The Woodberry Harrier 2013: Volume 3

Whirlwind

Early this fall I began to realize that this would be a year of lasts.  Later came an even more startling revelation: There’s not much time left, even for lasts.  This came weeks before my injuries relegated me to the rehab program, just seconds before I crossed the finish line at this year’s WFS Invitational. I had left the starting line 18 minutes and 33 seconds earlier, not thinking, just anticipating. That’s how every race begins. But, the upper course has carved its punishing hills and curves into my memory more than any other.

Coach Hale performs the rites:  “RUNNERS TAKE YOUR MARK” and then the gun.  We’re off, and I see Robert Singleton reaching forward to my left. Hines Liles and I follow with Billy Osterman on our heels. Although I can’t see the rest of the nine-man squad, I trust that they’re not far behind. Around us a mob stampedes to the bottom of the hill, funneling into the first curve like the winds rushing out of Aeolus’ mountain cave, like Roman soldiers pouring out to meet an enemy. Amid the thumping of spikes all around me, I mull over the scene. And so it was that we rounded the first bend, not without order but not orderly either, “over the lands in a whirlwind, as Vergil would say.”             

This happy connection spurs me to up Agony Hill, a steep stretch reaching from the pond to the tee-box next to Mr. Keating’s house. A little way beyond Agony, Billy catches up with Hines and me, and for the last quarter of the first mile we run in a triangle: Hines forms the spear point. Billy takes the left flank, and I, the right.                                                                                 

Our 3-man spear hits mile one in a fury. For several meters I think we’ll finish the race together but right before Parrot’s Hill, which runs from the bottom of the course to the rock wall of Grainger Field, fatigue creeps into my chest. My mind, reading the cue, triggers my legs to slow, and I lose Hines by ten strides. I see pain in Billy’s face too when I sneak a glance over my left shoulder. Now it’s a race against my body’s instincts. The governor in my brain (like the one in a motor) signals my muscles and nerves to slow down. But my conscious mind objects.  

I suddenly realize that a 5K is structured just like the Aeneid:  after the song of man, comes the song of war. Chanting the first line over and over, I fight the pain. It seems to be working because the lactic acid stops burning my calves and thighs.   Then I am crossing the road again and pushing past opponents on my way up the hill to the chapel.  For the next half mile, I latch onto the runner in front of me and before I know it, I am seeing the road again. 

Suddenly the whirring world outside my head breaks through. Voices I hadn’t heard before, I hear. Faces I hadn’t seen before, I see. These images become a new weapon against the pain.  Hale..., Dr. Jordan…, Aleksiewicz…. The pavement jars me one last time. Hudge… Dad…, the JV football team.  All cheering.  This pushes me on, and before I know it, I am back atop of Parrot’s Hill.   The last 800 meters!    

           

I round the flag at the top and approach a runner from Atlee High School.  When he hears me coming, he picks up his pace. Damn, I should’ve come in more quietly!  I’m in no position to win this battle, so I focus on my own pace.  

As I adjust my speed, I feel my heels heat up, and I cringe—not in pain but in fear. Blisters.I suffered from terrible blisters at camp, and this is the last thing I need now, but soon I am distracted from the pain again by my thoughts.  At the end of races when my brain is short of oxygen, unpredictable connections form. The blisters remind me of cooking pasta, which reminds me of swimming in Goshen Pass, which reminds me of the final campfire, which I realized was just one many of lasts:  last team camp, last practice, and eventually the last time I’d race the Woodberry course.                                                                      

There’s not much time left, even for lasts.                                                                            

But I wasn’t sad at 18:33. I’d blown over the lands in a whirlwind.  Neptune had been there turning back the chaos. 

 -- Perry Hammond ‘14

October Re-Cap

We have not been in touch with our far-flung supporters in too long.   The title Perry chose for his piece well describes the last frantic month here as we have juggled workouts and rehab sessions and doctors’ appointments while trying to guard our little flame of hope from the winds of frustration.   

After an unexpectedly strong beginning, we had high expectations in the middle of September, but by the time we reached the St. Christopher’s meet, we were getting worried.  Shin splints and patellar tendonitis and plantar fasciitis and ailments we couldn’t even diagnose had arrived under the cover of night.  One week we were running strong and the next we were in a bunker under siege.

When you imagine a season, you picture specific workouts and even where you will do them, the times they will post, even the easy recovery runs on sunny days.  You do not imagine after-dinner trips to Sam’s to get tubs of Epsom salt or house calls from physical therapists or key workouts with only two runners on the track.  (The bumper sticker sage got it right: Life really does happen while you’re busy making other plans.  Nobody gets that like a cross country runner.) 

Of course, a season is all ultimately about whatever unique challenges arise, and I have been proud that the guys have met these with optimism, self-reliance, and ingenuity. They have mastered the use of heart-rate monitors in the pool, they learned to study Latin and chemistry while sitting in an ice bath, and they have learned to work the knots out of each other’s calves with their thumbs.   We even took bikes with us to Moormont to have the whole team together that day.  What’s impressive is that, even with all these setbacks, they have been able to race well in three consecutive meets.   

Parents Weekend Trifecta

For our III & IV Form Parents’ Weekend we ran our second meet on the new course, but this time after a week of hard rain, so it was quite a nasty slog.  Here are the results:

Versus Benedictine, Fluvanna, and Tandem
WFS Lower Course
11 October 2013
1st place out of 3 teams
	Place out of 29 runners	Time
Singleton	1st	17:24
Liles	3rd	18:12
Finley	4th	18:28
Hammond	5th	18:43
Flory	6th	18:53
Osterman	7th	19:03
Neath	11th	20:10
Engh	20th	22:11
Humphreys	23rd	22:27
Dameron	DNR
Carrington	DNR

And we traveled to Alexandria on a cloudy, chilly day for the EHS Parents’ Weekend meet.  Here are the results:

Versus Episcopal High School
@ EHS
18 October 2013
WFS:  19 (W)  EHS: 37
	Place out of 14 runners	Time
Singleton	1st	16:58
Liles	2nd	17:09	an all-time PR
Finley	4th	17:49	an all-time PR
Hammond	4th	17:50
Osterman	7th	18:16
Flory	10th	18:33
Engh	14th	21;12	a season PR
Dameron	DNR
Neath	DNR
Carrington	DNR
Humphreys	DNR

And for our III & IV Form Parents’ Weekend, we raced Fork Union on an experimental course which looped the lake three times.   FUMA didn’t bring their two really good runners, so it was a little lopsided, but we were pleased with our 1-5 gap of 1:21.   Here are the results:

Versus Fork Union
Around the WFS Lake
26 October 2013
WFS: 17 (W)  FUMA: 49
	Time	Place out of 14 runners
Singleton	17:05	1st
Liles	17:18	2nd
Hammond	17:49	3rd	a 1-sec. season PR
Osterman	18:13	4th	a 3-sec. all-time PR
Flory	18:26	5th
Finley	18:48	6th
Humphreys	20:45	10th	a 28-sec. season PR
Neath	DNR
Engh	DNR
Carrington	DNR
Dameron	DNR

All the three guys who got PR’s have been on the injured list.  Their performances were witness to how hard they have been working in the pool to stay up with everyone.

Friday we travel to Collegiate’s Goochland Athletic Complex to compete in the Prep League Championship. It promises to be a very interesting day.  A much improved St. Christopher’s upset Trinity on that same course last week, and everyone in Richmond is speculating about what we will bring to the line.  Wish us luck.  If you are in the area, come by and watch the race.  The gun is at 2:30.