Author: martha

Unfortunately, no one in the group of (mainly Leesburg Mafia) runners that did Kerry’s Death March with me on Saturday had a camera on them (where are Aaron and Bobby when you need them?).  So although KDM certainly lived up to its name, we unfortunately have no visuals of :

1.     The big meaty rattlesnake that sent me screaming like Neve Campbell.  It was just lazing there in the trail with its diamond-backed pattern and by Sean’s account I jumped 5 feet to clear it (by the time I saw it I was nearly stepping on it).  I was still screaming steps later when I was sure I spotted another one, convincing me that I had entered the nightmare Indiana Jones portion of Shenandoah and putting on a sprint like I was escaping Matt Woods’ angry grizzly.  When the snake flurry ceased, I stopped screaming and trotted back to the first snake, which was still sprawled across the path and making Sean, Brian, David, Gina, and Courtney take a wide bushwhack around it.  This sighting hit home a point that Sean had made earlier in the morning when Justine was reluctant to run ultras out West like Zane Grey because of the snakes: ‘At least out West it’s all open so you can see the snakes before you step on them.’  Indeed.  As we were on the topic of snakes I also recalled the time my friend Sarah and I were enjoying a hike around a lake in Thailand and flushed an Asian cobra vertically that was in high grass only 5 feet away from us.  We were too scared even to scream, almost too scared to hold our digestive tracts, but fortunately the flared cobra was scared too and darted off in the opposite direction (Sarah and I were distinctly lacking in hygiene by that point in our 3 month South-East Asia backpacking adventure, so I don’t blame the snake for wanting nothing to do with us).

2.     Courtney’s profusely bleeding head.  It was only after our lovely dip in the waterfall pool at mile 25 that we noticed that blood was dripping from a nick next to Courtney’s left eye, creating crimson waterfalls of his own.  Apparently Courtney’s eye had made friends with a rock during a spill.  Courtney had spent the entire run talking about a) high school track times (85%), b) geocaching (10%), and c) pointing out alternative routes that were either downhill, directly to his car (perhaps?), or required us to scrutinize the map for a while so he could catch his breath, all which was entertaining enough to actually make us want to wait for him.

3.     Little Devil Stairs, the only climb I’ve ever truly enjoyed every step of, and the only climb that I think I will ever be able to hang with Brian Schmidt on, primarily because he wanted a second opinion on which way exactly we were supposed to ascend this glorious waterfall every time we had to cross over it (Courtney and Gina made some wrong calls and ended up getting in some bonus Stairs).

4.     Me looking miserable at the top of Little Devil Stairs.  I was enjoying myself so thoroughly along the waterfall climb that I didn’t notice that something really horrible had entrenched itself in my stomach after the first aid station.  For the remainder of the run I would have to do 5-6 fartleks to catch up with the rest of the group every time I had to stop to allow for the exodus of the offending intestinal matter.  With 4 or so miles to go I ceased all eating and drinking and was able to control the spasms and enjoy myself again, but there were some serious low points during the mile 15-20 range that prompted several a ‘Is she okay?’ from fellow runners.  If I’m going to make it through Highland Sky in June I’m going to have to seriously figure out my stomach, which has always been my Achilles heel for ultra running.  I suspect that the highly concentrated PowerAid from the aid station was a major culprit, and I promise in race situations to forgo my beloved double-stuffed golden oreo cookie.  But this was an excellent wake-up call before my first ultra race in over 2 years (since Laurel Highlands 50k in June 2009, my first and only ultra race).  For me, it’s not about fitness, it’s about knowing that if I put my salt pills in my pocket without a plastic baggy they will disintegrate (lesson learned Saturday), that I need to bring my own drink mix or really water down the Gatorade/PowerAid, that I need to eat nothing solid and perhaps not drink so much.  I’ll have one more chance at Holy Cowan’s Gap next Sunday to see if I can get the hang of ultras.

Overall Kerry’s Death March was a great romp.  We ran a relaxed pace, keeping the group together.  I was given a small dispensation to bomb down the hills (‘Are you sure it’s okay, Sean?  Sure I’m not being a tool?  It’s just fun!  100%?  Okay, I’m going, last chance…..Don’t worry, I’ll stop soon’).  Of course my sporadic shoots to the front had some near dire consequences – like almost stepping on the rattler.  And on one downhill bomb I got distracted by having to weave through a group of Boy Scouts and missed a turn that could have spelled doom.  Fortunately I didn’t get too far down the hill before stopping to wait so I was still in earshot of Sean and Brian when they called for me from above.  I trotted up the hill to the turnoff, blaming the swarm of Boy Scouts for missing it, which prompted one of them to retort, ‘Don’t worry, you sure distracted us too.’  Oh well, what run is complete without some dirty Boy Scouts?

Me:  Man, I can’t believe Ray made us add on that extra 800m repeat at the end.  I had just downed all my water.

Matt Woods: Yeah, you have to Beware of the Bear.

Me:  The what??

Matt: The Bear.  Whenever you’re running you have to make sure that you have that last bit of energy in reserve to escape the possible bear that could come out of the woods.

Me: So that’s what we were doing that last 800?  Running away from a bear?

Matt: Exactly.

 

I don’t know why I had to blog about this particular Matt Woods-ism, as this is only just one of the many oddly hilarious things that come out of Matt’s mouth over the course of Tuesday morning track workouts with the PR group at Washington & Lee high school in Arlington.  Whether it’s Matt rolling his itty bitty running shorts up to decrease Resistance or admitting that people call him ‘Peter Pan’ because he has no chest hair, Matt is a source of steady entertainment — and we all know that the only reason I run is so I can be entertained.  Keep up the good work, Woodsie.  And everyone remember to Beware of the Bear.

Jack Andrish

May 15, 2011

When did it happen?

Well, it has been four years since my last race report; five years since I finished all but the last 3 miles of “Massanutten;” and seven years since my last “official” 100-mile finish.  Perhaps it is time for another report.  I used to enjoy the recall of another 100-mile attempt by putting pen to paper with emotions laid bare.  I enjoyed sharing the experience.  But then as my DNF’s mounted and my performances became more lame, I lost the thrill of the recall and became somewhat embarrassed to share my experience.  Why did it happen?

Ultra running and especially trails ultras continue to capture me.  The opportunity for the shared participations of the runners, the crews and the pacers with events that push the limits of human endurance, is mystical.  The opportunities to unite families in such a special way is precious.  No wonder this dance is so difficult to forfeit.  But is there a need to release from the dream?

The year 2006 was pivotal for me.  I was prepared for MMT and for most of it I was having the best 100 miler of my life.  But then the “wheels came off” so they say and the last 20 miles were a struggle.  Yes, my back gave out and I was a rumpled mess coming in to Elizabeth Furnace.  I dropped with only 3 miles to go.  I had known that I had a “slight” scoliosis, but I had no idea just how bad it had progressed in recent years.  I got home and had an x-ray which (as a scoliosis surgeon myself) frankly scared me.  It scared me not so much for the possibilities of progressive deformity and maybe surgery, but for the thought that this might be the thing that would stop me from participating in those mystical experiences I had come to love.  Yes, I was panicked and proceeded to work through any number of back braces that might allow me to continue to run.  And I finally did find one; not the expensive spinal orthotics I tried from our orthotics section of the Cleveland Clinic, but a $12 elastic back support I found on sale (for $8) at the feed store I use for my barn animals.  It took a bit of getting used to because it squeezes the abdomen so much that diaphragmatic breathing is all but nil.  On the other hand, It helped to keep my ribs off of my pelvis and somewhat stabilized my core.  So “deal with it” and move on!

I then entered into a three-year cycle of attempting to complete the Leadville 100.  The Leadville area is special to my family because of its proximity to the 10^th Mountain Hut and Trail System we have used every year for the past 20 years for our backcountry skiing adventures.  But I could never get beyond the turnaround at 50 miles.  And then I also noticed after attending one of the LT 100 Training Camps, that even with fresh legs, I was barely making the projected time cutoffs.  Oh, it must be the altitude!  But then, for my last attempt at Leadville I decided to train at home by wearing 20 pounds of weights around my ankles and doing hill repeats.  Oh yes, that would do it; wrong!  That only made my right knee swell like a bowling ball with pain that made it difficult to walk well, less say run.  Interesting,  “must be a bursa.” (Ignorance and Denial)

Then came 2009.  I had made the Western States Lottery and had a great “game plan” for my training.  The first “training” race on my agenda was the Old Pueblo 50 miler.  The weekend before the race I went for an “easy” 11 miler but when I got home my right knee was swelling like a balloon and very painful.  I tried to run the next day, but could barely walk.  Panicked, I got an MRI on Monday; found torn meniscus; had surgery on Thursday (found torn meniscus, and arthritis); and spent the next 14 months painfully limping threw a series of unloader braces and miserable race attempts.  And then, one year ago, a physical therapist friend of mine from Australia (Jenny McConnell) taught me a method of taping for “synovial fat pad impingement” and by some miracle, no pain!  I could run without a knee brace.  I could run!  (Oh yes, I still need the back brace.  I’m afraid I’m stuck with that one.)  And so the dream survives!  Bring on Massanutten and those last three miles!

What a great spring this has been with the anticipation of MMT.  Yes, training in Cleveland is problematic, but taking two weekends to visit Sean in Leesburg and training on parts of the MMT course was great.  There was just one small wrinkle to my visits to Massanutten.  Even with fresh legs, my times on parts of the course were just on the bubble of projected cutoff times for MMT; visions of Leadville!  But the thrill of being a participant was once again precious.  Certainly a year ago I had doubts of even running at all without pain and brace.  So this is truly a gift I have received and I understand that.  To be there at all is a gift.  I did not publicize my 2011 intentions to my friends.  I was going to run MMT and finish and then share the experience.  But this year my performance reflected my “diminishing skills.”  Despite the support from Sue Ellen and the anticipation of Sean being my pacer, my times at each aid station were just “on the bubble.”  I had no cushion at all.  I was running and I was thrilled to be intimidated by “all those rocks!”  But I could only muster bubbles.  The climb out of Elizabeth Furnace did me in.  I was not at all metabolically nor physically trashed; just not enough stamina to climb at the necessary pace to keep me legal.  I missed my time cutoff at Shawl Gap (mile 37.6).  I had to turn in my number and go home.

So what is the message?  As I ran in to my final aid station, the captain congratulated me for making it this far and then told me “Jack, there are easier hundreds out there.”  Yes, others have been telling me that as well.  “There are easier hundreds out there.”  But we know it is not just about the miles!  It is not just about running 100 miles.  It is about overcoming fears and obstacles and achieving our dreams.  It is about the dreams!  As I sit here in a coffee house in Leesburg, there are still runners chasing that dream.  There are still runners crossing that final grassy meadow to the finish line of the MMT 100.  There are still runners.  I should be there with them.  I should.  I still have two legs and a heart at least at this point that can withstand the effort; the effort to train and to finish.  Age is relative and I’m not about to use that excuse.  Not yet.  Yes, there are other 100’s out there.  And there are 50 milers and 50 K’s that are special opportunities to share.  There are!  But then again, there is the mountain.

 

 

When will it happen?

Next May — if you ask me today,

In a couple years — if you ask me tomorrow,

Never — if you ask me right after finishing an MMT training run (no way in bloody hell I’m gonna do that run x 4!),

Definitely Next May — if you ask me after reading Jack Andrish’s When did it happen?

 

So, the way I see it:

Karl Meltzer winning MMT: Not a surprise.

Neal Gorman finishing a solid 2nd: Not a suprise.

Eva Pastalkova breaking the record: Bloody impressive, but knowing Eva not really a surprise — I mean, we all knew what she could do with a pack free of canines.

Now….

Martha Nelson doing stuff at aid stations besides passing out in the runners’ chairs and generally getting in the way (photographic evidence forthcoming): A lot of people are gonna lose $$ on that one.

 

 

May 11, 2011 – The Fogarty Ultra Continent (FUCers II, definitely not to be confused with the Frisco Ultra Contingent (FUCers I), which, as far as we know, has never completed the formidable 2.8 mile loop around the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in Bethesda, MD) had a strong showing at the 4th Annual NIH Take a Hike Day, taking home the 3rd place trophy for participation by a ‘small’ NIH Institute/Center (IC).

But FUCer success did not come easy: it was a long, grueling road of preparation.  Following the NIH Health’s Angels Running Club’s Halo Chase 5k on April 22nd, we knew we had our work cut out for ourselves.  Tany had a particularly rough day, getting beat by a guy with one leg and on crutches, and then requiring 4 rabies shots for her wildlife encounter with a baby raccoon.

The Neal Gorman workout plan outlined in Runner’s World seemed like the sure-fire way to bring the FUCers up to speed.  But Martha had another idea for a training plan…..

Indeed, the Puerto Rican waters proved to be excellent training grounds for the 4-chick subset of the FUCers II known as the Puerto-rican Ultra Society (PUSsies).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For some altitude and hills, we found excellent training grounds in El Yunque rainforest, where our Ranger guide Cynthia whipped the PUSsies into shape.  However, Cynthia’s propensity to investigate every pile of leaf litter for snails and anoles resulted in what was billed as a 1km nature trail taking the PUSsies 2 hours to complete.  Although we learned an awful lot about rainforest ecology and even saved an anole from a twig collar it had been fatally ensnared in, I’m afraid a 0.5 km/hr pace posed a bit of a training setback.

The other minor set-back occurred while I was running on the road that led to the network of beautiful trails overlooking the Atlantic Ocean on one side and Caribbean Sea on the other.  A woman pulled over in her car, rolled down her window, and started shrieking at me ‘Muy Peligroso!’  and insisting that I get in the car with her.  It was a narrow twisty road with little shoulder, so I figured she was objecting to the dangers of my getting hit, but she explained to me that there was a ‘crazy man’ lurking about.  It was broad daylight, I wasn’t wearing headphones, I was running at a good clip — all the criteria for what I consider safe solo running. I had no idea what ‘crazy man’ meant — could be anything from the town drunk to a serial rapist/murderer — but I realized I would mope for the rest of the trip if I didn’t return to the trails.  So the next morning I tucked my hair into a ball cap and wore a men’s size large shirt Sean had given me, and convinced that I could possibly be mistaken for Matt Woods from afar, I put on my ‘don’t fuck with me — I’m far more trouble than I’m worth’ face and headed out, playing a nerve-wracking game of Lizard or Crazy Man? with every rustle from the brush.  I was left with this overwhelming indignation that Being A Female Runner Sucks, that it’s so terribly unfair that I can’t run or hike or travel freely, and was having fantasies about cutting off all my hair and buying a rifle.  But just as I started to get really fired up about it, the bartender made me another Don Q and all was well.