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Brazilians sweep Army Ten-Miler

The Brazilians cleaned house at the Army Ten-Miler this morning, claiming four of the top five spots in the Washington, D.C., road race. Just one second separated the top two runners, as Jose Ferreira edged out Reginaldo Campos Jr. to cross the line at the 49:21 mark for the win.

I'm sure that made for a dramatic finish. Too bad I didn't see it go down.

I didn't get to see the first woman finisher either. According to early results, Firaya Zhdanova of Atlanta came in well ahead of the pack at 58:31, a time that was good enough to earn her 69th place overall.

Missed that one too.

To manage the field in the nation's largest 10-mile race -- 26,000 runners this year -- entrants are seeded by their expected finish time. In that kind of arrangement, you end up with a mullet-style pecking order – all business up front, all party in the back.

I would've loved to see those Brazilian speed demons in action, but we all know I can't pass up a party.

I guesstimated my finish time at a pessimistic 1:40 (I ended up finishing in 1:27:16), which put me in the third wave of starters. The first wave crossed the starting line at 8 a.m., so Ferreira, Campos and third-place finisher Josueldo Nascimento were already well beyond the 3-mile mark when my group crossed the starting line at 8:20 a.m.

Joining me for the party were two buddies, including an ultra-marathoner who spent the previous weekend trail-running on Massanutten Mountain. Shirtless, pierced like a rock-star and sporting a moisture-wicking ball cap that read "50K Hat Run," he looked around the crowd and said, "I guess I'm the only naked guy here." When your training run is 5-1/2 hours in the mountains of Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, you start to think minimalist, I guess.

He was the only "naked guy" we saw at the starting line, but with the humidity in the 90s and the temperature quickly climbing from a comfortable -- and fleeting – 65 degrees, there were plenty of people who'd gone topless before too long.

(I didn't have the courage to ask him if the aforementioned hat was all he'd received for finishing the Hat Run. Thirty-one miles is a long, long way to run for a hat.)

Along with the Naked Guy, we saw:

• A woman who was celebrating her birthday – 40th, I think – by running the Ten-Miler. She skipped a hat in favor of a plastic tiara that featured a birthday cake in place of crown jewels.

• A crowd of runners who broke into song at the 6-mile mark, when the Paul VI Catholic High School Pep Band, of Fairfax, Va., rolled out Gary Glitter's glam-rock anthem "Rock and Roll, Part II." After hearing it over and over and over again at sports games for the past decade or so, EVERYONE knows the words. (Not that "Hay-ay!" is hard to remember, even for a heat-delirious runner.)

• A girl who was still young enough to have a good handle on only a few words, but who clearly knew how to make them work. Amid the three- and four-deep crowd on Constitution Avenue, you couldn't miss her, shouting, "Go, daddy, go! Go, daddy, go!" She melted more than a few hearts, from the comments I heard as I cruised past her.

It wasn't a full-on party at the back of the pack, though. As the runners thinned along the course, it was easier to see who was out running on behalf of someone or something special.

I started counting when I noticed runners (and walkers) sporting dedication T-shirts or race bibs. Some noted that the wearer was running on behalf of a fallen son or daughter, husband or wife, mother or father, who had been killed while serving in Iraq or Afghanistan. Others paid tribute to troops who are still in the fight today. After about 30 or so, I lost track, but there were far more than that, each one a small reminder of the price of service.

That reminder came in a different form along the course, as well, as I passed members of Missing (Parts) In Action.

Now in its fourth year, the MPIA group entered five teams of military amputees: Two from Walter Reed Army Medical Center, two from Brook Army Medical Center and one from San Diego Naval Medical Center.

Every time we neared one of these team members, most of whom were navigating the course on a full or partial prosthetic leg, nearby runners burst into a round of motivated cheering and barking, as soldiers who were sucking wind only moments prior reached down deep for a loud "Hooah!"

When you get to witness something like that, who needs to see a photo-finish?