Author: martha

Canaan Valley, WV

December 22-27, 2012

For several weeks leading up to our Christmas holiday in Canaan, Aaron had promised that There would be snow.  And how the Valley delivered!  Nearly 16 inches of fresh snowfall during our stay.  While there were many clear upsides to the snow in terms of winter sport adventure (see pictured, left), unfortunately the poor state of the roads interfered with the Operation Family Time that traditionally coincides with Christmas.  Aaron’s parents Dick and Rosemary could not come out for the ski weekend at Timberline they had planned with us for months.  And while my parents braved a harrowing drive to get to Canaan (my father had some strong comments about the quality of road plowing in various stretches of Virginia and West Virginia), the snow delayed their departure an additional day, stretching the limits of Nelson family harmonious co-habitation.

Most people are familiar with my wimpy princessy tendencies that preclude participation in events like Hellgate.  But when it comes to treacherous footing, I’m surprisingly game.  After getting our fill of snowshoeing, Aaron and I dropped the clunky footwear to take on the snow drifts with nothing but Nike, making it through the rocky Dolly Sodds with surprisingly good success (if you measure success by not falling on our butts rather than by miles covered).

Winter is so quiet when all the animals are gone.  Even the over-populated Canada goose population had long abandoned the nearby Spruce Island (‘Goose Poop’) Lake.   So when it’s cold and remote and you haven’t seen another person or even a squirrel for hours, the Eastern black-capped chickadee becomes a dearest of friends.  We spotted a few deer, a hawk, and some creepy flocks of giant wild turkeys during our adventures in the snow.  But the hardy little chickadee was the only consistent presence in those white woods, with its distinctive chick-a-dee-dee-dee call accompanying our travels throughout the day.  The xc ski area Whitegrass puts some birdseed out on benches that the daring chickadees dive in for even in our presence.  When new snowfall buried the seeds, I reached into my pocket for some peanut-butter crackers that our little friends deemed a very viable substitute.

D-day came on December 24th, with the storming of the Nelsons upon the gates of the Chophouse, along with the materials for the Christmas Eve Scandinavian smorgasbord, including Swedish meatballs, herring, pickled beets, and lingonberry sauce.  My father’s parents are from Finland and Sweden, so I grew up with Christmases that were steeped in Scandinavian traditions to a level verging on absurd.  For Christmas Eve we always produced an elaborate Scandinavian smorgasbord that included a number of foods I wouldn’t touch (like ‘veal jelly’, potato sausage, and pickled herring) and some foods I would nibble at (the meatballs and deviled eggs), while I mainly loaded up on a jello dish made by my grandma’s cousin Maiju.  If it weren’t for the rich rice pudding dessert we ate at the end, my caloric intake for Christmas Eve would have dipped below 250.  After dinner we would dance around the Christmas tree singing Finnish Christmas songs.  No one below the age of 60 knew any Finnish, but we knew all the songs by heart (or at least our Anglo-mangled versions of them) and when we were supposed to make bunny ears and tails with our fingers.  I clearly recall the semi-tormented facial expression and halfhearted staggering of my older teenage brother when made to take part in the Finnish bunny-dance songs.  Fortunately, Fred did not have to partake with me in the Santa Lucia pageant, in which I got dressed up in a white gown with tinsel wrapped around my head and waist and with a group of Scandinavian children performed traditional Swedish Christmas songs, including the Santa Lucia girl who wore a terrifying headdress of candles on her head.  I actually enjoyed the whole Santa Lucia thing, but I was always at a distinct disadvantage because I was the only child who did not actually speak Swedish.  I could stagger through a chorus or two of ‘Stilla Natt (Silent Night)’, but for the rest of the songs I had to scrawl their lyrics on the circular disk that kept the candle’s hot wax from dripping on my hand (except for the one Santa Lucia girl, the other girls just held single candles; the boys, who apparently couldn’t be trusted with flaming objects, were given wands shaped like stars to hold — and hit each other with).  I was able to read the lyrics off my candle holder for about half of the show (some of the other girls would lean over to read off my disk as well), but eventually the wax would drip and obscure my writing and we’d all have to count on the lone Santa Lucia to carry the show.

Christmas night it snowed even more, and my parents were unable to leave as planned the next day.  My father stayed home writing (apparently proving the existence of God, although not a Judeo-Christian we were told), but we, undeterred by the snowstorm, ventured off to Whitegrass for a long day of more adventure.  It even started to clear up at the end of the day, with a long rainbow stretching across the homestretch.

Magnus Gluteus Maximus Fat Ass 50k

December 15, 2012

Bull Run Park, Manassas, VA

 

In the days leading up to this year’s MGM, Sean was intent on getting me to run the Do Loop.  For the past couple years, I’ve always considered Fountainhead to be a very appropriate spot for turning my MGM Fun Run around, despite always returning to choruses of ‘What??  You didn’t do the Doooooo Loooooop?  You GOTTA do the Do Loop!’ when I got back to Hemlock.  For a while I imagined that the Do Loop had to be some beautiful scenic place with glorious views to warrant such emphatic endorsement.  So it came as a surprise when Aaron informed me that the Do Loop was nothing more than those craggy series of miserable climbs I ran in the early stages of the Women’s Half Marathon that went by that rusty junk-heap car.  I have less-than-fond memories of battling neck and neck with dear Eliza ‘still hasn’t returned my bladder’ O’Connor on that murderous stretch of trail back in 2011.

But when I got to Fountainhead this year, we were having such a good time — Sean, Keith, Aaron, Greg Z., Greg Z’s awesome ultra-running beagle-spaniel, and myself — that I continued on to the Do Loop without much cajoling, and ended up running the whole 50k.  Sean and I have been talking about doing a long run together for years now, and with the weather absolutely perfect and plenty of good cheer to go around (Greg Z. can TALK), I decided to strike while the iron was hot.  I particularly liked running the part of the course that overlapped with the Women’s Half Marathon — it was so pleasant to be able to relax and enjoy those stretches of trail, rather than race them with your heart pounding out of your chest.  I have a crazy crisp memory for what I was thinking about during any section of a race: I could recall the exact place in the race where my nose  twinged because I was so sad over my rapidly dying kitty, Waddle, who was diagnosed with feline leukemia on the day of the WHM.

But the take home lesson is: I’m not going to run long because people tell me I should, or because there’s some underwhelming view ahead, or because I’m training for anything specific, or because Sean whines a lot.  I’ll keep going as long as I’m having fun, as long as conversation keeps flowing and people keep laughing at my dumb jokes.  And there are lots of snacks along the way.

 

Dan Weinberger had delayed coming to WUS for as long as he possibly could.  For over two years he would entertain the idea and then concoct last-minute excuses that centered on his perceived lack of fitness.  Aaron and I had pretty much written him off.  But D-Day had come, and with only one day left in DC before moving his life to Yale University in Connecticut, Dr Weinberger came through in the clutch!  On Tuesday, December 18, 2012, Dan and his friend Adam arrived at Kerry’s house, ready to rumble with the Flashlight People.

Dan has been part of our Fogarty family at the NIH for over two years now.  We’ve had more than our share of work adventures in China, Nepal, Malta, and Peru (twice).  He fills a key niche at Fogarty: Dan studies bacteria while we do viruses, and, even more importantly,  Dan is often the sole representative of the male gender when we get together to have lunch on the patio or travel to places like Malta.  Dan’s low-key mellowness can be a vital antidote to our occasional estrogen overload, and his male perspective comes in handy during lunchtime banter.  If we have any beef with Dan, it’s that sometimes he’s too good — like when he refrains from a lunchtime escape to the nearby Indian buffet because he has too much work to do (but could we expect anything else from a Harvard boy?)

But that’s part of why it was so great to see Dan bust through that ole straightjacket of convention and come to WUS on Tuesday.  To sweeten the pot even more, he brought his high school friend Adam who COLLECTS MUSHROOMS!  Only a handful of WUSsies have any inkling how obsessed I am with mushrooms, but Aaron would be happy to recount the ordeals he has to endure in the name of my mushroom fancy.  (Most recently he had to watch a documentary called Know Your Mushrooms! which he didn’t find half as scintillating as I did.)  My love of mushrooms was acquired during my early 20s during travel to Italy, Russia, Japan, and other countries that revere their mushrooms with an intensity that Americans would associate with lunatics.  I won’t bore you with a long-winded Ode to Mushrooms explaining why they are divinity on Earth — partly because my fervor cannot be attributed purely to the physical properties of the mushroom and is more difficult to explain, much like my kinship with four-leaf clovers.

Adam and I proved that you can indeed find edible wild mushrooms in Rock Creek Park.  In winter.  In the dark.  We returned with a plateful of large oyster mushrooms that are still in my fridge waiting to see if I get the guts to try cooking one.  I can happily confirm that Dan and Adam relished their inaugural WUS experience.  Maybe when Dan visits from New Haven he’ll stop by again.  In the meantime, Adam and I will be out hunting for mushroom booty in his honor.

I’m always willing to help a fellow scientist in his/her pursuit of knowledge:

 

Dear Daniel,

You might at first think that these responses are facetious, and might distort the results of your study, but my aim is simply to make sure you receive a healthy diversity of perspectives.

Why did you start ultrarunning?

I was tricked by Keith Knipling.  I thought the Eagle Run was over at mile 14 when we all stopped and ate pizza.  Turned out that was just the halfway point. 

Why types of ultras have you done?

The shortest ones possible (although occasionally I get tricked into a little longer).  The 50k distance is generally where I cap out.

Do you have a personal goal for your ultrarunning?

To run a 50k without barfing (or feeling for the last 10 miles like I’m going to barf). 

Do you tend to do your running alone or with other people or a mixture of
both? Explain.

I only run alone when abandoned by my friends. 

Where do you like to do runs?

Far away from the icky people (ie, not my friends) and anything that reminds me of life responsibilities (buildings, cars, computers, etc.). 

What challenges do you face as a runner?

When I go into glycemic debt around mile 18-20 I get really nauseated and sometimes spew. 

How did you overcome those challenges?

I have actually found that eating papaya helps.  It’s known that papaya has special enzymatic properties that help to break down proteins.

For you, are there any aspects to running outside of the physical (mental,
spiritual, etc.)?

I go absolutely nutters if I don’t get to run regularly. 

During your races, do you feel like you were running by yourself, with
others or a mixture of both? Explain.

Um, that depends on whether I’m running by myself (in which case it feels like I’m running by myself), or with others (in which case it feels like I’m running with others).  I find that in road races I like to run alone and in trail races I like to run with a male with whom I’m not competing directly. 

Describe a favorite moment during your ultrarunning.

-any aid station, particularly those manned by Quatro and those stacked with golden oreos

Describe an unfavorable moment during your ultrarunning.

-falling in the glacial river during a 55k in Iceland (2012)

-losing the lead in the last 3 miles after barfing 4x consecutively at the last aid station at Holiday Lake 50k (2012)

What does finishing an ultra feel like?

usually like hell: when I won Uwharrie they handed me a beautiful ceramic vase as my prize and I thought they were supplying me with a canister to barf into

 

Jingle All the Way 8k

Freedom Plaza, Washington, DC

Sunday, December 8, 2012

 

While Aaron was off at Hellgate (see the special prize he won this year — that’s so going over the mantle at the Chophouse), I opted for the Jingle All the Way 8k with Team Floo Fighters from Fogarty (Cecile, Dan, Bernard, and Dan’s wife, Megan — actually, Megan bailed because it was raining in the morning, so our team was disqualified for only having 4 runners.  For those not in on the Floo Fighters pun, our team consisted of fellow influenza virus researchers at the NIH.  Cecile and Bernard are the fabulous Frenchies; Dan is moving to Yale in a few weeks to commence an academic career as Professor Weinberg.  I forgot to take a picture of our team at the race, but here’s a picture from one of our NIH races.

Sean seems to think that some day I’ll run Hellgate, but I believe the JAW 8k will remain my preferred alternative for the near future.  Pacers put on a pretty good gig: even with 4,700 runners the logistics were smooth at the start; the course was nice, going down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capital and looping around the mall to finish back at Freedom Plaza; there was a well organized bag check; and people really got into the Holiday costume thing: there were santas, reindeer, penguins, a menorah; even a pack of (seasonally confused) Easter bunnies.  And it really felt like Christmas when I got a pre-race port-o-potty!  I only had two complaints: (a) the race had at least three hairpins, including a brutal one with only a quarter mile left in the race (REALLY??), which were particularly hairy on the wet pavement; and (b) the awards ceremony was delayed (despite continuous announcements of its pending arrival) — so I jetted before getting my $60 prize for 5th place (I finished in 29:08, a new PR (5:52/mi), and good enough to win my 30-34 age group and 39th overall).  The only good thing about all the bloody hairpins was that I could confirm that no women were sneaking up behind to steal the last of the top-5 prizes — and it was also nice to see Dan, Cecile, and Bernard when we crossed each other.  The Floo Fighters had a fine showing, despite the absence of our critical 5th teammate (the kicker was when Dan admitted that Megan had gotten up, put on all her running stuff, and then saw the rain and balked — frankly, I’m holding Dan liable for insufficient cajoling — isn’t the whole point of being married that you have someone to kick your ass out the door when you’re being lame?).  Cecile finished in 40:10 for 16/337 in her age group; Bernard was 36:25 for 25/173 in his age group; and Dan went 38:26 for 98/345 age group placing.  Go FLOOsies!

 

Post-race interview with Aaron:

Me: Hi, Aaron. How was Hellgate?

Aaron: Long and warm.

Me: What do you think of your 10-time finisher award?

Aaron: It’s beautiful.

Me: So are you going to hang it over the mantel at the Chophouse?

Aaron: Not likely.

Me: So why were the times so fast this year, just because it was warm?

Aaron: Yeah, when it’s that cold you devote so much of your energy to just figuring how to eat and drink.

Me: So who was the guy who broke the CR?

Aaron: He’s from Montreal, that’s why no one knew him.

Me: So is it called Hellgate because of the 66.6 miles?

Aaron: No, there is a Hellgate Creek at the start of the race.  They didn’t know how long it was until someone GPSed it later.

Me: Eerie.  So did Horton say anything mean?

Aaron: First thing when he sees me: Hey Schwartzbard, you still ugly!

Me: So are you going to run it next year?

Aaron: Gotta go for twenty.

 

Awesome Hellgate 2012 video