Wussies

Well, I think we have finally discovered what will bring the WUSsies out in droves.

a) 100+ degree heat

b) promises of a purply toenail

c) Bobby Gill [I guess that’s kind of the same thing as a)]

One might have thought that the CPBG patrons might have been nonplussed to be sharing their roof deck with 15 sweaty runners (although we were kind enough to follow Aaron’s lead and wring the puddles of sweat out of our shirts before entering, much to the delight of a certain 11-year old boy passing on the sidewalk (Mommy, can we have pizza EVERY Tuesday night??).  Instead, some kind ladies at a neighboring table shared with us their entire cake — Farewell, boss Richard!

Such an outpouring of WUSsies deserves some kind of commemoration.  We were graced by the presence of a record number of women:

Marjon (long-awaited since Eagle Run!), Jamie (Horton’s former employee, visiting DC for the summer), Sabrina (we’re looking forward to some lessons in non-practical theology), Anna (getting back into training for Beer Mile redemption), Mackenzie (will be working on email word choice — although her endorsement may have played a key role in WUSsie turnout), Kirstin (best dressed, as always), Boots (one of our scarce and prized female WUS regulars), and myself (tolerated only because I’m the only one who knows the damn trails out there).

The ladies begrudgingly tolerated the men only because they carried our beer money and water (or in the case of Randy sprinted back to the WUS house to retrieve the beer money):

Randy (Amy and Marjon’s friend visiting from Portland (really missing the Portland weather)), Bobby (I can’t run because my biceps are too big) Gill, JLD (tolerated because he always brings females), Ryon (tolerated because he always has some entertaining new piece of gear [this time it was a wet rag tied around his neck]), Aaron (who’s greatest contribution to the run may be the squeal he always elicits from Kirstin — well, the impersonations aren’t shabby either), Tom (who doesn’t seem to mind the squeals Aaron elicits from Kirstin), Joe (I’m still waiting to see the day Joe gets pissed about something), Art (who stole my seat but fortunately not my beer).

Noticeably absent:

Keith: perhaps tired of being my waterboy

Brian: sad sad sad 🙁 🙁 still not running

Sean A: hot Match date!

 

Sean B: probably couldn’t find his heart monitor

Doug: I can’t think of anything disparaging to say about Doug but he wanted his absence to be noted

 

My purple toe from Holy Cowans Gap, an insane 50k designed by Alisa Springman and Sue Malone in Southern PA (blog on that is forthcoming):

 

 

 

Greg Luna, Tom Cali, Meira Minard, Tara Murray, and I, with the spectator support of Eric & Wendy, Greg’s dogs Alberto and Tecalli, and chickens Esther, Amy, and Emily, completed what will be forever remembered as the most scenic Beer Mile ever, and perhaps the least competitive.

Indeed, no one actually completed the Beer Mile.  We all ran 4 laps, but Greg had 3 beers and Tom, Meira, and Tara each had 2.  I announced from the get-go that my noontime stomach fun (recovery has been slow from Kerry’s Death March) would prevent me from imbibing any beer, but that I promised to get just as entertainingly drunk off of the Wild Turkey and Ginger Ale that Eric & Wendy provided.

I definitely lived up to that promise, and by the 4^th lap I was doing cartwheels, round-offs, summersaults, stealing course cones, pinching cheeks….

 

…and playing with a dog chewy toy that greatly resembled something else – what were you thinking when you bought that, Greg?

Greg provided fabulous Layer 3 shirt prizes to the ‘winners’ — my cartoon butt also got a good Booty-Pop there.

After reminiscing with Justine at Kerry’s Death March about our human pony shows, I couldn’t resist Greg’s dog jump:

Layer 3 Martha Mile shirts were given to the victors:

Greg: best designed Beer Mile course ever

Tara: best Martha impression during a Beer Mile

Martha: most drunk

Tom also got a prize:

If you had to pick a Disney character that best represented Mario, it would definitely be Sleepy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Happy Birthday, Chef!

Twenty enthusiastic runners came out for Kerry’s Death March May 21st. Not pictured – Martha, who  is hiding behind Brian – and Doug, who is taking the picture. For a few more pics, go here.

Let go of the computer’s mouse at the desk.  Remove fingertips from the keyboard.  Relax face muscles, shoulders.  Unclench your toes.  A journey begins.  To a time not far removed from the here and now, to places we know, we love, we honor.

It is an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, 2006, during a remarkable month, September, a period often welcomed by runners for its seasonal baton grasp from August heat.

Roommates, neighbors, friends- workaholics with a running problem- conscript an agreement.  The time is nigh for a group run.

“I think it was Kerry who planned it” says Keith Knipling, one of the original four clansmen of a running group later to officially name themselves Woodley Ultra Society, or WUS.

The others included Kerry Owens, Kirstin Corris and Amy Sproston.  At the time “Keith wasn’t fast,” says Kerry.  At the time Kerry burst with running prowess, knocking out 100 milers before breakfast.  Nor at the time had Kirstin yet to adopt the surname Corris, or was she yet known, globally, as “ultrarunnergirl”.  Amy reportedly sported a few dreadlocks.  At the time.

Kerry, Amy, Kirstin and Keith stood anxiously on the hard pine floors in the front hallway at 2711 Woodley Avenue, NW, Washington D.C.  The polyurethane finish peeled and cracked beneath their trail running shoe lugs.  The finish, dried out and tired from the many trail running shoe lugs it had equally supported over the years.  Digital watches turned over from 7:29:59 to 7:30:00.  P.M.  The runners departed through the front door into a new world, an undecided route, on a run that would later prove defining.

“That’s about the earliest I could run” said Kerry, hazily remembering why they left when they did.  Into the Washington D.C. night.  “I’m pretty sure we had flashlights.”

“We left from [2711] Woodley and ran along Rock Creek.  Valley and Western Ridge.  We probably did six [miles],” follows Keith, providing answers to all important questions.   Where was the first WUS run?  How long did you run for?

“All I remember was having no idea where I was,” says Keith.  An unlikely admission from such a runner whose course knowledge spans the gambit from routes, to elevation charts, from trailheads to exact GPS coordinates of moonlight-shimmering quartz rock, submerged beneath the earth almost completely like giant glaciers, found in secret locations along Rock Creek Park’s Valley Trail.

“Keith is right about the route,” chimes Kerry.  “At the time, Kirstin knew the trails better than Keith, and Amy and she used a little bit of clever bush whacking to keep up.”

Thanks to Kirstin and Amy’s dutiful whacking of bush the run was a success.  “It was nearly dark when we finished,” says Kerry.

The effort, however, came at a cost.  Glycemic indexes for each runner had reached scary lows.  Caloric intake was a priority.

“We dropped in on Quebec Street,” says Keith, as he recounts the direction to recovery.  The Cleveland Park Bar & Grill, or CPBG.

All four runners emerged from the trail, sweaty.  Civilization, discovered.  The sidewalks beneath their feet, hard packed, felt otherworldly.  Uncommon to their adjusted, preferred surroundings of earth, rocks, trees.   Moments passed.  Acclimatization eventually ensued.

The door to CPBG swung open and a banquet feast of the senses rewarded the hungry foursome.  Half-priced brick oven pizza.  A roof top deck.  Draft beer.  A veritable Currier and Ives styled utopia of earthly delights.

Keith’s memory, stymied by the remnants of a bonk, heeds “I bet we got a pitcher of beer.”

“I think we had four pizzas and drank Sierra Nevada,” corrects Kerry.

To this day, facts on caloric replenishment are not entirely known.  There are stories.  There are rumors of stories.

What is known is that these four runners- Kerry, Amy, Kirstin, Keith- on a Tuesday, in September, 2006, at 7:30 p.m., had carved a new trail.  At the beginning of the trail lies a trailhead.  An inscription.  “WUS”.  The trail has no mile markers.  No mileage total.  This trail has no end.