Reston, Virginia

September 22, 2010

Results

Alan and I can both be easily identified by NASA satellites

With 9 minutes until gun time, I whispered in Aaron’s ear, ‘Do you think I can go pee in those bushes over there?’  After two straight weeks of trail racing, where the world is my bathroom, I wasn’t so sure what the rules were for a neighborhood road race.  But Cameraman Aaron, his hat on backwards, his lenses bulging in his cargo pants pockets (at least I think that was a lens…..), and his camera slung around his neck, made no effort to dissuade my pursuit of bladder relief.  Smart man.  My bladder was suffering on two fronts: for one, my period had exploded that morning and whatever fireworks were going on in there were pushing the bladder into several organs with which the bladder is not usually acquainted; secondly, in order to keep the uterine explosions from doubling me over in pain, I’d resorted to my 800mg ibuprofen prescription horse pill, and to make sure my kidneys wouldn’t be negatively affected by the racing/drugging combo, I’d gulped down loads of water.

So, in my perfect bladder storm, I dashed off to some bushes off a bike path some 40 meters away.  As I was coming out of the bushes I was startled to see another guy coming down the bike path.  ‘Is this where we go?’ he asked.  He looked strangely familiar, but I didn’t realize it was Alan Webb until he was announced a few minutes later at the race start.  ‘Yup,’ I chirped.  And that was the beginning of a long beautiful friendship…..Just kidding.  Aaron did completely mortify me by making me take my picture with Alan after the race.  He KNOWS I don’t do those things.  Alan was very nice about it, if not a little goofy about joking about how he wears a bright yellow shirt so that NASA can track him from outer space.

But anyway, back to the race.  I was running this particular 8k because Aaron had agreed to take pictures for his friend Lindsay who was the race director (props to Lindsay, the race was a stunning demonstration that Reston, Virginia can throw down a road race).  This race has been run for five or so years now as a fundraiser for brain aneurysm research in honor of Tim Susco, a student at Reston’s South Lakes High School who died tragically of a brain aneurysm (hence the South Lakes connection with Alan Webb).  After two weeks of long, tough racing at the Women’s Half Marathon and the Dam Half, I was looking forward to a low-key small-time road race that would be short, flat, and simple, with no Stairways to Heaven, no need to find course for yourself, and ideally, no competition.  I mean, who goes to Reston??

I don’t look like I think I belong in this picture.  Winner Kristin Anderson (center), and Elena Orlova (right)

But Alan Webb wasn’t the only speedster there.  Alan ran away with the men’s field in 24:19, finishing 2 minutes ahead of the second place Ethiopean-looking guy.  But the competition for the top female spots was fierce, and the top 3 women edged out everyone in the field except the top 3 men.  A girl named Kristin Anderson who was outfitted and behaved like a college runner (ie, itty bitty clothes, lots of pre-race jumping and flexing) won the women’s race in 29:06.  She described herself as a track runner who was taking a break and doing some road races for fun.  Elena Orlova was second in 29:34, and I finished 7 seconds back in 29:41.  With third in the bag and second out of reach, my objective of the last mile became to pass the Fexy guy, who finished 4th male behind me in 29:53.  Yikes, I put 12 second on him in the final mile.  I could tell that of all the nice groups at the race (there were many charity organized teams), the Fexy people were particularly annoying, and I was glad to hear Aaron confirm my gut instinct that the Fexy (a play on Iron (Fe) Man (XY)) were notoriously evil even among triathletes.  Check out team Fexy’s website to become acquainted with the anti-WUS.

aaron’s flawless photography

For whatever reasons — two previous weekends of tough trail racing, the travails of my monthly visitor — my legs felt dead heavy and the race was a bit of a slog for me.  But it was good to be able to break 6-minute pace on an off day.  My legs are tired and ready for a taper leading up to Baltimore Marathon on October 13th.  This is the first time I’ve trained for a marathon with someone who knows his stuff (ie, Aaron) actually witnessing how I train.  And I really had no idea I was such an unorthodox trainer (or non-trainer) until I had Aaron serving as a mirror.  I feel like I’ve trained a lot, but I realize now my ~50 miles or so a week is still just a fraction of what top runners do.  [Note Aaron and I have run our long runs together, plus Aaron has done some extras.  Aaron’s response: This is the WORST I’ve ever trained for a marathon.  My response: Golly, this is the BEST I’ve ever trained for a marathon.]

Dam Half Marathon

RJ Winter State Park, PA

September 17, 2012

Meira and I start the dam with Jim

Anyone who has run Alisa Springman’s Holy Cowans Gap 50k in May knows that Pennsylvania trail running is a breed of its own.  Pennyslvanians don’t seem to take much stock in switchbacks.  The Dam Half at RJ Winter State Park near Lewisburg, PA more than lived up to its billing — although that scratchy cotton longsleeve may soon be finding its way to Goodwill:

The elevation gains will surely leave legs screaming for mercy. Afterwards, contestants will bask in the camaraderie around the pavilion, complete with a warm fire and delicious food. This race is open to all levels of athletes who share a common love for the adventurous outdoors. Other namesakes to this outstanding event are the attractive long sleeve t-shirts, awesome top-finisher awards, abundant door prizes, and overflowing goody bags.  Earn a Marathoner’s finishing medal at this year’s inaugural Dam Full. 

Meira and I were captivated by the Sheetz truck

First, I have to rave about the food.  Chicken BBQ, hot pizza, SHEETZ TRUCK…..what more could a hungry runner ask for?  A lovely sunny picnic table by a lake ?  Well, the Dam Half’s got that covered too.

Next, I have to rave about the course.  I went in pretty blind.  I knew it was tough, and I knew there was some horrid climb with a mile to go called Stairway to Heaven.  But LORDY it was technical.  I hadn’t seen vertical climbs comprised of boulder fields since….well heck, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen climbs like that.  I was in such a rock-focused trance dancing along on the Mid-state trail that around mile 5 I completely missed a right turn.  Now the Dam Half is one of the best-marked races I’ve ever run.  There were so many orange streamers in our faces that they actually started to get kind of annoying.  So I was still in the middle of my rock-trance when I recalled vaguely that some time ago I had been running, staring at my feet, and that an orange ribbon had flashed by.  Somehow that orange ribbon didn’t register in my brain until I was a long ways further down the Mid-state trail.  But when it did, and I realized that there was no one ahead of me and no one behind me.  CRAPPERS!   I ran back, only to see George Lesieuture making the correct turn.  George provided me with some indication of how many minutes I lost during my little foray down the MST (I finished 10 minutes ahead of George).  Lordy, I cursed up a storm.  Not only would I have to make up loads to regain my lead, but I was now stuck behind a train of slower runners with no room to pass.  Oh, I was pissed at myself.  How do you leap over an orange piece of tape and only have it register 5 minutes later that you probably shouldn’t have done that??  My only consolation is that the MST in one gnarly trail.  I know that because Sean at one point wanted me to run the whole thing with him.  And I know that if Sean wants to spend several days on a trail, it can only be because it’s totally gnarly.

finish line!

Stuck behind that line of runners, there was no way I was going to make up ground, and I begrudgingly accepted that in my idiocy I had lost the race.  But suddenly the trail emptied into an open grassy road and bingo!  I flew up the road, down the road, onto a wide trail, right past my friend Meira, who thought I was way ahead and was entirely perplexed to hear female breathing behind her, and to the finish.  I’m not sure why or how women breathe differently than men, but it’s totally true, you can tell the difference between guy breath and girl breath.  Anyway, I have to admit I didn’t quite ‘fly’ up the Stairway to Heaven, I kind of heaved my begrudging ass up that interminable climb.  But the road gave me a chance to redeem my rookie mistake, and I was thankful for it.  Honestly, I’ve never been so happy to see a road.

Rec Hall, The Pennsylvania State University

Friday, September 14, 2012

Penn State’s Rec Hall

There is a musty old shower room on the Penn State campus.  No one checks your ID.  You don’t even really need to lock up your stuff.  Situated in a dimly lit corner of Rec Hall, where the floors are stone cold and the heat pipes rattle, Rec Hall seems a forgotten 1970’s-era relic.  No, this is not the shower room of the famed Jerry Sandusky crimes, which actually occurred in the modern and tightly secured locker rooms of the football team on the other side of campus.  These are the gritty old locker rooms of the Nittany Valley Running Club (NVRC), an organization that could be considered the antithesis of the Penn State football program except for the fact that once a year Joe Paterno would take his picture with our Boston Marathon team to help us raise money for Centre Volunteers in Medicine.  It costs $10 to join NVRC, and about 1,000x that to get clubhouse season tickets to Penn State football games.  The only thing we have in common is that we don’t put our names on the backs of our jerseys.  Oh wait, scratch that: they put the names on the football jerseys this year.

I’m not going to dive into a full history of my seven years running at noontime with the NVRC from Rec Hall, including three years when I was a graduate student at Penn State, and the last four years when I’ve been a frequent visitor, coming to Penn State for weeks at a time every couple of months to continue collaborations with my former PhD advisor, Eddie Holmes — and of course to catch up with the noontime runners.  But it was on these formative noontime jogs that my running — and myself — really came of age.  When I started running at noon I was the skinny girl who ran in over-sized cotton soccer shirts and ballooning soccer shorts that conveyed my reluctance to be a runner (or a female), instead clinging to my high school identity as a tomboy soccer player.  But the nooners introduced me to the idea that running could be fun and relaxed and light-hearted, even at a brisk pace.  And that not all guys preferred ocular surgery to getting chicked (the term ‘chicked’ was not even part of the vernacular there).  Eventually I went out and bought some running shorts.

But Eddie will be moving permanently to Sydney, Australia, and with him my excuse for visiting Penn State regularly.  Sure, having the chance to visit sunny Sydney will be welcome.  But I’d trade all the beaches and rooftop bars in Sydney for a chance to trot around State College at noon with the Rec Hallers, many of whom I’ve been running with since I was a clueless twenty-something.  I know I’ll return to State College for races, like I’m going back in October for MountainBack).  But I can’t think of circumstances under which I’ll be able to run another noontime run, which has been such a mainstay of my running life (and mental sanity).  And I can’t shake the irreversible sense of loss.

VHTRC Women’s Half Marathon

September 8, 2012

Bull Run, Manassas, VA

sometimes it’s too hot to mourn

I began the WHM this year in mixed spirits.  On one hand, this year’s race had everything going for it.  My friend Tracy Dahl was debuting as the glorious new RD this year, guaranteeing a class A affair.   I had deliciously fueled up the night before at Jen Ragone’s on her famous cake and pizza.  I was feeling fit and fast compared to last year, when I was still recovering from my August weeks in Asia, from pacing Aaron at Cascade Crest for 8 hours, and had my foot wrapped in tape for my plantar fasciitis.  So I knew that no matter what this year couldn’t be worse than last’s.

Waddle and her lither mother Clover

But my cat from high school had begun to die that week.  Waddle, the extraordinarily fat kitty that was born under my bed on Mother’s Day in 1999.  She was born obese, and we named her Waddle because she was too fat to walk.  We gave away the other four kittens, but kept the adorably obese Waddle with the button nose.  Waddle was an extremely talkative cat, famous for her meow that sounded more like a parrot squawk.  And for her extraordinary appetite.  But Waddle had stopped eating and we could see her bones through her skin.  I woke up Friday knowing she was not long for the world.  I woke Saturday knowing that I would be able to race, but that Waddle and the sadness of her loss would be weighing on my mind.  But the weather would not cooperate at all with my plan of wearing all black, and Jen rightly insisted that remove the black shirt.

Neal (now Daddy) Gorman leads out the ladies to the trail

After racing neck and neck with Eliza last year, I wanted very much to race alone this year.  I found myself glancing over my shoulder a few times to make sure no one was sneaking up.  I was determined not just to win the race this year, but to enjoy it, to restore the overwhelmingly positive feelings I had about the race in 2009.  So I raced a fine line between keeping a safe lead but not pushing myself so hard that I would really suffer during the hills at the end of the course.  After last year, I just wasn’t in the mood to suffer.  I didn’t care about the time or the record, I just wanted to relish running a race that suits me perfectly: that is lined start to finish with my friends, an out-and-back that allows me to see all the other runners and cheer on my friends, a race that requires a complete runner with speed and strength and nimble feet, a race with woods that remind me of childhood.  I didn’t obliterate any records, I didn’t blow away the field, but I had achieved exactly what I set out to run: a completely restorative race.

a much happier runner

Before I sign off I’d like to point out that Ragan’s performances at the WHM have been extraordinary.  Ragan’s times make her the second fastest woman to ever run the course, surpassing all other previous WHM winners.  Those who will have to race Ragan this fall will have their work cut out for them.

I’d also like to praise Tracy’s debut as the RD — the organization was flawless and vastly improved over previous years.  Thank you Tracy, and we hope you return as RD next year!

I wanted to give a toast last night to Doug & Kerry, I had a lot on the tip of my tongue, but I hadn’t prepared anything and I’m no good at trying to ad lib these things.  So here is my belated toast to Doug & Kerry, the rare WUSsie couple that has managed not to have their names merged into one (Torstin, Clapon, Marthon……).

In March of 2010 I was in one of my deep funks that I get from time to time and which can go on for several months, this one triggered by losing my beloved cat in a snowstorm and being injured and unable to run, all on top of my usual end-of-winter doldrums.  Usually it’s a long process to break me out of the self-perpetuating cycle of self-loathing and this sense of entropy, and my friends were having very little success this time.  But when Sean Andrish told me that Kerry and Doug were seeing each other, it was like the curse was broken with a single lightning bolt, the world snapped together.

Because you come across only a handful of people in your life that seem so deserving of happiness, that anything short of an eternal blissful existence seems to violate your entire sense of world order.  And Kerry Owens is definitely one of those saint-like people.  Kerry is so generous that we can’t help but take it for granted.  All of us do — because the generosity is so seamless and comes across so naturally it’s almost invisible.  You have to kick yourself from time to time that the WUS house is not this magical castle in Woodley Park that God bequeathed upon all trail runners for their perpetual Tuesday night merriment — and occasional donut runs, beer miles, fatasses, etc.  Because God really digs trail runners.  The same can be said for Portobella, or for Kerry’s house in Frisco.  In fact, if you consider for a moment our amazing club of runners, you don’t have to look far to realize that so much of our club’s foundation has been laid by Kerry’s incredible open door (and real estate empire~).  I can say personally that if it weren’t for WUS and Kerry I wouldn’t be a trail runner today, that I wouldn’t have run the Women’s Half this weekend, that I wouldn’t have met Aaron — and I’m sure a lot of you guys could say the same.

Sometimes I try to think about what we can give back to someone who gives so much.  And the main conclusion seems to be that our main obligation is to never take it all for granted, or to allow someone’s great generosities of the past to become burdens of the future.  I’ll admit, as absolutely delighted as I was about Kerry and Doug’s marriage, there was also a sinking feeling that it could be a harbinger of the end of the WUS house.  But while it makes me so sad to think that there might come a day where I don’t trot over to 2711 Woodley Road on Tuesday nights (seriously one of my main criteria for buying my apartment in Cleveland Park was that it had to be near the WUS house — my real estate agents were so perplexed by what this mysterious runner group house thing was), you have to realize that the WUS house is a crazy gift, that we’ve all been so fortunate to enjoy long enough to meet each other and build such long-lasting friendships.  I owe so much of my happiness to that crazy Woodley House (I was so confused when Sean first tried to explain it to me — wait, you have married people living in your attic??), which so embodies the zany, free-form spirit of ultra-running.

But Doug and Kerry, while we like to think that you love us so much that you want us in your house forever because we are so cool and fun and wonderful, and plead that the DC running community will be hit with shock waves by any changes to WUS, we know that you have spoiled us rotten, that people like Kerry Owens do not exist in any other universe known to man, and that we have been living in a dreamlike reality that some day we will have to wake up from.  It will be so damn hard, but I’ll try not to hit the snooze button.