DC Spinster

Prudential put on a 4.01K race at RFK yesterday morning, a 2 1/2 mile romp around the parking lots at the stadium in essence.  It was designed to highlight the looming (or occurring) retirement crisis in America where nobody has enough money to be able to actually stop working, except maybe the one percenters.

It was free, and you could create a team.  I created a team called January Ninth, which refers to the last day of the federal leave year this year.  I even activated my race wrist band on-line and printed off my bar code to bring with me to the race check-in.

But it was raining yesterday morning, and no work running buddies were going to come anyway.  So I didn't drive all the way across town to go to the race site.

But I did design a 4.01K race course in my head that left from my driveway and finished there.  Actually, since I was now the race director of this alternate run, I took note of the rain and reduced the course from a 4.01K to a 2.005K course, or a hairsbreadth over 1.2 miles.  Choosing to lay out the course as my standard neighborhood mile with two extra blocks thrown in, I lined up in the rain and off I went.

I ran pretty hard, since I was cold and getting wet, and I got into the run and was working it, just like in the old days of the last decade.  Soon my breathing became less ragged, I was focusing on turnover and I reached the halfway point of my little 2.005K course at the point where my mile run intersects briefly with the W&OD Trail.

Why not make it the real race distance of about 2.5 miles, I thought.  The MP 7 marker was down the trail about a quarter mile, and if I went past it to MP 7.5, turned around that and came back to here, that would add the extra 1.2 miles I needed to turn my 1 1/4 mile run into a 2.5 mile run.  Obviously my math was fuzzy, since in actuality I was adding about 1.5 miles instead of the necessary 1.2 miles, but it made sense to me at the time as I was redesigning the course on the fly.

It felt good to be going down the trail at speed.  I felt like I was doing 8-minute miles, or more probably about 8:10s.

Soon I was turning around MP 7.5 and then I was approaching the spot again where I had mentally reconfigured the race course to make it the appropriate distance.  My time running seemed to belie the pace I thought I was running at, because I was taking too long to be at this late spot in the race, so I picked it up a little more.  Down the last long straight block I could see the finish line stretching across my driveway and I sprinted the last 100 yards to bring the race home in 24:52.

Hmm.  A 9:59 pace, if the course was truly 4.01K.  I know I ran way faster than that so I decided the course was long, way long.

What a clown the race director was, I thought, to lay out such an obviously long course.  But I was pleased with my first-place showing.  And don't you know, in this virtual race, I was also DFL!

Having left the dentist's office on a rainy morning and started running ten miles home on the nearby W&OD Trail, I was passing through Vienna, the approximate halfway point.  I was getting tired, since I hadn't run more than six miles in quite awhile.

But the run was definitely clearing my head and I enjoyed the quietness on the mostly deserted trail.  The rain had let up so even that wasn't a hindrance anymore.

I passed Gallows Road where, the last time I ran seven miles, months ago, I had found the trail after getting lost on Gallows Road on that run last spring, and hoofed it home from there.  Next up for me, I knew, was the bridge over the Beltway (I-495) and shortly after that, the bridge over I-66.

I passed over each bridge in turn, now a mere two and a half miles from home.  Somebody was up ahead on the last bridge, taking an extended video selfie of her run in the raw elements, and I quickened my pace to catch up with her to see, if she wasn't tucked into her own cocoon of selfhood with earphones, whether she would be good company for a mile or two.

I was running home 10 miles from a dentist's appointment in the rain and it felt liberating.  I was free from the anxiety of further dental work, alone on the W&OD Trail with the elements and my thoughts.

Early last Friday morning I was inside the warm office of my dentist, while outside it was raining steadily with a raw wind, the precursor in our region to the landfall in the Carolinas of Hurricane Joaquin.  I would have much rather have been outside, however, in the wind and rain than inside at the moment getting permanent crowns cemented onto three sensitive teeth.

I was looking forward to being outside the moment the procedures were done so I could get on the nearby W&OD Trail, a 40-mile paved-over railroad bed that cuts straight and level across Northern Virginia from Alexandria to Leesburg.  I was going to run home from the dentist's office, a distance of exactly 10 miles, and thus put my dental woes to rest in my mind directly after this last of half a dozen visits to the dentist's office in a three month span.  (In my mind, I was already starting my trip home.)

After having to shoot up all three operative areas with Novocain so that I would sit still, the dentist finally had no further trouble, and I had no further zing moments, and the task was completed by 9 a.m.   A week later, the teeth are all doing fine, the doctor did beautiful work and I wish her a long, healthy and happy retirement.

By 9:05 a.m. I had paid the bill (rather, I had put the amount on a credit card) and I was hitting the trail at MP 17, headed east for MP 7 which is exactly where the trail passes by my house.  I felt liberated, footloose, happy and free, even though I hadn't run 10 miles in over a year and it was raining steadily with a westward sometimes-whipping wind.  (Rain?  What rain?)

Last week I started my weekly running off with a solo 5-mile run around my greater neighborhood on a clockwise loop.  That was the first of five runs that week for 23 miles.  It feels good to get my number of running days back to five, no matter how temporarily, and bump the weekly mileage up past my post-injury absolute cutoff of 20 miles.  We'll see if it lasts.

Today I had no one to run with so I set off at 8 a.m. to do the same loop counterclockwise.  Within half a mile I was returning home, my legs felt leaden from the 5.8 miles I did yesterday, and it was raining lightly.

What a wimp!  At 9 a.m. I went back out, intending to do a mile, my absolute minimum for being able to call a run a run.  I was toiling through my neighborhood mile, adding a little extra to make it a 2K run instead of a mere mile, when I found myself by the W&OD Trail.  What the heck, I thought, and I headed out on my loop, counterclockwise.

Forty-eight minutes later I was back after doing 5 1/4 miles in reverse of last week's run.  It felt so great I immediately went shopping after my shower and bought more clearance running toggery at Target (my staple) and a couple of super-fancy winter running jackets (the types that go for $60-$120 in running stores) in great shape and my size at the nearby Unique Thrift Super-store.  Yeah I love running, even if it plays with my head.

Yesterday was a cold, rainy day but I got four miles of running in with my weekend running buddy, J.  He lives next to the Government Center in Fairfax and you'd be surprised at the extent of trails and wooded patches out that way.

It's a little hilly out there too, it seemed that no matter which direction we were running it was always uphill, even when we doubled back after two miles.  There were other runners out and about as well, despite the challenging elements.

Layering is the answer on such days, wicking clothes next to the skin and fleece on top of it all.  In about forty minutes we'd done our appointed distance and by mid-morning on Saturday we each had our weekend still stretching out ahead of us. 

Afterwards, cold and sodden, we retired to a nearby Starbucks for Vanilla Blonde Roast coffee and a little girl watching.  I love the current style of boots that women wear these days and I watched an interesting and stylish procession of women walk in and out of the store in towering high heeled zippered suede boots, low-cut multi-buckled biker boots, rumpled buccaneer boots, boots with a flair over the knees, flat-soled black boots, Ugg boots, hush puppy style boots, high snow-pak boots, fleece lined boots, anklet high heel boots, French poodle boots, boots with a split back and old-style high lace up boots as J hummed the Nancy Sinatra tune, These boots are made for walking...

I jogged down to yesterday’s downtown noontime 3K race around the Tidal Basin in the rain. At least it had stopped snowing.

A small band of hardy runners was there. A Parks Policewoman stopped by in her cruiser to hurry us along in our dispersal so that a gathering which didn’t have a permit didn’t tarry too long on federal parks land. The Race Director hurried over to speak with her, and made sure that nobody left any sweatshirts or fanny packs lying about for the quarter hour we’d be gone while we ran around the Tidal Basin. Suspicious packages, you know.

Off we set in the gloom. Peter, who is about my speed and age, got away from me quickly at the start and I didn’t expect to see him again. Running along the Tidal Basin, the water was gray and choppy. The Jefferson Memorial across the way was partially obscured in the cold mist.

Although he is faster than me, I stayed ahead of the Race Director this race, as he had run a 3:25 marathon only three days earlier. He was never far behind though.

I tried to sprint down the 100 meter highway bridge over a northern arm of the water. I tried to power up the short hill just beyond, which runs past the Tulip Library at the 1K mark. I imagined the bulbs sleeping underground, just starting to stir with the end of winter beckoning. Both attempts at shaking up my race effort midway through were only moderately successful.

There was none of the usual jockeying for position around me in this particular race, which would count only 23 finishers. Normally a steady stream of half a dozen familiar runners goes by me after the starting line crowd has sorted itself out.

I set my sights on the runner ahead and gradually pulled close. He surged. I pulled close again and passed him at the 2K mark, behind the Jefferson Memorial.

Up ahead was Peter, coming back to me slightly. On the last uphill, the bridge over the Potomac inlet, I drew to within ten yards of him. That was as good as it was going to get. Peter increased the distance between us steadily on the long finishing straightaway and finished eight seconds ahead.

I pushed hard at the end to beat 14 minutes, finishing in 13:50 (7:25). I was 13th overall, and the thirteenth male out of twenty.

It was the 421st monthly running of this race, of which I have done 93.

It rained today. Today was also the day for the two training groups I direct to do their long runs, the Half-Marathon Group in its fourteenth week, and the 10K Group in its third week.

The calls started last night. "Are we gonna meet tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Well, I thought since the forecast says there's a 90% chance of rain . . . ."

I learned years ago as a cop to never finish other people's sentences. You want to keep 'em talking. So that sentence never got finished.

Sighing. "Okay. See you then."

This morning it was raining slightly but warm. Two people came to Gotta Run in South Arlington at 8 am for the half-mary workout, Sasha and Stephanie. Sasha had a cold. Off they went on their 13-mile run like troopers. (Right: Stephanie bringing it home in a 12K race last month.)

I drove over to Fletchers Boathouse west of Georgetown at 9 am. Five of thirty runners and three other coaches came to the 10K workout. One coach had a cold and left.

Off we went towards Bethesda on the Capital Crescent Trail on a straight 34-minute run. At seventeen minutes out, we would all turn around and come back. A run of four miles or less. Simple.

I was chatting up the runners, starting in the back and working my way up the pack. We rapidly got strung out along the trail. One coach was at the tail of the group and another with the fastest intermediate runner.

I got up to her and asked where T was, the only fast group runner to show up. Both fast group coaches were out of town.

"He's way up there."

The blacktop trail stretched out for a ways and then gently curved around a corner. T was out of sight. I started after him. The coach I left was not thinking that I would catch him.

In olden times, prior years, the students thought I was fast. I would work the line, talking awhile and then putting on a burst to catch up with the next cluster of runners ahead. Here was a challenge, to catch T and make it worth his while that he paid $35 to participate in this 12-week program. Have him have a coach available today as he ran.

I went around the curve. No T. I traversed another long straightaway and curve. Still no T. I passed a half mile marker doing a 7:40 mile. These days that is an I wish race pace for me.

Finally, there he was, way up there. It took me awhile to determine that I was actually gaining on him, slowly. I considered giving up and dropping back to the intermediate group. He was about half my age. He actually did races. I could let him catch me on the way back, and impart running wisdom to him then. Yeah, that sounded good.

But I kept on. My breathing was ragged and my limbs were heavy. I hadn't run like this outside of a race in a long time.

I ran him down. Thirty meters away, he looked back. He knew someone was back there. I thought he was going to increase his speed but he let me catch up.

"How fast were you going to catch me?"

"Oh, 7:40s I guess."

"What do you think we're running now?"

"Eights."

"It feels like 8:30s to me."

"Maybe."

I didn't want to show that I was tired and was glad I could now slow down slightly. We turned around at about seventeen minutes, about two miles out, and started back on the downhill half. Our strides were long and our conversation was sparse. T knows what he's doing.

T started falling back. I slowed slightly but he fell back further. I kept on then because I could tell he was used up but could bring it in. I was thinking I could catch an intermediate runner but I never did.

For T and myself, that was our problem with being the fastest in the group. On an out-and-back based strictly on time, because you're furthest out at turnaround time, you wind up being DFL.

I drove the last mile in 7:40. T revived nicely the last mile and finished only a few dozen seconds behind me. The rest of the group was in the parking lot already, sipping gatorade while waiting for us.

We arrived sweaty and wet from the rain but smiling. Those four miles felt great.