May 23, 2021, 25k, Boalsburg, PA

On October 27, 2019 I made the biggest mistake of my running career. Yes, worse than the time I accidentally wore jewelry at a track race, disqualifying me from the state meeting and ending my high school season. Worse than the time I listened to Keith’s advice to run my first ultramarathon, Laurel Highlands 50k, ‘just like a marathon’. Worse than the time I ran my first trail race, the 18-mile Escarpment Trail Run, in July heat without a water bottle. Yes, worse than drinking margaritas after the inaugural WUS beer mile.

What did I do this time? I skipped the Tussey MountainBack 50-mile relay race, breaking a 14-year streak. I am still trying to dig myself out of the asteroid-sized hole that followed. And break the curse.

I had a reasonable rationale for skipping Tussey in 2019. The race fell on the same day as DC’s Marine Corps Marathon. I had just gotten my speed back after having my first child in July 2018. I was getting older (38) and not sure how many fast sub-3 hour marathons I still had in me. I wanted to give myself one last crack at glory on my city’s biggest race stage. I knew I had it in me to podium. I took training seriously. I joined a Wednesday morning track group. I did multiple long runs. A few weeks before the race I beat a field of very quick ladies at the Trilogy Half Marathon, setting a CR.

But fixating on races is not very marmot. Sean called me out when I visited him in Colorado a few months prior. I wasn’t acting like myself. I was taking running too seriously. I was wearing a Garmin. I was doing all the things Sean and I make fun of other runners for. I admitted I was mystified by my sudden fixation on Marine Corps. But after 18 months of being pregnant and then a new mom and out of the racing game I was bursting at the seams to race again. The age 40 was looming ahead and I was afraid of getting older. My speed would soon fade and I wanted one last stand before the axe fell. I wanted to give my legs the fitness to go full throttle.

I sometimes grumble about Aaron’s decades-long racings streaks at Hellgate and the Boston Marathon. Every year before Hellgate I ask him if he’s sure he doesn’t just want to do the Magnus Gluteus Christmas 50k Fun-Run with me instead. Wouldn’t that be more fun? Doesn’t it get old doing the same races over and over again? Whenever he pointed out that I had my own 14-year streak at Tussey MountainBack I countered that it wasn’t a race, it was a party, more like a homecoming. It was just about reuniting with State College friends I made when as a grad student at Penn State. Plus I ran different legs every year.

But I get it now. I understand why streaks should never be broken, how races become woven into a person’s DNA and make you feel whole. There is a reason I return to Tussey year after year, even a decade after I relocated to DC. It is the perfect race, encapsulating every reason I run. It’s a party in van all day with friends. It’s the hardest lung-breaker of a course I’ve ever done (try sprinting 5k up a mountain and then doing in again a couple hours later, with someone fast on your heels). The course is lined with the beautiful fall foliage of the Rothrock forest. The adrenaline is spiked by bitter (but always friendly) competition between rival teams that sometimes finish the 50-mile course seconds apart. I’ve never found any event that makes me run so hard, while grinning ear-to-ear.

The 2019 Marine Corps Marathon was one of the most dismal days of my life. Physically, I have felt much worse, like when I’m throwing up during an ultramarathon. My finish wasn’t terrible, 3:06 for 12th overall woman. But psychologically I have never felt less motivated to cross a finish line. If a legion of imposing Marines hadn’t been there to pounce on me I would have veered to the side and not crossed at all. Had Aaron not been there to grab my finger I would have erased all trace of the race from my Garmin. By mile 2 I knew my busted Achilles would give me no lift off and I just had to go through the motions. I felt spiritually broke, knowing that I should have been at Tussey that day with my friends, not on some tilting-at-windmills mission to stand on a podium while some stranger snaps my photo. None of my State College friends had given me a hard time. But I realized I had gotten caught up in an empty fantasy. And the misery at Marine Corps was not just about losing a race, or running my first marathon over 3 hours in more than a decade, but losing sight of what was sacred to me about running. I felt corrupted.

After the race I tried to recover my sunken spirit by taking horseback riding lessons at Rock Creek Horse Center. Riding had been my childhood joy. In my evaluation lesson I beamed with happiness as I took a pony over a course of jumps. I felt like my old self again. The following week the COVID-19 pandemic hit and the world changed forever. At my next lesson my horse, potentially sensing people’s pandemic angst, bolted and bucked uncontrollably and I was thrown backwards, smashing my skull into the ground. Thankfully I was wearing a helmet or I would be dead. I blacked out and regained consciousness minutes before the ambulance arrived. I had memory lapses for weeks and the point of impact on the back of my head is still tender to the touch, but luckily there seems to be no long term damage. Just as I began to regain normal brain function and resume my work duties studying the SARS-CoV-2 virus I was unexpectedly let go from my job. I won’t go into the details but it was messy and cynical and exposed why women drop out of science like flies, particularly after starting families. I felt like the dominos were falling so quickly, and every time my toddler dashed into the street I was certain the next calamity would involve him. I begged Aaron to drop everything and flee to Europe, or frankly anywhere I could start fresh and our family could be safe. Maybe I could find a little hamlet in the countryside where we could raise a family, study pathogens, and keep some goats.

Aaron and I are a well-matched pair because in every way that I am romantic he is grounded and practical. Whenever I feel buffeted I have learned to tuck safely behind Aaron and trust him when he says everything is going to be alright. That kind of blind trust came in handy during last Sunday’s race, when my disoriented and severely dehydrated mind lost touch with reality but agreed to follow him down a very rocky trail, following what has become our well-worn team survival strategy for getting through 2020.

I knew my path to redemption needed to begin in Pennsylvania’s Rothrock forest. I did not expect to skip my way to victory at last Sunday’s Rothrock Trail Challenge 25k. I just had to put down the first spike. After much discussion, Aaron and I decided to run the race together. During the first half he was feeling bad and crimping my style, but I chirped along happily behind him and decided a relaxed day in the gorgeous mountains was still a pretty awesome day. Rothrock is fantastic course, rocky and steep, full of adventure, in some ways like the Dolly Sodds but without the plains or mud. The temperature was in the 80s with a strong sun and I filled my bottle at the 9-mile aid station with Gatorade. Going up the next Cliffs of Insanity section I started having stabbing pains in my stomach that radiated up my spine. Running down the rock garden trails felt like daggers. Just as Aaron started to get a second wind I fell silent. I started throwing up fluorescent yellow Gatorade. The heat intensified, but I couldn’t drink because of the pain, and the last couple hours I started to lose the plot.

After we missed a turn and went off course I suggested I crawl into a fetal position at the next forest road we crossed and Aaron could scoop me up with the car after he finished. I used to be fearless, bombing down rocky trails with abandon. I confidently bounced through rock gardens in the Dolly Sodds while pregnant. But the past year has made me feel so vulnerable and skittish — the concussion, my boss yanking the rug out from under my professional career, a global pandemic, as well as a new mother’s terror as Bjorn scrambles up rocks and sprints into the street. I feel shaken up and am actively trying to retrain my brain not to see threats all around. As I tottered along rocky trails with a mind that not so stable from dehydration, I was genuinely scared that something really bad would happen to me.

After the final descent we popped out onto a short eighth-of-a-mile stretch of road leading to the finish. A friendly woman yelled for us as we ran by and her energy momentarily lifted my stride. It was too much. I started puking in the bushes again. After we finished Aaron raced off to rescue Bjorn’s babysitter, who was thankfully unperturbed that we were later than expected. I lay in the grass and downed a Pepsi that tasted better than anything I’ve drunk in my life.

As Aaron described the race to a friend: ‘In the end, it was like 2020: we barely hung on, but through some good teamwork, we got it done even if it was a bit uglier then we would have liked.’

The year 2019 was not just the end of a decade, but an end of an era for the WUSsies, with the sale of the WUS house in August. Sure, it hasn’t really been the ‘WUS house’ in ages. But it’s symbolic. WUS has also had to survive the arrival of the babes. Those little poop machines sure put a dent in a running schedule. You can tell the new parents by their glazed eyes and resigned responses to How are you doing? As one of those dead-eyed new parents, I’m totally out of the loop and surely missed some big WUS events. But, I have survived 2019 by sticking tight to the motto that a poor attempt is better than no attempt at all, so here it goes:

Best Performance, Surprise WUS Appearance: Brit Z

Worst Performance, Surprise WUS Appearance: Julian J.

Best Performance, Weather: Trilogy

Worst Performance, Weather: Hellgate (Marine Corps Marathon a very distant runner-up)

Best Performance, Quitting a Job: WHT

Worst Performance, Quitting a Job: Michele H.

Best Performance, RD: Mario, Patapsco

Worst Performance, RD: Marmot, Beer Mile

Best Performance, Taking Up Social Media: Joe C.

Best Performance, Walking It Off: Tom C.

Worst Performance, Walking Up Hills: Mario

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Best Performance, Canine: Miles, Canine 4k

Worst Performance, Navigation: Trevor, Bull Run

Best Performance, Facebook Status Update: Angie

Best Performance, WUS Book Club: Marmot

Rookie of the Year: Unnamed Texas dude who showed up at WUS for his first trail run after responding to a Kirstin tweet

2019 WUS babes: Andrew, Cookie

Best Performance, Expanding the WUS Real Estate Empire: Keith & Tracy

Best Performance, Keeping a Streak Alive: Aaron and Jeff, Hellgate #17

Worst Performance, Keeping a Streak Alive: Marmot, skipping out on Tussey MountainBack #15

2019 WUS Farewells: WUS House, Joco, Kobe

Overall Best WUS Performance of 2019: Washington Nationals, Game 6, CPBG

I had completely forgotten how to run a marathon.

The old me had a very simple recipe for running a marathon:

1. Do the least possible training without blowing all plausibility of finishing a marathon. This essentially amounts to at least one training run over 13 miles.
2. On the morning of the race, pile your heart, your soul, and your guts into a little dish. Slide it across the table as a small offering to the running gods.
3. During the race, don’t wear a watch. Don’t look at clocks. The gods don’t care what your time is. They care about the contents of that little dish. And that you promised to let the race strip you bare, to leave nothing for yourself. You deserve nothing, you earn nothing, you possess nothing.

Motherhood is transformative — physically, behaviorally, and emotionally — and I’m still trying to figure out what person came out on the other side.

Motherhood is the least rebellious thing a woman in her 30s can do. So I figured I might as well go with the flow and try a conventional marathon. I trained. I wore a watch. I went to the track. I even threw in a long run on roads. Well, it was mostly on roads. I set a goal. A concrete goal. I wanted to podium (top-3). I thought I had prepped for the race of my life.

The racing gods laughed in my face.

First, they took away my legs. Marathon pro tip: don’t start PT for an Achilles injury one week before the race. One week is just enough time to murder your calves (the PT had me doing hundreds of calf raises up until the day before the race). And not nearly enough time to see benefit. My calves felt like bricks at Mile 1. I spent a good portion of the race wondering Why, PT Tim? Why did you do this to me?

Then they took away my heart. I can’t blame my race on the World Series. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. After so many late nights watching playoffs, the Nats had to go and blow three straight losses at home in the World Series and my spirits had been deposited somewhere in the gutter.

For extra sparkle, they through in some torrential rain storms. Haine’s Point was a lake.

It could have gone worse. I hung in there and finished in 3:06, 12th female. I smiled and waved every time I saw Aaron and tried to stay positive. But I haven’t had a marathon race go over three hours since 2006. Aaron had to wrestle my hand away from my Garmin when I tried to delete the data at the end. I wanted to erase every trace of the dismal day.

Aaron and I have dropped our fair share of race bombs in 2019. Aaron’s had two 100 mile DNFs. I lost at Highland Sky where I hold the CR. We’ve hit so many shanks into the bushes this year Trevor refuses to go golfing with us.

Of course, bombs happen. Ultras, being longer, can be more forgiving. You can be back with Mario and the horses at the end of Western States, take a little nap, and find yourself enjoying a nice second wind. Ultras can also be less forgiving. Ask Daniel Bedell and his burned sticks at Fat Dog. Marathons, I’m afraid, are always less forgiving.

But I was particularly low about the Marine Corps result. It wasn’t just the time. I felt like I had lost my way as a runner. I understand that as a mom I have to be more domestic, more organized, more efficient. But that doesn’t have to transfer to running.

Just as I have to decide which parts of traditional motherhood suit me, I also have been going through a process of figuring out which bits of Bob are worth preserving. Sometimes I’m mortified by similarities. Other times, I realize I miss the person who knew better than anyone else how to enjoy a good burger.

The last time I ran the Marine Corps marathon, my dad was standing on the Mall cheering for me. After the race he defied all traffic advisories to scoop me up along Lee Highway in his green Toyota convertible. Roof down. He whisked me back to DC to celebrate a marathon in the only proper way: giant juicy burgers at Old Ebbitt Grill. He was so excited he couldn’t help but blab on to all the hostesses and wait staff that his daughter had just finished 5th in the Marine Corps Marathon. I was mortified. And touched.

After Marine Corps I realize I will always be a fringe runner with different running gods. Gods that care little about my work ethic or whether I hit goals. Gods that seem to prefer events like the Trilogy, the Race for the Birds, and the Beer Mile. And are pleased when I stop for kinglets and wrens. Gods that let you know that you can technically win a race by crossing the line first, but still not win at all in their books. Because the most important part of racing is the human part.

Lesson 1. It’s good to know the RD.

I got some solid intel from Katie the night before the Race for the Hills Half Marathon, Day 3 of the West Virginia Trilogy series. I’d expected to have a pretty easy win, given that most of the runners had already been worn down by Day 1 50k and Day 2 50M. But the theme of 2019 is that every expectation I have is dead wrong. A group of road runners from Pittsburgh had just come to town. I knew Kate from the North Fork Trail FKT in May, a sub-3 hour marathoner. But apparently Laura was an Olympic Trials qualifier.

Lesson 2. Road speed is not the same as trail speed.

I’m not much of an ultra runner, but I’m tough to beat on short and mid-distance trail races. Over the last decade I’ve run at least 10 trail races in the 10-13 mile range and haven’t lost yet: Women’s Half (6 times), Dam Half (PA), Squirrelly Tail (PA)), EX2 Backyard Burn (2 times). I’m sure one of these days I’ve have a rough day or come across someone with a better combination of road and trail speed.

But not yet.

I couldn’t decide if the Pittsburgh gang was going to win. They looked awfully quick in their little singlets and arm warmers. And my Achilles had been bothering me, which bode poorly on a tough course that ends with a steep mile climb up ‘cardiac hill’.

Laura and I ran neck-and-neck for the first half of the race. But her little yelps confirmed my suspicion that she didn’t run trails much. I got rolling in the middle, thanks to some monster downhills and well-placed cow barricades that were fun to jump over (Achilles be damned). In the end, I won by a mere 2 minutes. It was a stellar women’s field, thanks to all the Pittsburgh gals, and the top three women finished 4-5-6 overall, all under the prior CR.

Trevor and I spent a good bit of the Trilogy after-party wondering out loud why Keith has never done Trilogy. We figured if we could explain just Keith, we could get at why as a whole the VHTRC has a blind spot for what is truly the premier trail running event of the fall in the mid-Atlantic region. Although maybe it’s a good thing that Trilogy remains a best-kept secret.

Run For It 5k – September 28, 2019 – Davis, WV

I told Katie at the start of the race that my goal this year was to not piss myself. This was a reference to last year’s race, where I was just getting back into running in September after giving birth to Bjorn in July, and the muscles down there were still not fully recovered. In order to win the race I had to accept a voluminous stream of urine leaking down my leg. Oh, the things they don’t tell you about motherhood!

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Run For It has become a Nelson-Schwartzbard family tradition, with Aaron’s mom running the 5k with us and my mom and Aaron’s dad taking Bjorn in the stroller in the 2k fun run. With my overall female win, Aaron’s masters win, and a bunch of age group awards, we brought in over $2,000 for the Heart of the Highlands trail system.

What really makes Run For It special that it attracts the whole town of Davis. Young and old, everyone participates, even if it’s the only race they complete all year. Because everyone’s running for their local community — schools, libraries, animal shelters. You have a lot of kids finishing their first race ever. It’s mayhem, but it’s fun!