Let go of the computer’s mouse at the desk. Remove fingertips from the keyboard. Relax face muscles, shoulders. Unclench your toes. A journey begins. To a time not far removed from the here and now, to places we know, we love, we honor.
It is an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, 2006, during a remarkable month, September, a period often welcomed by runners for its seasonal baton grasp from August heat.
Roommates, neighbors, friends- workaholics with a running problem- conscript an agreement. The time is nigh for a group run.
“I think it was Kerry who planned it” says Keith Knipling, one of the original four clansmen of a running group later to officially name themselves Woodley Ultra Society, or WUS.
The others included Kerry Owens, Kirstin Corris and Amy Sproston. At the time “Keith wasn’t fast,” says Kerry. At the time Kerry burst with running prowess, knocking out 100 milers before breakfast. Nor at the time had Kirstin yet to adopt the surname Corris, or was she yet known, globally, as “ultrarunnergirl”. Amy reportedly sported a few dreadlocks. At the time.
Kerry, Amy, Kirstin and Keith stood anxiously on the hard pine floors in the front hallway at 2711 Woodley Avenue, NW, Washington D.C. The polyurethane finish peeled and cracked beneath their trail running shoe lugs. The finish, dried out and tired from the many trail running shoe lugs it had equally supported over the years. Digital watches turned over from 7:29:59 to 7:30:00. P.M. The runners departed through the front door into a new world, an undecided route, on a run that would later prove defining.
“That’s about the earliest I could run” said Kerry, hazily remembering why they left when they did. Into the Washington D.C. night. “I’m pretty sure we had flashlights.”
“We left from [2711] Woodley and ran along Rock Creek. Valley and Western Ridge. We probably did six [miles],” follows Keith, providing answers to all important questions. Where was the first WUS run? How long did you run for?
“All I remember was having no idea where I was,” says Keith. An unlikely admission from such a runner whose course knowledge spans the gambit from routes, to elevation charts, from trailheads to exact GPS coordinates of moonlight-shimmering quartz rock, submerged beneath the earth almost completely like giant glaciers, found in secret locations along Rock Creek Park’s Valley Trail.
“Keith is right about the route,” chimes Kerry. “At the time, Kirstin knew the trails better than Keith, and Amy and she used a little bit of clever bush whacking to keep up.”
Thanks to Kirstin and Amy’s dutiful whacking of bush the run was a success. “It was nearly dark when we finished,” says Kerry.
The effort, however, came at a cost. Glycemic indexes for each runner had reached scary lows. Caloric intake was a priority.
“We dropped in on Quebec Street,” says Keith, as he recounts the direction to recovery. The Cleveland Park Bar & Grill, or CPBG.
All four runners emerged from the trail, sweaty. Civilization, discovered. The sidewalks beneath their feet, hard packed, felt otherworldly. Uncommon to their adjusted, preferred surroundings of earth, rocks, trees. Moments passed. Acclimatization eventually ensued.
The door to CPBG swung open and a banquet feast of the senses rewarded the hungry foursome. Half-priced brick oven pizza. A roof top deck. Draft beer. A veritable Currier and Ives styled utopia of earthly delights.
Keith’s memory, stymied by the remnants of a bonk, heeds “I bet we got a pitcher of beer.”
“I think we had four pizzas and drank Sierra Nevada,” corrects Kerry.
To this day, facts on caloric replenishment are not entirely known. There are stories. There are rumors of stories.
What is known is that these four runners- Kerry, Amy, Kirstin, Keith- on a Tuesday, in September, 2006, at 7:30 p.m., had carved a new trail. At the beginning of the trail lies a trailhead. An inscription. “WUS”. The trail has no mile markers. No mileage total. This trail has no end.
Unfortunately, no one in the group of (mainly Leesburg Mafia) runners that did Kerry’s Death March with me on Saturday had a camera on them (where are Aaron and Bobby when you need them?). So although KDM certainly lived up to its name, we unfortunately have no visuals of :
1. The big meaty rattlesnake that sent me screaming like Neve Campbell. It was just lazing there in the trail with its diamond-backed pattern and by Sean’s account I jumped 5 feet to clear it (by the time I saw it I was nearly stepping on it). I was still screaming steps later when I was sure I spotted another one, convincing me that I had entered the nightmare Indiana Jones portion of Shenandoah and putting on a sprint like I was escaping Matt Woods’ angry grizzly. When the snake flurry ceased, I stopped screaming and trotted back to the first snake, which was still sprawled across the path and making Sean, Brian, David, Gina, and Courtney take a wide bushwhack around it. This sighting hit home a point that Sean had made earlier in the morning when Justine was reluctant to run ultras out West like Zane Grey because of the snakes: ‘At least out West it’s all open so you can see the snakes before you step on them.’ Indeed. As we were on the topic of snakes I also recalled the time my friend Sarah and I were enjoying a hike around a lake in Thailand and flushed an Asian cobra vertically that was in high grass only 5 feet away from us. We were too scared even to scream, almost too scared to hold our digestive tracts, but fortunately the flared cobra was scared too and darted off in the opposite direction (Sarah and I were distinctly lacking in hygiene by that point in our 3 month South-East Asia backpacking adventure, so I don’t blame the snake for wanting nothing to do with us).
2. Courtney’s profusely bleeding head. It was only after our lovely dip in the waterfall pool at mile 25 that we noticed that blood was dripping from a nick next to Courtney’s left eye, creating crimson waterfalls of his own. Apparently Courtney’s eye had made friends with a rock during a spill. Courtney had spent the entire run talking about a) high school track times (85%), b) geocaching (10%), and c) pointing out alternative routes that were either downhill, directly to his car (perhaps?), or required us to scrutinize the map for a while so he could catch his breath, all which was entertaining enough to actually make us want to wait for him.
3. Little Devil Stairs, the only climb I’ve ever truly enjoyed every step of, and the only climb that I think I will ever be able to hang with Brian Schmidt on, primarily because he wanted a second opinion on which way exactly we were supposed to ascend this glorious waterfall every time we had to cross over it (Courtney and Gina made some wrong calls and ended up getting in some bonus Stairs).
4. Me looking miserable at the top of Little Devil Stairs. I was enjoying myself so thoroughly along the waterfall climb that I didn’t notice that something really horrible had entrenched itself in my stomach after the first aid station. For the remainder of the run I would have to do 5-6 fartleks to catch up with the rest of the group every time I had to stop to allow for the exodus of the offending intestinal matter. With 4 or so miles to go I ceased all eating and drinking and was able to control the spasms and enjoy myself again, but there were some serious low points during the mile 15-20 range that prompted several a ‘Is she okay?’ from fellow runners. If I’m going to make it through Highland Sky in June I’m going to have to seriously figure out my stomach, which has always been my Achilles heel for ultra running. I suspect that the highly concentrated PowerAid from the aid station was a major culprit, and I promise in race situations to forgo my beloved double-stuffed golden oreo cookie. But this was an excellent wake-up call before my first ultra race in over 2 years (since Laurel Highlands 50k in June 2009, my first and only ultra race). For me, it’s not about fitness, it’s about knowing that if I put my salt pills in my pocket without a plastic baggy they will disintegrate (lesson learned Saturday), that I need to bring my own drink mix or really water down the Gatorade/PowerAid, that I need to eat nothing solid and perhaps not drink so much. I’ll have one more chance at Holy Cowan’s Gap next Sunday to see if I can get the hang of ultras.
Overall Kerry’s Death March was a great romp. We ran a relaxed pace, keeping the group together. I was given a small dispensation to bomb down the hills (‘Are you sure it’s okay, Sean? Sure I’m not being a tool? It’s just fun! 100%? Okay, I’m going, last chance…..Don’t worry, I’ll stop soon’). Of course my sporadic shoots to the front had some near dire consequences – like almost stepping on the rattler. And on one downhill bomb I got distracted by having to weave through a group of Boy Scouts and missed a turn that could have spelled doom. Fortunately I didn’t get too far down the hill before stopping to wait so I was still in earshot of Sean and Brian when they called for me from above. I trotted up the hill to the turnoff, blaming the swarm of Boy Scouts for missing it, which prompted one of them to retort, ‘Don’t worry, you sure distracted us too.’ Oh well, what run is complete without some dirty Boy Scouts?
In a life full of obligations and commitments, full of places to go, things to do and people who require “just a bit of your time”, of to-do lists and task lists and check lists and grocery lists and operational requirements and deadlines, in a life full of concerns about carbon dioxide outside, carbon monoxide inside, prescription drugs in the water supply, chemicals in the dirt and pesticides on the fruit you eat, of bills and taxes and debts yet to be paid, of the rising cost of living despite the falling standard of life and dreams that you now know will never be realized…
Every once in a while, with a bit of luck and a bit more hard work, for some brief moment in time, you just might find yourself exactly where you want to be.
And at that point, all will be forgiven.
Me: Man, I can’t believe Ray made us add on that extra 800m repeat at the end. I had just downed all my water.
Matt Woods: Yeah, you have to Beware of the Bear.
Me: The what??
Matt: The Bear. Whenever you’re running you have to make sure that you have that last bit of energy in reserve to escape the possible bear that could come out of the woods.
Me: So that’s what we were doing that last 800? Running away from a bear?
Matt: Exactly.
I don’t know why I had to blog about this particular Matt Woods-ism, as this is only just one of the many oddly hilarious things that come out of Matt’s mouth over the course of Tuesday morning track workouts with the PR group at Washington & Lee high school in Arlington. Whether it’s Matt rolling his itty bitty running shorts up to decrease Resistance or admitting that people call him ‘Peter Pan’ because he has no chest hair, Matt is a source of steady entertainment — and we all know that the only reason I run is so I can be entertained. Keep up the good work, Woodsie. And everyone remember to Beware of the Bear.
Not sure about you guys but the MMT dust has largely settled around the ol’ Gorman household and Gaby is all in a tizzy about the next adventure, the Old Dominion 100 on June 4th. That’s actually only 50% true because I’m the one pumped up for Old Dominion, not Gaby. She isn’t even running in the race. As a matter of fact, the whole thing is 0% true because we don’t have MMT dust in our house either.
So, let’s start over… Speaking of over, MMT is over. Moving on we have Old Dominion. As I wrote, it takes place on June 4th. In Virginia. In Woodstock, Virginia. Two weeks from four days from now. I pen this post as an assembly to WUS troops. Gather your Gus. Fill your water bottles. Load your salt pills. Air-dry your Crimson T. And Bodyglide your thighs. Back to the mountains, we ride!
Or, well, at least I do. And Keith. And Sean. Any maybe another WUS with really big sideburns who likes to take pictures but I’m not going to say who it is.
Who else has considered chasing after the silver buckle that is the Country’s second oldest 100 mile cross country run? If you like silver, like me, then you’ll like the Old Dominion. The buckle is the best on the market. Go git one! At your computer, log on to W-W-W DOT olddominonrun DOT O-R-G and register today!
