Clock Off - Trail On

Clock off, Trail on.

2012 was a year focussed intently on the marathon.  Canberra I wanted to go under 3.10 and did 3.08. Melbourne I wanted to go faster. I aimed at 2.59 and went 3.12. Training was all about the clock. Race pace sessions of up to 16km at sub 4m15s per km; track sessions of 400s, 800s, 1200s and 1600s; and fast finish longs to 34km with the last ten at race pace (never quite nailed one of those). Although I didn’t achieve everything I wanted, I still came out of it with my two fastest marathon times to date. There was some temptation to continue on and chase those 8 minutes to a sub 3 but after Melbourne, the greater draw was back to the trails. Too many digits on the road.

2013 started with a sense of freedom. I wanted to do events that I hadn’t done before. That’s where Coburg 6 Hour came in to play. Ok, sure. It’s very much not a trail run. But even running in circles for, as it turned out, 63km on a 400m aths track had nowhere near the pressure of a marathon. It was refreshing to just cruise around and around and around, enjoying a new experience. Might have been more refreshing and more enjoyable if it wasn’t 36 degrees on the day but aye, what are ya gonna do?

People talk of their, ‘A’ event, or ‘A’ race. That being the event they are placing most importance on. The event, that all their training is geared towards. The event where they want to give it an absolute smashing. This year I have no such events. But the one I had most been looking forward to was Mount Macedon 50km, closely followed by You Yangs.

Macedon holds great memories dating back to 1988. I was a 17 year old, ‘good’ Catholic boy on a year 12 school retreat. During a break we all, stealth like, trekked off to the pub. It was so fun. Jukebox blasting, beers flowing and a bunch of underage blokes having a ball. Fair to say there were big time recriminations as some mighty slurred speech filled the afternoon prayer session that day. Ah well, what are ya gonna do?

25 years later, just after dawn on a Sunday, the whole field of runners walked a couple of hundred metres from registration to start line, the top of Mount Macedon. A grey mist covered us all in and as we walked the Last Post rang out. Before the pain ahead it was a chance to focus, centre and reflect. Some closure perhaps on the retreat of ‘88 that had gone a bit pear shaped.

 

There were a few pieces of advice about Macedon that I took on board.

1)      It will be cold – Correct

2)      The first couple of kms is treacherous, slippery and technical – Correct

3)      The last 20km is harder than the first 30km – Oh my god, so freakin’ correct.

The temperature only affected me once I had stopped and finished. It took less than five minutes for me to be shivering uncontrollably. STOP!!!!!!!  Everyone get out of ya chairs, remove your hats and raise a glass to the volunteers. They were out there all day. ALL DAY I say. The coldness on the day equated directly to the puffiness of the jackets worn. Sooooo PUFFY.

 

The first couple of kms of the race could easily have been the only couple of kms of the race. It wasn’t out of control dangerous but when you’ve got the whole field in the same place at the one time and you throw in exuberance and no pain yet excitement all going downhill, you got yourself a recipe for disaster. I was happy to sit back and take it easy.

 

The first 30km was a breeze. At about 28km mark I thought how disappointed I would be if I had only entered the 30 and my race was nearly over. I was loving everything about Macedon at that stage. It was the absolute antithesis of my 2012. It was exactly what I had wanted to do, to run free.

The last 20km of Macedon was not a breeze. It was the toughest few hours I’ve ever run. It was either up or down. There didn’t seem to be much flat in it at all. The downhills were slippery, rocky and steep. You couldn't get any value out of them. A lot of them just couldn't be run. So my mantra became: ‘Whenever you can run, you have to run’! My body was wrecked late in the event and if I didn’t keep talking to myself and ordering myself to run then I just wouldn’t have. It was getting nasty.

The last few kms were straight uphill. It was unrelenting. There was no respite. Logic tells you that ‘this too shall pass’. But logic only did the first 30 at Macedon.

 

Crossing the finish line I commented how brutal it had been. I was amazed, exasperated. A sea of puffy jackets laughed at my pain. Macedon is not easy on anyone. I swore I would not return but I will.

Now I train waiting for You Yangs. I still wear a watch every time I go out but this year the digits just don’t matter.

Boston

 

Boston

What happened?                                             How?                                                   Why?

I don’t know if the questions will ever be answered. Obama has vowed to make those responsible accountable for their actions. Whatever comes of the investigation into this tragedy, it won’t change the outcome for at least one of the runners.

In 1979 my dad ran his first marathon. I remember standing on St Kilda Rd near the finish line as hundreds of men and women struggled in horrible pain to achieve their goal. I remember seeing my dad among the shuffling sea of agony stricken athletes. He was my hero. I was 8 years old.

Last night I watched the start of the Boston Marathon live on TV. I thought it strange because these sort of events are rarely televised. I watched the first 20 minutes or so until I had to go to bed. This morning I woke up and the Boston Marathon was still on TV. This time it was the news reporting a bomb blast that had killed and injured innocent spectators. The footage was horrible. None of it made sense and it was an absolute, genuine tragedy. But it was to get worse.

Later today I heard more detailed reports about the attack. One of the three people killed was an 8 year old boy. An 8 year old boy who had stood watching, and waiting for his hero, his dad, to run past.

Tonight I kiss my children as they sleep. One Boston marathoner cannot. All that I hope is that he, the dad, knows his boy would have been in absolute awe. The 8 year old boy’s last thoughts would have been about his hero.

 

Appreciating every moment.

 

 

I am a fraud!!!

I am a fraud. This ugly thought dominated my thinking in the lead up to the Coburg 6 hour ultra.

At last year’s marathon in October I had aimed to go sub-3 hours. I blew up badly and struggled across the line in 3.12. Although still happy with the time itself, my second fastest, I was disappointed that I hadn’t been able to stick to the race plan.

Following the marathon I was entered in a charity event in the Dandenongs called the Moonwalk. 45km, during the night, with over 2000m of elevation. A tough course, no question, but I had done it before and was confident that it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Yup, got that one very wrong. All sorts of pain and another plan that didn’t go to plan.

So the Coburg 6 hour was going to be my next opportunity to get it right. Follow a plan and achieve a set goal. I had trained well, done several 3, 4 and 5 hour runs. I’d eaten well, kept up weekly speed sessions and I’d even stretched daily for weeks on end. Again I was getting pretty confident that I was in for a good event. I enlisted the help of Kev Mannix to be my support crew. Aside from being the greatest of mates who would do anything to help, I was also tapping into someone who knows more about running, fuelling and pacing than most nearly everyone. Standing with him on the day would be Toby and Darren. Both of these blokes have done more ultras than they probably even remember.

As well as these great runners being there to watch the most boring of ultras there is, I also had my family coming along to support me. My parents both the other side 70 years, my wife and our two young kids, my brothers and my very pregnant sister in law would all be there in 35 degree heat. They would be there because I asked them.

And so it was that a week out from the run, I couldn’t run. I had pain in my right leg – shin splints. My taper started early and I increased the stretching to alleviate the pain. The other thing stopping me from running was pure fear of further damage. I couldn’t face pulling out and letting down all of these people. If I couldn’t run for 6 hours………..well I didn’t want to consider the option.

I would be a fraud, biting off more than I could chew, trying to play on the big stage, with the real runners, but without the ability. I was already getting embarrassed by the possibility.

If I spoke this to Kev, Toby or Darren or any of my family they would all tell me I was being ridiculous and it wouldn’t matter at all if I couldn’t start or couldn’t complete this particular run. I knew this and believed it but these ugly thoughts kept rushing through my head.

 

Sunday morning I woke at 3.15am for the 6.00am start. I had breakfast. Is it even called breakfast when it’s that early? Moments after breakfast my guts started churning. Well that’s just fantastic. Late in the week I had been able to run pain free and now this. Was I destined to not complete Coburg. Two years ago I had entered but not made it to the start line due to injury. Well the guts didn’t settle, things were decidedly uncomfortable even just walking around. This was getting to be a joke.

 

Ah well, what are you gonna do? 6.00am came around and off we went. I think being a touch NQR was good because it meant I went out slow. First km was about 5.45. Only 5hours 54minutes 15seconds to go.

Over half an hour in and still my guts were terrible. This was headed for disaster. I decided to bite the bullet, and the banana, and take on some food. It was a gamble but I wouldn’t last long like this. The banana went down ok. My guts went from 10 outa 10 ten unsettled to maybe a 7. I left it at that for another thirty minutes and then took my next gamble, taking on a liquid food called perpetuem. I hadn’t used it in an event before but today I had it factored in to the fuelling plan. Well perpetuem is now my new hero. Very shortly after sipping a bit of this not so tasty gear I was feeling all shades of lovely in the gut. Big phew. So just under 90 minutes in and finally my body was good and the thoughts of fraudulent behaviour had disappeared. Time to get dizzy and enjoy.

We were pretty luck on the day that there was darkness followed by cloud cover for nearly half of the six hours. My plan had been to stay consistent around 5.30 – 5.40 per km. This felt to be a  very slow pace for a flat event. I had to keep reminding myself that the pain would come and that slow early would help late. Others on the track were going a lot quicker and I was being lapped constantly. Some of them had planned to make hay while the sun didn’t shine and slow up when the heat of the day really kicked in. It was to prove to be a tough way to go about it.

Aside from the early gut ache I only had two really tough patches. The first lasted for about 40 minutes not long after the half way turn around. It was a bit of excitement to go in the opposite direction but the thrill only lasted maybe a lap and a half and then I hit struggle town. Everything was hurting and taking on fuel was becoming a difficult assignment. The second patch was at about 4h20m and that lasted for about 25 minutes. On both occasions I remember thinking of Canadian runner Jason Loutit who said he constantly moves his attention and focus from the scenery and all that was going on around him and then back in very tight to shut all of that out and focus on form. I found it very comforting to think that all I had to do was shut it all out and run. Everything else was taken care of by my crew. My job was easy.

I started taking laps back off people who had looked super fresh and quick early. A heap of people on track were walking now, even the leader. I just figured they’d gone out too fast and I was still chugging along because of pacing. However that was only the half of it.

 

My crew was amazing. Of the 158 laps I did I would say there was only a dozen where there was no interaction at all. Every other time there was handing over food or drink or a quick comment or joke about how tricky the course was and to follow it carefully. My family all turned up with just over an hour to go and this was a huge lift. Seeing them and having my brother and son do laps on the inside with me was something I loved and won’t ever forget.

 

 

Excitement seemed to be at fever pitch with everyone there and my crew went into overdrive. Something was happening nearly every lap now. I had two caps, one on my head and one in icy water in the esky that we would rotate every 5 laps. Same thing with ice filled bandanas around my neck. Then there was ice cream buckets of water that would be poured over me. Of course drinking water, powerade and even another disgusting gel being taken with only forty minutes to go. There was no time to be bored, I was always doing something. I thought that the crew might have been bored and just offering stuff for something to do. It was only after the race that I found out in that last hour of the race the temperature had risen to 36 degrees and the crew was working hard to keep me cool. Kev sometimes chased after me to pick up bottles I would drop after use. He said he would get back under the market umbrella straight away and comment on how hot it was out there.

My race finished after 6 Hours, 158 Laps, 63.316km in 36 degree heat. The crew was that good that I had no idea how hot it was. They gave me every opportunity to achieve what I had planned to.

My dad hugged me where I had stopped on the track. He spoke of it being a very emotional moment. It was. He said after he turned up it took him about eight laps of clapping me as I passed for him to not be close to tears.

Having my family there was the best thing about the day. Being coherent, cool, happy and still running was….was….hmmm what’s the opposite of fraud.

 

·         Cannot thank Kev, Darren, Toby, Brett on the spray bottle and my family enough for helping me around the track.

 

My Favourite Run

Yesterday I went for two different runs that were both fantastic experiences. All of it was free, hardly seems fair but I’ll take it.

Yesterday I met Gully and Seb at 4.45am in Burwood outside Seb’s house. Every time we meet at these ridiculous hours we speak in hushed tones trying not to wake anyone in the house we are to depart from. Then almost without fail the most noise we will make is laughter. Pretty sure the chuckles stem from the same place each time. Three grown men sneaking about in the dark to go for a run is slightly funny in itself but really it’s about excitement. We know what lays ahead and giggle like school kids in anticipation.

So off we go to the Dandenongs to meet Tobes and the Moon Man for a 5.30 start at One Tree Hill, the top of the 1000 steps. It was cold up there which was a shock to the system but it didn’t take long at all warm up and feel comfortable. I was wearing my head torch which is pretty much overkill even in the dead of night, it’s that strong. I only needed the artificial for about half an hour before the big fireball in the sky started to push some natural glow on our surrounds.

By this time we were heading through Sherbrook Forest and it was simply magic. It all just looked perfect, almost felt like nobody had ever been there before and it was all just for us. We flew downhill for about 2kms before heading up some challenging steeps. Having these other runners around me, or more to the point, in front of me on these ascents was a real motivator and great for my own running. All of these guys are part mountain goat and really hammer up and down the hills.

We got to a point where we had a choice of two paths to head back to the cars. One of them was shorter and easier and we would get back with plenty of time. The other path was a bit longer with nastier steeps. We were under a bit of time pressure so Toby asked Seb if his legs still had some run left in them so we could quicken it up. My jaw dropped, closely followed by laughter. If the mountain goats were going to quicken then I was in for some pain. The start of the path home was downhill so I thought make hay while the sun shines. Ran alongside Tobes & Gully and we did a km in 3.43. By far it was my fastest km on the trails that I can remember.

We were heading up Heartbreak Hill at the end just as the trails were starting to get busy with groups training for Oxfam Trailwalker. It wasn’t even 7.30 on a Sunday morning and we had stolen 19km in them beautiful hills. That session has been elevated to my favourite training run. The scenery was awesome and running with faster blokes was tough but has me glowing a day n a half later.

 

Later on the same day my 6 year old Raf was keen to go for a run. We haven’t been running together for over a year. He used to love coming out with me but lost a bit of interest after a while. No worries, if he wasn’t asking, I wasn’t pushing.

He’s going into grade 1 this year and interestingly, he mentioned recently that he was going to be second tallest in his class and would be third or fourth fastest. I’m not sure that it’s a good or bad thing that he knows where he sits in these measured areas. It probably doesn’t matter at all. He didn’t seem phased. However I did mention that with the running side of things you could get faster if you trained. The height thing I’ve already done as much as I can to help with that.

So again his interest in running has surfaced. A few days ago Raf got out some cones and set them up in the backyard. He made a little sign and we did a few races. Yesterday he wanted to do 20kms. I suggested we start at 1km and see how we go. We kicked off a real slow shuffle. He had learnt that sprinting in the cone races had him “out of power” too quickly. The shuffle continued for about 500m. Raf said he wanted to stop. I was uneasy at this point, I didn’t want to be a tennis dad but I suggested we try to keep going and run all the way to his school. That gave him a goal and something to focus on. He saw the school fence approaching, I said let’s keep going to the other end of the school, that would be a kilometre. We did, he stopped, out of power but really happy with his 1km, all running.

We walked back home and on the way he again mentioned where he ranked in his grade 1 class as a runner. But then he started talking about what sort of runner he might be when he’s in grade six. He was talking about what might happen if he keeps training. He was talking and wondering about his future. Without using the words exactly, he was showing an understanding that his future was in his own hands.

I thought I’d been on my favourite run that morning. I had, but it had been overtaken within a matter of hours. The kilometre that Raf and I ran together was so, so good. He pushed himself and worked really hard. The kilometre we walked home together was even better. I was really proud of what he had to say but it wouldn’t have mattered what the content of the conversation was. What mattered most was giving him the *time and space to speak. I loved it.

People often mention struggles with motivation in getting started. This aint gonna work for everyone but I suggest run one km with your kid(s). Then walk and let them speak.

I had to enforce a rest day for Raf today. There’s no rush.

 

* Time and Space is a term borrowed from my brother Bill. Check out his blog, he does good stuff. http://bill-j-from-time-space.blogspot.com.au/