Daydreaming

Surf Coast Century 100k

The great Emil Zapotek is quoted as saying “If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon”. And quite possibly if you really want to find your inner self, run an ultra.
How I arrived at the start line of a 100k is probably a story in itself (and most likely told in increments through this blog), but here I was on a cold and cloudy morning standing on the beach at Anglesea with 250+ other solo runners and assorted relay runners. I was relatively calm and composed, I knew I'd done the training, knew I'd prepared as best as I could, and was happy to just see how the day panned out. But first, let us go back and fill in some details (like why was I really here…)

In the Spring of 2017, Rapid Ascents the event company behind Surf Coast Century (SCC) put up a post on their page asking for people to comment on whether it was okay to change the name of the page to Rapid Ascents Ultra. Previously it was just for SCC. A new event was planned in Western Australia's Margaret River region, an 80k on the coastal walks and trails. Anybody who commented (yay or nay) was then eligible to be selected for free entries to both events. Somehow my name was drawn, and I'd be kidding myself if I said I never considered doing either. The only decision for SCC was which event? I'd done the 50k here twice, but in my mind, I'd slotted in another tilt at Melbourne marathon, and usually being 5 weeks after SCC, doing the 100 might be too much. In the end, after consultation with fellow ultra runners in the VUR forum, I decided the 100 it was going to be.

All smiles before the start.
Photo credit: Jayne Carmody.

Margaret River was a blast. Tough, way more sand than I expected (RD Sam Maffet may have mentioned a bit of sand in his videos and race brief, maybe…), but as my longest run to date it was a good confidence booster for contemplating the 100. After racing Macedon 50 in May, I set my plan for September 15th, with the goal to finish, but run strong. I never contemplated a target time until a month out from the race. And as I worked 3 days a week in Melbourne, and commuting from regional Victoria, I tailored my training specifically to fit in with that. Gone were the big long runs every Sunday, now it was about running blocks of consecutive days. The idea that I would run continuously until I'd racked up 100k, then repeat but in fewer days. (eg, first 100k in 12 days, 2nd in 10, 3rd in 8 or 9 etc.). The outcome to replicate slow but increasing fatigue, with only minimal rest in between. I've never read if this is a legitimate training plan. Didn't matter, it fitted in my programme just nicely.

A few late hiccups (a bout of gastro, and a minor cold), but come race week I was all set to go. Now, those of you who diligently read my blogs will remember the great 'headlamp fiasco of MRU' where I ended up running in the dark with only my phone flash-light app to guide me. Not wanting a repeat of this, I asked a couple of good friends, Chris and Caz if they would kindly crew for me. Thankfully both said yes. Some hastily arranged accommodation with a couple of fellow Dandenong Trail Runners (Davern and Helen), and with friend Megan from Traralgon also joining us, the 6 of us were set for a big weekend.

T Minus 1

Thursday and Friday of race week were brilliant blue sky days, slightly warmer than you'd wish to run (if Victorian), but gorgeous all the same. I'd started receiving well wishes from friends on Wednesday night, and all through the next two days. The excitement was building, social media was being whipped into a frenzy, and it could have been very easy to get carried away with everything. But I remained calm, composed. I was determined to stay grounded; I hadn't run the race, all the talk would be for nothing if I failed to finish.

(Getting ready in the car, raining outside, and I'm getting a little anxious. And take note of who is the actual good cop and bad cop! Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Nicky, Jordan and I were in Melbourne for the Friday. I was dragging my gear bag and suitcase around half the day in the warm sunshine. Not ideal prep, but it was such a lovely day it was easy to think of anything other than the race. I've mentioned the weather a few times, the forecast for race day was ugly, to say the least. Rain, hail, possible thunderstorms and snow down to 500 metres do not provide visions of board shorts and zinc cream that the Surf Coast tourism operators would have you believe! Around 3:30 I arrived at Chris's work to get a lift down. Great to see Chris, one of my best friends and someone whom I could trust to crew me, especially if things started to go very bad.

Pre-race selfie with Megan. Note, I'm wearing the jacket
under the hydration vest. Photo credit: Megan Harper.

We had a pretty good trip down, arriving around 5ish. Straight to rego for me to pick up my bib, catch up with a few friends, all of us bristling with nervous energy. In fact, I'd had a 'shit got very real' moment when I looked at the bib. My name and solo 100k runner printed on it, no denying what I'd got myself in for. Had messaged Caz and she came down to rego to catch Chris and me. Grabbed some groceries and beers, then we headed off to find our accommodation.

6:30 was race briefing, attended just to make sure there were no last minute surprises. Spent most of the night sorting through gear, eating and having a few beers, and going through details of the following day. I'd prepared a race plan for Chris and Caz, as well as a placing plan to help them judge how I'm going, and a plan for getting to crew points. I'd listed the placing plan for 3 different scenarios as best, realistic and worst. Or in the Les Corson lexicon of race outcomes as; Planets Aligned, Goldilocks and Train Wreck. By 10:30 it was off to bed.

Race Day

Breakfast. The still calm phase (aka probably in denial phase)

Caz, myself and Chris just before the start. So honoured to have them
crew for me, close friends who I could trust. Photo credit: Caz Donovan.

Up early, breakfast of porridge, a slice of toast and a strong coffee. Get gear together as the house awakes, and we head to the finish area. Caz takes a video of me in the car just before I get out. Asked me if I was calm. I was, honestly. I knew I'd done the prep, knew the distance was not beyond me and was relaxed enough to know that I could pretty well handle everything that the day would throw my way.
Walk the kilometre and a bit to the start line on the beach, a nice easy way to warm up and ease the nerves (if any). By now anxious would best describe me, just wanted to get started. Met heaps of friends on the beach, lots of chat, nervous laughter, the standard for the start of an ultra. They say you shouldn't be afraid to try something that scares you. This didn't scare me, but it was way beyond where I'd expected my running to take me. For a guy reluctant to run marathons for about 20 years, I sure was diving head first into ultras!

Leg 1. Anglesea to Torquay. Road, trail shoes (or flippers)

Chatting with Connie (100k first timer, like me) and her crew,
Amanda and Belinda. Photo credit: Caz Donovan.

The wind was whipping in from the south, buffeting the start chute, making it hard to hear Sam on the PA. I did hear “1 minute to go”. Checked that the watch was on, HR monitor connected, navigation ready to go if course became hard to read, and then waited patiently for the countdown.

3, 2, 1 and go, we were off. Squeeze under the chute and run down a tunnel of spectators towards the cliffs ahead. The first 4k is a loop south along the beach, up beside the surf club following the foreshore trail to caravan park off Point Roadknight Trail, and then back along the beach. Hit our first section of rocks. We bottlenecked as the mass of runners hit the slippery rocks. Someone said they were called Soapy Rocks. If so, they don't do irony on the Surf Coast. Think of a spherical object, maybe like polished chrome, oiled and the size of half a house trying to be climbed. Keystone Cops stuff. We finally navigate this section and hit the beach to return to the start. I've been relaxed with pace here. Probably too relaxed as my crew panicked when the bulk of the field runs past, and I'm trailing towards the back. But I'd witnessed lots of runners busting themselves on that first section, puffing like steam trains. Shit, we still had 95+ k's to go…

(Race start, 7:30am under overcast skies. Video credit: Caz Donovan)

4k in, of course I'm smiling!
Photo credit: Jayne Carmody.

There was no chute to run through, just a line of spectators. Lots of people call my name, I could only recognise a few. Sorry if I didn't acknowledge, was concentrating on getting into a groove along this section.

I'd been given good advice by a few friends who've run the 100 here not to go out hard on legs 1 and 2. although they seem runnable, you can smash legs early and end your race. Not one to constantly look at my watch, I'd set the view to HR and looked at it a bit early to make sure I wasn't going beyond the high 140's. The first section of the beach was nice, set the pace to comfortable and ran along, chatting with other runners. First sections of an ultra, once underway are almost a party mode, business mode kicks in later!
All going well until we hit the first big section of rocks. Green slime covered them. Trying to place the feet for maximum grip, I started to pick my way slowly over them. Some elected to run, but I figured the risk-reward was too high.

Climb over a headland at about 8k, then final section of beach to Point Addis and our first aid station. Mark and Kathy Swinkels are here, quick shout out and down the road I go. Lots of cars, busy road and I elect to head to the right-hand side, as this is where the path at the end heads off from. Megan is there taking photos, yelling out my name, great to see her there. Down the stairs, back onto another section of beach, and more constant slow-paced running.
At about 12k the long sections of rocks appeared. Slowing us all up. Then a small rocky point, sticking out 4 metres into the water. As I approached, 3 runners in front of me ran through in ankle deep water. As I approached with a few other runners, a set of waves came in and we navigated around in thigh deep water, buffeting us as it rebounded from the wall face. This pattern repeated as we approached Torquay, and slowly time bled away as we slowed again and again.
Between here and the 17k mark it was a constant battle with the elements, mainly being the rocks and the encroaching swell. Even though we were running with low tide, the foul weather conditions, low barometric pressure made the sea higher and more active than would otherwise be. We spent more time in the water than imagined. Just as the shoes dried out a bit, they got wet again and filled with sand.

Coming through Bells Beach. weather looks okay, doesn't it?
Photo credit: Megan Harper.

Head around a corner and there we are, running across the famed Bells Beach. Sure enough, surfers out riding the swell. Megan again taking video of me running along the beach, yelling out encouragement. Stairs over a headland, back down the other side, more stairs and onto a narrow beach.

20 seconds later on the same beach, and look at
the weather that has just passed.
Photo credit: Megan Harper.

Checked my HR and average pace along here, slower than expected pace, HR still sitting around high 130's, but the average was 120 something. I might have been slower than I wanted, but I was conserving energy. Get to a rocky headland, 19k mark, and it's a scramble to find a way through, get wet again and more sand in the shoes. Most of us are laughing here, what else can happen? Finally around the worst of it and I can see Torquay at the end of the beach. Runners are heading along the path in the opposite direction, I think to myself “that will be me in a little bit”. Off the beach, up the ramp, and enter the busiest aid station of the day.

Torquay aid station, 22k. Busier than Burke Street on a Friday afternoon.

Torquay, like a bustling busy train station. Bodies everywhere, upright, sitting, lying down. Wind blowing, everyone rugged up against the cold, the sky matching the sea for a shade of steel grey. Chris waiting at the top of the ramp, guided me to where Caz was. Empty my vest, sit down and change socks, eat some potatoes and fruitcake. Shoes on, vest on, stowing the rain jacket in the back, and off I go again. Megan and Helen are there giving me encouragement.

(First aid station with the crew. And Exhibit A in the case; Corson vs Donovan in the 'She tried to make me swear' case of SCC2018! Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Leg 2, Torquay to Anglesea. 4 seasons in one day.

Westerly wind in our faces as we run down the path, cross a boardwalk section, then into a nice bush trail. The sky to the west looking ominous as we climb the foreshore trail. Relay runners zip pass, call out my name (race bib on the back, I'm not that popular..). My mind focuses on the task, assessing the body and legs as I push onwards. Climbing gentle climbs, my legs still going strong. Cross a road at Jan Juc, friend Louisa is a marshal, quick hug, stop and walk around the corner and down a gel. Cloud now looking very threatening. Decide it's time to put the rain jacket back on, just as the first raindrops hit. Then it pisses down, 3 minutes tops, but enough to soak the shorts and shoes.  So much for the dry socks…

Running along here, numbers have thinned out. Occasionally a runner will join you, run behind but not say anything. Just lost in our own thoughts, getting it done. Some will be chatty, spilling life's little details, or big details at times.
26k, running through the carpark at Bells Beach, then into the bush again. Get warm, jacket off (this was going to be the theme for the next 4 hours, at least). 4 k's of a mainly single trail, bush setting. Very serene, the sun is shining and I wind my way towards the aid station at Ironbark Basin Picnic Area. Even though I knew it was about 32 k in, it still came up quite quickly. On the way in, passed a friend Karen with her son Tim, walking in. He didn't look great at that point. Quick stop, grab a banana and oat slice. Walk out eating the slice on the Point Addis Road as the sky darkens, once again.

Lost count of how many times I packed and unpacked
my rain jacket. Photo credit: Megan Harper

Next section follows Anglesea Road, the first bit of muddy trail. Now entering the area known as Eumeralla. It twists and turns in here. In fact, the course state “Due to the complexity of the course in this area all runners are encouraged to remain ESPECIALLY ALERT FOR COURSE MARKINGS to ensure you do not lose the trail and go the wrong way.” Yep. I felt like I'd been blindfolded, turned around 3 times and asked to pin the tail on the donkey!

Bumped into fellow VUR, Thomas. Poles out, pushing along, I stopped for a chat. He was already slowing down and looking to hold it together.
39k in, having ground my way up a long slow climb came across friend Wendy stretching out a hammie. The view here also showed a large black cloud billowing on the horizon, put rain jacket back on again. 5 minutes later the rain pissed down, accompanied by hail. Small, but still stung, and very cold. And 4 of us running close together were drenched. Probably the one memorable low point of the day for me. If that was going to keep up, I rated my chances of finishing very low.

42k, turn left back into the Great Otway National Park, and a lovely section of ferns, sword grass, eucalyptus trees and full of birds, all chattering away after the rain. Indeed, the sun re-appears (farkin Victorian Spring) and the temperature rises just enough to tick into the comfort zone. Pass about 10 runners through here, mostly 100k solo runners or 50k teams runners. Has a 4 person relay runner sit on my shoulder as we traversed a winding section. Eventually, I felt she was inadvertently pushing me too fast, so I casually stepped off the trail and let her pass. “Shit, how do I know which way to go”, she joked as she kept on running. A long switchback where you glimpsed runners through the trees, heading in the opposite direction, then the long slow downhill back to Anglesea. Followed a runner with a very familiar purple rain jacket, and harlequin coloured headwear. Thought it was Kerry, and sure enough as I came up close behind her she turned around to say hello. A brief chat and I pushed on. Not sure if it was the proximity of Anglesea, or I'd just hit a good patch, but apart from the occasional walk section, I was running well, hitting a pace that was comfortable and maintainable.

Crossed onto a road, friend Belinda was there cheering us all on and spied a runner up ahead. Made a mental note to see if I could catch him as it appeared that I was faster climbing. Finally caught him 3k out from Anglesea. Steve, a friend from VUR was trying to overcome a fast start and get himself into the 49k aid station. We chatted as we descended the long rocky trail of the Surf Coast Walk. It was down here that I first started to get pain in my hip. It wasn't bothering me much, but my worst fears were that it would get bad enough to have it affect my run.

Anglesea aid station 49k, effectively half way

Finally, after 5:55 of running, Steve and I made it back to Anglesea and food, crew, and a short break. Chris called out to me, told me where I needed to go. There were heaps of people in the compound, but my focus was solely on Caz and Chris, my super crew. Once again, Caz raises the issue of swearing (think the woman is fixated, just a bit). A quick bite to eat, restock the vest, and put the rain jacket back on, as more dark clouds are encompassing the horizon.

(Back to where I started from and exhibit B in the case; Corson vs Donovan in the 'She tried to make me swear' case of SCC2018! Also included is the sadistic torture by said crew member... Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Leg 3, Anglesea to Moggs Creek. The clay, 3 on a scale where Tarawera was 10 (11 according to Caz)

This section was a known quantity. But first I had to cross The Great Ocean Road. Usually, we crawl under the bridge, but with the inlet closed over, the water level was too high. So, a marshal was placed on the road. 1:30, crossing there and traffic spaced nicely so you can't cross safely. A relay runner joins me. Suddenly a gap appears, “NOW!” I yell and we both spring across the road, laughing like idiots.

Having food and drink in the belly, and seeing Caz and Chris again, I felt good. Hip was feeling fine, and I was happy to find myself running the slight climb up the power line easement at the back of the built-up area. The first section out from here is predominately road, dirt road. Or clay, to be exact. Thick, sticky, slippery clay. The more you ran, the more that stuck to your shoes. Adding weight, and height, and losing grip on the soles, it became difficult to stay upright. It could stick to Teflon…

The forecast was grim!
Screenshot credit: Chrissy Good

By now I've considered my finish time to be around 13 hours. Privy to a conversation where a runner said to his mates he was chasing 12 hours. Didn't have the heart to tell him. The road, the sticky muddy clay road, finally ended after 9 ks. Turn right onto a single trail, glad to be off the clay. Well, sort of. The first kilometre is still clay where it has de-laminated off the runners' shoes ahead of me. But I'm in a good place head. Body holding up, head still very positive.

The track winds gently down. Epacris, red through to pink, lilac bells, birdsong once again drifts through trees as the sun started to appear again. Stopped to take the jacket off, have a piece of Clif bar and continue down the path. I let my mind wander here. All morning and up to this point, I'd been monitoring myself, pace, heart rate, energy, leg fatigue, estimated time to next checkpoint. Finally decided I needed to take a break. I just concentrated on the moment, the now, just me, the trail, my footsteps. I started to think about family, close friends, those dearest to me. How lucky I was to be able to do this, many not even able to contemplate exercise, let alone do it. There is a condition/feeling known as The Flow, where it all clicks, synchronicity with one's self. I've often wondered if I feel or experience it. And I have occasional episodes of temporal dislocation where I can run sections of a known path and not recall having done it. Even though I'd now be standing at the end of that path looking back at where I'd come from. And here, now, 60 odd k's into my 100 I should experience one. Only a few k's, but as my mind drifted, my thoughts jumbled into one; gratitude, with love. I came to, a small tear in the eye, then the moment was gone. I stopped again, having looked at my watch and realised the battery needed recharging. I'd picked up a battery pack and charging cable at Anglesea, hooked it up, battery pack into the vest, then continued along.

(With a crew that can get a priority park like this? Well, why choose anyone else. I love this video though, great to see them both having a laugh. Language warning though, Caz doing the bulk of the on-camera stuff. Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Hip started to play up again, but now the pain is emerging high up in the groin area. Felt around there and down onto my leg, the large adductor was tight. Massage, light stretch helped, but it was still there, persistent. Caught up with 2 guys, 100k solo runners, both having a bitch about the weather, the trail, life in general I think. Was with them for a few k's before we started the climb on Currawong Falls Track. My climbing stronger, I'm able to run more and get ahead, happy with my own company again. No songs stuck in the head here, just the constant thoughts of pushing on, coping with the external stimuli, and processing the emotions still happening in my head.

If any picture of the day sums up how much love I have for these 2.
Care, attention, always there for me. I don't look too crash hot here,
the reality is I'm probably just staying composed.
Photo credit: Jayne Carmody.

Switch back, and the start of our biggest climb today really begins. The warmest part of the day (jacket off here), drinking lots, eating bits of Clif bars and having the occasional VFuel gel. Still picking up a few runners. Being passed, almost entirely by relay runners, only a few 100k runners around me at this point. I'm prepared for this climb, attack it in little sections. 66k in, top out at the peak of the climb, 8 hours 20. Clouds building in the west again, this time looking really ominous. A brief shower of rain (jacket back on, again), cross Loves Track and then the 3k descent into next checkpoint at Distillery Creek. Hip issues prevent me striding out on the way down. Meet another runner with glute tightness. He runs, stops to stretch, I pass, run about 500 metres, stop to stretch, he passes me back again. We play this tag game most of the way to Distillery, laughing at the absurdity of the 2 of us.
On the way in, run out of both water and electrolyte. Hadn't filled the water at Anglesea. Not far, but realise I need to stop and fill up at Distillery. Did so in record time, grabbed a piece of oat slice (bloody sold on it) and headed off again. Sign for a photographer ahead. I had a bag of Clif bar pieces in my hand. Decide not to stow it away as I needed to eat a few pieces, so walk a bit, eating then run on. And on and on. Where the hell was this photographer? Kept running, and was just about to stop when he appeared, just around a corner. No smile, just head down, gritted teeth as I ran past.
Drop down to the dam, then another climb back out. Bump into Wendy again, she must have passed me at some point and I didn't see her. We walk together on the climb out. A long low rumble of thunder echoes through the valleys. Oh shit, that's just what we need. I try to kid myself it's waves crashing against the shore under cliffs. But I know, the cloud out west is black and thick, and very high. A brief shower of rain (jacket still on from last one…), then sunlight again. The storm seems to be away from us.

(Coming into Mogg. Apparently, I have a fan club? And by now have figured out the rain jacket fits OVER the vest. Much easier taking it on and off. Video credit: Caz Donovan)

By now, all I want to do is get to Moggs and see Chris and Caz. Just to see a familiar face, have a chat and a laugh. Smaller descent here than Distillery. Once again the hip and groin playing up. Still running, but ungainly in places, my left leg not as coordinated as it should be. Cross a small bridge, I know I'm close, traffic on the left and I can hear voices. Caz is waiting for me, enquiring over my welfare. I'm touched. She and Chris are out in this weather attending to me, waiting patiently at all the checkpoints. She films me running in as I hit the aid station, Chris on the left with all my gear.

Moggs Creek. 77K, an oasis in the late afternoon (10 hours)

Chicken noodle soup never tasted do good! Warm, not hot, it went down well. An antidote to the sweet food I'd consumed all day. Caz has a go at me that I'm not drinking enough, looking at my two thirds full flask. I explain that I refilled at Distillery. Re-stock again for the last time today, chat with a few friends (massive hug from Ali), and I'm away again.

(Three-quarters of the way in, and the needling and emotional torture continue. Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Leg 4, Moggs Creek to Anglesea. The 'Successful' head torch story.

So great seeing my crew, but I was a bit melancholy on the way out. It was all too brief. But I needed to get on. The first section from here climbs. Previously doing the 50 I've struggled up the climbs beyond Moggs. Today though, I just got myself into a groove and ran large sections of the climb, walk a bit to recover, run again. Bumped into Karen, running her first 50. Knees playing up, she is reduced to a walk. I'm impressed, I would have thrown in the towel at this point. The light is fading, I know I won't make Aireys Inlet before dark, so I try and cover as much ground as I can whilst the light is still good. Get to the top, viewing platform over the coast, soft golden afternoon light, fluffy clouds fanned by a stiff breeze. Temperature is dropping again, more clouds building in the west and I wonder if the worst of the weather is still yet to come. Running down the trail to the residential area of Moggs Creek, the legs are a bit stiff and ungainly on the steps. Hoping not to go arse up down here, make it to the bottom in one piece and live to fight on. Right at the bottom, watch beeps kilometre 80. From here on, my longest ever run, training or racing having just eclipsed Margaret River Ultra.

A few streets, trail, bridge, street then start the climb on Old Coach Road. This is a gentle climb, but long and grinding. A last burst of light as the sun came out from behind a cloud before it sunk below the distant murky horizon. Passed a few more 50k runners along Old Coach, all in good spirits, all wishing me well as I passed. Turn off the road hard right, through a gate and up a gravel road/trail. Walk this, too steep to climb, and knowing I have still at least 18k to go, save the legs for the section beyond Aireys. Top of the hill, 2 runners have stopped to put on jackets and head torches. I think it's too soon for a head torch, I can see the trail very well. Pass a 50k runner, tell him he's doing well (despite his obviously stiff slow shuffle). I get zip in return. Turn around to look into his face, eyes set rigid straight ahead. He is at the end of his tether, yet somehow still going. “Keep it up champ” I tell him. I hope it registered for him.

(Meanwhile, whilst myself and the rest slug it out, my crew are patting themselves on their back. Exhibit C in the "she wants me to swear because she does" case of 2018. PS, they are like a comedy duo  Video credit: Caz Donovan)

A final muddy road to run down. I suddenly realise maybe I should have put my head torch on before as the light faded rapidly and I nearly tumble, tripping on a rock hidden in the mud. Light on, fire it up as I climbed up to the mobile and microwave towers overlooking Aireys Inlet. As I breast the hill, I can see the lighthouse, mood lifts somewhat, going to see my crew again. Never told them how happy that made me feel at the time. Wasn't in a bad space, just needed to see them again, no reason.

Hit the road down to Narani Way. Bitumen, but it is covered in mud from prior runners. Slippery and my trail shoes feel decidedly unsafe. Narani Way, then hard left to get down to the trail that takes us under the bridge on The Great Ocean Road. And despite my previous thoughts about how I'd go here, I'm running more than I thought, more than walking. Get to the bridge, then contemplate having to crawl under it. Basically, you have to boulder it, as in crawling on all fours moving sideways. 86k into an ultra it looks and feels like a drunk, having lost the front door key, trying to navigate the tricky climb through a living room window. Make to the other side, only losing purchase once and thinking I may end up in the inlet. Run across the bridge down the path towards the bright light of the aid station.

(Chris:" He took us by surprise". Code for "We were piss-farting around somewhere". And Caz, it's Aireys, Aireys Inlet, you know where you were supposed to meet me? Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Vollies point me to the food on the table, gets me a coke and an oat slice. Crew not there. I look around, swear to God they told me at Moggs they'd be there. Chris suddenly appears out of the dark, appears I'd surprised them with my early arrival. Ask me the usual, how am I, any issues, do I have enough food etc. I'm fine apart from the obvious fatigue and leg soreness. Another relay runner appears at Aireys, Andrew from PTR. He heads out, with me just behind.

It's full on dark now, no faint twilight on the horizon, my torch illuminates a narrow elliptical presence in front of me, my universe for the next 14k (or just under 3 parkruns in the not so standard international ultra measure). Climb to the lighthouse, trail my hands along the surface as I run around the outside, down another nameless street then we turn off onto the foreshore walk that is our path to home for the next 5k (1 parkrun). The path, up and down here, is very runnable for most, and I attempt to run as much as I can. I do admit to myself that I'm struggling a bit here, so resort to walking for 50 steps, running for 100. Repeat continuously. At one point, the coke, oat slice and general good feeling I got from Aireys kicks in, and I ran continuously for well over 5 minutes. Catch a few more 50k runners along here, give them as much encouragement as I could muster and run on. The main aim here is to avoid the trip hazards on the trail, keep my little beam of light fixated on a spot 2 to 3 metres in front of me, concentrate like all buggery. A fall here would be catastrophic.

A small section of beach, which means a fecking horrible section of stairs to climb back up to the trail. Watch ticks 90k, I barely register. I just want to get to Urquharts Beach, the final long stretch, then home. The last section is windy, drops down then up again through melaleuca and sword grass. Plenty of trip hazards here, I manage to dodge them all. Car traffic noise gets closer as the trail approaches The Great Ocean Road again. A series of stones placed in the path, presumably to allow walking through here in wet conditions. I stumble on one, misjudging height, length, whatever. I curse it, not now, don't fall here. This marks the descent to Urquharts Beach, 92 k, 8 from home, but this last beach section the final test of resolve before finishing.

Urquharts is approximately 3 and half k's of sand (Cue MRU flashbacks), but it is now low tide and there is a very wide portion of flat, relatively level, hard sand to run on. It is the closest to a road we will get on a beach. I've run this section twice before, once in the dark. My preference is the dark. A. it's usually low tide, B. you can't see the end (which does my head in, no end). Once on the beach, a quick sip of electrolyte (first and last time this leg), then start getting it done. I look down at my feet, admiring the gentle rhythm of my feet as they flit in and out of the circle of light. Slapping sound as they hit the wet, hard sand, left, right, left, right. Slightly hypnotic, I travel a fair way up the beach before I lift my head up and make sure I'm not navigating a path direct to sea or dunes, and admire the sporadic dots of head torches in front of me. A runner passes me, relay on the last leg. I pass a runner, then approach another. The beam weaves in front, either looking side to side, or in trouble, or drunk. I opt for options 1 and 2. catch up and find out it's a friend Deb, doing the 50 on minimal training (minimal being code for bugger all). I stop to chat, she urges me to keep running, but I'm grateful for a distraction here.

Most times along here it was serene, taking in the sound of the surf, the lights in front and behind me, and far off to the right, lightening behind a cloud; the storm that never was on leg 3.

Final kilometre on the beach seem to take forever, then suddenly the stairs appear that mark the turn back to the road and final 5k to home. Climb the stairs and see a person approaching with a head torch. Turns out to be a mate, Matt Veenstra from BBR. Couldn't be happier to see him, someone who has helped me no end to realise what I was about to achieve. Big hug, get off the stairs and onto Melba Parade. We run whilst Matt does a live stream to BBR, and chat about my day. With about 3k to go, Matt runs off towards the finish, leaving me to do it on my own.

Time to collect the thoughts, process what I was about to achieve (barring accidents), and climb the final section passed the surf lifesaving club.
On the section down, stumble and trip on a section graded to funnel water off the path. And seriously nearly go down in a shitheap on the path. Only just managed to stay upright, but the jarring through my legs threatens all manner of cramps, aches and everything else. Final little section of beach at the inlet at Anglesea, the bright light of the finish line is still over a kilometre away as my watch beeped the 99k mark.

(Finish line video, says it all. Thanks to Michael Cardiff for presenting me with my Stein and medal. Video credit: Caz Donovan)

Grit the teeth, keep running on the boardwalk. I can hear the PA at the finish. People walking on the path yell encouragement, my pace picks up and I turn the last corner to home. Traffic cones provide a path to the finish chute, my name called out as I cross the first timing pad 50 metres out. Crew and friends there yell out my name and I cross the line feeling like a bloody rock star. Stop the watch (probably the most single-minded thought I had at this point!), then hug Caz and Chris. Video of the finish shows controlled emotion, but inside I was a jumble of emotions; relief, elation, gratitude, surprise and most of all, pure joy and happiness.

Melbourne hipster, bubbly in a wee bottle at the finish. Just
needed a deconstructed smashed avo to compliment it.
Thanks to Caz Derby (a different Caz, but still a sweary one)
for the bubbly. Photo credit: Chris Langmead

13:25, but more importantly a strong run all day, despite the conditions, despite the trail conditions. A friend and fellow ultrarunner Michael Cardiff drapes a medal around my neck, huge hug from him and then I receive my beer stein for a sub 16-hour result. Friends come to congratulate me, hugs aplenty, photo in front of the SCC banner, and then share a small bottle of bubbly with Caz Derby who'd run her own 50, then come back down to the finish to celebrate with me.

Huddled around a gas heater, jumper on, drinking my bubbly, not letting go of that stein, I chatted with others who'd run on the day. Relay or solo, it didn't matter. All of us set out to achieve a goal, and most of us achieved that goal. Time to celebrate the win. Finally, time to go home, one final video from Caz of me squeezing into her car, grimacing and swearing! Crew, ey?
Back at the accommodation, Davern, and Helen give me a rousing reception, feed me give me alcohol and we all celebrate a great day had by all.
I'm wired, no sleep till 1:00am.

(The final inglorious evidence of my day. After 100k, they finally got to me! Exhibit D in the "They made me do it" case of SCC2018)

That was the emotion, now the stats

I achieved the result I set out to do. Run a 100k race well, and finish strongly. I had a race plan, it was simple (and therefore easy to remember and prosecute) and I had the best support on the day. I'll keep this next bit brief.

My Planets Aligned/Goldilocks/Trainwreck estimated times were 12:10, 13:21 and 15:05. I never try to measure myself against others, my race is purely one against myself. But my progression through my age group and general categories told the story of my race. In my age group; 28th at Torquay, 9th at Anglesea, 8th at Moggs, 11th overall. Race plan was to start conservatively, and that I did. Witnessing many runners on leg 2 struggling after going out too hard early. I moved my gender position from 199 to 107. 155th overall.

Race results.

Holding beer stein, nose all red
from exposure, or the sun (when it
appeared), makes me look like a
drinker with a running problem.
Photo credit: Caz Donavon.

Probably a bit more flukey was my split times. Listed below are the separate legs with timing info, and the difference between my estimation and actual (red means under time).
Pt Addis - 00:07:53
Torquay - 00:00:15
Ironbark Basin Picnic Area - 00:05:28
Anglesea - 00:02:49
Distillery Ck - 00:02:56
Moggs Ck - 00:10:19
Aireys inlet - 00:00:23
Finish - 00:07:49

Hydration and nutrition wise, no issues. Probably guilty of under-eating, but that is a preference to overdoing it and getting GI issues. For the record;

6 VFuel gels,
2 and a half Clif Bars,
2.5 litres of VFuel drink,
1-litre water,
2 bananas,
2 small salted potatoes,
750ml Coke,
Half a cup of cold risotto,
4 oat slices,
1 fruitcake slice, and
1 cup of Chicken Noodle soup.

It was Solo, but really a team effort

It would be horrendously wrong of me to acknowledge so many people, and groups who have helped me get here. In no particular order;

• Running groups. Victorian Ultra Runners (VUR), Dandenong Trail Runners (DTR), Lysterfield Trail Runners (LTR), and mostly importantly Baw Baw Runners (BBR).
  I may not have run with LTR at all this year, but continuing support leading up and on the day greatly appreciated. DTR always welcoming on my brief returns, and a number of DTR's ran and/or supported on the day. VUR has been a great support, full of advice and helped many of us who debuted our 100 on the day. And lastly, my local group BBR who have been a constant source of support and friendship.
• Nicky, my wife, for putting up with my faint obsession with running. Thanks honey xx
• Some close friends;
  Chrissy, Michelle Acorn, Belle, Carolyn Gilchrist, Cheryl and Andre (and I'm sure I've missed a few) for the constant support and positive vibes. 
• Matt Veenstra for the training runs, the information and advice (most of it invaluable on the day), and as much for surprising the shit out of me on the stairs leading from Urquharts!
• To anyone on the day who was there, called out my name, just told me I was going well; thank you. It's the people, not the event that make it so enjoyable.
• And finally, my awesome crew Caz an Chris. You made me feel so welcome, made me feel I was in great hands, made me laugh, swear, and generally helped turn the day into the success it was. I gave you both shit at times, you gave it back, but never ever did I feel you weren't there for me 100%. I owe you both spectacularly. As I watched some of the videos I have posted here to sort them out, I was overcome with emotion (and laughed at the fucking beer and pizza) 😁 You are 2 of a kind.

And now, a bit of rest. I will still run a bit (I love it so much), but the body needs rest. A rough plan is being sketched out for next year, but I'm taking my time to formulate it.

Caz Derby and me with 'bubbles', and medals
Photo credit: Caz Donovan

Until next time...

Breakin' Down

A Brief Summary

The last time England cricket team toured Australia, they were wiped 5-0. It was the 2103/2014 summer and in mid-January, I was introduced to trail running at Two Bays 28k.
Roll forward 4 years, England tour again (this time 4-0), and I once again toed the start line (this time the 56k).
Frustratingly though I have not competed in the intervening years. All lost through injury. If it means I can only get to Two Bays in an Ashes year, so be it. But gee that is gunna be tough if it means every 4 years. They say your first is always the one you hold closest to the heart, and this race has that hold on me.
To say my build-up has been bigger than Ben Hur would be an understatement, except that while the Ben Hur thing (the movie) was anything but an understatement, it was grande, on a grande scale.
Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, the build up. Early bird entries opened in July, special pricing after 9:00pm on a weeknight. Might have been slightly overexcited and jumped in to enter the 56. I didn't have a qualifier, no problems, been here before. So many friends were in parts excited or anxious, but supportive; this was going to a big 6 months lead-in.
As previously blogged, I had a pretty good last 6 months of 2017. Wonderland 36, Surf Coast Century 50k, and Melbourne Marathon. A break after MM, then a slow build-up with the intention to hit peak distance in mid-December. Never quite got there, new house taking up a lot of time. But still, as the New Year rolled in, I felt I was ready. A 41k training run on the flatter sections of the course 2 weeks out was a real confidence booster.

Race Day minus 1

Stayed with my friend Grace in St. Andrews on Saturday night. Rain belting down most of the night, wind howling through cracks in between the window and the sill.  This was not the summer weather I had been training through for the last couple of months.

Race Day

Morning dawns a bit calmer, although the weather still very unsummery.

Drive to Cape Schanck, meet lots of people, many wishing me well on my return. This has been talked up a fair bit. But I'm quite calm, trail races don't hold the same fear factor as a road marathon.

DTR crew ready to roll at Cape Schanck. Stephen, Nick, Narelle, myself,
Ross, Cassandra (reporter extraordinaire), Majid and Belle. Photo credit: Cassandra Gash

Jumper off, race kit on, watch fired up, countdown and then off we go. Well for 30 metres before the first bottleneck gets us! Lots of chat, nerves, ego, attention deficit, whatever, as we make our way along the path with Bushrangers Bay over our right shoulders.

Race start, and off we go. Photo credit: Cassandra Gash

The First 16

The first photographer on the trail, people jumping, me thinking I'm not wasting energy that early!

Down the steps at the newly named Stairs of Spontaneous Poetry (love your work Cam Baillie), everyone laughing how they wouldn't be (laughing) on the way back.

A beautiful single track, still in large groups but most of us content to stick to the group pace, plenty of places to pass later on. The pace is fine, 6 to 6:30 pace. We are mostly in a long line, the occasional overtaking manoeuver to keep everyone on their toes. But mostly it is all good, no incidents, no-one getting upset, we are all settling into the rhythm of the race.

Hit Boneo Road aid station at the 34-minute mark. I knew a few people here, and it was here that my great friend Chrissy had a massive smile, and her arms spread wide for the BIGGEST hug ever! I'd only run 6k, what was the return in 5+ hours going to be like? It was a great way to send me on my way. Chris and Michael from Lysterfield Trail Runners also here, as well as Kim Day, Race Director Rohan's wife. She had chatted with me at Wonderland last August about how happy she was going to be seeing me come back through there on the way back. Trusting I would be happy too! 

Exiting Boneo Road, 6k in.
Photo credit: Andrew Ross.

Cross the road, lots of peeps spectating, several friends there shouting out, photos being taken etc. Back into the bush and onto the diversion. This is in place to avoid congestion, head-ons etc. as the 28k runners run south, and we run north. Another friend Nigel is marshalling here to direct us up the correct path. Another hug (Nigel has had a torrid 2017 for him and his family, was just brilliant him and Jacinta came out to volunteer), and off we head up Long Pt. Circuit. The first section is through a climbing single track, a bit overgrown in places such that we get sprayed with wet foliage. A right turn, sharp left then we are on to a graded road, come rough track.

By now the groups are thinning somewhat. Some of us are electing to walk some of the steeper sections, knowing what's coming up, many others keep running.

The next aid station at the 10k mark pops up around a corner. Although we could hear them a mile away. Kerry Schilke was there spectating, cheering us all on. She would keep bobbing up all over the place during the run, following a group of runners from the very popular 'Running in the Burbs' group. They were ahead and behind me for most of the day, hence why Kerry was there lots.

Started finding empty gel wrappers along here. One looked old, maybe from our run here a fortnight ago, another was clearly today's. I stopped to pick them up when I could, fully intending to get rid of them at the next aid station (or the one after that, or the turnaround, or maybe on the way back, or ..... Yep, carried them all the way to the finish line). The weather has cleared after early drizzle and the sun is warm but race conditions are near perfect. Second gel, more sports drink. Stop 5 minutes later to eat some Cliff Bar and then think I should have done it at the aid station, that is, had a yak with the vollies (dumb...)

Roads and Suburbia

Hyslops aid station marks the start of the roads, bits of suburbia, sections of small reserve before we get to the back of Arthurs Seat. A couple of friends here at the aid station, Grace who I stayed with the night before, and Kat, one of the founding RD's at Inverloch parkrun. Both ushering the runners to the marquee, telling us what was on offer. I decided I had enough water and food, so went running through. Only to bump into Danny Burgess. He'd stopped to get food in and realised he'd started a bit too fast.

Danny (far left of picture) and I travelling well down
Duells Road. Photo credit: Toni Mackinlay.

Danny and I ran down Hyslops together, across Browns Road where there were lots of spectators and into the bush section beyond. Nasty little climb at the end of this bush then back out on to a gravel road again, heading towards Coolgowie Bushland Reserve. This is the back end of Rosebud, and a bitumen road looms ahead, a few cars, spectators (Nicole and Toni from Victorian Ultra Runners, VUR, taking photos, calling out names). Most of us are still having a few chats with one another, the pace is deliberately cruisey as we have a fair few k's left to run (and a double date with Arthurs Seat).

Through Coolgowie Bushland Reserve, past the Aid station here (someone telling me my board shorts were great, matching my legs, or some such statement..) and more bitumen as we climb Coolgowie Road to turn right up Waterfall Gully Road, heading to Arthurs Seat NP. DTR Diana was marshalling at the entrance, taking photos, accepting hugs, and then we were through and our first date with Arthurs.

Up and Then Down...

But before the date proper we had to deal with his bastard brother 'The hill at Maclarens Dam', a short pinch of 1.4k that starts very steep, then flattens out. So steep at the start, that as soon as the gradient gets to about 10 degrees, the natural tendency is to run. Then stop when you realise you can't really run this. It dips down, you think "Bewdy, climbing at an end", but no. Fecker goes on a bit longer, on road, all the way. Views across to Sorrento and Nepean Point on this day are wonderful (excepting those darkish clouds over Port Phillip Bay).

Climbing finally stops. By now Danny has got ahead of me, Mark Liam is with me (another VUR) and we are chatting with a girl doing her first ultra. What a great way to tick that one off. Turn into the trail proper and now is the waiting game to see when the front-runners return in the opposite direction. Wasn't long before on a section of flowing single trail runners in front were calling out "RUNNERS!!" Well yes, we were runners, but... Then Ash Bennet, Francesco Ciancio and another runner came flying around a corner. Myself and 2 other runners neatly side-stepping off the track before rejoining it. Closely followed by Majell Backhausen and then the first women, Lucy Bartholomew flying past and looking super strong.

And then it was a steady stream of runners coming back. A few saying hello, people I know, and people who know me. Gave me quite a boost. Then finally hit a pop-up aid station, a VUR had set up with coke, potato crisps and lollies. On the way back I would avail myself of this.

Then the descent towards Dromana. had a female runner pass me down here. She knew me, knew my name (wasn't on the bib), knew my running and injury history and my history with this event. Which was great, except when it came to her it was 'bar of soap' territory. I'm really sorry if you're reading this, I'm shithouse with names (and faces in reality), and feel terrible. Halfway down bump into fellow BBR runner Colin Hart gamely climbing back up. A quick hello, he tells me I'm looking strong (well thanks, but I am going downhill at this point!) and down I go. Start seeing lots more runners now, many I know on their way to PB's, strong runs etc.

Finally, I come to the end of the trail and hit the bitumen section on Lachlan Parade that leads us directly to Dromana. Now I have an issue with this section. As discussed with Nick Cimdins, why does it seem to take longer to run downhill to Dromana, than it does to turn around and hike major sections of that back up? The run down took forever. Those black clouds out over Port Phillip Bay 25 or so minutes ago? Materialised as a light shower along here. My mood darkened accordingly, and I just wanted to get into Dromana and see friends and refuel and get off the sodding road (and have a piss, busting most of the way down Arthurs, too many other runners to stop. Then HELLO suburbia...)

That Was the Easy Bit

Entering the aid station at Dromana. Slap on the arse from Matt.
Closely followed in by friend Drew Dunstone. Photo credit: Paula Pettingill.

Then after a millennium of running, Dromana aid station came into sight. Baw Baw Runner Carolyn was there directing us left to go across the timing pads, Matt Veenstra was there (slap on the arse probably needed when I was leaving aid station, not entering 😁 ) and Jamie Smith, all there to help me out. One of the icons of Two Bays is ringing the bell at the turnaround. And gee I gave that bell a bloody great bash! Stopped, grabbed some replacement sports drink (thanks, Warick King for the help there), gels and ran off to the toilet. Crucially I didn't pick up a spare bottle of Pickle Juice, thinking I was right. Would later pay dearly for that decision.

Colin Hart just before Dromana aid station.
Photo credit: Paula Pettingill.

Mental state better, partially recovered I left Dromana and headed back up Arthurs Seat for the 2nd of 2 dates today. Still lots of runners coming in, hi-5s and greetings as we all passed. Passed Kate Smith along here. She was volunteering, ringing a cowbell loudly and cheering us all on. Was a nice throwback to me, don't really know Kate well but met here through a mutual friend in 2014 when she ran the 56, and I ran my first 28 here. Further up at the end of the road before we returned to the Arthurs Seat trail, gun ultra runner Kath MacMillan was also there with a cowbell. But I was walking this section, "bell only rings for walkers!" I was told. "Douche grade hill" might also have been mentioned. Thanks, Kath...

Back up the trail and bumped into fellow DTR's Majid and Stephen. Majid looked like he wanted to get on with it, Stephen looked like he was picking his way deliberately and slowly up the trail. We soon all separated again. The most I remember about climbing here was hoping that my legs would be able to run again when the gradient flattened out. When it did I was able to run, but the sections over Arthurs had taken their toll. Still with 24k's+ to go, things weren't looking flash. Nevertheless, I've been here before, I knew I needed to just keep moving as moods change, the body adapts etc.
Exited the trail, then the downhill section that was the bastard uphill section that was (still is) the road to Maclarens Dam! The final steep section involved a number of us tip-toeing down on the road. Either that or run on the grass verge, but that didn't look any better, to be honest. Finally onto the dam wall and then back out onto Waterfall Gully Road. Backtracking to Coolgowie on roads that gently descend was fine for my legs, but on Coolgowie Road I felt the first tentative twinges of cramp in the right hamstring and left calf. Suddenly realised I hadn't grabbed the extra Pickle Juice but thought if I keep my gels and sports drink up I would survive. Stopped at the aid station at the bottom, friend Lou helping me out, everyone asking me how I was going. One of the frontrunners of the race had pulled out here. Franky was hanging around issuing orders, encouragement etc.

Through Coolgowie Busland Reserve, then back onto another road. It was along here, and into the next reserve that I was spying more empty gel packets. Picked a couple up before working out that I couldn't bend over to pick them up. Actually, barefaced lie. I could bend over, standing up was going to be the weak link in the chain.

Just Plugging Away

The section from Duells Road to Browns Road is a phytophthora free area. Wash down pads at either end for us to scrub our shoes and for me a reminder of the fragility of areas we run in and the impacts we can have. Crossed Browns Road and then contemplated the climb up Hyslops. I was well aware when Danny and I ran down this 4 hours previous how steep and long it actually was. Running back was just confirmation really. Ran/walked until it got too steep, then walked all the way into the aid station. Grace and Kat and Bernie Hughes all here, all checking us out and giving us what we needed. I stopped here for just over a minute and a half, recovering and mentally preparing myself for the next section through Greens, and my favourite section on this course.

Baw Baw Runners finished the 28k. L to R: Ash Buchanan, Paul Myers, Catherine Mckenna and Paul Fallon.
Photo credit: Linda Myers.

It was in here that I ran alongside several runners, leap-frogging one another for most of this section. Jason, Kay and one who I shall refer to as 'Runner in yellow shirt'. Actually, his name is Andrew, I just didn't know that at the time! This section gently descends, for the most part, through the beautiful bush. Lots of tree ferns, eucalyptus, bird life. The dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy made it humid in here, but it wasn't hot, just a bit warm. But it really was perfect running conditions. Just a pity my legs decided this was the section to pack it in...

Cramps came and went. Run, cramp, massage, walk it out, run again, rinse repeat. It was a slog. All the way through here was the same. But still I pushed on, every step is a step closer to finish, every time you run it happens quicker. Our little group leapfrogged, we chatted, encouraged one another and just kept moving forward. Andrew (from Brisbane, did I mention that?) were side-by-side in sections here, nit chatting, juts running and getting it done. As I've said, this section is wonderful, and it helped to salve the mental battles I was waging. There are a couple of short steep little climbs, not much, but these really started to make the cramps come on strong.

It took me 1:15 to get from the top of Hyslops to Boneo Road. All that time running, walking, running again. Keeping our little group in sight. Sometimes getting ahead (as we were all battling some issues of either fatigue, cramping or injury etc.), but we never got too far ahead or behind each other. There was a small aid station somewhere near Long Point Road that had coke, water and various goodies. Stop here, a quick chat with Jac who I met at Wonderland, and then on I pressed to Boneo Road. I was really setting my sights on getting to Boneo. I'd been using each aid station as little markers to aim for. No more than 10k apart, their appearance a blessing, the leaving a sad but necessary fact if I wanted to get this done. About 2k from Boneo, I lost sight of my friend in yellow (Andrew, from Brisbane, apparently we'd met before!). We'd been urging each other on for the nearly an hour, but he was clearly stronger and was running faster.

Now Boneo was next, and a bit special. Last aid stop before the finish, set in a pleasant grove of trees just off the road, and I have special memories of this place. First Two Bays in 2014, 22k mark of my 28k run and I hit this station having run strongly through Greens. But I had needed water, and or sports drink desperately. Grabbed the first cup I saw downed it, then realised that it was coke. Not normally an issue, but I was 2 months into a no added sugar diet, and the combination of sugar and caffeine had the required effect as I mowed down 20+ runners on the way to Cape Schanck! Following year, as a volunteer there I witnessed the (what I thought then as) superhuman feats by many runners in the 56. And I was on hand to help my friend Chrissy in her first Two Bays after she'd had a pretty bad race. 2018, and roles are reversed as she is there, and I'm running in.

An aid station that was an oasis in a world of hurt for me. So great seeing these guys and girls.
My 3 friends are from far left, Chris, Chrissy and Michael. Photo credit ?

After the gentle descent through Greens, the path comes out of the forest into open plain grassland, and then the trail climbs to Boneo Road. Traffic noise becomes evident, then still a kilometre out, the noise from the volunteers can be heard. Shouting, yelling, a horn of some description, cowbells; a grin spreads across my face. That last climb was a struggle, but before I knew it, the exit to the road appeared, and across the road I ran to the aid station.

An Oasis in my World of Pain 

Finishing.
Photo credit: Tony O'Connell

The noise was full-on. Spectators lining the path in, my friend Rose who I haven't seen in years is there, having run the 28k in the morning. Friends Chris and Michael were there on hand to greet me as I got to the table. Other vollies came over, offering water, sports drinks, coke etc. I was a bit dazed here but in good spirits. But I was also hurting pretty hard, the cramps and the fatigue really getting to me. Chrissy was busy attending to another runner, but was soon there to see me and get me all that I needed, give me the biggest hug and send me on my way. Was just the boost I needed. A few kinds words from Michael and Nigel, and zooper dooper from Kim Day and off I went again.

Finishing.
Photo credit: Rose Fuller

I'd had high hopes that I could run most of the way to Cape Schanck, but 2 minutes down the track, another eye-watering cramp hit me. More sports drink, one last gel and I continued on. In my mind's eye, I was slowing down and being passed by plenty of runners along here. And that may well have been the case, but a look at the results shows that I pulled back many places over the 2nd half of the course! Finally, I reached the horrid steps up the far side of Burrabong Creek and hobbled up them. By now even walking up these steps raises the heart rate.  From here it is 2.5k to the finish. I don't care about the distance, I just keep going until I start registering markers like the first sighting of the lighthouse, the several benches along the way, the road that comes in from the right.

Then, as with Boneo, the noise of the finish line can be heard. Is it a trick of the south-westerly breeze making it seem closer? Another runner looms up on my right and passes me. She looks stronger, but we both walk the next hill, I stay close behind, using her as inspiration to keep going. Hoping she doesn't think I feel slighted that she's passed me. I'm beyond that, finishing is the only thing. Kate Smith appears from around a corner, cowbell still going, still yelling encouragement to me.

One Day Son, This Race is Gunna End

Smiling, at the end of an ultra...
Photo credit: Matt Veenstra

And all of a sudden we enter the wide open area just before finish line. People are still lining the path in. Lots of yelling of names, people holding out their hands to hi-5 me and other runners. Such a great feeling, all the pain suddenly forgotten, all the cramps suddenly disappeared (I hope...), and the speed picks up as we turn right and climb the final stretch to the finish line. The sun is out, people are yelling out, a volunteer is there waiting to place a medal around my neck. There is nothing I wouldn't give at that very moment to be bottled and brought back at times of trouble.

Cross the finish lines arms aloft, then stop the watch and receive the biggest hug from friend Karen who'd been getting anxious wondering where I was. She placed the medal on my neck and then directed me to food and drink on the table. Honestly couldn't eat or drink anything, but an ice cold can of coke did the trick. The only time I'll ever drink the stuff, during and post ultra. I was walking around for a bit, under cover of the finish line, mainly because I didn't think I could sit without cramping.

Standing in the finish line area, can of coke in hand, my friend in yellow comes over to say hello. Turns out we'd met before. He'd run Warragul parkrun several weeks back, then the 2 of us had met on the Two Towns trail between Warragul and Drouin 3 weeks before the race. His sister-in-law recognised me from parkrun on the day. Small world indeed.

The Aftermath

December 2017 marked my biggest ever distance and vertical climbed since I've kept records. Yet that alone wasn't enough to get me through Two Bays 56. Yet I don't think I'm too far away in terms of strength and conditioning. Continue training, strength work in the gym, and avoid over-training injury and the gains will come. And eat early in the race, I'm still leaving it far too late, when the point of no return has passed.
Such a great event, I will be back next year for sure.
A big thank you to all the organising crew, Rohan Day, Michael Clarke and Kate Ablett. As well as all the volunteers (the aid stations are the best), and lastly all the other runners. Always run in the great spirit of companionship, and friendly rivalry it is the perfect start to the racing calendar year.

Next event is Tarawera 62 in New Zealand.
Then Roller Coaster 21 2 weeks after that. Recovery the key between events.

Until next time....

Victorian Ultra Runners (VUR) group shot. Big representation will look great
when VUR colours are on display.

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.