The Pacer’s Tale (Part 1) November 2012

The Pacer’s Tale (Part 1)

November 2012 

Pacing. It’s an interesting word. The dictionary defines it as something like “the even spreading out effort”. However, in the world of ultra running, it means something closer to “silly bugger who hangs out with a tired runner all hours of the night, because after 100km they may be a bit foggy in the head and run into a tree ”.

On a training run along the Great North Walk in April last year, Gav asked me to consider being his pacer for his first 100 miler in the GNW100s in November. I was still training for my first ever marathon in July, so committing to something twice as long (a night run of 75km) seemed foolish at the time (still seems silly actually). So I demurred.

However, time went by, I ran my marathon, couldn’t walk for a week. So when Gav asked again, despite still limping, of course I said “yes”. I had 4 months to recover and train some more, so why not. Let’s see what this old body can do !!

I did have concerns that I am not a very serious fellow. I usually ran in my son’s discarded school sports pants I rescued from the bin, daggy Explorer socks, old t-shirts, a sweatband to keep my headphones from falling out, and a legionnaire’s hat I stole from my preschool. My poor son out with his mates constantly gets asked “hey is that your Dad?”. I think so much about distance running is hilarious – silly clothes, silly food, silly training. I try not to get too serious about it all. Gav, though, was attempting to run 100 miles (possibly no laughing matter), and I was worried I would be more annoying than supportive. But Gav seemed somewhat non-serious too (have you seen those sock things he wears?), and after exchanging a few *knock knock* jokes, all was good (*knock knock* *who’s there* *Keanu* *Keanu who ?* *Keanu believe we are running all the way to Patonga !!*).

In training, we ran together, we ran separately, we swapped Facebook messages. Somehow a joke about a Gorilla on his back turned into discovering an online recipe for Gorilla Bars which became his secret nutrition weapon. I went for my first night run and got scared in the dark. At some point I also ran over 50km for the first time and impressed the hell out of myself.

Eventually the big day arrived. I had planned to arrive at Yarramalong (100km finish) at about 8’ish, but I was tracking Gav’s progress online and having trouble working out whether he was running a 100 miles or a 100 metres. He was flying, so I had to head off early. Leaving early meant that I only had the chance to nervously repack 30 times instead of 50, so probably a good thing. I was developing RSI from checking my pack so many times.

Just before 8.30, word began trickling in that Gav was nearby, and it seemed everyone was asking “are you ready Rob ?”. Well yes I was – except the moment Gav arrived, my glasses snapped in two !! Hey Universe, I am about to run 75km through the dark and this is NOT FUNNY. The lovely Bek, however, whipped out the Elastoplast, and taped them together. We agreed not to tell Gav, and I kept my head down so he wouldn’t notice and get distracted.

Off we went into the night. Gav mentioned that he would like to walk for a bit, which was fine by me. I was the supportive pacer, and was happy to see him eating and drinking. He was very chatty and upbeat as we bounced up Bumble Hill watching a trail of head lamps stretching up the hill. All was looking good (although wearing a headlamp and buggered wonky glasses was not the best experience of my life). Other runners were around, and we had a few chats along the way. An owl was hooting up a storm, and it was a special feeling.

However, the “walk for a bit” seemed to go for a while, and the pair of us kept trying to get a trot going. The trots never seemed to last long, and I repeatedly looked back to see a silent circle of light pointing straight down at the ground accompanied by weird whale like noises– not good. But we kept on moving. However, I knew he was going through some mind games, because if he put on/ took off his jacket one more time and fussed about putting it into his belt a certain way I was going to choke him with it (but being supportive I just tied it back into his belt, knowing full well he would probably remove it again several minutes later). The night was also very misty, and because I was scared to remove my glasses to wipe them in case they fell apart, I was half blind. I collected more than one low hanging vine during the rainforest sections because I couldn’t look up.

I have to be honest and say that whilst I appreciated that Gav was definitely in the hurt locker, I was having an absolute ball. Owls, bandicoots, chatting with other runners – it was incredible fun.

Check Point 5 with my amazing eye wear

After many an hour we arrived at Checkpoint 5-Somersby. I suspected our 30 hour finish was gone, but no worries. I felt fine. More concerning was Gavin’s chattering teeth. It was cool, and Gav couldn’t move fast enough to keep warm. After some soup and a rug, we set off at about 3 am, but after about 5km, when we had left the bitumen and were hitting the track proper, it was crunch time. I was pretty sure what was going through his head, but was never going to say it to him; but through chattering teeth Gav made the call to call it quits. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must have been. For some reason he began apologising for “only” running 140km and letting me down – that’s the kind of weird stuff runners say.

We made it back to the bitumen, Bek collected us, and Gav was asleep soon after. I was nodding off too after walking a midnight marathon.

Maybe Gav should have slept more before the race. Maybe he should have run the first 100km slower. Maybe a longer rest at Yarramalong or Somersby. Maybe I should have slapped him with his jacket. Maybe some better *knock knock* jokes. Maybe maybe maybe. These are things to think about later. I, however, had an absolute blast, and an experience I will never, ever forget or regret. Thanks Gav and Bek !! Maybe 2013.

GLOW WORM TUNNEL MARATHON June 2013

GLOW WORM TUNNEL MARATHON

June 2013

 

The Glow Worm Tunnel Marathon is not just a run - it is an experience.  Everything about it is special.  For starters, the drive up is a great trip (especially if you go Bells Line of Road).  Then dropping down into Wolgan Valley, you are greeted by incredible sandstone cliffs.  However, at some point you realise "I have to run up those tomorrow" which starts the butterflies in the tummy.

A gang of Berowra Bush Runners departed on our epic adventure Saturday morning.  It was like a school camp for grown ups, complete with tents, packs, stoves, way too much food, and some secret stashes of wine and beer.  There was also lots of giggling, but I suspect that was because I was travelling with Bek and Justine (they asked me to stop but I was too excited - hee hee - us girls).  I joined the Bush Runners to meet some folk as crazy as me, and I think it has worked out well.

Upon arrival in Newnes, we parked at the camp ground and headed off to register.  Maybe the big difference between Glow Worm and other events became noticeable here.  As we wandered along, the 6km runners came around the bend, but there was no fanfare as they ran between folk out for a stroll.  There were kids everywhere.  Wombats and kangaroos were wandering the camp ground.  Ruby Muir (next days Women's race winner) was having a quiet beer and Bek simply wandered over and had a chat.  Folk were sitting on the verandah of the pub drinking.  It was all very relaxing and communal.

After registration we wandered back and set up our tent city as darkness fell -  and so did the temperature and the mist. bbbbrrrrr. Very chilly.  Good thing we had plently of food and wine.  We also took the time to apply our PEK - Performance Enhancing Kokopelli temporary tattoos from "Trail Runner Nation" (a website filled with amazing info for runners of all kinds).  Kokopelli are deities associated with trails and travelling throughout the Americas.   They are also associated with fertility, but what happens on the trail stays on the trail.  Do they really enhance performance ? Again, what happens on the trail.........

At about 9.00 we all suddenly announced "I'm off to bed" - a decision shared by many, as the whole campground suddenly went from noisy to completely dark and silent.  

6 am.  Alarm goes off in the dark, and time to rise and shine and shiver, and whip up hot coffee.  At this point I will confess to trying something new race day.  A sin, but forgive me Lord.  The previous night I had been introduced to the famous Lynette Hodder fruit cake, and I woke up wanting more.  Jeff kindly allowed me to cut off several big slabs, and I was ready to run.

Did I mention the cold ?  Tip for next year, sleep in race gear.  Stripping down to change was quite an experience. 

Then off to the marshalling area.  This was the pointy end.  There is a bunch of mandatory gear to carry if weather bad, but weather was good so that reduced the need to carry a bunch of heavy bulky stuff.  Dumped it all into a drop bag. An instant mood enhancer.  We lined up.  Hooter sounded.  Off we went. 

I had been wearing a warm top, but Ted West told me to strip it off and leave it.  I was reluctant, but about 2km into the race I was thanking him.  We hit those hills and I was surrounded by endless complaints about having dressed too warmly.  I like to research a course before running it, and I knew there was a lot of climbing, but had no appreciation of just how much and how steep.  Thank goodness for all my love of bushwalking, and a passion for hills, because I needed all of it.  Straight up using hands in some places.  Some eager folk were keen to power on, but other folk like me were happy to let them pass.  Some days it pays to be older and wiser.  

the first big climb

Eventually I reached the top, and was greeted by spectacular views.  A small "out and back" took us to the cliff edge, where some took time to take in calories, fluids, and the amazing scenery.  One of the many reasons this course is special.  Some rushed through as if saving two minutes was that important.  A handy tip is that if you arrive at a check point at the same time as me, you ain't gunna be in the lead, and you ain't gunna win.  So relax and enjoy the view.

the out and back section

At this point I began overtaking some human trail wreckage as the steep climb began to take its toll.  I also began to match pace with a lovely lady.  It is amazing how you can spend a whole day with an unknown trail buddy in longer events without a single word being spoken.  We leap frogged the entire course until at 33km she finally introduced herself, we laughed about running together the whole time, then she dropped me like a hot potato and beat me by miles.  Talking to others out on the trail, I was amazed at how many first time marathoners were in the event.  I was having a good day, so if my race report makes it all sound easy, it wasn't.  I'm just a good liar.  I can't imagine what tackling this course would be like for a first marathon.  I cried during my first one, and it was all flat.  Some seriously brave people were doing this run. If this had been my first marathon I don't think I would have finished.

At the first turnaround at 10km, a polite voice said "hello Rob. Having fun ? Touch the post, and then you can run back"  It was Kevin Heaton from the BushRunners in his Race Marshall role.  I politely thanked him, and began the return.  It was a long uphill walk at this point, so time to nibble and sip for a while.  I did get yelled at by a Race Marshall for going the wrong way. Man, I get lost anywhere.

On the return trip I encountered a fellow I shall call "Marathon Man".  Marathon Man has run over 100 marathons.  I know this because he told everyone repeatedly as we formed a queue behind him on the downhill run.  He also regaled us with endless stats about all his marathons as the queue grew longer.  No one could pass Marathon Man, and I was concerned that someone would eventually shove him over a cliff, yelling out stats as he plummeted to his doom.  Eventually, however, the trail widened and we sneaked past him.

At the halfway aid station I took the time to enjoy some banana and watermelon, have a drink, and fill my bottle.  Quite a few ripped past me, splashed acrossed the river, and disappeared.  Let me modestly say, that they too became trail wreckage I easily passed soon after.  If you seriously think that saving 2 minutes in the course of a five to six hour run is worth it, think again.  It helps to eat and drink during a 6 hour run.

views over Wolgan Valley on trail up to the Glow Worm Tunnel

the trail up to the tunnel

I had a few race goals.  Sub 6 hour would be nice.  Halfway in 3:13 had me pleased.  I knew the first half was way slower and harder than the second, and I still had plenty in the tank. My other goal was to really enjoy the run.  I did not want to finish like a train wreck.  I was really trying hard to operate at a certain level of effort, and I felt really good so far. That had me pleased too.  I was taking photos and chatting along the way and having a great day.  I was even stopping bushwalkers to take my picture.  I'm sure they loved being accosted by a small sweaty hairy stinky man.

The Glow Worm Tunnel

Climbing up to the Glow Worm Tunnel is fairly steady - old rail lines are like that !  I do enjoy hills, and this is a goody.  The Tunnel was cold and dark and spooky and fun.  A bit more uphill running, then straight down to the last Checkpoint at 35km.  At this point the steep downhill sections started to hit the quads, so I backed off a touch until the checkpoint, where I had a last drink.  Then just as I was leaving the CP, I heard a loud yelling. OMG.  The return of Marathon Man.  He caught me up and began shouting about his 5:02min/km he had just run, compared it to last years time, and began spouting countless details about last years run legs compared to his times this year.  I offered to let him past, but he stuck on me like a tick.  Finally we hit an uphill and I gave decide to give it everything I had, and managed to leave him behind.  His 5:02 downhill sprint didn't help much at that point.

This left 6km of absolute serenity to finish.  The last stretch down to the finish was easily the loveliest running I have ever enjoyed in my life.  Flat trail, soft grass, warm sun, running beside a beautiful river.  Hurting, yes, but good hurting.  I could have run all day at this point (once again, I lie).  Saw Kevin sweeping the course, looking happy to be alive.  FYI, a sweeper runs the trail last to make sure no one is left out there, and to inform some runners that they have not made the cut off, and are out of the run.  I was sure he was going to have some clientele.  Eventually I crossed the river, was greeted by my screaming wife who had driven up for the finish, so I cracked it for a big sprint finish to show off.  As usual I forgot to turn off the GPS, but apparently I had run a fruit cake powered 6:01:55, so was delighted with my days work. 

After several minutes of cuddles and chatting with the lovely wife Caiti, and tracking down my lovely trail buddy who had beaten me home by a long way, there was a shout as a runner crossed the line and collapsed.  Marathon Man had arrived, but was beyond speech (for a while at least). 

Looking forward to Glow Worm 2014 already !!

A PACER'S TALE (Part 2) Nov 2013

A PACER'S TALE  (Part 2)  

Nov 2013

How to write a report about pacing the runner who has just won the GNW100 mile event.  One part of me is humble and doesn't want to make a fuss, but another part of me wants to shout "oh yeah baby !", jump in the air, do a few thousand fist pumps.  He worked hard.  He deserved it.  Lots of planning, and awesome execution.  It was also the furthest I had ever run in my life, so a little chuffed about my own effort as well. 

As some may know, in 2012 I paced Gav to an inglorious DNF (A Pacers Tale - Part 1).  He had arrived at Yarramalong "a bit tired", then we had a painfully slow six hour death march between Yarramalong and Somersby, and it was all over when he began developing a lovely case of hypothermia.  So waiting for him at the 100km mark this year was nail biting.  We had begun hearing about was how hot it had been, runners dropping out, IV drips, and checkpoints that looked like medical evac units.  By this time last year there had been a constant stream of runners at the finish. This year....no one (however it did give Bek time to completely reorganise all my drop bags).  When the 100km winner finally arrived he looked smashed.  Then Brendan Davies, the hot race favourite and 100 mile race leader arrived, and immediately disappeared for a lie down.  Other pacers and support crews were receiving word that their runners were way off schedule, or had already dropped out.  It didn't look good, and I was hoping Gav didn't arrived smashed like last year.  After a while Brendan Davies eventually resurfaced, looking average, but OK.  He picked up his pacer, then checked out and disappeared into the night.  

Then almost immediately Gav appeared looking GREAT !!  Game on.

In the year leading up to this moment, we had planned endlessly.  I think we came close to wearing out Gmail and Facebook swapping ideas and working through what had gone wrong last year.  We had discussed training, preparation, hydration, and nutrition at great length, and in infinite detail.  We had workshopped an endless number of possible scenarios.  Gav going well, Gav going bad.  Me going good, me going bad.  Me carrying Gav, Gav dropping me.  Even a slow  hand in hand death march to the finish was discussed as a horrible, but entirely possible outcome.  Whatever the scenario, though, we were getting to Patonga.  Being a modest chap, Gav never made a fuss, but we had also definitely discussed the scenario of a Top 10  finish.  It was a possibility that we had contemplated, and suddenly here it was, and we were ready.  As we set off, he simply told me "I'm fine on the flats, great running downhill, we are walking the hills.  Stay level, or run behind me, just don't get in front".  I had told him to lay down the law.  He did, and this is exactly what we did for the next 75km. 

Soon after we left Yarramalong we found Brendan lying on the trail.  He seemed in an awful way (and this is why runners have pacers).  However, the man is a champion, and we knew he was more than capable of rising from the dead and winning by several hours.  As we overtook him, he and Gav exchanged a few kind words, and  then we set off.  It is a race, but we did feel for him.  He looked seriously messed up. 

No.  We did not get excited.  We did not discuss the possibility of winning.  There was way too much work ahead to get stupid and screw it all up now.   

Compared to last year, the leg between Yarramalong and Somersby (28.4km) was a breezy 4.16 of fun.  As the wet weather set in, we sweltered down in the valleys, then worked our way up hills to be greeted by rain and freezing winds.  This was to be the pattern of the night.  Peel layers off, zip layers back on.  Not that I minded the hills.  I love slow hill climbs, and found  it very calming moving steadily through the night.  Very beautiful and peaceful.  I hadn't just run 100km though like Gav.   As we climbed the last hill before Somersby, I heard him swearing - and he never swears!  Apparently that last hill was inordinately fond of it's mother and engaged in sexual relations with her.  Repeatedly.

In places Gav would get a roll on.  It felt great as a pacer to have fresh legs to run with him, and just help him keep pushing the good stretches just that little bit longer.  It was also so quiet that I noticed how often our footsteps were in sync.   It was fascinating to get into a steady rhythm and just hold it for as long as possible.  Mostly I could read his body language and know when he was about to start running, and when he was about to stop (and then I would try getting a little closer to him to maybe push him on that extra bit longer).  My main problem was trying to eat in sync.  For some reason, just as I just shoved food into my gob, his body language would change, he would say "run", and off we would go - me with a mushy mouthful of food trying to chew, salivate, breathe, swallow and run all at the same time. 

Conversation I recall: 
Me: "Gav, hope my bags are OK.  Bek kind of rearranged everything".
Gav: "Welcome to my life".

At Somersby (CP 5), the girls had everything under total control.  I know Gav had his notes for each checkpoint, but planning and execution are two different things.  Everything was totally nailed by the genius combo of Bek and Ryleigh.  We were in and out in moments.  We were ready to be flexible if we needed to stay longer, but no need.  Last year he was a sad, broken man.  This year he was great.  We took off to Mooney Mooney (17.8km) and reached it in 2.24.  During this leg we discussed how all those Wednesday night runs around Bobbin Head were paying off.  It was loose, rocky, and technical in places, but we screamed downhill.  This section is beautiful to run in the daytime, and it was great to be in good enough shape to enjoy its beauty at night as well.  Although the open exposed gravel area near the big water tanks could seriously be one of the spookiest places on earth - especially at night with rain and howling winds.  Creepy as hell.

On the flats to Mooney Mooney bridge (CP 6), we both got a bit sloppy in our foot work.  Lots of toe stubbing and stumbling (or maybe that was just me).  Our "pushes" were getting shorter and less intense, but at least we were still moving steadily.  About all Gav was saying was "walk", or  "run" - but there was nothing else to say really. 

We reached Mooney Mooney bridge, and Gav sent me off to wake Bek and his daughter Ryleigh while he got Coke and water and info about who was behind us. It took a while to wake the girls despite shining my head light into their faces and banging on the window.  Apparently they were a bit sleepy and not at all scared of crazy men who looked like serial killers.

I must admit to a rookie error here.  I needed to swap my batteries, refuel...etc.  I also needed to reapply lubricant to certain sensitive areas - but forgot.  As we set off from CP 6 I had an "oh dear" moment, but no way we were going back, so I didn't tell Gav.  SUCK IT UP PRINCESS !! (Let me just note that diving through the shower when I got home was something like visiting the seventh layer of hell).

We apparently had about an hour lead, but with 25.4km to go, this was absolutely no guarantee of a win (we found out later that the next runner was flying and that hour lead was fast being reduced to a half hour). We were moving steady, and I felt it would take either a superhuman effort to catch us, or a complete crash and burn from Gav, but both options were still very possible.  I was becoming concious of Gav starting to stress about the possibilty of someone catching us up, and I felt he was possibly beginning to push a little too hard.  I obviously didn't want to slow him down if he was feeling good, but I did not want to see him blow up either.  Aaahh, the mind games.  I must say, however, that we both left CP6 new men..  Gav set off like a gazelle, all bouncy and springy.  The man is amazing.

As we approached the unmanned water stop, Gav got cranky because there was supposed to be an unmanned water stop.  "There's supposed to be an unmanned water stop" !! he exclaimed frustratedly.  I was a little surprised as he was standing right next to a trestle table with half dozen 30 litre water containers.  "mmmmm"I  thought, "I think my runner is getting a little blurry".   But 10km to go.  We can do this.  This was also the only moment that Gav was good to go, but I had to say "not yet, give me a moment".  Trying to sneak in eating and drinking around Gav's needs had been fine up until now, but at this point I really needed to stop, and get a gel and a good drink in.

Conversation I recall: 
The unmanned water stop would mark the furthest I had ever run.  It was also the 100 mile point.  As we left it, Gav said "and now you have run the furthest in your life".  I replied "and so have you".  He said "I can't believe I have just run 100 miles.  How do you feel?".  "Pretty shit.  Let's finish this".

Approaching the top of Mt Wondabyne, we turned off our lights and looked behind.  Nothing. No one.  Without saying a word, we turned, put our lights back on, and kept on running. 

As the dawn broke, we passed a camper out having a morning slash.  Poor bugger.  Bet he didn't expect two sweaty dudes with head torches to go running by.

Things got interesting after this.  The soft tissue around my knees was getting really sore. Everything else felt great, but the knees...not so good.   I actually found it easier to run than walk, but this didn't really work for Gav. - and he was mixing up his running with some massively fast power walkin,g and his long legs and my short ones weren't in sync now.    I was in no man's land.  I was happy to drop behind, then catch up with a run, but I felt I was messing with his head, as he would turn and ask "you OK?"  Man, the guy is so nice.  After a 100 miles he was still checking in on me.  I just kept telling him "I'm fine" and telling myself "it only hurts" and pushing on.  I was pretty sure he hurt worse than me so I was keeping my little Princess mouth shut.  Then suddenly his "walk the hills" started going out the window as he kicked for home.  He began trotting up some lesser slopes and this suited me better.

For me, the funniest moment was when a couple of girls appeared to announce there was a news crew around the bend.  Gav the media tart suddenly began stripping off his unflattering night gear for me to stow in his pack, and began arranging his hair.  Brilliant.

We passed the cameras, but they reappeared soon after on a long, long, long, long road stretch.  They kept leap frogging us to set up cameras and film us, so we kept on running.  By this time we were both bleary with exhaustion, but felt we needed to keep going for the cameras.  By the time they waved good bye and wished us luck, we were two knackered little show ponies.

We climbed to the top of Warrah Trig overlooking Patonga and Broken Bay, and nervously looked along the long stretch of road behind us. No one.  Gav allowed himself to mumble that maybe we might win - but was he still worried just in case there was someone we couldn't see.  At this point there was still no exultation, and even I got eager to get to the end ASAP just in case someone WAS closing in and we got pipped at the post.  Gav knew I was in pain, but I was good to go, and with a gentle reminder to "suck it up" we rampaged down the last (oh my God please let it really be the last) hill down to Patonga.  As we ran along the beach, the finishing bell started ringing, Bek and Ryleigh ran towards us, and Gav started crying.  What a wuss.  Then the big finish.  Gav had spent all night telling me he wanted to kiss wood, and the moment finally arrived - AND he got to kiss that little post as the winner. 

It is weird being a pacer.  At times you think "why am I here".  However, you also know you play a part.  The times I commented "your foot work is great", or "you are getting sloppy feet" - it all goes into the mental data bank for your runners' blurry brain to process and (hopefully) contributes to their performance.  Talking through what is up ahead to clarify the course and help them to work out where they need to push or back off - it all helps.  Talking through what needs to happen at the next check point, and whether it will be a longer/ slower one.  And if you have ever been alone with your demons in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, you know important it can be just to have someone beside you just to get you through.  It gets scary out there boys and girls !!

We had a game plan, and Gav was smart enough to be flexible enough to adapt it when conditions got so hot.  It was a well deserved, well planned win.  I feel so very honored to be able to run with someone so dedicated, so smart, so well prepared.  It was one of the great experiences of my life.  He also remained so kind and generous throughout the run.  At all the checkpoints, no matter how much he was pushing for time, or how tired he felt, Gav always took time to thank everyone before he left.   Of course mega huge super thanks to Bek and Ryleigh too.  Arriving in a rush in the middle of nowhere, there they were, totally organised;  not just caring for Gav, but his pacer too.  I got more than my fair share of attention.  It was awe inspiring.  What a team.

Of course, my last words needs to go to thanking the lovely wife Cait.  She knows how hard I trained, and she was accepting of the time spent out running.  We worked hard as a team to fit training around work and social events. Whole training days are a pain sometimes.  She helped me workshop all kinds of scenarios.  When everyone else was kept in the dark, she helped me talk through Gav's crazy pacing schedule which scared the crap out of me.  She allowed me time to crash out.   She was accepting of 5am alarms, as well as when I needed to sleep in.  She helped me plan nutrition.  As a vegetarian runner, she  made sure I was extremely well fed.  In short - a complete legend.  What a woman. *mwah*  *mwah*.  She even waited for five minutes, arms outstretched,  for me struggle down the drive way to gave me a big cuddle when I arrived home all dirty, slimy and sweaty, then lovingly watched over me as I collapsed on the couch and fell asleep for hours (after my painful shower of course).  Job well done.

Conversation I recall:

"Rob, next year I will pace YOU !"

"Not now Gav"

Time to rest a while.

the big finish


 

a few hours later

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

North Face 100 here I come

http://vimeo.com/79842907

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeBHAPDGnNw

Two weeks until my first 100km run. The North Face 100. It seems a bit surreal that at the start of 2011 I didn't even know such things existed. I wasn't even running. But from the moment I read the term “ultrarunning” I must admit that, for whatever reason, a little naggy voice began whispering in my head.

So last Saturday morning, I was lying in a warm snuggy bed, listening to the sound of rain falling. I guess running can make you a little strange, because the falling rain, and the freezing cold snap that has arrived during the night were exactly what I was hoping for. I wanted the chance to practice running in the cold and wet with a full pack with a jacket on. Instead of staying in my warm snuggy bed with a warm snuggy wife. Very strange indeed.

That hasn't been the only strange thing about training for a 100km event. The entire process has been a huge learning curve. Some aspects were easy to predict, whilst some have been unexpected. From talking to other crazy running folk, and from reading stuff written by other crazy running folk, some things I was ready for; but definitely not everything. So what went to plan ? and which things were unexpected and more challenging than expected ?

Hunger. O lordy. At times I felt like all I did was eat. Having always been active, and doing a physically challenging job, I was used to having a healthy appetite, but at times skipped meals and ate more later. During the training, though, I really had to think carefully about eating more regularly. Heading out for a long run when you haven't been eating well is a recipe for disaster. Which I discovered the hard way. Many times. Until I finally got the message. It took a while. I can be slow.

Let me say too, that when I hear people say “you run so much - you can eat whatever you like” - not true. In my case, eat crap, run crap. I usually tend to avoid refined carbs (lollies, bread, white flour, cakes, white sugar, soft drinks) as much as possible. At times I indulged a little (a few chocolates have died along the way), but not with great results. No free pass in this area. Except with salty foods. I never add salt to food or cooking, but after long runs I developed the most immense salt cravings. I have eaten a lot of miso, soy sauce, sea salt, chicken noodle soup of late (although I must add that adding TAILWIND to my training made a big difference - extra salty which I loved). All the training has meant I have actually had to be extra careful about my diet. A lot of thinking about what I needed to eat – especially as the training weeks got heavier. Thank goodness for the lovely wife Cait. “Darling Rob, can I buy a Thermomix ?” “Of course you can lovely Cait ! That way you can produce copious amounts of healthy vegetarian delights for me to chow down”.

Sleep. If you enjoy late nights and a good sleep in, do not sign up for a 100km event. After a few times waking at 4.30am to drive to Katoomba to run some stupid distance, you soon discover that your wife is shaking you awake on the couch at 8.30pm because you are snoring the house down and it is clearly time for bed.

Tiredness also raised its ugly weary head. A very deep tiredness. Some weeks I just tossed training out the window. Nothing but finishing work, eating, going to bed early to let the body play catch up.

Chafing.  Running a long way can lead to chafing.  Good thing there are some amazing products out there to stop it occurring.  However, it can be easy to miss a spot.  And that spot can become so very painful. So incredibly painful.

Time management possibly has possibly been the hardest part. I am a home body. I love being at home. I love hanging out with the wife and kids, reading, gardening, playing guitar, listening to music, drinking a nice red. However, despite my best intentions, things got stretched a bit thin at times – and when at home, sometimes I was just tired and boring (nut never cranky). Training for a 100km event has not made me a more fascinating and interesting person. My garden at times began to resemble a jungle. I quickly cut out shorter 5-10km runs simply because I couldn't find time for them.

Boredom. Yes, at times it got a touch tedious. I loved the long runs, but not every time. Thank goodness for iPods. I spent a lot of time listening to podcasts and listening to music. But even a favourite album gets old. As much as I love running, setting out for yet another two hour run after work was a challenge at times. Different from being bone tired – then I was fine with having a break. However, “I don't wanna” was not a good enough excuse (most times). You can play that card occasionally, but not too often. Once I started I was fine, but getting my butt into gear was hard work some days.

However, there have definitely been rewards and things I have enjoyed. My fitness has increased dramatically, way beyond what I would have ever thought was possible. There is something immeasurably satisfying about running for hours and experiencing yourself so completely as a physical being. Not the fittest, fastest, strongest runner, but a fitter, faster, stronger “me” beyond what I thought was possible. I sometimes feel like a superhero with a secret identity. Preschool teacher by day, crazy runner by night. Maybe I should start wearing my undies on the outside. I am sure that I will finish the 100km, but if not, the training has still brought me a great deal of satisfaction simply because of fitness alone. 

Of course I am not suggesting that it was all a slog.  There have been sublime moments as well, the kind that make it all worthwhile.  Standing in the Jamison Valley watching a wall of cloud swirl around me as it boomed thunder, with a curtain of rain hung right in front of me with hardly a drop touching me.   Wonderful moments of solitude and peace in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the beautiful outdoors.  Dripping sweat, hot, stinky, sucking on some kind of sport drink, totally at peace.  For whatever reason, this makes me happy. 

Gear and checklists … mmmm, gear … mmm, checklists ... When I first began looking at websites for ultras, they always had “mandatory gear” sections with big long lists of stuff. At first this was a huge turn off (in part because I am such a cheapskate). However I have seemed to accumulate some stuff quite naturally. The main expense was my Salomon vest, which became a 50^th birthday present. The poor wife trying to explain to her friends what she was buying me was funny. “You're buying him a what ? What is that? What does it do? Why does he need that ? HOW FAR DOES HE RUN ?” I think in the end it was abbreviated to “some crazy running thing”. I am in love with my “crazy running thing”. This has been a big surprise in my training – just how big a difference it has made. All those easy to reach pockets. Mmm … pockets.

Which leads to lists. Lists of mandatory gear. Lists of things to pack for the weekend. Lists of things to pack into each drop bag. Lists of things to do before the start. Lists of things to have ready at the end. Lists of things to buy. Analysis of training runs: time taken, calories and liquids consumed. Break this down into lists of what to carry each leg of the run, how to carry it. What worked, what didn't. What top/ shorts/ hat to wear ? Undies or commando ? I have loved all this. Nerd heaven. And don't get me started on maps and course directions. Bliss.

Of course, running for hours on end has meant a lot of time to ponder “why”. Should everyone run 100km ? Of course not. What a silly idea. It has been a hard journey to get myself to this point, and I have made sacrifices along the way. Does this make me better than someone else. Of course not. I think most folk should be able to run 5-10km as a basic fitness level, or some similar level of exertion at some activity (or just do something), but after that, what is the point ? The closest I have come to an answer is that at any point in time you have an image of yourself, and a set of beliefs about yourself. I believe all of us want to be the best version of that image that we can. At times what we think is important can change. New things come into the picture, beliefs change. You meet new people with different ideas (I suspect joining the Berowra Bush Runners has been a bad influence). Old beliefs change. Your self image changes. It is probably impossible to put into words exactly why I need to run 100km, but I can say that if I never tried, it would have been one of those horrible “I wonder what if” things that never went away. At this point in time it is a challenge that resonates (and I hope it is still resonating after about 80km).

Do I feel ready ? Yes. Am I ready ? Time will tell. Maybe some folks who have run many of these events would be more certain. I have based my training heavily on Dr Phil Maffetone's “180” formula to promote fat burning and endurance. Keeping your heart rate at “180 minus your age”. Like so many who choose this method, there are initially many long slow runs (much slower than your usual pace), lots of hill walking, and a good deal of frustration. Especially when you head into summer and the heart rate gets up far more easily. Eventually the heart rate monitor died, but I definitely began training at a much lower intensity (intensity goes out the window with heart rate training), and over time I gradually began noticing my pace increasing at a much lower sense of effort. I also began finishing longer runs feeling way less smashed – quite good in fact !

So I will finish typing this, then head out for a last 20km run. Time to taper. Have I done enough. Have I done too much. I have no idea, but no point worrying and second guessing now. It is all part of the challenge, and in two weeks it will be interesting to look back on the journey. But that is for another time.

THE NORTH FACE 100 2014

THE NORTH FACE 100 2014

4km done - only 96km to go

Well, it's finally done. My first 100km race. What an experience.

Before the big day, everyone kept asking “are you excited, are you nervous”. It was hard to answer. In fact, I was actually extremely calm. In days leading up to the run, I was sleeping like a baby. A wise man (hello Gavin) suggested it was because I was ready. Couldn't help but agree. I just felt ready.

The other question I was asked repeatedly was “how long do you think you will take ?” Initially I fudged, eventually I was saying “it's a secret”. In fact I had a clear time in mind, but for a 50 year old bloke running his first 100km run, a 14 hours and something goal is pretty ambitious. However, I do a lot of meditation and visualisation, and the number 14 just kept coming up. The only folks I told were Gavin and the lovely wife Cait, but swore them to secrecy. I didn't want someone to start analysing and picking it apart, and maybe throwing a little doubt in my mind.

Race day started at 4.30am. The alarm went off, and I lay there wide awake. I could have started right there and then. Instead I tip toed into the bathroom to make coffee. Our little room was toasty and warm, but the bathroom was freezing. So I was stoked when putting on the small blow heater the fuse went “BANG” and the light went out. Woo hoo. Way to go. No lights, no heat, no hot water – but fortunately only in the bathroom.

At the start line I was just so relaxed it was scary. It was lovely standing and chatting with Cait. I had read so many ideas about ultra race plans, but to be honest, I just did not care about “the right way to run”. I had a few thoughts, but all I really wanted to do was run run run run run. I had been doing so much effort based training, and when the start came, I just took off and settled into a steady pace. As the day progressed, I didn't spend much time thinking about “saving myself” - I wanted to run at a good pace consistently. If I crashed and burned, I didn't really care. I wanted to be able to finish, look back, and think “I gave it everything”.

Before the race, I had dreaded the section through The Landslide. Not because of its difficulty, but because in training I had encountered others struggling through here. I am so spoilt continually training on technical track close to home. It was a one km stretch where we all just stood waiting, shuffled a few metres, then waited some more. Oh well, just part of the fun. I just relaxed and enjoyed the view. The Landslide is truly an amazing place.

Eventually the trail opened up, and the race was on. It was a nice mix of being passed, and passing others. Everyone was so friendly about it all. The Golden Stairs flew by.

CHECK POINT 1 (Narrowneck). The run along Narrowneck began. It was such a glorious morning, and the views were magnificent. I had already decided that this was a big part of grabbing my dream time. In training I had needed to carry lots of fluid, and it felt great to start with just 1 litre, not the 2.5 I needed when out alone. Just needed to top up at Check Point 1 (11.5 km). It seemed all my land marks flew by. It was a dream run. I had been warned about big delays at Taros Ladders, but there were only a few others, and they scaled the ladders quickly. Awesome. Raced over Mt Debert, down to Medlow Gap, then off to Dunphy's (Check Point 2).

Again, a lovely runnable stretch. I was feeling relaxed. Possibly too relaxed. I began to let out the biggest, loudest, longest set of farts in history. Unfortunately I hadn't heard the foot steps behind, and a voice yelled out “hey, a warning would be nice”. Oops.

The mantra in ultra running is “walk the hills”. However, there are hills, and then there are inclines. I was amazed at how many just stopped running and began a casual stroll. If there was a flat stretch between inclines, this was walked as well. At first I thought “should I walk too”, but realised that my 14 hour goal would turn into 20 hours – so I ran.

CHECK POINT 2 (DUNPHY'S). Dunphy's was its usual beautiful self. I was carrying a small sachet (4 scoops) of TAILWIND, which I dumped into my pack with a litre of water. I had decided to just use TAILWIND as fuel. No solids at all unless necessary. All my calories and electrolytes in liquid form. So far it was working a treat. In the end I ran the entire event using only TAILWIND. Not the slightest bit hungry, no bonking. Not to say I didn't get tired. TAILWIND is not a miracle drug, and it doesn't contain cocaine (I hope not).

Off along Ironpot Ridge for the out and back section. I had walked some of this bushwalking, but not the private property section. I had heard about how lovely this section is, but nothing about how hard the drop off the ridge is. I found it to be a killer. Hard dirt, loose rocks. So steep and slippery. One poor woman was sliding down the rocky trail on her backside and tearing her butt to pieces. She had walking poles, but they seemed useless on the hard ground. I wanted to get past, but chose to leave her to her suffering (and judging by the abuse and screaming she was was definitely suffering) and hung back. My strategy at this point was to line up a tree, fly down the hill, and use it to stop me. At one point I came close to a massive fail and I finished on my knees, hands desperately clinging to a stump, trying not to slip down a 2 metre drop. However, past this section it was, it was indeed lovely. Although not having been along here before, it was a bit of a mental challenge. Where were we going, when does it end ?

Megalong Valley Road finally arrived, and we were just down the hill from the last Check Point at Dunphy's. Bumped into a friend, but we didn't really talk (I was a bit puffed), then I walked the hill like a good little ultra runner. At the top I was good to go, and flew along. Was this smart so early ? Did not care a bit !

CHECK POINT 3 (EUROKA). Hit my first ever Check Point WITH A CREW. People to look after me.  I had felt unworthy when Gav offered to crew, but he was so cute when he asked I had to say “yes”. He began by greeting me with “Mandatory gear check for Hi-Vis top and waterproof pants”. Interesting, because water proof pants weren't mandatory and if they were, they weren't required for another 35km. He tells me he said “thermal”, but I heard “waterproof”. After 47km, there is a slight possibility I misheard. In and out in under 2min30sec ! So THAT”S why you have crew ! Now I get it. All my goodies neatly lined up for me. Bek and Gav. What a team. Legends. Although Bek did say “omigod, you are running sub 12 hour finish !” sshhh. That's a long way off. I knew I was pushing it a bit, but was worried about being sucked into crazy mind games that really would make me blow up.  The hardest bit was still ahead. I had already done the sums though myself. Was I running too fast ? Did not care a bit !

Huge adrenaline rush for about 5 minutes.  Check Points are so exciting after hours of running.  Crowds, cheering, Hi Fives, music - then I went flat. Nothing. At this point I just ran without a huge effort, but made sure I was still running. I didn't want to drop into a long time wasting slump.  After a while all things came good again and I pushed a bit more. Through the day I experienced a variety of aches and pains – left hip, right little toe, left big toe, cramp in right arm, sore knees. Nothing hung around long. I hit Nellie's Glen pretty happy. I love stairs. Even on tired legs.  They make a complete change from running.  I climbed them in the same time as training. Yippee.

Between CP3 and CP4 I began to encounter folk who looked like they were struggling. Lots of slow walkers. I began to appreciate that I still felt good. Hitting the big 50km sign and doing it tough would have been an awful feeling. I began to understand why the next check point is a place where people start to drop out.

CHECK POINT 4 (Aquatic Centre). I arrived at the Aquatic Centre where the lovely Cait was waiting. Having crew you can kiss and cuddle is always a bonus. Bek was there too (another kiss and cuddle). So was Gav (firm manly handshake as I recall). Had a bit of gear sorting here, but still out in under 5 minutes. Again, having crew was such a treat. Especially the cuddly kind. I knew that this was where many have thoughts of calling it quits, so it was good to get out fast (because it would have been so lovely to stop a while, chat...start to set...think about stopping...).

The next section was my favourite in training. I find it the most scenic part of the course. At one point, as the sun was dropping below the horizon, I had to stop and watch. Stunning. Made all those steps and stairs worthwhile (sort of). It was also where the light began to fade. I had hoped to pass through here as the sun was setting, and put on my torch after Wentworth Falls. I almost got there, so I was stoked. I am happy to trot along in dim light, but others had already started popping on torches, which meant I had to put mine on too because they were killing my night vision. Quick stop to pop on warm top and Hi-Vis vest as well, so all good.

I hit Check Point 5 in great shape. I could not believe how good I felt. It was such a rush. Made even better by Gav and Bek awaiting me all smiley and cheery. Gav wanted to hustle me through, but I needed to take stock here. I needed to swap my crunchy dirty socks for fresh ones. Lots of small stones. Did I need new shoes? no. Did I want to swap shirts ? no. I was damp, but did I want to strip down ? no. too cold. I did need my thermal pants. With everyone looking on I happily dropped my trousers. Hello lovely ladies. Just on 5 minutes here. On with my fleece as well then off down Kedumba.

Kedumba. The hill down here killed me. I had run it happily in training, but that was with 20km in the legs. I had 80km now, and I just wasn't as in control as I would normally be. It hurt. It wasn't pretty. At the bottom I hit the flat, set myself to run, but...pffft. A pathetic shuffly effort. I was able to push, lengthen my stride, but then another up or down would arrive and it was back to square one (square one being the pathetic shuffly effort).

All day long I had experienced flat spots, but these were short lived and just a simple fatigue. They passed. This was different. This was hurt. I was nowhere near stopping, but just not able to crank it up. It was too stop and start. I ran all the flats as best I could, and was still walking hard up hills, but even the slightest incline hit me hard. What was easy at 8.00 am was impossible now. I had some crap in my shoe, but when I tried to bend down to remove it I lost balance and nearly fell over. I had several attempts with the same result, and eventually gave up. If I got a blister, who cared. I didn't.

The race organisers had kindly placed cement blocks across the two creek crossings. Maybe on another day I would have skipped across, but tonight they seemed metres apart, and I nearly had a lovely swim several times. I could have splashed through the water, but didn't want to risk the effect of the cold water. Cramping and hypothermia anyone ?

Was I down ? NO ! This was something I had read about, something I had talked about, something I had thought about, something I had trained for. I was NOT going to limp in a 20 hour effort. I was loving it. I am sure that the elites live in a world with it's own rules. You finish in daylight, everyone runs the whole time, and then you're done. I was discovering I am a mid packer. After a while, it is a world of darkness, silence, solitude. No speaking. Small zombie groups climb a hill in darkness without a sound except crunching footsteps. At the top there is a moment, until someone starts a slow trot, then everyone slowly starts as well. As you pass a walker, there is a mumble of “well done”. You recognise other runners by their shoes in pools of light. No one sees faces. My friend Eric apparently passed me along here, but I had no idea.

I must confess that I passed the 91km aid station and began to tear up. From here I could finish with a broken leg. It felt so good. I climbed up to the Federal Pass and proceeded to stumble and trip the final stretch. At one point I was so tired I nearly fell into a small stream and had to drop to my hands to cross it. I just coulkd not make the tiny jump required.  At 98km I passed a fellow leaning against a tree making a horrible noise. “Are you OK ?” I asked. He mumbled “fine. I am just...so..tired”. I left him to his suffering and hit Furber Steps. I felt so sorry for folks who hate stairs. I cruised them happily – even the bit where I was tempted to crawl on all fours.

Suddenly the finish line appeared as a big pool of light around the corner. I took a moment in the darkness to savour the feeling. People say running 100km changes life forever. It takes you to a place way beyond what is normal, way beyond what is comfortable. Maybe that's not for everyone, but some of us need to visit this place. I enjoyed this moment, then rounded the corner to the final stretch. The lovely Cait was there, all smiles and happiness as usual. I could have just stopped there but she yelled “go and finish”. Good idea. It's not actually The North Face 99.99. Suddenly it was done.

It was great to cuddle the lovely Cait, hug and hi five all my friends at the finish, thank my crew again and again and again, and start downing a big chocolate milk. Suddenly, though, the cold hit me like a ton of bricks. I stripped off and put on dry, warm clothes, but no real difference. I began shaking and thank goodness someone had a blanket for me and we could hustle inside into the warm. Even after a warm car ride back to the hotel and a hot shower and extra layers and being snuggled up in bed I was still shivering (and still drinking chocolate milk).

15 hours 21 minutes. Not 14 something as I hoped – but did I care. Not even a teeny tiny little bit (and take away the road block through the Landslide and it might have been easy – that's what I tell myself). I had spent all day running as hard as I could, and I had done exactly what I had hoped to do. I was a very happy little ultra runner.

MY FIRST MARATHON

MY FIRST MARATHON a blast from the past. 

June 2012

I crouched, legs spread in the light of a beautiful Gold Coast morning, applying large blobs of petroleum jelly to my nipples and nether regions. First marathon here I come.

I knew I wasn’t the only first timer, and I wasn’t the only one having an “I want to run a marathon before I am fifty” moment. I had read through enough web sites and online forums (just ask my wife) to know I was far from unique. However, as start time got closer, these thoughts didn’t in any way lessen my nerves and excitement, or stop the chatter in my brain –“was two coffees too many”, “should I use the toilet”, “eat the whole muesli bar”, “should I have my gel now”, “should I drink more”, “are my shoes too tight”, “no one else has long sleeves”, “should I wear the drink belt” – on and on and on driving myself crazy.

Suddenly I had kissed my wife good bye, and I was on the road looking for the 4 hour pacer. He was easy to find as he had two enormous black balloons with “4:00” on them. I got in front of him, and began waiting nervously as Rob de Costella began yelling something about Phidippides and having a race plan. Slowly everyone began shuffling forward towards the start line. It appeared in the distance, we kept shuffling towards it, then suddenly everyone was running. This is it ! My race plan ? Firstly, hang around the 4 hour pacer. My training suggested I might run 4 hours, but who knew for sure. Not me!! (but I was pretty sure the last 20km would be slower..).

Keeping up with my 4 hour friend, though, was much harder than I thought it would be. I can be so slow over my first 10km, and today was no different. Suddenly I was worried about starting too hard, but I was determined to have a crack at 4 hours so I rolled the dice and kept on going. No guts no glory. Possibly no brains as well.

My race plan ? Walk through the drink stops (every 2.5km) and keep hydrated. Bam! Crunch! What was that? Oh, just missed the first drink station ! Don’t panic, every-thing still feels good, not thirsty. Where are those black balloons? Way up there! RUN !

At 5km I lunged at a sports drink, tried to slow down, and got smashed and abused by other runners who had no intention of slowing down. Obviously they didn’t appreciate my race plan. Got something down, but the sports drink was so diluted it may as well have been water.

I was still struggling to keep up with Mr Balloon Man, but in training I usually started feeling good at about 10km. I suspected I would pay for my fast start later, but knew I would kick myself if I finished in 4 ½ hours with plenty in the tank.

Approaching 10km I did start to feel good, and the brain began working. I got ahead of the bumping black balloons, yelled out to the drink station helpers “are there sports drinks”, and ducked around behind the tables. I took my time, had plenty to drink, and filled my drink bottle. Thank goodness I had decided to wear my drink belt (convinced by Hannah Sims –what a clever woman). It was easily the best decision I made for the run.

After this I had a golden patch. Training suggested this would last from between 15km to about 28km, so I decided to just relax and let the legs go at whatever felt good. I left the sound of the bumping balloons far behind and began to just enjoy the experience. The leaders came racing past; it was a goose bumps moment to see how well they were running, and all runners slowed to clap and cheer. This was easily the best part of the race. At the 15km Burleigh turn around I stopped to refill my bottle. I ate a gel and walked a bit and stretched. I had nearly caught the 3:45 hour pacer so I knew I was way ahead of schedule. My longest training run had been 38km, but not at anywhere near this pace. The great unknown lay before me. It was also starting to get seriously warm.

I loved the next 10km. Hi Fiving kids along the way. Crowds cheering. All good. Funny things begin to happen, however, after you have run a long way. Suddenly it was too hot, cute kids became annoying, people were in my way. I knew this was the beginning of something new. Low blood sugar,

lower glycogen supplies to the brain. Whatever it was, it was noticeable. Dorothy was no longer in Kansas.

At 29km, rounding a last bend before returning to the Gold Coast Highway, something began blowing up at the back of my knee. Training had me prepared with a list of possible problems and solutions, but this was new. All I could do was slow down, try walking to stretch it out. This kind of worked, and I got going again, but it was getting hard all of a sudden. It all went downhill fast. For some brain addled reason I became convinced my wife was going to be waiting at 30km. I became grumpy about having to slow down to see her. When she wasn’t there, this upset me as well. It was only post race that I realized that we had made no plans whatsoever. Yes, I had hit the wall.

I had driven the course in January, looked at maps, got it all clear in my head, but at about 34km all this was irrelevant. I was in incredible pain from my knee, I was hot, I was exhausted, and suddenly I had no idea where I was on the course. All the sums calculating distance which normally keep my brain busy were too hard. So I cried. Yes, I cried. An ugly cry. Boo hoo. I just wanted it all to stop. It couldn’t get any worse. Could it ? Yes it could –and did. Nausea began to wash over me. Then suddenly I turned around and the 4:00 Black Balloon Man was right behind me closing fast like a character from a Stephen King novel. If I slowed, the chance at 4 hours was gone forever. I knew I could finish by walking, but if I could just run a little further......

I wasn’t alone in the hurt locker. One runner careered off into some bushes and began hoicking his guts up. I passed a runner sprawled across the median strip receiving aid and speaking in tongues. Lots of groaning and vomiting suddenly surrounded me. Someone’s talking GPS device announced they were 4 seconds off target pace. Just as I was thinking “not bad” it was ripped off and flung far far away as the runner stomped to the side of the road and stopped.

The last 8 km were a nightmare of nausea, cramping, walking, recovering, and the “bomp bomp bomp” of black balloons. All that crap about the last 10km being more mental than physical was proving so incredibly painfully true. I kept having to stop to walk the cramp out, but that meant the pacer got past me and I had to catch up again. This happened over and over. Somehow he performed a mystical ninja move and was 50m ahead when I thought he was behind me. Then I began to realise that I didn’t actually know how far in front of the 4 hour pacer I had to finish to be under 4 hours, and began to appreciate that I should have started BEHIND him. Wish I could have thought of that 39km earlier!! As the last kilometres approached, I began struggling as far ahead of him as I could possibly run/ walk/ limp.

Crossing the finishing line, I had lost sight of him, but was so beyond caring. I leaned on a railing frozen in pain for about 5 minutes, but knowing I had given it all I had. Absolutely nothing left in the tank. Without doubt the hardest thing I have ever done but I had finished. Eventually I hobbled to where I had arranged to meet my wife (for real this time, not some brain addled delusion). She wasn’t there, and it took me several minutes to sit down without help. Eventually she found me, carrying the 2L of chocolate milk I had repeatedly requested for the finish. I nearly vomited.

Later that afternoon, as I was finishing the chocolate milk that my chocolate milk angel of a wife had bought me, she looked up my time. 3:59:56. Sub 4 hours. Oh yeah.