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Two Bays 28k, back home on familiar ground.

It says a lot about the human spirit that despite repeated efforts and a less than stellar outcome from an event, that you would want to go back again. Two Bays Trail Run, like the first love that you can never forget, it is the first trail race that will always captivate me. But like a tumultuous lover, it's the constant threat of failure or rejection that keeps me keen. And so, having come back for a 7th go here, I was wondering what would be the outcome. And given that my record here reads like a pretty piss poor football team (4 starts, 3 finishes, 3 non-starts), chances are... failure?

A tradition (of sorts) at any race is a selfie with Caz.

Fully 6 months out, and entries open. I jump in for the 56, hoping to redeem myself from 2019's DNF. Almost immediately, an injury that has been threatening for a month or so, suddenly flares and I find myself on the sidelines for 3 months. The rehab and comeback proved that 56 was right out of the question, so the 28 it was. And given I hadn't raced the 28 for 6 years, it piqued my interest and gave me a new goal to aim for; not long but maybe with a bit of speed.

November and December saw me struggling to get my mojo back. Runs were laboured, cardio seemed well down and run times never showed any sign of speeding up. The closer I got, the more worried I was that even the 28 was going to leave me shattered and well down on expectations. But, as often happens, suddenly it all started to click into place. And in reality, it was nothing more than getting a few long trail runs under my belt. A 31k run on the southern end in late December was a reminder that I wasn't anywhere near where I wanted to be, it was a really tough, hard run; but I took a few positives away. Firstly, it showed exactly what I was up against, and secondly, it was probably the tough run I needed to get behind me. Have the shit runs in training, not on race day. I was proven correct on both accounts.

I had elected this year to drive down on the morning; get up at 4:20, in the car by 5 to make sure I had plenty of time to get to Dromana and get myself sorted. Long drives to event starts can be stressful, the longer you have to spend travelling, the greater the chances things stuff up. Thankfully no issues, but stress levels were a bit high. I was wired to the max when I got down the start line, and I needed to calm down, and quickly. Thankfully chatting to plenty of people there helped. But as 7:00am approached, I just wanted to be underway.

Arthurs Seat

A huge field this year, so much more congestion than 2014 (a nod to the organisers for their ability to attract a field this size 2 weeks after New Years). At 7 on the dot, we were off. A shuffle, (don't trip on the curb as we waddled towards the start shute) then over the timing pads and were we away. The first section up Latrobe Parade is bitumen, it climbs enough to know you're working hard early, then as it turns the corner towards Arthurs Seat and crosses the freeway, it increases elevation even more. I've already had a few walk breaks, the idea here is don't get caught up in the rush to get onto the trail to beat the bottleneck as I would expend way too much energy. For me, best just to go with the flow.

Friends Nigel and Jacinta are marshals on the road and leading into the park, nice to see familiar faces. As we hit the first of the steeper hills, many stop and walk and we commence the "strategic hike" up towards the summit. Some people elect to keep running, but the effort looks tenfold to hiking, for very little gain. Two men in front of me chatting as we walked up the steps section,
Chap 1: "I haven't actually run on this course in training"
Chap 2: "Have you been on this course at all?"
Chap 1: "Oh yes, but only walking".
Before the thought is fully formed in my mind, the words escape my mouth,
"And what are we doing now, exactly?"
Thankfully they took it as the banter that was intended, rather than the smart-arse comment that it could have been interpreted as.

The bulk of the first big climb is out of the way. I'm clearly not feeling
the love for it right now! Photo Credit: Christiaan Williams

The climb is otherwise uneventful. 3 and a half k in the trail flattens out, turns right and heads through a section with some flowing single track. A few impatient bastards push past without asking or letting us know they intend to pass. Being fairly tall and robust, the shouldering on the way through doesn't phase me, but the diminutive woman in front is buffeted like a sandwich wrapper in a stiff breeze. (Anyone reading this who is a new or soon to be a new trail runner, it is courteous to ask if it's okay to pass, or tell them you are going to do it. If they don't hear you, ask again. If still they don't hear you, pass by all means, but do it where it is safe for all of us)

Caught up with fellow Baw Baw Runner, Dave, heading up the climbs. First Two Bays for him, he's travelling well and I'm sure he'll keep me in sight for as long as possible.

Having climbed over Arthurs Seat, we now descend again to McLarens Dam.
Photo credit: Supersports Images.

5 and a half k in and a sharp rise brings us out onto the Two Bays Walking Trail. A group are there cheering us on, cowbells (hear a few of those throughout) and then we commence the descent to McLarens Dam. This is welcome for all, a real chance to stretch the legs out and get some running in. The final part down to the dam wall is steep, the road is full of loose gravel and many of us elect to run on a trail on the right-hand side. Marshals down the bottom can be heard from the top, yelling encouragement as we barrel down then head past the dam itself.

Residential environs

Pop out on to Waterfall Gully Road, Mark Taggert there to hi-five me and the start of the sections that traverse the residential area in Rosebud. Lots of spectators lining the street, a few shout outs re my shorts (they are a regular for Two Bays), then down Coolgowie St and the first aid station. My friend Zoe is marshal on the corner, quick hug and I'm off again. I didn't need to stop here, still plenty of sports drink, the 2 gels in vest pockets untouched so I head on to the boardwalk in the reserve. Stopped to walk just as a runner came past me coughing and spluttering; either swallowed an airborne insect or fluid down the wrong way. "Come on son, get it out!" I advised (a bit loudly, as everyone else heard me). He was fine.

Through the reserve, out on to Yambill Avenue and another friend, Jayne is marshal here. Stopped for a hug and a selfie, just as Dave runs past me.
"You have too many friends, you keep stopping!", he tells me. We have a laugh as he heads up the road. Up Yambill and onto Duells Road, I kept a walk/run pace to stop my HR spiking. I was feeling good, but wanted to keep it easy until I hit Greens Bush. Still ran more of Duells than I would normally, energy was good. The sun was out, although it wasn't hot (not even really warm) I was already sweating buckets. The back of my shirt and shorts were saturated. Not a heavy sweater, but it was pouring out of me today.

A selection of Baw Baw Runners competing in the 28k event.
L to R: Caroline, Dave, Kate, Michael and Carolyn.
Photo credit: Paula Pettingill (Caroline), Christiaan Williams (the rest)

Top of Duells is the entrance to Stefanie Rennick walk and all the grass trees. The mats for washing our shoes to protect against Phytophthora laid out for us to shuffle the shoes as we crossed them. Only now, in this section does it feel like the race is thinning out. Down the hill, along the grassy flat, boardwalk and then the climb back out through the grass trees. A magic little section in between before crossing Browns and heading up Hyslops.

As I approach Browns I remember a friend said she'd be there spectating. I hadn't seen Chrissy for months, agreed this point was the best vantage point for spectating. She said she was going to hi-five everyone she knew. Bugger that, I went in for the full barrel sweaty hug, all the while apologising for being so sweaty! Funny thing is, there was a Running in the Burbs girl next to Chrissy, she must have thought I was heading directly for her. Most likely relieved when I veered away. It was great seeing her, we had a laugh that it's been so long since we caught up, then I was away again.

Hyslops is always a bit of a chore, but worth it to get to Greens. Tegz and Kellie were there, squeezy duck making an appearance again, quacking at us all as we passed. No sign of the 56k runners yet, which was a good sign for me, meant I was still tracking a decent time. Steadily up Hyslops, lines of runners ahead and behind, I quickly check the watch, HR still under 155, the time within a few minutes estimated for 3 hours, I was feeling good. About 400 metres before the aid station, 56k leaders come flying past us in the other direction. Cracking pace, we are all in awe. Just as I hit the trail of the end of Hyslops, friend Zack comes past in 8th, looking comfortable. Hit the aid station, fill up the bottle with Vfuel and walk out taking a short breather.

Greens - worth the entry price on its own

12k, 1:20 on the clock. Head into Greens. The elevation plot always makes this section look like 2 hills with a general trend of down as you head towards Boneo Road. But it has a few dips and rises, creeks, natural variance in the trail etc. If you're strong, this section can be a blast, if not, it can drag for ages. I settled into a groove pretty quickly. Running all the downs, the flat, and most of the climbs unless the HR went massively over 170. At 15k the trail slowly climbs back to the highest point through here. It was on my training run 2 weeks previously that I really started to struggle beyond here. Even on the flats I was laboured and just devoid of energy. But now I was still running 6:30/k pace and feeling in control, and thinking I could keep this up forever (never happens, you eventually just run the tank dry, but it's nice to dream). A brief shower of misty rain hits us, very cool and refreshing. Could have that all day!

Through Greens and I really need to stop poking my tongue out when running.
Photo credit: Supersports Images.

16k mark, tree down. We'd been told about that online, and at race brief, but trail running guppy brains here forgot... Stop, climb through and help another runner get over a limb, then off again over the peak (190 metres) which heralds the start of 4k basically down, albeit very gentle. Get on the back of another runner and decide her pace is ideal for this section. Keeping a respectful distance so I don't trip and take her out with me, we move steadily along the trail. Occasionally picking up other runners, occasionally being passed. I'm still keeping an eye on the HR, but sometimes looking at the pace and the time. My rough plan is to be into Boneo about 2:20, so far I'm about 4 minutes off the pace, but okay with that.

18k aid station, I slow down, drink more Vfuel in my bottle but don't get a refill here. Realised so far I haven't taken any food from the tables, nor had any gels. Mental note to see how I feel at Boneo, but at the moment not feeling the need for food. Running out of the aid station, on the other side of the creek as you climb the stairs, noticed a plastic cup placed at the base of a tree. I muttered a few oaths, ran a bit more, then decided to go back and grab it. Runners behind me immediately asking if I'm okay (don't you just love trail runners?).
"I'm fine, just cleaning up..."

Within a few k of Boneo Road and still travelling well.
Photo credit: Supersports Images.

Stash the cup in the vest and continue. Cleared paddocks on our left indicate we are a few k from Boneo. The weather is warmer here as the canopy opens out. But it is still really good conditions for a January trail event. The first of several trips and near ankle rolls along here, getting a bit tired and complacent. Photographer around the corner, concentrate on staying upright, smile and keep moving. Not too much longer and I can hear the cars on Boneo Road, then the cowbells and very soon the sounds of people near the road crossing.

Boneo Road, aid station oasis

22k, 2:27 down. 33 minutes to get to Cape Schanck from here; which is probably off the cards. I stop for one last refill, forgot to eat but not worried, 40 minutes tops and I'm finished, I hope...
First part out of Boneo is soft sand on a climb. Walk up, start running at the top then notice a small ache in my left calf. Cramp? The pain recedes as I continue on. A number of walkers along this section, popular to walk the 5.5k between Cape and Boneo. Dodge a weave past a few, catch a runner, get passed again. Story of my day.

Social media name, PB (Personal Best) or Wall.
And the coveted Richie Benaud number 2 2 2 

At the 24k mark, the pain in the calf has returned to the point that I stop to massage it. A group of about 6 runners with Chantele Melchori at the front (the engine!) came past. Chantele asks if I'm okay, yep I'm good. The massage felt good. I catch that group of runners and tag on the back. Just as we start to descend to Burrabong Creek (and a date with the Stairs of Spontaneous Poetry), the track narrows and we get views over the bay. A group of walkers has stepped off the trail to let us past. Suitably impressed with our efforts, they cheer us on calling out our names on our bibs.
"Way to go Chantele!"
"Looking good Stuart!"
"Well done PB or...", "PBor...", "P BW?"
Then peels of laughter as I run past and they suddenly get what my bib is!

And finished!
Photo Credit: Supersports Images

The final descent to Burrabong is narrow with overhanging trees. Following the runner in front, I judge when I need to duck and when I can just wiggle the head. Misjudged one and gave myself a nasty smack on the head. No stars in the eyes, but it slowed me down. Across the bridge, then climb the stairs. I know it's only a few k from here, but the climb up here finally takes me over the edge, energy-wise. First time all day I had to stop and take a long breather. Getting going again was hard, and Chantele's crew had got a good 70 metres in front, no way to peg them back.

Those last 2 k's dragged as struggled with energy. Kept going as hard as I could, the sound of the surf making me aware I was close. Then the first sighting of the lighthouse and eventually I could hear cheering and the PA at the finish line. Lots of walkers here, all being very lovely and giving us room to get by. Last bit of trail and friend Paula yelling my name and getting a photo as I hit the final 200 metres. Then the final corner turned, spectators on either side as I gunned it to the finish line.

The End

27.66k, 3:04:47 on my watch. Given the last 2k, I'd thought 3:07/3:08 was going to be more like it. A huge hug and get my medal from Karen, grab a coke and walk around for a few minutes. Legs too sore to sit down! And being at the finish line was like being home. So many familiar faces, stories being told of success, failure or just highlighting some of the better stories of the day. It was great to be back.

The day not yet finished: Nick and I having a swim back at Dromana, then head back out to watch Belle finish her 56k. The original plan was to watch her through Browns and Boneo. She was too quick for us at Browns, and when she came steaming through Boneo still on PB time, we then had no option but to see her finish at Cape Schanck. And PB she did, topped off the day for all of us.

So, after a bit of an indifferent finish to 2019, I start it off with a strong run. Need to keep building as the plan this year is Run Larapinta in August. Before that, sweeping at Hut 2 Hut, racing at Duncans 50 and maybe a couple of the Trails+ 50 mountain series to get me ready for Larapinta.

A tradition (well 2nd year in a row) is to photobomb a group shot at Two Bays.
Photo credit: Ben De Kluever

Until next time...

Optimistic

The Year Ahead

(Although hindsight is a wonderful thing, it's good to try and look forward to forecast the journey)

In 2013 I fell in love with trail running. Funny really, as I'd bushwalked for years with my wife, and was a reasonably handy road runner. But yet I never connected the dots. It took a series of events leading from me finally having a crack at a marathon, meeting other runners through the running forum, and a shared desire to 'change it up a bit' that brought me to the start line of Two Bays.
So technically it was 2014, but that is hair-splitting of the highest order, in my humble opinion. That race was documented in 2 parts, so enamoured of the experience was I, and was really the start of this blog, to some degree.

First trail run. Posing alongside the Two Bays car, our legs covered in the dust from the trail, the 'Two Bays tan' as we affectionately call it! And a lifelong love affair with trail running had commenced.

Unfortunately, that's where the good story ends. The following 3 years I trained hard, I got injured, I bailed out of the race. It was a cycle that I was doomed to repeat in 2015, 2016, and 2017. 3 years, all passed me by as I either volunteered or spectated. I still had fun (not running in the blast furnace of 2016 was nothing less than bittersweet), but I always vowed to return.
But roll on 2018. Sitting here, typing away on a balmy summers evening, I am in taper mode. No injuries, illness, nothing is looking to get in the way. And I am ready, having prepared for the best part of 6 months since early bird entries opened.

But this is only part of my racing programme for the year. Currently, the calendar looks like this;
January- Two Bays 56k, 
February - Tarawera 62k (or possibly 65.4 if race organisers reroute some of the course), 
February - Roller Coaster run 21.5k (basically a sprint 😆), 
March - Duncans Run 50k.
May - Margaret River Ultra 80k
July - Macedon 50k,
August - Wonderland 36k (another sprint...), then 
September - Surf Coast Century 100k.
Get the picture, it's a busy year with some big races. For the most part, it will be minimal training as I roll from one race to another, but that is what is needed for this ageing body. Recovery as important as training.

Long range forecast for Dromana as of 6 January. I'll take that.

But, back to Two Bays. Weather forecast looks like it could be anywhere between 18 and 25 degrees. Always a talking point in the lead up to the race, but in reality, there is nothing we can do, just race to the conditions. Oh, and I'm doing the 56, a longheld ambition to run the distance that this race was founded on. A 41k training run there last week showed me what was needed, but also gave me confidence that I have the ability and the mental capacity to run it well.
I'm looking forward to testing myself on this course. A few hills (Arthurs Seat the main biggie), but plenty of sections that are ripe for running. And there will be heaps of support along the way, friends cheering us on, plenty more volunteering at the many aid stations along the way.

The Year Past

I keep a written diary for running. A bit old school, but it documents some of the things that online diaries don't always allow you to do; weather, diet, feelings etc. As I flicked through 2017's, I came across an entry on January 1, a series of goals for the year. To be honest, I've never been one to do the whole New Years Resolution bit, but it must have been my frame of mind last year that made me put into writing the things that I needed to focus on. And I managed to do all 6;

1. Stay injury free,
2. Get back to racing weight,
3. Continue strength and core training,
4. Reduce race goals and expectations,
5. Enjoy my running, celebrate the social side, and
6. Give back to running what you have got from it.

I haven't set any goals or promises for 2018, and maybe I don't need to. I have an ambitious year ahead, the main thing is to be sensible, take it in my stride and enjoy the journey.

Until next time...

This is What you Want.... This is What you Get

September 30th 2016 seems a long time ago. In running terms for an injured runner, it can be an eternity. That is the date where I picked up my latest injury. Yet another. This one a little more troublesome than others. The dreaded Plantar Facitis. Or just PF as most runners refer to it. Pretty much in the way that characters in Harry Potter books would never refer to Voldemort by name. Call it something else, more palatable, easier to spell as well. Months of relentless pain underfoot, hobbling out of bed in the morning like a crippled septuagenarian, seeking lots of 2nd opinions.

But this isn't all about me, other friends have had injuries, longer or shorter, but no less debilitating. Others have given away running altogether, the thought of picking themselves up off the injury mat one more time just as appealing as how the ageing footballer views another round of pre-season training. Sometimes, you just have to let the head do the talking, the heart long since decided it was a forlorn hope.

And I wouldn't be lying if I said there were times when I contemplated the prospect of not running. You've got to consider it at some point in life. Up until now I've had a good run with injuries (or lack of), and you mustn't get disheartened by a recent run of poor form and/or constant injuries.
And today's blog isn't a whinging retrospective of my recent lack of running, but more so an affirmation of the power of pigheadedness! As I once again resume training, I hope this serves as a timely reminder to those of you still injured, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

And for those of you reading this, still injured, still not running;
Go and stand in front of the mirror and ask yourself, where do you want to be in 20, 30 years time? How much does the rehab hurt, or bore you shitless, how much does your lack of activity really bug you? What is the long term versus the short term goals? Is the problem mental more than physical? (often hard for you to understand, and harder for others to comprehend). Answer those questions, and hopefully the rest falls into place.

Until next time.

Cry me a River

The normally dry(ish) trail was awash with mud, puddles, in places it resembled a creek. Water cascaded off surrounding rock faces, seeped into my clothing, was on every leaf, flower, piece of shrubbery in the forest. At times as we ran, it wasn't clear whether it was raining , or just drips falling off the canopy above. Yes, Wonderland 2016 version for the 20 and 36k races was what one might call, moist….

It wasn't all running....

This race, for me, was 12 months in the making. Primed and fit for a good race in the inaugural 2015 event, I managed to yet again DNF a race with a rolled ankle. At the time I was gutted, but hit the rehab hard and got myself back to start Melbourne Marathon 8 weeks later. But the intervening 12 months has been a bit of a horror show injury-wise. 3 weeks after Melbourne I ran Marysville marathon. Rough trail, decent elevation were one thing. But coupled with a still continuing recovery from MM, and carrying an adductor injury into the race were not the smartest moves I've ever made. Still, I soldiered on afterwards, training through, convincing myself that the niggles were just that, niggles, not the continuation of recent injury. It all came crashing down at Christmas. Trying to get fit and prepped for Two Bays 56, and after one of many terrible and painful runs where I ended up in tears, I was basically brought into sharp focus where I was at, what I wanted out of running, and the harsh reality that I was not in any shape at all.

So, in quick succession I bailed out of Two Bays 56k, Roller Coaster Run 43k, and a slew of minor events, including my local parkrun. It was not a happy time for me , but at least I got to witness a close friend run her first ultra at RCR. The rest did me good, I recovered, rehabbed, and built my mileage up slowly and deliberately, adhering to the 10% rule in order to avoid a repeat. Which brings me to Wonderland. At the time I entered, it was months off. Wonderland was part of the plan to get myself ready to run a 50k at Surf Coast century with my friend, Chrissy. Plan all set; build mileage slowly, recovery weeks every 4, incorporate trails, increase the pace, recover again. I had it all mapped out. A few things happen (they always do, don't they? No such thing as a perfectly executed plan). Moved house, new job, different working hours coupled with a long commute etc., completely changed my life around. Running no longer was the major part of my day/week/year etc. I had to change, had to face the reality of the change. So, I adapted. Changed the plan to do less mileage, more targeted sessions, with a reduced focus on massive long Sunday runs, but a more consistent approach.

And, just as things were falling into place, injury, yet again. Pulled calf muscle on a trail at Studley Park. Struggle through with reduced training, intensive physiotherapy (I have embraced dry needling in the same way I embrace a '97 Cab Sav….) Just as I recover from that, inexplicably pull up sore after a trail run in Lysterfield, massive swollen area on the top of the left foot. After a week were it just got worse, off to get a scan checking for a possible stress fracture! What next….
Had to chase the scan results up. When I eventually got in contact with my physio he said, “As soon as I got the negative (stressie) result, I thought it would be prudent to wait a few days. Because I knew you would start running again straight away, and I wanted you to have at least another weeks rest”.  Knew I would start running again? No shit Sherlock. Funny thing is, I did find out the result before my physio, and yes I did start running again! And this, 2 months out from Wonderland, 10 weeks out from SCC, safe to say my training plan was in tatters. I have at various points in the last 2 months thought of not running Wonderland, maybe changing to a shorter race leg of a SCC relay team. Call it pigheadedness, call it obstinence, call it sheer bloody-mindedness, I don't know. But I never gave up, and with the support of family and close friends I found myself in Halls Gap on Saturday before race day, underdone, but excited all the same.

Originally 5 days out, the forecast was for rain on Saturday, with clearing showers on Sunday. Never has a long range forecast been so different. Scattered showers, sun, wind, cold, showers then sun again on Saturday had us all convinced race day was going to be fine, the really crap weather having gone through on Friday. Therefore, it pissed down all Saturday night.... Every time I woke up, it was just chucking it down on the roof of the cabin we had in the caravan park. Alarm went off at 5:15, dragged my sorry arse out of bed, had some food, coffee, and last minute gear check before heading to the start line. We already had been told on Friday that ALL mandatory gear indicated in the race notes was to be carried the WHOLE way, and it was dutifully stuffed into my hydration vest.

Dark, wet, and cold. hadn't even started yet

It was dark at the start, spits of rain reminding us that the weather was not to be ignored. First wave went off, then the second wave that I was in moved up to the start line. Race Director, Rohan Day, explained the reason for the 3 minute gap between waves.

“Remember last year where everyone bottlenecked on the single trail in the first kilometre?”
“Not me, I was too fast!”, I cheekily yelled out. Pre-race nerves and over-enthusiasm getting the better of me…. Countdown from the RD's, and off we go. Sure enough, first k's we hit the single trail and immediately start climbing. I was with a friend, Corey, whom I've met through Melbourne Marathon. He said he'd stick with me, but I thought more likely he'd burn me off over that distance. As it was, my climbing ability was better than his on the day, and I was soon running with a bunch of 20k runners. (Only realised when they peeled off at the turn-off, and I found myself as Larry no-mates…)

A kilometre beyond here was where last year I had rolled my ankle. Time and a somewhat selective memory had fooled me into thinking that the section I did it on was a very gentle and smooth section of trail. Maybe it was the rough and technical sections on the rock over The Pinnacle, maybe I'm just getting dim in my advancing years. Whatever it is, as I approached the section (and I sure as shit knew it was the place), the trail was indeed smoother than The Pinnacle, but dropping down considerably more than I remembered, and also a lot rocker in places than I remembered. Ran past “My Spot”, gave a silent thanks that I was still upright, and running, and pushed on to the aid station at the crossing of Silverband Road. DTR runner and friend Warwick King was volunteering here. Nattily dressed in colourful wig, shirt and skirt, taking pics of friends and other DTR runners as we came through. Was good to see a familiar face, as the next few k's were the uncharted territory missing from last year.

On the Saturday, Nicky ran the 8k, I volunteered.

Runners at wonderland reading this may well wonder why I have skipped over the first 10k? Pffft, did it last year, it is the next 26k that really interested me!

The climb up to Mt. Rosea is not without some challenges. The climb alone is enough to get the HR up and running, but as you approach the summit (or several as it seemed), the trail became more technical, the rocks more slippery, and the turns harder to see in the gloaming. It had rained more or less constantly all the way to this point, when I realised that near the summit, it stopped. We had climbed above the rain. Whilst myself and a fellow runner rejoiced in this, the reality that we would descend back into it made us smile ruefully as we moved forward. Low cloud obscured all the views, the wind was mercifully light, but the cold was starting to get to the serious point. I was still running in a rain jacket and THIR, with gloves and dry thermal still in the pack.

Along here I was mainly on my own. A few people passed me, I passed a couple of runners, but it wasn't until I stopped to take a photo on a bridge over a ravine/gorge, that a bunch of SCTR runners came past. I tagged on the back, as much to just pace myself, but also thankful for the (mostly) silent company they were to me. Nearing the descent they all got away from me, but not long after the rocky technical section gave way to the flowing single trail, I caught up with 2 of that party. They ushered me past, but I was content here to just cruise down to Borough Huts. As we descended a group of runners came up behind me, and we also caught up with 2 other runners heading down. At one stage there was at least 7 or 8 of us in a single file, loving the ability to stretch the legs and get some speed back up, our average paces smashed to bits by the climb over Rosea.

I could hear one of the party behind me chatting away merrily with other runners. Turn around and realise it is a friend from PTR, Bec Howe. She says hi, then pulls up behind me to chat with me all the way down to the bottom. Nearing Borough Huts Bec and I ran ahead of the group as I started to get my legs rolling along nicely. (Bec reckoned I was trying to run away from her as she was talking too much! Not true, I'd been trying to do that 3 k's before, I just wasn't fast enough! #joke)

Views were to die for.

Pulled into Borough Huts where my wife Nicky was volunteering. She grabbed the tag off the bottom of my race bib (proof that a., I had run through there, and b., that I was safely out of the mountains). A quick chat, she asked me how I was going, stuffed if I can remember what I replied, then I grabbed some gels, fruit cake and walked down the road to collect myself, get the HR down (was a little high for my liking) then started running again once I turned onto the trail for the run towards Bellfield. (later Nicky would ask me where I got to, she was expecting me to stop and have a chat. Sorry…) Bec had disappeared into the distance, in search of other runners to chat to no doubt! I was on my own again.

Along here is where the mental side of trail running becomes important. Gravel road, long, straight vaguely uninspiring sections, interspersed with some decent pinches that stopped you dead in your tracks, made for a relentless slog. The rain started up again (had it actually stopped?), and the road was just slop in places. I had run through a creek on the descent to Borough Huts, and been alarmingly surprised at a sudden deep spot, potential ankle roll/sprain/break territory, so I was a little bit more cautious along here. Also, puddles on this road were muddy, you had no idea how deep it was, and what was submerged. A few other runners came and went along here. I eventually caught up with a runner from Naracoorte, Naomi, and we shared a fair section of the trail along the back of the dam, chatting along the way. It didn't dawn on me at the time, but that was a fair effort for a flatlander to get over that course. Have you ever been to Naracoorte? Billiard table flat is my best description!

The last section along Boronia Trail was very wet. Water across the road meant you adopted the “bugger it, shoes are already soaked” mentality and ploughed through dead centre. Legs really getting tired here, and I can feel the pace bleed off as energy levels drop off dramatically. This was as much a reaction to the lack of long hard training runs caused by injury. Approaching the final aid station along here, you could hear the cow bell ringing from a kilometre away! Ran past here, no need for nutrition, plenty of water still in the pack, I just wanted to head to the finish line. Last section of single trail behind the back of Halls Gap was just stunning, but was also my hardest section. Passed by many runners along here as I hadn't the energy to keep ahead of them, or up with them when they passed me. Finally with Delleys Bridge almost in sight, 2k's from the finish I took a tumble, first and last of the day! Muddy puddle on path, not wanting to step in it (see previous about deep, murky puddles), I aimed my foot at the side, the intention being to get stable footing in the mud there. Only problem was, it wasn't mud, it was granite, and my foot slipped straight out from underneath me and I fell face first onto the trail. Put my arm out instinctively to break the fall and smacked it on the granite wall that was beside the trail. Amazingly, no harm done; dirty legs, hands, and a graze on the right elbow. Picked myself up, and just kept on going.

Just one big climb really.

Suspicious looks from couples walking out along here. They must have thought we were all freaks. Got to Delleys Bridge, and 3 vollies I all knew. Jacqui O'Connell, Belinda Roffey, and Carolyn Donovan. Big hug for Carolyn, ask me how I was. Stuffed, yes, stuffed was the answer. The final run along the main road back to the Community hall seemed to go on forever until we turned the corner and could see the hall. It was here, with people lining the footpath cheering you on, kids holding there hands out for hi fives, I felt like a rock star, or elite athlete, finishing the event. Emotions nearly got the better of me along here.

Final k's at Delleys Bridge.
(Photo credit: Belinda Roffey)

Hard turn right through the hall, managed to stay upright on the plastic laid down on the floor (a few others didn't…), and got that all important bling, and yet another THIR. Immediately greeted by fellow DTR's Narelle, Shawn, and Stephen, and a quick interview from Matt Bell
MB: “You hated me last year?” (In reference to my dark mood, post race.)
LC: “No, I hated everybody!”
Chuckles all round. Ironic(?) cheer from Kellie Emmerson (“You made it!”), and drank my first can of coke in years. Man, that was great!

I was sore, very fatigued, and pretty much brain dead, but very happy. This race wasn't really a demon for me, or getting a “Monkey off my back” sort of race. The DNF was just shit luck, it happens all to frequently in trail races, but that is the risk/reward we get from running these events. My phone battery picked a crucial time to die, just as I finished! Couldn't contact Nicky to see where she was, or even if my son was still in the cabin (and I wasn't locked outside). Thankfully fellow Inverloch parkrunner Kirby Ireland and her family gave me a lift back to the caravan park. She had run her first ever trail race (nice initiation there Kirbs!), having been sick for the week before, but was thoroughly happy with her effort.

Postscript: Beer, curry and Karaoke on the Sunday night was a great way to catch up with everyone, and celebrate a great weekend. Following day revealed very minor DOMS, little or no issues with recent injuries, and the knowledge I had just completed a very decent hitout for Surf Coast century 50 in a fortnight.

Until next time….

Paint a Vulgar Picture

Never poke an angry snake in the eye, and never start a marathon with an injury. 2 pieces of advice that every child growing up should have drummed into them at the earliest possible moment. I'm too scared to mess with snakes, but was perilously close to starting on Sunday with an injury. My ability to derail marathon attempts is well documented in this blog (2 years in a row, rolled ankles, on almost the same weekend of the year...). 7 weeks out, and I pushed rehab and the return to running with evangelical zeal, the result; a previous adductor injury flared about 3 weeks out. My final week of training consisted of a 5k run completed but as a series of minute on, minute off intervals. I didn't really declare myself right to go until Thursday evening, and even then, there was a degree of uncertainty. Race day dawned, I felt good to go, with the idea of running at a decent pace, to see how far I could get.

Catch-22: According to the novel, people who are crazy are not obliged to fly missions; but anyone who applied to stop flying was showing a rational concern for their own safety, and was sane. Ergo, they could fly missions....
Marathon Catch-22: People who are crazy are not obliged to run marathons; but anyone who decides to not run is showing a rational concern for their safety, and is sane. Ergo, they should run....

The marathon. Why? 42.195 kilometres, on-road, anywhere from dead flat to quite hilly. It has lured runners for many decades, for some, the ultimate running goal. For me, for many years, it was never a goal. Early 2013, running with some friends on our regular long Sunday runs, a whispering campaign started up to get a mate to run Melbourne that year. Little did they realise it would miss it's mark, and lob firmly in my brain! I ran 2013, this blog came about because of the result from that race. Whilst it wasn't a disaster, it fell short of the expectations I had set myself. The blog was to document my return, for redemption/revenge, call it what you like. Did I achieve redemption? Not quite, but then again, maybe. Read on....
(Section headings are paraphrased quotes from the film, Apocalypse Now)

Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a marathon, and for my sins, they gave me one.

Race day, 18th October, 2015. 7 weeks previous, my chances of getting to the start line looked very remote. But here I was, walking in the dark from my digs in East Melbourne to the MCG, the G lit up, cars parking in the surrounding grounds, other runners strolling towards the epicentre. As I walked, I was conscious of the tape applied to my inside thigh, and hamstring, the result of a physio visit the Thursday before. It identified issues with my hamstring, that were overloading muscles around the thigh, the adductor longus being the the problem child.

Got to the bag drop, last drink, catch up with a few LTR members, and take on a gel as I head off to the start line. I had arranged to meet some friends at the Rod Laver statue outside the arena that bears his name. As I has decided to leave my phone in my bag, I was a bit clueless as to where the others were. What the hell did we do before mobile devices? Finally caught up with Chrissy, Nigel and his daughter, and Belle. Photos, hugs, farewells and good lucks exchanged, then I went off in search of the 3:30 pace group.

Andre, Fiso, Cheryl and myself at the start line, all smiles!

Excitement already building, standing around at the rough point where the sign indicated they should be, I heard a shout behind me. Andre and Cheryl, 2 good trail running friends, were on the other side of the barrier, also looking for the 3:30 pacers. There was some irony in Cheryl spotting me. In 2013, we had never met in person, but had chatted through Facebook (specifically, the Melbourne Marathon group). That year, she was late to the start line, immediately spotted me, but was unable to say hello as the gun went, and we were off. This time, we were able to say hello, hug, and banter about the race ahead. Soon we were joined by another friend Fiso, who, like me, had an interrupted prep for this race. We had agreed a few days earlier to start together with this pace group, and see how we went. On such subtle decisions, do race strategies fail....

National anthem, countdown, then we are off. First k of the marathon goes up Batman Avenue, a gentle climb, but a nice heart starter for a marathon. It is congested, and it is easy to lose contact with the pace group. Fiso and I negotiate the chaos, and sneak ahead of Kellie and Ruth (2 women pacing this group, along with Brett), as we turn at Fed. Square onto St. Kilda Road. Rather than trying to stay close to them, like everyone else was, we ran our own pace, along the undulating road, chatting at intervals, saying hi to fellow runners we knew etc. Always love going down here, relaxed, bundles of energy, the anxiety at the start line replaced with the relief of just getting on the road. I watched Andre and Cheryl slowly wind it up, and head off in search of a 3:15 time.

Just before we left St. Kilda Road, and headed into Albert Park, I had the first of 2 encounters that left me thinking that I either have a distinctive running style, or am easily identified from behind! As I am crossing Queens Road, a voice on my left shoulder says, "Les Corson?". I nod vacantly in his direction, my mind a complete blank, nothing, no memory of this person. Turns out Michael and I follow each other on Strava, but how he recognised me from behind? Mystery. The 2nd was a female. About a k into Albert Park, same thing, off the left shoulder, "Les, is that you?". Turn and see an old friend from Launceston, Debbie Pauna. For years, Debbie would banter with everyone who ventured north to the marathon, "Why would you want to do that, are you people crazy?". This thought floats through my mind, as she runs past me. Found out later, she'd run one 10 years ago....

Albert Park saw the crowds thin out a bit. Along here I started to pay more attention to my HR. Initially along the first 5k, it was safely in the 145 zone, very happy with that. But here, it was climbing towards 150+. Far too early in the marathon, for me. I felt good, relaxed, but also noted that conversation with Fiso was reduced to shorter, and shorter sentences. Soon it would be phrases, then monosyllabic grunts. 10k aid station was the first one I didn't grab a drink from, far too congested, and chaotic. No problem, my bottle drop station was at the 13k station. Whilst a lot of runners dislike the section here (it loops around several times), I love it. You get to see other runners, shout out to your friends etc., gives you a boost. Spotted Andre and Cheryl, they looked great, and they gave me a huge yell in return. In fact, it was one giant meet n greet of friends for the the entire 8k's in the park!
As we turned onto Fitzroy Street, and the one section of good downhill for the last 24k's, I was starting to come to the realisation that the pace was not sustainable for me. Turned onto Beaconsfield Parade, spotted the Spirit of Tasmania way in the distance, and realising that was close to my turnaround point before heading south again, that I was going to have to slow down, and still dig deep for the remainder of the race.

The only notable thing that happened along here, was that the 3:30 pace group that Fiso and I had gradually moved ahead of, now ploughed me down, with ruthless efficiency. Quick word with Kellie Emmerson as she ran passed, to let her know I was okay, just throttling back my pace (and thus, my expectations). Passed under the 20k banner in reasonable shape, then the official halfway, 21.1k, in a tad over 1:45. At this stage though, finish time was not important, just finishing was....

One final moment of triumph though. In 2013, at the 22k mark, I had cramped, and hit the wall, all in one go, marking the start of what was a horror 20k slog back home. This year, albeit going slower, and not exactly pretty, I sailed through 22, no cramps, no wall, just the onset of fatigued, and stiff legs.

Tailwind, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.

So, where was that aid station with the bottle drops? Having collected one at 13k mark, drunk most and ditched the remainder, I had survived on water (small sips), on the subsequent aid stations, but was struggling enough now to realise I needed my next bottle of Tailwind. Watching the runners come back up from Elwood, along Marine Parade, I was recognising a number of faces. The shout-outs had been replaced by nods, and grunts, but the sincerity was all the same. 

Beaconsfield Parade, starting to get a bit serious along here.

Travelling by myself, unable to keep pace with anyone as they slowly streamed past, my head dropped, as I stared at the few metres of road ahead, not daring to look how far into the distance I had to go to Elwood. Fiso had left me, swept up in the 3:30 pace group, and I was happy for him to do that. He'd been very encouraging along the first 15 or so k's, but I didn't want to hold him back, and I didn't want to push myself so hard I couldn't complete the race. A few minutes later, Chris Burton from DTR came up beside me, and enquired as to how I was going. Not great was the reply, but thanked Chris, and told him to have a good run.

Another shout-out, this time Andre and Cheryl again, so good to see familiar faces as they passed in the opposite direction. Andre asked if I was okay. Most likely because this was the first time they had seen my behind the 3:30 pace group, and significantly behind as well. Cheryl peeled away from Andre, ran across the traffic island, frown plastered all over her face, to eyeball me from close range. "I am fine,", I said, "just fatigued, I'll be right". I marvelled at her selflessness as a friend, and later on found, just how far that selflessness extends. A quick hi 5, and she was on her way, both still within the 3:15 pace time. Another runner, Glenn Sullivan, fellow RD from Inverloch, ran past, called out. Later on he told me, he had yelled out to Tony O'Connell (Inverloch parkrun Event Director), "5 parkruns down, only 3 to go", as a bit of banter. He was going to do the same to me, took one look, and decided best not! I looked that good, did I Glenn?

Along Marine Parade, I had made the decision to run aid station to aid station. Break the race down into small chunks, stop at the station, grab water, or my bottle drop, and move on. But either the organisers stuffed up, or more likely in a haze of marathon stupidity, I missed my bottle drop of sports drink. It wasn't until I turned back at Elwood, did I realise I may have run past an aid station. Heading back up Marine parade, I realised just how many runners were still behind me, thousands it appeared.
I gamely ran on, stopping at aid stations, or trotting through with cup in hand. As I approached St. Kilda, Luna Park on the horizon, fellow DTR, Warwick King, started running beside me. He could see I was doing it tough. Subtle encouragement, offers to grab water for me etc. He ran until I was close to Fitzroy Street, then said see ya later as I continued on my way. Remember Fitzroy Street, that nice downhill at the 14k mark? At the 30k mark, it is a complete prick, hated it...

St. Kilda Road... shit; I'm still only on St. Kilda Road... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the G.

in 2013, this was my Hearts of Darkness moment, crawling up St. Kilda Road, wondering why the climb up wasn't recognised as any sort of descent on the way out a few hours earlier! Quick check of the GPS activity after the race, revealed the elevation changes along here. No wonder.

Runners were streaming past, as if I was stranded in quicksand beside a busy motorway. My legs ached, not just tender to touch, but seriously aching. At one stage I stopped to massage my quads, only to find that any physical manipulation created more pain, ran on (well shuffled), trying to recall how far it was to the Arts Centre. On St. Kilda Road, the marathoners were on the main road, the half-marathoners separated on the service road. Despite having run nearly 15k's more than them, we were going faster, as this was near the back of the pack for the half runners.

So far, my only stops were really at aid stations, but along here I had to stop several times. Rather than sheer exhaustion, it was the fact my legs were losing power, and the relentless slog up the road was taking it's toll. I just couldn't get going properly. After what seemed an indeterminate time, I finally spotted the tower that marked the Arts Centre on St. Kilda Road, and the point we turned off to go back through the Domain. There is something perverse about a course that will take you close to the finish, then direct you away (or back the way you came), to add kilometres to the run! In addition to this, was the inclusion of a nice little rise up Birdwood Avenue to the 37k aid station. On Alexandria Ave. I passed by someone who knew me (hi 5'ed me), but to my eyes was a total stranger. Call it mid-race marathon brain fade, later on when he ran past me supporting another runner, did I realise it was ultra runner Andy Turner! I really was shrinking my brain down to the very primal core, dealing with finishing....

Turned off Alexandria, and onto Birdwood, and the climb up. And again, along here, my friend Warwick popped up. Running beside me, once again giving me encouragement as I started the climb to the aid station. Desperately wanted to grab my bottle of sports drink, if nothing else, than to think that I was trying something, anything to keep me moving, and get me home. I took heart that the 4:00 pacer group hadn't passed me yet, a small but vital victory, so far.

Do I detect the hint of a wry smile as I finish?

Finally got my bottle from the 37k aid station, and really couldn't stomach much of it. Somehow it seemed far more concentrated than the first one. Drank as much as I could, as I ran up the last of the climb in the Domain, then thankfully, the run down Domain Road. I say, thankfully, but the pain in my quads made my legs useless going downhill. Brief stop to grab some Gummy Bears from Catherine Hocking of LTR, (and a lovely smiley face), and then finally St. Kilda Road, and the final push for home.
Just before I reached Princes Bridge, I became aware of someone running and talking. This can only mean another pace group, the 4:00 pacers, bugger.... Sure enough, the human tide of runners passed me by on the narrowest section of road before the bridge. All I could do was hold my pace, such as it was, and not get buffeted, and pushed around. Fed Square was next, and a group of photographers was stationed here. Every year they are there, taking pics of runners with iconic Flinders Street Station in the background. Lots of spectators along here, gave all of us a boost as we turned the corner into Flinders Street. Mug for the camera, then push on up the road, only 2k's to go!
 
The final turn off Flinders into Wellington Parade South, the street either side now lined continuously with runners from other events, clapping and cheering us on, I had one final stop. Turning the corner into Jolimont Road, I cut the corner with other runners, and stumbled on the kerbing. Nearly fell over, stopped, collected my thoughts, and then set off, one final push to the finish line.

Myself and Andre dwarfing Cheryl!
Despite my tough race, this was a great moment.

And finally, after what seemed an eternity, I crossed under the entrance to the MCG, and entered onto the hallowed ground. Plastic mats on the grass had been placed for the runners, strict instructions to run on them, not the grass! I spied the finish line chutes, and gritted the teeth to get home. As I approached the finish, above the general noise of the crowds, I heard familiar voices. My friends Chrissy and Belle were screaming their heads off, cheering me on. It was so wonderful to hear above the noise of everyone else. 

Finished, and strolled away from the finish line, utterly exhausted. Met Kellie again, had a brief chat and then went off in search of food and water. Bumped into Andre, and heard a story that reaffirmed my faith in the human race. Both he and Cheryl had been zeroing in on a 3:15 finish, when a fellow runner collapsed and hit his head on the road. Cheryl, a medical doctor, stopped immediately to administer first aid. 20 minutes later, they rejoined the race, finishing around the 3:35 mark. This selfless act was the best story on a day full of great stories.

Fiso was there, having come in 12 minutes ahead of me. Could have sworn he'd gone on with it, hanging in with the 3:30 pace group for a sizeable chunk of the race. But no, his race was a mirror image of mine, pace then dramatic slow-down! We were both very happy to have finished...

Collect medal, photo with Andre and Cheryl, food and drink, then head back topside with other friend Josie, to catch up with many other runners. I was walking like Frankenstein, and the thought of a kilometre trek back to my unit was amusing. Thankfully Chrissy offered to give me a lift back, where I was able to collapse in a cold bath, beer in hand, finally off my poor weary feet!

Sir, I am unaware of any such Strava activity or operation ... nor would I be disposed to discuss such an activity if it did in fact exist, sir.

After the dust had settled, and I was able to look at my plot on Strava, it was very clear how my day had panned out! First 15k, nice even pace, bang on 4:55/5:00 pace for the entire way. Then a gradual decline after I had decided to voluntarily slow down, then, as the body slowly shut down, an increased rate of decline that ended up in the visual representation of de-fibrillation! At this point I had struggled to hold any pace whatsoever. A 2:20 second 21.1k resulting in a 35 minute positive split! Not what I had bargained for.

The decline of my pace, the race ran....

But no wall to speak of, nothing that points to a catastrophic failure, just an interrupted training plan, and a half-arsed race plan!

Are my race plans unsound? I don't see any plan at all, sir

Some would say I should have run conservatively. But having the interrupted prep, meant I didn't really know where I was at. I could have run a conservative race, come in around 3:45, and then spent the next period of time wondering “if only”. So, race it I did. And I came unstuck, not worried, it was my plan, and my result, I will live with it. But, as I found out later, I wasn't the only one to have a day that didn't go to plan. 
1. Dion Finocchiaro was racing for 2:22, but collapsing within sight of the MCG, being stretchered away to first aid, on a drip for an extended period, then gets up from his bed to complete the race and finish in 4:01.
2. My friend Cheryl stops for medical emergency and sacrifices 20 minutes. She is adamant that she would do that again, and we all believe her. I know others who would rue(?) that decision. 
3. Another friend Serena, aiming for sub 3:00, gets a 3:10. Chatting to her after the race she said she’d had the best preparation ever, felt good leading in to the event, and despite really good weather conditions she just had “one of those days”.

There were countless others having days to forget, along with those who had a day out. It is the beauty of the marathon, there is no easy path to success.

End Credits

So, have I found redemption? I think so. I no longer feel the need to go back to the marathon, nothing really to prove to myself. No, I didn't hit any targets, and no, I didn't run a strong second half of the race. But I made the start, when all seemed lost, and I finished, a victory in itself. Mentally this was the toughest race I've ever done, nice to know I can tough it out.
That is not to say I may do one again at a later date; only if I want to, not because I feel I need to. And the next year and a bit look to have some changes work wise, where I live etc. Running will be interrupted, racing will be throttled back as a result. Stay tuned...
This blog will live on, other races, other targets to hit. Maybe not as constant as it has been in the past.

Apocalypse Now Quotes

The real quotes from the movie, in case you were wondering.

1. Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.
2. Saigon... shit; I'm still only in Saigon... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle.
3. Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
4. Sir, I am unaware of any such activity or operation... nor would I be disposed to discuss such an operation if it did in fact exist, sir.
5. Kurtz: Are my methods unsound? Willard: I don't see any method at all, sir.

Panic

On the Leed side-streets you slip down,
Provincial towns you jog 'round...
The Smiths - Panic

2 weeks out from Melbourne Marathon, I should be in the early stages of taper, having just pushed myself through the biggest training programme of my running life. But, it is not to be. Once again, injury suffered through trail racing has cruelled any chances of hitting the target I had planned at the start of this campaign. And it was a campaign, started nearly 23 months ago after Melbourne 2013, it was designed to deal with the demons of a badly run race. The fact that this has happened 2 years in a row is not lost on me. But the fact that today my physio said that I should be rightly proud if I can make that start line on October 18th, it put things in perspective. Given that 7 weeks previous (on race day), I had severely injured my ankle, it would be miraculous...

The only issue now is how to pace myself, should I get to that start line. And I have every intention of doing so. (Although, some days, I feel disheartened and wonder if it is all worth it).

He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt
Joseph Heller - Catch-22

The classic war movie scene shows the crippled bomber, 1 propeller stalled, another misfiring, the other 2 gamely hanging on, smoke trailing from damage caused by flak, slowly loosing height in a dramatic attempt to get the crew safely back to friendly territory. I feel something like that bomber; currently my poor body lurches from one injury to another. Just as I have managed to overcome a nasty ankle injury, an adductor strain threatens to derail any plans of the marathon. So close to race day, I am determined to get to the start line, in what form, I do not know.

I won't be the only one fronting up on the 18th with a pre-existing injury, too many of us do it. For some, we will be lucky and get through, for others, it will prove to be a major mistake. The marathon is an unforgiving race.

He just kept picking them up and laying them down.
Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachman) - The Long Walk

The Long Walk, written in 1979 by Stephen King (under a pseudonym), details the ultimate game/reality TV show where groups of young men, almost boys, walk from the Canadian border south, to as far as possible. Guarded by soldiers, the 'contestants' are governed by a strict set of rules about their participation. Minimum pace, no outside help, no running off etc., any offences are dealt with harshly (gunned on the side of the road by the soldiers), the ultimate prize for the survivor (and there can only be one), is riches beyond belief.

I was reminded of this as I crewed for friends at the Surf Coast Century (SCC) during September. Front runners looked good. Amazingly good for people who would run 100 kilometres in under 9 hours. But as the mid packers, and the back of the pack runners came through, they looked progressively worse. But they were determined, and they persevered, testament to the mental strength these people have.
But watching SCC, I can see the appeal for everyone watching The Walking Dead...

Less than 2 weeks until race day, taper time, and injury repair period....

Until next time...

Unfinished Sympathy

As Cheryl and Caroline passed me on the descent (I had passed them both on the slight climb beyond where the medium course runners had split off), they both said "See you on the next climb". I replied to both "Sure thing", or something similar, and watched the sure-footed ponies fly down the trail. I was a bit tentative here, an ankle injury on a steep descent last year had dented my confidence. It was slowly returning, but the slips and slides after The Pinnacle had resurfaced old doubts.

DTR at the start, all smiles, and raring to go.
(Photo credit: Peter Mitchell)

I mentally switched gears, started to assess how I was going; strong climb to The Pinnacle, controlled but pushing the effort. I was well placed for a sub 4:30 finish. Quick check of the average HR, 152, quite good considering the climb. Rounded a corner, and the trail surface changed from a tan brown, rocky cover, to a predominately black soil, loose leaves scattered across it. The soil change marked a dramatic change in the forest type, lush, greener. I was taking this in, watching both women disappearing into the bush on the trail ahead, when WHAM, went over on my right ankle. Felt the pain, felt a pop in the ATFL, heard a cracking noise, and knew my race was well and truly fucked. Let out one mighty string of swear words. First thought after was, "There goes Melbourne Marathon", second thought, "Not going to finish this epic race", third was, "Fuck me, not again, second year running...".

LTR groupie (group selfie?)
(Photo credit: Chris Johnstone)

The tears didn't come then, that would be later, privately, outside the First Aid tent, alone and left to my bitter thoughts. Stopped on the trail, and did the classic trail runners thing. Can I keep running, is it really that bad? 10 steps later I stopped; lateral stability was dodgy, but the pain and the sudden onset of swelling told me the truth, and reality of the situation. A runner went past as I was taking off my pack. He probably thought I was standing there adjusting kit etc. I betrayed no emotion to him, just trying to get on top of everything, make a sensible decision. Apart from knowing where I had run from, I had no idea what was ahead. A friend from PTR, Pitty McAdams, had stopped at the Salomon race last year when I injured my ankle. Ironically, he was one of the first to stop, and offer condolences. We discussed what I was going to do. I had passed an aid station about 2k's previously and thought I should at least aim for that. Other runners stopped, people I didn't know, just other concerned runners.

I started to put a compression bandage on, and was just about to head back, when a vollie came up the track to grab me. An aid station was just around the corner. He walked me down as other runners came down the track. DTR's Dylan and Richard (the former not having a great day to that point, the latter having an absolute shocker, both would persevere and finish), stopped to inquire, not much they could do. Thankfully at the aid station, the proprietor of the tourist park in Halls Gap was available to take me back to the finish line. So, despite my misfortune, I was at first aid within 30 minutes of my accident. That has helped considerably with recovery.

Stony Creek. Following Peter Mitchell for a time towards The Pinnacle. Running well, climbing well,
I was enjoying the race through here. (Photo credit: Matilda Iglesias)

Assessment, treatment, friendly counselling, then I was left to sit outside in the sun, and await my friends to finish. At that stage the finish area was very quiet, still at least 10 minutes before the first of the 20k runners was due to finish. It was here, in the sun, alone with my thoughts, that the tears flowed. As I said before, privately, no-one around to witness it. Above all else, I was annoyed about doing this 2 years running. The cry helped, I finished, wiped my eyes and resigned myself to what had happened, and then felt fairly calm and composed.

Spotted the photographer, camouflaged
against the surrounding rock. Too good to
resist! (Photo credit: Matilda Igelsias)

One-by-one friends finished, and came to see me, concerned, some saying how it had put a dampener on their day. But mostly they came to offer support, and I was touched by that more than anything else. Endless offers of coffee (if I accepted every one, I would have been jittery as all hell!), bacon and egg rolls, warm jackets. I was approached by other runners, not friends, but comrades of the trail, concerned and consoling, many saying how they had near misses, and reckon there were plenty of places were they could have come unstuck. Kudos to the female runner who thanked me for, in her words, "taking one for the team!". It was said in jest, I took it as such, and agreed that it could have been anyone. Some of my friends specialise in mandatory spills in trail races, I specialise in ankles. The universe is trying to tell me something, I am deaf to it!

I watched as the stream of people ebbed and flowed from the first aid tent, it would have made a fascinating time lapse film. Many busted ankles, lots of scrapes and abrasions, talk of somebody on course with a head injury, a busted tooth. The technicality of the trail was being realised by many. After a period of time, a largish group formed around me at the side of the tent, an enclave of love and support. Amazingly, many runners heard of my injury on course, the trail running telegraph alive and well. Still don't know who passed on the info., but I'm slightly embarrassed that would happen on my behalf.

Outside the medical tent with the crew. Despite my shit day, this was a lovely time with great friends.
(Photo credit: Cheryl Martin)

Eventually it was time to leave, and hobble back to the accommodation. Sad to leave the finish line in such a way, although I was in a fair degree of pain and wanted to get some rest elsewhere. But I was happy in the knowledge that I had run in the best ever God-damn  9.2 k event in the Grampians! Maybe next year I will return and do 4 times that distance to finish, and get the bling! Who am I kidding, of course I will return, try and stop me. And yet another race that with be hash tagged #redemption for the next 12 months.

Summit selfie: Took a few moments to deviate off course
for this pic. Totally worth it.

Post script: Visit to physio reveals positive news. Apart from a slight tear in the ATFL, the lack of pain when walking means I can commence rehab immediately, with a view to returning to running sooner than expected. Just need to manage the next 48 or so hours to not go overboard. And Melbourne still achievable if all goes well. Happier days ahead.

A huge thank you to Matilda Iglesias for permission to use some of the over 2500 photos she and her partner took for the event over the weekend of the 29th, and 30th of August. Please check out her blogs at www.runmum.com/, and www.lovemicreations.com/
All photos were free to all, if in any way you can patronise Matilda's business, or pay for hi-res images from the event, please do so.

Until next time....

Stony Creek: Exhibit A in the case of Crossley versus The Workers Compensation Board of Victoria!
Some people had far too much energy, and ingenuity, but they left us with some fabulous race photos.
Thanks to Louise Crossley for permission to user her image. (Photo credit: Matilda Iglesias)