tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-287587532024-03-08T08:37:22.676+11:00Trail running trials and tribulations Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-55515102217269003892018-07-17T15:06:00.000+10:002018-07-17T15:06:09.439+10:00Preparation for Hardrock 2018Time for another crack at Hardrock.<br />
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July 1: Fly to Durango via LAX.<br />
July 2: 13km for 3hrs (400m) of easy running on the trails above Durango. 3km walk in and then 3km out of Durango.<br />
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July 3: 14km for 4hrs (761m) up Kendall Mtn with Larry Hall.<br />
July 4: drove over to Silverton for July 4 parade with Dale, Larry, Liz, Robert and Howie.<br />
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July 5: 6km for 1hr around Durango. Smoke still pretty bad. Moved to Silverton.</div>
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July 6: 16km for 5hrs (1,300m) up to Handies and back with Larry from Grouse.</div>
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July 7: 9km for 2hrs (300m) up Kendall solo to box car and back.</div>
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July 8: 16km for 6hrs (800m) Cunningham to Silverton with Larry and Beth. </div>
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July 9: 13km for 2:40hrs (325m) out to creek crossing and further out along Nute's Shute.</div>
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July 10: 16.7km for 6:48hrs (1,383m) up Handies again with Larry, Beth, Rachel (Beth's daughter), Roger and Hailey. </div>
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July 11: 12km for 4:28hrs (800m) up Grant-Swamp pass from Chapman with Larry and Roger. Drove over Ophir Pass and back the long way via Telluride to avoid sketchy road in storm. </div>
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July 12: 8km for 1:36hrs (182m) out via beaver dam trail to white ski hut, Arrastra Gulch, solo. The beaver dam has been breached and is now fully drained, sadly.</div>
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July 13: 11km for 3:23hrs (680m) Governor Aid Station to Virginius Pass with Larry, Roger and course marking team. Then hot baths (pool) and mexican to round out the day. </div>
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July 14: hiked low on Kendall to watch the Mtn Race.</div>
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July 15: </div>
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-63198704743771905902018-07-15T09:11:00.000+10:002018-07-15T09:11:03.873+10:00Hardrock Endurance Run 15-16 July 2016 (the view from the back of the pack)The Hardrock 2016 lottery was drawn in December 2015 and both Phil Murphy (Spud) and I were pulled from the barrel. We haven't tried to calculate the odds of both of us getting drawn in the same lottery (they would be substantial), we just thanked the running gods and packed our bags. This would be my 4th Hardrock and Spud's 2nd. Freakishly, we had both been drawn in the lottery back in 2010 as well. Again, what odds? Whenever I return from a trip to Silverton, people ask me how my trip went or how my run went. As hard as I try, I find it impossible to capture the real essence of such an adventure in a few simple words. It is difficult trying to convey the experience in a written report like this but I will try to give you some idea of what it was like. Even now after having run Hardrock four times, I still struggle to come to terms with the sheer magnitude of it. The physical and emotional scale can be overwhelming. Words seem inadequate.<br />
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<b>The short version, a.k.a. the executive summary.</b><br />
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The Hardrock Hundred Endurance Run trail ultramarathon is a 100.5 mile (161km) loop course through the San Juan mountains in south-western Colorado. Runners must climb the equivalent of Mount Everest from sea level (plus another 1,000ft) and then return, all done at an average elevation of 2 miles above sea level, and inside 48hours. I would add - do all of this while breathing through a straw. Seriously, try breathing through a straw. Now walk up a flight of stairs breathing through that straw. Do some of it on your hands and knees. And continue doing that for 40 plus hours. Now you are starting to get the idea.<br />
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Hardrock is run at an average altitude of over 11,000ft (3,400m). The lowest point on the course is the quaint mountain town of Ouray at 7,792ft (2,375m). The highest point is the summit of Handies peak at 14,048ft (4,281m). Runners have to cross 13 passes or summits over 13,000ft (3,962m). For some perspective, the highest mountain in Australia is Kosciuszko at 2,228m (7,310ft). <br />
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Let's get this part out of the way. No need for suspense here. I finished. It wasn't pretty but I got the job done. Some would say I was getting my moneys worth, being out there until close to the final cut. In reality, I struggled from early on and the second day and second night were what is commonly known in the ultra world as a sufferfest. Yes, you read that right, the <i>second</i> day <i>and</i> the <i>second</i> night, without sleep. I took 47 hours and 9 minutes (the cut-off is 48hrs). But at Hardrock a finish is a finish is a finish. And I will take that every time.<br />
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<b>The long version, a.k.a. what actually happened out there. (No apologies for length, only read this if you like to hear about self-indulgent, masochistic/narcissistic reflections.)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Misery loves company. So the saying goes. Well, I had plenty of company and I had plenty of misery. 152 runners started the 2016 Hardrock100. Right now I was halfway up Oscars Pass, the third of 13 big climbs of the race. There were runners all around me, labouring in the midday sun, just slogging it out. This is a race against the course, not against each other, and I only had enough energy to deal with the world directly at my feet. Heads were lowered. Hands were on knees. Misery might love company but it doesn't have too many friends. I felt very much alone in my anguish. And worse still, misery has no volume control. And right now it was screaming in my head.<br />
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It was hot. Damn hot. This year was predicted to possibly be one of the hottest Hardrocks on record. This was where my race started to unravel. I was only on number three of 13 big climbs I had to get over. And I was already struggling. How the hell was I going to do this? The mind games had begun. To finish Hardrock I had to first win this game in my mind.<br />
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At most ultras I like to break the race down into bite-sized chunks. Usually best measured by aid-stations. At Hardrock I count the climbs instead. The aid-stations are a bonus that merely punctuate the climbs. The climbs are what make or break you. If you can't conquer the climbs, then pack your bat and ball and go home now. But let's start back at the beginning.<br />
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<b>Silverton to KT</b><br />
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The race director, Dale Garland, sent us on our way from Silverton in the traditional low-key style that Hardrock is famous for, simply shouting: "<i>get outa here!</i>". After crossing Highway 550 to cheers from spectators and then splashing through Mineral Creek we started the first climb up to Putnam. All good so far. I started conservatively at the back of the pack as planned and gradually built my rhythm on the long, scenic, singletrack track climb up to Putnam. About halfway up I got stuck behind someone moving much slower than me and with limited passing opportunities he stepped partially off the track and ushered me past. As I stepped around him, I kicked a rock and jerked forward, almost falling onto my face. In the lead-up to Hardrock I had been battling to overcome a bad low-back injury. Now, this simple and otherwise benign trip and stumble caused me to jerk my back and bam, I felt the familiar stabbing in my lower back! I tried to ignore it but from then on it became a constant source of annoying pain, definitely not enough to stop me, but still limiting my movements.<br />
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Just to make matters worse, on the descent down to South Mineral Creek and KT, I moved sideways to pass another runner, and tripped again, this time literally somersaulting and rolling down the steep slope. Crap. I lay on my back and did a mini self-assessment. All good but if this continued I was going to have serious problems with my back. I refocussed and never tripped again for the rest of the race. But I spent the rest of the race bracing myself whenever stepping up or down off rocks. It's not like I was going to encounter many rocks on the Hardrock course, right?<br />
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<b>KT to Chapman </b><br />
<b><br /></b>I still got to Kamm Traverse (KT), the first aid-station a little ahead of my schedule. I felt pretty good on the slow, steady climb up the traverse away from the checkpoint. A bunch of runners passed me again on the steep climb to Grant-Swamp Pass but I wasn't concerned. I was keeping well within myself. There were dozens of people (spectators) and photographers coming back down the trail after hiking up to watch the leaders come through the Pass. They cheered and offered support and that really helped break-up the climb and kept my momentum up. This is a spectacular part of the course, vibrantly green with lush grass and abundant wild cabbage leaf plants and dotted with an array of wild flowers.<br />
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There were still a few crew and spectators up on the pass when I topped out on Grant-Swamp pass. I placed a small rock on the Joel Zucker memorial cairn. I had never met Joel, but I would have liked to. The views were spectacular. Looking across to Oscar's Pass I could see the tormenting zig-zagging path up the bare rocky mountain face.<br />
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The scree slope descent off Grant-Swamp was a stodgy mess. I usually love sliding down this loose scree slope of gravel and dirt. Today it was dry, dusty and treacherous. It was kind of like skating on marbles. You couldn't follow anyone else's line for fear of sending rocks down on top of them. I went left and just launched into it. There was no holding back here. Once you committed you were on your way. It was an uncontrolled scramble-slide but I stayed essentially upright by leaning back a little using one hand for balance, just like surfing with my back hand buried in the wave behind me as a brake.<br />
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From the base of the scree slope I scrambled across the rock fields, then down the long valley towards Chapman aid station along some nice runnable singletrack. Finally descending through the pine forest near the valley floor was a sweet way to finish this segment. My heart rate was up after the scrambling scree descent and the long run gravity fuelled run into the checkpoint but I felt good. Despite my shoes being full of grit and gravel, I didn't bother to stop and empty them. As much as I should have, reaching down to my feet was dodgy with my back so I left them alone.<br />
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<b>Chapman to Telluride</b><br />
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Things start to go south.<br />
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This years Hardrock was run in the clockwise direction. The climbs and descents are described as a series of ramps and walls. In this direction we climb the walls and you get to run down the ramps. That means that in this direction you should be faster, especially if you are a better downhill runner than climber, like me. I didn't say this direction was any easier. You never use the word <i>easy</i> in the same sentence as Hardrock. Faster, that's the theory anyhow. Right now I was more concerned with my ability to simply finish. Consideration of times went out the window. The focus was on the old cliche of just putting one foot in front of the other.<br />
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Oscars Pass is a brute of a climb and my least favourite on the course. Now there's a concept: favourite climbs. Did I mention that I am essentially a downhill runner? The climb started pretty well. I caught up to Larry from Canada (and a comrade from Fat Dog120 last year) who was clearly struggling. I encouraged him to hang in there. Larry is a much stronger climber than me so I knew he must be struggling if I caught him on a climb. He had left me for dead climbing Putnam earlier. Then I had re-passed him on the long knee-crushing, arse-sliding, out-of-control descent off Grant-Swamp. Then he pulled away from me again on the climb out of Chapman. But here I was passing him on a climb. But not for long.<br />
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The heat was becoming overwhelming. While generally, I like the heat, on this climb it was oppressive. The altitude was sucking the life out of me. Larry looked terrible. Amazingly, almost as if I had passed all my energy over to Larry, he came good and started to pull away from me. I sat down on a log. Suddenly I was alone again, me and my new friend misery.<br />
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I pushed on, it seemed way too early to be going into survival mode. I was less than 50km into the race. Instead, I concentrated on getting through each switch back. I wasn't thinking about the next checkpoint, or even the next summit. Just the next switch-back. I noticed a sharp pain growing in my buttock (left gluteus medius). I tried to ignore it and relied more heavily on my poles to push forward. Again, it wasn't going to stop me but it was a constant annoyance.<br />
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After what seemed like an eternity, I topped out and started traversing towards the Wasatch basin. I breathed a sigh of relief in the thin mountain air and started the long, long descent into Telluride. As I descended into lower altitude again, I found more energy to run and was soon well down the trail into town. And then a new problem. My inner thighs (adductors) on both legs, started cramping badly. Just as the relief of descending had released my glute pain, my inner thighs started seizing up with cramp. I would back off and it would settle but then seize up again as soon as I started running. I struck a happy medium and settled for a shuffle to keep things moving. Wow, this was going to be an interesting day. Or two.<br />
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As I got close to Telluride I cam around a bend and there were Gavin and Rebekah Markey on the trail. Gav and Bek are the Aussie Tailwind distributors and had come out to support the race (tailwind is a major partner of Hardrock). They were crewing for Spud at Telluride and hung around to see me come in and help me out as well. I was so far behind him they had wandered a couple of kilometres up the trail to find me. It was great to see familiar faces and we jog/walked into the aid station together. They helped me sort my gear and I was out of there in no time. Well the splits say it was 19 minutes but it seemed like a lot less. It was amazing how much better I felt at this lower altitude. The boost of some homegrown support reinvigorated me and I forgot all my woes. Back to the trail.<br />
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<b>Telluride to Ouray</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Getting through Telluride is a huge mental boost. It is still very early in the race but it signifies ticking off three of the toughest climbs. And being the first big aid-station with lots of support and activity it really lifts your spirits. The next climb to Mendotta Saddle and then around to Virginius soon brings you back down to earth and kills that euphoria!<br />
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Leaving town I actually started passing a few people. All things are relative and it wasn't so much that I had picked up pace but rather they were suffering more than me.<br />
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It was getting late in the afternoon. I wanted to get as close to Ouray in daylight as possible. I really wanted to get there in daylight but knew there was no chance of that. The climb to Mendotta Saddle is long and hard. Really long and really hard. That describes several hours of pain in my life with my new buddy misery riding on my back. But you get the idea. What hurt the most was successfully traversing the dodgy narrow goat-track on the steep gravel mountain side that led up to the saddle and then realising I was still actually a long way from the high point of Virginius Pass.<br />
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People always talk about how tough Hardrock is, but they rarely mention how dangerous it is. You need to treat this course with a healthy dose of respect and check your ego at the door. One slip here and you are gone. The course director, Charlie Thorn, always says the most dangerous part of Hardrock is the car ride to the start. I agree, but there is also a thousand places out on the course that if you fell you would die. Pretty simple really, try not to fall.<br />
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The final ascent to Virginius Pass and the legendary Kroger's Canteen aid station was on hands and knees. It is that steep, and crumbly. Again, while sucking in air through a straw. The aid-station consists of only a few square metres of bare hard rock wedged precipitously on a rocky ridge. The supplies carried in by backpack and hauled by rope up the steep slopes. I sat on a rock bench seat, softened by someone's thermarest and the late afternoon sun feebly tried to warm me up. It felt glorious and for a few moments I was oblivious to the challenge ahead and the effort behind. One of the hardy volunteers, handed me a short cup full of coke. I hadn't drunk coke (or coffee or alcohol) since my heart went bad 5 years before. But I chugged that shot of liquid gold without a second thought. It was pure liquid joy.<br />
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Refreshed and reinvigorated, I was ready to push on (2 minutes total stop but it felt much longer). I thanked Roch Horton and his crew for being there and headed over to cliff edge leading to the first pitch. The descent off Virginius is made up of three pitches. The middle one is fairly benign but the top and bottom ones are real doozies.<br />
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A fixed climbing rope was in place to get us down the first pitch. There were two runners already part way down the rope so I waited until they were close to the bottom and grabbed the rope and slid, almost abseiling style, down the steep slope. My canvas gloves worked a treat and I caught the other two runners before they had even left the bottom of the rope.<br />
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We took off across rocks and snow and after descending the second pitch, picked our way to the top of the final pitch. I decided to slide the snow on my bum, digging my poles in behind me as a rudder-come-brake. I ended up crashing through the melting ice over a small creek but there was no real damage. I picked up the trail again at the bottom and it was time to really start running.<br />
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The trail from here to Ouray is about 15km of solid jeep road that eventually becomes a proper gravel road. Nearly all of this is downhill. On hard, hard packed dirt and gravel road. It is a great place to make up time if you can run. And now feeling unfettered I did run. Restricted really only by the lack of oxygen (still sucking on that straw) and again those pesky intermittent adductor cramps.<br />
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I breezed through Governor aid-station, just pausing to check I had enough fluids. The sun was getting low, just as the altitude got lower. Finally I was in the dark, sans headlight, but comfortable enough to keep running on the wide open road. I caught up to another runner and when I realised it was Mark Heaphy I stopped to walk and talk for a while. Mark is a Hardrock legend and was looking for his 17th finish. I knew from previous years how consistent Mark was at pacing so I was more than happy to hang with him for a while.<br />
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Another runner joined us and we walked and talked our way through the last few miles to the town limits, almost missing the sharp left turn-off onto the town perimeter trail before dropping through the tunnel and entering town.<br />
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<b>Ouray to Grouse Gulch</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Ouray aid station is a big and busy place. At the 44 mile mark it was not quite halfway but felt a bit like it. I was disorientated by all the bright lights and activity. A volunteer found me and set me up with my drop bag contents, spread out across the table in front of me. Coming into town I decided that my feet felt good so simply emptied the gravel out but didn't bother changing socks. I had some hot soup. And a cup of tea. Then some more hot soup. I refilled my water, Tailwind and dry ginger ale bottles. I went to use the toilet but then remembered how primitive they were. In a country that does public restrooms better than anywhere else I have ever been, the public toilet in the Ouray park is one of the worst I have encountered. There is no privacy and there was someone in there only partly protected by a shabby shower curtain, so I retreated and left.<br />
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Leaving Ouray in the dark shouldn't pose too many problems but I was a bit disorientated and I had a minor navigational hiccup. A marking flag was placed somewhat ambiguously at the junction of a trail-head on the side of the road. Traditionally markers are placed on the left side of the trail, where possible. If I kept the marker on my left I would have to take this trail but I was sure I was meant to stay on the road. I was getting a little tired and it wasn't clear so I went back and forth trying to spot the next marker but to no avail. I tried turning on the navigational App on my phone but it wouldn't register my location (I later realised I had turned off all settings to save the battery including location so the App didn't know where I was). Frustrated, I waited for another runner to come along and he convinced me the course followed the road so I followed him and soon we found another marker. Some time wasted but nothing fatal.<br />
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Crossing Highway 550 tunnel is always a highlight as it signifies the start of the Bear Creek trail out of Ouray. This classic piece of Hardrock trail starts with a series of big long switch-backs over the tinkling shale. It really sounds like you are walking on broken crockery. Next we hug the wall of a steep rocky canyon on a narrow foot path that was literally blasted out of the cliff wall by miners . In the dark you can't appreciate the danger posed by this narrow, winding path. But one trip here would be fatal.<br />
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Eventually the canyon opens into a wooded valley and after criss-crossing the river and getting your feet nice and wet, you pop out at the Engineer aid station. By now I was really regretting not changing my socks. The soles of my feet were getting really sore due to a combination of grit and what I later discovered was the shredding of the soles of my socks.<br />
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Engineer is a rudimentary, pack-in aid station so I didn't stay long. A big fire pit was blazing away in the cold of night and was very alluring. But I resisted getting comfortable and started the long slog up through the basin towards Oh! Point. The trail ahead was dotted with runner headlights that blended with the stars on the distant horizon not far above them.<br />
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Once over Oh! Point, the jeep road down to Grouse was just a rough, tough, rocky slog. I managed to jog some of this but it wasn't pretty and my feet weren't happy. Grouse aid station holds lots of bad memories for me so I resolved not to stop for too long. I was feeling pretty good overall, apart from my feet. There was a row of portaloos and I made use of the amenities. Refreshed, I stocked up with more food and fluid, and headed back into the night and the long climb up to Grouse-American pass.<br />
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<b>Grouse to Sherman</b><br />
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This section could be a race report all on its own. In fact I have run full ultras in less time than I took to get over Handies. (6hrs 50mins). I could probably better name this section the Bermuda Triangle of the San Juans. What went wrong? I don't really want to delve into it too much but I had a bit of a lower tummy issue. Handies is pretty exposed and there is no-where to hide up there. No trees, no big rocks. The sun was climbing over the surrounding mountains, filling the valley with warm sunlight. Touristy day trippers were filing past and modesty, dignity and self respect kept me sitting on a rock and contemplating my options.<br />
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The sun was now well up in the morning sky and starting to sting my exposed skin. I was wishing I had some sunscreen with me. In somewhat of a Twilight Zone moment, i suddenly noticed a bottle of sunscreen on a rock not two metres in front of me. Really? It was full and icy cold, so clearly had been sitting on there all night. I lathered up and replaced it for the next needy runner or hiker to enjoy. That was kind of surreal and weird.<br />
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While I was sitting there contemplating life, the next tipping point occurred. There was a guy out on course who was running a double Hardrock (unofficially). That means he started a couple of days before the official race and ran the whole course in reverse, the counterclockwise direction and then headed off again an hour ahead of the real race start in the clockwise direction. He came past me now with his pacer. Here I was sitting on a rock feeling sorry for myself and he had been going for 150 miles and was into his fourth day. I got up, gritted my teeth and started the long, slow climb up Handies.<br />
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I made it without any misadventure and gradually everything settled again. I thought the rest might have freshened me up, but disappointingly no. The summit of Handies is always inspiring but after spending so long getting there I was keen to keep moving. The first part of the descent is tricky with loose gravel and rocks and it was complicated by day-trippers climbing up towards me. I had to navigate gingerly to avoid sending rocks down on those below. Once finally off the steep rocky face, the trail zig-zags via a long, raking singletrack through Grizzly Gulch and down into the pine forrest below. This part of the course is simply a treat to run and this is definitely one of my favourite parts of the course.<br />
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The next aid station was Burrows Park. There used to just be an unmanned water drop here but these days it is a full aid station. There was a party going on and a guard of honour came out to welcome me. I felt a little guilty not taking much food but I really wanted to get to Sherman. To me Sherman is the point of no return. Once through there you have nowhere to go but the finish.<br />
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As an added incentive, I knew that Mark Heaphy was now just in front of me and being paced by his wife Margaret. With well over 20 Hardrocks between them, I knew if I could keep in touch with them I was safe for a finish. I also had bad memories of navigation issues on the start of the Pole Creek section and if I was with them, I wouldn't lose time navigating.<br />
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On the long, dusty road into Sherman I caught glimpses of them up ahead when the road straightened out, but try as I might, I couldn't catch them.<br />
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<b>Sherman to Maggie</b><br />
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I have been known to spend a long time in Sherman with my head in my hands. This time I took just 11 minutes to refill, apply more sunscreen and grab something light to eat and get out of there. I had come in just a minute behind Mark but left nearly 20 minutes ahead of him. Which was perfect as he was much stronger on the climbs than me and that meant I could get well up the next climb before he caught me.<br />
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The climb out of Sherman always seems to go on forever. I met a few hikers but saw no other runner and I actually started to worry that I had missed a turn. Once up high and navigating the willows, I was doing well finding the trail until it just went straight into this deep icy pond. This can't be right I thought. But there on the other side of the water was clearly a course marker. Yep, waist deep complete with a soft muddy bottom, this was the Hardrock trail, camouflaged as a beaver dam.<br />
<br />
Eventually Mark and Margaret caught and passed me again. I tried to hang on but they were just too strong. And I was just so weak. I kept them in sight for much of the Pole Creek section but gradually lost them as the shadows grew longer. I was calculating how long I still had to get home and it was becoming a case of metering out the energy needed just to stay on track to achieve that. There were no PB's on offer today, it was all about just finishing inside that 48 hour cut.<br />
<br />
I barely stopped at Pole Creek aid station, definitely not doing justice to the amount of effort involved in lugging supplies all the way in there with mules. I wasn't particularly hungry and they didn't have any ginger ale so I just topped up my water and I was gone.<br />
<br />
<b>Maggie to Cunningham</b><br />
<br />
After another climb, the long drop into Maggie is always a treat. Even if I was down to a pitiful shuffle by now. The night was approaching and I wanted to get as far as I could in daylight. I only spent a few minutes at Maggie but I did sit down just to rest my legs for a couple of minutes. It was bliss.<br />
<br />
The climb out of Maggie is tough and relentless. And steep. Common theme. In fact by now I am out of suitable adjectives to describe the climbs. Think slow and painful. The course is untracked and made up of tussocky grass. It is very steep. And long. Remember sucking air through a straw thing? Yep, suck air in through a straw and to get the full effect, stick something sharp into one of your glute muscles and sprinkle some ground glass into your socks. And climb. Getting close now.<br />
<br />
I was still ticking off the climbs, each one signified being just that little bit closer to finishing. There was never any real thought of failure. I was convinced I could finish. It was just how much pain and how long before it ended.<br />
<br />
And then it was dark. Headlights on again. Did I mention the sheepdogs? Probably not, they are not usually an issue during an ultra. In the days leading up to the race, a local grazier dropped off several thousand sheep at Cunningham Gulch (site of the final aid station) and they all filed up the Hardrock trail and then spread out on the grassy alpine meadow above Cunningham. Not really a big deal but the sheep have a tendency to knock down the course markers. This can be more than a nuisance when navigating at night. But more importantly, they also have guard dogs who are left roaming with the flock to keep the coyotes away and protect the sheep. This<i> is</i> a big deal. In the days before the race reports came in of a hiker who had been attacked by one of these over-protective sheep dogs. The farmer was asked to push the sheep a bit further away from the race course. Here's hoping.<br />
<br />
Approaching the final descent into Cunningham, I started hearing the sheep bleating. The wind and the darkness made it difficult to work out exactly where they were and how far away. But then the dogs started barking. OK, that is not so good. Somewhere about now, Greg Trapp caught me up. I ran some of Hardrock 2010 with Greg so knew he would be good company. He asked if he could hang with me for some mutual support on the dangerous descent. I said no worries, but I was more concerned about the dogs than any descent. Safety in numbers was good.<br />
<br />
We picked up our pace and the noise from the dogs and sheep was clearly getting closer. We ploughed on and made it to the steep drop-off in inky, black darkness. OK, sheep be gone. And so were we.<br />
<br />
I had never been here in the dark before but knew exactly how steep and treacherous it was and paid due respect. Sometimes not being able to see the sheer drop off is a bonus. Cunningham took a long time coming. We were greeted by a couple of high-school kids who with their class, were running the aid station. I thanked Greg and decided I needed a brief kip before taking on the last segment. He grabbed Kathy Lang to pace him home and left well ahead of me.<br />
<br />
<b>Cunningham to Silverton</b><br />
<br />
Sleep deprivation is an amazing thing. It can control your whole world. It is incredibly powerful. I asked for somewhere to lie down and they threw a tarp on the ground inside the marquee. I literally collapsed face-first into it, leaving my pack on. While I never actually slept, my mind switched off and swam in a woozy fog of blissful peace for a short while. Someone tugged at my pack thinking that would make me more comfortable. It wouldn't come off. Someone else prised my poles out of my death-grip hands. I had asked to be woken in 10 minutes. In what seemed like an eternity, always mildly conscious of the noises around me, I heard someone say, that's 10 minutes but let him sleep a little longer. No, I've had enough. I clawed my way back to the waking world from my delirious fog and despite my dodgy back, clambered to my feet almost with a spring. I was offered some food but it was far too dry for me to swallow, so I thanked everyone, looked around for any possible last-minute pacers and with no-one on offer, I grabbed my poles and headed out into the cold, dark night.<br />
<br />
I don't know that I really want to remember too much of this last section. It was mentally and physically painful. I was still heavily sleep deprived. As cliché as it is, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I was not looking any further ahead than the next footstep. This tortuous climb is an endless series of steep switch backs and a couple of false summits. If I looked up I could see lights dancing on the mountain side far above me, where other runners and their pacers were winding their way up the steep slope. They almost blended in with the stars beyond them. I would stop regularly to pause and draw breath and almost fall asleep in that moment of stillness.<br />
<br />
At one point, leaning on my poles, and my sleepy eyes read the name down the side: 'Distance Carbon Z'. In my foggy brain I had a cranky moment thinking someone had handed me the wrong poles. Then through the fog, I realised 'Distance Carbon' was the model of the poles not somebody's name. These were my poles and my name was clearly written higher up the shaft.<br />
<br />
After an eternity, the broad summit ridge opened before me with a canopy of stars to cheer me on. I know this last section well, having trained on it many times. After traversing the summit pass I was almost on autopilot, just ticking off the landmarks, blunted by the dark. I passed a few runners stumbling down another short, steep rocky-scree slope. I wanted to run but everything hurt and I think I had swallowed that straw I had been sucking air through.<br />
<br />
Eventually I was off the rocky singletrack and onto the wide, open jeep road above the old mine. Bliss. Down, down, downhill bliss. At first trying to jog and then resigned to shuffling. It all looked so different in the narrow focus of my headlight. After not seeing another runner for ages, and not having any markers to follow, I started to fear I was on the wrong road. In fact I started to think I was on the wrong mountain. My mind was really playing tricks on me.<br />
<br />
I was staggering somewhat now. I fell asleep on my feet, walking down the middle of the road. Not once but several times. At one point I woke up only only because I was walking off the road. Jolted out of the micro-sleep, for a moment I wondered where I was and what I was doing. Then I remembered I was in a race. But for some reason I had lost all interest in finishing. I had lost all sense of purpose, all sense of time. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. I was just wandering around in the dark, under the stars, in the mountains. Totally at peace and nothing really mattered.<br />
<br />
Finally I shook off the malaise and decided I just had to get this done. I started hiking with more purpose. After leaving the road and crossing Arastra Creek, I passed the little white ski cabin that I knew was only 4km from the finish. I could crawl that if need be. I went past the beaver pond and picked my way around some mud and puddles.<br />
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The Kendall Mountain ski hut popped out and before me the lights of Silverton beckoned. For no good reason, memories of my previous Hardrock finishes flooded my mind. And I resolved that this would likely be my last Hardrock so I should really soak it up. Entering the township in the predawn darkness, the streets were empty and eery. I wound my way across town and then the gym was in sight.<br />
<br />
<b>The finish</b><br />
<br />
I was fairly devoid of emotion by the finish. All emotion had been drained out of me long ago. Despite that, afterwards I was ecstatic to have finished. At the time it was all just a little surreal. I jogged down the finish chute and kissed the ram's head painted on the big rock. I made some colloquial quip to the ram, such as 'good to see you honey' and Dale laughed at me. He hung a medal around my neck and gave me a traditional big finisher's hug. I must have felt like a bundle of weary bones. That's sure what I felt like. At all of my past finishes I have climbed up onto the rock and held the aussie flag up for a ceremonial picture. Not today. Besides my back not allowing such antics anymore, I didn't feel the need for such a performance. I had completed the course, again. I was humbled by the mountains, yet again. I had kissed the rock, again. Right now, that was all that mattered. All was good.<br />
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<b>Postscript: </b><b>Would I do it again?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>My finish time of 47:09 hours was not a good time. But I am extremely happy with it. As I said, at Hardrock a finish is a finish is a finish. 47hrs is a very long time to maintain forward momentum over some of the steepest and most treacherous terrain that a trail runner is likely to experience. And for that I am extremely grateful. In fact, as a runner, I am grateful just to get an opportunity to run Hardrock. In 2011 the sudden onset of atrial fibrillation just months before the race forced me to withdraw. I was doubtful of ever being able to run ultras again, let alone run Hardrock. Now five years later and that much older (now well into my fifties) and with my heart scarred from the corrective ablation surgery, and nursing a back injury, and generally struggling with chronic wear and tear issues, I knew this race would really challenge me. Hardrock still inspires but scares the crap out of me. But this is why we do it. To push ourselves and see what we are really capable of.<br />
<br />
Hans Dieter who has multiple Hardrock finishes and more than 100 x 100 mile race finishes and well into his seventies, said in the short film doco of the 2015 Hardrock, <i>Kissing the Rock</i> by Matt Trappe:<br />
"running Hardrock is 90% mental, and the other 90% is physical". Going into this Hardrock, the irony of this comment was not lost on me. While I was confident I could summons the mental strength needed, could I still surmount the physical challenge? Only just.<br />
<br />
I made a promise to myself in that final hour of the race. I promised I would never enter this race again. In fact, I promised myself I would never enter any really tough mountain races ever again, not Hardrock, not Andorra, not Northburn, not anything that hurts. The pain and misery just didn't seem warranted. The next day when the topic of next years lottery came up I still said no way. A week later I was saying "if in some parallel universe I was ever to run Hardrock again....". You know what they say about pain being temporary. Do <i>they</i> really say that? More importantly, have <i>they</i> ever done Hardrock? I reserved my decision on tempting the lottery gods one more time. A fifth finish would be really nice to have.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Post-postscript:</b><br />
Within weeks of arriving home I had entered Northburn 100 in New Zealand (with 10,000m of climbing) to be held the following March. And then even before Northburn I entered Ronda Dels Cims (170km and 13,500m) in Andorra for the following July. So much for promises! I also entered the 2017 Hardrock lottery and while I missed out Spud got in again. So in July 2017 I flew home from Andorra via Colorado and while I was in no condition to pace (I took nearly 62hours to finish Ronda), I did crew at a couple of checkpoints and got to watch the race. That was really cool. Spud ran another excellent race to gain his 3rd finish.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>What worked:</b><br />
My Olympus 2.0 from Altra were awesome. Altras were by far the most popular brand of shoes on the course, and the Olympus dominated, with a few wearing Lone Peaks and I even spotted the odd pair of Superiors. They are my go-to shoe for all ultras now. The enhanced tread pattern with a Vibram outsole makes them a great combination of fit, comfort, protection, ride and traction.<br />
<br />
Black Diamond ultra distance carbon Z-poles. I bought a new pair at the merch stall the day before the race from the man, Roch Horton, himself. They saved me many times, giving me added traction and stability on steep climbs and traverses. They added balance in fast flowing creek crossings or on narrow slippery logs. They served as a brake to arrest my out-of-control slides on snow banks. When my glute went south I relied heavily on the push-off from the trekking poles. And when I had to pause to suck in more oxygen I could lean over and rest on them. Don't leave home without them.<br />
<br />
Tailwind. I kept it dilute but constant small sips kept a slow stream of calories ticking over, even when I didn't feel like eating. The sachets were great, waterproof and portion controlled. A definite must. Tailwind was also the official sports drink for the race so they had it premixed at checkpoints but the strength varied and that made it a bit tricky. I have always suffered really bad nausea at Hardrock but not this time (thanks Gav and Bec).<br />
<br />
Ginger ale. I carried an empty water bottle in my jersey back pocket and kept it half full of ginger ale from the checkpoints. The carbonation, ginger and sugar perked me up and served in place of coke or caffeine (which I can't take because of my heart).<br />
<br />
Garden gloves ($2 variety from a reject shop). I always wear a pair of fingerless bike gloves on trails to protect my hands, particularly from falls. But for Hardrock I also carried a pair of light weight canvas gardening gloves in the stash pocket of my pack. I pulled them on for all the steep descents and regularly surfed down the scree slopes with one hand sliding in the gravel behind me to keep me semi-upright. Worked great on the rope descent off Virginius as well. Light, cheap and invaluable.<br />
<br />
Salomon S-lab 12 pack, the latest version. Lightweight and comfortable. I made some changes, removing the standard chest closures and then fitting two proper elasticised straps with decent buckle clip closures. Much easier to do/undo with tired, cold or gloved fingers. It was pretty much brand new with less than a handful of training runs, yet one of the zips managed to break without any real stress. Turned out not to be broken but needed to be reset from the base. Otherwise this pack worked great. With the zip fixed I would definitely use it again.<br />
<br />
Bottles not bladder. I used 2 x hard 600ml bottles, one with water and one with Tailwind. I supplemented this with the ginger ale. I knew exactly how much I had drunk and how much was left at any time and could easily fill from a stream or at an aid station.<br />
<br />
Merino arm sleeves. These were very thin, black arm-warmers from Aldi of all places. Yep, $13 Aldi merino arm-warmers. They kept me warm in the early mornings and over night. When it got hot I just pushed them down to my wrists where they protected my watch on the scree slopes. I regularly dipped my arms into cold streams during the day and pulled the arm sleeves up so the wet sleeves helped to cool me and also stop sunburn.<br />
<br />
2 buffs. One on my head and one around my neck when it was cold. When it got hot they went double looped around each wrist and added to the cooling effect when dipped into the streams with the arm warmers. Great for pulling up over my mouth and nose on the dusty gravel roads when those pesky ATVs zoomed past.<br />
<br />
Lycra gaiters. Kept most of the stones out. Except on the major scree slopes. If you go hard down those nothing will keep all the crap out.<br />
<br />
Injinji socks. No blisters. Should have changed socks at Ouray as planned to freshen my feet up and remove all the grit.<br />
<br />
Blistershield and Sportshield. No chafing and no blisters.<br />
<br />
UltrAspire 170 Lumens waist light. Picked this up off Grant Guise (NZ distributor and top 10 Hardrock finisher) a few days before the race. Used it on the first night and loved the low angle of attack it produced. (I still wore my Princeton Tec EOS headlamp on low-beam to look around with.) Worked a treat. Now a definite part of my regular miler kit.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>What didn't work:</b><br />
My glutes. Clearly I didn't do anywhere near enough vertical work in training. Getting there barely 2 weeks before the race meant I missed a week of vertical training that would have helped but in reality I needed much more ascending work from a long way out.<br />
<br />
The nav App on my phone. It worked great during training but by turning everything off to save the battery I had inadvertently blocked location services. It cost me time leaving Ouray while trying to get it going and then when I was uncertain about that junction decision so I ended up just waiting for the next runner. It was really frustrating and I was annoyed with myself that I was relying on technology instead of knowing where to go. During race prep we actually didn't bother to check the navigation in/out of Ouray because we had the App to guide us if needed. Mind you Spud missed a turn in Telluride as well, so easy to do. In and out of towns can be the trickiest places to nav.<br />
<br />
My pacer. He had to pull out a few days before the race due to a genuine family emergency. At the time I didn't mind as I usually prefer to go without a pacer. But the immense fatigue on the second night especially on the last section had me sleep walking and wandering around aimlessly. A bit of support here would have saved some time and grief. A last leg pacer who knows the job is worth having. I have picked up unplanned pacers both times in this direction previously. Both from Cunningham. The first was great. The second was a disaster until I dropped him on the climb. If I did Hardrock again, I would definitely try to have a pacer for the second night or at least the last section.<br />
<br />
Acclimation. Clearly I need more than 2 weeks. In future I would aim for at least 3 weeks minimum. Even that doesn't get me there really but I struggled much early this time with the shorter lead-up. Who am I kidding, I could live there for a whole year and the altitude would still beat me up. But it is a really cool place to hang out so the longer the better.<br />
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<b>The cold hard numbers from OpenSplitTime (ouch!):</b><br />
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47:09:50 • 107th Place • 96th Male • Bib #140</h4>
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<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: left; vertical-align: bottom;">Split</th><th class="text-right" style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;">Mile</th><th class="text-center" style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">Time of Day</th><th class="text-center" style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">Elapsed Time</th><th class="text-center" style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">Segment Time</th><th class="text-right" style="border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;">In Aid</th></tr>
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<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Kamm Traverse In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">11.4</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 9:32AM / Fri 9:34AM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">3h32m / 3h34m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">3h32m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">2m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Chapman In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">18.4</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 12:12PM / Fri 12:17PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">6h12m / 6h17m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">2h38m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">5m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Telluride In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">27.7</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 3:49PM / Fri 4:08PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">9h49m / 10h08m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">3h32m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">19m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Kroger In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">32.7</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 7:11PM / Fri 7:13PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">13h11m / 13h13m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">3h03m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">2m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Governor In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">36.0</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 8:02PM / Fri 8:03PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">14h02m / 14h03m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">0h49m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">1m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Ouray In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">43.9</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Fri 9:56PM / Fri 10:23PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">15h56m / 16h23m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">1h53m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">27m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Engineer In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">51.8</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 2:30AM / Sat 2:40AM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">20h30m / 20h40m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">4h07m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">10m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Grouse In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">58.3</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 5:22AM / Sat 6:07AM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">23h22m / 24h07m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">2h42m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">45m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Burrows In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">67.9</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 11:41AM / Sat 11:45AM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">29h41m / 29h45m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">5h34m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">4m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Sherman In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">71.7</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 12:57PM / Sat 1:08PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">30h57m / 31h08m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">1h12m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">11m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Pole Creek In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">80.8</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 6:03PM / Sat 6:06PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">36h03m / 36h06m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">4h55m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">3m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Maggie In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">85.1</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 7:54PM / Sat 8:04PM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">37h54m / 38h04m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">1h48m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">10m</td></tr>
<tr style="box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;">Cunningham In / Out</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">91.2</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">Sat 11:41PM / Sun 12:07AM</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">41h41m / 42h07m</td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">3h37m</td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;">26m</td></tr>
<tr style="background-color: #f9f9f9; box-sizing: border-box;"><td style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Finish</strong></td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">100.5</strong></td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Sun 5:09AM</strong></td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">47h09m50s</strong></td><td class="text-center" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">5h02m50s</strong></td><td class="text-right" style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.42857; padding: 5px; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">165m</strong><br />
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Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-24316794627856216242017-08-11T00:38:00.004+10:002017-08-11T00:51:46.072+10:00A Fat Dog for this Skinny WhippetI tried to look up to see where I was going but the rain stung my face. The visibility was down to a few metres and the wind was gale force. My nose was running and the wind was creating a stream of snot trailing over my shoulder, metres long. Lovely. I had my light jacket zipped up over my chin and I was breathing down onto my chest to capture some warmth from my breath. I was freezing. I was dangerously cold, and things were getting worse. My hands were numb, clenched like frozen blocks of wood with my fingers wrapped tight around the handles of my trekking poles. My lower legs were bare and the skin was burning where the wind whipped against it. Not just the icy wind. The pelting hail was stinging as well. I could hardly feel my feet. They were just sodden lumps moving mechanically forward on autopilot. I was soaked through. The temperature had plummeted and the wind was ripping right through me. This was getting serious. I was genuinely concerned for my safety. It might sound melodramatic but it was the first time in an ultra that I believed my life was genuinely at risk.<br />
<br />
What the hell was I doing out here? And why the hell did I decide to throw my waterproof jacket in with my night gear rather than carry it with me, like I would normally do? The day before the race had seen a record high temperature for the region. Race morning had dawned hot and sunny. The only mandatory gear for the day was a water-resistant jacket (ie a windshirt). Our waterproof jacket and warm clothes had to be in our night drop bag. Runners had started the race in tshirts, singlets and some even bare-chested. There seemed no possible reason to carry the extra weight of a waterproof jacket and a thermal top in such conditions. They were all safe in my drop bag at Bonnevier.<br />
<br />
This was Fat Dog120, 2015. And there were times when I really believed I might not live to tell the story. But this is it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjah9jzjggvmQ7DT5AVzhPbi6NtSXoh-RVZu2gQ0dFycOyL1GQCzrzhCVwj_d3YqjzyJcKUlv_QaGvfEV646MWBpAbW2EY7sjHdY_iVFitr3fL7eJsQcAAdDSf_SYA88qvxSIE2/s1600/IMG_3198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjah9jzjggvmQ7DT5AVzhPbi6NtSXoh-RVZu2gQ0dFycOyL1GQCzrzhCVwj_d3YqjzyJcKUlv_QaGvfEV646MWBpAbW2EY7sjHdY_iVFitr3fL7eJsQcAAdDSf_SYA88qvxSIE2/s320/IMG_3198.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fat Dog120 drew my attention because of its remoteness, the small fields, it was relatively new on the scene, had lots of singletrack and was apparently very tough. It was often compared to Hardrock. Those who had run both Fat Dog and Hardrock described it as not being as tough but ranking probably second to Hardrock in North America. The bonus was it also served as a Hardrock qualifier (and Western States I believe). It took little effort to convince my regular partner in crime, Phil Murphy, to join me.<br />
<br />
We flew into Vancouver a week before the race and spent a few days sweltering in high 30s after leaving a bitterly cold Melbourne winter. After a short stay in Vancouver with Craig Slagel who had run Fat Dog a couple of times and was entered again this year, we drove several hours to the small town of Princeton, which serves as the race headquarters. A quaint little old mining town in central British Columbia, we had a few days to settle in, explore some trails and try to buy bear spray. The streets were filled with huge four wheel drives, or pick-up trucks and it wasn't unusual to see wild deer wandering down the main street. Literally.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrH0B93kADLF82mdhwoUBDzgsvT1yTzUiO3cD8puKQAUu6iHDhX6UuyzWQrKZDPbSmpQB1Zj7pNiKyPMMMhCMQMHqjRB9V-_biaJIfYZVg4iHdvnfN4GTNIXWoXhyHZFS6uWFV/s1600/IMG_3194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrH0B93kADLF82mdhwoUBDzgsvT1yTzUiO3cD8puKQAUu6iHDhX6UuyzWQrKZDPbSmpQB1Zj7pNiKyPMMMhCMQMHqjRB9V-_biaJIfYZVg4iHdvnfN4GTNIXWoXhyHZFS6uWFV/s320/IMG_3194.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Thursday was race eve and we drove our drop bags over to Manning Park, less than an hour away, which is where the race finishes. Race rules changed this year adding extra mandatory gear for the night sections after some runners had issues with hypothermia last year. The gear list was not unlike what we get in an aussie ultra except most of it wasn't required to be carried until the first night section. This night gear had to be at Bonnevier aid station. Fortunately, I put my heavy headlamp in the drop-bag prior, at Cascade, as I was likely not to get to Bonnevier until well after dark. Having my warm night gear at Bonnevier and not in my pack, came back to haunt me later and nearly cost me the race.<br />
<br />
We left our car at Manning Park, a short ride from the finish line, and hopped on a bus back to Princeton for the mandatory briefing. A simple, efficient, no fuss affair. A bit like the rest of the race organisation.<br />
<br />
The logistics of this race must present a huge challenge to the organisers. Hats off, they manage it very well. We had buses provided again on race morning. It took about an hour along some bumpy back-roads and we were finally deposited just south of Keremeos, deep in the bush. A large crowd of runners, supporters and crew milled around, burning up nervous energy, until it was time to go.<br />
<br />
A 10am start is eminently civilised. But we pay for that by being robbed of daylight hours late on the first day. Any race where you are facing two full nights on the course is very scary. That second night is a killer. I hoped not to be out there for all of it. A 36 hour finish scores you a coloured buckle. They are very funky and worth shooting for. Realistically, I knew that was probably well out of my reach. But just maybe 38 hours was possible. My plan B was a sub 40 finish and that would be more than acceptable. Plan C was to just get to the finish under the 48hr cut. With limited prep for such a big race, I always knew Plan C was where I might end up.<br />
<br />
The start was fashionably low-key despite the overwhelming sense of anticipation mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation.<br />
<br />
The first climb is brutal. Simply brutal. In fact I could cut this whole story short and just summarise Fat Dog with one word: brutal. They warn you that you are never finished climbing a hill until you get to the other side. There are lots of false summits and they crush you mentally when you think you have achieved a summit only to find the climb keeps going. Basically, you just go up and up for hours on end. From the start, runners were bunched up with some singletrack conga-line action but a wider carriageway eventually allowed runners to spread out. The sound of heavy breathing was loud in the still, dry, hot sun. Shirts were off. Dust was rising. It was hot. Bloody hot. But that wouldn't last.<br />
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I was taking it easy, in no hurry. I was hoping to find Crystal Shiu and Gary Pickering, the two other aussies in the field and try to hang with them. But with nearly 200 runners crammed into the narrow start area, I had lost them on the start line. I knew Phil would be well ahead of me. I just settled into a steady rhythm, punching out slow kilometres, tapping away with my trekking poles.<br />
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The first aid station, Cathedral, was a rudimentary affair and I passed straight through. The day was unfolding and still getting hotter. Eventually we climbed well above the tree-line and just as soon, we started descending again. I held back, saving my quads for the long, long journey ahead. Fat Dog is 120 miles long. That is 20 miles longer than a regular miler. With 8,600m of elevation gain, you have to respect this course.<br />
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The long ride down to Ashnola aid station is one I would love to run without the 100 miles that follows hanging over me. I reigned in my ego and let runner after runner file past me. I hooked up with another runner from Alberta, Canada, and we talked trail stories and compared notes. Ashnola was an elaborate set-up. I took advantage and loaded up, topped up my Tailwind bottle and checked out. I couldn't see Alberta but found him further down the road at his crew car. He joined me again on this long, runnable, gravel road section. I welcomed the company.<br />
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After a section of flat easy running, we eventually left the road and started climbing long solid switch-backs through dense conifers. I got into a rhythm with my poles and pulled ahead of Alberta. And once again I was alone, climbing mountains, deep in the Canadian wilderness. Out of nowhere the rain started. At first it was just big splotches of rain so far apart you could almost dodge them. Big drops, like tropical rain. Then it got heavier. I put on my light, water resistant jacket. The rain got still heavier. My light jacket was wet through in minutes. The rain kept getting heavier, the wind started shaking the trees and the temperature plummeted. And then it really got cold. And the wind continued to pick up. I could hear the tree-tops crashing about high above me. Leaves and sticks were flying around. And then the lightning flashed followed closely followed by deafening claps of thunder. The ground shook. As they like to say, all hell was breaking loose. And it was right here, right now and I was right in the middle of it. In the middle of nowhere.<br />
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I kept climbing. There was nothing else to do. I passed a runner who was coming back down the path. He said "This is crazy, I am not going up there", gesticulating wildly at the trail ahead that led to the open ridgeline. Another runner stopped in front of me and asked of no-one in particular 'Should we be thinking about this?' I was the only person close by so I responded: 'Yes', but then I continued on past him. Yes, I was giving it plenty of thought but I wasn't stopping. No way was I quitting. How bad could it really get? I figured this was just a summer storm and it would blow over.<br />
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By the time I reached Trapper aid station I was a sodden mess and bitterly cold, soaked to the skin. It was a remote aid station with 4wd access and only and a few flapping marquees and tarps. A volunteer asked what I needed. He was hard to hear over the flapping tarps, pelting rain and howling wind. I said I was going to wrap my space blanket around my torso and put my jacket back over the top. He told me to save my space blanket for later and ripped open a new one from his stock-pile. We peeled my jacket off like it was cling-wrap. The cold wind ripped at my wet, bare chest. I was starting to shake uncontrollably. We wrapped the space blanket around my torso and duct taped it in place. Jacket back on and I was off, a shivering mess, rustling with the silver paper sticking to my wet skin. Another volunteer had pulled his truck in close and had the engine running and the heater on in the cab. He was offering to warm runners up. I declined, fearing once in that warmth I would never come out again. Possibly my second mistake of the day to pass up that offer. I found some strips of space blanket strewn on the ground that had blown off other runners as they left the checkpoint. I gathered these up and randomly stuffed them up my sleeves and into my bike gloves to help with the little insulation they could afford. I felt like a scarecrow with tufts of silver foil poking out of all my orifices.<br />
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The next section was a blur of cold, wet, wind, hail and rain. The course was well marked, thank goodness, as visibility was down to just a few metres. I passed Trapper Lake, barely visible, and cleared the trees again, this time I was crossing an open grassy ridge. But still climbing. By now I was dangerously cold. My teeth were involuntarily chattering. I was genuinely worried I might shake loose a filling in one of my teeth. I had my jacket hood pulled tight over my cap but the near horizontal rain and hail was coming in under the brim and still hitting me in the face. I had a buff up over my face so that my warm breath was helping to stave off some of the cold around my chest. I couldn't look up so simply followed the track on the ground right in front of me. One tortuous step after another. My nose ran like a stream. About now my plan changed from finishing to pure survival. Forget Plan A-C, it was now Plan D! Don't die! As far as I was concerned, my race was over. The race meant nothing now. I just had to get to safety, to somehow get off this mountain and warm up. I was in survival mode.<br />
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I caught a glimpse of two runners just ahead of me, similarly hunched over and pressing into the wind making little progress. I desperately wanted to stop and curl up and try to get warm but knew this would be disastrous. I was almost beyond being cold. The noise of the wind all around me was deafening. There was nothing to do but dig deep and keep going. Eventually there must be an end. Either for me or the climb.<br />
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It seemed an eternity but finally there was a change in contour and I crested the blunt grassy ridge and traversed towards some sparse tree cover. Amongst the trees the wind gradually relented, punctuated by howling blasts when the trees parted. Feeling somewhat reassured, now I had to try to warm up and get feeling back into my extremities. As the trail started to descend, I broke into a pathetic shuffle. But it generated enough energy and warmth to keep me from getting worse. Only just. I was still on autopilot, concentrating on survival and still convinced my race was over.<br />
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The focus now was on just getting to the next checkpoint and safety. I stared at the ground right in front of me and it was one foot in front of the other. Much of this section is as foggy in my mind as it was in reality. I was still perilously cold. As the trail turned downhill I picked up pace and started to really run and gradually circulation began returning to my feet and hands. I was still soaked through but at least the dampness was not freezing me anymore.<br />
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By the time I reached Calcite, the next checkpoint, I was almost back to normal. Almost. I was still a soggy blob. The hot, dry wind of the preceding morning was like a distant dream.<br />
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The night had started closing in. I pulled out my headlight and got a volunteer to help me get it on as my fingers were still not functioning properly. Somehow the thought of pulling out subsided once I was back in the realm of safety and had people all around me. I had some food and refilled bottles with Tailwind and headed off into the night like it was business as usual.<br />
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With the night comes tiredness and cold. Not good ingredients on top of already being wet. There may have been more rain. Or maybe I was just still so wet and cold it seemed like it rained on me again. I simply can't remember. Parts of the track were just boggy mud. We had to slide down this muddy embankment and then cross a stream. The embankment was near vertical and with the rain and the many runners ahead of me, any feature that could offer traction had been washed away. It was only just a controlled slide on butt and heels and then splashing through the icy water to help wash off the clay stuck to my shoes. I found out later that a runner had broken his wrist sliding down that embankment.<br />
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After crossing a bitumen road, escorted by a volunteer, I found myself at Bonnevier aid station. It was a buzzing hive of activity. Being on a road there were lots of crew as well as volunteers. I have never been so glad to get a drop bag. I emptied the contents onto a chair and proceeded to put on all the additional clothes that were in my drop. I ate all the while and left the checkpoint feeling like the Michelin man. But I was confident I was back in the game again now.<br />
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A long gravel road that followed seemed to climb forever. There were some lights in front of me but I lost them on a bend. And then I was descending and then I reached a bitumen road intersection and there was no race signage. Crap. This is wrong. I shouldn't be at another road. I shouldn't have been descending. And there should definitely be flagging at an intersection of this size. I hiked back up the hill, retracing a couple of kilometres before finding a fork in the road and a couple of non-reflective markers lying on the ground. I have to assume the storm had washed them down from their place of visibility but I cursed my mistake and the lost time and energy it had taken to get back on track.<br />
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Night number one continued the theme of extreme alpine weather. Eventually I was up on the plateau renowned for bitter winds and freezing temperatures endured overnight. Tonight was no exception. My whole world was reduced to the narrow focus of my headlight in the misty rain-come-cloud. After stumbling along a narrow singletrack hemmed in by low brush for what seemed an eternity, I finally reached the Heather aid station. This was made up of a pitiful marquee, literally being held down by generous volunteers who had packed in all the supplies. The walls of the marquee flapped so loudly people were shouting to be heard. A bunch of cold, tired runners were huddled inside for what little shelter was on offer. I grabbed some soup but was out of there quickly realising this was a death zone for cold, wet runners.<br />
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I followed a couple of other runners with pacers into the misty fog. The trail dispersed as it started to descend and we lost sight of the markers in the poor visibility. We found ourselves spread out on the gravel mountainside trying to pick up the next marker. I'm not sure how long this went on for. Time had lost all meaning but it felt like forever. Finally, someone found a marker and shouted and the rest of us followed thankfully.<br />
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The dawn crept up on me, almost begrudgingly as the dullness of the low cloud made it feel like it was still night. Pre-dawn light lasted well beyond dawn. We ran around the edge of a haunting lake, the water still like a mirror, framed in fog and flanked with fallen dead trees. I stumbled into a small camp site with a basic back-country hut. Nicomen Lake checkpoint. There was a film crew here, trying to dry their equipment. They were filming a promotional video for the race but hadn't anticipated the apocalyptic weather we had encountered. Some volunteers had a small fire going but they had nothing I could eat so I didn't stop, knowing I still had a full day and possibly another night ahead of me. <br />
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I am sure this part of the course was quite scenic but I had lost all interest in everything except the trail under my feet.<br />
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At Cascade aid station Craig came out to greet me in civvies. He had missed the cut at an earlier aid station and was now just a spectator. He helped me reload and then came a long section of bitumen that I actually ran. Hard. I had been saving my quads all of day one to capitalise on this next section that showed as fairly flat on the course profile. But the profile lies. Leaving the road the trail followed Skagit Creek for hours of continually undulating technical trail that defied getting any run rhythm going. Once again I am sure this section was really scenic but my world was only as wide as the trail. Even in daylight. Sleep deprivation was kicking in and my feet were getting sore. Day 2 was a long day knowing there was another night on the trail still to go. The mental games you have to play to keep your body moving forward when it just wants to stop are a big part of making that finish line.<br />
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Late in the day the hallucinations started. At first I saw a few wombats on the trail side. Turns out they were just the blackened ends of sawn off dead fall trees. Next I could see a checkpoint up ahead. Complete with volunteers. Turns out it was just huge tree ferns. The golden retriever in a tree was a novelty. Counting wombats helped the miles tick by. Just on dusk Gary caught up with me and told me how he had had to leave Crystal around 100km when foot issues were slowing her to the point she ended up dropping. Bummer for Crystal, but it was great to have Gary's company for a while.<br />
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Night number two began. This is always dreaded in an ultra. I can survive two days and one night without sleep but add in a second night and things get very ugly. Very quickly. The body's self defence mechanisms kick in and try to get you to stop and sleep. Or, as commonly happens you sleep while walking. Don't try this at home.<br />
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The thing that separates Fat Dog from other 100 mile races is the last 20 miles. Which makes it 120 miles. Sounds simple when you say it fast enough. Skyline is the last big checkpoint before the finish. It sits right on the 100 mile mark. When you leave the Skyline aid-station you have just 20 miles to go. The average time from here is around 8 & 1/2 hours to reach the finish. That's around a 16 min/km average pace. If Fat Dog finished at 100 miles it would be a tough and scenic ultra. But that extra 20 miles sets it apart. Way apart. Those extra 20 miles makes it simply brutal. It is hard to adequately describe this section of the course in words. I focused on just getting to the finish. They tell you to just keep on climbing. And that there will always be another climb. Until you are done. They are not wrong.<br />
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After leaving Skyline the first climb goes on forever. And then when you think you have reached the top, you climb again. And then repeat. This series of steep pinches is unrelenting. They call them the needles. That has something to do with how they appear on the course profile. But even that doesn't do them justice. They would be tough fresh but coming as they do after 100 miles they are unimaginable tough.<br />
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It was inky dark out there. I started climbing with Gary. He is much stronger than me but waited at the top of each climb. We passed a few runners struggling with their pacers. But eventually I was struggling myself. I kept falling asleep on my feet and staggering off the trail. I told Gary I was going to try to nap and that he should go on. I collapsed in a ball on a wet bush beside the track. I closed my eyes and my mind swirled and whirled. I couldn't fall asleep. With everything else now switched off, the pain in my foot became intolerable and I realised I had been ignoring it. I couldn't sleep with so much pain. So I took my shoe off. There was bloody mess across the front of my ankle. Wtf? My sock had bunched up and chafed right through my skin. I cleaned it up and put some tape over it. My little toe had been screaming at me but it looked fine. I put some tape over the callous on my big toe that felt blistered even though it wasn't. And the ball of my foot felt macerated so I taped that as well. My new sock had worn through and the shredded threads had pilled up to feel like gravel. I scraped the crap off and put my sock and shoe back on and back to business. I was now wide awake again and my foot felt so much better. For a while at least.<br />
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The night was a jumble of ups and downs. I passed through the two small pack-in aid stations. I was ticking off the kilometres in a haze of hallucinations and pain. Just as the dawn was creeping across the sky I found myself traversing a wide gravel-scree slope. I hadn't seen a marker for some time and when I got across the slope, there was still no marker to be seen. I was getting worried. I was inside the cut but couldn't afford to get lost and lose any more time. So I back-tracked until I met two young women coming off the scree slope, a runner with her pacer. They were happy that we were still on track so I followed them up the next climb and eventually they yelled back that they had found a marker.<br />
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The light gradually spread and with it the world opened up around me. Suddenly I was alone on a ridge with a sea of clouds below me. I was literally up in the clouds. Distant snow capped peaks jutted out through the fluffy clouds, looking like islands. It was like I was on an ocean in a sea of clouds. The view was simply spectacular. Stunningly beautiful. Despite being close to the cut-off I stopped to take pictures that could never do justice to this panorama. This made it all worthwhile. The third sunrise, two nights without sleep, well over 100 miles travelled. The most horrific alpine weather. And with this visual feast of mountain vistas made it all melt away. I actually managed some running as the trail started descending. Just before the real descent began I came across a small tent. A volunteer poked his head out and wished me well. He told me how far it was to go but my mind had trouble comprehending english yet alone understanding numbers at this stage.<br />
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The final descent began, and in true Fat Dog style, it was so technical that my beat up feet couldn't manage a trot of any type. So more hiking. But it was downhill. And headed towards the finish, and that filled me with renewed vigour and resolve. Finally the rocky trail gave way to a more groomed brindle path and I could get some momentum going. I saw a few more wombats beside the trail. Not unsurprisingly they didn't move much as I passed them. I even heard a couple of supporters cheer and clap but when I turned the corner there was no-one there. My mind was really playing tricks on me but these hallucinations were so overwhelmingly real at the time. <br />
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Finally I reached the lake and knew I was close to the finish. But Fat Dog doesn't let go that easily. Once it bites you it won't let go. After what seemed like kilometres I reached a big wooden bridge decorated in race ribbons and now dead glowsticks. I thought I must be close to the finish. But I was now on the opposite side of the lake and had to run all the way to the end of the lake and then loop back around to the finish line. Oh, to be so close but yet still so far. I managed a shuffle for most of this, wanting to just get it done. The finish arch seemed a little surreal as I passed under it and the end was almost anti-climatic. I think I was emotionally and physically spent. I had given Fat Dog more than I thought possible. But this now very skinny dog had scored himself a new buckle. And still there were several hours more of vivid hallucinations before I could get some real sleep.<br />
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Postscript:<br />
I finished in 46:18 and I was nowhere near last.<br />
Gary finished in 44:20<br />
Spud finished in 37:06<br />
Crystal had to drop after 100 odd kilometres due to ankle and leg swelling.<br />
Craig DNF'd due to missing a cut.<br />
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If you want a challenge and love mountains and singletrack you really should give this one a try. I can't imagine there is another race anywhere with as much singletrack as Fat Dog. The weather we encountered was particularly bad. The organisers admitted during the presentation that they wanted to stop the race but they couldn't because the communications were down because of the weather. I am just glad no-one died out there! It is the kind of race that you should put on your list as a must do. But for me, once is definitely enough!<br />
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The added bonus was that Fat Dog is a Hardrock qualifier. Spud and I threw our names in that lottery and we were both drawn to run Hardrock again in 2016. Another road trip. Another big adventure.<br />
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-29557155394898734852017-03-22T14:43:00.001+11:002017-03-22T14:43:10.869+11:00Cradle Mtn Run aka The Overland Track in a day - Feb 4, 2017Okay, there is an unwritten code that says don’t promote the Cradle Mtn Run on social media. It is near impossible to get an entry so we don’t want it advertised. Well, clearly that has gone out the window this year. So why not join the fray?<br />
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And after all, I can tell it like it is. I finished last so clearly I had a crap day out there. And likely won’t bother coming back anyway, so why not talk it up, even just a little.<br />
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The Cradle Mtn Run is after all, one of the longest running trail ultras in Australia. Maybe the oldest? But who cares? Surely it doesn’t resemble anything near what it used to be like. What’s with all those duckboards, it is like a walk in the local park. Well, maybe not quite. Okay, so there was some mud. And it did get a bit rooty and rocky in a few places. In fact it was hard to tell what was trail in some places. And there was plenty of perfect ankle twisting terrain on offer. In fact, if you have any tendency to roll your ankles, don’t try this one. In fact, even if you have good ankles, don’t try this one.<br />
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And did I mention the mud? OMG the mud was so deep in a few places I almost lost my runners. Really. In fact, I reckon a couple of times it was only my gaiters that kept my shoes on when the mud tried to suck them off.<br />
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Navigation? There is no course marking. So if you can’t navigate stay home. Just forget it. But what’s with the signage. Not the race signage, as I said, there’s none of that - so if you think you will be following ribbons on a marked course, stay on the mainland. I’m talking about the Parks’ signs. Most of them are so old and weathered they looked like they were remnants from the last ice age that carved out those big rock formations. While they blended in nicely with the natural environment, they were a bugger to read on the run. <br />
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Scenic? Well yes, it can be but don’t count on seeing anything. Even the classic landmarks like those big rock formations, e.g. Cradle Mountain. Most times like this year, they are covered in cloud. Those spectacular craggy peaks like Mt Ossa and Barn Bluff aren’t so spectacular when they are draped in misty cloud and you can’t see them. Better to just buy a postcard at the local tourist shop in Launceston. And head back to the mainland. Of course if and when the sun does break through the clouds, you get totally fried because you are so high up on the plateau and they have a big hole in the ozone layer down there. Really, what was I thinking heading down there?<br />
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At least there was plenty of water around this year. Just be aware that all the huts have signs saying boil the water before drinking. So if you haven’t got time to boil your water before filling your bladder, again, you might as well stay at home. In fact this year there was so much water around that even the usually dry stretches were bogs. My feet were wet from start to finish. And my shoes, socks and gaiters were trashed.<br />
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It’s not all bad, though. There is a great camaraderie amongst runners and organisers from meeting in the leafy park in Launceston, the bus trip to Cradle, briefing, breakfast presentation and bus trip back to Lonnie. There’s just the little issue of an 80km slog in the middle of all that. Maybe try a parkrun instead.<br />
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This was my 5th run over the course (plus once hiking it). I DNF’d at Narcissus in 2014, blamed that on a foot injury but really I couldn’t cope with the terrain. I nearly DNF’d again this year. Blamed that on a dodgy back injury. I was the last through Narcissus with 4 minutes to spare. The president of the race committee who was there asked if I was going on or getting the boat ride out. Really, you need to ask? But a lot of better runners have come unstuck and caught the ferry out from Narcissus. So what keeps bringing me back? For me it is the challenge, and the spectacular course, and the community vibe of the regulars and organisers. But I guess if people keep talking it up on facebook then my chances of getting in again will go out the window. So heed my warnings and try something a little less onerous. I might still try anyhow but don’t take that as any endorsement.<br />
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What worked:<br />
Altra Olympus 2.0. Loved them, handled the rugged terrain and provided grip in the slop when there was any chance of gripping. The chunky vibram outsole held on over endless roots and rocks.<br />
Grivel 12l pack. First real run with this nuggety little gem. Loved it. Sits high and holds 2 bottles firmly on the chest with holders that are designed for hard bottles (my preference).<br />
Car windscreen sun visor: perfect lightweight foldable mat to release my back spasms on the side of the track.<br />
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Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-50787900685606775492016-12-30T14:45:00.000+11:002016-12-30T15:29:31.032+11:00Gear reviewsTechnically not a formal gear review, this will be an ongoing place to reflect on what worked and what didn't. As much a response to my fading memory as a constructive contribution to gear seekers.<br />
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After 10hours on the slopes of Mt Buller yesterday in atrocious conditions on a technically challenging, steep slope for an out and back of just 27km (yep less than 3km/hr gives you some idea of conditions), I can easily reflect on what worked.<br />
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Pack: Aarn Marathon Magic 11 which is out of production. It is actually about 20l and I have modified it adding the front pockets from the larger models. Brilliant. There wasn't much actual running but it rides great and having front pocket access means I rarely have to take it off.<br />
Cons: Not waterproof.<br />
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Waterproofs: wore my new Z-Packs cuben fibre poncho nearly the whole day. A great test given the muggy conditions down low and cooler up high. With a mix of drizzle, hail and heavy rain it deflected everything. The breezy nature kept me from overheating but kept me warm when the hood was pulled up. The trail style kings would hate this one, looking like an oversized caftan in bland grey, it stood up to the test. The long, loose back draped over my pack (meaning no pack cover was needed). Very light when scrunched up and stashed and doubles as a tarp if needed. Carried ultralight (<90gm and="" anorak="" berghaus="" case.="" in="" just="" montane="" p="" waterproof="" windpants="">Cons: baggy tail snagged a couple of times and pulled the stitching away on one side zip. Will add an elastic waist band (2XU bib belt will be ideal) to counter this. Arms are exposed and got soaked. Will get some water-resistant arm warmers to add.<br />
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Nav: used my iphone with the Avenza maps (from GSER) and the course from the RD for the Hut2Hut overlayed. Worked perfectly and with the iphone 6s on airplane mode used bugger all batteries. Kept in pocket in Kathmandu small waterproof pouch. (Not suitable for picture taking.) Also had new Garmin Oregon 650 handheld gps. Worked great except need more practice on knobology and check plotted course is not in yellow! Ran it on rechargeable batteries and was showing only half used after 10hours. Carried a Sunto battery bank and cable. Rooftop 'waterproof' map. Didn't use much and ended up like paper-maché. Contact covered course notes. Were handy and survived the deluge. Carried Silva compass of course.<br />
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Food/fluid: Started fasted with just a guzzle of water before. Went 2 hours before starting sips on water-carb mix. Got to turn-around in 5 hours on just half a bottle (300mls). Had a Shotz bar and finished the bottle here. (Refilled untreated water from Howqua after leaving Steripen in van deliberately.) Only drank another couple hundred mls on the return 5hours and ate a cherry ripe. So total about 800mls + 2 scoops of powder, a Shotz and cherry ripe for 10 hours. Felt OK and didn't bonk or really get hungry.<br />
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Poles: Black Diamond Ultra-Z. Perfect. Have the wrist straps removed. Given the climb could have used them but prefer the ease of release and grab.<br />
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Clothes: Macpac you-beaut thermal. Excellent. I have got a but cold in this when wet before but layered up this time with merino worked great. Helly-Hanson merino blend zip neck top. Excellent. Groundeffects merino short sleeved bike jersey with foam padding in back pockets. Always a winner. Only removed the Helly at the river when it cleared and warmed up for an hour. Otherwise wore everything all day. (Carried Macpac merino skivvy and merino tights, merino balaclava, merino under gloves and Macpac ultralight puffy jacket.) Wore bike gloves that got soaked and would have been cold overnight but had OR warm gloves to slip underneath. Usually wear Macpac merinos underneath. Would like waterproof fingerless gloves. Would not be able to swipe phone for nav if wearing fingered gloves. Kathmandu Dri-motion boxers-awesome. Aldi bike shorts. Awesome. DHB bike shorts without liner. Got a bit loose when wet, need a belt to tighten if needed.<br />
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Shoes: Altra Olympus 2.0. These are the bomb. Amazing traction, even on wet rock, within limits of course. Great cushioning. Plenty of toe room. Hard to beat.<br />
Socks: Injinji over calf. No dramas. Never is with these.<br />
Gaiter: Kathmandu waterproof jobs. Worked good. No under shoe straps (removed) and rode up some.<br />
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This was the finish photo on the summit for the second time. That's the cairn beside me. Limit of visibility is not much beyond arms length.<br />
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-75179712692286746832016-07-14T15:29:00.001+10:002016-07-14T15:29:36.298+10:00It's time for the big dance in the San Juans. Wifi has been worse than patchy at our motel room but meanwhile the Hardrock juggernaut has rolled into town. Runners became more conspicuous. I won't say we now outnumber the all-terrain vehicle fraternity but at least you can feel a little more comfortable in running kit. You know it's real when the actual Hardrock appears outside the gym and you meet Kilian Jornet outside your motel room. Literally.<br />
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Monday 11th: while conscious of needing to wind it back still, after getting all cranky after having a rest day on Saturday we decided to go for a short run. We headed back out past Kendall Mtn ski hill along the final few kilometres of the course. I love that singletrack. The sun had just climbed over Kendall and was piercing the tall spruce and lighting up the wildflowers in the grassy clearings. Pinch yourself.<br />
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We took a few obligatory pics (will add when I get home) but they never seem to do justice to the scale, the colour, the brightness, the sheer grandeur of the place. We turned around at the white hut. This signifies just 4kms to the finish and I love going past it during the race, knowing I am on the home straight. Well as straight as Hardrock gets. About 8km. Stats 92% O2 & 64bpm on rising. Feeling good. Ready to run.<br />
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Tuesday 12th: just for something completely different and to turn the legs over (and burn up some nervous energy) we trotted down to the local athletics track. The term applies pretty loosely. Basically it is a 400m bitumen track with a few weeds growing through strategically on the bends. I jog-walked in true Hardrock style. Spud ran a few wind-sprints down the straights to see how his heart rate compared to his altitude gym sessions back home. I felt breathless watching him and I think he lapped me 4 times. I guess that's the difference between a 35 & 45 hour runner. Easy 4 or 5km. Stats 95% & 66bpm. Importantly heart behaving.<br />
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We drove over to Durango for some groceries. And look for any last minute gear additions.<br />
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Wednesday 13th: official activities kick off with registration. Tim Olsen wanders past our window. Kilian checks out of our motel to move in with the Salomon team. I say hi to Joe Grant and give his dog a pat to get my dog homesickness fix. I head out for another very easy trot on my own to the beaver dam again. I run into 2 of the legends of the past out clearing the trail with a small chainsaw: Jim Ballard and Rolland Perry. That's what really makes this race so great is the way people come back year after year even when they can no longer run it, just to help out and be a part of it. I chatted for a while until the mossies became a pest and continued onto to the dam. That fresh pine forest scent just filled the air. I drank it in, picturing myself coming through here on Saturday night.<br />
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The school gym has been transformed into Hardrock central. I got my wrist band, hiking permit, picked up my goodies bag, purchased some new Altras and spent ages catching up with old trail friends. The hall was a buzz and the energy was infectious. We went to the Tailwind talk and got a bunch of sachets off Gavin and Rebecca who will also crew for Phil during the race. We sat in on the "meet the board" session and were surprised how few attended. But it was a great opportunity to hear about the behind the scenes decision making processes. We caught up with Dale, the RD and had a great chat.<br />
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The day ended with a premiere screening of Kissing the Rock, mini doco about last years race. It was a great film capturing the real motivation and sentiment behind a few runners including Anna Frost and Billy Simpson. The prelude was a preview of a mini doco about a winter ski traverse of the Hardrock course. By the end of the 2 films if you weren't freaking out about what you were in for, you hadn't been watching! Stats 97% & 64bpm.<br />
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Tomorrow, Thursday is briefing and informal dinner. And drop bags of course. I am as ready as I can be. 4 months of solid training. Incorporating regular pilates under physio supervision to help rehab my back. Weekly massages with Bengt. Solid weekly totals over 100km. As many 50km plus runs as possible. With plenty of double weekends. 2 weeks acclimatisation including a week of solid 4hr mountain hike/runs. There is a common saying that you arrive at the start of a 100miler in you best shape and arrive at the finish line a day or 2 in the worst shape of your life. I have been in better shape but not after the hiccups I have had. So I am happy as I can be with my prep. My pacer pulled out today with a family emergency. But that happens and I kind of prefer to do it the old school way without crew or pacer. Time will tell if that bites me on the arse but that is the nature of this run. There are so many unknowns and it will challenge me beyond comprehension but that is part of the attraction. Here's hoping I can rise to the occasion one more time.<br />
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Ed note: I can't edit this due to crappy wifi so please excuse typos until I get home and can edit and add some pics. And hopefully a race report.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-20998291047323897882016-07-11T13:49:00.001+10:002016-07-11T13:49:40.322+10:00Taper time Saturday 9th: rest day. We drove over to Durango and had the buffet lunch at the Tibetan restaurant. If ever in Durango be sure to try it. We checked out the gear stores and did our grocery shopping. Lazy day.<br />
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Sunday 10th: we went for an easy jog along the first 3km of the course to the Mineral Creek crossing. About 7.5km with minimal elevation gain/loss. And some stretching. And lots of eating. Including lots of rhubarb pie. Morning obs: O2=93 & HR=67<br />
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We are already getting impatient and just want to get out there. Only 5 sleeps.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-90797196879488726312016-07-11T13:36:00.001+10:002016-07-11T14:35:44.078+10:00Ouray Bear Creek Trail - 7 days to goFriday 8th: Wow, if you want to choose part of the course that epitomises Hardrock, visit this nationally recognised trail. After crossing Highway 550 (Silverton - Ouray Hwy) on top of the tunnel over the road, the trail climbs steeply. The path is strewn with loose flat, slatey stones of varying sizes, from 50cent piece to dinner plate. You climb 13 steep switchbacks with the slate tinkling like broken crockery under your feet, being careful not to send any rocks down on those below.<br />
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Every time I run down this trail (or hike up it), and I can't run down it without a smile, I hear Annie Lennox in my ears ('Walking on broken glass'). We started and stayed with the trail marking team today. With James Varner leading, the pace was much faster than I remembered for marking days. The traditional leader, and course director, Charlie Thorn, brought up the rear.<br />
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Once through the switchbacks the trail follows the Bear Creek (hence the name) on the side wall of the steep rocky canyon. The path is literally cut into the wall of the canyon. It is hundreds of feet sheer drop from the trail to the creek. At points the trail is less than a metre wide. Windy and rocky. Twisting and turning, hugging the very face of the cliff. And during the race I will climb this in the dark. At least then you can't see the drop-off. But in the hot morning sun we marched up the twisty trail respectfully. Pausing to take in the view and take the odd photo. Which never really do justice to just how hairy this trail is. One trip and you are gone. The ultimate DNF. On the run back down I joked to Phil: if I go over the edge tell them I died happy, and made someone on the wait list happy.<br />
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Once through the tight part of the canyon it opened up to a tree-lined valley plastered with wildflowers. Picture postcard material. After passing through the Grizzly mine site and then the Yellowjacket mine remains we crossed the valley and climbed through the tress to the broad basin that forms Engineers basin.<br />
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We had a cliff bar break at the site of the Engineer aid station before leaving the group who were continuing up to the pass and Oh Point, and turning around and running back down the trail.<br />
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The return was a treat. We cruised, soaking in this spectacular course. 17km in 4hrs. (O2=94% and HR=67bpm so acclimation coming good.) Only hiccup was when I kicked a tree root and somersaulted onto my back in the long grass beside the trail. This was before entering the canyon so no damage done and really sharpened my focus for the run through the canyon.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-80705205980401209372016-07-07T07:34:00.001+10:002016-07-11T12:43:23.054+10:00Virginius - 8 days to goThursday 7th: the trail marking crew were marking the Virginius Pass section of the course. This is a spectacular pass separating two of the main towns on the course: Telluride and Ouray. It also represents one of the most challenging points of the course. The pass itself consists of a break in a massive geological formation that looks like spiny back of a Brontosaurus, with craggy peaks of a rocky ridge line giving way to a small flat platform. This exposed platform is only a matter of metres wide but serves as the Kroger's Canteen aid station. This checkpoint is famous for many reasons, not the least the regular offer of a shot of Tequila to runners as they pass through. <div>
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But the real notoriety stems from the location. Perched precariously with a sheer drop-off on both sides, all supplies are packed in and the volunteers spend the night sheltering under a flapping tarp in temperatures that can dip below zero with wind chill. </div>
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Which means any snow on the northern slope freezes to solid ice. In the clockwise direction this year we will have to slide down any residual snow (ice) after scrambling up the steep loose scree on the southern approach. After the initial steep drop, runners then transit the currently snow covered basin before descending the second, shorter slope. Which leads to another bench before the final very steep and treacherous slope. </div>
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After driving through Ouray, Phil and I continued for about 6 km to near where the Governors aid station will be. Here we parked and started the long, tough climb up the jeep road. Being ahead of the trail marking team, we managed to take a wrong turn that didn't add much distance but did treat us to an encounter with 4 magnificent deer. </div>
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We had to cross a couple of snow banks but eventually reached the end of the road above an abandoned mine. This was the start of the lowest pitch. All 3 pitches took a lot of work to climb. Each step required kicking your shoe into the crusty snow to gain traction. Several times I would slip and threaten to slide all the way to the bottom. A potentially dangerous slip. </div>
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But we made it to the top, with elevated heart rates, as much by the fear of falling as the exertion! The marking team started arriving soon after us. After something to eat, we turned around and butt-slid the top pitch somewhat out of control down to the basin. The middle pitch was uneventful apart from dislodging a big rock that crashed onto my shin taking plenty of skin with it. </div>
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The final, lower pitch was dodgy and I ended up sliding out of control into a melted wash away of a small creek. With one foot in the ice water I came to an uncoordinated stop. No damage this time though. </div>
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Back on the road we jogged very easily back to the car. Only 12km total but 3:45hrs and reached over 13,000ft with 800m climbing. (My O2 was 90% and heart rate 72 on rising.) It was a good section to revisit. These conditions take me out of my comfort zone and better to be reminded if that before race day.<br /><br /></div>
Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-8793828739100655512016-07-07T07:34:00.000+10:002016-07-11T12:01:53.250+10:00Another pinch-yourself day or twoYesterday (Tues 5th) we slept in after the late night return to Siverton. The course marking was going over Handies which at 14,000ft + is the highest point on the course. I have been up there on all my previous visits but given the length of the day and the altitude gained it was too much for Phil to undertake and possibly a bit early in my acclimatisation still. So we opted to do our own thing instead.<br />
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We headed up Kendall Mt. At a touch over 13,000ft it is still a solid challenge. And you start climbing from the get-go. And it never let's up. All jeep road peppered with lose rock, it is pretty typical of much of the course. The crisp cool air and clear blue skies made for cliche picture-perfect views back across the valley.<br />
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Feeling good, we pushed all the way to the top where we were treated to a magical view straight down on Silverton. We kept going to the true summit and soaked in the spectacular 360* vista.<br />
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We opted to try the rougher descent off the opposing face of the summit. After a little rock-hopping we found ourselves sliding down a really steep, rocky slope. And when I say steep, I mean steep. I skated, slid and stumbled largely out of control until I actually flipped into the rocks off the side. With grazed shins and bloody knuckles I was a bit more speculative for the rest of the slide to the bottom.<br />
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After 3hrs climbing we easily descended in 1.5hrs, keeping it relaxed to avoid trashing the quads. 4:33 for 21.6km and over 1100m elevation gain.<br />
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Weds 6th: again we skipped the course marking. Mainly because it involved a long, long rough 4wd<br />
drive and then a long day across the high part of the course from Sherman to Maggie's and another long drive out, with car shuttling.<br />
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Instead we headed out to Arrastra Gulch to cover the final part of the course (mostly already marked).<br />
The Beaver lake trail never fails to impress. And again the creek crossing was icy cold.<br />
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Conscious of only being just over a week out from race day, we opted not to go all the way to the top of the pass. After grinding out a solid 10km to reach the singletrack junction just above the mine site at around 3,600m, we turned around and literally ambled back down.<br />
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Walking back into town a jeep pulled up beside us and Carol Erdman, one of the HR Board members, offered us a giant chocolate-chip cookie to share. Great timing, we were both starving hungry. Carol was heading over to Kendall for her daily hike/run. We had passed Carol on our way back down yesterday and she was looking amazingly fit for a septuagenarian.<br />
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Easy day: 20km in 4:13 for around 900m elevation. This is a great training run to include as it familiarises you with the last section of the course. For me that has always been in the dark. For Phil it was light and will hopefully be so again.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-63731789545940725512016-07-05T14:09:00.002+10:002016-07-05T14:22:22.556+10:00July 4, American styleAmericans take their July 4 celebrations pretty seriously. Think parade. Think novelty floats. Think red, white and blue. Think flags. Think old cars, fancy pick-up trucks, massive all-terrain vehicles and fire trucks festooned with firemen spraying huge plumes of water over the crowd. Think lots and lots of all of the above. Then line the streets with hundreds of people sitting in deck chairs, standing or perched on the back of pick-up trucks. All waving postcard sized American flags.<br />
<br />
Part of the Hardrock tradition involves marching in the parade. Marching is probably a bit of an overstatement. A bunch of runners and volunteers walk behind the Hardrock banner, waving Hardrock and American flags. And throw candy to the sugar hyped kids lining the streets. Or dog treats to the many dogs. Remember Silverton is a classic old west town with gravel streets and rustic 18th century buildings. It helps to set the scene. So it is all good fun if a little more parochial than I'm used to.<br />
<br />
The marching involves periodically busting a move behind the banner. At someone's shouted command we all start running in a circle led by the banner. Or we will break into a trot to catch up to the float in front of us. The 'burrito' is the most interesting one where one of the banner holders gets rolled up vertically inside the banner. The spectating kids love it. By the end I was worn out. In fact Jim Sweat who has 11 starts and never finished, commented that many a Hardrocker had put too much into the parade and suffered on race day. I had to ask if he was speaking from experience. He didn't say no.<br />
<br />
Another option is the 10km fun run earlier in the day. I have done that once and nearly burst a lung so now avoid it. Instead I headed out early up Kendall Mountain. It is all hard packed, rocky, jeep road. But it climbs from the town fringe and never lets up. Perfect Hardrock training.<br />
<br />
My O2 sats were 87% with a heart rate of 72 when I woke up. O2 a bit lower than I would like. The aim of my training sessions is to keep my heart rate low, preferably below 130bpm. This is hard to do at 3,000m of elevation and climbing fast. So my pace is slow. Only jogging when the gradient flattened out. I got up to 3,800m in 2hrs for about 8km.<br />
<br />
By that time the sun had climbed over the nearby peaks and bathed the valley below me in bright, warm light. It was cool when I started, a salient reminder of what to expect overnight during the race. Another mental note to throw calf guards or tights in my Ouray drop bag. By the time I turned around I had warmed up.<br />
<br />
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and<br />
slipped into cruise mode. A couple of runners came towards me looking fresh and crisp and running way too easily considering they were at least 5km and running uphill! We stopped for a chat. Darla and Chris were both entered. Darla for her 4th and Chris for his first.<br />
<br />
Lower down another runner was running faster up than I was going down! I soon recognised Anna Frost and that explained the pace. Again I stopped for a chat. I was curious that Anna was spending time down at Durango to improve her recovery from hard sessions up high. I have always thought the idea was to spend as much time as high up as possible. I do like Durango though, so it is an attractive proposition. And I'm certainly not questioning her method. She won last year.<br />
<br />
Got back in plenty of time for the parade. 15+km in about 3hrs. 2hrs up and 1hr down, despite the stops on the down. Felt good, no headaches.<br />
<br />
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.<br />
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-60690591838811466152016-07-05T14:09:00.001+10:002016-07-05T14:19:03.287+10:00July 4, American styleAmericans take their July 4 celebrations pretty seriously. Think parade. Think novelty floats. Think red, white and blue. Think flags. Think old cars, fancy pick-up trucks, massive all-terrain vehicles and fire trucks festooned with firemen spraying huge plumes of water over the crowd. Think lots and lots of all of the above. Then line the streets with hundreds of people sitting in deck chairs, standing or perched on the back of pick-up trucks. All waving postcard sized American flags.<br />
<br />
Part of the Hardrock tradition involves marching in the parade. Marching is probably a bit of an overstatement. A bunch of runners and volunteers walk behind the Hardrock banner, waving Hardrock and American flags. And throw candy to the sugar hyped kids lining the streets. Or dog treats to the many dogs. Remember Silverton is a classic old west town with gravel streets and rustic 18th century buildings. It helps to set the scene. So it is all good fun if a little more parochial than I'm used to.<br />
<br />
The marching involves periodically busting a move behind the banner. At someone's shouted command we all start running in a circle led by the banner. Or we will break into a trot to catch up to the float in front of us. The 'burrito' is the most interesting one where one of the banner holders gets rolled up vertically inside the banner. The spectating kids love it. By the end I was worn out. In fact Jim Sweat who has 11 starts and never finished, commented that many a Hardrocker had put too much into the parade and suffered on race day. I had to ask if he was speaking from experience. He didn't say no.<br />
<br />
Another option is the 10km fun run earlier in the day. I have done that once and nearly burst a lung so now avoid it. Instead I headed out early up Kendall Mountain. It is all hard packed, rocky, jeep road. But it climbs from the town fringe and never lets up. Perfect Hardrock training.<br />
<br />
<br />
My O2 sats were 87% with a heart rate of 72 when I woke up. O2 a bit lower than I would like. The aim of my training sessions is to keep my heart rate low, preferably below 130bpm. This is hard to do at 3,000m of elevation and climbing fast. So my pace is slow. Only jogging when the gradient flattened out. I got up to 3,800m in 2hrs for about 8km.<br />
<br />
By that time the sun had climbed over the nearby peaks and bathed the valley below me in bright, warm light. It was cool when I started, a salient reminder of what to expect overnight during the race. Another mental note to throw calf guards or tights in my Ouray drop bag. By the time I turned around I had warmed up.<br />
<br />
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and<br />
slipped into cruise mode. A couple of runners came towards me looking fresh and crisp and running way too easily considering they were at least 5km and running uphill! We stopped for a chat. Dar and Chris were both entered. Dar for her 4th and Chris for his first.<br />
<br />
Lower down another runner was running faster up than I was going down! I soon recognised Anna Frost and that explained the pace. Again I stopped for a chat. I was curious that Anna was spending time down at Durango to improve her recovery from hard sessions up high. I have always thought the idea was to spend as much time as high up as possible. I do like Durango though, so it is an attractive proposition. And I'm certainly not questioning her method. She won last year.<br />
<br />
Got back in plenty of time for the parade. 15+km in about 3hrs. 2hrs up and 1hr down, despite the stops on the down. Felt good, no headaches.<br />
<br />
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.<br />
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-27206838671930198422016-07-05T14:09:00.000+10:002016-07-05T14:17:27.575+10:00July 4, American styleAmericans take their July 4 celebrations pretty seriously. Think parade. Think novelty floats. Think red, white and blue. Think flags. Think old cars, fancy pick-up trucks, massive all-terrain vehicles and fire trucks festooned with firemen spraying huge plumes of water over the crowd. Think lots and lots of all of the above. Then line the streets with hundreds of people sitting in deck chairs, standing or perched on the back of pick-up trucks. All waving postcard sized American flags.<br />
<br />
Part of the Hardrock tradition involves marching in the parade. Marching is probably a bit of an overstatement. A bunch of runners and volunteers walk behind the Hardrock banner, waving Hardrock and American flags. And throw candy to the sugar hyped kids lining the streets. Or dog treats to the many dogs. Remember Silverton is a classic old west town with gravel streets and rustic 18th century buildings. It helps to set the scene. So it is all good fun if a little more parochial than I'm used to.<br />
<br />
The marching involves periodically busting a move behind the banner. At someone's shouted command we all start running in a circle led by the banner. Or we will break into a trot to catch up to the float in front of us. The 'burrito' is the most interesting one where one of the banner holders gets rolled up vertically inside the banner. The spectating kids love it. By the end I was worn out. In fact Jim Sweat who has 11 starts and never finished, commented that many a Hardrocker had put too much into the parade and suffered on race day. I had to ask if he was speaking from experience. He didn't say no.<br />
<br />
Another option is the 10km fun run earlier in the day. I have done that once and nearly burst a lung so now avoid it. Instead I headed out early up Kendall Mountain. It is all hard packed, rocky, jeep road. But it climbs from the town fringe and never lets up. Perfect Hardrock training.<br />
<br />
<br />
My O2 sats were 87% with a heart rate of 72 when I woke up. O2 a bit lower than I would like. The aim of my training sessions is to keep my heart rate low, preferably below 130bpm. This is hard to do at 3,000m of elevation and climbing fast. So my pace is slow. Only jogging when the gradient flattened out. I got up to 3,800m in 2hrs for about 8km.<br />
<br />
By that time the sun had climbed over the nearby peaks and bathed the valley below me in bright, warm light. It was cool when I started, a salient reminder of what to expect overnight during the race. Another mental note to throw calf guards or tights in my Ouray drop bag. By the time I turned around I had warmed up.<br />
<br />
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and<br />
slipped into cruise mode. A couple of runners came towards me looking fresh and crisp and running way too easily considering they were at least 5km and running uphill! We stopped for a chat. Dar and Chris were both entered. Dar for her 4th and Chris for his first.<br />
<br />
Lower down another runner was running faster up than I was going down! I soon recognised Anna Frost and that explained the pace. Again I stopped for a chat. I was curious that Anna was spending time down at Durango to improve her recovery from hard sessions up high. I have always thought the idea was to spend as much time as high up as possible. I do like Durango though, so it is an attractive proposition. And I'm certainly not questioning her method. She won last year.<br />
<br />
Got back in plenty of time for the parade. 15+km in about 3hrs. 2hrs up and 1hr down, despite the stops on the down. Felt good, no headaches.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Back to Durango myself Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-88462630597850175322016-07-04T13:45:00.002+10:002016-07-04T13:45:51.667+10:00Acclimation beginsThe first full day in Silverton I usually take it pretty easy with an easy run/hike of 8km or so. But I usually have 3 weeks of acclimatisation (or acclimation as the locals prefer to call it). With just under 2 weeks I need to maximise my opportunities. After a rough night of little sleep due to a combination of altitude, time zone shift, and being cold, I headed out early on what will be the last part of my journey, along Beaver Lake trail. (I will add pics when I get better wifi-I forgot how bad dial-up was.)<br />
<br />
After navigating the massive motor homes 'camped' at Kendall Mt ski hill I hit the trail proper. Seriously you have to question the point. These buses are more luxurious than my house. In fact some probably have more floor space. No exaggeration. Some of the cars they tow are massive 4wds, dual cabs!<br />
<br />
The old 'original' (I think there may have been an earlier iteration) that split in 2 around 2009 due to water freezing in the drill holes and expanding, has been cemented back together and put on display under a little pergola. It is a fitting shrine for such an historic symbol of the race.<br />
<br />
Next door is another shrine to the Silverton 6 day/1000 mile race. I'm not kidding. There is a short loop trail that goes up and around the small ski hill, the Kendall Trail. This is the site of the annual 6 day race. Wow. Unbelievable. The shrine is really cool, with an historic miners trolley on a short section of train track. Welded on the side is a metal plate emblazoned with the race logo.<br />
<br />
The trail was magical. The early morning sun streamed down between the tall spruce, creating little clouds of steam where it hit the wet ground. The little beaver dam was a mirror of the blue sky and patchy low clouds. It was truly therapeutic hiking and running through the forest in the early morning light with the trees still dripping from the nights rain. The scent was what I imagine those air fresheners are trying to replicate. Except this was the real thing. Drink it in.<br />
<br />
I made it easily to Arrastra Creek. It was flowing strong and clear. I thought about turning back but felt good so waded into the shin deep torrent. Oh my dog, I had forgotten how cold these mountain streams were.<br />
<br />
Joining the jeep road on the other side I spotted my first Hardrock course marker. Makes it very real. I followed the jeep road up, up until a junction I wasn't sure about (no markings here for reverse direction). I went right but should have gone left. I wasn't overly concerned, I just wanted time on my feet in the mountains and I got to explore the valley to the east of the one the course follows.<br />
<br />
A procession of all terrain vehicles (mostly rentals out of Silverton) buzzed past me intermittently. These quad bikes on steroids spoiled the ambience somewhat but it would be hard to detract from such a spectacular hike.<br />
<br />
I turned around when I hit 3,600 metres in view of the pass ominously perched at the head of the valley. I am not sure if there is even a navigable pass up there but I could see where it should be.<br />
<br />
I kept the descent leisurely and took some more photos. All up around 17km+ in about 4.5hrs. Felt good. Count down continues.<br />
<br />
<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-65256309124431214372016-07-03T22:40:00.001+10:002016-07-03T22:40:52.823+10:00Day 1 Silverton Finally back in Siverton, Colorado. I can feel the difference in altitude coming from sea-level to 9,000+feet or over 3,000m. Very hard to sleep and it got very cold overnight. Reminder for drop bags: warm clothes for the night. I am checking my pulse and O2 saturation levels in the morning. As much a curiosity as to help gauge how my body (read heart) is coping and adapting.<br />
<br />
Yesterday in Durango at around 6,000ft it was 97% and 67bpm. Very happy with that. My resting pulse has never come down much from around 80bpm after the surgery. My cardiologist suggested that was my new norm given all the scar tissue in there now. So to be in the 60s is a really good sign. The sats are OK.<br />
<br />
First morning in Silverton I am at 90% and 65bpm. Which is a good starting point. But a bit headachy still. Which is always hard to tell how much is lack of sleep after a 30hr transit and then poor sleep on arrival.<br />
<br />
The town of Silverton looks the same, spectacularly framed my steep mountains. A few shops have closed and a couple of brave new ones have opened. The outdoor store still has the same father/son team behind the counter. My motel has worse than dial up speed wifi if you can get on. The owner is a great character (like so many that end up in such a place) and still does his bookings in an old pen and paper style calendar notebook. He reckons there is no chance of double booking or losing a booking. Fits with the style of the place.<br />
<br />
The town is full of tourists and many many off-roaders who love the rough back country roads. Mind they drive them on the main roads as well. In fact it is not uncommon to see kids riding in the back of pick-up trucks. It is July 4 weekend and the town sells to over 20,000 from around less than 1,000. The parade and fireworks are renowned far and wide. Warn the local wild life! <br />
<br />
I will skip the fireworks and indulge in a meal at the Tibetan restaurant in Durango before collecting Spud from the airport late tomorrow night. With only one road into town the traffic is pretty ordinary when the fireworks finishes. So I will get ahead of that game.<br />
<br />
OK, sun is up. Time to test those O2 sats with a bit of trail and some elevation. One of my fav sections of the course is the last few kms into town along the Beaver Lake trail. I will bring back some pics!<br />
<br />
<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-71520379393209531442016-06-27T23:08:00.001+10:002016-06-27T23:08:18.081+10:00A little older, a lot slower, a little wiser.Given that my 3 finishes at Hardrock have all been really tough and each time I have come close to capitulating, I am definitely not taking anything for granted this time around. Add to that my dodgy back (still limits my downhill freedom), my nagging patello-femoral joint (I notice I had it taped back in 2010 as well), the fact that I am now well into my 50s compared to 40s for the last 3, and not the least my heart issues, and well, I am not overly confident of how this will go.<br />
<br />
So, to realign the odds somewhat back in my favour, I have changed a few things this time.<br />
<br />
Pacer: I don't normally use a pacer. I have had an impromptu pacer join me from Cunningham to the finish both times in this direction (2008 and 2010). The first was a great help. The second slowed me down until I dropped him on the climb. I have heard horror stories. But have also seen how much they can help a runner (no muling of course). So I bit the bullet and I have engaged the assistance of Russ Valdez, a total stranger who put his name on the Hardrock website dating service for pacers/runners to meet. Essential criteria: experience on the course (he has paced 6 times at HR). I have no idea how well we will get along and as Russ said, it is a bit like picking up a hitch-hiker, you never know what you are going to get. But I have a good feeling about him so I am sure it will work out great.<br />
<br />
Training: I have done 2 things differently this time. While my weekly mileage is comparable to previous HRs, I have included far more long runs this time. I have aimed for a 40-50km weekly run. Preferably on hilly trail. These have generally been around 6-8hrs long. Plus a couple longer.<br />
<br />
The other difference to my training is it has nearly all been done fully fasted. Yep, nothing to eat before or during the run. I now regularly get up and go out fasted and cover up to 9 hours without any calorie intake (since around 11pm the previous night). The reason for this is I always suffer from nausea for long, long periods at HR. Meaning I can't take on any calories. Meaning I bonk, and struggle with lack of energy. Now I have forced my body to seek out fat for fuel and it is working. The added bonus is I have shed around 6 kilos of body fat (aided by cutting intake of simple sugars and some refined carbs and increasing my fat intake). Less weight to carry up those big climbs. Hopefully, this means when the altitude turns my stomach sour I can maintain momentum until it comes good or I reach the next checkpoint. Hopefully both.<br />
<br />
Counter to this, I am arriving a week later for acclimatisation but I couldn't avoid that. Here's hoping all the positive changes carry more weight. Did I mention I this one could be tough.<br />
<br />
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-45443166592089242202016-06-27T00:10:00.001+10:002016-06-27T00:10:26.846+10:00Taper timeYou don't really taper for Hardrock. You train as hard as you can and then arrive in Silverton hopefully at least 2 weeks before the race to acclimatise to the altitude. The 3 previous times I have run I have arrived 3 weeks before. And then still suffered terribly with altitude problems during the race. This year I will arrive exactly 2 weeks before the race. Cutting it a bit fine and I am wishing I had scraped another week but work is chaotic and as it is I am leaving at an inopportune time. It also means I have no time off to pack and sort my gear. Fortunately, I have been doing that incrementally and pretty much finished packing today.<br />
<br />
So instead of tapering in the last couple of weeks, you spend most of every day out on the course, mostly helping with the course marking. This gives you the benefit of familiarising with parts of the course, meeting other runners, and getting quality trail time climbing and descending at high altitude. This ends on about the Monday or Tuesday before race day (Friday). So the taper is just a few days.<br />
<br />
Last long run yesterday, sweeping the Surfcoast Marathon. Not much elevation gain but 7 3/4 hours of trail was perfect. Backed that up with a solid 26km this morning for another 100+km week.<br />
<br />
Feb<br />
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)<br />
Week 23 75km<br />
Week 22 71km<br />
Week 21 88km<br />
Mar<br />
Week 20 93km<br />
Week 19 88km<br />
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)<br />
Week 17 76km<br />
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)<br />
Apr<br />
Week 15 80km (3hr)<br />
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)<br />
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)<br />
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)<br />
May<br />
Week 11 102km (5:43hr)<br />
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)<br />
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)<br />
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)<br />
June<br />
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)<br />
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)<br />
Week 5 109km (7:09hr)<br />
Week 4 111km (Surfcoast marathon - 7:46hr sweeping)<br />
July<br />
Week 3<br />
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)<br />
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)<br />
RaceWhippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-25950774169088999702016-06-13T00:28:00.000+10:002018-07-15T09:43:49.428+10:00Countdown....howmanysleepsSince the shock of scoring another Hardrock entry last December, my running focus has been solely around getting fit enough to have a chance of completing my fourth Hardrock. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since my last finish in 2010. Besides now being in my 50s, I have had a major health event with my year of AF (2011), I lost a year of running to plantar fasciitis (2013) and last November I suffered a low back injury that took months to overcome and still limits some of my movements, not the least my descending on technical trail.<br />
<br />
With less than 5 weeks to go it is time to review where I am at, if for no other reason than to help reassure myself that I am on track. I have listed my weekly totals. Not the full picture as there is no measure of quality, effort or terrain but a good indication of volume. Pretty much all of the runs are at relatively low heartrate (except the 1/2 mara) and most of the long runs are done fasted (except Razor and Prom and latter parts of Maroondah). The non-event weeks I have listed the length in time of my long run for the week once they became significant. I look like achieving a solid block of around 3 months of averaging 100km per week. Not big miles but consistency is key and lots of long slow runs in there.<br />
<br />
I have been supplementing the running with a physio guided pilates class most weeks and regular massage with Bengt. I wish I had started both of these sooner, they make a huge difference. I have no doubt that the pilates has improved my back massively. And the regular massage helps iron out niggles and helps with recovery heaps. Here's hoping it's all enough.<br />
<br />
Feb<br />
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)<br />
Week 23 75km<br />
Week 22 71km<br />
Week 21 88km<br />
Mar<br />
Week 20 93km<br />
Week 19 88km<br />
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)<br />
Week 17 76km<br />
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)<br />
Apr<br />
Week 15 80km (3hr)<br />
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)<br />
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)<br />
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)<br />
May<br />
Week 11 102km (5:43hr) <br />
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)<br />
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)<br />
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)<br />
June<br />
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)<br />
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)<br />
Week 5<br />
Week 4 (Surfcoast marathon -sweeping)<br />
July<br />
Week 3<br />
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)<br />
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)<br />
Race<br />
<br />
<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-45574530785501624732016-06-05T22:47:00.000+10:002016-06-13T15:13:04.172+10:00A date at the PromGiven I have a trip planned to Hardrock again in just under 6 weeks I thought it was time to resurrect the blog to document the lead-up and the run itself.<br />
<br />
Yesterday saw the annual pilgrimage to the Prom. After only managing 70 odd km last year going in off my ankle injury (avulsion with torn ligaments) and then walking a very sick runner out via the short route, I was back for another crack at the full 100.<br />
<br />
Trying to work out how many Proms I have run is tricky as the old results are not on the website. First race was 2000 which is the only one I have missed. There have been 2 cancellations (fire and flood) and at least one shortened to 80km due to track closures. I ran 44, 60, 80 then started the 100s. So I think this year makes 9 x 100km from 14 starts. Happy to be corrected.<br />
<br />
This year saw the date pushed into June (shorter day, likely worse weather), limit expanded up to close to 200, and the course reversed so we did the 20km loop first before the 80km. (Designed to stop people being able to pull out at the 80km mark-not a fan.)<br />
<br />
I have experienced some pretty bad weather at the Prom. In 2003 only 2 of us started. I stopped at 80km borderline hypothermic after being soaked through all day in gale force winds with next to zero visibility after dark in the fog. The other runner, Amanda Allen, went back out in the early hours of the morning and hit snow on top of Mt Bishop. That was the worst year. This years race now ranks second for bad weather.<br />
<br />
I have been doing 50km training runs most weekends for a few weeks but this was the first big one for the year. I started at the back of the field, planning to keep it very easy. I followed a procession of headlights onto the Lilly Pilly loop and they went the wrong way, heading clockwise. For many years runners randomly went either direction so I didn't worry, thinking the whole field had gone the wrong way.<br />
<br />
Apparently not. The leaders started passing us half way up Bishop. Then we had fast runners coming down with slower runners going up. All under headlight. Not ideal. No views unfortunately and then on the way down my patella locked up painfully. I hadn't had that happen since it happened on the same descent back in 2007. That year it went on to be a major injury leading into Western States. Bugger. A short time later, I did it again climbing over rocks out on Pillar Point. This could be a problem.<br />
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Back at Tidal River I stretched my quad/psoas and repeated this a couple of time through the day. Apart from a little restriction all good. Better to discover this recurrence with time to address it.<br />
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The day was wet and windy. Very. I was soaked through from start to finish. I wore a long merino top with a full length jersey over that, plus polar fleece arm warmers, plus a windshirt over the top. I had my waterproof jacket on for the first couple of hours, off for the middle part of the day (out of the wind) and then on from afternoon to the finish. I had merino gloves with bike gloves over the top. I had waterproof mitts that I also wore in the night. I had a buff under my cap with the hood of both jackets up over my head all day. The first few hours I had a merino balaclava on as well. Bottom half were dryfit mini-shorts plus 3/4 running tights and long outer shorts over the whole lot. Feet, injinjis and I had my new Altra Olympus 2.0 and they were superb in the sloppy mud, wet rocks, sand, river crossings and hard packed access roads. And I was cold pretty much all day. Really cold.<br />
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I ran alone most of the day apart from a few stretches with Anthony Metcalf from Wagga and catching up with Paul Todd who I had helped out last year. Both these were early on. The rest of the day was a solo sojourn apart from passing, being passed or the out and backs.<br />
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The track across to Sealers was a skating rink with deep, slippery mud and soft leaf litter. It was really chopped up. After the dodgy knee thing I took it easy. The river at Sealers was deep. The tide was up when Anthony and I crossed. Mid to high thigh deep. What's a bit more water.<br />
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Sealers to Refuge to Waterloo was hard work and not much chance to get into any rhythm. But I was making solid progress.<br />
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The climb from Telegraph track junction to Roaring Meg junction seemed to take forever. With low cloud, rain and no views and my hood cinched close around my face, the world was a narrow focus of the track right in front of me.<br />
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The Roaring Meg singletrack was a river. It was deep and muddy. Impossible to run despite the gentle descent. Approaching the campground the heavens opened. By the time I got my waterproof jacket on I had cold rain water running down my back. It bucketed down. I started thinking about skipping Southpoint (and accepting a DNF) for safety reasons. There were 2 tents in camp. The bright yellow Macpac tent was sitting in a pool of water. When I came back they had packed up and gone despite it being close to dark. Poor buggers.<br />
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I headed down to Southpoint regardless and crossed path with a few runners. Susan Keith had just a tshirt on. We stopped to chat and I encouraged her to get her jacket on! Eventually I was at the bottom of mainland Australia. The rocky outcrop with the plaque 39* 08' 21' marking the southern most point was a lonely, cold, windy sentinel. I was glad I came down here. It is a special place, rugged, wild and isolated.<br />
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By the time I got back to the camp ground it was dark. I dug out my head lamp and headed for the lighthouse. It took forever to get there. The track past the heli-pad was confusing in the dark with wide puddles and gravel paths everywhere. The wind was howling and the warm lights from inside the buildings were very appealing.<br />
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The next section to Waterloo was tough. Overgrown, muddy, slippery and windy. And wet. With my head down I walked straight into a downed tree. Smack, bang into my forehead. I staggered for a bit to recompose and then ducked under the tree only to headbutt another branch on the other side and nearly knocked myself out. I then slipped and nearly went off the track. OK regroup and take things easy but having to look up now was a nuisance as the rain hit my face.<br />
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Waterloo beach seemed to go on forever. I am used to running this beach late afternoon. I love this beach. It was very different in the dark, wet, windy. A guy that was close behind me at the lighthouse was on the beach behind me and we leap frogged on the track back to Telegraph while we each had to change lights.<br />
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Finally on Oberon Beach, I caught up to Olivia, George and Mark for the 3rd time for the day. They were doing the 60km loop. I walked the beach with them to show them the crossing. It was shallow but really strong. But the wind and horizontal rain was unbelievable. It was hard to stand up yet alone walk into it. Visibility was terrible. I could see the boulders and just headed to the right, knowing we would find the track eventually. Yells of relief when we got out of the wind. I bid adieu getting too cold walking and started running.<br />
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I didn't realise there was no-one else still out on the course and that I was last in the 100. It was a quiet unceremonial finish in 17:32 with Paul awarding me a Freddo frog and a lamington. I wanted to wait for Liv to finish her first ultra but I was getting cold. Thank goodness I had a bed in a hut with a hot shower waiting for me. <br />
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-18524706650923336662012-11-05T23:53:00.002+11:002012-11-05T23:53:57.542+11:00Time for another run on the GNW<br />
Hard to believe but 12 months ago I had my ablation. 12 months. It could be a lifetime. And in fact that is pretty much the philosophy I have adopted since my ablation: I have been given a second chance and I set about making the most of it.<br />
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My post ablation recovery period has already been well documented. The huge effort just to make it to GNW100s and then complete the full 175km course, also <a href="http://howmanysleeps.blogspot.com.au/2011/11/gnw100s-2011-race-within.html">documented</a> in detail. I now rate this as one of my most significant races, possibly <i>the</i> most. I managed to organise the GOW100s and then Bogong2Hotham with help from Brett, Wendy and an enthusiastic group of volunteers. The manual work required to set-up GOW and then Bogong and then clean-up, not to mention the race day drama of the mid-race cancelation due to extreme weather, really tested me out. Not to mention testing a few runners.<br />
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I have kept running through all of this, closely monitoring my heartrate. I still get unexplained sporadic breakouts of 'mini-AF' episodes while running. This despite always going very easy and keeping my heartrate low. At a follow-up visit to my cardiologist in March 2012, he explained that a repeat ablation would 'clean-up' the little areas that had been missed and were allowing these breakouts. I was not keen. He said he would review this around the 12 month mark. That anniversary and repeat visit came and went uneventfully. On the outside at least. Inside I was dancing a little jig. I didn't tell the Professor what I had done since my ablation. Probably best he doesn't know. But he considers me a successful outcome and I have to agree. I will have another review with a 24hr monitored ECG next year but until then I will get on with things.<br />
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Just for the record my post surgery running achievements look like this:<br />
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November 2011, approx 6 weeks after the surgery I completed my 6th GNW100miler (plus 1 x 100km) to keep my streak there alive.<br />
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January 2012 over the Australia Day long weekend I ran the Bogong to Hotham course, solo, unassisted and without drops. When I reached the summit of Mt Hotham as the sun was setting I turned around and ran back. It took me a little longer than I hoped but carrying a full pack of food, water and emergency gear definitely slowed me down. I completed what we call the Bogong Boomerang in 36hrs and 36minutes. I don't mind saying turning around and heading back into the night knowing what I was headed for was one of the toughest challenges I have faced.<br />
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In January I also swept the 2Bays race. Then in February I ran and swept the Maroondah Dam 50km for my 10th finish there. I also competed in the Melbourne Trailwalker 100km and later returned to TNF100 in May.<br />
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March 5th, 2012 I undertook a full traverse of the Munda Biddi trail in Western Australia. I ran/hiked the trail from end-to-end approximately 550km in 9 days 11 hours and 49 mins. The Munda Biddi is a dedicated mountain bike trail and although not yet complete, at that time this was the full length of the existing track. The first 7 days I experienced extreme heat with the reported temperatures tipping and exceeding 40*C (guarantee it was much hotter out in the open sun) and I had to carry up to 7 litres of water to cater for a potentially dry tank at one of the huts (on top of full camping, cooking, sleeping and emergency gear plus food). I utilised some food drops and stopped in small towns a few nights but went solo and unassisted.<br />
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At Easter I headed south to the Great South West Walk. This hidden gem of a trail blew me away with the spectacular scenery and incredible diversity. There are a couple of options for the course but it is billed as 250+km. I did the counterclockwise loop ensuring I visited every camp site and taking the inland route from Swan Lake Campground. Again I went solo, unassisted, without any food drops and carrying everything I needed from the start. I did supplement with half a dozen potato cakes, couple of chocolate bars, an ice-cream and several litres of softdrink at the Nelson Kiosk at halfway. I am sure the girl who served me was bewildered as to how I was eating/drinking all this on my own. I covered 270km, starting on the Friday morning and finished 58hrs and 33mins later back in Portland. This is one I will definitely revisit.<br />
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June long weekend and it was time for Phil and I to have another crack at the full GNW250. We had some crew lined up and got an early start this time, after the last attempt when we ran to the start of the GNW100s race and then tried to continue on after the race. The weather was near perfect and despite not quite making our time targets we were moving well. The second night sleep deprivation got to me and I struggled until a 5 minute kip rejuvenated me. But we were well off record pace by the third night and then torrential rain caused flash flooding as we were navigating the outskirts of Sydney. After some back-tracking and clothes changes we caught a water taxi across the Harbour to finally finish the job in 63:11hrs. I do not want to do that one again!<br />
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After a phrenetic first half of the year I took a rest. Organising GOW100s took up a lot of time and energy. A couple of weeks after GOW, I ran my sixth Prom100 and 2 weeks later I am preparing for the big one: GNW100s. I really hope to keep the unblemished record in tact but I take nothing for granted. I am just so grateful to be healthy enough to front up again. There are many regular names missing, testament to the wear and tear that our obsession can bestow upon us. But I will keep coming back as long as I can and measure myself against this tough course.<br />
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<br />Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-59521948332070066202011-11-23T23:39:00.001+11:002013-08-18T00:56:22.729+10:00GNW100s 2011 The race withinI wasn't going to write a race report on this years GNW. Good race reports are full of drama, tragedy and misfortune. I had none of that. All my drama took place months before. By the bucket load. But this years GNW was by far the single most important I have run. It was by far the sweetest finish of all my seven GNWs. Despite being November, it was my first race for the year and more importantly my first ultra post catheter ablation surgery on my heart. So even though my race unfolded relatively uneventfully I was in fact running the race of my life. And surging just below the surface was a tide of raw emotions battling to take control and derail my efforts. This is a story within a story. A race within a race. It may be merely just another race but to me it was a stepping-stone to reclaiming my life. My life as an ultrarunner.<br />
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A thousand clichés come to mind when I think of how best to describe this race. But none do justice. A thousand words could describe this race. But even they wouldn't suffice. At 174km it is not only longer than the standard 100-mile race, it is regarded as the toughest 100 miler in Oz. No arguments here. The dropout rate testifies to that. 50% failed to finish. That is huge. Nevertheless, I finished. And that means I have finished every year, the only person to do so (despite the first year only entering the 100km). I am not interested in bragging rights. For me, this was a race against myself. A race against my own limitations. A race against my illness. The course simply provided the playing field upon which I would test these limits. There was no guarantee that I would finish. There never is with a race this brutal or this long. And like I said, it all started months before and was still going on even on the start line. Beyond all else, I needed to know if I could still run ultras. This was going to be my big test.<br />
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Teralba footy oval at 5am was almost balmy. 100 runners milling around, exuding nervous energy as they registered, fidgeted with gear and went through last minute rituals. I was participating in a voluntary research study that required me to give a blood and urine sample and answer a short questionnaire. Once that was sorted I mingled with the crowd of regulars. I was strangely calm, fully aware of what I faced. And fully aware of what it was going to take to finish. Hanging over me was the cloud of uncertainty of how my heart would react to the burden of stress from continual physical exertion for up to 36 hours. For 7 months Atrial Fibrillation (AF) had restricted my running to 3 or 4 easy 8-10 km runs per week. Perhaps 'easy' is the wrong word. None of those runs were easy. But this is the abridged version. Every one of those runs was a challenge on it's own. Just getting out the door was a challenge much of the time. The medications and the disorder combined to restrict my ability to run. In fact restrict my life, my ability to work and simply function. But I refused to give in. I refused to believe that I couldn't beat this thing.<br />
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Ten weeks before GNW I had surgery. It took 5&1/2 hours and I was in Coronary Care for 3 nights. Hopefully it would correct or at least reduce the attacks of unregulated heartbeats. I couldn't run at all for two weeks after that. In fact I was worse than before the surgery. By week 3, with the blessing of my cardiologist, I started ramping up my training. I had 7 weeks left until GNW. 4 weeks out I reached 100 km per week for the first time in 8 months. I had niggles all over in protest to the rapid acceleration in mileage. I strung together 3 weeks of 100 km, which left me one week to taper. Still my longest run since March was little more than 30 km. I would be running on muscle memory. And my muscles have some very ugly memories from this course. I had no other choice. As the only person to have finished every GNW I felt a responsibility to keep this unique streak alive.<br />
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Standing on the oval at Teralba, I flicked on my Garmin. I was wearing a 310XT with a foot pod. This would allow me to turn off the GPS but still have a rough guide to distance and pace. But most importantly it would spare the battery so that I could monitor my heartrate for the entire race. The screen lit up and my heart sank, figuratively. My heartrate registered at 120bpm. Standing still and at rest. Oh crap. That is almost AF territory. In fact my first thought was that I was in AF. I felt the pulse in my neck: regular but fast. I was sure I wasn't in AF. I tried to relax and breathe slowly. It lowered a bit but was still over 100bpm when I lined up for the start.<br />
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Dave Byrnes sent us on our way right on 6am. I walked from the start. Close to Bill Thompson who usually walks the whole way. Second last place with the sweep car flashing right behind me. Once off the bitumen and onto the bush track I tried some slow jogging but my heartrate would jump straight up. So I walked for the first couple of hours with only the occasional trot on the downhills. Even on the long drop into Heaton's Gap I restrained and shuffled easily down putting my ego away. This would help spare my underprepared quads.<br />
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I passed a few runners on the monster climb up to Heaton’s Lookout. Then a few more including Susannah and Tanky as I scurried through the rainforest. The path was little more than a crushed leaf litter footpad through the trees. First time ever no leaches. Bill was right behind me, his powerful walking stride matching my run/walk routine. We walked into Checkpoint 1 together. Allison, Leslie and Mick all jumped in to help refill my bottles and sort through my drop-bag and reload my pack. I walked out eating a can of rice. I did this at each CP. It allowed an easy transition back onto the course, gave me time to digest and reduced eating times at CPs.<br />
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My heart rate had settled a little more now so I ran until it hit 130 bpm then walked until it dropped to the low 100s. Repeat. All the way along the road until finally dropping into the Congewai Valley. Again I eased into the long downhill to spare my quads and keep my HR down. I climbed onto the road and ran steadily all the way to the school and CP2. I felt great. I was really starting to enjoy this. I passed several runners then crossed some others on their way back out from the school. The six previous times I have fought with this road and it went on forever. Today I skipped along leisurely and it was over in no time. I was really enjoying this.<br />
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Tim was at the school to crew me. Di helped out as well. It was quick and easy. I gave another blood sample. Answered the questionnaire again: any nausea, stomach cramps, bloating, confusion, vomiting? Nope, I feel great. Reloaded, refueled, I walked out with customary rice in hand.<br />
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The climb out of the Congewai Valley is the biggest of the entire course. It destroys many runners. Two-thirds the way up I found a guy lying on his back, pale with zinc cream plastered on and bathed in sweat. "You OK?" "Yep, just overheating." Lucky this is a cool year, I thought to myself. The several false summits didn't phase me. I climbed like I was out for a Sunday stroll, easy and casual, constantly checking my garmin and keeping things under control.<br />
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Past the tower I started running again along Cabans Road. I came up behind a walker clearly not well. He was swaying across the road with the occasional stumble. I stopped to check on him. It was Roland from Switzerland and he was not well but had resolved to walk down to Watagan Creek Road and get a ride out. "Have you spoken to your crew?" "No, no reception." I knew it was a long drive in for the crew and once we drop to the road there is no phone reception. So I tried to ring Dave B to get a message through. Voicemail only. So I rang the radio operator at Somersby School who would be able to pass the message on. That done I checked he was OK to walk out and got back to business.<br />
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Reaching Watagan Creek there was a new footbridge so dry feet for a change. Very welcome. The climb out of the valley is brutal. No other word for it. But once again it just ticked away and soon I was refilling at the unmanned water drop at the top. Last year I had met Dog here in the back of Dave’s 4WD. No-one here this year. Somewhere along the road I did encounter Dave B driving into the water drop. He stopped and we chatted. He commented that I looked fresh. And surprisingly I actually felt it. The late afternoon sun was filtering down through the trees and I was out for a day in the bush. And really enjoying it.<br />
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The race was on to get into CP3 before dark. I started pushing a little harder and watched as my HR crept up and my threshold for what I would allow went up with it. I started dropping into the basin. I slipped on a leaf-covered step and slid down several steps, bump, bump, bump, hitting the back of my head hard on the steps as I went. I lay there doing the mental check: legs? Fine. Arms? Fine. Head? Sore but OK. Only one crushed finger that I had landed on. It was sore but nowhere near as bad as the little toe I broke 2 weeks before the race. I could feel that all day swelling up in my shoe.<br />
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Approaching the basin darkness finally overtook me and I started crossing paths with runners coming back the other way. I pressed on without my headlight feeling my way and relying on night vision. I was rewarded by the most spectacular show of fireflies dotted throughout the trees. They flickered like little christmas lights, trying to guide me on my way. It was one of those magical moments that make it all worthwhile.<br />
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CP3 is always a welcome sight after the long haul from the school. Tim was there to help, as was Seris with her heavily bandaged and grazed face courtesy of a bad fall that forced her to pull out. Dog was stretched out on a cot under a blanket. I tried to convince him to come with me. I offered to walk with him. We had plenty of time. I knew how much he dreaded a DNF at CP3 after last year. This one would be hard to take. I figured if I could get him to CP4 he might improve or at the least have a 100km. No chance. We shook hands and I was off. It always hurts to see those around us fail and reminds us of our own vulnerability.<br />
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I partnered up with a guy leaving CP3. I never caught his name but discovered later it was Richard. It was his mate I had encountered halfway up to the comm tower laying on his back. I always find the turnoffs deceptive after leaving the basin. The tracks go for much longer than I remember and I start to doubt my navigation. This time was no different with the tracks going on and on. Finally we peeled off and were dropping to Cedar Brush trailhead. I continued to preserve my quads which by now were starting to complain on the downhills. So it was a very leisurely cruise to the road. I passed some runners after climbing the fence. And then some more along the road, checking their maps. The full moon lit up the valley so I turned my light skyward to run in just the moonlight. The trees were hulking silhouettes and a misty fog lay across the fields. It was almost surreal in the moonlight. Another one of those purely magical moments. I realised I was running solidly so I watched my garmin closely. All good. I kept the heartrate under control but peeled off a solid 11 km and reached the school at Yarramalong right on midnight. Wow I was about 2 hours ahead of expectations. I would need every bit of that buffer.<br />
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CP4 was buzzing at midnight. I was weighed and gave blood again. Ticked all the boxes and surprised everyone with how good I was feeling. Where is the drama? Where are the bad patches? My crew, Tim, had planned to pace me from here to Somersby but had been struggling to get the car shuffled ahead. Turns out he wasn't even there and had been called away on a minor emergency. Jane asked me if I would be ok and even offered to pace me despite having her face all bandaged and looking rather battered. Despite her generous offer, I said I was right and once fueled up and loaded headed off into the night eating and walking per my routine.<br />
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The section from CP4 to CP5 goes through the dead of the night. I always struggle here. This time would be no different. A veil of fatigue descended on me and I couldn't shake it. Fatigue has been an ongoing symptom of my illness. I haven’t worked a full day in over 6 months. I have been tired in races before but this time there was no shaking it. Nick Barlow flew past me. He had been sleeping in the checkpoint and said he felt like a new man. I was jealous. I couldn't take caffeine and was craving some spark to keep me moving. I thought of napping and looked longingly at patches of grass but everything was wet with the dew. And I figured it would pass. It didn't. I shuffled the new road section. Back onto the trail and past the old water drop site. The dreaded sleepmonsters were heavy on my shoulders. I started hallucinating. Keep going. If I could make it to sun-up I knew I would feel better.<br />
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Finally I broke from the forest into the farmland around Ourimbah Valley and I simply could go on no longer. I was literally falling asleep on my feet. I was staggering. I would wake-up suddenly while walking off the road. Constant microsleeps while on the move. The sun was coming up and there was no magical revival. I picked a small patch of gravel off the side of the road, set my phone alarm for 15 minutes and collapsed in a heap just as I was. I was asleep before my head hit the dirt. The alarm went off in the blink of an eye. I could have lain there for hours but I had a job to do. I wasn't refreshed but I was now wide-awake and ready for the big climb into Somersby.<br />
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CP5 was subdued early in the morning. I had lost a lot of time, taking over 6 hours stumbling through the night from Yarramalong. I had soup and refilled for the next leg. I still did not think about the finish. I focused only on the next checkpoint at Mooney Mooney. Rachel Waugh was here after having a bad time of it and we walked out together. But she was keen to get it over and took off before we hit the trailhead. I was moving well again and despite the fatigue felt good. Running alone allows you to reflect on many things. I found myself lost deep in thought and smiling contentedly as I picked my way over the rocky terrain. I was loving every minute of it. I was back where I belonged: out on the trail.<br />
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CP6 was rewarding, knowing beyond this I was on the home stretch. Nothing would stop me now. I was an hour and a half ahead of my 12pm deadline. I knew I could finish easily inside the cut now. My gear sorted I was off in no time. I almost dawdled down to the swing bridge. Suddenly I was in no hurry. The finish time was irrelevant. In fact I realised even if I didn't finish now I had proven to myself that I could run ultras again. That made me smile again. That was all I really wanted from this race. A finish would be a bonus.<br />
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Richard, whom I had run with the night before, caught me up and I hung onto him and his fresh pacer for a while. The day was heating up and when out of the breeze it became stifling hot. The soles of my feet were feeling very macerated. I could feel the pain but it didn't seem to bother me. We climbed and dropped. And then climbed some more. In the distance the gunshots from the rifle range rang out. A helicopter droned constantly overhead extracting felled trees. You could hear the rotors straining as the huge trees swung pendulum like below the chopper.<br />
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I found myself alone again and sat in the rock pools cooling off and having some tinned spaghetti. I was really enjoying this and in no hurry for it to end. One last big climb to the unmanned water drop and I was there an hour inside the cut-off.<br />
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Susannah and another runner, both with pacers caught me while I refilled. We chatted and then I decided it was time to finish this thing. I ran most of the way from there to the finish, walking the uphills or when my heartrate nudged above 130bpm. I passed Richard again and kept going, ticking off each familiar landmark as I went.<br />
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The road to the Warrah Lookout went on forever. My feet burned now like someone was applying a small blowtorch to them. My achilles ached with every stride. It felt like there was barbed wire in my sock digging in with every flex of my ankle. But the pain was detached. Really weird. More surreal time. It did not belong to me. I could feel it but it made no impact on my stride. I was on autopilot, in cruise control. I felt myself smiling almost in defiance of the physical discomfort. It was like the pain was just there to remind me that I was very much alive and doing what I love to do: running an ultra on trail. There was nothing else I would rather be doing. There was no other place I would rather be. I thought of the finish that was now irrevocably mine. I pictured the beach not a mile in front of me. I had run it many times before but never had it meant so much. Never had I been faced with the prospect of giving up running before. Never had I faced my mortality the way the illness and treatment had forced me to do. I had embraced what I needed to do and proven I was capable. Seems melodramatic now but at the time I had bottled my emotions for 34:49 hours. I had reigned in every bit of energy and channeled it into one focus: getting to the finish. And now I was nearly there and the relief was overwhelming. These emotions that had been surging just beneath the surface now burst forth and washed over me in wave after wave of relief and pride. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I didn't care. There was no-one to see me. It was cathartic and uplifting at the same time.<br />
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I ran hard, as hard as you can after 6,000 metres of climbing and 172 km of running. I passed Nick who had passed me so long ago in the early hours of the morning. I dropped from the Warrah Trig onto the gravel road. I ran UP the hill. I hit the singletrack. I dodged and weaved. Wave after wave of emotion continued to wash over me. Tears welled in my eyes and the path was a blur. I was on the trail but could not feel it. Yet another surreal moment. I dropped the last few steps and hit the sand. I could see the finish at the other end of the beach. I could see the crowd of supporters gathered. I could see the banners and the marquees. They couldn't see me. I wasn't quite ready for this all to end. I wanted to soak in this feeling. To bask in this glory. I stopped. I sat down on a rock and buried my head in my hands and purged the doubts, the fears and the darkness that had hung over me for months.<br />
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Not more than a couple of minutes passed but with it passed those months of anguish and despair. It was long enough for me to regroup, and I got up and ran again. Weightless. The soft sand carried me forward. I swear it felt like I was floating across it. I could see the finish line getting closer. I could hear the cheers and the clapping. A bell was ringing. But the real clamour was now inside me. My heart beat loudly. My heart beat proudly. I had done it. I had overcome the physical limitations and run on sheer will. I ran across the soft sand without breaking stride. I pumped a fist against my chest, discretely, acknowledging to myself that my heart had got me there. A private little celebration. The cheers and clapping carried me up the beach under the finish banner. I touched that little wooden post signifying my sixth straight 100 mile finish with a sense of relief that words will never do justice to. I hugged Dave and thanked him for giving running back to me. For giving me back what I love. I might not be fully cured and this might be as good as I get but I now have the measure of this disease and I am not done with yet.<br />
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Post script:<br />
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I got to thank my cardiologist 3 weeks after the race. Not just for the treatment but for giving me my life back. Somehow the thank-you just didn't seem enough.<br />
The next day a close friend who had been fighting a losing battle with cancer died. She was always on my mind at GNW and provided me much inspiration in not only getting to the start line but making it to the finish. Her journey is over and she is now at peace.</div>
Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-68820564083258349912011-11-09T22:56:00.000+11:002011-11-09T22:56:52.875+11:00GNW100s the big testPeople ask me regularly at work: how am I feeling. I have adopted a standard response: better but not cured. I am definitely improved markedly from how I was even a month ago. But I am still spending lots of time on the couch and only working half days. Getting through the build-up to and then directing GOW was reassuring but I think I focussed all my energy on making it happen. This weekend I return to GNW. I will need to do more than just focus all my energy to get through the 175km in 36hours.<br />
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</div>This will be the real test. I am unsure how my heart will react. I have not gone anywhere near that effort since this all started. But I have started and finished all 6 x GNW, despite only running the 100km the first year. That makes me the only person to achieve that. I really want to maintain that streak. Once broken no-one can ever reclaim it. This is a race against no-body but myself. I will need to manage my heart-rate and my fluid and nutrition very carefully to ensure I have every chance of staying in the race. If I do it I will not only preserve the streak, I will have proven that I can still run ultras, with or without AF. That will be more significant than any honour board.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-32918018313256460562011-10-23T00:56:00.000+11:002011-10-23T00:56:32.625+11:00On the road to recovery I hopeIt is now 7 weeks post ablation. Am I cured? No. But I am much better than I was. For that I am very grateful.<br />
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After returning to work and having another AF event and really sliding backwards I was worried that I had been through all that for nothing. But the ablation has made a difference, definitely: I have not had another AF attack for 4 weeks, the 'flip-flopping' has all but gone and when I run my heart has behaved for at least the last week. Until today, as if on cue it went ballistic for no apparent reason. I guess it is still 'two steps forward, one step back'. Or more like 'three steps forward, and a half step back'. I will take that. Any forward movement is good.<br />
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Last weekend I organised the third running of the Great Ocean Walk100s, 100km solo and 50+50km team relay race on the track of the same name. It was a huge effort to pull it all together. After months of preparation I started the set-up early in the week in case my physical limitations became an issue. I got through the week and a very stressful race day without drama. This was my biggest test yet and I passed that one. Had the race date been a month earlier I would never have gotten through it.<br />
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My next big test is the Great North Walk 100miler. I plan to run that in 3 weeks time. I will be off my medication by then so I am hoping that will help. But my lack of training and not having a run longer than 30km since March means I have very little endurance base to fall back on. GNW has been a focus for me. Something to get me off the couch. And trust me, that hasn't been easy. Every run, however ugly, I have thought of myself slogging through 175km of GNW. I have an unbroken streak going there and I want to maintain that. It won't be easy.<br />
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My friends, Larry and Beth from Hardrock run the Bear100 regularly. They have run it 5 times each. Must be a record for partners. It was just a few weeks back. Beth told me afterwards she had dedicated the last 25miles of the race to me (each of the first 3 x 25miles she ran for her 3 children), knowing I was sick and not able to do what she was doing. Not able to do what I love doing. It helped motivate her to keep going when things got tough. I was touched when she told me. I have a close friend who is really, really sick. I will be running GNW for her.<br />
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So often we use ultrarunning as a metaphor for our lives. We wax lyrical about the journey and the destination. It is easy to overthink these things and make them more complicated than they need be. A friend told me today that we don't really control our lives. I don't totally agree. I like to think we do have some control. Just as I like to think I do have some control over my race coming up. I have been dealt a blow with my heart health issues but I am still running. I have tried to take back some control. Same with GNW. I will be running for the simple joy of being able to compete once again. I will try to control as many of the variables as I can. And in the back of my mind I will be thinking of my friend and how her journey is coming to an end. Way too early. And my troubles will seem insignificant and hopefully I will finish my race with pride, dignity and humility. And simply be grateful.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-81199506416589531152011-09-27T10:52:00.001+10:002011-12-04T22:01:31.057+11:003 weeks post surgeryWhile they warned me I could have episodes and it would take a few weeks for my heart to settle, I was unprepared for just how crap I felt in the first 2 weeks after the ablation. I had several bouts of arrhythmia culminating in the one episode of full AF. I suffered major visual disturbances that created a shimmering blurriness around the periphery of my vision. Sometimes this spread across my line of sight and I could not read until it passed. This was transitory but very annoying. I had a growing headache through the first week which progressed to a full blown migraine one night, leaving me paralysed on the couch in the fetal position for hours. Apparently this is a known side effect of the surgery. It felt like that Mac truck kept backing up over me for good measure.<br />
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3 weeks out and I still have residual groin bruising and some tenderness in the area of the wound. My arm swelling and bruising have gone down but I still have altered sensation and get the occasional 'carpal tunnel' type pain/sensation through my wrist. And I still have dyspepsia and general heart burn type symptoms. I am blaming the medication (warfarin) for that rightly or wrongly. That is settling also, though. But importantly, week three brought a dramatic improvement in my wellbeing. I actually started to feel better despite the medication. Hy heart settled and there was no flip-flopping feeling. I could lie on my left side without inducing arrhythmia. I was back running easily a few times a week. I had more energy and a somewhat clearer head. I was getting excited that I had passed the worst and just perhaps I might have beaten this thing. Well the ablation might have beaten this thing. The Professor had told me that by week 3 I could ramp up my training back to what I was previously at. I even spent a very easy 5 hours walk/jogging on the Great Ocean Walk to remeasure some track changes. And boy did that feel good.<br />
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But a couple of days later my heart rate started misbehaving on my regular easy evening runs. It would rapidly accelerate for no reason and fall as quickly. Despite going very slow and walking to warm-up. Yesterday I had my first day back at work. I was almost supernumerary so not particularly stretched. I felt a bit fatigued but decided an easy 8km would clear my head. There was nothing easy about it. And when I got home I felt horribly nauseous. Something I hadn't experienced for a while now. I had a glass of cold soda water to help settle my stomach and I went straight into AF.<br />
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It only lasted a couple of hours but was enough to wring me right out and leave me more than a little disappointed. I guess I haven't beaten it yet. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNkf78jxfWe7YgMq38VHOxxG0QdQGlC-kPakHR9ZWrQnUQDeXprfx5Xb6cXRYFaPbEy3uMbJmW_uf9ZtXcF5jsfjhDlXZALtgin1dbpRfFlK3AXapER0OfEU_YlTXlZuLBURc/s1600/AF+26%253A9%253A11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNkf78jxfWe7YgMq38VHOxxG0QdQGlC-kPakHR9ZWrQnUQDeXprfx5Xb6cXRYFaPbEy3uMbJmW_uf9ZtXcF5jsfjhDlXZALtgin1dbpRfFlK3AXapER0OfEU_YlTXlZuLBURc/s320/AF+26%253A9%253A11.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Put HR monitor on and this is me sitting on the couch, not hard to guess when I came out of AF?</div>Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28758753.post-79290766794185382772011-09-14T00:37:00.001+10:002011-12-04T22:12:43.411+11:00Pulmonary Vein Isolation AblationThe anaesthetist said to me while I lay flat on my back: 'there are a lot of things that could go wrong, but you could also get hit by a Mac truck. We don't have any Mac trucks around here so you should be OK'. I woke up after 5 hours of surgery and was looking for the Mac truck that had hit me. Remembering that one of my primary motivators in chronicling this illness and subsequent treatment options is to benefit others who might suffer the same affliction, I will not sugar coat my experience. I wrote this soon after getting home and have had time to since reflect on it all.<br />
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Simply put it was pretty horrible. Of course I know nothing of what went on while I was under. And all the staff who attended me, from the meals lady to my cleaner to the many nurses and all the way through to my surgeon and his assistant I could not fault my treatment or care. But the pain and discomfort was not fun. In retrospect I should have asked for pain relief on the first night. And some anaesthesia for the lady sharing my room who ensured that any chance I had of sleeping was totally gone. Her hourly trips to the toilet shuffling noisily past my bed, slamming the door into my curtain rail, endlessly dropping her bed remote-control and swearing at the top of her voice, the unbelievable flatulence (both in episodes and loudness), the spontaneous loud groaning and cursing that scared the life out of me in the dead of night, flicking lights and the TV on and off and the list goes on and didn't stop until 5am. I forgave her the constant raking, chest-rattling cough as she was denied access to cigarettes and that clearly irritated her airways. Mind you every time she startled me with an outburst or loud noise either organic or mechanical I would flinch. This flinching would set off pain receptors in multiple sites which to do justice I need to cite: my chest (incredibly sore from the actual ablation kind of like a horse had kicked me), my throat (incredibly sore from the probe/scope and airway that had been down there), my abdominal muscles (painful from the clexane injection directly into my tummy), my elbow (where the cannula remained in case needed and was digging into me mercilessly), my groin (very sore from the puncture site and subsequent pushing and pulling through the small hole and now with a full body clamp squeezing into it to stop the persistent leaking), my back, buttocks and my heels (I had been lying flat on my back in the same position for many, many hours to stop the bleeding and I had pressure pain like never before), the end of my penis (majorly inflamed from the catheter that had been pushed up there to drain my bladder during the procedure) and a headache. I maybe could have managed all of this if I was able to just relax and go to sleep. No chance with my neighbours antics going on. Of course I was also on hourly observations so if my room-mate didn't jerk me out of any hint of sleep the obs would. Mind you the obs were a welcome interval punctuating the long night and reminding me that another hour had passed and I was closer to daylight.<br />
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I couldn't help trying to imagine what the poor bugger who had gone in the same time as me for open heart surgery was feeling. I got off lightly by comparison. Like I always say: there is always someone worse off.<br />
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Needless to say I slept most the next day. But so did my room mate. I encouraged any medical or meal staff to wake her up. I wanted her tired so she would sleep the next night.<br />
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The saving grace was my surgeon came to see me mid morning after the surgery. He said they had some difficulty because the tissue was very thick and fibrous around the root of each vein. So they isolated each one by burning around them. Then they stimulated my heart into AF type behaviour and unfortunately the pulses jumped over the burnt tissue. So they repeated the burn and on the second testing there were no transmitted pulses. He said he expects me to see significant improvement. I was very happy with that prediction. Of course we really won't know until it has all healed up in a few months time but it is definitely promising.<br />
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The next step was to get me in some sort of condition to send home. Unfortunately the post-procedure pill-cam had demonstrated 2 haematomas in my oesophagus (explaining one of my pains and why eating hurt like hell) that could potentially bleed given the blood thinning medication I was now on. So I was kept in for a third night. They stopped the clexane injections into my tummy in case it caused my throat to haemorrhage. But the warfarin was continued as that takes a couple of days to take affect and I needed protection from having a stroke.<br />
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I went home early on the fourth day. I had to report for a blood test early every morning for the next week and ring for the results that afternoon to determine my daily dose of warfarin. My left arm is covered by a massive bruise from my elbow to my wrist (there was a catheter in my wrist during the surgery to test the blood gases continually to make sure that I was getting enough oxygen despite the breath suspension technique used to stop things moving). It is also swollen because of this and still keeps erupting into an itchy rash. So I have been getting all the blood tests on my right arm and it is starting to look a little worse for wear. My groin developed a massive purple bruise with a hard lump at the entry site. But no pain there after a few days.<br />
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Over a week later and I have had several bad episodes of AF. Still. They warned me that could happen but after a week I hoped I would be seeing less of it. It is hard not to be disappointed when it happens. I am still on the flecainide to suppress my heart and that is making me feel like crap. Mind you I felt really crap and was really tired for a week after the surgery. We won't know for a month or so until I ween off the medication how effective it has really been. I am prepared psychologically to go through it all again if need be. I was warned that was very likely. I would rather not, especially now that I know what I am in for. But if it means improvement I will go through it. No question. I just hope to avoid that Mac truck next time.Whippetmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01700220725086831870noreply@blogger.com0