Foggy Bottom Milk Run 10 Mile Race Report

We all have that race we love and hate in equal measure. For one reason or another, it's always more difficult than it should be but we keep coming back again each year. For me, Foggy Bottom is that race. By all imperial measurements, this should be an easy run. With exactly one hundred feet of climbing over the ten miles, it's about as flat as it gets around these parts. There are long straightaways where one could theoretically open up their stride with ease and let the world fall away.

Course map. SRRC keeping it old school since 1980.

However, Foggy Bottom is never that way. The deteriorating country roads require one to stare at the ground the whole way. Even then, I roll my ankle about once every mile. By contrast, on trail I roll my ankle five or six times per year. Then it's always windy and rainy. Horizontal rain, sometimes hail, perfectly flat farmland void of any trees, and a small race field provide zero protection. It took me a few years to learn, but I've given up on targeting this as a goal race.

Then the universe throws me a curve ball. Of course.

Skies over the race course are blue. There's just a slight whisper of wind. Conditions are perfect. I decide to stick to my original plan of 10 miles at 7:40-7:45/mi since I haven't tapered. In the final moments before the race begins, we're all passing around a bottle of sunscreen.

On sunny days, we get half naked and bare allll the skin!

Living in the land of perpetual fog and gloom, all of us are caught off guard by the suddenly sunny weather. It also means our delicate skin is especially prone to burning. I hastily slather some on my shoulders before I pass the bottle to Matt and Andy.

I think they call that dark thing on the road a shadow? Y. Kim, SRRC.

Then we're off. I try not to get swept up in the current of runners. You are not racing today, I tell myself. I find it difficult to hold back as I get passed by people I usually beat. It feels like I'm running very slowly but as I find the first mile marker, I know I'm not. I momentarily reconsider my choice to stick with my plan. Knowing that I don't do well in the heat, I decide to stay with the original workout to help build my confidence rather than racing and risk blowing up.

Mile 1: 7:25
Mile 2: 7:37
Mile 3: 7:42

I struggle to find the correct pace, but by the time the four mile racers peel off just before their finish line, I think I've finally found it. Running an even pace based on effort in a race is so much different than when I'm out solo. It's here where I catch up to a man named Bill I met while working packet pickup the day previous. "I'm such an idiot," he says, "I went out at a 7:00 pace and my goal is 8:15!" I try to ease his panic as we run along together. "You're only three miles in, you can still fix it if you slow down now," I offer. As we turn off of Main Street, I'm surprised that he's sticking with me.

Mile 4: 7:41
Mile 5: 7:39

Now headed west, I can feel a slight crosswind blowing through my outfit. I know I'm beginning to overheat, so I'm welcoming any breeze that comes. With the warm coastal air some twenty degrees warmer than what I'm used to, I'm happy to not be racing.

As everyone rounds the turnaround cone, friends begin passing by. When I reach the cone myself, I make a beeline for the aid station. I take a quick walk to get the water in. I try to stifle a cough while I swallow but I end up choking instead. Gagging and hacking away, I'm certain I'm about to vomit. Bill passes by and I make it my mission to get back in front of him. I still sound awful when I begin running again, but eventually the anxiety and panic release.

Mile 6: 7:50

The next two miles are into the wind and the only person around is Bill. I tuck in behind his six foot frame and let him do some of the work. By mile 7, I can tell he's beginning to slow. I pull ahead of him to take my turn out front. I know my height is useless in blocking the wind, but I offer anyways. He knows I'm a marathoner and comments on how smooth my stride looks. I feel my stride pick up a little. Since his words of encouragement are motivating for me, I offer some in return when I notice him beginning to fall behind. "Bill, get up here!" I call out. "I need you! We're in this together!"

Mile 7: 7:38

He hangs around through the middle of the seventh mile and then I'm all alone. I can see two small figures on the road up ahead, but can't tell if they're racers or cyclists out for their Sunday ride (umm...they turned out to be cows). I remember back to my last race, the half marathon in February, when I spent the last five kilometers all alone. It was so hard to keep going by myself. Today, I try to convince myself that it's just another training run. This is a training pace, a training run is often alone. This is no big deal. I find this small mental shift comforting and work on keeping an even pace.

Mile 8: 7:34

I stop at the final aid station, sucking down two full cups of water. I turn around to grab a third to dump over my head. My fingers have swollen up like little breakfast sausages and I notice that by holding my fingers straight out away from each other provides a little more cooling. The last mile is with the wind and suddenly feels like a slog across the surface of the sun.

Mile 9: 7:52

As I pass the ninth mile cone and push the lap button on my watch I tell myself, Now that we've had a little water break, it's time to go for it.  I give myself permission to turn up the pace. With half a mile to go, I make the final turn back onto Main Street. For the first time in several miles, I spot three people. I make it my mission to close the gap, estimating they're about two minutes ahead of me.

About one half mile from the finish line, we enter downtown. Victorian storefronts painted in Easter egg colors line the route. A crowd is already gathering for the kid's race. People are cheering, some voices I recognize, others I don't. As I approach the finish line, I hear the announcer call out my name. He's the owner of the local running shop and knows everything about everyone, so he adds that I'm a club board member and training for Boston. I love my small club, they announce my arrival at the local marathons in this very same way. It's the closest I'll ever get to being famous!

Mile 10: 7:21

I cross the finish line and then wait for Bill. To my surprise, he's not far behind at all. He says he tried to keep me within sight but lost me the final mile.

Y. Kim SRRC photo.

1:17:09
7:43/mi.

Matt, the friendly Sasquatch, took second place. He finished in 1:02:30, holding off his friend and circuit rival Jorge by less than ten seconds.

Y. Kim, SRRC photo.

Maybe next year I need to race this thing?