Author: martha

Manitou’s Revenge, 54 miles

June 20, 2015, Catskills, NY

What kind of race is Manitou’s Revenge?  The kind that ate through Brian Rusieki’s shoe a few years ago.  And made Joe Clapper eat his boot, after he assured Michele he’d finish in under 16 hours (he finally crossed in 20+ hours).  Many of the climbs are so steep you have to use your hands.  As Joe wrote on the VHTRC club page:

The RD Charlie Gadol does it the old way.  If you seek a lot of course markings, aid station staff with rubber gloves, and a pampered experience, this might not be your course.  Manitou is in the Catskill Preserve, a 125 year old forest of firs, maples, and birches with spectacular views for 54 miles. The trail system predates switch backs. You get what you need but, no one is holding your hand.

This year, there were added challenges of torrential rain storms and vandalism of course markings.  Dave Quivey got the brunt of the rain storm, in the dark, and claimed he fell 50 times (which was consistent with the criss-crosses of cuts and bruises all over his legs and feet, and the mud found in his ear).  Joey went 6 miles off course, adding another 1700′ of elevation gain.  I did some ‘bonus miles’ of my own, and winner Brian Rusieki commented that the winner was simply ‘the guy who got lost least’.

The ~83% finishing rate of MR is remarkably high, given the conditions, and no doubt reflects how much RD Charlie Gadol curates the entrants list.  No wimps allowed.  Given my lackluster ultra record (can’t seem to get through without puking), the only way I got into the race was based on Clapper’s word.  I was a bit concerned that Joe had oversold my trail cred to Charlie.

But I’m a big sucker for (a) free race entries, (b) wacky adventures, (c) nostalgia (Escarpment was my first trail race in 2006), and (d) road trips with fun friends.  So when Charlie asked me if I wanted to run the race, I shot back an immediate response in the positive.

Over the next months, as I learned more about the race, and came to understand the true meaning of 15,000′ of elevation gain over 54 miles, I began to recognize the very real possibility that the race would crush my scrawny ass.  Joe mentioned that the early Escarpment section of Manitou’s was the ‘easy’ part.  It didn’t help that my stomach didn’t recover for weeks after Bull Run (Sunday training runs devolved into long walks) and I spent most of May in Paris and Belgium for work, where 15′ elevation change was the closest thing you got to a hill.  When I got home from Paris in late May, I threw in one quality training week, running the most miles I’ve ever done in a week (74 miles) before I had to jet to Iowa for work in early June, another place I couldn’t find a hill.

But I was excited about heading up to the Catskills, especially since we had such a fun group of VHTRCers heading up for the Azul Train — Joe and Michele, the Quiveys, Joey, Aaron and me.  I hadn’t really hung out with the Quiveys before.  That’s gonna change.

Dave, Joe, Joey, and I were running, and Aaron, Michele, and Jill were crew.  Aaron was deeply handicapped by the fact that this was my first time having any crew and I was hopelessly clueless.  The morning of the race I noticed that Michele had a very detailed list of all the specific things Joe wanted at each aid station.  I had simply given Aaron two plastic bags of miscellaneous items, one which I told him contained things ‘I would probably want’ and the other bag consisting of ‘back-up’.  I just had mostly gummies, crackers, and gels, which got old real quick.  Next time I’ll bring a lot more variety of things to eat — Ensures, Cape Cod potato chips, more V8, and apple sauce were all things I at one point desperately could have used during the race.

But Aaron was stupendous and absolutely made the race for me.  That surprise V8 midway through the race was clutch.  The pizza was on the money (even though it was hard to eat the second slice when you need both hands to crawl up the hill).

Aaron also talked me out of the major low I had at the first crew-accessible aid station, ~17 miles in, where I was queasy and psychologically felt like the race should be over (I entirely recognized that this was the finish area for Escarpment, where 9 years ago I had collapsed in the medical tent).  ‘This seems like a nice place to end a race!’ I declared.

When I ran Escarpment in 2006, my first trail race ever, I didn’t even bring a water bottle.  It was July.  I got so dehydrated the last third of the race that it was terrifyingly dangerous.  There are super rocky descents that you have to use your hands for, and my mind was checked out and my legs were jello.  I couldn’t focus enough to stay upright and my body just kept slamming down on the trail.  There’s a beautiful YouTube video where you can see my legs just give out from under me for no reason.  My friend who ran the last bit with me said that he was absolutely terrified for my life, seeing my head come dangerously close to smacking into boulders several times as I body slammed my way to the finish.

Did you notice in the video that I was clutching something in my right hand?  The father of my friend from Penn State (Morgan W.) was standing at the finish line, and after I crossed I placed in his hand a crumpled up little empty gel packet that was covered in mud and blood and sticky with goo that I had clearly been carrying for many, many miles.  Even as I faceplanted over and over, I held onto that little wrapper in a little fist deathgrip. Despite the fact that this was my first trail race, and that my mind was barely functioning from dehydration, I knew enough not to drop trash in the forest.  I would continue to see Morgan’s dad at various PA events over the years, and I he never forgot me, marveling over that crumpled little bloody gel packet I had deposited in his palm before collapsing.

At Manitou’s those memories all came flooding back as I ran that last stretch of Escarpment again, and it was a serious reality check.  Nutrition is my Achilles heel, and I realized with a bit of dread that over a race of Manitou’s length the cost of not eating and drinking enough today would put me in even more danger than I had experienced at Escarpment.  If I got dizzy and depleted and lost the plot over that distance, I could crack my head open on those rocks.  For the remainder of the race, I focused on survival.  I drank so much I peed constantly, dozens of times.  And I tried my damnedest to shove enough food down, even if it was the last thing in the world I was in the mood for.  And even if it meant walking in some of the stretches I would have liked to run.

‘Keeping it in the pants’ has become my unofficial ultra running mantra.  When I’m on the roads I give myself a lot of leeway.  If I want to rage like a bull, I let myself go for it.  If I want to compete head-to-head with someone who’s bugging me, male or female, I to let myself dig in.  But in ultra running, I’ve been trying to rein in that motor, and subdue the competitive instincts.  Most of the top female ultra runners weren’t fast when they started out, and got many years of grace period to figure out all the things like nutrition before they became competitive.

I never got that grace period.  In 2009, when I did my first ultra, the Laurel Highlands 50k, Keith K. told me to ‘just run it like you run a marathon, you’ll set a course record’.  LH50k is not an easy course, with a big climb around mile 7, but Keith has run 50+ 100-milers so I figured he knew what he was talking about (word of advice: don’t listen to Keith).  Approaching it like a marathon, I ate one shot blok every 5 miles (not one pack of bloks, one little square).  By mile 20 or so, having run several hours on some Gatorade and a handful of shot bloks, my depletion hit me, and I felt like I was going to vomit and stopped eating entirely.  It was hot (mid-June).  I walked the last mile or so.  I did manage to set a CR, that still stands, but I didn’t run another ultra for years.  I stuck to shorter trail races where nutritional depletion wasn’t an issue, like the Women’s Half.  I finally stepped up to the Uwharrie 20-miler in 2011, where I won again, but when they handed me a beautiful huge ceramic vase as my first-place award as I crossed the line, I asked them, Oh good, is this to puke into?  They swiftly yanked the vessel from my arms before I could defile it (the clay used came from the same North Carolina mountains we were running).

Why is nutritional depletion such a hot button for me?  Even aside from running, I require a huge amount of food/calories just to get through a typical day.  When I was a kid, my mom cooked me pancakes, waffles, french toast every morning before school (Saint Mom).  I didn’t just eat just one waffle, but two or three.  When my family went out to a fancy brunch when I was in middle school, I ordered a waffle with strawberries.  And then I waitress if I could please have another one.  Who just ate one waffle for breakfast?  My pediatrician prescribed for me a milkshake every day.  I would go over to my friends’ houses after school and politely inform their parents, in my little British accent, that — doctor’s orders — I needed to have a milkshake (I was shocked to discover that some of my friends didn’t stock their fridges with ice cream at all times!).  When I went to Stanford my freshman year, other girls would look askance at my tray piled high with food.  My friends from high school just knew that was how I was, and hadn’t made me feel so conspicuous about it.  When I got to Amherst, where the food wasn’t nearly as good as Stanford, I had to get a doctor and a nutritionist to write letters so I could get off the required dining meal plan so I could eat in town, as I was starting to waste away eating cereal for dinner.  Thank you, god, for Antonio’s Pizza in Amherst, MA.  Kept me alive those years.

‘Does it bother you that you got two pieces of pizza and I only got one?’  I was living off campus in a house owned by a crazy lady who leased rooms to myself, a woman who had come from Kyrgyzstan to study the local Men’s Resource Center, and a kid who had just graduated from Amherst High School, who would join me sometimes for pizza cravings.  He had a habit of staring me straight in the face and asking pointed questions, as if hoping to fluster me.     

‘Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a second piece?’  He had successfully flustered me into considering that maybe he didn’t have enough money for two pieces of pizza.

‘No, just, you’re a girl.  And you’re having two pieces of pizza and I’m only having one.’  At the time, Antonio’s was the greatest pizza I’d ever had.  They had funky kinds like chicken tortellini and potato pizza.   

I rubbed my temples. ‘This is what I always do: I eat two pieces of pizza.  I’m happy to buy you a second piece if you want it.’

‘So you’re not bothered.  A lot of girls would be bothered.’  

‘Why?’

‘Because they think they shouldn’t eat as much as a guy.  Hannah would never eat more than me.’

I flushed, realizing I was discovering how women think from an 18-year old boy.  But relieved to have at last firmly established that each of us were eating exactly the number of pizza slices we desired, and I could now re-focus on the magical blend of finely chopped bell peppers, chicken bits, onions, and jalapeños smothered in melty cheese.  

 

When I finally did take a swing at ultras again, I was plagued by the same problems — running too hard, not eating enough, nausea, vomiting, swearing I’d never do it again.  So these days I’m stepping back and reclaiming that lost grace period, letting myself go as slow as I have to in order to be able to eat, without anything hanging over about finish order.So as I ran at Manitou’s I made sure to ask people if they wanted to pass and step aside, and not let anyone subtly push me into going faster (if someone’s breathing down my back my natural instinct is to quicken).  I chatted with a couple people — such a small world, an Australian biochemist from the University of Sydney knew Eddie my PhD advisor, whom I’d just visited last November~  He told me about some cool ultras in the Snowy Mountains in Victoria that I’ll have to check out for next time I’m in Australia.

As I had suspected, a beautiful and challenging course like Manitou’s is perfect for adopting a mindset that you’re going to set back and enjoy the day.  First, just finishing Manitou’s is an accomplishment, in and of itself, and I wonderfully went through the whole day without anyone in any of the aid stations mentioning what place I was (I ended up finishing 3rd female).  And much of the course is not run-able, so I had plenty of opportunities to walk and just focus on nursing down morsels of food and keeping my stomach in a happy place.  My goal was simply to finish before dark, realizing that those rocks would be even tougher after nightfall, which I just barely accomplished (I finished around 8:30pm).

Ideally, I’d like to be able to not have to devote so much energy to shoving food down my throat, which detracts from the enjoyment.  Maybe if I had more suitable things in my drop bags I could have stocked up on calories in the aid stations and not had to focus so much on eating on the trails.  And I did go off course a bit, far enough that I had a feeling of doom in the pit of my stomach that I wasn’t actually sure I would ever find my way back to the blue trail and may be lost in the woods for hours.  When I finally did find the blue trail, I was so disoriented I wasn’t sure which direction to take it (I guessed right).  I was highly depleted when I finally finished the race in 15+ hours.  Sadly, I felt too ill to stick around and be social (although it ended up being the right choice, as I ended up vomiting from over-depletion when I got back).

Overall, these were my lessons from Manitou’s:

(a) Crew is the best.  Specifically Aaron Schwartzbard Crew Extraordinaire.

(b) The Catskills are *awesome*.  I can’t make it back to Escarpment this year because of a work commitment, but I will be back for Escarpment hopefully in 2016 and Manitou’s again in 2017, and possibly a new fall race they’re holding (Cat’s Tail Marathon).  Even though you can drive to the Catskills from DC in ~6 hours, there’s something about the area that makes you feel transported to a very distant land.  Maybe my mind was a little hazy from the length and ardor of the run, but I kept seeing monkeys in the trees and bright lizards at my feet.

(c) Speaking of which, the mind does funny things when you run by yourself for that long (this was nearly 2x as long as I’d ever run before).  In addition to seeing things that don’t exist (‘No, Martha, that can’t be a monkey, you are in N-e-w Y-o-r-k’), I sang the same songs in my head over and over again for hours, sometimes just a single verse or lyric:

“All That I Need”/Blind Melon

All that I need is the air that I breathe
And all that I need are things I don’t need
And all that really matters is what matters to me
And who of you are like me

If I was to smile and I held out my hand
If I opened it now would you not understand
Because you know if I’m to benefit I’ll do everything that I can
And who of you are like me

That lasted several hours.  Then as the day went on longer I switched to Pink Martini’s ‘Hang on Little Tomato’:

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it’s dark
And not a bit of sparkling
Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you’ll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something’s coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

(d) Relatedly, I have serious issues with boredom.  Manitou’s was *awesome* that I didn’t struggle with boredom much, because the course was always throwing something new at you.  Even though my little calves were not trained for those steep ascents, I loved the parts where you climbed with your hands.  So much, that when we got to the last climb and there was no hand-over-hand, I started pouting a little.  This is bor-ing!  But I think that’s why I’m kind of bi-polar when it comes to running: I either want something really fast (marathon and below) on the road, full of adrenaline and heart thumping, or I want something really technical and gnarly on the trails.  People keep suggesting that I run something like JFK because I’d be really fast.  Running for long periods on a flat boring canal makes me want to curl up on the side of the trail and sob.   A lot of people don’t get how a ‘roadie’ like me digs the 5k and something like Manitou’s, but not something like JFK.  It all comes down to the boredom factor.

(e) If I do go back to Manitou’s, I want it to be with as much of our little Azul Train as possible.  As I declared to Aaron and Joey on the ride home, ‘That was the Most Fun Race Excursion!’  Meaning that it wasn’t just the race itself that was awesome, but the whole weekend with Joe, Michele, Dave, Jill, and Joey.  The post-race hikes we did, going to town, and just hanging out in our quirky house.  I really, really appreciate how everyone skipped a day of work so that we could all have our post-race fun together.  Which is really what it’s all about, right Sean Andrish?

(f) ‘Crackheads Gone Wild’ is not nearly as funny as you think it’s going to be.

 

‘Aaron, if you could go on vacation, anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?’

‘West Virginia.’

‘Aaron! Be serious.’ And I realized he was.

If I go too long without traveling (say 3-4 months, to some place at least as exotic as Europe), I get flat. I get a little narrow and self-fixated. I need my brain jolts.  On the other hand, if Aaron had it his way, the farthest we would vacation would be Canaan Valley. And eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day.

But Aaron’s reluctance to travel abroad isn’t just an affinity for consistency and routine. Aaron’s company is small, and it’s hard to take extended time off work when you’re solely responsible for the company having a functional IT system (and its clients who use its software).

Hence, the birth of noncation.   Some people staycation, where they take time off work but just stay in their homes and do fun things around their home town. Aaron and I go the other way. We fly somewhere and plant our laptops and work regular hours.

Our first noncation was in Frisco in May (‘mudseason’). We worked in the morning, took a little jog around the mountains mid-day, and then worked again into the evening. On the weekend we did some biking and spring skiing in A-basin. And then we went home. We did another noncation in Minneapolis last summer, working from the university during the day but having our little adventures in the evening: renting bikes, running trails with a local running group, hitting up some local breweries.

Noncation may sound like a cop-out. Or at least not very romantic. No Paris or Maui. But there’s something quietly romantic about two people with seemingly incompatible positions finding a way to both get what they need, even if it’s not so conventional. Aaron gets full days of work. And I get my mini adventures, memories, and sips of different cultures.  Everyone wins!

 

 

Lobsterfest VI

Chevy Chase, MD

April 25, 2015

 

As Sarah W. pointed out at the 6th Annual LobsterFest, the only people who have annual birthday parties anymore are kids under 10 and grandparents over 90.  And Martha.

When I was a kid I had homemade birthday parties.  My mom would make a cake.  My brother would do a magic show.  There would be a bug hunt in the lawn.  As a goodie bag, you could take your bugs home with you.  As we got older there might be some wiffle ball in the front lawn.  It was a home run if you could hit it onto our neighbor Krish’s roof.  Then on the actual day of my birthday my mom would ask me what I wanted to have for dinner. Lobster!

My great-grandmother Martha Palonen (the Finnish one) lived in Gloucester, MA, a fishing town north of Boston that must be one of the lobster capitals of the world.  Here we could buy lobsters fresh off the fishing boat and boil them ourselves.

When I moved back to DC in 2008 to work at the NIH, my parents had just bought a second home in Shepherdstown, WV and were in a habit of hosting parties up there.  We also discovered that there was a nice little 5k race up there that supported the local Potomac Audubon Society that was held around the time of my birthday.  Race for the Birds + lobsters at Shepherdstown + friends and family = the initiation of Lobsterfest I for my 28th birthday.

Last January my parents’ house at Shepherdstown burned to the ground during a fire of unknown causes.  My parents were home in Chevy Chase, no one was hurt, but it was devastating for my parents.  My father’s massive library of books was in the basement.  That year we had no Lobsterfest, just a small family dinner.

But my parents have been rebuilding the house and it was hoped that it would be ready in time for LobsterFest VI.  But as we got close to the date, we realized that LobsterFest in Shepherdstown was not going to be a reality this year.  My mom made some peeps about using neighbors’ toilets, but I summarily rejected these.

It was thought that we would still go up for Race for the Birds.  This year R4B was even expanding into a 15k trail race option.  But I had been under the weather ever since returning from Boston at the start of the week puking (I didn’t even run the Marathon and I was still booting!).

So this year ended up being kind of LobsterFest Lite.  Many of my friends have been to previous LobsterFests and know how much fun the ‘real’ version can be.  This time, the cold rainy weather didn’t cooperate and we had to eat inside, forego tennis and excursions, etc.  We kept invoking the Passover mantra of: Next Year….In Shepherdstown.

But we had a wonderful turnout of family and friends from work, running, and childhood.  My brother Fred and him family came all the way down from Vermont.  ‘Cookie’ Jen also won big points for driving all the way from Ashburn to deliver her treats even though she didn’t feel well enough to stay.  The lobsters were absolutely delicious (I ate 2).  The croquet was fierce until the weather turned.  Fearless bug hunters braved the rain (Fred and Summer won for greatest diversity of bug, Savannah and I won for prettiest bug — as prizes I gave out the 4-leaf and 5-leaf clovers I had found that day clearing sticks from the croquet lawn). As the greatest single mark of success of LobsterFest Lite, we cleared out all of my parents’ bottles of red wine in the cellar.

 

 

 

Bull Run in Quotes in Reverse Chronological Order

2 Days After Finishing Bull Run Run

‘So Aaron, do you know why I keep running ultras, even though they’re just bouts of prolonged misery that drain the life out of my soul?’

Aaron swiveled his chair around but did not say anything.  I think I’ve mentioned before that Aaron does not like guessing games.

‘Because they’re the best possible way to prepare for a marathon.  After suffering through an ultra, a marathon feels like a breezy walk in the park.  After Holiday Lake, I felt like I was running on air at Rock ‘n’ Roll.’

‘That’s very sad.’

‘It’s kind of like how flying to Atlanta feels like a tiny puddle jump after Australia.’

Aaron made a sad face.

‘No, I’m serious.  I thought about giving up ultras and just running road races.  But ultra running teaches me how to shove gels down my throat even when it’s the last thing on earth I want to do.  It teaches me how to cruise through muscle twinges, knowing that they’re likely to pass.  Knowing how to do that does way more for my marathon performance than mile repeats or 80-mile training weeks could ever do.’

After two days of listening to me wrestle with the philosophical question of whether I should continue to run ultras, a question that seemed to rattle the essence of my identity as a runner who runs for fun, Aaron was too exhausted to offer any further response.

‘No, bear, this is good!  I’ve figured out how to reconcile ultra running with not being masochistic.  I’m suffering for a tightly defined purpose — it works!’

~            ~             ~

1 Day After Finishing Bull Run

‘Every runner out there has their own personal challenge.  Yours just happens to be your stomach.’  Aaron tried his best to put my struggles in perspective.

‘My challenge sucks!  Can I trade it in for a different one?’

~            ~             ~

1 Hour After Finishing Bull Run

‘I set a PR!’

‘Oh wow!’

‘Puke Record!  Seven spews!’

~            ~             ~

Mile 49 of Bull Run

‘Come on, run with us the last mile!’  A couple guys passed me very cheerfully.

‘Uh, no, I’ve been puking for the last couple hours.  If I go any faster I’ll puke.’

‘Yay!  We love puke!  We want to see you puke!’

~            ~             ~

Mile 45 of Bull Run

‘Hey, girl!  How you doin’?’  Some guys were sitting on a hill in the sunshine on the other side of the Marina aid station.

I glanced at them.  And then vomited three times on my right Montrail shoe.

‘Whoa, that’s the first time a girl has ever responded to me that way!’

~            ~             ~

Mile 36 of Bull Run

‘Yay, Boots!’

‘Martha!’

Gag reflex.  Followed by my first puke of the day.

‘Ooh, it’s okay, Martha.  You’ve got this!’

~            ~             ~

Mile 35 of Bull Run

‘Julian, I’m going to throw up.  Not now, but soon.’

‘No, you’ll be fine, you’ll be totally fine.’  If there was ever anyone who could convince me that everything would be fine, it was Julian J.  But I knew what was lurking in my stomach.  I had starting gagging about an hour prior, and the illness was steadily creeping upward.

‘It’s just a matter of time.’

~            ~             ~

Mile 29 of Bull Run

‘Kathleen, just let me know if I’m bugging you.’  I had promised Aaron I would go slowly for at least the first 38 miles.  Kathleen was holding a very nice steady pace and it seemed wise to duck in behind her.  We had been running most of the Hemlock-to-Fountainhead together, chatting breezily.  But my loquaciousness had gotten under her skin, and I was trying to be as quiet as I could on the White Loop.

‘Just so you know, Kathleen, if you ever need me to talk less, just go ahead and say so.  I will not be offended.’

~            ~             ~

Mile 1 of Bull Run

‘Aaron there is something seriously wrong with my bladder.  It’s flopping all around.  Can you fix it?’

Aaron fumbled with my pack while we slowed our trot.  ‘Is that better?’

‘Ooh, yeah, that’s much better.  I think it wasn’t fully in.  Can you just try to shove it in a little deeper?’  Pause.  ‘Ha!  That’s What She Said!’

Keith chortled.