Back in the hellish days of July, with a balmy temperature of 114 degrees (in the shade), I desired to run the Psycho Psummer 10 Mile race in Kansas City, Kansas. The purpose? Simple; new photos from Mile 90 Photography, and just as important, I wanted to see if I had improved at all over one year of trail running.
However, due to the ingenious idea of cruising along the Barr Trail in Colorado Springs, Colorado completely undertrained and out of my mind, I made one smart decision in not signing up for Psycho Psummer.
My time of repeating a race would come later.
In fact, it would come much later. Out in Nebraska, along with the runner killers referred to as GOATz. The same people that tried to massacre me in the grass, hide my corpse along the gravel, and destroy whatever was left of my feet out in Iowa would ensure that I would get to experience my first repeat race.
In the most colorful way possible.
Heading into Omaha, Nebraska late Saturday night my wife and I met up with “The Legend” and a few others at a local Greek restaurant (that is a thing). I had absolutely no idea what I ordered, but it involved rice and potatoes so I figured that would be something my body would need in the coming hours as I would peer over the shoreline of the prestigious, gorgeous, deadly Lake Cunningham. Halfway through enjoying meat with white sauce at the table, I started to consider the reality that I was facing the next day. Originally, I had signed up for the 50K race in Nebraska. It turns out though, after running for 50 miles in the middle of Kansas (because God enjoys watching you make stupid decision, while laughing along with Michael), that it takes time to get over that experience. Time…time…time…TIME! I thought that it would take a week to recover from
praying playing in the woods that long….
Try six weeks and at least three dozen buffalo wings before ‘normal’ came back into my world of running. After listening to wise words of wisdom of people far faster than myself, I made a mental note that I would likely drop from the 50K to the 21 mile in Omaha. After all, in one year I had already ran my first ultra, I had ran my first mountain race, I had ran my first 50 mile race; frankly, in 2017 I didn’t think there was much left in my soul to give to show that I did “that thing” out in the woods.
You can run a race just to…well…you know…run a race.
So after a night of
absolutely amazing of sleep snoring endured, tortured evening of kinks in my neck, and nightmares of grading papers, I awoke at 7:00 AM Sunday morning for the Greater Omaha Area Trail runnerz Trail Runs 50K (or some weird title like that). I decided, compared to last year, that I would attempt to run this race with a handheld. No vest, no gels, no breakfast (hehe), just a handheld, mixed with water and Tailwind. I knew the aid stations would have HoneyStinger gels that I could keep down, and I would reward myself for eating a beehive during the race by eating raw fish after the race (looking back, and seeing that typed out, I truly am a stupid human). There were a few guarantees as I walked up to the start/finish line of this random 10 mile loop course:
The 50K runners started at 8:00 AM with the rest of the runners (21/10.5/5) starting at 8:15 AM. The horn started and I did what any smart person would do; I walked my
carcass straight across the start line for a fun day in the woods. I walked for the first half mile because the conga line of a death march was moving so slow that running was futile. It was only when I saw a photographer that I attempted to move (photo evidence notes that I failed at that) with passion along the course. Eventually, we came to our first hill. Instead of going up the hill though, we went straight past it on the broken asphalt section. Last year that broken section was the route coming back to the start/finish line.
Maybe we were running the course backwards this year?
Note: I was in the very back of the 50K pack at the time that the entire group realized that we had taken the wrong direction. Again, the field went the wrong way.
Due to my slowness in life I was able to live out the reality of “The Walking Dead”, as my colleagues, all these amazing runners slowed to a stop, turned their bodies towards me, and with the face of fear, frustration, and death came running right at me. Meaning, a half mile into the race I did what any smart person would.
I took off sprinting.
I sprinted up that hill in record time. Why? Because the amazement sat in that I was going to do something that was quite impossible…
I WAS GOING TO BE IN THE TOP 10 OF AN ULTRA RACE! SAUCONY SIGN ME! MOTHER I’VE MADE IT! PRIDE, CHECKS, FOOD, HATS…SHOES!
…it was the most euphoric 500 feet in my life.
Of course, natural selection worked itself out just fine, and before I knew it I was back in the end of the field once again. Though, between the weather and just being in the woods, I did not have much to complain about.
I was not running a race to see if I could survive (for a change of pace), I was just running because I wanted to. I ran along the pine trees, I ran along the fields, I ran along the gravel alongside the lake, and I ran through the aid station. I ate my gel, I carried forward, and I just embraced the day. The reality was this; aside from the beginning, it was a beautiful moment to soar.
After the first ten miles I came into the start/finish line, and…well…I felt fine. It is still weird typing that out, because I remember last year when I finished the first loop at this race. My wife had to walk away from me to ensure that I went back out on the course. Make no mistake, she was there to greet me with Body Glide upon my arrival. However, like all good memories, the moment I turned to talk to her. She was already wishing me luck from her picnic table across the grass from the course. Meaning, some things never change, and my wife hates watching me waste time.
The second loop I got to do something special, at least in my own special world, I actually ran with another person for an entire loop. Back at The Hawk 50 in September, there was shuffling behind me from mile 26 to mile 30. The shuffling was that of a Michelle, a notoriously elusive creature that tends to wander the woods on their own. They are sneaky, cunning, and if you find them in the right part of the day, they are a great partner to trample through grass with. Michelle and I have a similar pace (that is a lie, she is faster in pace, but I did not want to be lonely). She is also from Omaha, so seeing her at the race on the second lap meant that I had someone to work with through miles eleven to twenty one.
Because the weather was unlike The Hawk, meaning it was actually normal for a change of pace, we were able to talk and run.
People; did you read that last though?
Go back and reread it.
…we were able to talk and run.
For like the first time ever I carried on a conversation with someone while I was still moving at an appropriate pace. Dearest reader! I was doing the thing! The time together
was wonderful, when you’re both not miserable, the miles really do cruise by…as does Kaci and Kaci’s twin…nope…never mind…rather certain that was her mother…they look so similar.
As we embarked on the final few miles of lap two I had made up my mind about starting the third lap for the 50K; Michelle was still on the fence while we ran along the fence, and the ruts…my goodness, this course reminded me how much I really missed running on rocks versus dirt and grass.
Crossing the line after the second loop I politely walked over to the tent and asked to drop to 21 miles instead of the 50K.
Are you sure? You’re not dropping.
What I have learned about traveling along different trail routes with different tribes, is eventually you cross paths with people that remember you from doing other stupid things. Sadly, the man running the timer, counter, etc…remembered me from another race, and swore that I was out of my mind for dropping my distance. We haggled back and fourth for thirty seconds over my soul and my life before my true skills of years past** came up with the victory.
I dropped to the 21 mile. It was the first time that I have ever dropped a distance since starting trail running. Did I feel alright? For the most part; yes. Could I have made the cutoff? I make no promises. Could I have completed the distance? Yes, but in the process I would have had significantly beaten my body to a hard point of recovery.
The decision fell on 21 because my body was still getting over The Hawk. My mind was still getting over work (teacher). My heart was there, but my mind wanted me to be smart for a change. There was nothing monumental for me to accomplish, and I was/am completely ok with that.
After thanking Michelle for the time, she went back out for her 50K finish. I fell right back into the exact same routine as last year following the same race. Grab my chair, grab a cup of chili, and wait behind the same two people from last year (seriously!) to be treated and stretched. Afterwards, I enjoyed the weather, my wife, and watching our friends finish their own adventures.
Following a night of sushi with my wife, friends, and “The Legend”, we embarked on our three hour journey home. Monday morning brought with it some aches and pains, but compared to what once was, I could at least get to my classroom without the elevator that day.
Weeks later, texting with an amazing runner, they made note of my choice to drop down, read my thought process, and made a comment that stuck with me…
You’re getting stronger.
At least in my head; that comment was not in relation to my physical strength.
Humorously, after all was said and done, I only set a personal record on the GOATz course by 22 minutes compared to the previous year. The notable thing is understanding that I could have kept going, I did not feel like death, and unlike last year, possibly most importantly…I had fun.
*Seriously…40 some odd degrees is absolutely stupid…
**Debate. My only athletic advantage in life was debate…try to process that thought…