Paint a Vulgar Picture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Credits

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

Apocalypse Now Quotes

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

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

Panic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time...

Unfinished Sympathy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time....

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

Bittersweet

Was it going to be 3rd time lucky, or strike 3, you're out? Running is such a mental game. Many of my non-running friends think I'm mental! Actually that doesn't back up my comment. Confidence of your skills and abilities is maybe what I was talking about.

First, some history

12 months ago, cold, miserable, wrapped up in a St. Johns Ambulance blanket, I watched my friends finish their respective events at the Salomon Trail Race Series (STRS), Race 3 at Olinda. It was a dismal day; weather was foul, low cloud scudding across the start/finish area in the abandoned Olinda Golf Course. A rolled ankle (severe) at the 2k mark of the race was the reason I was watching everyone else finish, not struggling up to the finish myself, on what was a pretty brutal course. My mood was ranging somewhere between raw anger, and sad resignation, that;

1. My day was in tatters, and
2. My marathon plans for Melbourne, 8 weeks out, were in serious jeopardy.

Spending the next 6 months enduring rehab, struggling mentally with the thought that running may be restricted, if not at all, had me at times cursing this race, and then wishing that I could get the chance to redeem myself. Finally running and racing by March this year, I looked forward to being able to have another crack.

When race entries opened, I didn't jump in straight away. In fact I held right back, almost thinking that I should just let it be, move on and pick another race. But eventually it was just too good to resist, I signed up and focused on running a good race.

Lead in

Raced in the You Yangs (30k trail) and a few easy parkruns, but mainly it was consistent training. Melbourne Marathon being the A-list race. Ran a few times in the Dandenongs, and at least on one occasion, I covered most of the tracks that we would encounter in the major climb on the race. I felt I had prepared well, but as usual, pre-race doubts crept in. Was I over-training, was I in the same or better shape than last year, would I misjudge the climbs and bomb out on the 2nd half of the course. Sometimes these voices can be counter-productive, sometimes you can use them to focus on the job ahead of you. I chose the latter....

Race Day

Nicky and Jordan were also running in the short course, so it was an early start from South Gippsland for all of us. Drive up was uneventful, and we arrived at Silvan with plenty of time to spare (or so I thought...). Race central was already buzzing, guy on the PA giving lots of information, people milling around and starting to get ready. Met up with a few DTR's, Marc, David, Richard, Chris Burton, and Chris Piplios, and plenty of PTR's, LTR's and just generally all the trail runners I knew of in Victoria.

DTR personnel: Chris, Burton, Marc, Chris Piplios, David, and myself, 10 minutes before race time.
(Photo credit: Peter Mitchell)

Whilst the organisation of this event looked good, it wasn't until we went to put our bags in the bag drop, did we realise that was maybe not quite the case. A long line, that wasn't moving very fast, basically short staffed, and struggling. Finally got the bag checked in, and we started a bit of a warm-up. It was cold, so, having peeled off warm clothes and left in bag, there was nothing left to do but keep moving around. If nothing else, kept the nerves at bay! And that was a first for me, normally nerves are left for road races. Always calm before trail events, but this race had an added incentive for me.

Start of Race 3, long course.
(Photo credit: Peter Mitchell)

Before too long we were called up, the medium course (15k) runners going off 5 minutes before us. Usually I would have started my old GPS watch, and stood there frantically wishing it would pick up satellites. New Suunto Ambit 3, BOOM, 10 seconds to get both HR monitor, and satellites! Finally, I would be able to start a race without watch issues!

Start of Race 3, long course. Chris Burton with thumbs up
(Photo credit: Peter Mitchell)

So....., when I stuffed up starting my watch, I was to think back to that previous thought....
Started the watch, then about 100 metres up the road suddenly thought it wasn't going.
Running beside Marc Simpkins I said, ":How good is your eyesight?".
"Not bad" was the reply.
"Is my watch running?"
Marc looks at the watch face that I am holding up to his face, "F____ed if I know mate"
Ran another 50 or so metres, then decided that it was stopped. So, pressed the start button again. Annnddd, successfully stopped the watch..... Bloody dill. It wasn't until I had run another 200 metres did I decide that I should have another crack at getting it going. Hit start, hoped like hell that it was going, and decided to run on, not bothering whether it was going or not.

By now we are running through lots of single trail, doubling back towards the start/finish area, before peeling off, and coming out on Pipeline Track, effectively a narrow gravel road. By now the crowd of runners has thinned out. I spied a couple of DTR shirts up ahead, Richard and David, and made a mental note that I might be travelling a bit fast. Didn't feel it, was comfortable along here, pulling about 155 bpm, it wasn't flat out, but it wasn't idle either!

Jenny Mitchell, showing us all how to do it,
on the ludicrously named, "Suunto Sprint"!
(Photo credit: Peter Mitchell)

Just when we were settling into a nice fluid pace along Pipeline, we turned off onto the "Suunto Sprint" (My quotes...). This should be renamed the "Overwhelmingly Ironically Named Suunto Sprint". Terms like sprint, and run, conjure up images of well... running.... both feet off the ground at some part of the stride. Something like that, anyway. The "Sprint" was in fact a 300 metre slog up a muddy track with an elevation grade of about 20%! Sprint, it was not....
Passed David, who was struggling up here, and was catching Richard before we crested the hill and started running again. Pass a photographer, then a left onto Track 17, and a longish undulating section (that included Georges Track), for about 3k's before we started the climb up to Olinda.

This is where the fun started! Met the last 15k runner making her way steadily up the single track. My first thought; gunna be interesting with all the long course runners still to come! This section is not terribly steep, but it just goes, on and on and on... Lovely sweet single trail, winding it's way through tree ferns, the track was muddy and slippery in places, and presented some difficulties to those running in light lugged shoes, or road shoes. I was feeling strong here, and noticed that I was steadily picking up runners and passing them. Original plan was to run somewhere between a half and two thirds of the climb to the top at Olinda. As it was, I probably ran three quarters of it, doing a fast hike the rest of the time. Passed Marc Simpkins along here. Probably the only time I'm ever going to do this in a race, Marc on a comeback, of sorts!

3D plot of the course (complete with GPS stuff up, far right brown section)
(Image courtesy of www.veloviewer.com)

The climb to Olinda was broken into two parts, the middle section had a short downhill, slippery, muddy and THE section where I rolled my ankle last year. Yup, and just before I hit that fatal spot, Pitty McAdams from PTR (Peninsula Trail Runners) passed me. Pitty being one of the first persons to stop and give assistance last year, the irony of that coincidence was not lost on me!
As I turned on to Ginkgo Track, the sound of somebody singing Bubbles (West Ham United theme song) echoed through the crisp morning air! Johnny Horricks, another PTR runner (and the other person to stop with me last year) has spotted me and burst into song;

"I'm forever blowing bubbles,

Pretty bubbles in the air,

They fly so high,

Nearly reach the sky...."

Caught up with me, and we ran/walked the rest of the steep climb to the R J Harmer Arboretum (highest point of the climb). On the final climb, I finally caught and passed Richard Matison, surprising the hell out of him as I jumped onto his shoulder, then went smoothly past. He would catch me on the descent, being better at the downhill then me. Finally, having reached the summit, I ran conservatively for a period to get the HR down before we started the exhilarating run back down the mountain.

Smiling, must have been a good race!

By now we are passing loads of 15k runners. And I would like to take the time to thank all of them, not one issue with us faster long course runners getting past. Many stood to one side on the single track (Poplar, and Manna Gum), and most were very happy to give back the good wishes that I would give them as I went past. A race run in a very fine spirit by all, from my point of view. 

Some of the runners I had passed going uphill, now came back past me as my inadequate descending skills were laid to bare. Having said that, barrelling down Manna Gum chasing Johnny Horricks was an absolute highlight of the day. Not quite single track, but a very pretty section with good ground underneath your feet, and a steadily increasing decline. The idea here was to throw caution to the wind and let gravity take over. At the bottom, 2 strategically place fallen trees provided us with hurdling practice, yeah, just what we needed....

Jordan ran the whole way with hoodie,
and water bottle!

Back out onto Prices Road, and eventually to Georges Road, mainly wide gravel roads that had a few hills to test the cardiovascular capacity. Hit the aid station at the 16k mark in fairly good shape. Stopped, grabbed a drink of SOS (sponsors sports drink, not too bad), then put my head down for the final 5k (expected, but not quite as measured) distance to the finish line. Immediately spotted somebody running back up the road I'm running down, Peter Mitchell, DTR head honcho running back home after his wife run the short course event. A quick high 5 from Peter, and I continue on my way. 

I have noticed that the same group of runners are now constantly around me. Backwards and forwards we pass, getting passed as if connected by a horizontal bungee. I would get them on the ups, they would get me on the downs. Along here I was following another runner, similar height, slightly stronger build, that I would later find out was Marcus Pain, yet another DTR alumini. Off the bottom part of a run called The Undulator (no, not ironic...), we continued down to come back out onto the Silvan Road. 18 and a half k mark. I expected that we would have somewhere between one and a half, and two and a half k's to go. (I had seen distances listed as 20, and 21k for this race. Thought if mentally I prepared for 21, I would be okay)

Nicky, looking strong, despite a rolled ankle!

Silvan Road was getting busy. Lot's of 15k runners still heading for home, and a bit of vehicular traffic making it's way along the road. Suddenly I could hear the PA system from the finish line, thinking that the sound was travelling a long way on the forest. Pushing along down a gentle incline, my legs now starting to get the first indications of fatigue. Not sore, just feeling the energy drain somewhat. Photographer sitting on a stool in the middle of the road takes heaps of pictures as I run past, I was picking up the pace as another runner came up on my shoulder. We are directed off the road onto a single track. 
The PA quite loud now. Thinking that this is a deviation to make up the still required 1.5k's, I was very surprised when, after a short section, we exited onto an area just before the entrance back to the finish chute. Head down, focused, I push hard for home. Heard my name shouted out (cheers peeps), I crossed the line, not even bothering to look at the stop clock. Stopped the watched (yep, it had been going, and yes, I did stop it properly). Time said 1:43, thought that was a bit light on, but was very happy all the same.

Looked around the finish area, but couldn't see Nicky at all. Paused to catch breath, and congratulate fellow runners. Friend Chrissy found me, a huge grin on her face, high 10 and hug from her. She had run the short course as a comeback race, and was very pleased with her efforts. Still couldn't see Nicky. Finally Jordan catches up with me, Nicky had rolled her ankle 3k's in, completed the race, but was in a bit of pain and discomfort. Bugger, the SRTS race 3 curse rolls on! Found her at the coffee cart, waiting patiently for her flat white. She was down, but pragmatic enough to realise that trails have a way of doing this. So, as much as I was happy with my day, sad to see Nicky having to hobble around for a few days afterwards. Best news is, that it was nowhere near as bad as mine was.

Caught up with a few people, but left fairly rapidly, as I wanted to get Nicky home asap. Found out later, I was 2nd in my age group, and had missed out on a prize. Never mind, it was the time and race completion I was more happy with. Age group placings, whilst brilliant, are not what I aim for.
Post Script: Rapid Ascents contacted me, I will pick up prize at Anglesea, after Race #4

The Wash Up.

12 months ago, cold, miserable, and waiting patiently for my friends to finish their respective races, I watched as 2 friends finished the race, embraced, and celebrated a great result. It was an image that was burned into my memory as I went through the endless cycle of rehab. I used it as an incentive to get back, to experience that thrill of competition, and the sharing with friends. I have never told either person of their part in this story, I may never will. I have confided to only one person about what I saw, and how it made me feel. It was a very raw emotion at the time, and one that left a lasting impression.
Funnily enough, I didn't want to recreate that image (it was an impromptu one at that, hard to replicate without looking staged), and although it didn't happen, I didn't care. I had run a great race (my impression only), and survived! That was all that mattered in the aftermath.

Where to From Here

In the middle of a high training load for Melbourne Marathon. Managing the fatigue, and injury risk is now high on the agenda.Training has been going well, hitting targets, recovering well etc. But the first signs of subtle fatigue with training load have surfaced in the last week.
Upcoming races are;
30th August, Wonderland 36k trail,
19th & 20th September, Relay leg 28k of Surf Coast Century, and Race 4 STRS at Anglesea,
18th October, Melbourne Marathon.
Stop Press; potentially pacing 1:45 half at Mornington on 6th September. Awaiting confirmation for race organisers.

Until next time....

Feel the Pain

You Yangs Trail Running Festival

Background

You Yangs Trail Running Festival is one of the more complete, and full weekends you can have on the trails. Held around the You Yangs Regional Park near Little River in Victoria, it encompasses runs from 5k, right through to an old fashioned miler (yep 100 miles, or 160 kilometres, or 32 parkruns; take your pick!) All but the miler start on the Sunday morning, and follow similar courses that go through a common point at the start/finish line, at The Turntable. So, being a focal point for the 6 different events, gives it a real festival feel. Like a rock festival perhaps; except without the loud music, the mud, and the drugs...

You Yangs is the last in a 3 race series of Mountain Trails that the organisers, Trails+, put on each year. In terms of trail, and elevation profile, the 30, and 50k events are the easiest on theses courses. But don't be fooled, easier means less hiking/walking steep sections, and more running. Quick times over the 30 and 50k events are the order of the day. It was with this in mind, I ventured back, after having a stellar race in 2014. Fresh from a PB at Traralgon half 4 weeks previously, I was primed for another PB, Would I get it?

Adding to the mix was that I knew people running in every event (except the 5); social media has a lot to answer for!

Lead-in to the Race

Week after Traralgon, I took it easy. Easy paced runs, no target times, just make sure I recovered. That I did, then the next week was week 1 of a 16 week marathon plan heading towards Melbourne in October. Slight blip in week 2 of mara plan, went skiing at Falls Creek for the week, only managing 2 runs of 5k after dark around the town where I was staying, but the legs got a pretty good workout on the slopes! The following week (3rd week or plan) was race week. Depending on whether a race is going to be a target race or not, determines if I taper or not. Given the previous weeks drop in mileage, I decided to train through, only holding back my usual Thursday run for a shorter version.

Trying to nail down a parkrun PB! One way to do speed work,
 in prep for a race.

My wife was away for 2 weeks, with this weekend falling right in the middle. In preparation, I had asked my son if he wanted to stay over at a mates place on the Saturday night. He would be fine to leave at home for the day, although I was  slightly uneasy that I would be away most of the day. He never made plans, I decided I was racing anyway and threatened to get him up at 4:30 to come with me. 2 days out he suddenly thinks it's a great idea to stay overnight with a school mate! Problem solved....

Race Day

Early start, 4:30am. Quick breakfast and out of the door by 5:10. First thing I noticed was how cold it was. Sub zero in South Gippsland, I could only hope that it wasn't as cold at the You Yangs. Some of the milers would be still going, and having to have contended with that overnight. It was dark, all the way in to Highett, where I grabbed a list with fellow DTR, Cameron Baillie. Talk on the way up was invariably about the race, the milers (and specifically a friend, Oliver Mestdagh, and his progress) still plugging away whilst we slept overnight.

First glimpse of the You Yangs Regional Park from the car.
Sunny day, but bloody cold outside.

Arrived at 'Race Central' just after 8:30, missing the start of the 50k event. Event directors of Inverloch and Sale parkruns, Tony O'Connell and Bernie Larsen were heading off for their first ultras. Also there was Lysterfield Trail Runner buddy, David Boulton. David had rolled his ankle 7 weeks previously at Macedon 30, moving heaven and earth in an effort to get the ankle rehabilitated. Fitness being his only worry. Standing around the start line I met heaps of people (most of whom I've met through social media). I was, once again, very relaxed and very late getting warm clothes off, and race kit on!

!5k runners: Danny Burgess, Ali Moxham (yes hard to recognise by the handstand, NOT), and Susi Viete

Race brief from Brett Saxon (follow the markers, don't get lost etc., etc., and have a great day...). Final handshakes, pre-race mind games, then we were off. As like last year, some people treat this as a parkrun, like shots from a gun they fly up the first rise! I was running what I thought was a conservative 4:45 in the first 500 metres, and getting left for dead by heaps of runners. Having raced here last year, I knew what was on offer later on, time to hurt towards the end of the race, not in the first 5!

Still frost on the ground, at about the 2k mark we started passing 50k runners returning to Race Central. Not for the first time that day, my name was called out by a fellow runner, and it took me a long period of time to put a name to a runner. Apologies to anyone I might have appeared to be a bit vague with (probably half the field!).

The 30k runners: Top row -  Kris Harris, Kate Atkinson, Libby Williams, Mathieu Dore, and Cameron Baillie.
Bottom row - Steve Bullock, Chris and myself, Brett James, and Chris Spano.

The first 3k's climb up to the saddle, then is a long fast descent to to the eastern boundary. This is where I probably went a bit hard last year. Thus I thought that being a bit conservative would help later in the race. That was the theory. I even thought I had done as planned (until I looked back at the kilometre splits). If anything, k's 3 to 10 were faster than last year. Not by much, but enough to know that it was why I struggled once again beyond the 24k mark! They say live n learn, not learning much....

As with last Trails+ race at Macedon, Kris Harris and I ran together over the opening stages. As the first part was downhill, we had the chance to chat a bit; discussing parkrun (Kris is an event director at Churchill Island), fellow runners not joining us today, and plans for ultras in the future. Had a few other runners come past us, but in general we kept close to, and passed a few runners who had started out hard.

The 50k runners: Dylan Perera, Warwick King, David Boulton, Bernie Larsen, and Tony O'Connell.

As we headed along the eastern boundary, I knew it was slightly downhill, and let my legs and cardio feel the right pace. Caught one more runner before we turned north and headed back to the saddle. Returning up the Branding Yard Road, I spotted 3 runners ahead of me. One of them, Steve Bullock (Surf Coast Trail Runner), and 2 others, 1 I would become acquaintances with for the rest of the run.

Caught them as we turned off the road, onto a indistinct track (Branding yard Track). I make that observation, as several runners in my race would miss that turn, get lost and either run an extra 4 or so k's, or DNF! Poor bastards. Steve and I had a brief chat as we started the worst of the climb. This was the only section in the first 15 that walked last year, and was prepared to walk again. The woman who would eventually win our race, passed me here, running slowly, but efficiently up the steepest sections.

Crossed the saddle, and headed back to the start/finish line. Photographer alert: mug for the lens! By now, one of the 3 runners (who I later found out was called Chris), was running with me. chatting along the way, both worked out we were heading for Wonderland 36k in late August, and speculating on the difficulties that race presented compared to this one!

The hardcore 100 milers: Oliver Mestdagh, Simon Roberts, and Michelle Shannon.

15k runners were passing in the other direction, always good to get a shout out form a few friends. Entering the start/finish area was like entering as carnival, lots of people milling around, marshals etc., all giving us encouragement as we turned to head up to Flinders Peak. This climb is tough for several reasons. Firstly, the stone steps are not placed such that you can easily match them to your stride length. Secondly, it is hard packed, with stone, murder on the feet and lower legs. Lastly the descent is one you think you can make time on, but at risk of smashing your quads!

The 80k runners: Ashley Bennett, and
Stephen Rennick, 2 loops down, 2 to go.

At the bottom of Flinders I was joined by Chris again, having got away from him on the descent. Heading back out for the final 13 odd k's, we met another runner stooped at a track junction, asking us which was was our course. The mischievous bugger in me was tempted to go "right", when in fact it was left!, But, being a trail brethren, I just got him to follow us.

Kerry Clapham powers along to yet another ultra.

This part starts the downhill to Sandy Creek, and the 24 k mark, where we then climb slowly, but relentlessly to the finish line. It enters a section of forest, weird in the extreme. Tall straight eucalypt tress, zero under-storey, it really is Blair Witch Project territory. I kept a nice even pace down here, although the first signs of fatigue were creeping into the legs. Hit the aid station, bumped into a 50k runner and friend Kerry Clapham, and stopped for a quick chat (to be sociable, to recover the HR, and to down a few squares of chocolate, the first food of the run). By now there were 3 of us running together, chatting in between huffing n puffing as the trail started to climb back to the finish. The climb is minor in gradient terms, but is hard having pushed a pretty good pace from the start to here.

Blair Witch Project territory, if ever there was! Must have be fun at night....

Came up behind another runner in the 50k, David Boulton. David, despite keeping an eye on the cut-off, was not worried about a finishing time. Brief chat to see how each other was going, then I went on, trying to make up ground on my 2 running companions. Caught them at the start of the mtb zig zag tracks, a section designed to finish you off mentally. Steep cambers, mountain bikers flying downhill to meet you head-on, the feeling you were running for ages and making no progress, this section was just relentlessly tough on the confidence.

After what seemed like an age, we exited the mtb tracks, hit a road with yet another climb to get to the last aid station. Along here I had a 2nd walk with Chris, whilst our companion pushed on. Quick stop at the aid station, grab a final piece of choccy, then I took off for home. Last year I walked about 2 to 3 sections from here, the final 3k's. This year I made a pact to run the lot, regardless of how I felt. And run it, I did. The last finishers in the 15k race were also making their way to the finish line. Made a point of giving them as much encouragement as I could muster. I may have run further, I was fitter and stronger, but I wasn't hurting any more than they were. Hopefully I got a few of them over the line just a bit quicker than they had hoped!

Gotta give the punters something at the
finish line!

Final 50 metres is downhill to the finish line. Love a downhill finish; you can look semi-conscious, get the brain into gear, and perform for the finishing line photographer! Crossed the line, look at the watch, aaannndddd, sod it, same time as last year! Momentarily disappointed as I had grand plans of bettering last years time, but soon gave way to acknowledgement that last years time may well have been as fast as I can possibly go on this course. Still, thankful that I can run, many others still out with injury.

Caught up with the 2 other runners I had shared the final sections with. Tom in front of me; I was catching in the final k's but never quite got there. Chris had stopped at the final aid station, and cramped severely. I thought he was right behind me. If I had have known, I would have stopped to help him.

It took me a while to gather my senses after the finish, I had really put in over the final 6k's, and it had taken it's toll. managed to catch up with a few of the milers I knew, Michelle still to complete her final 20k's, Oliver having just finished his. Post race massage courtesy of Ross Kinsella from Freedom Sports Medicine (happy to plug, it was a freebie!), coffee, as much food as I could stuff down my throat, then Cam and I headed back to town.

Reflections

Training is going well, I am pretty much near, or exceeding, where I was this time last year. Marathon in October still the main prize, but these races along the way serve to remind me what racing is all about, and also provide a social context to my running, so great to meet so many wonderful runners of all abilities. Doing trail races as lead-up events is probably as unconventional a method as any, but it makes me tougher, and correspondingly, is fun! I genuinely enjoy the racing, and the camaraderie of the trails.

Race bib, and bling! The spoils of war....

Next race is Silvan Dam. This is the re-scheduled course for what is Race 3 of the Salomon Trails Series. Last years 'bastard' race where I rolled my ankle. This will be the 3rd attempt to finish (having a DNS, and a DNF previous 2 years here), and finish it I will!

Until next time...