the ultimate

My life does not center around running, or science, or even kitties and ponies: anyone who knows me is well aware that my world revolves around one thing: food.  Part of this is purely physiological: it is jaw-dropping to observe the difference between an underfed Martha (curled up in a ball sobbing on the floor) and, moments later, a well-fed Martha, springing through the meadows.  This is a trait common along my mom’s side of the family, but particularly pronounced in me.

But I also have what can only be called a passion for food.  My mom still thinks that I’m a picky eater because I refuse to eat mayonnaise.  But since childhood I’ve had a voracious and diverse appetite.  As a kid I would down several lobsters in a single sitting.  My record is 4 1.25-lb lobsters in one dinner.   Today I love calf’s liver and raw oysters and sweetbreads and sea urchin (although I’m picky about where I’ll eat some of these; a lot of Japanese restaurants feel compelled to put uni on the menu but little is more revolting than bad sea urchin).

the ultimate, part ii

Given the hold that food has on my mood, I’ve really struggled to enjoy recent VHTRC events, which seem to have mistaken fancy and complicated for high quality food.  For me, the absolute ultimate in food is represented by Meyer Dairy in State College, PA.  I have an obsession with throw-back ice cream places, and Nutters in Sharpsburg, WV also has a place in my heart.  In DC I’ve been a devotee of Max’s in Glover Park, and I am forlorn that Max’s is closing after decades because he essentially got kicked out by his landlord.  Darn capitalism.  I’ve always been perplexed by how hard it is to find good ice cream in a city (even New York City is a struggle), but I guess the premature departure of Max’s kind of shows why.

We’ll miss you, Max!

I’m not so into reading food critic reviews and investigating.  What really beats my drum is the random food find when we’re somewhere where we least expect it: that pulled pork sandwich across from the gas station in Southern Utah, the ragu we had skiing in the Dolomites, the fish restaurant in Lima…..  My dire need for food sometimes is a blessing in disguise, forcing us to try off the beaten path places before I turn into a pumpkin.

clifton is stepping up its game

For example, today we discovered Little Villagio, only because I was so desperate for food after a run in Bull Run that Aaron stopped in Clifton, VA sheerly for its proximity to Hemlock.  You know that I’m in a dismal state when I can’t even muster up the drive to go Wegmans.  Wegmans is up there with ice cream, ponies, and kitties in my list of obsessions.  Wegmans is particularly close to my heart because the store in State College got me through the three years of my PhD.  But I’ve been recovering from a bout of illness, I’m PMSing like mad right now (which has major immunological and physiological effects), and my Chipotle from last night wasn’t sitting so well, so I was feeling pretty queasy after our jaunt from Hemlock to Fountainhead and back.  But I knew that I’d feel better with food, and felt like I could get something like a slice of pizza down.  As we were returning home through Clifton, Aaron spotted a little pizza place, which I eagerly agreed to check out.  When we walked in I knew we’d hit money.  My stomach couldn’t handle any toppings, so we just got a margherita.  As bad as I was feeling, the pizza was still divine.  Apparently they just opened in October.  Introducing our new official Pizza Run.  We will be BACK.

Here are some other local places I was lucky enough to have discovered:

cornucopia: living up to its name

Cornucopia in Bethesda, for the most fantastic Italian sandwiches.  So simple, just a touch of balsamic and olive oil on my prosciutto and provolone, maybe some roasted red peppers if I’m feeling frisky.  But the BREAD.  Vace in Cleveland Park is a great little Italian deli that I feel lucky to have within spitting distance.  But the sandwich at Vace can’t hold a candle to Cornucopia, and it’s 100% because of the bread.  I know we can’t take food opinions from a guy who likes hotpockets, but even Sean admitted that it was the best sandwich he’d ever had.

bagels!

Aaron and I are lazy bears.  We think every week about joining in Keith’s new running series in the park on Sundays, but we just don’t get out of bed in time.  We laze around the house all morning and from time to time make little mumbles to each other about how we should probably go run before it’s lunch time.  Because if noon rolls around then I’ll have to eat again and then we’ll have to wait for me to digest and there goes the day…….  But we’ve hit on a nifty trick to motivate ourselves out the door on weekends: the Bagel Run.  Bethesda Bagels has by far the best bagels in the city.  There used to just be a small store in Bethesda, but now there is a location in Dupont as well.  If you want to get a bagel in a timely and efficient fashion, I would *not* recommend Bethesda Bagels in Dupont.  You have to navigate a minefield of trendy Millenials and disorganized staff to get your most delicious bagel (Aaron gets the egg and cheese sandwich, I opt for the lox and cream cheese bagel).  Instead, Aaron and I usually wind our way north up the Valley Trail to Meadowbrook Stables, continue along Rock Creek to link up with the Georgetown Branch trail, and the GBT dumps us off seconds away from Bethesda row and our doughy destination.  If it’s warm, we’ll eat the bagels outside, or get tea at Barnes and Nobles to warm up.  Then we hop on the metro in Bethesda and ride home to Cleveland Park.  If we want to run Potomac Heritage and go to the Dupont store, we can generally amble back up Connecticut Avenue even after our bellies are filled with bagel goodness (good training for the donut run).

You never know what kind of weather you’re going to get in March in DC.  The Monday before Catawba it snowed.  By the time Saturday rolled around it was sunny T-shirt weather in the 50s/60s.  There was still some slushy snow at Catawba’s higher elevations, but the weather was glorious and I actually came away with a sunburn.  Aaron and I enjoyed the day with Seanie and Ryan P., our new Finnish pal, who stuck with us through to the end.  You can totally tell Ryan is a Finn from (a) his giveaway last name, and (b) how content he is to quietly trot along, joining in conversation when called upon, but otherwise perfectly happy to run in silence.  I had a friend from Sweden who told me his buddies’ idea of a night out was to go to a bar, sip vodka, and say nothing.

Catawba is a great run for me to do because it’s so sneeeeeeeaky.  Sure, 35 miles, I can do that.  Eight hours later when I realize I’ve been on my feet for way longer than I ever have in my life, I discover that we’ve been running super-extra-Horton miles.  But it’s a good way for me to crack open my vision of the possible.  If Catawba was advertised at 45 or 50 miles, you’d never get my doubting self to show.  I have to be tricked into doing a 35-miler that runs like a 50.  It’s all about the sneaky mind games.  But it’s good, now I can imagine completing a 50 miler.  Which is a darn good thing now that I’ve signed up for the Bull Run 50 in April!  I know, I’m such a baby ultra runner, I haven’t even done a 50 miler.  I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around the fact that I’m supposed to run 50 miles in a month.  But having Catawba under my belt helps heaps, especially since it was *fun*.   Why was it so fun?  (a) the sun was out and spring was singing; (b) have you ever known anyone who loves the trails more than Sean?? his beaming was absolutely contagious on McAfee’s Knob and Tinker Cliffs; (c) it was great to see Aaron finally having a great day out there after all his battles with Lyme and bursitis; (d) did I mention the sun?  I also tried out arm warmers and gators for the first time — sold!

I had a bit of a low  after Sean dropped out and we had to endure that interminable North Mountain PUDs (pointless ups and downs), which I nearly turned into a disaster when I mega-crashed on the final descent down to the aid station.  My foot’s come a long way, but I can’t bomb down the descents like I used to, and I haven’t quite adjusted my feet.  I went down so hard and so fast, I had blood spurting out of four spots.  It was the kind of fall that leaves you dizzy and shivering.  Given  how my knees have a nasty habit of always connecting with rocks, I felt real lucky to be able to walk away and continue the rest of the run.

Overall, I gave my foot a PASS at Catawba, which was good enough to let myself join Robin, Boots, and Alisa on a Bull Run women’s team.  All four runners have to finish, and it will be my first 50 miler, so I wouldn’t have let myself join a team if I wasn’t confident I could finish.  We submitted our name as WUSsies with Pussies, but they made us change it to WUSsies with Kittycats.  We’re trying to convince the men’s WUS team to be WUSsies after Kittycats.  I did a lot of team sports as a kid and teen (soccer, basketball, field hockey), so a major appeal of Bull Run is the team part.  Wussies with Pussies — best team name ever!

On the drive home on Sunday, Aaron and I stopped and strolled along the first miles of the Hellgate course, the closest I will ever get to running Hellgate.  I’ve tried to tempt him away with proposed trips to run this awesome Kepler 50k in New Zealand that’s right around Hellgate time, but that race has a fierce hold.

If you’re wondering where the pictures are for this blog, I can only say that Keith’s camera is the giant black hole of race photos.  It’s where smiley runner faces go to die.  For all the pictures I’ve seen that camera snap, they hardly ever make a public appearance.

my drunken attempt at 3-0 [Photos courtesy of Bobby Gill]

February 25, 2014 (Bootsie’s 30th birthday)

Chevy Chase, MD

seemed like a good idea at the time

The 3rd WUS Beer Mile was held in honor of Boots’s 30th birthday.  The National Cathedral cops had kicked WUSsies off the grounds for their Thursday night PUSH group (I think they objected to Tom C’s chains workout).  So we opted for a new locale: my parents’ house in Chevy Chase, which sits nicely on a 0.3 mile loop.

Lady Mile Birthday Champ

In the winter weather, only of the hardiest of WUSsies came out to play.  Bootsie powered through to a resounding Beer Mile victory.  With Neal and Bobby out of the running, Pat cruised to become the 3rd male champion of the WUS beer mile.  We didn’t have so much in terms of runners, but we had ample photographers, beer-hander-outers, traffic directors, and race timers.

Pat’s ready to give Neal and Bobby a run for their money

To celebrate, Momma Jill hosted a raging party at casa Nelson, complete with New Haven pizza, Bootsie’s homemade cheesecake, a killer Lion King soundtrack, and a fierce game of pool involving no individuals sober enough to sink any pockets.  At least we weren’t tempted with any of those lethal Cactus Cantina margarita pitchers.

the 8% raging bitch IPA bobby and hillary tricked me into drinking sure didn’t chug so easy

Frisco, CO

February 12 – 16, 2014

kirstin masters the selfie

You know we had a pretty fine ski trip to Colorado when Aaron and I spent our last hour in the Denver airport searching Frisco condos on Zillow.  No, we can’t really afford a 4th house — we ain’t no Kerry Owens, at least not until ActivTrax hits it big.  But we sure can dream.

Jean Claude and I hit the Resolution bowl

Day 1 we joined Aaron’s ski champ mom and her friend Kay at Vail.  The snow conditions in Colorado are phenomenal this year.  Kay was dismayed when I, as an East Coast ice skier who is entirely unfamiliar with powder conditions, spent the first hour of the morning griping about how tough it was to maneuver my skis in the thick snow.  But pretty soon I was lovin’ the soft cushion — and so were my knees~

Tom made it very explicit that he did not want his ski day to entail any ‘work’

Day 2 we shuttled over to Frisco to meet up with the FUCers.  Kerry and Doug had their plane delayed by the DC snow storm, but Torstin had made it out, and the four of us hit the slopes.  By Day 3, Aaron and I had decided that we should show Tom some of the trails beyond Soliloquy and dragged him to a part of the mountain with lots of blue trails.  But with the heavy snowfall bumps had popped up everywhere, and Tom got a bit more than he bargained for.  Fortunately Tom was a good sport and all the FUCers survived unscathed.

Doug and Kerry finally arrived in time to join us for breakfast before we had to jet home.  But I’ve got a conference June 1-3 in Fort Collins, so maybe we can all ski together in the spring bikini weather later this spring.   

SnowShoeFest II
Jan 31 – Feb 2, 2014
Canaan Valley, WV

Kerry shows the newies the ropes

Thanks to this year’s ‘winter vortex’ there was plenty of snow at Whitegrass to enjoy for SnowShoeFest II.  Kerry and Doug returned from SSF I to join a slew of SSF newbies: Boots, Torstin, Priya & Greg — ie the ones who managed to escape the Knipling vortex that brought down Tracy and Michele.

The Crew

Those who made it were treated not only to heaps of snow but to sunshine and temps that floated into the 40s.  When we finally rolled out of the Chophouse at around 11am (SSF is a relaxed affair), the sun was full on and folks were shedding layers left and right.  It was the first time in months I’d needed to slather on sunscreen.

a happy corris

Snowshoes bring out a different side of folks.  TC let me show him how to skip and pony-gallop in the big floppers.  Tom’s got quite the spring when he feels like it.

Doug ‘I’m Too Sexy For This Bladder’ Sullivan

Aaron gave us quite the tour of Canaan, spiraling around Whitegrass to hit Bald Knob and then scooting over Cabin Mountain Trail to finish through the Sodds and down Timberline’s Salamander.

Boots hung around for a second day and her first time on xc skis.  Bootsies there was a pro!

a natural

If you slip, try to not fall. If you fall, try to not stay down.