Ode to a Running Partner

"There's a bench up here, let's just sit down for a second." It was the middle of the night, 80 something miles into the Boulder 100 and my running partner was tired. "There's no bench, Matty, let's just keep going." I said, worrying that if we sat down we'd never get up. It was my pacing duty to keep him going, to make sure he made it to the finish line, but he was determined to take a break. He sat down on the bench and managed a laugh. "You thought I was hallucinating this bench didn't you?" And so the story of the bench that appeared out of nowhere became legend. "And we're running along and I saw this bench and I say we should sit down for a second and Clythie thinks I'm hallucinating because she couldn't even see it! How did I end up with a pacer who can't even SEE?" And I would try to say that I just thought we should keep going, and the story always ends with him explaining to the audience that I was the one who was so tired I couldn't see the bench and that I was convinced he was hallucinating when he was completely fine. And we always laugh, at me. I've learned to laugh at myself a lot over the last 6 years that Matthew and I have been running together. Maybe that's what I've given to him. A lot of great laughs, mostly at my expense. I tell him he is awful and he says "You're laughing too." And I say, "Well, if the story was about someone else, I'd be laughing so I guess it *is* funny." And we laugh more. 

We met at work at a winery in Virginia and together with a group from the winery, we joined the Fauquier Running Club. During the day we would haul cases of wine, count wine, clean the winery, pick grapes, bottle wine, plan events, present tastings to customers, whatever the winery needed. And at night, we'd run. Neither of us had been runners growing up, but we were fascinated by it, and we wanted to get better and faster, and soon all we talked about was running and runners and more running. On Tuesdays we'd join for a group run, and on Thursdays, speed work or hill workouts. Before we started training on Thursdays we'd run The Fast Mile. It was an insane mile, starting out from the track downhill through a parking lot, with 2 big turns and then around a baseball field and through the woods, back to the track. We would all run our hearts out. Matthew was always in the top 3-4 finishers. And I was nearly always in the bottom 3-4 runners. And he was always there waiting at the end of The Fast Mile to cheer me in. And after track work or repeatedly climbing Hades Hill, we'd go back to the track and cool down and talk about our lives at the winery and our running and our shin splints and our aching backs and the sun would go down and we'd go home to sleep and wake up for another day of wine and running.  

Soon we signed up for our first race, a 5k in Front Royal, Virginia. Matthew finished first for his age group and I did not finish last and this became somewhat of a pattern for both of us. We've always been unlikely running partners. Not matched in age or pace or gender, but we shared a similar schedule and a love for running and a friendship like no other was born. 

Front Royal 5k. The real genius of this pic is the fact that we were both running in gigantic gym shorts.  

At another 5k, a mountain 5k, which was also our first trail race, by the time I was coming up the last hill, I was exhausted and near tears. Matthew finished racing and came back for me, as was now tradition, and started shouting. "YOU CAN CRY LATER. FINISH FIRST! RUN NOW! RUN!" And that day we both won age group medals. Full disclosure, his was first place and mine was for 3rd place in a field of 3 women in my age group. But I wouldn't have even made it to the finish line without him. That medal means more to me than 3rd out of 3. It's the one that reminds me to run through the pain, cry later, finish, run NOW. 

This picture was taken moments before they called my name to come pick up my medal. Needless to say I was surprised. 

We flew out to California and ran America's Finest City Half Marathon, the furthest we'd ever run in our lives at the time. My brother and Matthew finished and came back to run me in. Matthew would do that again for me a couple of months later at the Annapolis Half, a race which gave us both Half Marathon PRs and dual hangovers - the Annapolis runners know how to throw a great after party.

Big smiles after our first Half Marathon

And even bigger smiles after our second Half Marathon, double PRs and a few beers too.

I crewed for him at the Bull Run 50 Miler and when he started training for Boulder 100, I'd do my long runs (for Half Marathon training for Reston and Chicago) on Saturdays and then pace him with my bike on his long runs (17-30 miles) on Sundays. 

Between races, we'd run trails, always creating a great adventure out of a run. We'd start and end at the same place and run our own paces and then report back afterward. "I had a great run today, Matty!" I'd say, excited about how great I felt. "Yeah? Do that for 3 days in a row and report back to me again," he'd reply. Or he'd give me sage advice, "You, know, Clythie, if you want to run faster, you're going to have to run faster." He always pushes me, always encourages me to be better, work harder, not to let up. And I've always, I don't know? Been there for him?  Laughed with him? I can't keep up with him, even when he's tired. But we somehow help each other out. 

We've run many many miles on the Appalachian Trail, on the W&OD, the C&O Canal, through Rock Creek Park, in the mountains in West Virginia and at running camp in Colorado, and too many races together to recount. Despite the fact that we rarely run the same pace, we always run together. There's more to running together than matching pace. We're each other's running support system.

And now, in four days, I'm moving to San Diego and Matthew and I will no longer be running together. For 6 years we have run together and now we'll be 3,000 miles and 3 hours time change apart. How do you say goodbye to the best running partner on the planet? Hopefully with more laughs than tears but it won't be easy.  

I suppose it won't be that strange after we get used to it. After all we don't really run together. At least, that what I've been telling myself. And I'll have my brother and my sister in law, who are both amazing runners, and I have a group of wonderful running girlfriends in California. And I'll join a new running group. And Matthew has his friends in Woodley Ultra Society and other friends who  he runs with as well. And we'll plan running vacations and meet up for races and we'll see each other, not every day like we're used to, but we'll make it happen as often as we can, and we'll be there for each other as much as possible, like all running partners are. And we'll run at our own paces, and catch up with each other at the end and he'll likely elbow me and say, "Remember when you thought I was hallucinating that bench at the Boulder 100?" 

   

Lost and Found in Plain Sight

"I'm really exhausted today, I'll just run with you." Uh oh. My running partner was tired, which meant he wanted to run with me and it also meant that I would definitely still struggle to keep up. We usually start and stop our runs together, or meet up halfway through a run, but his typical speed is nearly double mine so we really don't actually run together at all. I've written before about how I don't like running with people very much but I thought for a second and made a suggestion. "OK, that sounds great and could you show me how that right hand trail where the trail splits into three trails, over by the weird sign, you know, like how it links up with the Western Ridge Trail? Or is that the Valley Trail?" 

It is a weird sign, right? 

He raised his eyebrows. "You know, for a person who purports to have a good sense of direction, you have a really awful sense of direction." We'd been running regularly in Rock Creek Park for 15 months now and he was right. I get turned around in the woods nearly every weekend. Before our runs he'll patiently explain where he's going to run and where I should run. "Take this trail," he'll say, "and don't worry if you get lost because they all loop around." And I get completely confused and most often meet up with him, coming from somewhere totally random, far off the trail that I had planned on running. But I always have a blast and Rock Creek Park is in the smack middle of DC, so I don't worry because I'm never far from civilization. My handy google maps app has helped me from time to time as well. 

"Yes. I will show you." And we set out. The pace was such that Matthew was barely moving and I was hustling my ass off to keep up with him. At one point he reached the top of a hill, turned around and just started laughing at me. I laughed back with the very precious little breath I had left. It's a pathetic situation trying to keep up with him but it makes for a good workout. And a lot of laughs.

"Is this the Western Ridge Trail?" I asked. "Nope. I don't know what this one is called but it loops back around so don't worry." And then he took a left turn up another freaking hill and I called out, "Is this the Western Ridge Trail?" "No, it isn't. But we're going up to the top on it and then we'll connect to the Western Ridge." And so I found myself huffing it up a steep ass trail that had no name which we had run to from another trail that had no name and I realized I would never be able to understand where the heck we were. So I just followed him up the hill as fast as I could. 

I'd stop from time to time to get my heart rate down a bit. "I'm taking a couple of pictures so I have landmarks for when I get lost in here by myself," I called up to him. He shook his head and ran up the trail.   

 Trail markings in Rock Creek Park. These are easier to spot than the more traditional flash markings on the trees.

"I'll be right there, don't feel like you have to wait!" I tried to call out to him but it was more of a whisper as I tried to breathe and move and live. 

I made it to the top of this hill, turned around to catch my breath and saw this appropriately placed skull-n-bones staring back at me. 

Soon after we reached the top of the hill we were running along a flattish path and I was starting to feel pretty good, and Matthew once again took a left. "Is this the Western-" He cut me off. "OH MAN I'VE WANTED TO FIND THIS PLACE FOR SO LONG!" He shouted.

I turned left behind him and looked ahead to a clearing filled with what looked to be large rocks. 

My brain was still trying to figure out what it all was when Matthew disappeared through a hole in the rock wall.  Do you see him there in the middle far left of this shot? 

I caught up to him and he explained where we were. "I can't believe this is where we are!" he said. "I've run by here so many times and I've never realized it was here!" I still didn't know where we were. "It's so cool right?!" Yes, it was magical. But where in the heck were we? The only thing I knew was that we weren't on the Western Ridge Trail. At least I was pretty sure about that.   

It's a magical land of slabs of stone. I'm positive gnomes live here. 

Finally he explained. The stones were brought to Rock Creek Park from the US Capitol building, and they're the remains of the eastern facade that was renovated in the fifties. The sandstone and marble pieces date back as far as 1818. Some are huge plain slabs, others are ornate corner pieces. Some have decorative accents. Some are stacked into walls and others are piled high as if they were tossed there by giants. It has the quiet feel of a cemetery and the mystique of stonehenge and there's moss everywhere and interesting numbers and markings on the slabs and you could just climb around or take a rest for hours. 

It's a secret land of stones and moss in the middle of the city.

Some stones are marked with numbers, others carved with flowery accents.

We stayed awhile, enjoying the quiet and checking out as many details as we could take in, and I managed to catch my breath and get my legs back under me. Before too long it was time to set off again. We continued on, beyond the horse stables, we crossed a road by the Nature Center and then we took another left and Matthew said to me, "Clythie, this is the Western Ridge Trail." 

Stump Jump

We were checking into our Air B&B and Jeff was not happy.

“This house has no furniture.”

“I know. Remember I told you –“

“There’s nothing in the kitchen. It’s empty.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be, remember I said we were going to – “

“There isn’t even a shower curtain!”

I had definitely mentioned to him that we were getting a really good deal on an...um...empty...Air B&B in Chattanooga, Tennessee, that was to serve as Base Camp for the upcoming Stump Jump 50k/11 Miler. 

I couldn’t blame him for not remembering. A key to the success of our marriage has been that I only expect him to hear 40% of what I say. This must have been part of the other 60%.  

I’m sure it went down something like this: I was rambling on and on about this race (he was most likely not listening during this part as I tend to talk about running a lot) and how awesome it would be to go to Chattanooga (which likely sparked his interest a bit because he loves to travel and we’d always wanted to visit Chattanooga) and then I likely mentioned the Air B&B (which he would have been quite happy about) and by the time I mentioned the fact that this particular Air B&B was an empty house and we would be kind of camping inside of it, he had probably started thinking about something else and the last bit of this plan probably sounded to him like Charlie Brown Teacher Speak. So when I then said, “Ok, great we’re going to book it!” he most likely said, “Sounds good.”     

Flash forward and well, it wasn’t super good.

“How am I supposed to hang out in this empty house during your race if there’s no furniture?”

“You’re coming to the race! It will be so fun! You can hang out all day and watch runners come in and then when –“

I could tell he wasn’t listening.  I suggested we buy a shower curtain on the way to the race expo.

The Stump Jump is a 50k (some years they have had an 11 Mile option as well) trail race on Signal Mountain with 4,400 feet of gain on crazy single track and rocky terrain with amazing views. Rock Creek Outfitters is a sponsor of this race as well as a lot of other great Chattanooga trail races. The Stump Jump is legendary.

We arrived at the expo, being held at the Rock Creek store, the mecca for trail runners in Chattanooga. It’s such an awesome/terrible idea to have a trail race expo at a genius gear store, especially with a sale going on.  I couldn't resist “just trying on” a new pair of Hokas and I’m sure you know the end result of that – I was, in quick order, the proud owner of yet another pair of Hokas.

As we were browsing shoes and gear and picking up packets and looking around, Jeff wandered off and then reappeared. With a race packet in his hand.       

We all stared at him. He stared back. “What?” he asked.

We stared more. At him and the race packet, complete with an official bib number, in his hand.

It’s not that Jeff can’t run. He just doesn’t particularly like to run. He’s an epic hiker. He has hiked 550 miles across Spain twice, hiked 100+ miles of the C&O Canal as well as nearly every trail in Shenandoah National Park and countless miles of the Appalachian Trail.  

But he really doesn’t like to run. He likes to stop and take pictures. Of every flower. And he likes to identify plants. All the plants. He’s not a hurrying sort of guy. He’s a yoga teacher and the woods are a meditative place for him, not a racing place. 

So, you can imagine that we were all slightly confused when he appeared to have, on the fly, registered for a race that we had all started training for months before.

“Well, I can’t hang out at that empty house and I’m not going to sit around at the race all day waiting for you guys, so I decided that I’m going to do it too.”

Jeff and the brothers Tolbert officially registered for Stump Jump. Jeff is thinking, you people are insane. 

Oh, and that's me ready to make my 11 Miler debut

It kind of made sense. This is the part of the story where every runner should stop reading and thank any non runner who ever came out to cheer, hang, crew, be at a race for you. It's a lot of waiting around and may not be quite as exciting as we feel like it would be for someone who is likely to only see you for one second, crossing the finish line. We told Jeff he’d be amazing and we helped him pick out a hydration pack (carrying your own hydration is a requirement for this race) and went out for a pre-race dinner.

The next day arrived in the night and we huddled around bonfires waiting for the race to begin.  The vibe of this race is what I call Classic Ultra. Ultra laid back, ultra cool, ultra friendly, ultra amazing coffee and snacks available. All of that and we were about to spend the day running on some of the most beautiful trails in the southeast - it's pretty much my idea of heaven.  

Waiting for the sunrise to warm us up

Before we had a chance to think too much about it, we were off and racing into the woods with close to 500 other runners. And when it was all over Matthew, Michael, Jeff and I all had PRs. As we cheered Jeff across the finish line he smiled and said, “I took some amazing pictures and I beat a girl who twisted her ankle.”

Four started and four finished. Success for all. 

We all decided we'd be back as soon as possible to hang out in the great city of Chattanooga and that we'd definitely all race Stump Jump again. And Jeff said that next time, he'd pick the accommodations.    

The Spring Thaw: REV3 Adventure Trail Race Series

The start was as intense as the carnage that followed. 200 meters in, a girl in front of me face planted, tripping over a shoe that became stuck in the mud by a runner in front who was apparently now continuing on semi-shod.

Tough Mudder? No. Spartan Race? No. We were running an incredibly tiny race, the first of the Spring Thaw Trail Series, a mountain biking and running series of three 5 & 10ks which, while incredibly muddy due to weather, were not supposed to be Mudders nor Spartanesque, nor were they, despite the event organizer’s name, REV3 Adventure, supposed to be particularly adventurous.

I signed up at the suggestion of my running partner, Matthew, and before we knew it, our good friends Alyson, Scott and Tora decided to join us. REV3 sponsors all kinds of adventure races, and people compete by boat, bike and on foot, both in shorter distances and multi-day orienteering races. Those are not the kind of races I'm trying to do. But this series was just a set of regular running and mountain biking trail races. And it was billed as rather benign: 3 trail races close to my town, on familiar terrain, described as semi-technical, but similar to what we run on locally every day. You could cycle or run, or do both, with two short distances to choose from. Racers would win points for placement in each race, and most important of all, there would be beer and burritos at the end. It would be fun to train through the winter, plus the distance might favor the foot that I had broken and re-broken last year.

I chose the 5k series, which the description said would be 5k, or longer, or maybe a little shorter depending on the race. The first “5k” would be 3.8 miles.

Over the winter I ran my heart out in what felt like strangely different training blocks with 4 and 5 mile “long” runs. In my heart I knew I would never become a competitive short distance runner, but I figured I would go for it the best I could, and post race, I would partake in my other favorite sport: enjoying alcoholic beverages.

Not long into the first race, as I watched Matthew and Alyson cruise off into the distance, the 5k (no, not just 5k, but longer! 3.8 miles, not 3.1 miles! It’s important to know that!) and 10k routes split, and we were plunged into mid-calf deep mud and snow.

In honor of the first race of spring, Mother Nature had created a small snowstorm followed by a freeze, then a thaw and a finally an incredibly warm sunny race day. This meant that we were sliding and picking our way through a deep ice bog. At some point I wondered, how could we be running over this terrain and still be upright? Or mostly upright. But as faster runners moved along in front of me, I just tried to keep up, figuring if they could run on this mud slick, uh, I had better make my best effort. It was the opposite of running across hot coals, but the intensity and terror was similar. Not that I’ve run across hot coals, but I’ve seen people run across hot coals on TV. And I can kind of understand choosing hot coals over deep mud and snow. Maybe.

I ran down a hill to the first water crossing. I’m pretty sure the creek would have been a mere trickle in an optimal situation, but in this case there was a line of runners, waiting to attempt to leap across knee deep ice water onto a muddy 45 degree slope. There was no way my short legs were going to clear the creek, plus I'm a badass, so I ran through the creek. This allowed me to get in front of several people, which in any race is a miracle for me. Being in front of ONE person in a race is a miracle for me. Good plan, I thought, and I implemented this method at the next two crossings as well.

My Salomon Cross-Max were draining perfectly and my feet and legs felt good but ohmyfuckinghell short distance races are tough and there's no time to breathe or to stop breathing, which is what I felt like doing. And then lie down. And heave. Or just expire. And we still had a half mile to go.  And it was so slow.

Each step consisted of one of the following:

1.   Land and slide 6-8 inches on top of mud, ice or slick meadow grass.

2.   Land and sink beyond your ankle into mud or snow, then attempt to pull your foot out as it becomes sucked into the vortex of cold wet mush.

3.   Land and feel incredulous that neither of the above happened, causing you to forget that you're on precarious terrain, landing again to either #1 or #2 on the next step.

4.   Run through ankle to knee-deep water, washing off a lot of caked on mud, but sending a shock of coldness up through your body.

Give me a Half Marathon any day of the week and I will crush it. Slowly. Happily. This 5k racing stuff uh, hurts.  

I ran up the last hill, and across the finish line, purple faced and maniacal. Alyson greeted me with the news that she had won her 5k age group and we watched Matthew come across the 10k line as his age group winner as well. Tora came in triumphant a few moments later and we all celebrated as we waited for Scott to race with the mountain bikes. And it wasn’t a Mud Run. And it was longer than a 5k. And we all made it. And we laughed about it afterward. And the beer tasted really nice. 

In Race 1, I managed to meet all my goals:

1.   Do not get injured

2.   Finish

3.   Do not finish last

4.   Chick at least one guy (sorry to the one guy I beat and also thank you)

5.   Have fun

To give you an idea of how slow this race was, the winning time for the (long) 5k was 24:29. I placed 41^st out of 49 people total, with a time of 47:20. We had two weeks to get ready for Race 2.