Psycho Wyco

What have I gotten myself into this time? Running makes me happy. When you have two young kids and a mind that likes to fold in on itself, you need to find solo time. Being left alone, it builds me back up. At the Psycho Wyco 50K this Saturday, digging into the deepest recesses of my perceptions was at an all time high.

Around mile 15 I stood at a crossroads. It might have been around the time I passed a sign that said, "you get to the point where pain can't get any worse." That's a lie, what if I fall down and break my leg, I bet that hurts a lot more than cramps. The shitty part about the gripping knots that were developing in my legs were that they were worse when I stopped. How's that for a kick in the ass.

Up to this point, I was dealing with the miserable trail conditions, rocky, rooty, narrow, harrowing, inclines like Everest, and all shoe eating paste known as mud, rather decently. I went out in around an 1:44:05 for the first ten miles. That's around 10:25 a mile, certainly respectable considering. Now let's examine the second ten miles, 2:28:15 or almost 15:00 a mile for that loop. It felt like thirty minutes a mile. A rough slog for sure.

So you start to examine and balance the pros and cons of willing yourself through the third loop. You've never had a DNF and will have to write that on your shirt (see http://www.psychowyco.com/id74.html) but you have lots of race shirts to flaunt your running prowess. What's left of your fast twitch muscles is fading quickly so as the slipping continues your ability to rebalance is becoming compromised. On the other hand you haven't fallen yet and you mention to your wife weekly about your catlike reflexes. The likelihood of actually hurting yourself grows greater with every step but you are a quick healer.

Of all the thoughts pulling me each way the only one I really debated over was the most ludicrous of all, I'm going to have to tell my Dad I didn't finish what I set out to complete. Of all those things it all boils down to wanting to make him proud and show him what I can do. It might sound dumb but that phone call after the race was hard to make.

So I cross the finish line and Ben Holmes, the race director, takes a look at my bib number and say's, "one more left." I take one look at him and say, "no thanks, I'm done." Appropriately, my wife arrives about two minutes late. My daughter Ruby and niece Heidi had made signs for me and Ruby starts crying because she wanted to see me finish. Little did she know, I did too.

The race was wonderfully put together. From the numerous volunteers, the race director, the staff, and the other competitors, it was an experience that I would never trade. To the families, supporters, and friends who braved the chill to cheer us on, thank you.

"Hey Dad, I wasn't able to finish the 50K today, I only ran 20 miles."

"Are you okay, what happened?"

"It was just harder than I expected, the mud was really awful, and I thought I might get hurt."

"Was it fun?"

"I had a blast and I'll do it next year."

"Good job."

You know, he was proud of me.