Foggy Bottom Milk Run 10 Mile Race Report

"Five minutes to the start! Begin lining up!" a voice cuts through the heavy air. Nobody moves. Each of us is tucked in a doorway or beneath a roof overhang, reluctant to commit to a wet outfit just yet in a game of "No, you go first". Given how hard the rain is coming down, just the walk to the start is sure to soak through all of our layers and dampen our shoes. As I try to coax myself out into the rain, someone next to me says what we've all been thinking: "Might as well get it out there, I can't stay here forever." He dashes off into the rain as me and the three other people sharing the small overhang reluctantly follow.

The first mile, aided by both race excitement and a swift tailwind blowing at twenty-five miles per hour, I'm surprised that the pace feels not only comfortable, but easy. I notice my breathing is calm, yet even I know that I can't hold the 6:30 pace my watch is registering. I pull back on the pace so as not to use my energy up too soon. I begin to wonder if this string of rainy days is finally providing the allergy reprieve my body has been so desperately craving.

Mile 1: 7:22
Mile 2: 7:29

Then we turn to face straight into the wind and the intensity level increases by tenfold. Not only is it windy, but the rain is still coming down.....sideways. Don't think downpour, think fire hose.

This is my friend Caleb finishing the 4 mile race. Everyone was wearing that same expression.

I'm running/swimming upstream as hard as I can and it's as if I'm jogging in place. I try to find someone to tuck in behind. Up ahead is Jeff, a tall, lanky man who won't provide much of a windbreak other than the fact that he's wearing a large cycling jacket that fills up with the breeze. Catch him and then settle in to whatever pace he's got. Even if you're not going any faster, at least you'll be using less energy, I coach to myself.

Mile 3: 8:01
Mile 4: 8:09

The ten mile race splits from the four mile a block from the finish line. Since the new race course was decided only a week ago, many people are confused by this new route. By the end of the day, there were at least a dozen accounts of people following the old course or a combination of the old and new ones. The course was well-marked, but with the flooded roadsides, most of the spray painted markings were underwater. Such is a typical day at Foggy Bottom. I've run this race five times and only one year has had even halfway decent weather.

What's not fun about that, right?

We make the turn onto Centerville Rd. and all the intense effort from the previous miles dissolves. Tucked against mossy hillsides, we've got a break from the brutal south wind. Jeff and I take turns leading. Before long, the lead pack is making their way toward us. They've completed the out-and-back and as I peer out from under the brim of my hat, I can tell they're all struggling and it's oddly comforting. If I could choose to have one thing slow down my race, I would prefer it to be the weather because at least all of us are soaked and freezing together. It's preferable to a bonk or my allergies, the latter of which seems to have disappeared for the day.

Mile 5: 7:53
Mile 6: 7:58

When I finally spot the turnaround cone, I glance at the passing runners and cheer them on by name. They look terrible. For a moment, I'm hopeful. Maybe I can catch one or two of them. Then I circle the cone and those thoughts are immediately extinguished by that increasing headwind. Every time I want to give up and slow down to a more manageable effort level, I remind myself that running is supposed to be fun. This single positive thought seems to help. I repeat this phrase as many times as necessary to keep from giving up.

There's a tailwind through mile seven, but I even with that, I can tell that my breathing is too loud to be sustainable. I pull back on the pace just as I notice Anna zoom by pushing me into eighth place. It stings a little for her to pass me, I have placed seventh the last four years in a row, so I try to relax while attempting to stay with her. She'll be just out of my reach for the remainder of the race.

Mile 7: 7:54
Mile 8: 7:44

Just as I did through this section the first time around at mile 3, I tuck in behind Jeff. He's been either ten seconds ahead or behind me this whole time. I wish I could take my turn leading, but every time I pull up next to him, he pushes the pace faster and I fade behind him. I decide that if he wants to do all the work, I'll let him. The rain lets up just in time for the final two miles, so at least that's a plus. By the time everyone finishes the 10 mile and the 2 mile kid race starts, the rain will have stopped entirely and the clouds part a little to let some sunshine through.

Mile 9: 8:17

I stop for some water right before the end of the ninth mile and Jeff goes on without me. At my last race, I talked myself out of water a mile from the finish line. This time there was no question in my mind: water and walk was a necessity.

Just as another tall runner passes by, I make it my mission to stay with him. Karma handed me several tall running buddies during this race! Perfect! I can't see much of him given how he's hiding beneath a hat pulled down across his face, but I can tell who it is by the way his feet swing outward with every stride. It's Mike, one of the club's ultra runners. As we dash down Main Street into the final half mile of the headwind and race, I recognize that same competitive spirit in another runner I often kick with to the finish line: his thirteen year old son, West. West is rail thin and barely four feet tall, but that kid fights and beats me every time. When I try to pull up next to him and pass, he never lets go of the lead. Like father, like son. Mike keeps me pushing when every cell in my body is begging for me to stop.

I pick up the pace, a gust hits me, and I tuck in behind him again. Then when I've regained energy, I pull alongside him. Now that we're within a few hundred yards of the finish line, I pick up the pace, trying to pull ahead. He counters with his own surge. He crosses the finish line one step ahead of me.

Mile 10: 7:42

1:18:22
7:51/mi.
8th lady.
F30-34: 3rd.

I double over to catch my breath before moving through the finish chute and heading for the water. I cough and wheeze on my way there, a sign my allergies are still bad enough to cause EIA symptoms. I'm pretty sure that was the hardest race of my entire life.  After discussing the day with other runners, most of us agree that the day felt more like mile repeats rather than a constant effort. Whew. Can I just say I'm glad that's over?

After a short cooldown, I head to the car for an outfit change. Before I know it, the kids' race has started and I'm standing on the rubber finish line mat waiting to direct traffic.

Due to the morning rain, the field is much smaller and more manageable than usual. Yvette and I only have to grab only half a dozen kids and turn them around so their timing chip doesn't register ten different finish times as they go back and forth. Rain manages to hold off until the last finisher comes across the line so most of the kids look like they're having fun. The speedy little ten year old soccer player, Elsa, who out-kicked me at the 5K in January was the first girl across the finish line, running strong at just under a seven minute pace.

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Matt, while training for a trail 50K and battling his Achilles' issues, managed to run a strong race. He teamed up with his friend Jorge and another runner, Ben. They traded the lead through the whole race with Ben finishing in 1:02:11, and Jorge and Matt tying for third in 1:02:12.

Despite the challenging weather, this event is still one of my favorites each year. I love volunteering with the club, especially the events with lots of kids. Here's a really cute video the local TV station aired as part of their Sporting Youth series.

All race photos: Y. Kim, SRRC credit.