Logic is overrated

I think it’s safe to say that I do at least one thing a day to confirm the fact that I’m an idiot.

Monday was no exception.

Let’s back things up a bit—personal anecdote time! So, last July I ran in the crazy race known as El Scorcho (which I quickly deemed "El Sucko"). The problem with this race is that it starts at midnight. For those of you who know me, that hour is rather foreign to me—I don’t even stay up that late on New Year’s Eve. As you can imagine, running at such an unfamiliar time of day can throw your body off a little.

Prerace Port-O visit!

In. So. Many. Ways.

I need to preface with the fact that I have a pretty weak stomach, especially on race mornings. I’ve mentioned before that I get horrible prerace anxiety, and that only magnifies my stomach issues. Let’s just say that, when I’m at a race, the Port-O is my BFF.

But my body has pretty much adjusted to that, and I’m always good-to-go by the time the horn sounds to start the race.

Unless crossing the starting mat occurs at midnight.

Thanks to (W)FDC for making it known where I was going.

I have never experienced so much stomach trouble in my entire life. I’m not close to kidding—it was awful. I NEVER stop during races. I stopped three times in the 25K event. I’m not going to go into all of the unnecessary details, but let’s just say I was literally praying that I would make it to the next Port-O. There were even points where I wanted to veer off course and find something to function as a restroom for the moment. I really don’t want to relive all of the thoughts that went through my mind that night, so I must desist for now.

I will also add, though, that after the race, I didn’t even make it back to where our group was gathered for another hour or so. Instead, I was hanging with my race BFF.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, after vowing never to do that race again and claiming it was the dumbest thing ever invented, I found myself lured into its splendor of insanity once again.

I saw a posting on Facebook that registration for this year’s was open, and the next thing I knew I was on the Web site. Link to the registration page? Click. It’s like my mind was temporary taken over by some weird El Scorcho force as I entered my credit card number and hit the submit button.

Am I really that dumb? Do I honestly want to put myself through such torture again? I don’t think I ate solid foods for a good 27 hours after that catastrophe. Yet, here I was using the convenience of the Internet to help me pursue madness in rare form.

Love the backpack!

Yes, I will admit that El Scorcho is actually a fun, enjoyable time when you suffer through it with good friends, and it was nice to take home some swag (embroidered backpack!!). But is it really worth the pain and agony that invaded my stomach that night? I was haunted by the memory on Sunday when I went to cheer for my friends at the Cowtown Marathon and saw signs for the park where it essentially takes place.

All of the feelings came back to me, and I suddenly felt sick—apparently sick enough to sign up again.

Truthfully, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But, El Scorcho 2011, my stomach and I will be there.

Please have more Port-O opportunities along the course.

2010 El Scorcho gang