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. 

Building a Base

“Take it easy. Just run. You’re building a base.”

“Yeah, but I want it to be this like, AMAZING run.”

“You need a base. You’re coming back from an injury. Stop trying to be amazing and just run. Build up to amazing.”

Sometimes I subconsciously set up mental roadblocks with both my running and cooking where I want so badly to be amazing that I feel myself failing before I take the first step. I have to remind myself, and listen to advice: first build the base. 

Recently one of my girlfriends posted a recipe for Fennel-Tomato soup. She told me how delicious it was, so I wanted to try to make it. I pulled it up and went cross-eyed. The recipe was in metric. Five hundred hours later, I had converted the recipe into ye olde system, and made a list of ingredients.  Fennel, tomatoes, garlic, off to the store I went. Turns out, the only grocery store in my town doesn’t carry fennel. And since the metric conversion had taken so long, dinnertime was looming.

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuck this store has no fennel how am I going to make fennel soup without fennel and it was going to be so amazing Carol said it’s awesome and now what the fuck am I going to do?”

I was starting to annoy myself and my friend and all the other townspeople shopping in the produce section.

“Well, calm down. What’s the base?”

“The base?”

“Like, what is the base of the soup? Maybe it doesn’t have to be the most amazing fennel soup on earth. You could use the base to make something that’s also really good.”  

“Well. I guess it’s really a tomato soup base.”

Running and cooking and building a base. Getting used to it and training my body and brain to get going, keep going, do it without thinking too much and just make it happen, all the while building strength and knowledge and experience.

So, I made tomato soup. I quickly looked up a recipe promised by Martha Stewart to be delicious and easy, combined it with the Fennel-Tomato soup base, and jacked up the garlic content to number 11. It consists of simple ingredients: tomatoes, stock and garlic. Together they make a beautiful base. And sometimes building a base is the most amazing thing. 

Tomato-Garlic Soup

         6 T. butter

         2 medium onions, chopped

         12 cloves garlic, chopped

         24 oz. crushed tomatoes

         3 C. homemade chicken stock

         2 t. sea salt

         1/4 t. black pepper

Cook the onions in butter for 15 minutes. Add the garlic for 3 more minutes. Add the rest and cook for 20 minutes. Transfer to a blender and blend until smooth. Heat back up on the stove and add additional stock as necessary. 

Serve it with grilled cheese on rye after a winter run. 

Gone to the Dogs

Max and I run down the trail together. He lopes along, acting as both protector and partner beside me. This is an easy pace for a dog who was bred to be a lion hunter, and he enjoys the smells and sounds of the forest as much as, or more so, than I do. We move across rocks and cross a small stream, pausing for Max to take a quick drink. On we go, thrilled to be spending another day together in the woods. 

The paragraph above is a dream scenario. I've imagined it over and over, but the power of positive thinking only goes so far. 


"Max ate the door again."

"I think he needs more exercise."

I've always wanted a dog who would run beside me, but the dogs who have found their way into our family haven't quite made it into the running club. Max is definitely our best bet so far. He's a runner for sure. He has invented the running category "Distance Sprinter." That dog is ridic fast. 

Before Max, there was Fred. While our 3.5 lb. Freddie girl made it to the semi-finals of the World's Fastest Chihuahua competition, she wasn't really cut out to be a jog dog. She was more of a wild turkey hunter. She'd run in front of us down the trail, flushing out birds and deer and eventually make her way back, wagging her little tail and showing us her snaggle tooth smile, as if to say, "I defy all Chihuahua stereotypes." But she had her own agenda, and we were happy to let her see it through. She'd accompany us for 7 miles at a time, but she liked to do her own thing and then come racing back once in awhile for a treat or a sip of water out of the thimble sized top of a water bottle. 

There's another chihuahua in our lives now. Prince Vince is bigger than Fred. Much bigger. He's a disturbingly large Chihuahua. His papers and the Vet say he's pure bred, but I swear there's some Corgi in there. Or Basset Hound. Something large. Vince the Meatball would love to run with me, I'm sure of it. He runs around our back yard like a champ, barking at mystery foes, having a grand old time. We've been leash training him and he's doing really well considering he's blind. He can go for most of 2 miles at a pretty good clip and he's working on moving in a forward motion. He's also become my cross training partner - riding in a backpack with me - a 12 lb. weight to help me build strength.  

And we're back to Max the Lion Hunter. Max has a lot of energy. When harnessed with a regular leash, he will pull me off my feet.  He's a Rhodesian Ridgeback mix and he is the world's biggest love and scoundrel put together. As with all dogs, he behaves himself when he's tired. So we walk and we run. He's teaching me to run faster. I take him out on a special halty-harness thing that practically paralyzes him. This is how I get him down to close to my speed. Then we walk. After about 30 minutes, he's finally tired enough for me to keep up. It's all he can do to hold back, even once he's exhausted. We do sprints. Much more and I'd likely roll and ankle or just expire. We run quick sprints and for a few moments we're in sync. He holds back and I keep up. And I picture the day we'll be able to run though the forest together for more than minutes at a time. 

All of our dogs eat raw food that we make for them. The recipe is easy and the key is using fresh, organic meats and vegetables. They will love you for it! 

Ingredients:

Raw ground chicken (you can grind in a high quality food processor)
Baked wild caught Alaskan salmon (or use salmon oil)
Vegetables (sweet potato, carrots, romaine, broccoli)
Blueberries
Walnuts or Almonds
Powdered Vitamin-C
Alfalfa Powder
Kelp Powder
Cod Liver Oil

Combine:

2 quarts chicken and salmon (3/4 chicken, 1/4 salmon or just use chicken and sub in 3/8 cup salmon oil)
2 cups vegetables (that have been chopped in the food processor)
2 cups blueberries
1.5 cups nuts
1/8 cup kelp powder
1/8 cup alfalfa powder
2 tablespoons cod liver oil
1/4 cup vitamin C

Enjoy. Well, your dogs can enjoy. You could too - but you'd want to cook the chicken first. 
    

The Journey

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” - Ernest Hemingway

I had several goals for 2013, some of which were met. Some were adjusted along the way. Others were not met at all. Through amazing experiences and some failures, I learned some things and hope to take all of my 2013 running (and recovering) experiences with me into 2014. Here's a look back at my 2013 Goals and how they turned out. 

2013 Goal 1/MARCH: Complete my third Half Marathon: the Reston Half Marathon. Do not come in last, PR. 

What I'm proud of: The training was perfect. I'm Hal Higdon's biggest fan. I'm proud of myself for sticking to the training plan through winter. I made an early decision to do all of my weekday runs on a treadmill for the first time ever. It ruled. Once I adjusted to the treadmill (I had very little running experience on a treadmill before this training began), I loved it. I really enjoyed being in lightweight clothing and running inside during darkness and especially on icy days.  When race day came, I felt ready to go, despite a nagging little pull in my right foot. The race was a blast. I was so happy to race with my friends Tricia  and Tora  and the vibe of the race was great. It was one of the few that my husband has been able to attend, along with my running partner Matthew, and my friend Alyson - what a cheering party! What was wonky: I did not PR. No, no, no. Reston is no Annapolis. I'm going to have to run a really flat course to beat my race at Annapolis.  What was really wonky: I did not know at the time that I was running on a broken foot. 

2013 Goal 2/SEP: Run two Half Marathons in one week, PR the first one, run in a tutu at the second one. 

What I'm proud of: I learned a couple of weeks after signing up for these races that I had a broken foot and was subsequently put in a cast for 8 weeks and I still managed to run both races. The first one was the Chicago Half and I ran it with my little brother Mike. We met in Chicago for an Epic Brother/Sister Running Weekend and we had a total blast. The race was amazing.  We also ate and drank our way though the awesome city of Chicago. The second race was Diva's Wine Country Half in Leesburg, Virginia. I met up with my friends Tricia and Tora and Shirley and met (for the first time "in real life" several other women from my virtual running group, My Running Girl Friends. If there are any female runners out there who are interested in joining this international running group, leave a comment below and I'll give you details.  I wore a costume (yes, a tutu) which was a definite first for me. I have this "thing" with costumes and running: if you're going to wear one, you had better be confident and good! These are two feelings I struggle with in my running and thus, I didn't feel "worthy" of the tutu. This is, I realize, completely ridiculous. I know that now. I joined tons of women in costumes who ran a really really tough course after a huge start delay and despite having raced 6 days before, I felt great. What was wonky: Nothing really. I didn't PR Chicago but mofo, I thought I would have to walk portions of the race because of my foot and I managed to run the whole thing with a smile on my face. That race was so so so fun. It's flat too. With a longer training period, I could have raged. I love Chicago and hope to run that race again one day. It's so huge that logistically it's a little scary, but they do a good job and running with thousands and thousands of people is such a boost.  Diva's was a total blast. There were logistical nightmares but I think because it was my second race that week, and I knew I was just there to have fun, that the start delay and the major error in course description didn't really bother me. I loved running an (almost) all female race and though it is my very very slowest Half Marathon, it was also the one during which I laughed and smiled the most. 

2013 Goal 3/OCT: Crew my running partner at the Boulder 100

What I am proud of: Mostly I'm proud of Matthew, for running a freaking hundred miles. Also: I'm proud of myself for staying up for 33 hours, for being a pretty good crew captain, and for pacing Matthew for an unexpected 26 miles. What went wonky: Not too much. There were no emergency errors and the things we forgot or could have done better were relatively minor and have been added to the crew list for the next one. At Bull Run 50, I was fastidious about recording splits. At Boulder 100, the course was a loop, and there was an official checking times at each completed loop and half loop, so I wasn't paying as much attention in the middle of the night and instead went off the "official" times. This is a story for my Boulder 100 race report, but suffice to say, it will not happen again. The race was a life changing event. To watch people run 100 miles through day and night, is shocking and beyond impressive. To have a crew of Jeff and our friends Sandy, Dayna (and her girls) and Matt made the race so much fun. Having Matthew's coach Tim  there saved us from questioning anything - his wisdom and hilarious personality combined with a lifetime of athletic experience made the race go from surreal to achievable. Having all of the support from everyone I mentioned made the race so awesome.  What went really wonky: Besides nearly murdering a race official for mis-counting Matthew's number of loops completed, I didn't realize that while pacing, I had somehow broken my foot again.      

2013 Goal 4 / NOV-DEC: Fuck the long runs, and speed up! Choose 2 5K races. Use the first for a base pace and use the second as a measurement of improvement. 

What I am proud of: I worked hard on speed and cadence. I started using a metronome. I had NO idea that my turnover was so slow. I started getting faster! I definitely respond well to speed training and feel like I'll be able to get so much faster with some more training. What went wonky: I learned shortly after the 100 that my foot was re-fractured so I went back into the boot. I missed my first race. Just about the time I started running again, I got the flu and missed my second race. So much for the 5K. Maybe it's not my distance after all?   

Weird year. Fun, for sure. I had a blast running with my running partner and friends. I learned to run faster for a short period of time. I learned to run for fun. It was a frustrating year as well. Lots of broken foot time. I learned about taking time off to heal. I learned about cross training (cycling and yoga are my new go-tos and don't bother my foot). I learned patience. I learned to stop when something feels really strange. I learned about humility. The irony is that after all the time that I diligently spent in the cast and boot, I have a feeling that I've been mis-diagnosed. That's something to figure out for 2014, after I look at races and think about distances and make a running plan. I hope we'll be able to run together next year!    

Running with the Souls of the Dead

One point two miles into my run, I arrive at the Rodin sculpture. Every time I run by it, I wonder how it came to be there. Though I don’t typically stop, Rodin and his beautiful piece of art stay in my mind long after I’ve run by.  

I wonder, who were Elizabeth Musgrave Merrill and her daughter Sally Hicks Croswell, who’s remains lie beneath the gorgeous sculpture of a mother holding her child? How did it come to be that Auguste Rodin would sculpt a gravestone for the Merrill family in Middleburg, Virginia?

The cemetery becomes my own private Musée Rodin, taking me back to such a special place in Paris. I recall trips to the Rodin Garden, and the quiet happiness I have felt there, surrounded by sculptures and manicured hedges and lawns, offering stone solitude in a huge city filled with joie de vivre, the joy of life.  

As I run on through the Middleburg cemetery, as well a respite from a bustling village, the gravestones become beautiful sculptures in their own right. As I run up a small rise, there are Civil War gravestones set in a circle surrounding a monument, there are horses and a dragon, and sculptures of small creatures alongside more traditional headstones, many of which show faded sentiments of loved ones young and old.

I loop through the inside of an iron gated fence and then again along the outside of the fence, beside the lake, always noticing gravestones that I had not seen the week before, completing my quiet ritual as I run along reading the names of the dead.

It doesn’t take religion or a belief in afterlife to feel the souls of the dead. Though some might say feeling the souls of the dead automatically qualifies a person as having such a custom or belief. Perhaps it’s the history that I feel. Perhaps it’s the beauty and quiet of the cemetery. There’s a feeling of comfort here, which makes no conscious sense as the idea of placing bodies in the ground offers no solace to me from a practical standpoint.  

I run alone, and when I enter the cemetery I find myself looking for the familiar graves, of “people” I now know by name. It is a sculpture garden, with each sculpture featuring the soul of a person long gone but able to be honored as I run by. I wonder about the level of respect, or lack thereof, a person shows by running through a cemetery. I’ve come to the conclusion that because it’s a meditation of sorts for me, that hopefully it’s the former.

Just outside the main gate, I turn left and run along a stone wall on Federal Street. On the backside, a row of gravestones are embedded into the wall.  They stand close together, lined up as sentinels facing the church, which was founded in 1847.  Too many gravestones to count, I run by thinking of them as a group, though I don’t know who they were or how the wall and graves have now become interlocked. I run back into the village, back into the world of the living, leaving the Rodin and the Civil War soldiers and the animal sculptures and all of the others, and I feel the peace of knowing that they’ll be waiting for me to visit them again on my next run.