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.
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.
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.
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.
We drove over to Durango for some groceries. And look for any last minute gear additions.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Monday, July 11, 2016
Taper 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.
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
We are already getting impatient and just want to get out there. Only 5 sleeps.
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
We are already getting impatient and just want to get out there. Only 5 sleeps.
Ouray Bear Creek Trail - 7 days to go
Friday 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, July 07, 2016
Virginius - 8 days to go
Thursday 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Another pinch-yourself day or two
Yesterday (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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Weds 6th: again we skipped the course marking. Mainly because it involved a long, long rough 4wd
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.
Instead we headed out to Arrastra Gulch to cover the final part of the course (mostly already marked).
The Beaver lake trail never fails to impress. And again the creek crossing was icy cold.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Weds 6th: again we skipped the course marking. Mainly because it involved a long, long rough 4wd
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.
Instead we headed out to Arrastra Gulch to cover the final part of the course (mostly already marked).
The Beaver lake trail never fails to impress. And again the creek crossing was icy cold.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 05, 2016
July 4, American style
Americans 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
July 4, American style
Americans 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
July 4, American style
Americans 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Back to Durango myself Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The temptation on the descent is to cut loose but with just 10 days to go I showed restraint and
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.
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.
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.
Durango tonight for dinner at my favourite Tibetan restaurant then pick-up a Spud at the airport.
Back to Durango myself Course marking resumes tomorrow after July 4 holiday and I would like to join in.
Monday, July 04, 2016
Acclimation begins
The 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.)
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I kept the descent leisurely and took some more photos. All up around 17km+ in about 4.5hrs. Felt good. Count down continues.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I kept the descent leisurely and took some more photos. All up around 17km+ in about 4.5hrs. Felt good. Count down continues.
Sunday, July 03, 2016
Day 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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
Monday, June 27, 2016
A 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.
So, to realign the odds somewhat back in my favour, I have changed a few things this time.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So, to realign the odds somewhat back in my favour, I have changed a few things this time.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Taper time
You 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.
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.
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.
Feb
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)
Week 23 75km
Week 22 71km
Week 21 88km
Mar
Week 20 93km
Week 19 88km
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)
Week 17 76km
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)
Apr
Week 15 80km (3hr)
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)
May
Week 11 102km (5:43hr)
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)
June
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)
Week 5 109km (7:09hr)
Week 4 111km (Surfcoast marathon - 7:46hr sweeping)
July
Week 3
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)
Race
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.
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.
Feb
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)
Week 23 75km
Week 22 71km
Week 21 88km
Mar
Week 20 93km
Week 19 88km
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)
Week 17 76km
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)
Apr
Week 15 80km (3hr)
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)
May
Week 11 102km (5:43hr)
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)
June
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)
Week 5 109km (7:09hr)
Week 4 111km (Surfcoast marathon - 7:46hr sweeping)
July
Week 3
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)
Race
Monday, June 13, 2016
Countdown....howmanysleeps
Since 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.
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.
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.
Feb
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)
Week 23 75km
Week 22 71km
Week 21 88km
Mar
Week 20 93km
Week 19 88km
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)
Week 17 76km
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)
Apr
Week 15 80km (3hr)
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)
May
Week 11 102km (5:43hr)
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)
June
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)
Week 5
Week 4 (Surfcoast marathon -sweeping)
July
Week 3
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)
Race
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.
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.
Feb
Week 24 65km (Frenchman's Cap Tas 45km)
Week 23 75km
Week 22 71km
Week 21 88km
Mar
Week 20 93km
Week 19 88km
Week 18 84km (Razorback 64km 12:15hr)
Week 17 76km
Week 16 96km (Geelong Half Mara in 1:29)
Apr
Week 15 80km (3hr)
Week 14 102km (4:29hr)
Week 13 104km (Maroondah Dam 50km -sweeping 9:27hr)
Week 12 102km (5:32hr)
May
Week 11 102km (5:43hr)
Week 10 96km (Mt Macedon measure 54km 10:20hr)
Week 9 102km (7:05hr)
Week 8 102km (Mt Macedon 50km -sweeping 9:42hr)
June
Week 7 116km (Prom100 17:32hr)
Week 6 111km (5:32hr)
Week 5
Week 4 (Surfcoast marathon -sweeping)
July
Week 3
Week 2 (course marking Hardrock)
Week 1 (course marking and taper Hardrock)
Race
Sunday, June 05, 2016
A date at the Prom
Given 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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sealers to Refuge to Waterloo was hard work and not much chance to get into any rhythm. But I was making solid progress.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sealers to Refuge to Waterloo was hard work and not much chance to get into any rhythm. But I was making solid progress.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 05, 2012
Time for another run on the GNW
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.
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 documented in detail. I now rate this as one of my most significant races, possibly the 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.
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.
Just for the record my post surgery running achievements look like this:
November 2011, approx 6 weeks after the surgery I completed my 6th GNW100miler (plus 1 x 100km) to keep my streak there alive.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
GNW100s 2011 The race within
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Post script:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Post script:
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
GNW100s the big test
People 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.
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.
finish 2009
Sunday, October 23, 2011
On the road to recovery I hope
It is now 7 weeks post ablation. Am I cured? No. But I am much better than I was. For that I am very grateful.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
3 weeks post surgery
While 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Put HR monitor on and this is me sitting on the couch, not hard to guess when I came out of AF?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Pulmonary Vein Isolation Ablation
The 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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