Thursday, September 29, 2011 – 2nd Biannual ‘Bob Nelson’ Donut Run (on this day Bob will turn 67)
Thursday, October 6, 2011 – 2nd Biannual ‘Happy Birthday Matty’ Beer Mile (3 days after Matt Woods turns….32?)
[Note that these happen to be the most inappropriately attributed running events, as Bob is diabetic and Matt doesn’t drink.]
I lost my first toe nail!! (She hung on a while after Cowans Gap but finally succumbed). I feel like a part of my innocence has been lost; I’ve been launched into ultra runner adulthood.
I got to pee before the gun went off! Hooray! That’s right, in a portopotty, and with ample time to get to the starting line and mill around, see the wheelchair racers go off and take note of a dude wearing shorts bittier than Matty Woods’s (Matty was supposed to be running for PR as well, but he had to work (ie, terrorize young lifeguard girls)). At one point we were going to try to get a WUS team together for this race to see if we could upend some of the traditional DC road runner powerhouses like PR or Georgetown Running Company in the team competition, but I didn’t decide to race until last minute and no other WUSsies ended up running it — even Wardian didn’t show (something about trying to set a record for an indoor marathon that morning — why anyone would opt for an indoor marathon over the Twilight run is entirely beyond me). Twenty-five years running, the Rockville Rotary Twilight 8k has become Washington’s premier running event of the summer, a classic. The prize money isn’t huge ($350/250/200/175/150), but many of the region’s top runners come out for it at a time when there aren’t many other big races (both the men’s and women’s races this year were won by Ethiopians, see below) — and the whole running at night thing is pretty cool.
It’s rather nice to start a race comfortably, rather than a) having pissed your shorts (National Half Marathon, March), b) dashing across the Mall after the gun’s gone off (Race for the Cure 5k, June), or c) holding your bladder as tightly as you can for the first four miles because you’re determined not succumb to either a) or b) (Summerfest Rock ‘n Sole Half Marathon, July). And the race stayed comfortable the whole way. It was cool out for a July eve in DC, my bagel was sitting in my stomach nicely (it was hard to figure out what to eat before an 8:45pm race), my respiratory infection wasn’t giving me asthma despite the fact I forgot my inhaler, and it was nostalgic for me to return to a race I hadn’t run in, god, like 15 years. Yes, the last time I ran this race was in high school, running it with my brother Fred, my brother’s friend Josh Hoyle, and my friend Sarah Schwertner. It was bloody hot and when I sucked wind the whole way I discovered that all the girls I was running against in high school actually RAN over the summer (what a notion!) and beat me handily. But despite the cold shock of pain and failure, there was something idyllic about all the neighbors sitting on their front lawns playing peppy music on their boomboxes and spraying us with their garden hoses. And that there was a band playing and free beer at the end of the race that my brother snuck to me somehow which totally made those 5 hot wind-sucking miles entirely worth it to a 15-year old.
I’ll admit it was a little sad to be there this time without any friends — I really can’t recall the last time I ran a race dead alone. In fact, I was pretty down at the beginning of the race, wondering why I had trekked all the way up there to run by myself and get my ass kicked by all these super speedy people. I was snot-rocketing all over the place and my nose was all snuffed up and I was drained from a hot day of intensive shopping (as long as I had to go to Rockville I crammed in a million errands along the Pike, including a trip to Racquet ‘n Jog sports, the best running store in the world — it still tickles me pink how they let me Mix the Box (as in buy a discounted box of Cliff Shot Bloks and put whatever different flavors I like — gotta love the little things in life) — but I think I lost a good 20 seconds off my time from the absolutely miserable trip to the Verizon store, where I almost dropped an F-bomb when they told me the $15 of minutes I’d bought for the pre-paid cell phone I bought merely for the purposes of having a doorbell expired after 60 days) — anyway, I digress….).
Truthfully, my legs felt like puppies let out after a long snowstorm. I kept furrowing my brow in minor confusion — why were they going so fast? In the opening mile I just picked female runners off one at a time (the cuter and more elaborate the running outfit, the more I enjoy passing them — I kept recalling Aaron’s hilarious impression of the Apolo Ohno speed skater starting positions he witnessed at his latest 4-miler). But I didn’t want to get carried away — 5 miles might seem awfully short to an ultra runner but it’s still a bloody long way to go at the 5:45ish pace I was clipping away at (I couldn’t help but see the big clocks at every mile — I wish I hadn’t, as I found it highly disconcerting to be going through so quick (at 3 miles I was in the 17:20s), making me feel like I was a ticking time bomb that was going to blow. But I had a big kick at the end, passing a bunch of guys and the 5th place woman to finish in the money. I still can’t quite figure out why I felt so good — I felt good even after the race, and dashed the mile or so back to my Volvo still feeling high. Maybe it was my new Mizuno racing flats I broke out — they are flashy and red!
After the race I actually apologized to the 6th place woman I passed right at the end — it just seemed like a dick move to sit behind her most of the race, maybe 10 yards back, and then blow by her right at the finish. I tried to explain to her that I just don’t have enough current speed work or experience with short races under my belt to know what I have in me and had run a bit too conservatively perhaps because I couldn’t recall exactly what the threshold for pain is supposed to be in these short events. I really wasn’t out there to murder myself — I really just wanted to have a refreshing race where I felt good start to finish — after the dismal Highland Sky experience I’ve been on a quest to just try to feel good about running again, get a little pep and confidence back in the legs — they were so defeated and dejected after HS.
Here are the women’s results (ignore the Pace part — this is clearly incorrect on the website). The race was won by Ethiopian Tezeta Dengersa. So the girl who was 4th ahead of me, Lucinda Smith, I used to run against in high school (when she was Lucinda Hull — I was always faster than her and her twin sister Claudine (I don’t know who named these kids…)). But yeah, yeah, she’s all faster than me now, runs for Adidas and is in some US Elite Development program. Back in high school she and Claudine would use their formidable twin power on me, who always felt very abandoned, as everyone else was on these big teams with lots of fast girls and my school, B-CC, didn’t even have the 5 runners needed for a team and our second-best runner, my friend Mary Havell, quit XC to play field hockey. So I could run with the guys during practice, but on race day I was pretty much on my own against these swarms of girls in matching uniforms and hair bows (or matching faces in the case of Lucinda and Claudine).
Place Div/Tot Num  Name                 Ag Hometown        Gun T Net T Pace
===== ======== ===== ===================== == ================ ===== =====Â =====
    1  1/192    12 Tezeta Dengersa      31 Burtonsville MD 27:03 27:02  4:21
    2  1/199    10 Amanda Rice          27 North Bethesda M 28:39 28:37  4:37
    3  1/186    14 Lisa Thomas          35 Alexandria VA   28:47 28:45* 4:38
    4  2/199    13 Lucinda Smith        29 Darnestown MD   28:49 28:48  4:39
    5  2/192  2860 Martha Nelson        30 Washington DC   29:33 29:26  4:45
    6  1/134    41 Elena Orlova         41 Gaithersburg VA 29:36 29:35* 4:46
    7  3/199    38 Melissa Majumdar     26 Baltimore MD    30:03 30:00  4:50
    8  4/199    25 Laurel Jefferson     25 Washington DC   30:02 30:01  4:50
    9  5/199    26 Lindsey Jerdonek     26 Washington DC   30:15 30:13  4:52
   10  1/86    641 Megan Digregorio     23 White Marsh MD  30:24 30:21  4:53
In the Team Competition, GRC won by 6 minutes. PR really suffered without their WUSsies Wardian, Matty, and Aaron.
1. GEORGETOWN RUNNING CO.
25:12 27:39 27:44 30:13 30:26 = 141:14
Paul Guevara M 24, Andy Sovonick M 25, Patrick Murphy M 27, Lindsey
Jerdonek F 26, Laura O’Hara F 31
2. FALLS ROAD BLUE
27:58 29:08 29:58 30:00 30:38 = 147:42
Patrick McLoughlin M 30, Kris Simms M 39, Louis Foudos M 24, Melissa
Majumdar F 26, Megan McNew F 32
3. FALLS ROAD WHITE
27:20 28:02 30:21 31:05 31:09 = 147:57
Brennan Feldhausen M 26, Seth Tibbitts M 30, Megan Digregorio F 23,
Joel Gladfelter M 32, Amy Horst F 31
4. POTOMAC RIVER RUNNING
25:32 29:38 31:19 31:25 32:14 = 150:08
Christopher Sloane M 28, Stephen Crago M 43, Peggy Yetman F 43, Bryan
Mikesh M 46, Mijiko Phelps F 41
5. CAPITAL AREA RUNNERS
30:01 30:15 30:37 30:45 31:13 = 152:51
Laurel Jefferson F 25, George Buckheit M 54, Sarah Bard F 27, Eugene
Holmes M 46, Brandon Hirsch M 41
And the men’s, won by another Ethiopian Abiyot Endale.
Place Div/Tot Num Name Ag Hometown Gun T Net T Pace
===== ======== ===== ===================== ==
1 1/149 1 Abiyot Endale 25 Bronx NY 23:47 23:47 4:48
2 1/85 5 Ricky Flynn 23 Lynchburg VA 24:21 24:19 4:54
3 2/149 59 Birhanualem Feysa 29 Silver Spring MD 24:25 24:24 4:55
4 1/173 4 Tariku Bokan 30 Herndon VA 24:36 24:35 4:57
5 2/173 6 David Berdan 30 Owings Mill MD 24:38 24:36 4:57
6 2/85 17 Paul Guevara 24 Alexandria VA 25:12 25:12 5:05
7 3/173 8 Wilson Komen 33 Washington DC 25:14 25:13 5:05
8 3/85 16 Paul Zwama 24 Fresno CA 25:15 25:15 5:05
9 4/85 62 Matthew Abernathy 22 College Park MD 25:27 25:26 5:08
10 3/149 58 Seife Geletu 29 Washington DC 25:28 25:27 5:08
I also noticed that Karsten Brown finished 26th in 26:53 — he’s in the VHTRC right?
After Sarah Wright and Scott Brewer got married on July 1, 2011, they enjoyed two nights at the Marriott Wardman in Woodley Park (just a stone’s throw from the WUS house!) and then embarked on a unique honeymoon…..in Milwaukee, WI…..along with their good friend Martha. I mean, who wouldn’t want me on their honeymoon?
Yes, Scott was a good man to consent to hand over his new bride to me for the week of Summerfest, a giant music festival held during the first week of July in Milwaukee, where Sarah and Scott currently abide. For the record, Sarah and I had bought tickets to the Black Keys concert long before Sarah and Scott had set a wedding date, so I didn’t feel too badly about hijacking Sarah. And you had to admit that the Black Keys concert could not to be missed — not only did we get Patrick and Dan (Patrick drummed so hard he looked like he was going to collapse at the end), but we got the ethereal Florence + the Machine as the opening act as well. [Cage the Elephant also came on first with some high energy performances of ‘Ain’t No Rest of the Wicked’ and ‘Shake Me Down’ — I’ve never seen a guy crowd surf so much] The (entirely sold out) crowd was so seduced by Ms. Florence and her swirling black cape that we all obligingly hopped like hypnotized bunnies when she requested it for her scorching finale of ‘Dog Days are Over.’ She could have asked us to hop on one foot and we would have. Pretty tough to follow up on that kind of voice, but the Black Keys would not be outshone. The finale of ‘Strange Times’ and ‘I Got Mine’ from the 2008 Attack and Release album was…..was…..man, I don’t know how to write about music any better than I know how to write about wine….if I tried I’d end up writing like some schmuck about oak resins and tints of moose bladder. Let’s just leave it that it was GOOD.
The next day we saw Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, another show we were very psyched about. Unfortunately, Katy Perry was occupying the Marcus Amphitheater, so Edward & co were on a stage that was way too small for the overflowing demand. In a sharp contrast to the very comfortable bleacher seat viewing Sarah and I had for the Black Keys (who needs real seats when you stand the whole concert anyway?), Sarah and I found it considerably more difficult to enjoy a show when we were smushed up against a fence, standing behind short people but who had flipped up their hat brims as some kind of fashion statement (or ‘Screw all you folk trying to see anything’ statement). Also, whereas smoking was prohibited at the semi-enclosed Marcus Ampitheater (although there was no shortage of pot — I think Sarah and I got second-hand highs), Sarah and I found ourselves with cigarette smoke being blown into our faces throughout the show. The fact that Sarah and I so enjoyed the show despite the less-than-desirable circumstances are an absolute testament to the charisma of Edward, Jane, & co — I think I’d keep tapping my foot to ‘Home’ even during dental surgery. As if to make it up to squished fans like Sarah and myself, Edward came over to our fence after the show to meet and greet. He was giving hugs to all the girls and high fives to the guys (although I declined both — I don’t care how good his music is — he was dripping in sweat and, well, I’m somewhat feline when it comes to things like that).
Rosie came up for the weekend and our Summerfest finale, which was my racing the Inaugural Summerfest Rock ‘n Sole Half Marathon. The race was being touted for its big prize money ($22,000 in total payouts), a scenic out-and-back over the Hoan Memorial Bridge, and starting and ending on the Summerfest grounds. Sign me up!
Unfortunately, for many the race was a complete disaster. As of today, the race director is reported to be ‘seriously considering refunds’ (MSNBC) due to poor organization and management during what turned out to be a sweltering day that forced the race to declare a Code Black and shut the course down early. I was fortunate to be at the front of the race, safely finishing before the closure and getting my water before they ran out (whereas I didn’t take a drop of water at the National half marathon in March, I loaded up on water and gatorade at each aid station, chugging down as much as I could — people were dropping like flies in the heat). My only complaint was that initially my name wasn’t in the initial posted results, making me wonder whether they would give me the $200 in prize money that had been promised to the 7th place finisher (I sent them some emails though and now I’m listed so hopefully the check will come — drinks on me next WUS!), and that there were no dropbags, so finding Sarah and Rosie at the end of the race without a cell phone in all those crowds was quite a challenge — nothing like a hot, tired runner wandering around asking where the Human Lost + Found is….. But I have to say, Sarah and Rosie were awesome spectators, and Sarah even jumped in and ran with me for a half mile or so. My (perennial) other problem was that I didn’t have time to pee before the race (the lines are always SO long for the portopotties) and after pissing myself at National and being in the portopotty when the gun went off at the Race for the Cure, I decided just to hold it and use one along the course — but that definitely added ~30 seconds or so. But coming out of the john, still pulling up my shorts (some people got a good semi-butt flash), my GU fell out and I had to run back and get it. Some very kind Midwestern dude picked it up and with a little wink as he handed it to me said, ‘I think you’ll be needing this.’ That dude totally made my race!
Post-script: Rosie & Sarah will be guest-appearing at the 2nd Annual Martha Birthday Beer Mile, Friday, April 27, 2012. They greatly enjoyed Bobby’s video and are looking forward to meeting the WUSsies.
I thought I might finish 1st Girl,
And then I thought I might Hurl.
For if you drink Heed,
You cannot Succeed,
For your stomach acids will Swirl.
                                                              -Inspired by Aaron Schwartbard
~ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ~ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ~ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ~
Somewhere along the stretch of road that runs between miles ~20-27 of the Highland Sky 40 mile race in Davis, WV, I turned off onto the grass, placed my hands on my knees, and gagged. The strawberry cliff shot blok, which had been so deliciously energizing for the first 15 miles of the race, now lay chewed up and spat out at my feet, a gooey red blob. I tried to breath slowly and relax to gather myself. This would pass, the convulsing in my stomach would cease. I took the tiniest sip of water and my stomach contracted again. I wanted to vomit, I felt so ill. My head spun. Shit, this was not good.
Everything had been going grand. The course was beautiful, the flowers in bloom, the weather was cool and pleasant, and I’d survived all the tough climbing with Eva just ahead of me, positioned perfectly going into the road and faster sections. We had even had an escape pony climb with us for about half a mile! (My favorite quote of the run was my question to the guy ahead of me, ‘Is that your pony?’)  But something had gone terribly wrong around mile 15 when my stomach had tied up in a knot and began rejecting all food and liquid. Before that, between miles 10-15, I had fallen on my water bottle and most of the water/cytomax mixture had squirted out, so I took those miles easy, let Eva pass me up the long climb (when she passed she asked me what WUS was!), and planned to retool at the 3rd aid station. I was quite thirsty and dehydrated by the time I got to AS#3, so I was a bit hazy when I requested ‘1/3 Gatorade, 2/3 water’. When the volunteer said they didn’t have Gatorade but had something called ‘Heed’ I just nodded and agreed – anything to quench the thirst from that long climb.
But as thirsty as I was, I could only get a small sip down. Whatever was in my bottle was foul. I tried to take many short sips but my body was not taking well to it. Shortly thereafter my stomach seized up. Nausea ensued. It was a lovely stretch of course, with fun little boardwalks to prance across, but even still I could feel myself slipping into stomach pain and dizziness. Eating seemed to make the stomach situation worse, so I decided to impose a short moratorium on feeding until my stomach health was restored.
But the situation only deteriorated further and the nausea intensified. I wanted desperately to vomit but all I could muster was a gag or a mini regurgitation of acid into my mouth. I developed a plan: when I got to the mile 20 aid station at the start of the road section I would take a longer break, get my drop bag, replace whatever foul mixture was in my water bottle with the cytomax mixture that was in my bag, gather myself and retool. But I waited and waited at AS#4 and no one could find my drop bag so eventually I pushed on, dehydrated, low blood sugar, under-nourished, dizzy, and now intensely wanting to vomit.
A severe desire to vomit during a race is not entirely unfamiliar to me. When I finished Uwharrie in February, I felt so ill that I asked if the lovely ceramic pot they awarded the winner as I crossed the line was something I was supposed to hurl into. I am fully aware that I have some real problems with balancing sugars and electrolytes and hydration. Hell, I have problems even when I’m not running. But the nausea always set in late in the race, with generally <3 miles to go, sometimes as many as 10, and I was always able to push through. Never had the downward spiral begun with 25 miles still left to go.
I pattered back onto the road. A guy in yellow shorts suggested that if I ran up the hills I could gain a lot of ground on the other runners. I shot him a look like I wished death upon him. I recalled how the WUSsies had told me how much I would love this stretch of road, how I would fly on it and catch Eva — ha! The nausea came in distinct waves of intensity, and as soon as one subsided I tried to shove down a little bit of raspberry gu to mitigate the dizziness, but to no avail. It occurred to me that if I vomited I might feel better. So I pulled over into the grass, placed one hand on a knee and with the other tried to shove my index finger down my throat. I elicited a healthy gag, but there was absolutely nothing left in my stomach to vomit and I could achieve no release of the nausea. Up to this point I had been fighting hard to keep the darkness at bay, keeping myself in relatively positive, hopeful spirits for a good 10 miles of misery, but at that point the dam broke and all the negative thoughts flooded in. This simply wasn’t what running was about, I had no stake in proving that I could endure needless suffering. For the first time I seriously entertained the notion of dropping out of the race at the next aid station. I began to plead, not to God, not to anything in particular, just to my immediate surroundings to please help me, take pity on me, restore me, or just let me rest. I hadn’t yet identified the Heed as a primary cause of my nausea (this required a full epidemiological investigation and Q&A with fellow runners/bikers — Ragan says her friend calls Heed ‘Heave’) and was instead attributing my illness to general exhaustion from how much I had been through in the past weeks — organizing the conference, entertaining all the visitors, keeping up with the Italians, New York….perhaps this was my body’s way of crying out for a respite. Or maybe it was just the (really not even close to acceptable for my gentle organs) greasy spaghetti and meat sauce pre-race dinner.
Just at the moment of deepest darkness, when I was really beginning to question whether I could muster a fight to the finish, there appeared in the grass a lone four-leaf clover, perky and assertive, which I interpreted as a clear offering from the land that indeed my toils were over. I would not be made to death slog to the finish. I could drop in peace! I plucked the plant, marveling over its timely appearance in a harsh environment with long grasses that is entirely ill conducive to clover growth. I toted it with me to the next aid station, my prized ticket out of this misery, where I handed it to a little girl, plopped in a chair and announced that I was done, explaining my dire circumstances and asserting like a madwoman that The Clover Hath Spoken.
They handed me a blanket and told me to chill there a bit. I gazed over the idyllic mountain scene, trying with marginal success to gnaw on some pretzels. The volunteers dumped the Heed out of my bottle and refilled it with water, although I could still detect a faint trace of the poison. For 20-30 minutes I watched the runners come and go – fellow WUSsie Ragan Petrie, looking strong and inviting me to come catch her when I was revived (if only….), as well as the girl with all the tattoos that we found great use for when Aaron and I tried to explain to Ragan what a ‘tool’ was – something a bit hard to define without concrete examples to draw upon.
I would have dropped there for sure, but a volunteer who sat next to me the whole time had a certain calming air about him that had a profound effect on me. He reminded me in look, voice, and way of speaking of Peter Fonda (think ‘Easy Rider’), including even the small circular glasses. He spoke of the beauty of the land, of his experience last year and how happy he was to arrive at this very aid station just 6 minutes before the cut off so that he could run the next Dolly Sods section, which was his only goal for the race (although he also made the next cut-off as well and ultimately finished). At his bequest that I at least experience the most beautiful Dolly Sods section, I flung off the blanket, heaved myself out of the chair, stashed a couple more pretzels and took off…at a slow walk. I tried to run several times, particularly when other runners approached from behind me, but it only set me back further to the point where I had to curl up and rest by the side of the trail — I have bites all over me from when I was too depleted to even brush the flies and bugs off. This whole section of the course is very foggy to me – apparently there was a confusing section where course markings were missing but that was the least of my problems (but the lack of markings greatly distressed the guy behind me who kept muttering ‘Reality!’). A couple times I was able to pick up my head and try to appreciate the beauty of the area. A couple times I even trotted down a hill or two. But I was broke down to the bone and barely made it to the next aid station at mile 32. Some very honest hiker said to me (rather cheerfully at that), ‘Looks like you’ve seen better days!’ I thought of Brittany at Uwharrie and how much she hated the encouragement offered to her when she was hating life and thought that she would particularly appreciate this comment.  When I finally got to the aid station a volunteer looked at me and admitted, ‘It’s my job to try to make you keep going, but it looks like you’re pretty done.’ Indeed. I at least had the wherewithal to have them radio to the finish line to Ragan to come pick me up – Ragan had just finished so they offered up Aaron, who had won the race hours ago. A volunteer led me away to the road like a lame horse going off to slaughter but I was just happy to be off the trail and headed home. When Aaron arrived I announced, ‘So this is how it is: I feel like ultimate shit but I’m not in a bad mood.’ I wanted him to be aware that the glazed look in my eye was of pain and fatigue but not despondency and that I was utterly appreciative that he had come to rescue me and certainly wasn’t going to act sullen about my first official Trail Race Loss — man, when I go down, I go down!
Sometimes it takes a miserable experience to prompt you into making necessary and fundamental changes. I have long known that I have serious nutritional and nausea problems while racing, but I have always been able to plow through and as long as I’m winning not really address them. Highland Sky provided a serious wake-up call that if I am going to run farther and longer, I can no longer coast on my laurels. I must figure out my nutrition, methodically. Mission for the summer!
