Fire Pits and Photo Ops at 5AM Followed by Iced Boobs and Directions from Dean Karnazes: the 2015 North Face DC 50 miler Recap

This toasty hot adventure along a lush beautiful trail in full bloom started with a very early wake up time of 1:50am.  Needless to say, I was so tired.  I need a new word to express my tiredness. Sadly the English language leaves me unable to fully make you aware of my tiredness, so I shall have to invent one right on the spot.

I was Ad-Bay Ired-Tay.

However, because I am a notoriously positive person (and not a bad liar either), I have been trying to tell myself how lucky I am that I get to run all day for 10-12 or even 24 hours straight lately. I mean, it could be worse, right? Surely there are worse things than running all day or night and getting up before the butt crack of dawn to do it. Right?
Am I right?!?

Let’s see here. Shaving the testicles of lions before they get testicular surgery is probably worse. I don’t know… they probably give ’em some kind of lion sedative before they send in the shaver so maybe my current hobby is still worse. Unless the sedative is delivered in suppository form, in which case perhaps the exciting position of lion suppository technician is worse than my adventurous trail running hobby.

In any case, I’d better get going now on this race recap. And maybe later, I’ll find a lion who is need of anal medicine and see how it goes. If I live through it and still have 8 fingers and at least a large part of my face intact, I’m changing hobbies.  After all, it’s my shining personality that keeps getting me followers on FB and Instagram.  They’ll never notice my lack of digits and half gnawed face… as long as the lion doesn’t get at my shining personality holders that are conveniently stored in my sports bra.

So back to the race recap:  I started the dark day with an unusual time-saving pre-race fare.  An industrial strength moisture-wicking endurance bra I slept in overnight beneath my Team RWB race apparel (which I also slept in), 2 balance bars to eat in the car, a banana, two anti-diarrhea caps and a cup of coffee w/ lactose free 2%.

An hour and some odd minutes, I arrived at the Saturday’s pre-dawn gathering at the race site.  I squeezed myself into the shuttle busload of trail runners with obnoxiously bright headlamps on their hats, visors or do rags.  Yet, this did not rattle my pre-race nerves one bit to be sitting so close to strangers in dry max and calf compression sleeves in wildly varying colors eating family sized Costco bags of trail mix while crunching very loudly.

I like these people. These people are the best. I like being around people who run 50 or more miles on a trail in one day.  Even though I don’t particularly like talking, I like talking to these people, hearing about these people and watching these people… whether or not they know I’m watching.

When they are not lubing up their no-no places in public, blowing snot rockets and partaking in equally disgusting personal hygiene activities, I find that trail runners, like road runners, want to talk about themselves.  But truth be told, most of these runners can’t always find someone to listen to them. Even runners who have stuff in common with other people who are married, in relationships or have bestest friends sometimes really never get to be heard. If they can’t find a therapist to whom they can pay a bucket load of money to listen to them, sooner or later they’ll find an innocent bystander and pour out their inner most thoughts and secrets for no good reason.

Apparently I have “innocent bystander” written across my forehead in glowing 24 hr proof Maybelline with SPF as people tend to want to tell me things. Possibly that’s because I ask so many questions to these trail runners. Enquiring minds and all that. I’m deeply and truly interested in the humanity of ultra runners.

I’m a friggin’ ultra humanitarian, that’s what I am.

I’m also a trail mom now.  Especially since I felt the need to clean up that smooshed turd one of ’em left for me on the seat in the porta potty.
Slow down on that Big Grab Mountain Trail mix, Mister!  Ick, I say!  Just, ick!

Even though I made my hands sting with approximately three handfuls of hand sanitizer dissipated into the pores of both palms, I was certain I was still standing in a virtual boiling pot of grossness.  After talking myself down from the OCD hissy fit, I was ready to wait in line with my trail kids who were still divulging their innermost thoughts by the early morn fire pits before posing for individual and group photos on the podium.

This pic features the bravest of Endurance Runners with Team RWB.

And here’s a solo shot that I was sure was a keeper if I didn’t DNF this thing.

Then it was off to Wave 3 to await the official start of the race.

  
The gun went off at 5am sharp and the race was on.  There were about 240 runners, and at the start we were all running together at a decent pace plodding through the trails in the black wilderness.  There are maybe 40 minutes of pitch dark before sunrise this time of year so TNFEC rules list a flashlight and/or headlamp as “mandatory” equipment.  This makes for a magical first half hour of galloping slowly around a cool, dewy, grassy and muddy field with a line of lights snaking ahead and behind.  Weaving and bobbing through the darkness onto the Potomac Heritage trail, we plunged through a tunnel of trees all the while following the dangling neon green glow sticks around the first twists and turns.

I started out running a comfortable 10:40-11:40 pace, chatting with a few runners I’d met at Stonemill 50 back in November and a few from VHTRC.   We stuck together for about 4 miles until I saw a familiar ponytail keeping a steady pace on the trail ahead.  I was feeling strong on the uphills and the downhills at this point, so I thought I’d catch up with this blonde ponytailed run goddess.  She had this easy, understated grace about her that makes her seem entirely above all the monotonous mud we were running through and around at the moment even though she may as well have been screaming obscenities on the inside.

Heading out onto the lowlands area with this new fast friend of mine through the long grass and marshy terrain, I knew this was destined to be a fairy tale excursion filled with good times and sweet memories. In fact, this race would be such a thing of wonder and fabulousness, I felt sure I’d want to write a sonnet about it when I returned to the start/finish. (Possibly an ode even. Maybe a limerick.)

But as soon as that thought occurred, the sun came up across the river to the east and south punctuating the course with some unseasonably sporadic heat.

  
At this point, I guess most of the runners on the course were, like me, not so prepared for 80-85  degree heat.  Even though the first two or three hours felt like fresh spring with a touch of warmish air, but not particularly humid, the Potomac in the DC area can be sloppy and downright muggy when the sun heats up.  Inevitably, sweat began evaporating from runners in bucketloads.

So. The calm before the armpit bubbling heat storm was the first and happiest third of what I think of as a three-part race (Potomac Heritage Trail; 3 laps around Great Falls Park; back on the PHT).  I held good company for a while in this section with the blonde run goddess aka Sara F.  However, I had a feeling she must have been feeling pretty relaxed, running at my pace.

We went our separate ways when mom bladder struck me behind a tree on the Great Fall loop and we didn’t pass again for a few more miles when she spotted some porta potties.  It was in Great Falls Park that we ran a very convoluted 7 mile loop three times, this is where most of the hills and rocks were.  Despite the buckets of sweat, I felt strong the whole time, but definitely did my fair share of walking on the uphills to make sure I had enough in my legs to get through the day.  The first lap, 7 or 8ish miles I guess, went by fairly quickly.  The atmosphere was still not so smothering hot where I’d need to break out one of the few Roctane electrolyte capsules I thought to pack in my vest pocket.  Not too bad, I thought.

Well, wait.
Somewhere on that second loop around Great Falls Park, somewhere around 25 miles, I began to feel it.  Sun and heat rose from the rocks and heat radiated off my salty sweat-laden skin.  My Team RWB shirt was sticking to me and completely soaked.  My Orange Mud VP2 pack was sticky wet with salt-crusted sweat.  The bottles of Tailwind were emptying faster.  I saw increasingly worried, salt-streaked faces on other runners and wiped off salt granules from my own.

  
It was after noticing my salt encrusted hairline in Great Falls that I noticed the 50K runners had joined us on the trails, which was actually a refreshing change of pace.  That is, until I made a wrong turn after the aid station when asking a volunteer if the turn I was taking was the right way to go.

I ran nearly a mile before realizing the famous Dean Karnazes was running behind me.  I decided rather quickly that there was no way he’d be behind me as he was probably a loop ahead.  When I asked him if this was the correct turn after the aid station about a mile back, he appeared puzzled for a second and then helped me come to the definite conclusion that I missed the right turn with the 50 milers I had been running with.  He agreed with me that I should run back to the volunteer who sent me in this direction and get re-routed.  All the while we talked, he stopped running and appeared very concerned.  As everyone who’s ever met him says, he’s such a nice guy.  A real people person.

Meeting Dean while dazed and confused was actually a perfect distraction at this point in the race and the miles just rolled on almost without me noticing up until mile 40 after the lost-and-found-by-Dean incident.

I’m not surprised I got lost because just looking at the map before the race I was thinking, “This won’t work.  I won’t remember this.”  But I learned if I went with the flow of runners I recognized and didn’t ask any questions of the volunteers it does work.  What it all feels like, from a 50 miler’s perspective, is as follows.  Relative solitude over the first third of the race.  When you get to the laps around Great Falls, increasingly busy-ness, runners going every which direction.  The 50k runners join in, their color coded numbers less crinkly and beat up than your reddish number.  Then, you pass other 50 milers, either ahead or behind running both directions on the trail (the loop is not so much a loop as a collection of out-and-backs).

Every few miles, heat rocketed up to deliberately sadistic heights.  The North Face organizers were ready.  Aid stations were stocked with water and volunteers.  There was plenty to fill bottles and pour over our heads.  One of the best aid stations was the one with three buckets full of ice water and sponges.  The DC Striders cheered as runners approached their aid station and were very accommodating as I hit them up for ice to put in my bottles and bra.  I couldn’t wait to get to it again on the next loop as the temperature rose near 85 degrees.

I remember the miles after this aid station just zipping by as I was in my icy bra zone, totally focused on navigating the rock garden, focused on avoiding a nasty fall into the Potomac.

On the final, increasingly grueling lap around Great Falls, I ran ahead, behind, and alongside on onslaught of Team RWB’ers either running the 50 or 50k. This is when the course got way more crowded as the race seems to attract a number of first-time ultra runners.  One of which was a 66 year old heroine who was set to finish her 1st 50k.  

While passing some 50k’ers on their way to the section of the loop I’d just completed with the 50 milers, I saw an EMS vehicle headed in our direction.  All the runners quickly moved to the side of the narrow trail to make room for it to pass.  Later I heard this upper age grouper woman had fallen on rocks and hit her head on the trail. This did not stop her from picking up where she left off, however.  As the EMT’s set-out towards her she swiftly moved in the direction of the continuing loop, covered in blood from head to knee. On her head, a decent size cut and her upper lip was seriously split. She didn’t want to stop running. The EMT’s stopped her well enough to give her a thorough evaluation. She told them she had run 4 marathons and her first marathon was at age 63. This was her first ultra and first trail race so she was adamant about finishing. Begrudgingly, the EMT’s stayed with her for the next 4 miles to ensure her condition did not worsen. She ran an ADDITIONAL 13 miles and finished. You got’ta love her.

Even though I think I may have only seen her once in passing, I will be thinking of her practically every time I run an ultra again. And if I see her again at another race, I’ll have to contain myself from shouting, “You go!” every time I pass by her, she has no idea what a fan she has in me. She has no clue that I am her pupil, her disciple even, although I’m betting it wouldn’t surprise her. I rather doubt she has a problem with low self esteem.

She won’t have time for anything less than insane and total adoration of the incredible woman she knows she is. A true champion!

Kudos to the EMS and 1st Aid volunteers on hand.  No mean feat it is, managing the logistics of four trail races on one day (50 miler, 50k, marathon, marathon relay), followed by three more the next (half-marathon, 10k, 5k).
For the last 15-mile section, back along the Potomac Heritage Trail, we retraced our steps from earlier in the day, back along the river to Algonkian Regional Park.  Here, is where the marathoners joined in on the fun.  Zipping by now and then, as if they inhabited a different time-space reality, the relay runners raced against the heat.   And now and then, the occasional 50 miler, a fellow sufferer; as I passed or was passed, I only had to glance at them to share a wordless solidarity of pain.

Then, after three challenging loops in Great Falls Park it was time to hit the dusty trail home for the last 14 or so miles back to the finish line.  My A goal for the day was to break 10:30 hours (I ran a 10:28:35 at Stonemill 50 miler in November and around the same (10:28:28) at the Destin 50 a year ago February) thinking this course was supposed to be easier, the truth is it’s really hard to compare one race to another, with elevation, temperature, terrain, there are just too many variables to consider.  But anyway I headed out of Great Falls thinking maybe it was possible.

This last section of the race repeats the morning in reverse.  In the first 8 miles coming out of Great Falls, there are steep eroded hills along uneven sediment and hard stones.  One section had us at the top of a ravine, peering downward while the next section had us running down to the riverside.  For relief’s sake, the last 7 or so of the trail flattens and eases up.

I hit the final stretch running, not fast, but strong and passing many people who seemed to be wilting in the heat.  After passing each person I felt stronger and stronger and more confident in what I was doing.  Though I couldn’t seem to shake the negative chatter in my head telling me I couldn’t keep this pace up, that I should just give up and walk.  It was very clear that the challenge was coming from my head more than the course.  But the first 6 miles I ran strong thinking I had only a couple miles left to go.  Strava GPS on an iPhone may not be so reliable out in the forest and I know this, but I was super discouraged when an aid station volunteer told me I had “only” 2 miles left to go when I thought I had maybe half a mile at the most.

  
I would like to tell you I didn’t let this bother me and I kept running, but that’s not quite what happened.  Instead, I ran out of Tailwind powder to put in my water and drank some syrupy electrolyte drink from the aid station (never a good idea with a sensitive stomach and limited anti-crapyourpants caps left in my vest pocket) so my stomach started bubbling and groaning.  I said to myself “I’m not going to make it in less than 11 hours so I should just walk.”  So I walked a bit, got passed by a few people, moaned, groaned, ran some more and walked some more.  Then realized that when I walked I felt really tired and discouraged and even though I was tired I felt better when I ran and so I’m better off running.

  
So I ran in the last 1/2 mile of the race and seemed to feel stronger and stronger the closer I got to the finish line.  I gotta say it felt really good to finish my third 50 mile race feeling strong, if tired, and having weathered the mental highs and lows that the day brought.  My official time was 11:01:42, good for 1st place in my new age group, the 40-44 crowd.

It was a big confidence builder.  As I thought about running 30+ more miles as this in a few weeks at the 24 hr ATR,  I knew it was going to be hard but I felt more confident that I could do it.

And I made no rookie mistakes this race, unless you count asking a volunteer for directions.  I knew I would slow, probably a great deal, over the last 15 miles and in the ever-increasing heat.  But it wasn’t a catastrophic slow.  I ran most of the whole way back, shuffling steadily forward under the afternoon sun.
One of the things I especially like about this race is that I’m surrounded mostly by young chicks as well as older moms and “battle scarred trail veterans”.  I think the next person in my particular older mom category was a close 5 minutes behind me. At one point, when we passed in the last third she commented on how I was, “moving on up”.

I enjoy this stuff.  Seriously, I can’t wait to hit 50.  This age group thing is getting seriously competitive!

After the race:

In the parking lot, I heard one of the winners telling a buddy it was “brutal out there.”  Yeah, well, Mr. Speedy, you only ran a little over 6 and and a half hours.  Try being out there an extra 7 hours on top of that.  That’s when things really got brutal.

I can’t imagine how it was for those out in the heat 13 hours.   I could not have done it.  When I was done, I was put a fork-in-me-DONE.  Albeit, happy having run 52.2 miles (counting the extra ‘lost’ miles) under wretched conditions; 15th place female, 1st in my age group; still alive, not too beaten up, uninjured, and with my 13th ultra under my belt.

I’d better get going now. It’s time to go to start training for my next 50 miler and research all about this lion balls shaving business.  I really hadn’t given the prospect of such a new hobby much thought before now.
I’m thinking I would warm the shaving cream first, but that’s just me.

The OCD Runner’s Guide to the CU Cherry Blossom (Close Enough To 10 Miler) Race in DC: A Recap

I wasn’t too sure about running this mid-April race, first of all.

I’ve been busy. Busy, busy, busy. So busy in fact that I didn’t have time to sit down and write something funny and clever and completely narcissistic just to please you…. and we both know it would please you.

No matter how much you want me to write something about running that is mildly amusing so that you can escape from your mundane life for a few minutes, I’m telling you I absolutely do not have the time. No time do I have. None.

Why, you ask? That’s so like you. Has anyone ever told you that curiosity killed the cat? Well, if it’s any of your business, I have no time because I am spending every spare minute I have training for a 24 hour trail race. I am marginally good at getting in a high volume of mileage during the week. Currently my training wheel is in full throttle, baby.

Which is why I have no time to write silliness for you. Business first. That’s my motto. Well actually, my motto is “Marry first, ask questions later”, but I think a girl can have more than one motto.

There was no ‘morning of’ race bib pickup for the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler. To run the race Sunday morning, runners had to pick up packets either Friday or Saturday in one of the busiest sections of DC during a specified window of time. The window would entail missing pickup time for my 6-year-old after kindergarten, karate class, out-of-town birthday swim party and movie day. Also, missing the kids’ activities meant hauling around 2 and 6 year olds on the metro and streets of downtown DC.

Thankfully my new run blogger friend, Marsden aka RunningLonely, agreed to pick up my bib and hand deliver it to me on race morning at the start. Besides being angelic, this guy is so funny, I can’t stand it. I’m so jealous that I seriously hate his guts. And, I mean that in the most Christian way. Check out his site featuring his pink pig, but be advised you should not read his work while drinking a beverage of any sort as you will undoubtedly spew it out your nose.

I have to admit I was sort of nervous before meeting him and other new friends I’ve made online in the DC area. This is my first year in the area and as I tend to have tiny freak out seizures when I am in a crowd, I felt there was a pretty good chance I’d wind up rolling on the ground with my tongue hanging out. To tell you the honest truth, I also had some concern that the ‘short’ race would be competitively packed with young speedsters that had only recently fully completed puberty.

A good rule of thumb is this: It’s ok to be forty-one and act like a twenty-something, but only when you are not standing in close proximity to an honest to God twenty-something. Otherwise you stop looking like a cute older lady and just start to look like an old lady. That’s never a good thing.

So I wore my most modest run skirt with Team RWB gear, Orange Mud HydraQuiver and VHTRC trail running hat and spent the morning hanging with fellow Team RWB members to psych myself up. I kept reading about how flat the course was (which was perfect for TNFEC 50 miler taper this week) and how beautiful the blooms of the cherry blossom trees were lining the course.

I had eaten a quick bowl of rice Chex with OCD & IBS gut bomb proof lactose-free milk before heading to DC. There was some time wasted getting the morning coffee just right, however. I cannot drink coffee unless I put enough cream in it so that it’s the color of faded khaki’s. I don’t chalk that up to OCD though. That’s just because I make terrible coffee that’s so strong it walks up to me every morning and introduces itself.

So after filling up and packing up, I rode over on the metro at 5am with the rest of my go-cup of khaki coffee and a pack of other runners who looked anxious to get their speed on.

Some kept to themselves, some were morning people telling funny stories, some were nice and some were so dressed up in fancy running gear it made me feel completely inferior as a human being. But that’s ok ’cause nothing wakes me up like a great cup of coffee and the fresh smell of inferiority in the morning!

So upon arriving to the race start after exiting the Smithsonian station and meeting up with Marsden for my bib and safety pins, I made a trip to the porta potty and stood shivering as the sun rose over the monuments.

Just seeing the sunrise over the Washington Memorial and the group of Team RWB Eagles holding the flag made me feel so lucky to live in such a gorgeous place and be among such a group of brave soldiers. I’m only a civilian/military spouse member of this group. Most of the members I run with on this team are men and women in our United States Armed Forces or veterans, which means they are simply not ordinary men and women.

They have a fire inside them, each and every one. A fire that cannot be artificially lit, but rather a fire that must be burning at the very moment you are born. A righteous, determined, proud fire that demands all men, women and children have the right to breathe freedom. No matter who they are, no matter where they are, no matter how hopeless the promise of freedom seems, these men and women are willing to sacrifice everything, including their very lives, to purchase that freedom. Just standing there waiting after the group picture and listening to the national anthem, I felt like crying at the thought of this beautiful and amazingly unselfish gift they are happily giving the world.

Wiping my watery cherry blossom infested eyes after the announcement to locate our corrals, I made it over to the blue section with a few minutes to spare, shoving my elbows in through the jam-packed crowd.

Once I found a spot I took my free ill-fitting cotton t-shirt out of my race bag and donated it to the stash of other runners’ throw away clothes and started my Strava.

So there I was, ready to start. I near about had an OCD freak out fest over having touched the porta potty door handle earlier and realizing I had left the hand sanitizer in my car parked at the metro. I shook a little almost as if shivering in the cool morning air and some folks noticed, asking if I was cold. Good coverup so I went along with it. Hey, I am the first one to admit that from time to time I do exhibit some behaviors that “normal” people would find odd. Funny even. It’s true.

For example, I do have a germ phobia like no other which very often causes me to cover my hands in Germ-X and twitch a little because I had to touch a door someone else touched. When the shakes subsided, I decided to just enjoy the scenery and feed off the high of the other runners. At 7:35ish am the horn blew and the first bunch of runners in my wave were off to run with the rest of the near 18,000 runners.

The first mile felt challenging with that many people invading everyone else’s personal space. I hate this aspect about running a crowded road race. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I’m all about personal space and runners at this race tend to want to get up in my area and breathe on me. I don’t enjoy that. So I packed it up and left a few heavy mouth breathers in the dust. Because of this, I could tell I was pushing myself faster than I’d normally run at the beginning of a 10 mile run but as soon as I focused in on the scenery of beautifully bloomed cherry blossoms and the Lincoln Memorial I smiled with gratitude again that I was able to run at a place that holds significant meaning to our Nation. When crossing over the Memorial Bridge, I kept a steadily increasing pace and settled in among the other runners going around 9 minute miles. As we made out way back across the bridge and down along Rock Creek Park/the end of the Capital Crescent trail, I began to think it was smart to back off a bit so I walked a few seconds to drink from my Orange Mud bottle. I knew there were miles to go but didn’t want to continue on too quickly on a taper week before TNF EC 50. So I set my sights on some slower running accompanied by sideshow superhero spectacles on the side of the road. Superman, Spider-Man, Batman and Robin were holding signs and dancing to cheer on the runners. Wish I had thought to snap some iPhone pics of my idols. Like my little boys, I’ve always had the childhood dream to fight crime in a very caped crusader kind of way. I’m of the opinion that to truly be respected as someone who takes crime fighting seriously, a really cool mask and themed costume is quite necessary. That’s exactly what’s wrong with law enforcement today by the way. Too much badge and too little crazy cool mask.

I know I for one would be far more likely to behave myself if I were pulled over by a guy wearing bat ears and a black mask. Everyone knows attempting to flee from someone involved in a dynamic duo situation is futile.

So after watching Batman and Robin dance and after looping back near the Kennedy Center I saw mile marker 3! I was relieved to know we were already almost 1/3 of the way through the race and appreciative of not having to stop at the water stations with droves of folks or stand in the frustratingly long line at the porta potty. The Strava mile split lady announced my pace to be 9:20. Holy crap on a cracker, Batman! I really needed to slow down to get back to a 10 min/mile but wasn’t doing a good job at doing so, I guess.

So I started going over mantras. “Run conservatively like your ultra pace.” “There will always be someone elbowing you and passing you, and someone eyeballing your butt behind you,” and “Leave something in the tank for the 50 miler coming up” as I knew I should make this a true taper run. Regardless, I kept running at the same pace because it felt natural to do so. Still, other runners were cutting in front of me in the pack and age grouper ladies were elbowing me in the ribs as they squeezed by but for the first time I didn’t let it bother me.

I am wearing one of those blue Complaint Free World bracelets this week in an effort to you know… stop complaining about people. The idea is to switch wrists every time you catch yourself complaining thereby becoming a better person and hopefully throwing some good karma in your direction.

In other news, my wrist is sore.

So mile 4 passed relatively quickly and then mile 6 when I realized I was running a 8:55 mile pace and began to feel the endorphins buzzing. Only a third to go! This section of the course loops around a long peninsula called Hains Point. From glancing at the course map beforehand I thought I’d really enjoy this stretch of land with water on both sides. But when actually running it I quickly determined that this section has the potential to be long and boring to someone not used to running in a monotonous manner such as myself. It’s an over 3 mile loop with not much view of the water from the path, especially with all the other runners crowded in. This section is also more secluded so there were hardly any spectators. Just a regular stretch of road. No balloons blown, streamers strung or dancing super heroes breakdancing on my behalf. Until that point I didn’t realize how much I was feeding off the crowds like I was running a road marathon or something. Three miles of silence later, I was truly grateful to pass mile 9 and hear all the cheers of the crowd lining the course again. And music. Lots and lots and lots of music.

As I fell into sync with similar runners keeping a steady pace, I overheard one runner proclaiming that the hill was awaiting us. Because I’d never run the course I didn’t know how big the hill was or how long. I only surmised that it must suck a little if not a lot. Passing the sign noting 1200 meters to go, I resolved to kick it up a notch before reaching the 800 meter sign and thus the beginning of THE HILL. Come to find out, it was a hill but with not much notable incline in comparison to the rest of the course. However, it was MUCH shorter than I anticipated. I dug my forefeet in, kept my knees high and pushed toward the top. I was grateful I left something in the tank as many other runners around me started to crash from their Gatorade and GU gel induced highs. Many slowed down to a snail’s pace and spent the next few minutes in a state medically defined as wasted until catching their second wind.

From the top there’s a short downhill ride where the Washington Monument is visible along with the finish in the distance. Throughout the race I carried a large and small bottle of Tailwind, a just-in-case GU Roctane gel, Tums cherry chewables and my trusty stash of Immodium AD so that I never risk being covered in poop and in a public place.

I finished the small throw-away bottle of Tailwind along the course and a bit of the large bottle. At this point, I dug in and gave it a strong finish. In the last 100 meters or so I started passing a few people until an Asian tourist stepped out along the course in my path and I kindly stopped to give her a look to hopefully prompt her to run quickly to the sideline and out of the way of runners. This look was futile, however because she stopped directly in front of me and ducked.

Actually she probably wouldn’t have been able to run very far out of the way because her gigantic head would keep throwing off her balance. I know it’s mean, but the sight of her stopping me right before the finish line and not getting out of my way made me think perhaps she really did have an unusually large head and as a result, a problem with quick movement to avoid collision and would therefore have to wear a helmet and teeny-tiny little shoes to run a few feet OUT OF THE WAY!

I finally escorted her to the side of the course clearing her from runners behind me after cooling down and biting my tongue, of course. And I did learn a valuable lesson from my encounter with crazy up close and personal tourist lady and I am happy to share it with you.

It’s almost never a good idea to put your body and nice expensive camera directly in front of runners on a race course no matter how pretty you think it looks.

So a few seconds later after my near collision over the tourist road block, I was back into full speed mode at 8:18 mile pace with the intent to finish strong and well under my usual relaxed 1:40 10 mile time. It worked as I came in at a solid 1:27:02!

The quarter-mile race to the public toilets

As soon as I crossed the line to the finisher’s chute I followed folks to the line of occupied porta potties. Looking toward the Smithsonian station metro, the appetite for bananas and chips at the finish festival tables quickly subsided as I saw the crowd again so I crossed over the chute toward the busy train to head home and meet up with my boys. I felt awful about my lack of social inclination after the race but the cherry blossoms have really screwed with my sinuses.

My daily morning run trail

The truth is, I have a Benadryl addiction that has really gotten out of control and I think I need professional help. Help that will require me to be admitted somewhere that is not here for at least a month. Last week I was so stoned I couldn’t remember how to use a fork and my 6-year-old son had to help me tie my Hoka’s. Almost wish I had left the speed laces on.

Yet, despite the pollen in the air, lack of elbow room in the race crowd and the typical schizophrenic homeless people on the streets and standing next to me on the train, this was really an easy flat course that’s extremely well-organized. Even in the hour before the race when a motorcycle hit a pedestrian causing part of the course to be closed for a police investigation, the race officials hopped to damage control and changed the course, albeit shortening it by a half mile. Despite the almost 18,000 runners and some a little pissed that the run was now not an official 10 miler, there was not a single hitch. There was hydration at every stop, what seemed like thousands of energetic, helpful volunteers and a well-run organization by race staff. I loved that they printed names on our bibs as hearing “Go RWB Stephanie!” felt empowering. I spent a good portion of the run thinking of all those folks who graciously gave up their Sunday mornings to help make this big event possible.

And you’ll be happy to know I didn’t have a single major total freak out moment, despite the fact that when I used the porta-potty I walked in on a friendly drunk guy peeing who waved at me like he was a homecoming queen in a parade. The beer table was great (I’m told), there were very few alcohol induced brawls and I got to see some online running friends I haven’t had the pleasure to meet in real life where Photoshop doesn’t exist.

So the next time you’re sitting around thinking, “Gee, I’d love to sit in a field in cherry blossoms with about 18,000 of my closest, drunken running friends and listen to a live drum band”, I highly recommend the CU Cherry Blossom 10 Miler.

Maybe I’ll see you there next year. I’ll be the weirdly patriotic OCD lady in the camo skirt with an extra pocket on my trail running hydration pack for extra strength hand sanitizer in the event a smelly schizoid spits on me while cussing his imaginary friends.

Yuck, I say.

Btw, this is the only pic MarathonFoto offered to me out of the millions taken along the course.

Actually, I was not actually offered up a race photo at first because the company said my image was ‘unidentified’. After an obsessive amount of time flipping through unidentifiable images on their website I finally checked the male images as a last resort. Bam! There I am. In the ‘male’ section.

Maybe I’m not the woman I thought I was, no matter what my driver’s license says. Maybe I’ve gone so far into the perimenopause zone that I’ve actually turned into a man. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m going to go to the pharmacy right now to pick up an estrogen filled Pez dispenser. And maybe another twelve pack of Benadryl.

Maybe I need to give road races a break for a while and get back to the woods for a good piece of trail so I can find myself as a strong woman again.

Oh what am I saying? I am a woman. I know that because my driver’s license says so. I wear make-up, I use many products in my hair, I generally smell pretty and men who are both toothless and balding give me the “Hey Baby” eye at Wal-Mart. Yep. I’m a woman.

Run the HAT 50k If You Have an Overwhelming Desire to Just Wallow Around and Oink: A Race Recap

The snow and ice that was so relentless in NOVA, DC and MD this winter into spring had me kind of depressed. Honestly, it was the kind of depressed that causes good women to wind up on the 6 o’clock news.

I would start sentences I can’t finish about things that make absolutely….

See what I mean? I have no idea where I was going with that so I must not be totally healed yet.

Maybe it’s the mudslide ride called HAT 50k or maybe it’s the continuing cold weather into spring or maybe it’s because I’ve been sick with lingering stomach virus issues similar to the swine flu. I’m not sure if vomiting and diarrhea are symptoms of the swine flu but I lost 7 pounds without bending at the waist or giving up salted caramel spread from the jar. And last night I had an overwhelming desire to treat myself to a mud mask… and so I did.

All I know is that something’s not right under my skin and I can’t figure it out – which means I can’t find a solution.

And I’m a solution kind of girl.

For example, the snow-mageddon 2015 surrounding DC made trail running hard to come by so my solution was to spend countless hours running on neighborhood roads in ICESPIKE’s only to return to a house full of boys stricken with cabin fever and a pissed chocolate lab with all her whining and her nails clicking across the floor and whatnot. So when the first day of spring was approaching (and I lucked out to get bumped up from the HAT wait list), I checked the long-range forecast on the weather channel and actually believed what it had to say (out of wishful thinking) and began setting my sights on kicking up some fresh Spring dirt at the 50k in Havre de Grace, MD, home to Susquehanna State Park. I cannot begin to express the straight up awesomeness of what this trail run sounded like to me in my mind. The location seemed so quiet, I bet myself I could hear a pin drop – if I were to drop a pin for some reason I can’t quite wrap my mind around. I don’t sew. Why would I have a pin. Or is it pen? Why am I dropping my pen? Could be an early warning sign for something awful. I should see a physician at my earliest convenience.

But alas, I thought it would be a good run for some much-needed ‘alone time’. Today, other than my 3am run and subsequent trip downstairs to the laundry room to wash my smelly winter running apparel, I have enjoyed no alone time. But on the days I get lots of it, like a weekend long run on a trail, it makes me a tiny bit giddy and whatnot. And I needed that because lately I’ve been getting almost NO time alone. None. Zero. Zilcho. Don’t get me wrong. I loves the men who inhabit this space with me – but I would LOVE to know what it feels like to LOVE them from afar for a minute.

So the sound of relentless snow crunching on the ground of Susquehanna State Park two hours away after paying the $4 toll to enter the great state of Maryland was almost more joy than I could stand. And I say this even though I’m a terrible trail runner when it comes to running on snow and ice. For some reason though, I was thinking that given the way I was forced to run on the roads after the treadmill broke, I might have turned a corner. Man, was I ever wrong!

Seems the day prior to the race, Havre de Grace, Maryland received not only a late season snowstorm blanketing the trails with about an inch of snow, but also rain to mix and mush things up a bit. Oh, well. It was only an inch of powder. How much harm could the rain do? It probably just rained in a few spotty areas of the town, I was thinking. And despite having just recovered from a violent kid-gifted stomach virus two days prior, I was enthusiastic about feeling the soft snow beneath my Hoka’s even if it was a bit mushy.

Since I had never been to that part of MD or mostly anywhere in MD since I’m not from around here, I arrived a full 120 minutes early. Totally an obsessive me thing to do. I don’t like to be late and I don’t like people who like to be late. I only forgave myself last month for being two weeks past due when I was born.

The drive from VA to get there was great weather in the dark, pounding music and best of all, I managed to avoid breaking down across from the Bates Motel. Of course, I had not made the return trip home just yet, so Norman may still have a shot at me, I was thinking.

Arriving at the course, the realization of white fluffy snow on the ground quickly faded as I laid eyes on the remaining blanket of slush with a side of chocolate mud glistening in the morning sun. But unlike my garbage disposal this didn’t scare me. (I keep having the thought that maybe I’ll be walking past the garbage disposal one day and suddenly have the overwhelming desire to shove my hand in it and flip the switch. Say hello to my little friend: OCD). But on the bright side, the disposal was a two-hour drive back home and this slushy stuff, well it was only a few inches. And my travel hand sanitizer could take on that mud if need be.

So I commenced to doing the usual registration stuff like signing a consent form that if I die I won’t sue and letting them know whether or not I have a living will. I wrote down that I plan to keep on living. That’s my will. And then, I was completely baffled when handed a nice tech shirt and a snazzy new insulated bag with handles.

I never actually got anything so lavishly padded with logos and well-sewn seams before in past ultras. Having been around the ultra scene for near two years now, I’ve gotten lots of presents from the races I’ve run. Some were wonderful, some were awful and some were unidentifiable. It’s when I receive something in that last category that I suffered a little embarrassment. After looking at the bag thingy for an inordinate amount of time I finally figured out this must be a cooler style drop bag thingy to hold your stuff at a check in/aid station. So I plan to put it to good use in May for the 24 hour ATR so my Butterfinger bars don’t melt. 🙂

Shortly after making a trip back to the car to stow the bag, loading up my Orange Mud VP2 and pinning my bib to my tights, I was standing in a patchy snow and slush covered field with close to 400 other runners doing what I always do before going on a long run. I began to sweat profusely, count the number of leaves on every tree I saw while simultaneously tightening the front strap on my pack. After a few inaudible words from the RD in the distance, my ears perked up to finally hear the long anticipated word, “GO!”

Photo by Shawn Bowman Photography

At the slightest echo of that word through the bullhorn we were off running through the field following a few happy men in neon and Robin Hood hats as they led us on a 1.4 mile out and back to spread out the slush atop the chocolate mud frosting.

Merry Men to lead the way

Photo by Shawn Bowman Photography

My plan was to keep my TAUR running friend Rob in sight to position myself smack dab in the middle of the pack and reduce my efforts in passing runners slower than myself through slippery mud later in the afternoon. The plan did not work as Rob felt a burst of Harry Potter-type energy and went flying levitational style toward the Merry Men in green hats.

From this point on, I found myself solo amidst a shuffling conga line of runners through mudslides for the remainder of the race.

After passing through the start/finish area for the first time I began the 2.2 mile loop through a mix of fields and woods in a somewhat testosterone-filled pack of men more experienced at slick mud and slush running than me. With some patches of snow still covering the trail, I settled into an easy trail training pace. Then, the short loop was over before I knew it.

Passing through the start/finish area for the second time, I reminded myself of my two Orange Mud bottles filled with Tailwind that would last through 16-ish miles so I scurried through the start/finish aid station and moved back out to the trail for the first of two ~13.7 mile loops.

From the short field section followed by wooded single-track, I was eyeing the melting snow and kept saying to myself, “I can’t believe my feet are still dry.” Then it hit.

Photo by Shawn Bowman Photography

A knee-deep stream crossing 4.1 miles into the race. From here on out my feet were sopping wet the rest of the day. After more rolling single-track I was at Picnic Area Aid Station #1 grabbing some water to wash down a Roctane gel.

Continuing the loop I noticed the snow was beginning to completely melt and the trail was becoming a nonstop mud pit.

Good thing I enjoy running in mud. Not! The rest of the day proved to be one delightful pig slop session as I slipped and slid every which way in my Hoka Challengers and worn-down-by-500+-miles ICESPIKE’s. Between Picnic Area Aid Station #1 and #2 the trail is a mix of woods and road. For road lovers, this is a shot at making up for lost time. But as soon as the road ended, it was back to 3-4 inches of slippery black mud the consistency of a vat of chocolate pudding.

via bravetart.com

Now, I like chocolate pudding as chocolate pudding goes. But, after you’ve had it for days in a row, you get good and tired of it. You hesitate to throw it away, however because who knows what you might want late one night. So, you tuck it behind the cottage cheese and yesterday’s chicken breasts secure in the knowledge that even though you probably will never have a hankering for it again, it’ll be there waiting just in case you get a sweet tooth. And you’ll get super pissed if someone else touches it.

Who knows if I’ll ever want to run in this again, I was thinking. I couldn’t decide if I’d be inclined to tackle this chocolate pudding next year. I imagine I’ll find it highly upsetting to stay home and see pictures on FB of someone else eating my pudding though.

Stopping at Picnic Area Aid Station #2 I took my mind off chocolate pudding for a few minutes to stuff myself with the best French fries ever since that time I ate at a flea market in Tampa, Florida.

Those were some ultra good fries! So it’s a compliment to say that HAT aid station fries are the equivalent of flea market fries. I should know because I am among the elite few to have ever been served a barrel full of fried food… out of a trailer… by a man wearing a beard hair net and a T-shirt that read, “Ass, grass or gas. Nobody rides for free”.

And a vest. A leather vest.

AND I stood in line for nearly a half hour for the privilege.

Feel free to allow the waves of envy wash over you.

5.3 miles of rolling single-track after that aid station, in the woods, fields and on the roads and I was back at the start/finish for the third time. During those 5.3 miles I assessed what I needed to finish this slop fest and formulated an attack plan for the final loop since I now knew the mud would be even more wet and even thicker after 400+ runners had mixed it up further.

I didn’t bother changing into dry Injinji socks since I knew my feet would be wet again in just 0.7 miles, but I did make mental note of how effective Run Goo is for blister prone Obsessive Compulsive people like me and how gaiters would be a good item to have for keeping rocks and debris out of my shoes for the next race. Maybe some red, white and blue ones since I’m a patriotic weird girl.

The final half marathon plus mileage was a mental struggle since I knew the middle of the pack I had been running with were now officially the back of the pack since the back of the packers had been timed out by race officials or dropped out after seeing the mudslide slip-slop fest they were in for after the front leaders dug their heels in. I maintained my 24 hr ATR training pace with periodic hike breaks up the slippery slopes, had fun making my own sideways trail alongside the ever-increasing mud pits and conversed with fellow hurting and/or now disabled runners as I barely passed a few in really bad shape themselves. Other than having to run extra slow and cautious, I felt no real pain to speak of but that probably has something to do with the handful of preventative pain pills I took that were left over from my last C-section. I chased them with vodka just to be sure. No sense in risking my health. (Kidding!) But I did do my best to offer words of encouragement to others along with Advil gel-caps and Roctane electrolytes.

During the last 5.3 miles of the race I reflected on the importance of finishing this race even though over 200 registered runners opted either not to finish or even start it. Here goes a summary of my thoughts:

The course is a good one with hills that give back. The chocolate pudding mud just camouflaged all this glory. For runners like me who like downhill running, this course would be 100% runnable minus the mud. There are no real steep or long climbs despite the 6,000+ feet of elevation.

On a rookie level, I did not consider the trail to be a technical one. However, everybody’s definition of ‘technical’ varies. Also, I’m fairly certain there is no way ever to keep feet dry while running these trails. With the two knee-deep stream crossings, the only option is to wade right through. The ice baths are exhilarating for potential hot spots on feet and toes though.

Photo by Shawn Bowman Photography

There was also a little bit more road than I was thinking after reading about the race beforehand but at least the traffic was minimal with only one driver having cross words with a ranger. Plus, the scenery was beautiful with exception to the muddy bits. The volunteers were friendly and the aid stations were well-stocked until the nearing of the cutoff time. There was also an unmanned aid station somewhere after Picnic Area Aid Station #2 but I totally missed it. Picnic Area Aid Station #2 was blue ribbon best complete with hot food and folks working the crowd like the hair net wearing people at Costco stationed every three feet with snacks for customers to try. It was at this aid station I nearly died in a head on collision with a chick in a short sleeve top who was clearly out of her mind with starvation. I had no business being between her and a sample of a Pierogi sandwich.

Death would have been my own damn fault but no one would ever know for sure what killed me as an autopsy can’t be performed on a body that was eaten by a sweaty woman in the Polish Sausage Dumpling section of an aid station.

But I was just as uncouth myself as I damn near had a simultaneous stroke alongside that woman when I discovered a package of chocolate espresso beans that could feed an entire coffee deprived nation. Or just me.

That aid station #2 was the aid station of all excesses! I’m talking huge bags of chips and boxes of cookies so big that if I took them home and cut a door in the front, my little boys and chocolate lab could invite all their friends and dog friends over to their pad for punch and cookies. (And butt licking in the dog’s case ’cause that’s just how she rolls.)

Crossing the finish line in my slowest 50k time to date at 7:38:52 after Strava showed 6:27:32 ‘moving time’ with 33 miles and 6,205 ft of elevation, I was handed a hat and umbrella and pointed towards more food.

Only 277 runners out of 402 finished which is way more than I was expected. So I guess it was a good training run.

One final thought:

I was feeling a tad angry finishing with my suckiest time for a 50k ever. Maybe it’s an early mid-life crisis or maybe its too few before breakfast cocktails. Who really knows what causes a good woman to go bad. All I know is I have an unbelievable desire to put on black leather, get a skull tattoo and be mean to someone.

I’m writing this race recap as I’ve jumped back into 100 mile training weeks for TNFEC in DC and a 24 hr ATR in May. My body is feeling pretty good but I do have some sore calf muscles still probably because of all the self-braking going on in the mud.

I have to keep reminding myself that finishing this seemingly hard race that plenty of other folks deemed unworthy to finish was the right choice to make for me personally. Finishing in over 7 and a half hours was therapeutic in a way that defies explanation… at least a really good one. When I left NOVA to drive to MD to do this, I left in fear of what the terrain might look like. Much was going on that terrified me. Father Winter was a drunk old man who wouldn’t go home this March and he wanted to hurt me real bad. I was nervous I’d never be able to finish if I fell hard on the course and even worse, cracked one of my early osteoporosis-stricken bones. The thought of running on this mess felt very scary.

But in the six or seven miles it took me to find my footing in some near close-call falls, I threw off all of the worry. I wasn’t making conscious choices to release it, of course. Looking down and around and across what was below me on the trail and feeling the rush of cold wind on my face and body – nothing mattered. Only that very moment. Only trying to swallow whole everything around me.

For me, running this muddy course was symbolic in every little way. I can do this now. I got this.

Swallowing whole one little mud pie at a time.

Photo by Shawn Bowman Photography

Thanks again to the numerous volunteers (I hadn’t seen that many volunteers at an aid station before in any ultra) for hosting such a good event. It is because of the folks involved with putting on this race that I’m over my initial down mood upon finishing and now in the mood to exclaim, “Yee-Haw! Whoopee! Hot dang!” Bring on the slush and mud again next year, Baby ’cause mamma’s buying a brand new set of ICESPIKE’s and saving ’em up for the occasion and she can’t wait for the big springtime snowstorm to move on through. I’m going to slather up my feet and tailbone with Run Goo, grab my liquid painkiller and have a mudslide party. I encourage anyone else to consider putting the HAT on the ultra bucket list and join me. Just make sure you bring your own Tito’s.

I’m not sharing.

Running in the Buff: Orange Mud Gear Review

I look good running in absolutely nothing, and I don’t mean the kind of nothing you’re thinking.

Most running clothes look all weird on me like I found them lying in the woods next to a homeless person’s stash and put them on. At 5’7 and a 1/2″ on a good day, tights are always too short and look dorky with my high Hoka shoes tall enough to impress a hooker. Of course I love those groovy platform heels on running shoes, especially when they’re in any hue to match weirdly patriotic colors, but as I am the clumsiest person alive, I fall down even more that usual on the trail. But at least when I’m on the ground my 6 mm drop shoes are cute.

Well, maybe in a so-ugly-they’re-cute sort of way.

I honestly can’t remember when I decided I needed to change things up and run in the Buff. I think it was earlier last Fall — that much I recall, and I think I picked it up after repeated annoyance at my self-cut bangs inspired by Kim Kardashian’s new forehead merkin style that kept poking me in the eyes while I ran. Plus, this Buff thingy is supposed to keep my scrawny neck warm in cold weather so it was a rather easy sell.

But first and foremost, my goal in finding the right running attire for the face and neck was to at least briefly feel like I am palatable to look at and will not induce vomiting in random passersby while running on the street or trail.

And this is a really difficult goal to accomplish in the thick of winter when my skin turns a lovely color one only sees in intensive care units and funeral homes. Factor in the weird color splotches negative wind chill temps leave behind and you can see why people often stop me to ask whether there is a charity I’d like to have them donate to on my behalf.

That’s why this new ‘Original Buff’ from Orange Mud is the perfect mask to hide and protect my flaws from being seen by the world. Enveloping the face just so exquisitely, it’s kind of like the one neurosurgeons wear when people look up at them with envy.

That’s right people. This mask makes me feel somehow important and medical-ly. First time I wore it on a 15 mile run, I made a mental note to wear it to the pharmacy next time I go – which will be in approximately 5 minutes as I live in a constant pharmacy going loop.

See, doesn’t this Buff make me look not at all like an old-looking woman who you’re not at all confident would not make you throw up if you saw naked?

This versatile head wrap thingy from Orange Mud was put to a gear test in training for an upcoming 50 miler and 24 hour ATR on wintry, crunchy snow and ice-covered trails around DC. To be honest, this is my first real winter season since moving to this area after living in Texas, Louisiana, Florida and places where people put sweet tea in baby bottles and dip pacifiers in banana pudding.

Frankly, as much as I was looking forward to this new bone chilling experience of living up north, at this point my one and only motivator is not to be declared legally stupid by being the only person I have ever known to fall down on a patch of ice and die of hypothermia and consequently, failing the running Buff gear test as a result.

I hear once the Running Buff Wearers Commission says you’re stupid like that, federal level stupidity can’t be far behind… and that goes on your driver’s license… just like whether or not you’re a donor. No way I’m having a big, red “S” stamped next to my weight of 110 pounds.

Yes. I said 110 pounds. I may not be smart enough to know how to make a balaclava or sahariane out of a Buff, but I’m plenty smart enough to know better than tell the government what my real weight is. Only the last 10 hairdressers who worked at Fantastic Sam’s know for sure.

First of all, before I get into how my testing of the Buff proves it’s a good product to add to your own collection of running gear, I realize $23 seems like an awful lot to drop on a tube of cloth. However, this ain’t your ordinary bandana type thingy that rings your neck thereby forcing you to make a face that indicates you may have just swallowed some old, warm cottage cheese.

Wearing a bandana like this around my neck during the hot and humid summer around DC just made me a sour face and reinforced my desire to run away. I just wanted to pack that little bandana with my baby, make-up, my White Strips and my extra shine hair spray, tie the whole she-bang to a long stick and take off with my smelly, chafed-neck self.

Wish I would have known last summer about the cooling properties of this Orange Mud Buff neck thingy because it would have truly been one of the most indispensable parts of my summer and now year-round trail running gear (well worth the 23 bucks).

Here’s why:

It’s seamless. The Orange Mud Buff is manufactured as a single piece of fabric woven into a continuous tube with absolutely no sewing involved. So there’s no ripping in the washer when attacked by a running jacket or jeans zipper. I initially tried wearing a Turtle Fur brand REI winter clearance special buff for a few weeks in my search for the perfect buff that was not a bandana but had to head for the sewing room after one race and wash with that one.

With this fuzzy Turtle Fur contraption I ended up needing some fabric, a glue gun, some staples and as many spangles and sequins as I could get my hands on because I so do not know how to sew. In the end, I tossed the snagged up Turtle Fur and ordered up the Orange Mud one because it has no protrusions to get caught on items in the wash or seams to chafe the neck on a long run.

This Buff wicks away moisture. The Orange Mud Buff soaks up sweat and evaporates it. When I initially tried the cheap Wal-Mart cotton bandanas I quickly learned they absorb and retain moisture, they dry slowly and end up feeling slimy and gross requiring me to boil myself in a combination of Clorox and Peroxide immediately after a run. The reason I’m telling you this is so that you don’t make the same mistake wearing a dollar store neckerchief yourself on a hot day. I’m just thinking you could learn something from my insight. And I hope you didn’t touch my picture wearing that bandana above. Go wash if you did.

The Buff is one size. It’s not too tight or too loose, it stays put wherever you put it. This is the perfect material to wrap around the head or neck and I’m even thinking it could serve as a tube top in moments of desperation or if you are into those things. I happened to think of how the Buff could be used for this purpose upon seeing a woman at the dog park wearing a tube top upon which was scrawled a word or phrase of some sort that I didn’t think said ‘Orange Mud’, but given the lack of elasticity in her mammary area, I would have had to lie down beneath her to read it. I opted not to do that. But had she been wearing the Orange Mud Buff instead of a Wal-Mart Always Low Price special she would have required no pulling and tucking of her woman parts in public. This Buff requires no adjustment once it’s on, even during the run. Also, I can attest after much use and accidental tossing in the dryer it has retained its elasticity.

The Buff is pure thermal magic in cold weather. I usually wear a Team RWB or insulated winter beanie to keep my head and ears warm when the temp drops below 30, but I recently found the Orange Mud Buff serves as a noggin warmer just as well. In extreme temps below zero I simply layer my beanie over the top and I feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe it’s the Tito’s Handmade vodka I put in my oatmeal. Either way, I’m totally warm and fuzzy right now.

The Buff keeps wispy and tangle-prone hair in place. This prevents the field of vision to be obstructed by YouTube video inspired do-it-yourself-with-kitchen-scissors bangs and shields the eyes from flyaway hairs and split ends. Upon removing the Orange Mud Buff after a long run I was pleasantly surprised at how well my hair remained in a side part with two braids whereas after wearing the previous Turtle Fur buff my hair looked like my dog licked it near clean. After giving her butt a bath.

So many other uses exist with this Buff.

Other than a makeshift tube top or even a ‘do rag’, this Buff can also be used as a tourniquet after facing a near bloody death and/or possible loss of limb at the hands of giant bears or rabid wild bores. Simply slip the Buff off your head and fasten a tourniquet around the wound and buy just enough time to get to safety so you can take some awesome Instagram photos of the bloody mess.

Of course, another desperate use for the Buff involves personal hygiene of the butt. Namely, the toilet paper issue. Sadly, I resorted to using the Buff upon returning from my morning run and plopping myself down on the toilet. Stranded with an empty roll, I realized that although the Mr. began his military career as a physicist and spends much of his life nowadays protecting our country from the threat of terrorism, he still is simple-minded enough to believe that toilet paper gets on the little round gold thingie by means of some kind of magic that possibly involves tiny trolls.

I know this because he doesn’t change the toilet paper roll. Even if I put a new roll of TP underneath the dispenser so that when one runs out, there will be another roll right there, he still won’t change it. And, it’s not like he doesn’t have the time. The man spends more time in the bathroom than could possibly be necessary in any situation and I’m including situations that might occur after eating leftover chili that I forgot to refrigerate. Surely he could have figured out the mechanics of the TP dispenser by now.

“Babe, I can’t change it,” he’ll say. “It’s what the trolls live for. It would be like stealing their pot of gold.”

Let’s just say, the Orange Mud Buff cleans up well in the wash.

So, are there disadvantages to wearing a Buff as opposed to a hat or cap with a visor? Sure. For less hairy or completely bald folks, proper precautions must be taken to ensure sufficient warmth in freezing conditions. Furthermore, unlike the brimmed Orange Mud trucker hat, the Buff lacks a visor. This can expose the eyes to the elements so sunglasses paired with the Buff are a must. In addition, I’m thinking I might wear the OM trucker hat in lieu of the Buff in upcoming warmer weather just on those days when I’ve spent a lot of time on my eyebrows and they need to go hide out in the shade.

You see, there is a regimen of plucking, shaping, brushing, and coloring involved in being a girly girl that I’m not so good at. This morning I was in too big a hurry to go through all the necessary eye-hat grooming steps, so I skipped a couple. As a result, I worried all throughout my run.

Because I felt like everyone on the trail who looked at me thought they might like to Sharpie my face, I kept trying to turn my Buff covered head in search of a flattering eyebrow angle. I’m reasonably certain I looked as if I was afflicted with some malady which causes peculiar head tilting while running.

Any real or imagined disadvantages aside, I still would encourage any runner in any season to add this Orange Mud Buff to his or her collection of everyday running gear. Not only is it extremely functional in design, but it’s easy to put on and run with for miles and miles. Therefore, I award this Buff 5 out of 5 rainbow butterfly unicorn kittens!

Because sometimes you just need a rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten and 5 are better than 1.

The Orange Mud Buff is available here for its regular price of $22.95 but on occasion you can catch a hot sale or discount and save some cash. There’s only one design available currently but it’s worth the buy as it’s all-purpose and engineered for all-weather conditions. I’m planning to sport it with my Team RWB shirt for the upcoming HAT 50k in Havre de Grace, MD.

In the meantime, I’ve gotta fix the eyebrow insanity that happened today. I’ve gotta set the alarm to wake up early tomorrow and begin plucking and shaping and teasing all over again… always trying to make them perfectly even, because that’s how we OCD’ers roll… until I have tweezed myself into a happy place where the fear of another run up that mountain can’t touch me.

You see where I’m going here, right? I’m all kinds of crazy right now and if I don’t find a healthy way to handle it, I might have to call Eyebrow Club for Women and get myself some implants.

Watch that little picture of me up there on my profile to find out how I’m doing. If I suddenly look like Groucho Marx, please send your eyebrow replacement donations to my paypal account.

There’s Snow on the Roof, But Fire Down Below: ICESPIKE Review

From the title alone, you could assume this review has something to do with herpes, or pubic lice. Well, stop thinking stuff like that! That’s just sick and gross. Kind of like me and my snot rocket blowing honker in the negative wind chill temps we’ve been having around these parts lately.

While I’ve been on Sudafed Cold Extra Strength, I’ve also been having sick running dreams. Not sick as in “oh gross…that’s sick”, but sick as in the kinds of dreams you have while cat-napping between coughing up phlegm.

I do love having running dreams though. They’re like little guilt free viewings of ultra running documentaries in my head that I’m in no way obliged to click the thumbs up. Though my usual dreams manage to include monkeys in red hats or bearded men in no hats, my sick running dreams of late seem to be incorporating things I’m seeing briefly on YouTube while drifting off.

For example, just last night Chuck Norris had taken up trail running and we were resting at an Aid Station while carving an ice sculpture out of frozen Canada Dry with chain saws when Anna Frost runs in to tell us Scott Jurek uses Flora too and just saved a bunch of money on his car insurance.

Just as Chuck was about to celebrate the news by giving me a diamond ‘Most Improved Snow and Ice Covered Trail Runner’ award, Cheryl Strayed showed up and ruined everything by forcing us to watch her movie with Reese Witherspoon as herself.

I woke up just as Michael Arnstein was about to make sweet love to a naturally organic banana gel at REI.

By far, the great majority of my dreams often involve running and famous people or people who will do anything to be famous. But lately, the dreams have become more like icy nightmares because for the majority of the winter, I (like most people who live where real winter takes place) run on icy, snowy, slippery surfaces.

And this powdery stuff is not like ‘snow’ you see on TV. This is the wet, nasty slush that’s been driven over by too many cars so that it’s turned black from the exhaust. We have none of that pure white snow on which only a Lexus and horse-drawn sleighs carrying romantic men and their insanely svelte wives with fat-injected faces are allowed to travel around here. Nope. That is, unless you run far away from city streets to an uninhabited trail somewhere where it’s snowing perfect flakes cut out by angels who drop them from Heaven. But even on those little unusual slices of nature in the DC/NOVA area, traction can be a real problem for about 4 months.

The thought of slipping and maybe pulling a muscle or a really important leg bone spontaneously popping out of my skin is always lingering in the back of my mind. Over the past few months of living here, I have tried a few over-the-shoe type devices like Yaktrax and have promptly returned those to REI in exchange for Injinji toe socks. I personally find these strap-on products not all that durable and extremely slippery if you get on an icy side slope.

With Yaktrax on my Hoka’s, I hit the icy pavement, arms and legs in crazy, bent positions and did what I’ve found always works best when an injury of some sort has occurred. I screamed and cried and begged God for the sweet relief only death could bring. It hurt like a bee-yotch. A biker one of those. A biker with a mullet, no front teeth and a tattoo across her bicep that read, “Your skull would look pretty on my key chain”.

Before I commenced to hollering something about a bright light and walking in a beautiful garden, I paused Strava on my iPhone and logged onto Facebook to ask my trail running friends about their ‘screw the shoes’ technique to keep upright during snow and ice running. While icing my bruised backside at home later, I googled to learn more about these contraptions everyone was talking about called ICESPIKE™. Famous author, road and ultra runner, Dane Rauschenberg is an ambassador for the company and frequently mentions how necessary these specialized screws for running shoes are during winter.

So here’s the scoop on ICESPIKE
(from their website):

“ICESPIKE is a semi-permanent traction system that can be mounted on any running or walking shoe, hiking or work boot, quickly and easily. Take any pair of new or gently used footwear, attach ICESPIKE, and enjoy outdoor fun and peace of mind on any terrain in any season!”

I was thrilled to learn this so I ordered up a set immediately. With ICESPIKE’s there would be no more slipping and falling or lying on the concrete yelling for Jesus to take me home.

And unlike regular screws (hex head sheet metal screws) that some trail runners swear by and can be bought for cheap at hardware stores, ICESPIKE’s are specifically engineered of cold-rolled, tool quality steel to maintain hardness and integrity of grip in running shoes up to ten times longer or up to 500 miles.

As a plus, they won’t damage your shoes taking them in and out and re-installing them. I learned this after removing them before the Icy-8 Hr. ATR (which was not so icy after all) and re-inserting them after the race for the following week’s ice and snow storm. The Hoka’s tread was unharmed and traction was just as good as always.

But, wait! These things screw actual holes INTO the bottom of running shoes? Yes, they do. And yes, I really had to think about this beforehand.

But as it turns out, the holes really aren’t that gargantuan. Really! I initially thought to test them out on an older pair of Hoka’s but these Challenger’s just ride so much better on a trail or tough terrain than any other model.

And yes, at first I was sure that screwing these into the new shoes was not a good idea. ICESPIKE’s claims that they wouldn’t harm the tread left me tilting my head like Raven the lab dog when I’m trying to entice her to eat her glucosamine chews by getting on all fours and pretending the taste of Science Diet supplements makes me orgasmic.

But after much thought about the mileage I’d be putting in on icy roads and pavement with the treadmill out of commission, screwing spikes into the bottom of my shoes wasn’t so hard for me to jump right in and do after all. And not for nothing, faking a dog vitamin orgasm is not as easy as you might think.

The Installation:

The ICESPIKE kit comes with 32 spikes plus 1 “Precision tool” – which is a fancy name for a hex screwdriver. I’m so glad the company thought to include this tool with the packet of spike screws. If they hadn’t I’m sure I’d be using a butter knife like I normally do when installing screw type things back into the kids’ toys even though there are perfectly good tools in the basement.

Then again, I’m not sure what I’d do when coming to the realization that I’d used an eating utensil to touch the bottom of a thing that no eating utensil should ever go near while at the same time remembering that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder and do not like touching things that may have come in contact with a surface that I’m almost positive has touched everything from doggy fecal matter to squirrel saliva to tiny bits of DNA from a park-frequenting pervert.

I’d probably decide to boil myself.

But then there was the time I burned my tongue after I got the bright idea to microwave my coffee that had gone cold and how I talked like my two-year-old who couldn’t say anything with an “S” in it for like a week because it hurt so much. So I wouldn’t.

Boil myself, that is.

Besides, the fact that is saves me from losing a perfectly lovely butter knife for absolutely no good reason, this tool does come in quite handy.

Besides having a hard time (mentally) screwing these screw thingies into the bottom of my shoes, installation was easy. The instructions were simple step-by-steps and took a total of 10 minutes at most to put in both shoes.

Of course, I disregarded the company’s instructions to just use 12 per shoe / 24 total and just used all the ICESPIKE’s for good measure. More is better, I thought. Plus, the screws seem to only go into the rubber part of the sole of the shoe, not any deeper as to affect it’s overall structure.

Testing them out:

I have tested these numerous times in various degrees of icy-ness outside since I have secured them on the shoes and they work like a charm. I dare say these ICESPIKE’s have repaired just about any damage that the world has inflicted on me during the most recent ice storm.

Ice and Snow – ICESPIKE’s really are the best in the biz on snowy or icy surfaces. I really felt more secure running up and down the icy hills around town. There is no question of the difference the ICESPIKE’s made for running in snow and ice. They gripped well on packed snow, ice, and fresh snow. Although they make a sound on the ground not unlike metal explosives clicking off in a coffee can, I do not feel they added any weight to the shoe at all. The spikes are fairly weightless during a run. As far as how they felt while running on icy patches beneath– I didn’t notice them at all and on frozen rain affected snow, I really liked the extra traction they provided.

Less Icy Pavement – These ICESPIKE’s gripped well on shoveled or partially cleared pavement. I did not have any problems with sliding around on the pavement like I did with Yaktrax, other Costco versions of those products or regular sheet metal screws from the hardware store. I did, however, notice they were on. Besides the clickety-clack sound effects on concrete while wearing the ICESPIKE’s, I could also “feel” them on the bottom of my soles on hard pavement which in turn, makes me anxious. Not a big deal on intermittent pavement/snow/ice but on straight pavement it does bother me to the point when I can feel and hear the crazy so close, I keep turning around to check for a strange guy with loose dentures and a hat made out of aluminum sneaking up on me.

When the click-clack noises and feel of something on the bottom of my feet get to me like this it’s never just the noise or the slightly uncomfortable feeling that get me here. It’s always more like a big bunch of little upsets during the run which I stuffed the OCD bubble down instead of letting it fly. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a lot like a shaken pop bottle. If you release it slowly and carefully, nobody gets covered in sticky.

Let’s just say that on straight up pavement while wearing these things for more than a few miles at a time, I’m in such a state, it is highly likely anyone who stands near me is going to need a roll of paper towels.

Well, ain’t I a lovely bunch of coconuts?

After all is said and run, here is a summary of the Pros/Cons of ICESPIKE’s:

Even as I typed that, I burped OCD a little. Now I feel like I can’t use the “p” on my key board any more or something -retty bad will happen. That’s just -eachy.

-ros – These are -erfect for what they’re made for – traction on ice and snow. The traction from these is better than any other -roduct I’ve tried over the winter. Installation is simple and fast, the screws are very lightweight and durable. And on most surfaces, you can’t feel them when running in icy/snowy conditions. Traction is also dramatically improved with ICESPIKE’s. These also work in ‘wintry mix’ weather conditions, where roads are mostly icy/snowy with patches of pavement. (I just wrote two plosives p’s in close proximity to each other and have felt less OCD about the letter. This notation is brought to you by the letter ‘C’ for Cognitive Behavior Therapy.)

Installation doesn’t damage the bottom of the shoe from what I could tell either. Despite the clickety-clack attack on nearly bare pavement, they were much more comfortable than other the traction devices I have used in the past that have to stretch under and over while Velcro-ing just so over the top of the foot. With ICESPIKE’s, running is unencumbered by things like strap-ons that delicate Southern girls like me aren’t that used to anyway.

Now with the ICESPIKE’s in their respective places on my Hoka’s I think nonstop about running outside in a dreamy neighborhood covered by fresh, white snow that will stay perfect and white for at least the month of February. Now, if I could get a nice person to shovel my sidewalk for a dollar and some hot chocolate, that would be super-duper.

And more than anything else, I want some TV commercial-type friends who wear proper overcoats, have a nice supply of Ferrero Rocher and plush snowmen and want nothing more than to go to winter gatherings.

In a Lexus, of course.

Cons – While these are great for running in slippery road and trail conditions, I do not recommend them for consistently running on pavement, especially if you have OCD like me or are generally bothered by the “feel” of something that could be digging up something icky on the ground and just hanging on to it on the bottom of your shoe. Yet, in all fairness, ICESPIKE’s are not made to be worn on pavement anyway.

Final thoughts:

If you spend a lot of time running in slippery conditions, ICESPIKE’s will keep you feeling secure. ICESPIKE has saved me since my new treadmill belt ripped a few weeks into my winter ultra training for upcoming races with Team RWB and the Orange Mud Ambadassador Team.

With these screw thingies in my Hoka’s allowing me to run in whatever kind of winter storm front, my life is extraordinarily magnificent. So magnificent in fact, I think you should stop wherever you are and allow envy to wash right over you. (And then go wash your hands ‘cause envy is full of germs.)

These ICESPIKE’s are essential to winter running gear. For traction on snow and ice, I highly recommend ICESPIKE.

*Disclosure: ICESPIKE was provided to me after I purchased them at full price for test and review purposes. The above review is my honest opinion of the product. If something is good, I will say so; if it sucks, I’ll let you know that too.

That said, I probably won’t waste my or your time writing a post about something that sucks, unless it’s really that bad.

I’d love to stick around right now and produce more Sudafed induced writings, but I’m sleepy again and Chuck and his ice sculpting chain saw await along with my ICESPIKE’d Hoka’s.

I Feel Dirty Inside. But My Compression Socks Are Clean: An OCD Race Recap of the Icy-8 ATR’ (8-hour Adventure Trail Run)

This race started out to be a humdinger (Excuse me while I giggle. I said humdinger). The Icy 8 did live up to its name despite the ice only lining certain sections of the horse trails and the temp soaring to a high near 50 just as the sun was starting to make her move on the sky. However, because the start was in the low 20s in keeping with the ‘Icy 8′ tradition, the mud on the trails was frozen solid to give the feet a good ol’ beating for the first few hours of running.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

The race course is on the horse trails of Lake Anna State Park in Spotsylvania, VA, which is about 1 1/2 hours south of DC. There were a few horses on the trail that morning and I’m so glad they didn’t have OCD, like me. Not one of the horses kept running back up a hill to make sure something didn’t drop out of their hydration pack onto the ground. And they didn’t have to keep their eyes on the ground at all times so they didn’t step on an ant and get sent straight to Hell either. Nope, these horses and the fine folks riding them for fun or profit were courteous enough to step aside for the Icy 8 runners even though the trails are wide enough to accommodate a 1968 8′ wide trailer, four trucks and a car up on blocks. I couldn’t help but notice some sections of the trail were eerily similar to my hometown in East Texas – loads of space to run free on pine straw and horse poop.

So here’s how the race morning unfolded:

After filling up on Riesling from the cheapest bottle in the fridge along with caramel popcorn for the night, I woke up at 4:00 AM, mad because I didn’t set the automatic timer on the coffee pot the night before. While I posses the Wal-Mart technology necessary to have piping hot java waiting for me when my eyes fly open, I choose to just get pissed off at the start of every day instead. Gets the blood pumping, which is good for ultra running.

I then proceeded to eat PB & Caramel spread on country white bread as a breakfast sandwich with a handful of Rice Chex like I do pretty much every day, but never with milk. I find the addition of milk to my favorite morning treat creates a substance not unlike chunky mucus.

You’re welcome for the image of chunky mucus that will now stick in your head like… well, chunky mucus.

At this point it was time to get a move on, so I sprayed on my deodorant and hopped in the car with my Tailwind to-go cup and drove the near two hours there.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

When I arrived at Lake Anna park, I rushed to use the restroom and then picked up my bib and nice race shirt swag from Race Director, Alex, who magically knew my name because I’m always dressed for an impromptu Flag Day celebration.

– The usual running attire

With minutes to spare, I headed to the car to warm up a bit before the race brief. I should probably mention at this point that because I was born in the deep south I don’t do cold that well. Back home we use words like ‘squatted’, ‘britches’, ‘Mee-Maw’ and ‘colder than a witch’s t!t’ in even the most polite conversation and though I haven’t lived in East Texas for many, many years, I find that I still express myself in much the same way here in the northern parts of Virginia where folks are forced to wear these things called buffs, tights and dual layers. Pretty much a “you can take the girl out of the south” kind of thing.

It was just in the nick of time that I hopped out of the car and hauled it like the weirdly patriotic runner I am, wrapped up in two pairs of everything, to the start line three seconds prior to the morning meeting. I was overjoyed at how Alex had called out the ultra newbies so they could get a spotlight and asked the ultra vets to provide any advice and encouragement. He also made the briefing what it should be, brief.

Then, the race was on!

*photo by Paul Encarnación

Since this was an 8 hour race runners had the option to either run an 8 mile loop or a 4.7 mile loop. I signed on for the Groundhog division, which means I agreed to run only one loop in one direction (the 4.7 mile loop) the entire race. As a monotonous crazy person, I knew I’d prefer a shorter loop to a longer one, so why not just sign up for the special division? I was not alone in this thought. Even a few runners who had officially registered for the regular Icy 8 decided last-minute that the short loop was the way to go to maximize mileage in the allotted 8 hour time span. In fact, the eventual overall women’s (regular Icy 8 Division) winner declared this was how she got so many miles in before the clock was up so I felt confident I made the right choice in signing on for the Groundhog replay all day. My initial goal was to get in 42 something miles give or take since I’m lazy at math, or 9 laps around the short loop.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

I started off at a comfortable 11-something minute warm up pace chatting along with other runners mid pack and was able to maintain that for a good portion of the first loop. I tried my best to limit my transition time after each lap so I could maximize the race time available. I also convinced myself to not listen to my iPhone (music and Strava mile split announcements) at full volume in my one ear bud and I’m glad that I did. I was able to socialize with the runners during the entire race and when we all spread out on earlier loops, I was still able to focus on the trails and work on some mental toughness with background music down low. The last four laps, I slowed down considerably due to the course warming up and getting super muddy, but still enjoyed the trails and Bruno Mars at just the right decibel level.

Then, after running out for the fourth lap I realized I underestimated the terrain and slightly overestimated my trail running abilities (considering I’m only fortunate to run a real trail once a month). Since the course is always open to the horseback riders, for the first few laps the muddy and poopy parts were choppy and rock solid. But by the fourth loop, these ‘rock solids’ has melted to mushy mucky parts. It was definitely an easy course to slip and slide, roll an ankle in spots or fall as an unavoidable casualty if you weren’t paying attention. Or if you suffer from a chromium deficiency or something like that.

I also noted a bi-polar like emotional cycle during this race as every other loop. I would go from having a sudden attack of mania where I wanted to test the Hoka’s to see if it was really ‘time to fly’ to feeling negative, tired, and frustrated that Hoka One One doesn’t give a crap about people with wide forefoot problems.

The first few laps in my new Hoka Challenger’s felt slightly challenging as if I was just doing each loop for the first time. When my fourth lap started, I was settling into an easy pace and just concentrating on the scenery and loving the horse trails. By the fifth lap, I was back down and feeling some blisters on my bunions, and especially pessimistic since I realized I would only get in eight laps as opposed to my original goal of nine. My sixth lap was a good one as I knew I was going to be done in just two more laps and 32 oz of Tailwind give or take a Roctane gel, Tums and change of Injinji toe socks.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

“Thanks for the pic half second after I blew a snot rocket, Paul.”

This is the slumped-over norm when running an ultra. You go through periods of time when you feel like complete crap and times when you feel as nice as if you’d used something with the words “feminine” and “rain fresh” in it.

All in all, I have to say the times between the wild swings of the pendulum of crazy were pretty freaking fantastic. But I did notice I wasn’t the only one struggling mentally after the four-hour mark in the race. I eventually passed one runner alternating between power walking and shuffling along whilst talking to himself in various tones.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

This made me a bit jealous that I don’t have multiple personalities. I’ve often wondered why I can’t be obsessive-compulsive about running and have about ten runners that live inside me as well. No, I don’t mean really tiny little person runners that would somehow move into my body and set up housekeeping, but rather those Sybil kind of runners. I guess God knew that would be way too many hands to tote sanitized wet wipes for.

Suddenly about 34 miles in, I began to bounce back. This is when I reminded myself that I was going to finish this lap within the time left on the clock and therefore I was going to to accomplish my newly set goal of eight laps. I never had a pace goal in mind since I simply set the bar so incredibly low for myself that even a brain-dead gerbil could manage it. With that in mind, I was able to relax and put in some nice miles at the end while catching up with Quatro from the VHTRC who was on his last lap as well.

Thankfully, Quatro and I finished to see many other runners done for the day with their respective loops so this encouraged me to be more satisfied with how I did with my own laps. According to the official results, I finished 37.6 miles in 7 hours and 28 minutes, but my GPS clocked me at 38.9 miles. I’m going to believe Strava because, ‘if it ain’t on Strava, it didn’t happen’.

In the end, I didn’t hit my lofty goal, but I rapidly realized how unrealistic it was. I also ran nearly all of the course, only power walking the first .25 miles of the last 4 laps (a steep uphill on asphalt) and only in super slick muddy areas as well.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

And how did I finish with nary a drop of mud or horse poop on my white Team RWB compression calf sleeves? VHTRC’s Gary Knipling commented that he’d like to see me finish a race just once with some sort of blemish from the trail. But little does he know about my OCD preoccupation with avoiding such blemishes caused by near deadly falls on a trail.

Personally, my biggest fear when it comes to dying is that I’ll look downright blemished and awful when I go and as a result, I’ll look awful for all eternity. I simply cannot have that. I haven’t spent my entire life putting on make-up and dying my hair just so some funeral director can make me look like a dumpy house wife. I’m not risking death with a blemish on a trail.

“Oh, it’s just a lil ol’ mud.”

No way, mister. I want control. Total control over my entire funeral from start to finish.

And it’s not like I didn’t bring an extra change of running clothes to change into in case the weather changed or I had a bloody, muddy accident while running. This is something I always pack if I need a new wardrobe in the event of dying. Sort of like those eternal ceramic geese that sit on people’s front porches here on the east coast. They have different outfits for different weather conditions and their owners rush out to change them whenever the season changes. They have little rain coats and rain bonnets. They have little sweaters and snow boots. And I think I even saw one once wearing a little bikini, belly ring and a VHTRC visor hat.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

‘The legendary Gary’

After thanking Gary for his fist bumps of encouragement on the trail and overly generous compliments, I decided I was tired and it was unnecessary after all to change out of my non-muddy running attire into some cleaner weather appropriate duds, I hung out at the aid station with other salty, sweaty and stinky runners and chowed down on Chex mix until about an hour after the race ended and one of the first timers finished to a very sincere round of applause and high fives.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

‘Sorry, bud. Misplaced my hand sanitizer. Just imagine two high fives from me, K?’

Then the award presentations began.

Holy cow! The overall winner ran a total of 54.1 miles! This ‘Flying Frenchman’ aka Olivier LeBlond is a super talented ultra runner with an impressive 100 mile best of 14:33:25. He always has a knack of making things look easy. Wish I could have spoken with him a bit afterward. Not that we’d have a lot in common other than I know a spurn is what French people use to eat their Oatey-O’s every morning because I’m a Southern bilingual. Even though I’m convinced if I add a fake accent to any word and simply say it slow enough and loud enough, Olivier and all the peoples of the world can understand me, I determined it was best to admire this fancy Frenchman in his Adidas track suit from afar.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

‘Quatro giving Olivier the stink eye’

It wasn’t long before I heard the RD announce it was time for the Groundhog division awards. I was stoked when seeing some other ladies look my way. The race director had handmade wooden plaques made for the Groundhog division which were pretty sweet looking but nevertheless, all three (including a very close tie-breaker for third) went to the guys who raced to the finish with one or two more laps than me.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

Sadly, there were too few entries in the division to award gender categories. But I did I finish 1st female in the Groundhog Day division according to the posted results!!!

So, it’s official. I’m soon to be a star on UltraSignup.  We all knew it was coming. I was destined for greatness, designed for fame. The big 50 serving bag of caffeinated Tailwind is finally paying off!

This is my first 1st place finish among the ladies which makes me pretty OK with being who I am inside my soon-to-be 41-year-old woman skin. If you knew even one-third of the things this little obsessive-compulsive girl from Marshall, Texas has gone through to get here, you’d be inspired to put coffee cans with my picture on them in every convenience store near you in an effort to collect loose change on my behalf so that I might go to Disney World… or wherever the severely downtrodden find happiness and redemption. Happy Birthday to me!!!

What an eventful time at the Icy 8!  I got to spend several hours working on my endurance, and I got another chance to hang with some of the best trail runners in the region, seasoned and new alike. I especially enjoyed seeing my Facebook friend, Manuel finish his first ultra and get a fancy plaque for it.

*photos by Paul Encarnación

I think he’ll agree (now that he’s tackled one himself) that timed ultras are deliriously fun. Instead of running until you complete the official race distance, you see how many miles you can run in the allotted time until you’re out of time, drop from exhaustion or one of your most important leg bones has spontaneously broken right through your skin.

If you’re interested in running an ultra marathon, I highly recommend any of the Athletic Equation events. These timed races are a totally different race experience, the runner camaraderie is unsurpassed and the aid stations have enough food to go underground and survive a Nuclear attack.

*photo by Paul Encarnación

The next timed run for me is the AE’s 24 hr ATR in May where I hope to make even more friends with other like-minded weird people who are also perfectly comfortable with their own weirdness. I LOVE this ultra running bunch! Gotta go brush up on my Southern bilingualism.

Good Morning. I Covered Your House in Crap. Here, Put This Jacket On!

Stardate: 12-02-14 Time: 0345 hours

“Hey there sleeping beauty. Here’s a big sloppy doggie kiss for you on your toes. By the way, I have explosive lab dog diarrhea. I felt obligated to alert you.”

“Damn it, Raven! Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah I know. My bad. Sorry about the smell, but in my defense, those snacks you brought me were definitely not high quality. I didn’t get a look at the package, but based upon what I’ve produced in the last hour, the first ingredient is monkey butt.”

“Oh God, Raven! I can’t breathe!”

“I know, right? The walls are alive with the smell of monkey.”

“You’re going outside.”

“That’s cool. That’s cool. I get it. But I have to tell you, Steph – the damage has been done. I do weigh 70 pounds and have the height of a toddler in the 85th percentile, so I covered a lot of territory while you were sleeping. Like a LOT.”

“You couldn’t wake me up DURING this crap-a-palooza? Or I don’t know… BEFORE? Jeez!”

“Don’t hate. It’s not like I didn’t try. I whimpered. I made that grunting sound that annoys the piss out of you. You were talking in your sleep and didn’t hear me.”

“What was I saying? Should I be embarrassed?”

“You know me. I don’t judge. All I know is that whoever this Mark Zimmermann is, he must be all kinds of sex on a stick. Oh and PS – those sounds coming from my tummy right now are what you might think of as my early chocolate lab warning system. This is not a test.”

“Don’t you dare crap in this house again!”

“I’m not picky, yo. Totally your call. Not for nothing – that pounding outside your window is rain so at least the wet dog smell will help to balance out the smell of ape butt.”

“I love my life.”

“You are definitely living the dream, chick.”

So this was the pre-run scenario the morning of my before-dawn run with a pooping dog in this rain jacket. It has been one of the most humid, sticky, smelliest, dog-poopiest summers, wettest autumns and coldest wet winters since records began in the D.C./DMV area. The rainfall percentage here has been high to justify Googling “how to build an arc in 800 easy steps”, which I just did before I found the rain jacket at clearance online. Virtually every run or walk I’ve taken my poop monster out for has been in the wet and now that I have this jacket, I am well and truly ready to skip Wet Winter and welcome Sprinkly Spring.

Plus, for all of the races I am entered into in the near future this waterproof run jacket seems to be a mandatory item to pack.

This is the epitome of rain drop and poop-repellant running gear.

Under no circumstances or weather conditions is it ever, ever going to let water or anything gross inside. The recent 30 degree temps with light rain showers are perfect conditions to test out this new waterproof and windproof jacket from Salomon, the Tournette Shell Rain Jacket (Women’s – 2013 Closeout).

And even though wearing running tights, shirt, arm sleeves and compression socks with smelly, farting dog on her leash, hydration pack with two bottles and poop bag holder in tow can leave me winded even without the frustration of being weighed down by a rain jacket or wind breaker, this jacket is on for good reason.

Me, looking lovely in red. If only I were wearing a running skirt made of drapes I would be very much Scarlett O’Hara.

So the key style elements that work for this Salomon Tournette Shell Rain Jacket are:

Completely waterproof
Windproof
Hooded
Light weight
Small stowing

There are no shortage of pro points on this running jacket. It weighs in at a light 8.8 ounces, is highly stowable and with the breathable zippered underarm vents, is designed for appalling humid conditions or freezing downfalls (being both windproof and waterproof). The key selling points are that it is equipped with two large zippered pockets on the front, as well as zipped vents down both arm sleeves which can be opened when it is not raining to allow air inside and cool your bubbling pits.

On yesterday’s poopy dog run, my shoes and socks could not have got any wetter if I had jumped into a shallow pond and quacked with the ducks. My pants looked like I had wet myself a little and I was completely saturated from the knees down, but the Tournette jacket somehow kept my upper body totally dry. The only moisture was from my sweat, as it was too wet to open the vents under the sleeves. I did try to unzip from the bottom of the armpit upward on one side just to test how much rain could enter the inside of the bodice but the Orange Mud single barrel hydration pack straps interfered with this process.

I’d have to take off the pack to make it happen, which is super inconvenient for me while running with the dog and carrying poop bags, and that’s like three levels more inconvenient than just regular inconvenient. So I skipped this test.

I did feel super secure though with the hood pulled really tight to ensure nothing dripped in via my neck and for all intents and purposes I was sealed within the jacket. The hood tightens by bungee-type drawstring, as does the bottom of the jacket with one drawstring on either side. There are also cuff Velcro adjustments to ensure no rain or wind can come up through the sleeves and knock you over. This is important because if such a chance occurrence happened a raccoon could mistake you for a delicious white trash treat on garbage day and BAM, you’re coon chow. You could become discombobulated, get ten kinds of dizzy, and just fall over if rain or wind gusts got up in there. You could suddenly remember Honey Boo Boo’s mama still has a working uterus, and be overcome with the desire to take a header to your death. OR and this is backed up by American science, the wind could just break your limbs off and you could plummet to the ground. The morgues are full of plummeting to the hard ground victims. Look it up.

Waiting on a delicious hard ground victim.

This jacket is seriously torrential rain and body-plummeting wind proof. The waterproof coating ensures water simply slides off the jacket, as it is designed to do. What I notice most is how light I feel while running in it, even towards the end of a seven hour windy trail club run traversing DC, crossing over the Key Bridge into Virginia, continuing onto Maryland and back.

One mile east of a chain bridge was basically just scrambling over boulder fields so I appreciated the jacket more for lessening the load on my upper body during this run. I was also appreciative of the waterproof protection just in case I might fall along the really heavy post-rain level of the Potomac where some of the trail was submerged. Climbing along the cliffs until the trail appeared again was not easy but the jacket lightened my load to make it less than really difficult. The odor control panels inside also worked wonders considering I hadn’t washed it prior to two training runs beforehand. But this is ‘okay’ hygiene amongst fellow trail runners. Even the best groomed trail runner is prone to occasionally sitting around in the same holy compression socks she’s been wearing for three days, a rogue potato chip stuck to her chin and her hair caked in what we can only assume is dog saliva. When this is the case with your running mate, try to remember that Jesus made showers and Victoria’s Secret Garden Spray, and in as few as 10 minutes, she can be physically tolerable and even highly desirable, once again.

As for the extra weight of carrying or wearing this jacket, I would much rather unload the weight of an extra Tailwind packet to know that if it comes to it, I am going to be completely safe with the right rain gear if the weather turns for the worst. It can be easy to get carried away with focusing on the very lightest and most minimal jacket but there are other areas I would rather cut corners than not toting one at all. I can see why the elites would carry the absolute bare minimum, but for those of us who get our money’s worth from the entry fee, a little extra will not slow us down.

At a $85.73 sale price it is still not the cheapest jacket out there. My take on this would be, since buying the jacket I have run in the rain for probably at least a month’s worth of days. So let’s see… one rainy day at a time multiplied by my age and divided by the number of years I have left to breathe in and out while running equals… $2.86.

For arguments sake, if you had to pay by the run, would you rather pay for something cheap from Wal-Mart as you pick up essentials from the deodorant, camping or dog regularity aisles and come back wet and miserable? Or would you rather spend upwards to $3 bucks per run but come home bone dry?

I know, close to three bucks per run seems like a lot of money for a stay-at-home mom but I think I’m going to be okay because I just received an offer of employment from an architect who lives in Bahrain and wants to pay me lots of money to pick up packages for him and mail them. He’ll pay me in money orders, which I’m sure are entirely legit. As long as he doesn’t mind a lingering dog poop smell on his packages, we’re good.

Ultra Runner Rescued from Human Hamster Wheel in Ocean: Don’t laugh. He’s one of us.

A few gallons of water, GPS, satellite phone, box of protein bars, and a plastic bubble. What could possibly go wrong?

See for yourself:

I can’t stand to watch the video again because I’m not very good at hiding my feelings. I think that’s directly related to the fact that I never try to hide my feelings. They are always right there on my compression arm sleeves so I remember where I left them.

This morning my big unhidden feeling is how upset I am over this whole ultra runner in a bubble drama. I am fit to be tied and since I don’t even know for sure what that means, that should indicate to you my high level of anger.

When I get like this it’s never one thing that got me here. It’s always more like a big bunch of little upsets during which I stuffed the OCD bubble down instead of letting it fly. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a lot like a shaken Mountain Dew bottle. If you release it slowly and carefully, nobody gets covered in sticky.

There is so much crazy running around loose in the world right now, I almost feel normal.

Almost.

Among the worst of the insanity, we have terrorism, Ebola, hunger, racism, and Reza Baluchi, the human hamster wheel running man who took a trip across the ocean to allegedly promote world peace.

This dude for sure ain’t getting Ebola.

The U.S. Coast Guard in Miami rescued this ultra runner in his human-powered inflatable bubble after his failed attempt to run to Bermuda to “raise money for children in need.” This decision was inspired by the 135-mile foot race he completed in Death Valley, known as the Badwater Ultramarathon.

“So, I’m about to try to run a few months across the open ocean in a giant hamster ball. I wonder, should I maybe do some planning, like make sure someone’s checking on me or looking up the direction of the prevailing currents? Nah, lets just throw some protein bars in a bag and go, time’s a-wasting!”

Because conditions inside the hydro pod bubble would be very hot and humid, Baluchi had been preparing with long runs in the 120-degree Florida heat waves. The guy does sound even more certifiable crazy when considering the distance from Miami to Bermuda is approximately 1100 miles.

When the Coast Guard initially observed Baluchi inside his hydro human hamster bubble abode eating his protein bars and texting his running buddies on his satellite phone, they asked him to cut his mission short due to lack of supplies. Yet, hamster man refused to quit or leave his bubble wheel just yet.

A few days later, the exhausted ultra ocean runner awoke from one of his regularly scheduled three hour naps and surrendered to the Gulf, signaling for help. The Coast Guard sent an airplane, a helicopter and a rescue boat to retrieve Baluchi 70 miles east of St. Augustine.

via newyorkdailynews.com

According to this guy’s website (which has recently crashed after much media attention), he wanted to run across about 200 recognized nations in an effort to promote world peace but he got caught up in the Gulf Stream instead.

That Gulf Stream, always hindering the chances of world peace.

Stupid gulf stream, all high and mighty.

Since the incident last weekend, commenters are flooding his YouTube Channel, Facebook profile and personal website saying ugly things like this man was ‘freaking nuts when he built this bubble vessel’. Some folks made even more cutting remarks on how he ‘must be Baker Act material’, and saying he is ‘certifiable cra-cra’. Another commentator pointed out that, “Like most ultra running types he must have that whole obsessive-compulsive disorder thing happening. Everybody knows those OCD people are totally freaky.”

Now my personal brand of crazy is not only all over my blog site, but all over the news as well.

Thanks to this guy.

Because of Reza’s deep desire to stay out of debt from repaying the hefty cost of his Coast Guard rescue to the U.S. Government and his YouTube agent’s deep desire to be on Nancy Grace, the only thing most of the public will ever know about OCD is that it has something to do with running almost 70 miles with a bulk supply of protein bars and your own pee and poop floating around in a human hamster wheel until surrendering to a rescue unit.

Of course, only a small part of that is accurate. The part about the poop fest going on in the hamster wheel, not the OCD.

You see, having obsessive-compulsive disorder is not exactly an ocean full of fish at dinner time. OCD is an exciting combination of obsessions and compulsions. Here’s the Cliff Notes version: Obsessions include intrusive thoughts and upsetting mental pictures. These obsessions spur the compulsions, which is the outward weirdness that we who are afflicted with the disorder sometimes display.

I don’t enjoy having something everybody thinks they understand but almost no one does. Given the choice, I think maybe I’d have picked a malady that is both plain to see and incredibly easy to understand.

Perhaps a big black-seeded wart right on the end of my nose.

No one would think I could stop having a black-seeded wart just by telling myself I don’t have a huge wart and I would be surprised if anyone felt the need to tell me they once had a pimple, so they too know the pain and humiliation of having a big nose wart with a black seed in the center of it. That’s exactly how it goes with OCD. Everyone who gets close enough to you to see it wants you to just stop it and everybody who’s ever avoided a crack on the sidewalk when running so as not to break their Momma’s back has it.

With regard to my mental black-seeded wart, I was pretty much born knowing something wasn’t exactly right with me. From the time I could think thoughts, a small voice repeatedly reminded me that I wasn’t like everyone else.

It was my little sister.

Years and various and assorted torturous acts against my sister later, the white-coats concurred and gave my crazy a name. It was a relief to finally know, but misery on a stick to live with and to find people who would love me while I live with it.

Everybody loves an obsessive-compulsive when the house is dirty, but nobody wants to live with one.

So Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, if I, a regular chick from East Texas who almost never tried to gain entry into the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club, was diagnosed by small city doctors who could barely spell MMPI, how is it possible then that Reza’s OCD wasn’t found out until last Saturday? Am I to believe that fellow ultra runners and well-to-do business associates… we’re talking about a freaking millionaires here …had no idea they had an obsessive-compulsive in their midst?

Surely someone noticed he was tapping the aluminum paddles on the bubble ship twenty-one times every time someone said the words “Go Fish”.

While it’s absolutely 100% true that most of us with OCD are fantastic “hiders” and quite adept at making sure we hide the crazy before we go out in public, anyone who has known an obsessive-compulsive person for at least two minutes knows there is not a chance in hell we’re going to run with our own poop floating around us for even one millisecond.

So this man is not OCD crazy but he is some kind of crazy. And I say this with much respect for a fellow crazy. After all, he did actually go through some caca opposing the government of Iran before becoming an American citizen.

‘Merica! Yeah.

However, I do agree with some of the ultra running community that Reza might in fact be criminal as in one of these “con artist runners”. Years ago he claimed to have run across the US in record time. But that didn’t show up on his website a few days ago before it became unavailable. I also noticed his claim of running ‘11,500 miles around USA’ from 2007-2008 was missing now. That would work out to be 57 miles a day for 202 days and an unofficial world record. 57 miles a day for 202 days is just hard to believe.

It’s true. I may or may not have a little embellishment in my past. I’m a writer and a runner who posts her MapMyRun workout stats online after all. Let’s just say if I were an ice cream flavor, I most certainly would not be vanilla. And believe it or not, I actually spent most of my life wanting to be vanilla more than I wanted anything else. Now I am completely happy that I am ‘Half Baked’ as I’m sure Reza is content with his ‘Imagine Whirled Peace’ flavor.

As far as I’m concerned, life is a banana split. Without the nuts on top, it’s just ice cream and bananas.

Didn’t Plato say that?

Bet he’s glad he didn’t become ‘Phish Food’.

Sharks want world peace too. In their mouths.

Running an Ultra with Influenza – in 7 Easy Steps

Step 1: Get the flu

The best way is to overtrain until there is absolutely nothing left of your immune system. I will explain the secrets to “The art of overtraining” in a future post. After you have reduced your immune system to dust, hang out at playgrounds with toddlers that have recently been violently ill with Enterovirus D68. If you can, let them drink out of your colorful toy-like water bottle. Share fluids as much as possible with a kindergartener as well.

Step 2: Ignore the symptoms for as long as possible

Sure, you are tapering and are supposed to feel fantastic. Instead you feel run down every minute of every day and everyone comments on how pale you look. Sometimes your kids see your white face and just burst into tears. Sure, you look and feel like crap every single moment of every day, but that is a hole that is nicely filled with a concept known as “denial”. After all, what would Wonder Woman do? She would run through the pain with her golden lasso.

Step 3: Get some professional medical advice. And then ignore it…

When I asked the pharmacist selling me behind-the-counter extra strength Sudafed for meth manufacturers whether I should still run the 12 hour race she gave a little incredulous laugh. And said:

“No. Are you crazy?”

My feeling is that all general practitioners of pharmaceuticals are for profit professionals.

She is set to make beau-coups of buckaroos off me due to my glands being sort of swollen, my ear lobes burning, my fingers looking plump and my elbows being dry. In lieu of this I decided to ignore the pill pusher’s “advice”. After all, those weird medical buzzwords like “diarrhea”, “vomiting”, “abdominal pain”, “cramping” and “increased heart rate” are all really confusing and hard to understand. I can’t even say Phenylpropanolamine and my coffee tastes funny. There is no real pain to speak of but that probably has something to do with the handful of preventative pain pills I took that were left over from my last C-Section in 2012. I chased them with cheap Costco wine just to be sure. No sense in risking my health.

Verdict: Run anyway. After all, what can go wrong in 12 hours of prolonged, hardcore strenuous activity that pushes the body to the limits? I’ve knocked out viruses from coupon-clipping sites on my computer in minutes. I got this.

via deviantart.com

Step 4: Throw in some random combinations of medication & energy snacks

When you are sitting in a park restroom stall, feeling like Sigourney Weaver in alien, and taking a combination of energy gels with electrolytes, 2 different types of gastric medication, high dosage OTC cold & flu capsules, 2 Imodium’s and Tailwind; there is always a part of you that accepts that something might go wrong in the next several hours. My tip is to push that feeling to the back of your mind. Of course your stomach sounds like someone is inside pouring water from one glass to another and swirling like a whirlpool and your colon is twitching like a gerbil nostril. It is just pre-race nerves. Ignore it and prepare to run for 12 hours with toilet facilities only available every hour and a half.

Step 5: Persist with your game plan even when it is obviously not going to work

Should I adjust my game plan to counter the fact that I have the flu? Yeah sure. Instead of:

• run the first 20 miles on the trail @ around 4 hours and hang in there

I’ll be swapping over to:

• run as many miles as you can up to 12 hours and try to cross the line before you blackout.

Safety first.

Step 6: Give up. Then realize you can’t because you don’t have a plan B

I actually stopped at 39 miles in the race. I tore my number off, was untying the time chip from my shoe and preparing to exit the race. One of the volunteers at the aid station said:

Volunteer: “Wonder Woman! You can’t give up! You can do it”

Me: (shakes head)

Volunteer: “Wonder Woman! This is your running moment! You can’t let anything stop you! Think of the powers of the skirt!”

Me: (Blowing snot rocket on the pavement next to volunteer. Drops to knees. Projectile coughs mucus again).

Volunteer: “You need to sit down at the first aid table for a bit. You need some help up?”

The problem with having no Plan B is that when you emerge from the park restroom clutching your snot and mucus-covered number in the middle of the woods with no cell signal and no one to drive you home, you pretty much have no option but to rejoin the race. Which I did. Hey, only 13 miles to go!

Step 7: Cross the finish line after the next lap. Then strap in for 2 days of chronic dehydration, lack of appetite, diarrhea and continued flu-like symptoms. You’ve earned it.

There is a lot of talk in influenza fueling strategy for an ultra marathon. Mine was roughly to:
Not carb-load because everything food-related made me nauseous
– Choke down the sore throat what small amount of pretzels and Tailwind drink I could manage to hold down throughout the race. Including medication that is keeping my illness and bowels in check.
– Throw in a bit of diarrhea at the start to assist with hydration
– Pop Imodium and run/walk the rest of the race in this state

I don’t remember so much of the last loop of 6.5 miles. I remember it being touch and go and falling on a cliff while trying to stay on pace with the guy in the kilt in the last half of the course. I was lucky I endured a whole week of the flu bug and it hadn’t fully kicked in and completely destroyed me until after I ran 48 miles according to MapMyRun on the phone GPS.

He says this is a ‘kilt’, y’all. If he wore something under it then it would be a ‘skirt’.

You’d think an experience like being shown up in my Wonder Woman skirt by a man in a kilt would put me off running. It hasn’t. It has, however put me off running an ultra for a few weeks. I’ll be back one day in November though…

After this whole bird flu thing dissipates. Yesterday I had an unexplainable desire to buy gummy worms at Wal-Mart. That can’t be a good sign. Yet the more I think about the symptoms, the more I’m fairly certain the swine flu is what I have.

Just when I thought I was shaking the symptoms for good, I had an overwhelming desire to treat myself to a mud mask. And just this morning I’m feeling all swiney again and what not. My eyes are puffy; my pigtails are unruly; I feel tired. I was going to fix some bacon for breakfast but when I opened the package, I inexplicably started to cry and shake my fist at God screaming, “Why? Babe was one of the good ones!”

I often snort when I laugh. It’s an embarrassing life long thing which means I’ve actually been coming down with the swine flu for more than forty years. I expect my case will be the most severe ever and scientists will want to contact me to participate in an influenza endurance sports case study.

Naturally I’m calling in sick to extra curricular mom duties today. The CDC did say to stay home from soccer and karate if you are feeling icky anyway plus I have an overwhelming desire to avoid showering and just wallow around. I was going to go for a recovery run but I think I tweaked a hammy. Oink.

Peeing Like a Man on the Run: Taboo How-To and Tee-Tee Tutorial

It’s super easy to pee standing up, even if you don’t have man parts. If I can do it, anyone can. I am happy to share my technique.  I’ve learned from research on the internet.  Yes, “she-wee’ing” is a popular activity all over the world.  According to Sarah Miles, in her book Serves Me Right, female pissing contests take place in Spain. These are manly “distance” contests [1].  Havelock Ellis, who wrote Psychology of Sex, has seen female pissing contests in Belgium as well.  The Belgium contests are trickier because it requires ladies to accurately aim into a bottle, placed in the center of a crowd of other women [2].  I’m thinking this would make for a fun party game and add a bit of flair to the peeing in downtown streets that has become so popular during Mardi Gras season.

I’ve also learned from the masters in manlike peeing during ultra-races.  In fact, I’ve spent more time studying other women ultra-runners’ peeing techniques than I spent studying for my first pregnancy test, God help me. It’s true whether one is comfortable talking about it or not, everyone who has ever ventured out for a long run of 10 or more miles must eventually urinate.  It’s going to happen…unless you are severely dehydrated, which I do not recommend and I can tell you that from experience.  I once ran a marathon with only 8 oz. of water and a packet of GenR8 Vitargo S2 because of triathlete testimonials about the superior hydration and fueling power of the product.  I went 4 hours without urinating, cramped up and fell in the arms of a traffic cop at mile 19.  I wouldn’t recommend limiting your hydration to the point of being urine-free or, for that matter, trusting a good sales pitch.  I also wouldn’t buy dehydrated baby chicks from China.

For guys, the pee-on-the-run issue doesn’t event register as an issue. Boys are taught to pee on trees from a very young age. In fact, both my sons went through a two-year old stage in which they would ONLY pee outside. My youngest is still in that stage and it is disturbing the neighbors so much that we need a privacy fence. But I understand that for us girls who are less equipped to whip it out and scribble-dribble the alphabet in the dirt, peeing outside can be traumatic or seemingly impossible.

Non-running/hiking gals stare in shock when they hear about women like me who pee in the vertical position.  However, this technique is not only possible, but it’s also a mandatory talent to acquire for long runs or hiking where there is no porta-potty in sight.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw a woman pro ultra-runner pull off on the side of the trail and let go on a tree.  Immediately impressed, I covered a few more miles and tried it myself. 

Trying to perfect my stance while playing the Shots! By LMFAO feat. Lil Jon drum cadence on my backside (not pictured).

I found that while standing, you don’t have to bare your butt (assuming you’re wearing a running skirt or skort with stretch undies or compression shorts under), and the position is ideal when your quads are too shot to squat.  Plus, it’s faster, can keep a tick from crawling into unwelcome territory, AND keeps your nether regions far away from poison ivy, fuzzy botanicals, rabies-infested animals or snakes. These are all positives in my book.

And yes, I’m working on an e-book about peeing on the run.  Disclaimer: I don’t have an editor, so if you’re going to lose your ever loving mind over grammar, spelling and my overuse of the phrase, “poo-slinging monkey,” you should hang onto your iTunes credit and cancel the download. 

I do admit the art of peeing like a man, or ‘she-wee’ing’ takes a few practice tries unless you have a tilted uterus.  You can hit the shower first to give it a go, but put yourself to the real road or trail test as soon as you can. Try it on a short run near home.  The first few tries, you might have to finish your run with wet feet, which aren’t happy running companions.  And if you really have a bad pee pee spill all over the crotch of your panties, and I mean a REALLY bad spill, you need to remove them as soon as womanly possible and set those things on fire. That’s the only way to be sure there are no residual pee-pee germs on the thing.  Icky.  Yucky.  Just nasty.  Nevertheless, by the next few tries you will find your bearings and become a show off in your outstanding-while-standing urinary talents to the bewilderment of eye-rolling friends and family members.

So here’s how to ‘she-wee’ while standing:

• Check your gut and make sure number 1 is the only number you’ll need to do because an accidental number 2 does not generate a relaxing sigh in the standing position.

I knew I should’ve chose that cereal for the toy and not the fiber.

• Pick a secluded spot out of view from other runners and race photographers.  This pee locale should also be out of flow range of your handheld water bottle and anything else you throw on the ground.
• Also make certain you aren’t over a rocky or stumbly hill area (you don’t want an afternoon of accidental golden showers over hands and lower extremities).
• You need to have on loose shorts or a running skirt or skort with stretchy workout undies underneath.  Pull one leg (and the anti-microbial/sweat-wicking crotch of the panties) up and to the side for maximum pee clearance.
• If left-handed, pull the crotch over to the left side.  And vice-versa if you’re right-handed.  Whatever you do, don’t cross the crotch with your hand unless you’re wearing rain gear arm sleeves.
• Stand with feet wide, really wide like a manly man who can lift really heavy things and pee a straight line using nothing but hands and testosterone.
• As far as posture, put your back into it and twerk your butt in a Miley manner (seriously, this move helps the stream go to the front because beside peed-on socks nothing is worse than a “pee-pee butt”, according to my potty-mouthed preschooler).
• Once the position is assumed, let it flow like a Toni Braxton song.  It helps if you have some real force behind the golden stream.  However, even a small drippity-drip is possible without pee-soaked panties and running shoes once you’ve gotten the technique down pat.

Oh, and when done, give it a little shake like the guys do to eliminate any lingering drip-drops.  Then, adjust the crotch back in place and resume running.  You peed like a man and you’re good to go.  Just don’t do any other manly things like touch yourself in public without thought as to how improper it may seem.

So next time the need arises to pee on the run, try these tricks of the trade and feel just as magical and completely liberated as I do.  Run like the wind and pee like a male rock star.  Oh, and another bonus of standing to pee during a long race is that it cuts down on wasted time on the route or trail. You’ll cover more ground in less time.  Although you can learn a lot by reading the graffiti in an aid station port-a-potty if you choose to squat.

Sure, ‘she-wee’ing’ may take a few tries to perfect but once you’ve become a standing pee expert, you’ll be peeing while standing up and talking to other men at a urinal.  Well maybe not, but you might be able to match men in the pee-writing arena out on the trail.  I am still working on the technique myself as I’ve still only managed to write part of my name on a pile of leaves.  It’s such a curse having a long name.

References that make me seem well-educated in ‘standing peeology’:

[1] Miles, S. (1994) Serves me right (pp 53-55). Macmillan, London. ISBN 0-333-60141-6
[2] Ellis, H. (1942) Studies in the psychology of sex (Vol. 6 ed.). New York: Random House.