Last years Prom report

With the Prom 100 on next week I have been going over last years report. I realised I never posted it anywhere so figured why not put it up here? It is long and a fairly personal account but  others may find it useful when planning to run this one:

PROM 100 2007

 

Saturday, April 28. My father's birthday. Well it would have been had he not died 16 years ago. He introduced me to Wilsons Promontory when I was eleven years old. We hiked the trails over several days, camping at places like Refuge Cove and Little Waterloo Bay. We came back the following year in the middle of winter and got washed away in typical Prom weather. Those same trails we now run as part of the Prom 100. For me, a trip to the Prom is always special. This one especially so.

 

The Prom is like a lightning rod for bad weather. The weather can be horrendous at the Prom. Today would be no different. Rain. Rain like you wouldn't believe. Blinding rain. Coming in horizontal, under the brim of my cap and stinging my eyes. As we started the long trudge up the bitumen to Mt Oberon car park, the wind and rain conspired to force us back down to the start at Tidal River. But the weather shapes the Prom. Not just geographically but metaphysically. You haven't really experienced the Prom if you haven't heard the wind roaring through the trees, if you haven't run the paths as they turn into streams, if you haven't seen the might of the southern ocean crash onto Southpoint, if you haven't been soaked to the skin.

 

I 'slept' the previous night curled up in the back of my car. My tent kept threatening to blow away in the gale force winds. I had anchored it between the fence and my 4WD but it was still bowing in the wind. To add to the impressive weather display the heavens opened shortly before we lined up to start at 6 am. There were 9 of us in the 100km. A few had nominated the 80 and 60 km and a handful more planned to run the 44 km loop. All up there were 18 of us.  I walked most of the hill to the Mt Oberon car park with Brendan. I tried to use his big frame for shelter, to little avail. We couldn't talk, the rain and wind drowned us out. We didn't pause at the car park, passing straight through. We hit the singletrack that leads to Sealer's Cove. Once over the appropriately named Windy Saddle, the trail winds gently downhill eventually turning into duck-boarding on the low-lying swamp flats. Shelter from the wind at last. This made for some great running in the dim predawn light. I left Brendan and picked up the pace.

 

I passed a couple of runners in this stretch but four of the 100km field were still ahead of me. I knew Tim Cochrane would go out hard seeking redemption for a wrong turn last year that possibly robbed him of first place and a crack at the course record. I didn't expect to see him again. Judging by the footprints in the sand when I finally hit the beach, there were at least 5 or 6 runners ahead of me. The wind was whipping the surf into a frenzy. I was surprised that the normally sheltered east coast was so wild. The usually tranquil bay was awash with foam and waves. I ploughed straight through the shallow creek at the end of the beach. My feet were already soaked. I refilled one handheld bottle and charged off, on the wrong path. Bugger. I know this course well but still took a wrong path. I skipped back through the campground and started the climb across to Refuge Cove. Looking back there was a runner not far behind me, crossing the beach. I didn't know if he was running 44, 60, 80 or 100 km. Either way he was pressing me to keep the pace up. What was I doing? I was supposed to be using this as a solid training run in preparation for Western States. I was not supposed to be racing.

 

There are some great views as you cross the headlands all down the east coast. Broaching large granite boulders exposes clear vistas up and down the coast. It also meant no shelter from the driving wind and rain. I would pull my thermal balaclava down from under my cap when the wind hit. Then roll it back up once in the shelter of the trees. I was wearing a heavy thermal top, a light polartec skivvy, a bike shirt and a technical running jacket, tights and shorts, the balaclava and a cap to keep the rain out of my eyes. I was carrying emergency overpants, gloves and a heavy gortex jacket. My pack was at least 5 kg with food and gear. This was no stroll in the park. Running the Prom is a serious business. And weather like this is a reminder that mother-nature dictates the terms around here.  

 

Refuge Cove looked nothing like it should, defying it's name. The easterly gale was blasting unabated onto the beach. The waves crashed high up against the trees at the top of the beach. Chilliman was just in front of me and he headed up the first steps towards the toilet block. With no other option, I sloshed on through the swirling surf, filling my shoes with coarse sand and salt water. I trudged through the empty campsite stopping only to refill my bottle. Chilli caught up. He had been looking for some high ground to bypass the beach. Not today. I remember fishing off this beach as a child. Sitting on the granite rocks casting a handline into the azure crystal waters seemed unimaginable today. Just a distant memory. This place was full of memories for me.

 

As I started the long climb towards Kersops Peak I could see the runner still behind me, clearing the beach. I was feeling good so pushed the climb and ran hard down to Little Waterloo Bay. There was no-one on the long open beach but there were plenty of footprints, mostly runners. Another bottle refill here. A short hop along some timber treads in the sand dunes and the path turned sharply west onto the bisecting trail that leads back to Telegraph Track. I remember my description of this to Brendan: good track, slightly uphill but very runnable, less so the second time around. And run it I did. Sloshing through puddles, the wind at my back. On reaching the saddle I looked back: no-one in sight. Turns out my pursuer was Mal (Maggot) doing the 60km circuit so he had continued down the east coast. But what a view! This place is a treasure of sensory delights. 

 

The familiar granite monoliths sulked on the hillsides as I continued westward. The burnt trees were starkly grey against the green of the lush regenerating bush. The sentinel like black spears of the grasstrees marched off into the distance. Their green skirts contrasting against the charred black stumps at their base. The low cloud and misty rain gave the whole scene a surreal feeling. I was alone. I was alone with the Prom. There was nowhere I would rather be.

 

Telegraph Track Junction the first time around. Hanging from the sign was a map case with a list of runners so we could record our passing for safety reasons. This runner register was soaked, little more than paper mache and there was no way of telling who had been through. I tried to fish it out of its cover but just laughed at the soggy mess. I stashed a bottle of coke for the return trip and headed off to Halfway Hut, just a couple of hundred metres to the south. Filled both bottles from the tank at the hut, not wanting to refill at Roaring Meg. Then began the long, long climb up the main fire-trail towards the lighthouse. I love running down the other way, as you do in the 60km and as I had done 5 weeks before on a training run with Dave (UCB). He was somewhere behind me today, also doing the 100km. The singletrack turnoff to Roaring Meg was a welcome sight and the gentle downhill grade made for a timely relief. Approaching the campground the thick undergrowth crowded the path and clawed at your clothes, like sharp, wet tentacles. You couldn't see the ground. Just keep pushing forward along the line of least resistance.

 

Roaring Meg. I ran straight through the campsite and headed down to Southpoint. The track was rough but pretty much all downhill. About halfway, I met Chris and PBig coming back up. Figured they must be at least 45 minutes ahead of me. Soon after I ran into Spoonman (Paul M). I took note of the time and on return figured he was close to 1/2 an hour ahead. Not to worry. I was running my own race and not overly concerned with catching them. I always find touching the wooden plaque marking the southern most tip of the mainland rather emotional. It is like the turning point in some kind of symbolic journey that is my Prom pilgrimage. It was cold and windy. Thoroughly inhospitable but equally spectacular. No photos today. I simply patted the plaque, caste a look around at the seething ocean and headed for cover.

 

Nearing the top of the climb back to Roaring Meg I crossed paths with Kelvin and Brendan close behind. Back through the campground, on the long bushy climb out, I finally met up with Mal going the opposite direction in the 60. He said I was close to the others. I think his perception was a little generous as I was sure they were well out of my reach. And I was still climbing. We chatted briefly before I scurried off now with vague thoughts of catching someone. After fighting through endless regrowth it was a great relief when I reached open trail that had been recently brush cut. Free space to run, rather than feeling like you were in a car wash.

 

As I rounded each corner, the lighthouse appeared in the distance. Bleak and isolated it was like some beacon drawing me to it. The trail undulated and seemed to go on forever until finally I was at the track that leads down and then savagely up to the light and the residences. I crossed paths with Spoonie again and he commented that I had lost time. Funny, I thought I was closer now. Perhaps he had underestimated the gap at Southpoint?  The long trudge up the cement ramp at the end really stretched the calf muscles out. Two ladies wandered over to tell me I was in fourth place. I said I should be fifth and that they must have missed Tim who would have been well ahead. I refilled both bottles, availed myself of the toilet and headed back. Halfway in just over 7 1/4 hours. If I held pace I could possibly break 15 hrs.

 

Or so I thought until I began the long climb back up the east coast to the highest point on the course. The cleared path ran out and it was back to blindly forcing your way through brush, now well over head height. And ever climbing. Gradually but endlessly. Always climbing. I watched time haemorrhaging out of my Garmin as my pace slowed. Forget catching anyone. Think just about finishing. Crossing the clearing that marked the summit of this climb I dug deep to regain some momentum. The long, long downhill to Waterloo Bay clawed back some hope that I could still finish this in good time. I started pushing hard downhill. My legs turning over rapidly on the long descent.

 

There was no-one on the beach at Waterloo. Except a flock of gulls. I ran through them and they scattered with squawks. When I left the beach a couple of hundred metres further north, there was still no-one in sight. I won't see anyone now, I thought. Just finish the 80km in daylight and the last 20k will take care of itself. The rain was back. The wind was behind me. I was back on the crossover track through the middle of the Prom. Cresting the saddle for the second time I could see sunlight piercing the clouds. The late afternoon sun lit up the sand dunes to the west, where I was headed. My shorts were soaking wet and kept sliding down. I stripped them off and ran just in my tights. I was running strongly now. I reached the Telegraph Track Junction and found my coke. It was still cold. No surprise. The bag it was in had been ruffled and I wondered about that until finding out later that some of the other runners had stashed food only to have it pilfered by the native fauna. 

 

I also remember telling Brendan that the next section of track is the longest 3 km of the day. Every time I run it I can't believe how long it takes. But pretty much spot on: just a nudge over 3 km and I was in the Oberon Bay campground. Straight through and onto the beach. I laughed out loud. The tide was way, way out. Dave had been obsessing about crossing the creek to get off this beach in the dark at high water. It had been deep, cold and fast when we passed through here 5 weeks before. The thought of being washed out to sea had been playing on his mind ever since. Today it was ankle deep. I chuckled again. As I ran up the firm flat sand I could see someone moving slowly up the headland track ahead. A runner maybe?

 

Climbing the headland my knee started to hurt. Mildly at first. It was a foreign pain, which is always a worry. I was close to getting back to camp at 80km and would reassess things there. Meantime I set out to catch this runner. I walked hard up the hill. Day-trippers were starting to appear. I was getting close to Tidal River again. I caught the runner: it was a very slow moving Peter Gray, still going on the 44km loop. Once around the headland it was down onto Little Oberon Bay with its eroded sandstone canyons serving as a beach. After clambering up the loose sand around the big granite boulder at the northern end of the beach there was more uphill around the last headland.

 

The light was fading fast but I was running again and should make it back in daylight. Norman Beach came into view and the long raking downhill to the beach allowed me to pick up pace. My knee kept twinging, restricting my stride. I hit the soft sand of the beach and slogged along to the exits: Ramp 5, then 4, and finally up Ramp 3. I ran right past the base camp announcing my arrival and over to my car. 11:05. Chilli and Paul A followed me over and offered to help. I planned to stop and have a good feed and freshen up with a change into night gear. That was until they said I was now in third place (Tim only doing 44km after a fall and Chris stopping after 80) and the other two had left only 12 minutes ago. Oh crap. I had to chase them. I grabbed an orange, filled my bottles, donned my light and ran out of there. 6 minutes total stop. Plus12 minutes? I could do that.

 

Finding the right path onto the footbridge over Tidal River is always tricky (worse in the dark). I headed for the river and ran along it until I hit the bridge. Adrenaline was pushing me along at an unsustainable pace. I hit the Lily Pilly carpark and veered right to start the nature walk loop. A couple of hundred metres in and I encountered a family finishing their walk on the loop in twilight. I asked them if they had seen a couple of runners and they said no. I was perplexed before realising the others must have gone up Mt Bishop first. Bugger, they were on the rougher trail in light, albeit fading. I picked up my pace. I had to make the most of what little daylight was left on this runnable trail. The loop undulates and the hills I would normally walk after 80+kms I was running. And running hard. As the loop doubles back it climbs slightly before dividing and heading up Mt Bishop. Still no sign of them. It was getting really dark now. Lights on.

 

I started the climb, still trying to run when I could. What seemed like a fair way in I encountered Spoonie coming down. We exchanged pleasantries but I was calculating that I must be close to being in front already. But I was still climbing and he was on the downhill. Further up I crossed PBig looking rather ordinary. I knew then I had his measure. What was I doing? This was supposed to be a training run. It seemed like forever before I started clambering over the rocks signalling I was close to the lookout. It sneaks up, being very low-key and clearly not designed for night access. I didn't linger as I have done in the past.

 

The descent was fuelled with the thought of getting in front of the others. As the track opened up so did my stride. I was flying along recklessly when my knee locked up. I kicked a rock and catapulted forward skidding on my front and eating dirt. I lay there for some time checking moving parts. Everything seemed to be still attached. I got up. I started off gingerly, but was soon striding out again down the track. I wasn't done with yet. I hit the track junction and swung hard right, heading for the Lily Pilly carpark again. It seemed to take forever. Would I beat them back to the carpark?

 

Finally I burst out of the bush onto the bitumen, my PT Apex lighting up the open space. At that very moment another light popped out of the bush at the other end of the carpark. Without a thought I switched my light off and simultaneously the other light flicked off. Duelling headlamps at 100 metres! Race on! I was closer to the exit, and knew it. It was all uphill on bitumen but I broke into a sprint (well at least it felt like it). I didn't look back but knew Spoonie would be on my tail. At least I hoped it was Spoonie and not PBig as that would mean I was still chasing Spoonie.

 

It's 2.8 km from the carpark to Picnic Point carpark. I ran nearly all of it despite the hills. I looked back when I was a fair way down the road. Nothing. But I knew he was there somewhere. I was not giving up my position without a fight. Past the Squeaky Beach turnoff. Then down into Picnic Point carpark. Through the carpark and onto the track to the beach. I switched my light on for the tricky dark sections. No footprints on the sand. Surely I must be in front. On the open beach it was lights out and run hard. At the end of the beach I had to switch my light on to find the exit. I looked back; still no sign. But if his light was out he could still be close.

 

I tried running up the headland track without light. It was impossible to see where I was going in places. I switched on my small spare light. And held it low. Cresting the headland there was still no-one in sight on the beach. Down onto Squeaky Beach. I was running out of steam. I had been pushing hard and it was taking its toll. Lights out on the beach again until I had to find the track off at the end. Up over the last headland. Once in the dense bush I flicked my big light on. My knee was aching. I was running on empty. But I was so close to home. Hard right onto the out-and-back track to Pillar Point. This is only a short section but it seemed to never end. Finally the boulders that signal the end is near. I remember how sudden and dangerous this unmarked end to the track is. I struggle over the rocks. I stop at the last big boulder. Scary how my bright headlamp beam disappears into the inky blackness of the nothingness of the night sky. I climb down from the rocks. I can't bend my knee. It locks up. I stop and rub it. I turn and head back. On the soft dirt of the trail I run as hard as I can. I expect to see Spoonie at every turn. I pass the junction. Still clear. Home stretch.

 

The downhill to the footbridge is long and painful. I am draining every last bit out of the tank. Lights are appearing in the distance. Tidal River. I can hear voices and see the footbridge. I pass Brendan crossing the bridge on his way out. I ask him if anyone has finished ahead of me? No. That's it, I am going to win this one. I think of the finish and dig deep. I break into full pace. I am gasping for air, my knee is on fire, my heart is pounding in my throat. I weave through the campsites, tears welling up as I think of my trips to the Prom as a child with my father. I realise that on this, what would have been his birthday, I have given everything and will cross the line first. I round the last bend and cross the finish line. 13:56. Totally spent. 

Struggling

I had planned on a 91km recce of the Great Ocean Walk with Spoonman
this weekend but was clearly not well on Friday so dropped out. But I
still needed a long run so scheduled a trip down the coast for
yesterday. I slept in and had to drag myself out. Ended up just going
to the Ironbark Basin. It was mid morning by the time I hit the track
and it was hotting up. I headed back towards the circus of Bells
Beach Easter Carnival before doubling back through the Basin and onto
Anglesea. After just 1/2 an hour I was struggling. It was hot. I had
no energy. But worse was the lack of any desire to be out there. I
txt'd my coach and he told me I needed an easy week. I think he would
then can me for being soft. But that didn't solve the problem at
hand. Should I just pack it in? I needed kms in my legs. And then I
remembered what I was training for: Hardrock. There will be many dark
moments out there. If I gave up at the first bad patch I might as
well not bother starting. "Suck it up princess," had been another
motivating txt message. So I walked. I jogged when I could. I kept
moving forward. Gradually I found rhythm. I passed my usual
turnaround point and continued through the residential zone. Up this
enormous hill. I found the connecting road and trail I had been
looking for and set off towards Aireys. I was running the uphills as
well now. Big hills. Eventually I turned back and found another trail
back down to the coast. By the time I got back to Addis I was pretty
stuffed. I opted to run up the road to save a couple of kms through
the basin. Up the road. I don't think I have ever run up that hill.
And here I was after 6 hours running up that hill. The late afternoon
sun was tormenting me and I ran from shadow to shadow. I was out of
water when I hit the final km of trail but I still jogged it in.
Totally spent. I realised that today wasn't about training my legs.
It was about training my mind. I needed to get back to the
fundamental hardcore principles of ultra running where the effort is
only 40% physical. I needed to find that 60% mental to get me there.
Maybe not a case of "sucking it up princess" but "toughen up
princess". Easy week this week? I think not.

6mins the new 5mins

After browsing at my professional 6' photo samples online I noticed
something rather alarming: I have no leg lift. I have succumbed to
the ultra shuffle. Any wonder I am running such crap times. I am not
running but shuffling. I thought about this while out running over
the weekend. I was alone, and setting my own pace. Another alarming
realisation: my average training pace has gone from 5 min/km to
closer to 6 min/km. So just like 50 is the new 40, so to is 6mins the
new 5mins. This doesn't make me feel any better about my time at 6'.
This transformation is no doubt, not helped by running so much with W
who is much slower than me. But it is also probably a direct
consequence of my running style. It is time for me to get out and do
some training drills and, heaven forbid, speedwork! In fact I've been
thinking of trying a little barefoot running on the local golf-
course. But don't tell Tim.

Six Foot of pain

Nearly a week after the event and I still haven't recovered. A
running friend (well now presumably ex-friend!) told me I had a bad
run at 6' because I'd gone soft. There are few things an ultra runner
hates more than being called soft. The inexcusable macho undercurrent
that pervades our egos denies us recognition of our weaknesses. But I
don't think it was softness. I think I just had a crap run. My
greater concern is the implications for my long term training build-
up for Hardrock. Am I just not as fit as I thought I was or am I
still too early in my training to be racing. Oh, and I think the
punishing run at Maroondah 3 weeks before took a toll.

When things go wrong, they really go wrong. I seldom fall in a race
but the jarring impact of hitting the hard packed gravel road sent
more than pangs of pain through my body. It signaled to me that
things were not right. I should have cleared that creek easily so
early in the race. Instead I hit the far bank with both feet, not as
I should have with just one, then vaulted sideways gouging a sizable
chunk out of my knee on the rocks as I hit the ground. After
recovering from the shock, I looked around furtively, surprised that
no-one was in sight, and scampered off trailing blood and spilt ego.

I had lined up behind Dog and by the time we hit the start timing mat
I was buried in the crowd. I let gravity pull me gradually through
the field until there was only a couple of runners in front of me. We
hit the sharp right hand turn and I could see the stairs. I could
easily be first onto the stairs but I didn't want the pressure of
holding all 200 wave 2 runners up, so I slipped in behind another
guy. We skipped our way down the stairs at break-neck speed. Flash
from the photographer was just a blur. We caught wave 1 runners half
way down. They moved over quickly at the sound of us charging
through. The guy in front zigged when he should of zagged and I was
now in front. We were passing people constantly. I heard Dog not far
behind me. There was a clear gap when I chanced a glance back so I
knew I wasn't holding anyone up.

I hit the rocky pools at the end of the stairs and splashed past more
wave 1 runners picking their way through. I was moving fast but well
within my comfort zone for downhill. Through the trees along the
single track. Still more runners. But they let me pass easily with a
clear signal on my approach. And then we hit the open fire-trail and
I backed off. I caught up to another wave 2 runner. It didn't
register until later but he couldn't have started with us or he would
have been behind me. I'm sure I was second onto and first off the
stairs for wave 2 yet I was catching him now? I ran with him until I
heard Dog's characteristic heavy footfalls behind me. I lifted my
pace to match Dog. I sat with him for a couple of hundred metres.
"Don't start match racing me already" he said. No danger of that, he
was flying along. I eased back to a more comfortable pace. Either he
was going to run a blinder or blow up spectacularly. It would end up
being the former. He deserved it. That had been my plan: go hard or
go home. But my legs felt empty. There was nothing there. My week of
rest to settle some glute tendinopathy hadn't freshened me up at all.
Re-adjust the thinking; 4:30 was out of the question. Look for 4:45
maybe but try and stay under 5hrs. If I could just hold it together.

I had a clear run to the river but still only got there about
1:20ish. A gazillion people passed me as I was leaving the
checkpoint. I just walked the hills. Even that was a disaster as
walkers flew up the hill and I just plodded along. Ran with a guy
doing the South American (?Chilli) desert run in a few weeks. He was
spinning out some newbies so I added to the entertainment by
mentioning Western States and HR. Spud caught me somewhere around
here, going up Mini. I tried to hang on but my guts were playing up
now as well. This could get really ugly.

The climb to Pluvi seemed short but I was happy with that. I had
already started cramping lightly in the medial quads coming off Mini.
I felt more twinges as I started running Black Range Road. The
traditional coke at Pluvi did little to energise me. The road was
thick with runners. I was passing some and being passed by others. I
walked sections and my stomach churned while cramps threatened to
steal my leg function. I would cramp in the quad and the hammy of the
same leg at the same time. How could I stretch that out? I managed to
hold pace with a young lady runner for some time. The light
conversation punctuated my malaise. She fell back and I pushed on,
trying to keep momentum. Twitey passed me about where I passed him
last year in his post C2K delirium. He warned that C2K would trouble
me for some time. I think it had more to do with Maroondah 3 weeks
ago. But I wasn't giving in that easily.

The Deviation checkpoint arrived and I looked tentatively at the
portaloo. I decided to keep going but saw the toilets in the camp
ground and made a bee-line for them. I lost more than a few minutes
but felt somewhat better. I climbed the gate and back on the trail I
put my ipod on and tried to run hard, hoping my stomach would now
settle. Cramps grabbed me periodically but with the Angels blasting
in my ears I climbed to Caves Road and set about finishing this race.
The undulations on the singletrack suited me fine but cramps stopped
me from getting any rhythm going. I kept hanging on behind Moh and
another guy who had repassed me while I was in the loo. Past the
cabins and I looked at my watch. I was still a chance at sub 5 hours.
But I would have to run hard. My calves were getting sore from the
twisting on the rough descants. I knew the long, steep final descent
was really going to hurt. I turned the music up and pushed hard. The
track started plummeting down into the valley. I was flying over the
loose rocks, past runners picking their path cautiously down the
trail. My calves screamed with each wrenching twist or roll of my
ankle on the rough terrain. Past Moh and his mate. Past a lot of
other runners. Onto the narrow path. Someone shouted a warning to me.
I had pulled my earphones off to hear the cheers rising up from the
finish-line far below. There was no easing back. I hit the little
rise just before the cobblestones. Another photographer carefully
placed to catch my pain. A young guy I had been leapfrogging for an
hour or more slotted in behind me. He saw me look at my watch as we
hit the made path. "Will we make it?" he asked. "I won't die
wondering," I replied as I grabbed the handrail to sling myself
around the hairpin corner. Bam, bam, bam. My stiff legs jammed into
the hard surface as fast as i could make them. Another photographer.
I was streaming spittle and sweat as I sucked in big breathes in a
mad pitch for the finish. I braced myself for the final turn off the
stairs onto the road, knowing I would cramp. I did but I grimaced and
pushed for the line. There were people cheering but the noise wasn't
reaching my ears. My legs were screaming but the pain wasn't reaching
my brain. My world was reduced to that timing mat under the finish
clock. I ran as hard as I could and beat 5 hours by about 40 seconds.

I had said I would leave nothing in the tank. I didn't. On a day that
people were PB'ing all over the place I was just glad to finish. No
PB. Just sore legs and satisfaction to have managed to salvage a sub
5 from a very ordinary day. But 6' is about more than the race. The
post race socialising and watching others finish makes it all worth
the effort. That same friend (or ex-friend) gave me another little
pearl when bagging me about my average performance. When asked about
why he doesn't do something else instead he merely said: because I'm
a runner. And that's what I am. And 6' is a great place to run, and
test that theory. I guess I'll just have to "suck this one up". 4:59:19

6' build up

My sore glutes deteriorated tonight on an easy run. I had to stop and
all I could think of was that Dog was sticking a needle into the arse
of his Whippet doll. Damn. I was feeling so good. My main concern had
been shoe selection. Now it's injury concerns. I was going for a long
trail run tomorrow to break in a new pair on Leonas but I am not
going to waste them if I am going to be hampered by injury next week.
And I can't afford to risk exacerbating it. Maybe I should skip 6'?
Or drop back into a slower wave and just jog through? Bugger.

Endurance capital of Oz?

I ran with W and T down to their dog club this morning, along the
river. Dropped them off then ran back past the start/finish of the
Barwon Banks Fun Run. There was a track meet going on at Landy field
with athletes warming up and the PA blaring out. The river was packed
with rowers. There was a rowing carnival going on. The banks were
packed with spectators, for the rowers on one side, and runners on
the other. Then a big pack of professional women bike riders flew
past on the road. They were warming up for a World Cup race around
the town. Man, athletes everywhere of all levels and ability.
Ran for over an hour before picking up W and T again and running home
back along the river. Over 30kms and over 3 3/4 hours of low
intensity easy running. Pulled up well. Will try to slot a couple of
longer runs in during the weeks ahead to build up the base. Apart
from a hit out at 6' will keep the intensity low. Really looking
forward to 6' now.

Maroondah Dam 50

This was my seventh Dam run. I set my pb here way back when I first
started running ultras around 99 or 2000. That was 5:20 I think. I
bettered that last year off some solid Western States training (it
was delayed until April due to fire danger) down to 5:18 and second
place in a depleted field. This year I was hoping to go sub 5:30 as
an indicator that I was in good shape but I didn't back off in the
lead up and spent the afternoon before running some tough parts of
the course to help mark it. So I was pretty happy with a solid finish
in 5:34. I actually think I was ahead of last years pace (we got lost
near the start last year) up to the 20 km mark. But without the
incentive of a podium and someone to race against, I drifted on the
back part of the course. After stopping for a wee in the first 2kms I
was near the back of the field. I then worked my way back past a heap
of runners for the rest of the race. I caught up to Kelvin at about
the 30km checkpoint. He was surprised to see me. I think he thought
we were on a better pace than we were as well. He took off and stayed
in front of me all the way to the top of Mt St Leonards. I really
didn't want to catch him. I knew if I did, it would become a match
race. We almost ended up racing down one big hill while course
marking the day before. I flew past him on the really steep downhill
off the mount. I quipped to him that he was getting old. He hates
being beaten and is not a bad downhill runner so I spent the next
10km to the finish looking over my shoulder waiting for him to catch
me. I really cranked it up and was redlining all the way to
Donnelly's Weir. If he caught me after that it would have been all
his. He told me he caught glimpses of me but never got close,
finishing a couple of minutes behind me. Phew. It was hot but a
really great run. There was some controversy on CR about the course
markings cutting the course short but it was insignificant and I
reckon a more scenic singletrack than the open rutted fourwheel drive
track. My quads were shot for a couple of days. It would be good to
run parts of that course again before going to the states but it is a
long drive. Only 2 weeks now until 6 foot. Looking forward to that one.

Hardrock entry

Wow, what can I say? I am slightly shell-shocked by the fact that I
have been drawn in the lottery again. This is it. This race is the
focus of my whole year. I cannot let this chance go to waste. I will
train like I have never trained before. Well, I'll train hard. I felt
some guilt that the others missed out. Especially Bill, who is
running out of opportunities to run this great race. But he has been
there before. And even if I missed out he would have still been way
down the list. So, I just have to run it as best I can for the guys
who missed out. And for me. I really want this one.

You Yangs bush bash

After a short run around the river with the dogs I drove out to the
You Yangs for some hilly trails. Took a loaded camelbak and had on
the Hardrocks but felt really tired and stiff to start off. Decided
to try the foot trails as opposed to the open gravel roads. Came upon
an intersection and chose the uphill direction on a path called
"Urinal Wall", I kid you not. Not far in and I came across some rock
climbers. Well, trainee climbers. I said hello and went straight up
the side of the rock face they were attached to by ropes. The only
problem was there was no trail when I reached the top of the rocks.
Choice: back down past the climbers looking like a dwebe or push on
through the scrub and pick up another trail or road higher up. There
are lots of trails and roads and the whole park is not that big with
a circumferential road so I wasn't worried about getting lost.

Well there wasn't any trail or road up there. Up, up I went. I was
making slow progress but figured there would be a trail at the summit
so kept going. There were sharp thorny shrubs everywhere. Bugger. It
was a secondary summit. I was a long way across from the real peak. I
stopped to eat a summer-roll. I worked out where I needed to go and
just scrambled the best I could until I was in open ground and could
get to a road. Took the best part of an hour to cover 1km. Good
training for the Barkley if I ever lost the plot and entered it. My
legs looked like I had been fighting with a tom-cat and lost.

Picked up a really good tempo on the open road and with the gentle
downhill gradient found myself clicking off 4 min ks. Hit a trail
that lead up to the summit and climbed to the peak. Really hammered
the downhill and wound it up again around the base of the hill back
to the car. 3 1/2 hours of hot trail. I think I should be recording
time not distance. Either way, I was surprised how strong I finished
after feeling so sluggish at the start. Maybe there's hope for me yet?

Breaking in the Highlanders

After a slow couple hours around the 1/2 mara course last night with
W, I headed out to the Ironbark Basin for some trail running today.
It was too hot for the dogs so ran solo. Had the new Montrails on:
Highlanders. Not bad. I stashed the camelbak at the top of the
Jarosite track to give them a good test on the down hill (bit hard to
go full tilt with 5kgs on the back). Went hard over some really
tricky steep technical stuff and they hung in there. They are low
profile so you can really feel the trail. And great traction. I jog/
walked back up and did it again it was so much fun. Gave a litle
knowing nod of approval and went back up to collect the pack. Did 3
1/2 hours straight out of the box with no problems. A little narrow
in the toe box put a little pressure on the little toes (worse
because the Injinjis spread the toes) but not enough to worry about.
Will be perfect for 6' and Maroondah. Wouldn't use them for anything
longer because of the lack of protection and support. They will be my
new short course racing runner. Had a great run. The fatigue from C2K
is slowly leaving the legs but the glutes are still really tight.
Must get another massage: ouch!

2008 plan

Well into 2008 and I don't really have a plan for the year (apart
from trying to beat Dog). The draw for Hardrock is on next weekend.
I'm not optimistic of getting in again but if I do that will shape my
year. I am already obsessing over it and trying to build my mileage
up slowly with a view to getting a solid base. I have entered
Maroondah 50(+) in 3 weeks but plan to run that conservatively. Six
foot is another 3 weeks after that. I would like to have a good dip
at 6', especially with the inevitable beer bet floated. Beyond that
things are sketchy. So a confirmation, either way, from the Hardrock
draw will help.

Otway trails

I tried to blog this entry earlier in the week with a really cool pic
of the up-turned bridge but it wouldn't load. Of course my blog-
master is off on a beach in the south pacific so I guess I'll have to
do without the pic. It's hard to get good help these days.

Headed down to the Otway National Park for some trail running last
Friday. Picked up my 14 y/o daughter from her holiday house in Lorne
to introduce her to some serious trail running. We went out to
Sheoaks Picnic ground and hit the Castle Rock track. It was supposed
to be an 8 km loop down to the coast and back. Due to a track closed
sign diverting us, we ended up doing the loop in reverse. Steep
climbing saw us reach the ridge within a couple of kms with views
across to the ocean. I was giving L some tips on downhill trail
running when we startled a big koala by the track. He scurried up a
tree and stopped about 2m up to check us out. I got L to stand
alongside for a photo. She was a little freaked being so close. We
were soon descending steeply towards the Swallow Cave and I left L
and skipped down the technical part of the trail. After crossing the
creek we discovered that the trail we wanted to use to get back was
the closed track. L was already feeling tired after an hour of surf
paddle training in the morning and a carnival the next day. So
retracing our steps up over the ridge wasn't an attractive option. So
I convinced her that the closure was probably pretty benign. So off
we went. Another close encounter saw a bush wallaby scare the crap
out of us by crashing off through the bush alongside the track. It
was good running along the valley and we were getting close to the
end when we rounded a bend to find the footbridge turned on its side,
literally. I knew L was really tired when she barely hesitated
following me precariously across. It added a little interest to the
end of a fun little trail run. We went for a soy-berry-smoothie
before I dropped her home and went back out for another little run
over the Kalima Falls track. It is a really great area for trail
running.

B2H Report

B2H Jan 6, 2008 by Andrew Hewat

 

People used to whisper about Bogong to Hotham in hushed tones. It was the ultimate trail ultra, deemed unattainable by all but a few. B2H has now moved into the mainstream but it is no less intimidating. It is no less daunting. It is no less an achievement. It is still the toughest trail ultra, mile for mile in the country. There are still over 3000 metres of elevation gain. There are still huge climbs up Staircase, Duane and Swindlers Spurs. There are still miles of rutted singletrack, too narrow and deep for running across the high plains. There are still miles of ankle twisting technical trail. There are still breath-taking panoramic vistas across the Australian Alps. Those who have finished it don't necessarily use hushed tones anymore, but they do talk of it with the reverence and respect that it deserves. They talk of it with a sense of achievement, like a passing of rites. This run has it all: climbing, descending, technical trail, open plains, thick, impenetrable bush, river crossings, and spectacular views. This run is still the ultimate trail run. This run is the Rooftop Run, across the top of Australia.

 

So what has changed? The early start options, which effectively extend the cut-off times, allowing more runners to get through. For good or for bad, I took the earliest start at 5am with a huge contingent making the most of the extra time. Tim, Spud and I had planned to run together given we were all just 4 weeks out from finishing Coast to Kosciusko, and clearly none of us would be recovered. We settled in at the back of the pack as it shuffled along the fire trail and then fed, conga-line style onto the first little footbridge across a creek. Bang, down went a bloke at the front of the line and his yell clearly belied a badly rolled ankle. He furtively waved everybody past, refusing offers of help. I was last and would not pass until he was up. I helped him to his feet and it was obvious he couldn't go on so I offered to help him back to the start, less than 1 km away. He reluctantly accepted, concerned for my race, but not able to weight bear he had little choice. Leaning heavily on me we started hobbling back to the start. Tim came back to see where I had gone. He started to help as well but this was too much for the bloke and he decided he could make it on his own and sent us on our way. I found out later that he bad broken his ankle and I felt pangs of guilt for not persisting to help him all the way back.

 

We had lost some time but were soon pushing hard up the Staircase. Despite the sun not even being up, it was already getting hot. I took a swig of water and spat it out. Oh god, my carbo solution had gone bad. (It had taken me 12 hours to get to Mountain Creek the previous day with no less than 5 breakdowns during which the fridge in my Kombi would have been off for hours and heating up. I had been concentrating on just getting there and overlooked a lot of other things.) I couldn't drink it. Worse, I was clearly already dehydrated from the long hot day driving up and now I was sweating profusely. We got to Bivouac Hut after an hour and a half and I found the water tank. I dumped my bad mix and had a huge guzzle of the tank water and refilled my bottle. Refreshed, I took off to catch up with Tim.

 

My favourite point on the course is where you clear the trees for the first time and you can see all the way to Mt Kosciusko. The endless line of mountain peaks steals my breath. Out in the open above the tree line there were runners everywhere. We were already being passed by 5:30 am starters, and catching some from our start. Spud was waiting for us at the summit. Just over 2 hours. We took off on the rolling singletrack through the low alpine grass towards Cleve Cole Hut. I passed Sean here like on several other occasions, the first of which we went on to run the whole way together, beating the old 5:30 cut-off. Not today. This was the last I saw of the big man.

 

I made good time to Cleve Cole, glad to be able to run after all the climbing. I refilled my other bottle as Spud came through. We skipped on down to the creek at Madison Hut site. I drank again from the creek, trying to catch up on lost fluids. We waited for Tim. A few other runners came through and we started to worry. And still we waited. I could tell Spud was already thinking of the cut. Then Tim arrived to a barrage of abuse, friendly of course, and we were off. He muttered something about only having one speed.

 

We wound back into the bush and climbed a little before the real descent to Big River started. This was my fifth time down T-Spur and I have never seen it so overgrown. The bushfire regrowth had created a car wash effect as you plummeted down the trail blindly. I passed a few runners including Dave, who I knew would be trying to stay in front of me. Then I went for a spectacular fall. Got up took off and went over again. After the third fall I decided I would back off a little and settled in behind another runner until we hit the river. About 3 1/2 hours.

 

It was like Bourke St. Or Pitt St. Or whatever your busy street is called. There were runners all over the place. Some were taking off their shoes and socks, some on the other side were putting them back on. Some like Milov were shimmying very precariously across the narrow log on all fours. Dave and Spud arrived and ploughed straight through. We breed em tough in Mellum. I walked across the log, preferring the dry option. Tim caught up and we were soon climbing again. The track was overgrown but at least this offered some shade from the now baking sun. Dave and Spud pulled away and eventually I left Tim. I was feeling tired and my glutes ached but I wanted to get to the top.

 

Roper's Hut site was another checkpoint. They waved me through. Tim caught up and we ran out into the open high country. The bush opens onto an endless plain of alpine heath and rolling hills swathed in wildflowers. The wide track wound off to the horizon, peppered with the odd runner. Warby Corner is always a welcome respite. Fresh water, lugged in by race organiser, Mike Grayling. And oranges, the wonder food. How important are the volunteers and organisers for the success of this run?

 

We made good time around to the track junction where you hit the singletrack back through bush to Langford Gap. There was a gaggle of bushwalkers heading out and they stepped off the track and clapped us through. I made an enforced pit-stop and Tim ran ahead. The aqueduct track always seems to go on forever. I was feeling nauseous and very low on energy and was so relieved to see the aid station. Just over 6 1/2 hours, very close to the cut.

 

John welcomed me in and Olga sorted my bottles. Tim teased me with his raspberry icy-pole. Oh, where did you get that? Mel appeared with one for me as well. How good was that? Tim took off, worried about the Omeo Rd cut-off. I forced down some cold baked-beans and some ginger beer and grabbed my icy-pole and walked out. I walked while I digested but then just couldn't get running again. I was getting foggy about how much time I had and tried to get some running going. Past a sign that read: Cope Hut 1km. Oh crap, I'm going to miss the cut. I broke into a run, past the hut and there was the aid station with people watching on helplessly as my time was slipping away. It was up-hill but I was running hard, regardless. Through the gate and I was there. Tim, believing I had missed the cut, took off. After quickly consulting with the powers-to-be, Paul waved me on. I fairly sprinted up the track passing someone, running on adrenaline, until I caught Tim as well and ran right past him. I looked back. I could see the sweeps leaving the checkpoint. That was way too close.

 

We ran together, walked together and chatted our way across the plains. A huge herd of brumbies grazed nonchalantly as we jogged by. We could see other runners ahead of us and seemed to be catching them. Pole 333 checkpoint in the middle of nowhere marked a hard left turn. I could see Dave and Spud in profile in the distance but we just couldn't reach them. And Milov, characteristically all dressed in black. I don't know how when I could feel my neck getting sunburned. The crisp breeze kept the temperature down and the flies at bay. As we started the long descent into Cobungra Gap, we passed two blokes and a lady we had been following for an hour. We leapfrogged a couple of times until Tim and I sat down for a little rest. "Let me introduce you to my friend: the little sit-down," Tim had said. I welcomed his friend, wholeheartedly. In fact I didn't want to leave him.

 

Once we were up again I was slow to get moving and the nausea that had been plaguing me kept me to a shuffle. Tim pulled away, and I told him not to wait for me. At Dibbens Hut, I willingly took my ration of water. The trio were there but Tim had gone. I struggled with the heat climbing Swindler's. Take 10 steps then rest. Take another 5 and rest again. All the way to the top. Mal came up behind me, startling me. He had taken the 6:15 start and flirted with the cut-offs but was making good time overall. Towards the top I passed the 2 blokes minus the lady who had left them on the climb. We leapfrogged some more and passed a limping runner before Derrick Hut. I was beyond food now and the oranges were all gone so I just grabbed some water and kept going.

 

Winding through the ski runs of Mt Hotham I could see Tim up ahead. I had no desire or energy to try and catch him. I just wanted to finish. I just wanted it to end. It became a solemn slog along the blue-metal roads until the climb up to the car-park. In a cruel twist we then have to run further up the road and climb the final track to the real summit. I pulled my phone out and turned on the music: Bocelli's Con Te Partiro. It overwhelmed my raw senses. I remembered my first finish here with Sean and how much pain I had been in. I remembered the sheer exhilaration in conquering this iconic run. I let that feeling wash over me. As the classic operatic music filled my ears, the wind whipped across the landscape and the sun shone hard on my face. The small gathering of organisers, radio operators, helpers, families and runners all started clapping as I reached the summit. I was overwhelmed again and bowed to touch the rocky monument and join that growing list of ultra runners who will continue to talk of Bogong to Hotham in the revered tone that it deserves. I love this run.  

B2H

I have run enough really long stuff that I generally don't get too
stressed about approaching ultras these days. I can still get a
little grumpy (very unusual for me normally) in the week before,
especially if I am carrying an injury and it is one of the big ones.
But I have to say that running Bogong to Hotham still scares the crap
out of me. I have been there 4 times for 1 complete distance finish.
2 of those failures were caused by bad ITB injuries forcing me out at
Langford's Gap. The third was bad pacing on a day when I reckon I was
as fit as I've been for this one. But this week I have been so
stressed about Bogong. Maybe it is knowing that C2K is in my legs
still? Maybe it is the extra pressure of so many people running it?
Maybe because it is so open on CR these days? Nah, that doesn't
usually worry me. I think it is just the enormity of it. Not the
distance or the time. Just the sheer intensity of the terrain,
challenged by the time cut-offs. I would hate to be chasing the old
5:30 cut-off. I reckon I could do it but I would be totally flogged
for the back half. I guess that's what's disappointing about the
extra time allowance. It was a real test to get through the first
half inside the cut but then you still had to get out and finish it.
And I still rate Swindler's Spur as the toughest climb of the day.
Now with all the extra gear and weight it will be worse.
But when you punch through the bushes approaching the summit of
Bogong and the endless panoramic vista of the alps unfolds before
you, it is all worth while. I really want to finish this one. And get
back in one piece.

Year in review

Well I kind of lost the plot with the monitoring of my progress leading
into Western States. I guess this is one of the many reasons why I
never started a blog. The injury interrupted lead-up to States didn't
help things. There was a lot of angst and a lot of time spent walking
and doing rehab. But I figured it would be good to do a little
summation of the year as a record of what can only be described as a
good running year.

January: Really primed for a big tilt at B2H but the massive bush-fires
forced the cancellation. Brendan knocked together a Fatass 2 Bays of
around 54km across the Mornington Peninsula. Had a steady, solid run
and met a few new faces.

February: The closest thing to my local race: Maroondah Dam 50+. I was
feeling strong off the back of the high (for me) mileage I was using to
build a base for States. I didn't taper but that didn't seem to hurt
too much. I found myself in the lead in the first couple of kms and
managed to lead everyone into a dead end on the overgrown trail. That
pushed me to the back of the field. With the big climbs up to the 10km
mark I worked through the field, powering up the hills. I didn't
realise I was in second place behind Rob Grey and chased him down for
the company. We leapfrogged for most of the run before David Eaddie
changed gears up the back somewhere and came steaming past. I flew down
Mt St Leonard, determined to hold onto second place. It was a small
field but there were some good runners in the pack so I was pretty
happy with a podium finish and the trophy clock. It was a PB on this
course, despite getting lost at the start.

March: Six Foot Track. A fun weekend catching up with everyone. Went
out fairly solidly, again off high mileage and no taper. Was at the
front of the second wave by the stairs and held a good pace to the
river. Ran with Dog early on but he is very unsociable when racing,
especially when he is struggling. He had Uncle Dave pacing him to no
avail. Sean passed him on the stairs at Caves for one of the moments of
the year. I lost a lot of places trying to take it easy climbing Pluvi.
Started cramping on Black Range Rd again. Spud came past and I ran with
him for a while until cramps got me again. Managed to keep him in sight
until the big down hill and finished just in front of him. Another PB.
I would like to have a crack with proper prep someday.

April: My favourite run: the Prom 100. Some would say I did a Bradbury.
I say running these bush ultras involves more than just running. I ran
my own race and enjoyed the scenery. When I got back to the camp after
80km they told me there were only 2 runners still ahead of me and they
had only left 12 minutes ago. That was my quickest check-point stop
ever. And I ran like a man possessed for the last 20km. I had a bad
fall and my knee kept locking up but I wasn't backing off. It was also
the scene for my famous headlight face off at 20 metres: Paul Monks and
I hit the Mt Bishop carpark at the same time from opposite ends (he had
done the loop in reverse). We both switched our lights off at the same
time and the race was on in earnest. I wanted it more and the high
mileage training carried me home strongly. Only downside was the
patellofemoral condition I had developed.

May: Reluctantly flew to Glasshouse for the 50miler. The later start
time of 3am and my knee injury almost kept me at home. But I needed
another long hard run before States. The knee held out for the first 50
odd kms but left me limping home in a respectable but average time.
Spoke to Bill Thomson about Hardrock and resolved to keep my entry and
see how it all went at States before pulling out.

June: Western States Aussie Assault. Fantastic fun trip. Tough run.
Tougher than I expected and I suffered badly through lost fitness and
blistering feet. Slogged it out for an emotional finish. One of those
great runs that I will always remember. And a great road trip with
Mellum.

July: Drove over to the Hardrock territory. Really struggled on the
training run/hikes. Reluctantly decided to cut my losses and pull out.
Could I have made it? Seeing what I achieved over the rest of the year
I have to admit I now wonder if I could have done it. But I remember
how trashed my feet were, how unfit I was at that point, and how my
knee was still an issue. Maybe I should have tried but there is a
strong chance I would have failed and not recovered to complete all the
other great runs of the year.

August: Bellarine Rail Trail 68km. Boring as bat shit but I needed a
solid run and to test out the knee. Came through OK.

September: I really didn't want to do GH this year. But to miss out on
all that goes with it would have been too much. Then I got sick 2 weeks
out and although I recovered I was really depleted and had my worst 100
yet. But I finished and had fun with the Mellum crew.

October: Wow, no ultras? Did I miss something? Only Brindy that I will
never do again. Had some great bush training runs down in the Otway
Ranges. Must get down there more often.

November: GNW. This is a massive run by any standards. I had resolved
to make sure I got Tim home. I wasn't in any form for racing flat out
for time and it turned out to be a great group finish, adding a new
dimension. I love this run.

December: Coast-to-Kosci. Somehow I got sucked into the vortex that is
C2K. I rationaled that this might be my only chance to get the Triple
Crown and that I was in good enough form to finish so now was the time.
I knew I really only had one shot at it. The surface and distance would
do too much damage to my toes to justify ever coming back. So I never
contemplated not finishing. It was a journey, not a race. Tim had the
crew and allowed me to share so it became a team effort. The sense of
satisfaction is hard to describe but it is a run to take with you to
the grave. Either that or it will take you to the grave.

So that was my year.

6 Foot Week

There is so much hype attached to this race I find it hard to resist
taking the piss out of people but I guess I exorcise these desires on
the mellum mail loop.
Hmm, I think Jan summed it up for me when he agreed with my sentiment
that there are way too many people out there on the big day to enjoy
the track as it deserves: why run 6 foot when we have 12 foot, he said?
But I am heading up again next week for another bash. I guess after
struggling in under 5 hours last year with a very limited prep I wanted
to go back and have a better crack at it. So instead I am leading in
off my base build-up for WS. I will still be running out of phase. But
I'm hoping the increased mileage (for me anyhow) will allow me to run
the back half instead of cramping up like last year. I have a goal time
in mind but unless you produce the goods it just doesn't count. I get
annoyed with people saying "I know I'm capable of xxx" or "I was in xxx
form, but...". There is no credibility unless the runs are on the
board. So I want to get some runs on the board or go down trying. Yep,
no holding back. All or nothing. I figure if it's only 45 km I can
still limp in if I blow up spectacularly (as I have done at Maroondah
before). And just maybe my increased base coming off a big year last
year will carry me home. One thing is for sure, if I am still standing
when I get to Caves Road I won't be leaving anything in the tank. I
will be trying to keep the fuel levels up this year and despite hating
gels will carry a few and take them at regular intervals. I will carry
my trusty handheld and start filling with coke after Pluvi. I will try
to keep cooler by leaving the skins at home and wearing a sleeveless
top. And I will be getting as wet as I can at every creek. I will wear
the Tevas which are built to shed water so I will test this to the nth
degree. Splits? I'm tempted to just leave my watch at home but then I
find I can use the pace on the garmin to keep me moving when I tire. I
will decide later. But I will know what splits I am aiming for. This
will likely be my last 6'. I still don't understand all the fuss. As
one of our a popular ultra identities said: it's just a race. Gees, I
would really like to post a good time though.......

Favourite trail and tevas

Made the trip down to the Ironbark Basin for some trail miles in the
heat of the day. I had already put in 1/2 an hour with the dogs down at
the river and wanted to get in around 30kms. I was running very easy
and wearing the heart rate monitor, trying to keep it aerobic, so ended
up walking lots of the hills. I really must get down there more often.
Had it all to myself with the odd echidna and rosella. Pausing on the
cliff top climb out of the basin I looked back over the heavy green
scrub to where I had just been on the ridge. It really is a fantastic
place to run, unpretentious, undiscovered, uncrowded and truly magical.
I was trying out my new Tevas. They handled it really well. I got a bit
of toe rub with the toe-box being a bit narrow but they are really
light and responsive. My legs were a little tired initially after
running late last night but tomorrow will be a rest (weights) day
before another long run on Sunday. But by the end I felt really
comfortable which is a promising sign. Pulled up after 3 1/2 hours. You
gotta love a good run in the bush.

Hardrock

It is hard to describe the feeling I experienced when I opened the list
of qualified entrants for Hardrock 2007. Wendy said she has never seen
me so excited. But there was a healthy dose of fear mixed in there. As
I have said, Hardrock both excites and scares me. It is such a huge
event. To be accepted and actually drawn at the lottery is
unbelievable. It is such a fantastic opportunity. WS will still be my
main focus but I can't help but feel it is dwarfed by the enormity of
HR. My plan is to train for WS as I would have done. But now I have to
be way more focused. And I will need to add some solid walking with a
pack. I have started my base building and have already got my weekly
mileage up to 70-80 km per week which is high for me. The trick is to
maintain this and build in quality slowly without getting injured. I
really want to do well at WS. I am confident that if I stay healthy I
can run a good race. Once WS is over, and presuming I don't come away
injured I will head over to Colorado and hike and camp on the course to
acclimatise. I won't need to run at all but recover and acclimate to
the altitude. Man this is going to be big. No, this is going to be huge.

145 days to go

When you say it like that it can freak you out. Yep, 145 days until
WS100. Shit, I better get organised. I have to do some service of some
sort. I need a new passport, visa, insurance........Oh, and I need to
do some more training. With all the 6' nonsense on CR it is easy to
forget that all these little ultras are just training runs for the big
one. And then there is the added distraction of Hardrock and Kosci
after WS. I need to get some focus back. And some early nights.
Had a split run today. An hour in the morning with Wendy and my eldest
daughter at an easy pace wasn't really enough for the day. So I went
out for another hour and a 1/4 tonight after walking the dogs. It was
surprisingly easy and I found I had to hold myself back as I floated
along the golf course in the waxing moonlight. I am trying to keep my
runs slow and easy to build an aerobic base. And to build a solid base
of mileage. I need to get in some bike miles as well. The little jaunts
into town or to work are not really cutting it. Time. The same old
problem. Making time. Balance. It's all about the balance. And
perspective. I don't want to make hard work of it and lose all the
enjoyment.

Build a base

Slept in this morning so didn't get down the coast for my planned long
run. Managed a solid couple of hours on my local trail and with the
temperature moderate for the first time in weeks, I found myself
pushing a solid pace. I switched to fast walking on the hills as part
of my 6' hill-walk training. It's always a good sign when you finish
feeling better than when you started. So no long run this week but with
2 1/2 hours on Friday backed up with a solid 2 hours today I feel I'm
starting to build that base for later in the year. 4 weeks until
Maroondah which I plan to take fairly conservatively and then just 3
weeks to 6 Foot, where I might have a go. Someone suggested that I go
hard and either A) set a great time or B) crash spectacularly. I really
don't like the taste of those DNF cookies so I think I will settle for
a plan somewhere in between. In fact I reckon if I stick with Spud as
long as I can and then just try to finish off I should do OK. Hang on,
that's starting to sound too much like plan A. Maybe plan C where I
stick with Tim and just outsprint him on the line? :)