uh, Just Looking at These Rocks Over Here.

4.  The moment when Nancy from the Track faceplanted over the final chain on the Glover Archibald Trail.  Trail fairies everywhere were extinguished in sorrow.

3.  Neal and Bobby collapsed beside each other at the finish line of the most Epic Beer Mile WUS.

2.  The surreal snowfall WUS when we came across a man with a long white beard and no shoes riding a white horse bareback while carrying a staff.

1. The time that Sean swapped his slightly-less-sweat-drenched shirt for Keith’s at CPBG so that Keith could keep macking unsuccessfully on waitress Kathleen.

Run For It 5k

Davis, WV

September 24, 2016

 

‘Why don’t you walk with me?’  My cousin ‘Kigali’ Claire had flown in from Rwanda the previous day with a tantalizing idea.

I sighed.  ‘That sounds awfully nice.’  The pain that had angered my left kneecap on Monday was still making me limp.  I’d also gotten my period that morning and was doubled over, both hands clutching the belly.  I was still in sweatpants even though the sun was getting wicked hot.  I did not look like much of a runner.  ‘I wish I could.’

She shot me a perplexed look.  We hadn’t seen each other much over the last decade, ever since she started her grand life adventure tour of Beijing-London-Berlin-Kigali.

‘Aaron said I should pick priority races.  I should be less of a turd runner.   So I picked three special races this year to focus on.  I planned my work travel schedule around them.  I trained.  And then I missed the first two because I was injured.  I sucked double butt this year at Priority Races.  Today is my last chance.’

‘But this isn’t a marathon or anything.  Why’d you choose this one?’

‘I didn’t pick my races because they were big things.  But they have a special place in my heart.  Laurel was my first ultra.  Escarpment was my first trail race.  And Run For It is this awesome little race in our beloved Canaan Valley.  For the past 5 years I’ve wanted to run it.  And every year there’s a stupid conflict: a work trip, a Bar Mitzvah, an injury…’

‘Wait, you’ve never run it before?’  Cecily had woken up at the crack of dawn and driven three hours….for what exactly?

‘No, never,’ I sighed again in resignation.  ‘That’s why I need to run today.’

~          ~          ~

Aaron, Cecily, Claire, and I were all on the Heart of the Highlands team.  What makes Run For It so unique is the prize structure.  You don’t win prize money for yourself, but for the charity you’ve designated.  The overall winner gets $1000 to the charity of their choosing, second place is $750, third is $500, etc.  Age group winners get $100.  Our friend Dan Lehman was organizing the Heart of the Highlands team to raise money for trail building.  I was torn because there was also a Tucker County Animal Shelter team.  But Dan is awesome.  And Aaron and I live for Canaan’s trails.  But I vowed that if the TCAS didn’t raise much money this year, next time I’d run for the kitties.

I’ve learned that the start of 5k races are shit shows.  All the kids position themselves right at the starting line, and it’s like a herd of cats.  Some flash out like it’s a 100 yard dash.  Others plod along, causing ripple effects of destruction as the mob wildly circles around.  I took an elbow to the face, realized I was totally boxed in at the mob’s center, and sprinted to the outside to find some clearing.  It got my heart rate shooting up so high, I coasted on pure terror and adrenaline all the way to the front pack, ahead of the other women.

I found myself playing my favorite running game with 2 dudes.  The game is called Weeeee Down the Hills!  Booooooooo Up the Hills!  I’d get passed by both dudes up all the hills, then flip a switch and pass them both down the hills.  It occurred to me that bombing down hills wasn’t the best thing for my injured shin and knee.  But try telling that to the lungs.

Now, Aaron and I’d had a pre-race conversation that went something like this:

‘So the race winds around up like a snake through the neighborhood.  You start out going east and then….’

‘No, no, no,’ I cut him off.  ‘Don’t confuse me.  There are mile markers.  I’ll be fine.’

~          ~          ~

Marmots should perhaps glance at course maps.  They don’t like to, with all those confusing squizzly lines.  There was a marker for Mile 1.  But that only made it more disturbing when there was no marker for Mile 2.

The course was a lot harder than I anticipated.  All those hills gave me and my 2 dudes plenty of turf to play our little hill game, switching the lead at least 10 times.  It was also a lot hotter than it was supposed to be.  By the 11am start time the sun was blaring.  Claire deeply regretted wearing jeans.

My legs got heavier and heavier with each hill.  Maybe it was because my racing flats were packed in storage.  Aaron and I are moving into a new home on September 30th, and in order to sell my apartment we’ve been homeless since late August.  We remembered to keep toothbrushes and and checkbooks, but barely a day went by without me realizing I needed something that had been packed away.  You know I’m all messed up when I don’t even have any gummies to carry on my runs (I finally found some raisins).  Poor Aaron’s going full bush this month because he packed his sideburn clippers.

Or maybe my legs were heavy because I’d run the NIH 5 x 800m relay two days earlier.  Not the best plan to barely run all summer and then try to sprint a half mile.  Even stupider to follow up your little Intro to Speedwork with a 5k two days later.  But our FIC Globetrotters relay team nabbed its first top-10 finish in history (this was the 33rd year of the NIH relay), finishing 7th out of 107 teams.  It was worth it.

Or maybe I felt like death because I hadn’t been sleeping for a month.  Doug and Kerry have been extraordinarily gracious in letting me and Aaron crash at their pad in Woodley Park for our month of homelessness.  But marmots, like kitties, are poor at adjustment.  The marmot has been through the ringer this summer, particularly the last month.  My poor kitty got so stressed out living with my parents that she scratched her ear, making a hematoma that needs to be surgically removed.  I detailed my own typical night in my last blog post, The Hungry Badger.

But if I had to make a top-10 list for why my legs felt like lead, it would go something like this:

10. Had to wear clunky trail shoes;

9. Got my period that morning;

8. Had gummy bears for breakfast;

7. Blasting sun heat (wearing just a sports bra was a good call);

6. The elevation profile looked like this:

5. Haven’t been running much (injured all summer)

4. Tired from the NIH relay

3. Despair that I still hadn’t reached a second mile mark 18 minutes into the race

2. A month of not sleeping

1. A month of not having my kitty.

But this race was my last chance at redemption.  2016 was supposed to be a big race year for me.  The sixes always are.  In 1996 I was a State Champion in cross country.  In 2006 I ran my first Boston Marathon.  I had big plans for 2016.

My time wasn’t very fast (19:09).  I was not my peppy self.  I didn’t even have the energy to give a thumbs up to folks cheering from their lawn chairs.  But I finished right in between the 2 dudes, one ahead and one behind, and won the women’s race.  Aaron made sure that I stepped back after the race and gave myself a smidgen of credit for rallying.  It was a tough course, a hot day, I wasn’t in race shape, and I still beat a  WVU trackster by a margin as wide as Aaron was ahead of me by.  Thumbing through the results going back to 2009, I couldn’t find a female who’d run faster.  Sure, it’s a little local race of a couple hundred people.  But after feeling like I’ve been through a blender these last months, particularly low after I wasn’t even in shape to run the Women’s Half Marathon, it was nice to see even a shard of daylight.  And together, Cecily (2nd in her age group), Aaron (3rd overall), and I brought in $1,600 for Heart of the Highlands!

Overall, Run For It was everything I’d dreamed it would be, rivaling This Race Is For the Birds in small-town spirit and adorableness.  I kid you not one of the 5k finishers was 99 years old!  It will definitely be on the try-our-damnedest-to-do-every-year list.  No matter how beat down I get, I oughta be able to go 3 miles.

We celebrated with a glorious sunny jam at the Leaf Peepers Festival (bought some WV honey mead), a starlit hot tub at PJ’s house, and a gorgeous bike ride around the valley the next day.   For a flicker of time, I forgot about the last months: the pain and injury, the hunger and the sleeplessness, my kitty’s poor ear, and the sense that all my belongings are scattered across so many places (storage, my parents’ house, my office, Woodley) that sometimes I can’t recall where my toothbrush is.  For one day, out in the Valley, even the Donald didn’t exist.