Sick Times

You win some, you lose some. And it's easy for me to think that a DNF on Sunday was a loss. But with another ultra 3 weeks after, bailing now and cutting those losses will hopefully result in a win. That was the thinking, anyway.

Background

Two Bays was my first trail race, the one that hooked me. Although I have a somewhat chequered history with the race. 28k in 2014, injured and DNS for years 2015 to 2017 inclusive, then 56k in 2018. Still, undaunted by that pedigree, I love the build-up, the training, following everyone else's trials and tribulations as they try to get through Christmas and New year to the start line.
I had come off the back of a stellar 2018, 6 ultras, all races a success, and then a bit of downtime before training recommenced. November saw the build-up, December was the big month. 300k (my first ever 300k month), including training right through Christmas and New Year. Then it all went pear-shaped. Picked up a cold somewhere on holidays, or travelling back. A run in the Dandenongs on New Years Day was a disaster. I was so far off the pace, not realising I had a cold. The following 2 weeks a race against time to rid me of the cold, and get ready for race day.

Curl and I all smiles before the start.
Photo credit: Carloyn Gilchrist

Travelling down the day before with friend Carolyn, it will be her first Two Bays, 56k and longest run to date. I'm more excited for her than myself.

Race Day: Anatomy of an Unfolding Failed Race

The alarm goes off at 5:00 am. An atypical sleep of the pre-race, wake at regular intervals as the brain attempts to not miss the alarm. Breakfast with Carolyn, she is anxious and fussing around. I'm fairly calm, having completed a number of these events. I tend to take the view that once on the start line, it's up to fate what happens on the day. If you are well prepared, the less that can go wrong.
Drive to Dromana to pick up Mak and Carl, then the 4 of us head to Cape Schanck. The weather is mild, a bit windy when we get there, with the promise of warmer weather later in the day.
Start line is the usual mix of social gathering, long lines to the toilets (the mens for once!) and a few pre-race jitters. Photos, selfies, a few hugs for close friends, then Kate Ablett counted us down to the start.

Victorian Ultra Runners (VUR) group photo. For laughs, pay close attention to photo right
Photo credit ?

The first few k's I concentrate on setting an easy pace. Easier said than done as everyone seems to go out way too fast for an ultra. Chatting with a few other runners, some I'm meeting for the first time having been social media acquaintances previously. About 3k in, my shoelace came undone. I should say rookie error, but I know by now to double knot them. It only takes one section of undergrowth, one step on an errant lace and the potential for tripping increases. A few of the climbs towards Boneo Road aid station, and I'm already walking. I tell myself it's to conserve energy early, and that everyone else is going too fast. Secretly I know energy levels are down, and I'm not looking good. But the beauty of an ultra is that no matter how shit you are currently feeling, you probably still have 40+ k's to work through it.

Was playing tag along here with Carolyn (aka Curl). She had started well and looked comfortable. We acknowledged each other as we passed, but little chat. It was business, getting this race done. Crossed Boneo Road. I stopped, the first piece of food for the day (a few pieces of Clif Bar). It didn't sit well for a few minutes, but after running another k and realising how much I was already sweating, that feeling seemed to be forgotten. Wind our way along the creek before a short climb to the turnoff to Long Pt Circuit, and the start of the diversion for the 56k runners. I love this first section. Single trail, beautiful lush green undergrowth and those sumptuous smells of the early morning. But today, I felt wretched. Really, even here. 8, nearly 9k in. But I still refused to believe here that the day was gone. Just keep moving and see what happens.

Dandenongs Trail Runners group photo for the 56 before the start.

We turn off the track and turn onto a trail that is more road. Open to the elements (the sun is starting to climb high and get warm) and sandy underfoot (cue Margaret River Ultra flashbacks), I was caught up by Chris and Matthew and we chatted for a bit as we ran. No doubt the chat helped me take my mind of my difficulties, and the flatter terrain meant I could find a good pace. Coupled with the fact that by now we have thinned out and are running alongside runners of similar abilities and pace. I won't say it became easy, but the first time today I thought that maybe things were looking up.
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Around the 12 or 13k mark, I was joined by Dave and Charis, running together for her first 56. It was along here, sharing the trail with a number of friends that I felt the best. It still wasn't easy, but the pace was fine, and it seemed like I could do this for a lot longer. Sections of the track are very sandy. The recent dry conditions have made the sand loose. It becomes a battle to find a firm track to run on. At about 16k mark we hit the aid station at the top of Hyslops. My friend Caz is there, taking photos and cheering us all on. It didn't need to stop here, plenty of food still in the pack, and enough fluids to get me to the next stop.

When Thoughts Turned to the Alternative

Going down Hyslops should have been easy after the track. But I made it look deceptively difficult. I was labouring, and I knew it. Stopped halfway down to eat some food, but it didn't sit well in the stomach. I felt ill and was now worrying about keeping food down. Just as we crossed Browns Road and headed back into the bush trail, a tap on the shoulder and VUR supremo Jon Lim (aka, the bearded Asian) was there. We had a brief chat, both of us struggling but intent on getting into Dromana under cutoff so that we could have the luxury of a bit of time to do the return. At that point, 18k, that sounded just fine.

Crossing Browns Road with Jon Lim on my right shoulder. Can't really see here, but apparently, my face was a shade
of grey. Despi is photo right. Photo credit: Renee Duyvesten

The bush track is called Stefanie Rennick Walk; a short but beautiful section of trail that has a few steep climbs at either end. running down here, friend Despi asks me how I'm going. I conceal a lot, "okay, but not great". Later she confessed that she thought I looked terrible but didn't want to tell me that, in case it had a negative effect on me. Glad she did, I was feeling crap, but still determined at that point. Along here I caught up with Curl. Couldn't recall when she'd passed me, but was good to share some time with her as we climbed back out onto Duells Road. Gravel road, out in the open, but at least in this direction, downhill. It was here that cramps started to really get to her. She stopped a few times, stretch them out and continue on. I stayed with her. Twofold reasons, concern for her, and realisation that my race was shot, so I could at least help her. On Duells and after we turned onto Yambie Avenue, twice we had to stop and I massaged her calves. There were huge knots in them.

Eventually, she stopped again and urged me to keep going. I'd given her a salt chew to see if that helped, and continued on to the aid station at Avalon Avenue. Friend Zoe was volunteering here. So great to see her, I could have stayed hugging her for another hour. I really did feel crap here. No energy, no drive, and no mental strength left to draw on. Run walk up Coolgowie Street, just as the front runner in the 56 returns in the opposite direction. Shit that's fast, I thought. Then I thought that maybe I was was just going slower than I'd thought. Later I realised it was both... Friend Mark at the gate that joins the Two Bays trail again, and the ascent after McClarens Dam. Mark gives me a cheer and a bit of a rev. Needed it, but within 2 minutes I'm walking again. Last year the 2 of us had climbed this section, probably a good 20 minutes earlier than I was now.

The Mind is Made Up

Friends Jaye and Michelle are marshals at the bottom of the steep climb. I wave gamely at them then head up. My legs are gone. I know it. And it is up here I decide to just get to Dromana and call it quits. No gains left for today, nothing else but destroying myself further and prompting a long recovery, and the chance I won't be good for next race. That race being 2 weeks and 6 days after this!

Many runners starting to pass me coming back from Dromana. First the front-runners, then the main pack. It is in the main pack, and seeing a lot of friends (who ask me how I'm going), that I start to actually tell anyone I'm done in and pulling out at halfway. Disappointed as that decision was, I was comfortable with it (and 9 days later, I'm more than comfortable with it as I'm already running and feeling good). I'd like to say the descent to Dromana was uneventful. It was until I went to hi 5 Trish Yates and ended up sitting on my arse. It was funny, mainly because no-one got hurt, and it probably looked funny.

By now, the numbers of runners returning in the opposite direction is at it's most numerous. I finally exit the park and hit the top of Latrobe Parade. Last year this bitumen downhill section did my head in. At this point, I was really not looking forward to it at all. Stopped to chat with a few friends. Their enquiries being replied with my decision.

26k in, another 2k to go to Dromana. It took an eternity. It was hot, but that wasn't the source of my discomfort. My stomach was churning, several times I thought I might have thrown up. I was light-headed and really just in the worst of moods. That eternity finally ended as I turned the corner at Dromana, spied Matt Veenstra and told him that was it. Crossed the timing mat, rang the bell, then calmly unstrapped my hydration vest to get some cool air around my chest. 3:33, 12 minutes under the cutoff, but in no mood to return back.

The buses bringing 28k runners back from Cape Schanck were returning, and a few friends came over to chat. Curl then entered the halfway, still battling cramps, ate some food and headed off again. This time with the whole packet of my salt chews. I was suitably impressed. Jon Lim had left just as I entered the transition area, but would also bail on the other side of Arthurs Seat.

Jon and I with Kate Ablett after we'd DNF'ed. We are smiling!
Photo credit: Jon Lim

I went and lay down in the shade. I messaged Nicky, told her I'd DNF'ed, and then posted to social media before heading to the beach with Megan (who'd done the 28k) to wash the legs, cool down and unwind. After a couple of hours, I developed an appetite and Megan gave me a lift back to Cape Schanck where I finally devoured some food and coffee and anything else I could get my hands on.

Was great seeing all my friends finish. No FOMO, just inspired by their efforts on such a hot day. Times well down on previous years, but these are the days that bears legendary efforts. Many friends were very supportive and comforting, and I thank you all. I was very calm and quite okay with it all. Except when I saw my good friend Belle, after she had finished with Nick Cimdins. The look of disappointment on her face as she went to hug me nearly made the tears come. Clearly, I was in a bit of a fragile state, just didn't realise it.

Now, all there was left to do was to wait for Curl to finish. One by one runners came in; late 6 hours, then 7 hours, then mid 7 hours. There were still a few out there. 7:50 came and went (and friend Despi from earlier in the day cramped coming over the line), then 7:55 and finally 8:00 hours and cutoff. So that was that. Curls family had arrived and were waiting patiently. Then at around the 8:30 mark, Curl arrived. Just in front of another friend, Karin. Both would receive medals, but no officially recorded time. Curl was more than a bit emotional as her family greeted her. It had been a tough day, cramps for most of the race, coupled with the heat. But she finished what she set out to do, and couldn't be prouder of her, thankfully put my day into perspective.

After she had recovered a bit, we decided to head down to Jetty Road Brewery and celebrate with a few ales and sparkling wine. Sitting there celebrating someone else's triumph made me remember my first time I completed Two Bays, and the sense of achievement it gave me. the day was complete.

Post Race

So on Saturday, I thought I was fine to run, but the Sunday showed me otherwise. 2 days after Two Bays I was still feeling some ill effects, but eventually, I chanced a run and although it felt crappy, the next one was a vast improvement. The decision to bail when I did was the wisest one I could have made (short of not doing anything at all). With Cradle Mountain run coming up, I needed to recover, and that I have done. It is now 11 days out and I'm finally feeling confident about it again.
The only downside was later on seeing how many people didn't finish on the day. Don't know how high it was statistically with recent Two Bays events, but there were many friends on that list, and I was gutted for them. But I know they will all be back, as I shall be back.

A few DTRs photobombing the Running in the Burbs group photo. If you can't have a bit of fun before the start,
what is the point of living? And I think this might have started a bit of photobombing competition.
Photo credit?

Up Next

February 2nd -  Cradle Mountain run. My A list race for 2019. 80k on a technical trail in a remote area. Recent extreme weather, current fires there are making the cancellation of the event a possibility.
March 16th - Sharpies beer run. Because, why not...
March 23rd - Duncans 100k. Because there were cheap opening night specials...

Until next time...

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...

Always The Sun

Every year our RD (Rohan Day and Race Director, it's all in the initials) prays for snow on race day.
Every year we runners pray for the opposite.
2015, mild and dry
2016, wet, cold with rivers where trails once were, and
2017, cold after overnight rain, wet trails and snow last 36k runners and the sweeps.
Roll on 2018 and what are we served up with? The 'zero bragging rights, zero excuses for a failure' of near-perfect weather. Disappointed indeed...

It's hard when you've been talking up the mandatory gear list and the 101 reasons for carrying it, when a bluebird day greeted us. Churlish? No. But I wonder what we can expect next year. Oh and I will be there next year, the year after that, and every year until the bitter end.

A Bit of History

Wonderland 20 and 36k events run on the Sunday are quite often the focus of the weekend. Many more of us travel to run those 2 events than the 2 and 8k events on the Saturday. But it is good to remind ourselves why the Saturday events are important. Firstly, they introduce many runners to trails. How many young kids running either 2 or 8 will grow up to be our next Australian rep or a budding race director for a new or existing trail race? Secondly, Halls Gap is a bit of a drive for well over 90% of the participants and volunteers. Such a great way to encourage the family to not only make the trip but to run and/or vollie. As such, this event has become a favourite on the running calendar, most of us already pencilling a prospective date for next year and grabbing all the best accommodation around the place.

Pre-race carb load in Beaufort.

My history with this race has been documented before, no need to go over that in detail. But in some respects, I always felt I had a point to prove with this course. It has everything; rock clambering, some decent climbs, stunning views from up top, beautiful single trail, a fabulous flowing downhill (on the 36, c'mon you 20k runners, you know you want to do this!), and a final 14k section that whilst being a bit of a grind, is also very runnable and a great way to test the speed or endurance (depending on how well you've smashed yourself across the top.

Race Weekend

Nicky had decided to join me this year. She came up in 2016 for the rainy shitfest of a weekend and quite possibly vowed never to return. At the last minute, our friend Rachel also decided to come up. They would both run the 8k on the Saturday, and then go off and do their thing on Sunday as I ran my race. As I was volunteering on Saturday afternoon, we left early to try and get there for lunch. And that we did. A few hours to spare, we all checked in at registration and I tried not to smoke the credit card on merchandise and food supplements (just succeeded, just…). A quick bite to eat and then I was off up the track to marshal for the kids 2k run.

(Before I headed off, Dave from Colbric Medics stuck his head out of the First Aid tent, waved and said hello to me and mentioned that he'd book a place for me for tomorrow. Cheeky sod!)

Race start on Saturday for the 2 and 8k events.

I was at the 1k mark, directing everyone across the bridge and hi-fiving kids and adults alike. Kids were great; some slapping my hand with gusto, some barely flicking the fingers, others just giving me a sour look and folding their arms. To be fair, I've volunteered at races where adults have done exactly the same thing. Finally, the sweeps come through, but they've de-marked the course of ribbons. It shouldn't have been, it was the first k of the 20 and 36 courses the very next day. No problems, myself and another vollie grabbed them and walked back and re-marked. Somewhere along here I remembered that a friend Tony O'Connell was sweeping the 36 course, and one of his duties would be to remove the ribbons from the course. Now far be it from me to say Tony is short, just not as tall as me. So I cheekily chucked a few high up in the trees; having to jump up, grab the branch and peg the ribbon so that it hung tantalisingly about 2 and a half metres in the air! Unfortunately, my practical joke was all for naught as it was the 20k sweeps who de-marked this section, and it was the lithe, long-limbed Nicole Paton who had no problems through here. Bugger…

Rachel and Nicky after finishing the 8k.
Photo credit: Nicole Walsh

Back at the start-finish line again, and now volunteering for the 8k race. Many runners who would run on the Sunday were running this event (some also rocked up with their kids for the 2k). Nicky and Rachel were dressed and ready to go in their Baw Baw Runners tops, looking very chipper indeed. My role here was handing out medals at the finish, as well as giving the podium placegetters a card that alerted them to time, and attendance for prize giving. That all went well until after mens 1, 2 and 3 came in, I had to wait for the first 3 women to finish. You'd think that would be an easy task, and it was as I knew 2 of the first 3 women. But before my friend Kerry ran into 3rd place, a young (under 10) child finished. A mop of curly hair, tied in a bun at the back. Being young, the voice hadn't broken. You are probably guessing where this is going… No-one near me who can tell me how many females have placed, my mind in a whirl trying to think through this, I just hope the poor lad wasn't traumatised by my attempts to determine his gender. It was such a relief when Kerry finished and I could hand her the 3rd place card.

Nicky and Rachel finished in 54 minutes, quite a good time on this course, both happy enough with their runs. The sun still shining, even though the temperature was dropping, it was still a picturesque sight in Halls during the late afternoon.

Saturday night out for dinner with other runners from my local running group, Baw Baw Runners (BBR). Running the 20k event were Paul, Catherine, Dave and Leonnie. Another BBR Gines was running the 36 with me, but not dining with us. The conversation turned to running (no surprises there), and about eating and drinking before an event and how to avoid the dreaded early race pit stop. Shane Winzar from LTR was sitting behind me at another table with his family, but unable to contain himself added his observations on this illuminating topic.

Home by 9, spent the next 30 minutes sorting through gear and placing it piles on the floor in our room so that I could grab it all in the dark the following morning and not disturb Nicky.

Myself, Nicky, Rachel, Leonnie and Dave from
 Baw Baw Runners.
Photo credit: Nicole Walsh.

Race Day

Unlike previous years, it was dry. But quite cold. The alarm went off at 5 so I could get up and eat at least 90 minutes before the race. To not disturb both Nicky and Rachel I attempted to do everything using my phone torch app. Not easy, but I managed to cook my porridge, toast some bread and brew a strong coffee. Then it was get dressed in the dark and wait around for the time to wake everyone up and head to the start line.

Before the race, calm but a tad cold.
Picture credit: Nicole Walsh.

Never one to get really nervous before a trail race, but even by my standards, I was very relaxed. Focused, but just ticking over the time before we headed off. Dry gear bag dropped off in the hall, chat with a few friends, wish them all the best etc. then head over to the start area to get ready. Caught up with other BBR's ready to run, quick photo then into the start chute. Chatting with friend Karin and she asked me what time I expected to do. I paused, then told her I was hoping for around 4:30. And in all seriousness, this was the first time I'd really told anyone that time. I'd thought about it prior to the event, wondered if I was capable, but kept it all to myself. I've made bold predictions before but then seen them dissolve in a sub-par performance.

More photos and then countdown (Matt Bell nearly missing the start…) and we were off.

Always up for a selfie with Caz!

Climb to Pinnacle

Some people went blasting out of the start area. Not sure whether that was nerves, over-enthusiasm, or a need to get in front to avoid bottlenecks on the stairs and climbs. I was content to run a very comfortable pace in the early stages. Been here before, know the course can trash all and sundry on the first 2 climbs, and it's 20 or 36k, not 5….

Sure enough, first stairs were slow, other steeper climbs were at a very casual pace. It wasn't until we were a few k's from The Pinnacle that the runners started to get some distances between them and we were able to run our own pace. Then you would get to another hard section and close up again in an attempt to hold the pace and maybe pass a few people. Met a number of friends on the way up here, all of us remarking on how great the weather was, and even though cool it was nice to run in.

Early in the race, and loving the scenery as we run through some spectacular areas.
Photo credit: Supersports Images

Hit the Grand Canyon and we slowed up again. Nobody really frustrated here, we all just kept moving and respectful of each other's needs. By now I can sense we are near the top of this climb, I'm going well, time to the top similar to last year. And that was the plan, easy across the top of both The Pinnacle and Rosea, then push the pace on the sections beyond if I had it in me.

View from The Pinnacles Lookout. Fog and/or low cloud in the adjacent valley.

As we approached the top, I passed Stuart Hughes. Not sure if his recent race in Western States was still taking its toll on him, but he ventured that he was struggling a bit. Knowing Stuart he would put in a solid 2nd half performance and probably catch me along the way. I stopped at the platform to take a few photos of the view, cloud and/or fog in the lower valleys outside of Halls Gap, and then continued on my way.

Descent to Rosea Carpark

The descent of Pinnacle isn't hard, but you need to pick your line to run and trust your footing. Falls here can be catastrophic. The sun now shining on us, the temperature was a few degrees warmer and very comfortable to run in. A few rock scrambles later we hit the single trail on the way to the next aid station. By now numbers have thinned out, and it is only a few others around me as we ran. Felt good here, it was nice to stretch the legs out and actually doing some consistent running after the climb. Most of this was downhill, which is an added bonus. (Although it does mean we then climb again later…)

Hard going on some of the stone steps. Trying not
to go arse up in front of the camera #focus
Photo credit: Supersports Images

Hit the aid station at Sundial and I ran through. Still had heaps of water, hadn't even had a gel at this point and we are over an hour in and around 7k (such was the slow pace of the climb). A quick wave and thanks to the volunteers as I ran through, and then started the climb towards where the 20k runners split off to the left. Thought I was hallucinating at this point, could have sworn I saw an undertaker on the side of the trail. But no, it was just Rohan Day chatting with the marshal here! He called out to me alluding to the fact I was still going and not to repeat 2015's aborted attempt. I assured him I wasn't going to…

After the split from the 20k runners, it was down to 3 of us climbing up before the descent to Rosea carpark. Didn't realise it at the time, but fellow VUR Amanda Meggison was up ahead, I followed her as we climbed, taking the opportunity to have quick drink and a quick breather.

Through Rosea carpark aid
station.
Photo credit: Warwick King.

Hit the descent to Rosea carpark and I was content to tuck in behind Amanda. She descends better than me, not hard really, I'm pretty crap at descending. At one point a runner comes up behind us, descending faster. Trail etiquette dictates that you call out if you want to pass, he did. Then promptly took 2 steps, tripped and hit the ground, at pace. We had barely slowed when he bounced back up, dusted himself off and continued on his way. I was reminded of the difference between trail runners and Brazilian footballer Neymar's histrionics at the recent World Cup. As we approached Rosea carpark aid station, I ran over the spot where I rolled an ankle in 2015. Barely registered this year, just a memory.

Climb to Rosea

Friend Warwick once again dressed up for the occasion was volunteering here. I asked if there were toilets here (couldn't remember from the race notes), as I was a bit desperate. No was the reply, bugger was mine. Nothing to do but run on and hope I make it to Borough Huts before an accident occurs (too much info?). On the other side of the aid station is a gentle climb. Previous years I've walked a fair bit of this, but feeling stronger I decided to run as much as I can, knowing that it gets steeper and less likely to be any running on the final climb to Rosea. This is what is commonly called douche grade hill, enough to know you are climbing, not steep enough to justify a walk. It went on for a bit, probably a k and a half before we turned hard left and commenced the hardest climb of the day. Now, 10.5k in around the hour and a half mark and the rock hopping commences, again. There are some sections you can trot, probably last about 50 metres, then it's clambering again.

I take the opportunity to have my first gel of the day. I was carrying 2 gels and a cliff bar along with some sports drink and about 1 and a half litres of water. I might have overdone the water, it was a bit of weight in the pack, but I didn't want to have to refill the bladder for a 36k race, just sports drink flask (much easier and quicker).

Looking south towards Dunkeld region. Climb to Rosea summit.

Nearing the summit of Rosea, views looking north.

As we climb, the views behind us towards Dunkeld and surrounds come into view. Another stunning vista, I stop for a photo. In doing so I lost track of the 4 guys I was following. Most, if not all had indicated they were running Wonderland for the first time. I hoped they wouldn't get lost across the top. Despite near perfect conditions, sections of trail here are hard to follow. PWS markers missing or faded paint on rocks makes it a bit of a lottery in places. I pushed a steady pace up, aware I was a bit faster than previous years but keeping it in check knowing the final 14/15k from Borough has always been my nemesis in previous attempts. Close to the top and I started to catch a few runners. Some are being cautious, some are stopping to take photos, and possibly rest breaks, others are confused by the trail.

Descent to Borough Huts

Precariously close to the edge, Rosea.

Eventually, we summit Rosea then start the descent. Firstly on lots and lots of rock. The trail twists and turns, you have to crouch down and clamber through rock crevasses, jump down off metre high rock ledges and then occasionally you get some running again. Only to have another section of rocks. But, it's fun. It keeps you guessing, you have to focus intensely to stop accidents, and there is really never a dull moment across here. There is one final rock staircase to descend until we hit the single trail 5+k descent to Borough Huts. A runner behind me, we get the legs working again, slowly picking up the pace until we are going fast enough to stay in control. We don't say a word, just head down and enjoy the run down. Picked up a few runners down here, and then had 2 come barrelling past me 2k out from Borough. 1 of them the guy who stacked in front of me (I'd passed him climbing Rosea). Blood streaming down his leg from his knee to his shoes! A k out from Borough my quads were feeling the descent. I peeled back the pace and cruised into the aid station.

Borough is always my fave aid station. And it didn't disappoint today. Friend Nicole and her friend Jacqui were dressed up in Alice in Wonderland themes. Nicole helping me with drink refill and telling me I looked in great shape. Actually, I felt pretty good. It is 21k to there, a good ol fashioned half mara, albeit a pretty friggin tough one! But previously I've got here, felt like shit and then had a shit run back to the finish. I was a bit fatigued, I won't lie, but I still felt I had plenty of running in the legs. A quick pick of a few lollies from the table, downed a gel (only 2nd of the day) and then headed off down the road and into the single track that takes us to the trail/road around the side of Lake Bellfield.

The Long Flat(ish) Road around Bellfield

Along this track, came up behind another VUR, Jonathan Ennis-King. It wasn't until we turned off the single trail and on to the road was I able to run up beside him. We'd bumped into one another on Rosea last year, so it was nice to have a synchronous moment. This time further along, about 7k further along. Having a chat as we ran about respective years, what we were both doing Surf Coast 100 and that if we kept the pace up, sub 4:30 was on the cards. After Jonathan said that I took a sneak peak at my watch, we were running between 5:15 and 5:30 pace. I was a bit surprised, but the straight and flat road allowed us to settle into a groove and it wasn't until the first of the small climbs along here did he put some distance between us.

Travelling well, smiling.
Photo Credit: Supersports Images

The first climb along hits about 27k in. Some call these a 'pinch'. This is more a slap in the face. Just as you've settled into a nice rhythm, the legs suddenly feel exceedingly heavy, the HR spikes and you are reduced to a walk. I'm still picking up runners along here, not so much on the flat sections, but any climbing I was able to hike faster. There are 4 or so small climbs on this section after the big initial climb. We are approaching the northern end of Lake Bellfield and the dam wall. Soon the trail descends towards Fyans Flat. I vowed not to look at my watch here until I reached Delleys Bridge, just run and get it done. Legs starting to feel the fatigue, but I'm still running.

Passed a friend, Steve just before the drop to Fyans. Bent over heaving his insides out. Sports drink, litres and litres of the stuff. He'd felt ill most of the race. Finally, it all came up. Nothing much I could do except tell him to just get some water in and continue on. (He amazingly finished not too far behind me).

My hand isn't patting his bum, it's a trick of the perspective of
the camera, the photographer was lying on the ground,
somebody help me here...
Photo credit: Supersports Images.

I forgot how long the descent to Fyans was, seemed to take a long time until I hit the flat grassy areas. Previous years it was like running through a swamp. This year basically dry with occasional puddles. Caught up with a few of the runners I'd been climbing Rosea with. Stretching out cramps, some fatigued and walking. Now about 31k in and I ran past the aid station here. Plenty of food and water on me, I just wanted to keep running. Stopping would arrest momentum and make it hard to get going again. Photographer here, just as I caught up with LTR Aldonio, as I ran past. Hit the single track back to Delleys and just put the body into automatic, get a pace of around 6 min/k and hold it on the flats. Walk most of the hills, but otherwise kept going until I could hear the traffic crossing Delleys.

Warwick and Jacqui with me at the finish.
Photo credit: Nicole Walsh.

35.2k on my watch as I crossed the bridge, 4:19:50 elapsed. You beauty!!! Knowing it was just under 1 and a half k to the finish, I knew I could get in under 4:30. That last section is on a bitumen footpath, hard on the legs in trail shoes after a punishing race. I felt slow, in reality, I was holding mostly 5 min/k and under for large sections. Passed Nicole Paton, sweeping the 20k with a few runners in front of her. Turn the corner and the main street is in full view. There are crowds lining the run in, friends and random strangers hi-five you and you do feel like a rockstar/elite athlete finishing.

And then it's all over. Warwick, who was up at Rosea carpark, is now back down at the finish and hands me my medal, which was a nice repeat of Saturday where I'd done the same for him in the 8k race. Watch says 4:27:26, a whopping 23 minute PB. I could not be happier. Nicky was there to see me finish. She takes a few photos and then I go in search of coke, and smash down 3 cups worth. I was tired, fatigued but feeling very good. Usually, I can't eat for at least an hour after one of these events, but within 20 minutes I was searching out coffee, then a large lunch of bacon and eggs at Livefast cafe.

Caught up with my fellow BBR's and they all finished, some not as happy with their result as others. But already there is talk of coming back next year.

Aftermath

It's taken me a few days to realise just how well I ran that course. It's had the better of me on all previous occasions. I won't say I bested it, always feel there is room for improvement; what drives me on, to better myself. Stronger, faster.
Running along Bellfield, Jonathan had asked me what was my best run this year. I gave it some thought and said Duncans 50k. It was the first ultra I felt I nailed a great time and a great result. An hour and a bit later having finished here and I have to admit that it is now replaced with Wonderland. The result is not wholly unexpected, I've been training well, very consistently and keeping injury free. But race days can throw up many unexpected issues; food and or drink disasters, injury, just feeling not right after a bad sleep etc. But on Sunday it all came together.

That finish line feels!! Absolutely delighted to go under 4:30 for this course.
Photo credit: Supersports Images.

On reflection, the race should have been the last try out of nutrition for SCC. It didn't work out that way, and I'm trusting that I will be right on the day. Main thing knowing that I can stomach solid food, because over 100k I will at some point need to eat solids, having been sick of sweet liquids and/or lollies of some description.

And now I need to look after myself, attend to a few niggles, and plan ahead for SCC100 on Saturday 15th September. I'm in great shape, positive mental attitude and looking forward to the challenge. And it's really only 20 parkruns, back-to-back. Or so I keep telling myself.

PS, and in a nod to my friend Michelle Edwards who always post "Things I learnt.." in relation to her races. Things I learnt at Wonderland, never shake Michelle's hand if she's been racing with gloves on.

Until next time...