The WUS blog has been neglected badly this year. We’re halfway through 2018 and there is just 1 post and a graveyard of half-written drafts. Aaron and I have been too busy starting a new generation of Wussies, and Bjorn Theodore Schwartzbard made his grand debut on July 17th. His entrance was a wild ride, as Aaron detailed in his very clever IsquirmFar interview.
After 61 hours of labor, Bjorn squirted out on the hospital floor. I was in a deep squat, my butt on my heels, wearing nothing but an IV. Elvis was playing. A killer Birth Mix is definitely the key to labor. The midwife snatched Bjorn’s lanky, blood-stained body just before it hit the linoleum. I fell backwards into Aaron’s arms and he slowly lowered me to the floor. The new baby was thrust onto my chest. Someone asked me if I wanted to get up off the floor, and I replied that no, that there was absolutely no place I would rather be.
Julian astutely noted that at 61 hours, my ultra-length labor would have timed out at The Barkley. The pain in my sacrum had made it too painful to sit or lie down during my long labor, so I’d spent the whole time on my feet, pacing. First in my basement at home, then in the hospital room, and eventually in the halls of the maternity ward, stopping to grip the bar along the wall to ride out contractions. When my labor stopped progressing at 7cm dilated, around 50 hours in, I had to do the Circuit.
When the midwives explained the Circuit, it sounded like Mel Gibson’s torture scene at the end of Braveheart. Step 1: give me a splash of Pitocin to induce harder contractions. Step 2: once the contractions get really painful and at least a minute long, spend 90 minutes doing the Pilates routine from hell: various deep lunges and twisting poses to stretch out my pelvis and help the baby’s head get better positioned so I could go into the final pushing stages of active labor. After three nights without sleep and 50+ hours on my feet, the Death Circuit didn’t sound all that appealing. But I understood that these exercises were my only option if I wanted to continue my plan of natural childbirth. So I whimpered and groaned and cursed my way through it, while Aaron snoozed peacefully on the couch. And fortunately the Death Circuit did its thing and shortly thereafter I went into active labor. After 46 minutes of active labor doing deep squats every three minutes during each contraction, nothing has ever felt so good as lying butt naked on that cold linoleum floor with little Bjorn in my arms.
Aaron holds Bjorn for the first time
~ ~ ~
Robin had told me early on to approach pregnancy as an ultra. Your body is going to be hit with all kinds of new tortures and you’re just going to spend a lot of time troubleshooting when possible, and riding things out when necessary. I had terrible morning sickness for six weeks. I had to go to PT for pelvic pain. Given how much I had to learn over this time, I thought I’d share some of the most important lessons, in case anyone else is thinking of joining the WUS baby boom.
Lesson #1: Midwives. In general, I like Western medicine. I like vaccines. Antivirals. And under the right circumstances I can really go for a lovely pain killer. Plenty of friends swore by the epidural. At first, natural birth seemed a little granola for my tastes.
But then I heard about the snacks. ‘You had me at snacks‘ would be an appropriate epitaph on my tombstone. Midwives let you eat snacks during delivery, whereas most OBs limit you to clear liquids. Midwives 1, OBs 0.
As I did more research I also learned that foregoing the epidural would free you to walk around and be mobile during delivery. Once you’ve taken the epidural you can’t get out of bed. Over time, there seemed to be a lot more points in the midwife/natural birth column. In the end, I really savored my capacity to remain mobile through the delivery, to walk around and take hot showers and even deliver in a squat position. While I probably wouldn’t do a midwife program in a home setting, as is more common, I whole-heartedly endorse the GW Hospital Midwife program. It really is the best of both worlds. You get to have the autonomy of the midwife delivery within the safety of GW Hospital, with its top-of-the-line NICU. My delivery was complicated (my baby’s head was askew and I was in too much pain to lie down), and I undoubtedly would have needed a C-section had I not been delivering with a midwife.
I had to use Kumquat frequently on skis
Lesson #2: Kumquat. I had a lot of pelvic pain during my pregnancy, particularly in the second trimester. I discovered that two of my personality traits were entirely ill-suited to pregnancy. (A) I do not like curtailing activities. (B) I do not like asking for help. One day Aaron found me with my 7-month pregnant belly smooshed against the couch, my butt in the air, while I reached over to grab my cat by the scruff of the neck and drag her up (Leda doesn’t like going in her carrier and hides in inconvenient places when she knows we’re packing for WV.) Ow, that really hurt my belly I confessed as Aaron stood shaking his head. So I came up with a new word: Kumquat. Our code word for I really want to do this myself, but know I shouldn’t, both for me and the baby, but I’m struggling to ask directly, because it sounds really sissy, so instead I made up this stupid word so you know what I mean without me ever having to say it.
On the trails, it was Huckleberry. I was thrilled to be able to run for the entire duration of my pregnancy. Completing the full WUS loop two days before my due date was as thrilling as winning a race. But I did get slower. In general, the WUSsies accommodated my slower pace with a genteel civility that I will long be indebted to. Aaron gets a lifetime supply of points for all those off-pace runs in Rock Creek and the Sodds. But on occasion a WUSsie would smell barn at the end of a run. Instead of yelling Hey jerk-ass, your pace is putting a knife in my pelvic floor, I came up with a more diplomatic code word: Huckleberry. Kumquat and Huckleberry get a heap of credit helping me stay active, within inherent limitations, all the way to week 40. All hail the fruits!
Lesson #3: Expecting Better. You know something more stressful than pregnancy? Pregnancy books. I started referring to my state as Pregnancy Jail because of the tomes of restrictions. A lot of the restrictions tend to be overly cautious and not based on robust scientific evidence. I found a book Expecting Better by an economics professor at the University of Chicago that provided information on how much scientific evidence supported each pregnancy recommendation. I found that the key to a happy pregnancy was learning how and when to rebel against some of the advice heaped on me from books, the internet, friends, and even doctors, and start listening to my own body.
My first rebellion was against the prenatal vitamin. There are some important nutrients that developing babies critically need, including folic acid to avert neural tube defects. So pregnant women are all told to take heavily loaded prenatal vitamins. But over time I realized that the prenatal vitamin was making my morning sickness so much worse. I had read on the internet to not worry about morning sickness and not eating anything all day, because as long as you’re taking the vitamin your baby is getting all the nutrients it needs. F that! Once I stopped taking the vitamin, and making sure I got folic acid, calcium, and other key nutrients from natural food sources, my daily vomiting became much more manageable.
Big Belly comin’ through!
I had also been told I could run, but only on flat surfaces to avoid falling. But I discovered that the gnarlier the trail, the more rocks and roots, the less it hurt my pelvis. So I rebelled again, and celebrated my full unshackling from Pregnancy Jail with my first run in the Dolly Sodds when I was about six months pregnant. The Sodds is full of rocks and roots and high stream crossings, and some people might think I’m crazy. But Aaron supported me, and I knew that if it was putting our child at risk that he would say something. So I climbed the mountain, stood at my Smoking Bench, and gave all the baby books the finger.
The smoking bench
Lesson #5: School Year. Child care in DC in effing expensive. Like college tuition-level expensive. Not that anyone really can plan when their due date is, but Aaron and I really lucked out having our baby before the DC school system’s September 1st cut-off. Our kid will be going to kindergarten right after his 5th birthday, whereas a kid born in September or October will incur a whole additional year of childcare costs, which can run tens of thousands of dollars. Imagine how many frozen burritos that could buy Sean Andrish.
Lesson #6: Don’t Forget to Play With Your Kitty. When you finally have your baby, you’re going to be totally overwhelmed just trying to feed it the 8-12 times a day he requires. It was about two weeks before I realized I hadn’t played once with my cat Leda since I’d returned from the hospital. Not with her mouse. Not with her string. She was looking lethargic and depressed. Seeing Leda come back to life as she batted her favorite blue string, with a convincing determination, was the turning point in my recovery from childbirth. I could go without sleep. I could go without food (my house was littered with half-eaten plates as I shed almost all my pregnancy weight in the opening weeks from stress). But I realized that nothing darkened my mood more than Leda going two weeks without being the Most Loved Kitty.
All is well when Leda is well.
Spirit overcomes snow conditions at SSF 2018-A
A burst of warm weather threatened to derail the opening SnowShoeFest of the 2018 winter in Canaan Valley, WV (SSF 2018-A). But a little bit of rocks and roots never deterred a hearty group of Wussies.
Bernard’s not complaining about the high-40s temps
Fortunately, there was just enough snow for our group of newbies to get a taste of xc skiing at Whitegrass Ski Resort. With a couple instructions on how to hold the poles and a complete understanding that these skis here got no edges, the Wussies were off…..
Cecile: like. a. boss.
Bernard goes Bob Nelson-style in jeans.
Martha is either: (a) drinking from an inconveniently low spring pipe; (b) praying to Allah for no more rocks.
Aaron is doing his best impression of (a) Keith posing with his beloved inanimate trail finds; (b) a praying mantis.
Ashlinn in a less victorious moment
After the big ski adventure, the Wussies treated themselves to an afternoon of less harrowing activities like ten flights of ice-slicked stairs to see a pretty waterfall (Blackwater Falls State Park).
oooooh…
……aaaaah
And watch the sunset at Lindy Point Overlook.
Michael saved his butt by skipping the xc ski adventure and just opting for sunsets
Sadie enjoyed the sunset. And the poops she found on the trail.
On Sunday we were planning to do a 10k xc ski race at White Grass. But an overnight rain encouraged the Wussies to opt for a hike through the Dolly Sods wilderness area. Causing Trevor’s dogs Sadie and Dean much rejoicing.
Baine dogs Sadie and Dean were the unequivocal stars of SnowShoeFest 2018-A
After a day of rock skiing, trail ice-skating was no biggie for the hardened Wussies
Aaron leads the way to the Smoking Bench
The Smoking Bench
As the wise Sarah Stanley once said, the rocks and roots and ice slicks are what make West Virginia adventures fun. After all, what would mid-Atlantic skiing be without being catapulted on your face from time to time by snow-hidden (and not so snow-hidden) rocks?
Top Ten Achievements of SSF 2018-A
- Getting Cecile and Bernard out to WV. After talking up WV for 6+ years. This. finally. happened.
- Getting Trevor and Keli out to WV. Trevor’s typical response to things we suggest he and Keli do with us: Ha, that’s funny.
Baines decide slumming it with the Wussies is okay
- Getting all the Wussies down the steep, rocky, rooty Falls Overlook trail at White Grass. Without any tears/tantrums/taking off skis/yelling at Marmot & Bear for how much they lied about how we were ‘going to stick to flat, easy stuff’.
- Cohabiting two dogs and a cat at the Chophouse. Without any cats protesting by pooping on pillows. Despite hiding under the blankets for two days, Leda begrudgingly accepted that the doggies could return some day. Ultimate team player.
- Creating GIFs for this blog. With the maddeningly slow internet connection at the Chophouse.
- Marmot making it until 2pm for lunch. Twice. While eating for two. That’s commitment.
Marmots get big hugs for being cooperative.
- Marmot not having a meltdown after Trevor beat her in Scrabble. First defeat of her life. Blaming momnesia.
- Michael getting out of his pajamas. Impaired by a prior ice skating injury, Michael shrewdly sat out the xc ski adventure and had a relaxing day at the Chophouse, defined by the major activity of putting on real pants.
- Trevor not re-injuring his butt. After falling on the ice during a run in Georgetown, Trevor’s butt wasn’t sure about the soundness of his decision to put it on edge-less xc skis and send it over rocks and roots. Fortunately, with ninja-like balance, Trevor spared his rear from further impairment.
- Hitting every time goal for departure (within the 5-minute grace period). This was not a typical Wussie take-an-extra-hour-to-get-out-the-door-while-everyone-lingers-outside-while-folks-inside-try-to-figure-out-which-headband-to-wear kind of SSF. Our group shuffled out the door with a military-like efficiency that would make Kerry O. swoon.
Best New WUS Concept of the Year: Atomic WUS
Best New WUS Concept of the Year, Runner-Up: HalloWUS
Best New Way for WUSsies to Kill 20 Minutes: NECtr podcast
Best New Way to Make Family Holidays Suck Less for WUSsies: Thanksgiving Turkey Chase at Keith’s house
Best New WUS (human): Cora Watkins
Best New WUS (canine): Miles
Best Quote on a Run: Joco (who else?), playing S/F/M
Best Blood: Sean A.
Best use of a reflective vest and birthday hat: Joco
PJ traverses Lebanon
Performance of the Year (overall, male): Trevor, Beer Mile
Performance of the Year (overall, male, runner up): PJ, traversing an entire country
Performance of the Year (overall, female): Robin, 2nd at Highland Sky with baby on board
Performance of the Year (documentary): Julian, Where Dreams Go to Die
Best new nickname: Tpuff
Performance of the Year (dog poo): Deb
Performance of the Year (finally getting WUS off bloody Yahoo): Keith
Performance of the Year (swag): Brienne
Performance of the Year (in shaming other WUSsies): Trevor, for running more miles at the Moab 240 in October than all nine WUSsies combined ran at the Moab 50k/30k earlier in February
WUS Et tu, Brute? Award: Leah passing Robin on the final road section of Highland Sky
WUS Yeti Award: Sarah Coen
Boyz of the Barkley
Worst Performance of the Year: Jared, Donut Run RD
Worst Performance of the Year, Runner-Up: Baine family (HalloWUS)
Worst Performance of the Year (Voting Bloc): WUS, all of us (Trevor for VHTRC Board)
Worst Performance of the Year (ultra-runner superfan): Martha asking John Kelly / Gary Robbins / the Ginger Runner who they are and what they’re doing in DC.
Worst Performance of the Year (in finding cool rocks): Keith
Worst Performance of the Year (Beer Mile): lady with dog who ‘warned’ us that the cops had been called
Worst Performance of the Year (restraint from petting a service animal): Martha, with Miles in Moab
Worst Performance of the Year (ordering take-out): Leah and Sean
Biggest Year-Over-Year Decline in Performance: Aaron, data tracking of beer mile
Worst Decision of the Year: Julian, moving to the UK
Slowest WUS: The one with Amy Sproston
Annual Farewell of WUSsies to the West: Cricket, Steven
Hardest WUS Farewell: Foster dog Jax 🙁
Hardest WUS Farewell, Runner-up: TunesForBears
Michele is the ultimate ultra running survivor. The Coma. The Burn Unit. Being Married to Joe. She’s been the woman to beat. She’s been the cautionary tale. Decades later, she’s still running and finding new adventures.
Sean dominated East Coast trail running for many years by taking every race out like a 10k and disappearing down rocky downhills. Sometimes while getting epileptic seizures.
Keith is known for (a) going from being DFL at the Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 mile race to almost winning; (b) running three 100-mile races in three back-to-back weeks; and (c) being deadpan.
The Leftovers + our mascot Winston. Can some one tell me why Costas was trying to lick my hair. Or wearing those shorts.
Running streaks. I hate doing the same races over and over again. I do not have Aaron’s Hellgate gene. If I like a race, I’ll maybe do it three times (Boston Marathon). If I really, really love a race, maybe I’ll do it five times (Womens Half Marathon). If a race has become embedded into my soul through a larger birthday tradition, maybe I’ll do it six or seven times (Race for the Birds). But there’s only one race that I’ve gotten to every year over the past thirteen years. Because I’d rather miss Christmas. And that’s the Tussey MountainBack 50-mile relay in State College, PA.
The relay teams that have the most fun have old friends and new.
Ultra runners. People are always asking me if I plan on running the entire 50-mile race. Which is also the USATF 50 mile road national championship. Let’s see, I can either spend six hours having the time of my life in a van full of friends. Or I can slog along for eight or so hours by myself, with a best case scenario that I see a couple familiar faces along the way and only really suffer for the last couple hours or so. I guess there are people who feel torn between these two options. But I am not one of them.
Dave couldn’t get Meira, but at least he got his Juicy Juice.
The Meira Rejects. There were several challenges at this year’s MountainBack. My right shin had started hurting a few weeks before and made me stop running. It ominously threatened to derail what was supposed to be my 13th consecutive race. But even as the shin showed signs of life, I didn’t have a fully formed team until days before the race. Renz at registration was not impressed. I don’t know whom to blame more: Meira or Cali. Cali was at least totally upfront about informing me that I was not invited to join his father-child relay team (4 dads, 4 kids). (He was unamused by my suggestion that after all these years I should definitely qualify as a Cali child.) Meir-cat took a less direct route in her exit from Team Rodentia, but it was equally effective. While I opted for a maximally inclusive 8-person team where runners can do one or two legs, Meira skimmed off the folks who were interested in running three legs each. Dividing the group of interested folks we’d amassed accordingly resulted in some winners and some losers. Dave Moore, who’d only agreed to do MountainBack only on the promise of being on Team Meira, got stuck on the Leftovers, which we decided was a little more tasteful team name than The Meira Rejects. Still, the Leftovers did not become fully viable until the 11 o’clock hour, when we got the clutch additions of Mike M. and his father-in-law Greg, thanks to the heroic efforts of Joel.
No, I’m afraid you can’t unsee this.
Dress code. The Leftovers knew it would be easy to find each other race day morning. All we had to do was locate the Greek guy flaunting the bright orange shorty shorts (Costas). [Michele H. appropriately noted that Costas and Clapper have convergent fashion tastes. There are likely convergences in personality, but their divergence in shoe choice may be more informative.] The Leftovers were in good spirits on race morning, imagining how Dave was going to crush the competition up Leg 1. Dave had off-handedly mentioned the night before that he had done a workout in which all of his 800m intervals had been under 2 minutes. But I didn’t want newbies Mike and Greg to get the wrong impression about our team. Just so you guys know, we don’t care.
Joel, Greg, Dave and Tom applaud Costas’s gallant effort for a second cheek.
Decorum. The Leftovers made it through a full two legs before our decorum turned south. Which was mostly my fault. But was it really my fault that a portion of my Mott’s gummies were shaped like normal fruit, but a couple were clearly penises? No ambiguity here, though: as Costas was waiting at the 2/3 transition zone, I told him the story about giving Tara a good pinch in the butt when I passed her on Leg 3 last year. I still remember her jolt of shock, followed by relief when she saw it was just me.
Determined to snag his 2nd butt o’ the day.
Inspired, Costas spent the next four miles hunting down Domico so he could sneak in a good pinch of baldy’s unexpectedly firm roundness. Nothing gets Costas’s blood flowing like a good ass grab, which he channeled to power up Leg 11 in the Performance of the Day for the Leftovers. Mike’s Leg 4 and Dave’s Leg 9 also get Honorable Mentions, but nothing topped the drama of Costas tearing down at the end of Leg 11 on poor Tony, who fled in terror from Costas’s approaching pinchers.
Mike and Andy relive their dramatic race to the finish. Lil Dudes barely edged out the Leftovers.
Lil dudes. As much fun as the Leftovers had in our own van, part of the fun of MountainBack is getting to interact with the other teams at all the transition zones. Meira’s team eventually pulled away, but not before I got my own Domico bum pinch as I started Leg 6, with Dommie just strolling to his car like a sitting duck. Costas mentioned several times that he received no friendly bum pinch when I shot past him on Leg 4 a few years ago. Costas and I had never been on a MountainBack team together before, and I’m afraid we were not on ass grabbing terms at that time. What exactly does it take to get on ass grabbing terms? I’m not sure. When you’re running your guts out, the snap decision To Pinch or Not to Pinch is purely instinctual.
But remarkably the Leftovers finished within 45 seconds of Tom’s father-child team. Most of the kids on Tom’s team were around 12 years of age, but they were fast and tough and I swiftly dubbed them the Lil Dudes. Having not run much over the past couple weeks on account of my injury, one of my great fears was that I was going to suffer the humiliation of being passed by a 12-year old on Leg 6, which climbs over 1,300 feet in four miles. [Next year, Joco, you can run Leg 6 for me.] I have to admit, I felt a lot worse on Leg 6 this year than I did on Leg 11 last year, even as my second leg of the day. Leg 6 is just a relentless slog. But my little pity party was sharply interrupted when I passed George, who is 97 years old. If I can climb Leg 6 when I’m 97 years old, I’m going to throw myself a birthday party every damn day.
Costas finds new ways to expose himself.
Acknowledgments. State College has amazing small-town hospitality. Big bear hug thanks to Kathy and Tommy, for making time out of their hectic lives to host me. To Michelle, for a delicious post-race dinner that felt like Thanksgiving. To Dave, for hauling my car-less ass around and helping me get back to DC. To Tommy, for running so hard he puked (okay, dry heaved).To Cali, for organizing Friday night happy hour at Zenos. To the clover gods, for helping me find two four-leaf clovers and one five-leaf clover at Colyer Lake. And to all the super cute doggies (Bud, Winston, Lucca). Everything is better with doggies.
Post-script. As much as I love MountainBack, it is clear that the race is not thriving. Despite being the 50 mile road national championship, there were less than 25 ultra finishers, male and female combined. They still get some great runners, but the field is thin. The number of relay teams also has been dropping off, perhaps due to competition from the ever-popular Ragnar Relays. For me, MountainBack is infinitely superior to Ragnar. Let me count the ways:
(1) Timing. A six-hour race is the perfect time to have a heap of fun without the time ever dragging. You can actually keep a six-hour high. The overnight aspect of Ragnar totally grinds you down.
(2) Natural beauty. The MountainBack course is so much more beautiful, on gravel roads winding through Rothrock forest as the leaves are changing.
(3) Flexibility. It’s fun having a race that can accommodate so many different breeds of runner. To have some of the country’s most elite ultra runners competing at the same time as 97-year old George. Our team was highly diverse, from Young Buck Dave to those who warned us all to ‘bring reading material’ for their legs. Part of why I wanted a 8-person team is because I like being able to include folks that just want to do one leg.
(4) Team-team interactions. At a Ragnar race, you better like your team, because that’s pretty much the only folks you’ll be seeing for the next 30+ hours. At MountainBack, the short format of the relay means that teams don’t get spread out and get to interact at transition zones throughout the day. Not only does that facilitate bum pinches, but it also makes it an exciting race, as with Costas and Tony at the top of Leg 11.
(5) Hybrid. MountainBack is just about as traily as guys like Costas ‘it is impassible!’ will get. And just about as roady as Meira and her trail gang will get. While the PA trail running scene is thriving, MountainBack lags because it doesn’t really fit either bin. It’s too hilly and gravely for road runners looking for fast times. And it’s not the technical single track most trail runners are after. But for me, what’s magical about MountainBack is that there’s no other race like it. It’s a unicorn.
