National Half Marathon

Saturday, March 17, 2012

 

When Brian checked his watch at the Mile 7 mark I nearly smacked him.

‘Brian!  You KNOW you’re not supposed to do that!’

Brian seemed perplexed.  Wasn’t the entire point of his dragging himself out of bed to be my pacer that morning so that he could, well, give me some indication of my pace?  How exactly would one do that without glancing at a watch?

‘No, no,’ realizing that explanation was in order.  ‘You’re not a pacer, you’re a companion.  Just do your Brian thing and tell jokes and make the miles go by faster.’

Fortunately Mr. University-of-Michigan-doctorate-bound Greeley was a quick study, and instantly transitioned into his newly configured role, relieved of any duties or responsibilities except to Simply Be Brian and make the miles tick by in the middle part of the course.

‘You gotta go get Sam!  I saw him right up ahead,’ Brian enthused.

I rolled my eyes.  Sam was one of those youngster pace-pushers,  leaving the group a mere 10 meters into the Tuesday night run, forcing us to yell from behind, ‘Sam, go LEFT.  Sam, go RIGHT!’  Also, I missed the start of the race again.  By six minutes.  I left my house at 6:30am, more than enough time to get to the 8am start.  But the metro was a nightmare, so many runners cramming into over-stuffed trains.  The train ahead of us was so over-filled that they broke the doors and had to detrain, leaving my train stuck in a tunnel for 20 minutes and then cramming all the detrained runners into my train.  Just getting out of the Stadium-Armory metro took 20 minutes.  Fortunately I had my VIP access to the elite port-a-potties or I would have been 20 minutes late to the race.  I told Aaron that I was not going to piss myself again this year.  But starting in the back in the thick of the pack was impossible – I kept getting squeezed and blocked in, taking some elbows to the chest.  I didn’t want to be one of those asshole runners but the runners were spread thick across – there was no outside alley.

So I had been seriously cranky the first ~5 or so miles of the race.  My legs felt stiff, I was glum about being so far behind the competition, Brian would probably be waiting forever for me at Dupont.  Last year I had felt to brisk in the opening miles of the race; this year I just felt mopey.

But seeing my Mom at Dupont picked my head up out of the gutter.  And then having Brian jump provided a much-needed rush.  How cute!  He was wearing his WUS shirt too – we MATCHED!

‘WOOOOOS!’  a spectator yelled from the side of Columbia Road, reading Brian and my matching WUS shirts.  I loved it.

Suddenly I was all chirpy again.  This was fun.  I was finally hitting a stride.  We gave big waves to JLD

and Anna through Adam’s Morgan, passed by Robin and Keith who were also running the half and the full, respectively.  WUSsies all around!  Seriously, I hadn’t planned on running the half until I realized how many WUSsies were doing it – Doug, Kerry, Keith, Neal – and jumped on the bandwagon.  We were all supposed to meet at Doug’s friend’s sister’s restaurant in Dupont, Bread & Brew, for a post-race meal.

Having completed his mission of pulling my head of out of the mopey gutter and getting me back in a groove, Brian parted ways at the bottom of North Capitol street so he could get to his shift at PR running store in Cleveland Park.  My favorite part of the whole race was getting to run with Brian and seeing all the WUSsies in that Adams Morgan/Shaw/North Capitol section.  I can’t believe Brian is leaving so soon for Michigan, we WUSsies will miss him dearly.

But when I turned the corner I saw one more piece of unfinished WUSsie business.  Just ahead was Mr. Sam, his long hair and Vibrams unmistakable.  I cozied up to him with about a mile and a half to go.

‘How about we finish together, Sam?”  I suggested.

‘Okay, but I’m not registered so I’ll peel off.’

‘That’s fine.’

We ran a couple paces together before I saw the back of Sam’s shoulder as he pushed up the short hill.  I lagged behind, regaining my stride at the top of the hill to catch up.  We ran a couple more strides together when he conceded, ‘It’s okay, you go ahead.’

As it appeared that Mr-push-the-pace-every-Tuesday couldn’t hang, I pressed on to the finish with a freshness I haven’t had in a while.  Whereas last year I was struggling at the end, this year I passed ~15 in the final mile. After a tough start, I finished in 1:23 for 6th overall female and 1st in my new 30-34 age group.

And in true WUS spirit, Neal, Aaron, Neal’s sister and brother-in-law, and I celebrated with post-race grub at CPBG.  Since it was St Paddy’s Day and crazy with drunken green people some enormous bouncer tried to card me, but I didn’t have my ID and one of the regular waitresses recognized and vouched for me.  Good Ole CPBG.

After the race Aaron, my mom, and I strolled around the cherry blossoms by the tidal basin.  I found a sunny resting spot by the tulip garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Post-script: Sean and I talked about him pacing me at Promise Land in April.  If we go ahead with this plan, there will have to be some explicit rules about pacing that Seanie can either agree to or I’ll send him ahead to run with Keith.

 

1. The pacer must stay behind the runner.
2. The pacer must not quibble about the pace.
3. The pacer must not quibble about how long we are spending in aid stations.
4. The pacer must say at least one positive/encouraging thing per mile.
5. The pacer must not talk about the pace or time in any way.
6. The pacer must not breath down the back of the runner in a way that suggests she is running too slowly.
7. When the runner complains about something, the pacer must agree.
8. The pacer must lie just slightly about how much more uphill there is.
9. The pacer must be totally okay with not being in the lead.

10. The pacer must allow the runner to smack him in the face if he violates #1-9.

My Holiday Lake 50km Experience
February 11, 2012
Ragan Petrie (guest blogger and occasional WUSSIE)

 

“Which ones are broken?” I ask.
“#6, #7 and #8,” she replies.
My heart sinks as reality sets in. “Can I see them on the x-ray?”
“Sure. Come over here…”

The doc walks me over to a big computer screen showing the black and white image of the three broken ribs on the left side of my chest. My husband looks worried and seems to be suppressing a squeamish look (or maybe it was hunger… he too had put in a long run earlier in the day, we still had not had dinner, and it was closing on 8pm).

The doc looks me in the eye and says “you will be very sore (she pauses)… for ‘quite a while’.”

Such is the end to my day this past Saturday, Feb 11, a day that started out so lovely and hopeful in the quiet, early dawn in the central Virginia forest around Holiday Lake. I had been traveling to cities a lot for work the past two months and was looking forward to running on dirt and hanging out in nature for several hours. Indeed, as I think about it, the number of days I spent out of town (or the country) far surpassed those at home in the month of January. I was tired. My energy was low, and some stomach bug from my recent trip to Peru refused to leave my body despite my persistent (and polite) requests (“please, please go away!”). The bug was robbing me of nutrients, and my weight was lower than normal.

The HL course favors those who like to run and run and run, without being bothered with pesky hills that might slow one down. It is a mix of mellow trails and fire roads. Very runnable (if you have energy 😉 ). The course is well marked, the aid stations stocked with ultra food and friendly volunteers, and David Horton enthusiastically shows up at the early aid stations to cheer you (or cajole you) on. And, he is at the finish line to congratulate every runner as they end their day’s journey. It is a lovely race, especially for first-timers to the ultra scene and speedsters who want to run and run and run, without being bothered with pesky hills.

Some days are just not your day. Saturday was not mine. In addition to low energy, I had forgotten to bring my watch. Not just my GPS watch but any watch. So, I was running “blind” all day. Some runners love this sensation; turns out that I am not one of them. I didn’t know where I was or how long I had been running. I relied on other runners (“yo, where are we?!!??) and the Fitbit device on my waistband (it said I took some 50,000 steps during the race and covered 33.8 miles…. Not bad for a device my 75-year old mom uses to see how far she walks). After some time of running in a haze, I got some reasonable information on where I was and the time. I realized I was moving far slower than normal but just could not get my body to pick it up. My mantra became “at the aid station, eat and drink.” I did that at a few aid stations, and finally, I started to get more energy.  About a half a mile before the last aid station, I started feeling great. How wonderful. I was flying along the trail, thinking about finishing up the race and what hot sandwich I would order at Sheetz on the drive back. All my daydreaming came to an abrupt end when I tripped and came crashing down to the ground.

The moment I fell, I knew I had done something seriously wrong. The pain on my left side was sharp and I immediately started to cry like a little girl. (Same thing happened when I fell and broke my collarbone many years back. The pain from a broken bone is distinct and intense. You don’t forget it.). A very nice woman (Ashley?) helped me to the aid station. I had to reassess. A volunteer told me there was nothing I could do if I broke a rib and if I had punctured my lung I would not be able to breath. I was breathing, so I decided I would finish the race. I headed down the trail, tried to run and felt the intense pain from taking deep breaths. I considered going back to the aid station and dropping out, but I realized that I could slow down, take shallow breaths and keep moving. I figured I could walk the last 4.3 miles if need be.

I do not have much of a memory of the last few miles. I guess they were pretty. I was just happy to see the lake. I figured the finish line would be close. I crossed the finish line in 4:51 and asked Horton if he had medical help. Many other runners had finished or would finish soon with PR’s and big smiles on their faces. I was happy for them.

Fast forward to later that evening… I ask the doc if I can still run. She says yes. My husband protests (“but, won’t she make it worse?!!”). Apparently not!  A big concern with broken ribs (after making sure your lung has not collapsed due to a puncture wound) is catching pneumonia. Breathing is very painful with broken ribs. Shallow breaths are less painful. But, deep breaths are needed to cleanse the lungs and keep pneumonia at bay. Therein lies the problem. Every hour or so now, I have to remember to breath DEEPLY. Fortunately, running requires this ;).

Sunday’s attempt at a run turned into a wheezing walk in the cold winter air. I decided a better idea would be to get to know all the exercise machinery at my warm, climate-controlled gym. Hello stationary bike. Running will return…soon…with a little more patience.

Holiday Lake… I’ll be back to test your trails sometime soon, under better circumstances I am sure.

Horton’s Holiday Lake 50k+

Saturday, February 11, 2012

 

When I told Sean Andrish I was running Holiday Lake he shot me a look as if I’d announced I had just microwaved my cat.  ‘Nooooooooo!  Why would you dooooo that?’  To WUSsies like Keith and Sean, Holiday Lake is a flat, bland marathon masquerading as a trail race.

I told him I wanted to go on a girlie road trip.  I reminded him how last year at Uwharrie he had selected not to shower before driving home, despite Rob Colenso’s generous offering of warm water and beds.  This year we would all smell like daisies.  We would spend the drive down gossiping instead of shooting across four lanes of traffic to wander down abandoned highways in search of Sean’s crumpled pieces of paper (‘geocaching’).

Superficially, the drive to Holiday Lake reminded me a lot of the road trip Sean, Brian, Brittany, and I took to Uwharrie last year.  Four WUSsies: check.  February: check.  Southbound towards Charlottesville: check.  Stopping at Sheetz: check.  Only the chatter among four girls in a car quickly lost the restraint exerted in mixed company.  Favorite topics of conversation included: (a) pros and cons of different expansion styles of tampons; (b) why Boots and Joe aren’t married with little Bootsies yet; (c) what the absolute worst kind of birthing you can have (twins where the first comes out naturally and the second is a C-section); (d) the rising prevalence of antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea in the District.

We cleaned up our language for Horton’s pre-race dinner briefing, where Horton put on his best behavior in front of all the ultra runner newbies.  Then we settled into our Star One (ie, one star) Motel, where we got to watch brides-to-be brutally judge each other’s weddings (‘the traditional Catholic Mass SO didn’t go with her theme’).  I found out on Tuesday’s WUS that Robin and Adam are getting married at the Audubon Society in my hometown of Chevy Chase, MD in July.  I had always thought that I would some day get married there myself, a place where I used to frequent as a child, volunteering at the holiday craft fairs and located right next to the fields where I used to practice my beloved soccer and Rock Creek where I would muck around with friends (and later run the trails).  My personal little jury is still out on whether it would be weird to get married in the same place where a friend did (not that loads of people don’t get married there all the time, weddings are just curious things like that).  Oh well, maybe it’s for the better, to get married in a place that’s special to both people, and not just myself.

The four of us – Robin Blendell, Anna Griffis, Jessica Fehr, and I – were jetting down the road to the start (why am I ALWAYS late to races?) when Horton yelled ‘GO!’  We had to scamper inside to check-in (the check-in person was already gone and we had to beg someone to take down our numbers) and then flee after the mob of runners going up the hill.  And quite a mob is was – nearly 350 finishers, the largest ultra in central Virginia, Horton proudly proclaimed.  Even sprinting up the hill, Robin and I were still in the thick of it going into the first single-track and had to slow to a crawl.  But it opened up again and we jetted off again, passing people continuously in an effort to not get clogged up when it went back to single-track.  But our efforts turned out to be a bit over-zealous and when we arrived at the first aid station, we were greeted as the #1 and #2 runners in the race.  Crap!  I had assumed the lead pack of women was still way in front.  I had burned loads of energy flying through the opening four miles, running some tough climbs.  And now my race game plan of laying low and letting the race come to me was shot.  But I felt good.  I kept moving ahead in the pack, running by some familiar faces of Keith and Mike Schuster.  Everything comfortable, weather great.

Frankly, Holiday Lake is my kind of course, smooth and fast and mainly single-track.  The lake was pretty, the trails were nice.  Sure, the dirt roads and power line bits get real old, but my thighs didn’t get blasted like they normally do.  It was also great to double-back at the turnaround and see all the friendly faces – Matt Woods in 3rd (he finished 2nd) and Ragan and Heather and Sophie and Aaron’s good friend Mark Freeman.  And of course my girls Robin, Anna, and Jessica!

At the first aid station after the turn-around, ~mile 20, I started gagging.  It was just a gel, but I could only get it down with a quick swallow-gag-swallow-gag-swallow-gag.  At Highland Sky I had stopped eating when I started gagging and came completely undone and had to drop, so I was determined to force feed it down past the gags.  I stuffed my cheeks with pretzels and just gagged down little bits between aid stations, letting it get soggy.  At the next aid station I threw down some ginger ale and coke and potato and salt.  Running the Beer Mile gives me a lot of experience in throwing shit down your throat when it’s the last thing in the world you feel like doing.

Unfortunately I can also throw shit up.  At the last aid station, after 8-9 miles of running in a nauseated haze, I tried to throw down some ginger ale and just threw up four times consecutively in front of all the horrified volunteers, made up mostly of Horton’s students.

The last four miles in were a crawl.  Those 10-12 miles of running sick and depleted had taken their toll.  I had been counting on the last aid station to give me a boost to get home, but all I did was empty the last bit out.  The second place woman blasted by me with ~2.5 miles to go.  I knew I would finish, I just didn’t want to walk.  Down the road everyone was airing it out and passing while I crawled along.  A second woman passed just before the finish.  Watching from the finish, Matt Woods said it was the saddest thing to see me look and acknowledge the girl running by and with a glazed look simply not care.

I crossed the line with the left side of me covered in barf and the right side covered in blood (I had slipped badly on a wet bridge and down quite a number to earn Best Blood).  I was blue-lipped and Matt kindly gave me his jacket, which I promptly got barf all over.  Horton had been egging me along the course: ‘I know you’re fast, Nelson, but the question is if you can sustain’.  When I told him at the finish that I’d barfed all over his last aid station, he replied that it was Good for the kids to see that.  The girl (Bethany Patterson) who passed me at the end said she felt about it, but I told her that the only thing I cared about at that point in the race was getting over the line – whether I was 2^nd or 3^rd was of no consequence.  It definitely stung hard to have the race seemingly in my pocket and then feel so helpless as it slipped away.  The course was closer to 33 miles —  I swear if it had been a legit 50k I could have held on.

A hot shower turned my lips back to normal, scrubbed the barf and blood off, and made me feel much better.  Unfortunately, Robin, who also has habitual stomach ails, also succumbed to her gastric system and had a brutal race as well, throwing up as she ran the second half.  Ragan also had a bad fall that broke three ribs but still managed to finish top-10, amazingly.  Heather had a great race and finished sixth but for some reason Horton gives awards to top-10 men and only top-5 women so she was just out of the money.  I know you take great stake in this whole I’m-an-asshole thing, Dr Horton, and a little razzing is fine.  But I don’t know about this piss-on-the-women thing.

I know this I-need-to-fix-my-stomach thing is getting old.  I know you’re tired of me writing every race report dwelling on which hole my gastric juices are getting shot out of.  I’m sorry, I’ve been super busy, and not running much, and Aaron’s not running much, and I just haven’t had any time to devote to getting long runs in and working on this problem.  But Aaron and I ran together for the first time this morning since early December, as he is finally getting his Achilles healed (no pun intended) and getting back into running.  And that’s the best news I’ve had in a while.

Despite all the barfage, it was an awfully fun trip to Holiday Lake.  I miss girls; I should play with them more often (no offensive to Sean and Brian).  And people complain way too much about that course — it turns out Sean, who gave me all that shit about running it, has never even run it himself, and was under the impression it was all gravel road.  And Horton’s a trip.  I’m sure he and I will cross paths again.

 

List here are the top 5 men and the top 10 women (someone’s gotta balance out Horton):

 

Top 5 Men:

1-Kalib Wilkinson, 3:33

2-Matt Woods, 3:47

3-Shaun Pope, 3:49

4-Doug Fernandez, 3:51

5-Jason Captain, 3:57

 

Top 10 Women:

1-Leah Daughterty, 4:23

2-Bethany Patterson, 4:28

3-Martha Nelson, 4:28

4-Stephanie Manny, 4:32

5-Riva Johnson, 4:35

6- Heather Schaffer, 4:41

7-Jennifer Panetta, 4:42

8-Kristen Chang, 4:44

9-Dana Kolestar, 4:49

10-Ragan Petrie, 4:51

 

What I ate:

Night before: spaghetti, some lasagna, bit of salad, some cake

Morning of: oatmeal, some cliff bar

Race up to mile 20 aid station: 6 shot blox, cups of ginger ale at each aid station, part of a GU, 3/4 of water bottle with tiny bit of cytomax