1978 Melbourne Marathon

Leading the 1978 Melbourne Marathon
at about 16km from Kevin Rock, Bill Scott
and Jim Langford (partially obscured)

It was a lot cooler for this morning's easy 5km jog along some Melbourne suburban streets, and I felt better running, though a little disturbed my right Achilles tendon was stiff and sore, and restricting my movement.  I felt that if my Achilles had been more flexible I would have been capable of stretching out and running quite well.  Maybe I'll cut back to just a 5km walk tomorrow and/or Saturday, before the Melbourne Marathon on Sunday to give the Achilles more rest.  With luck, I'll run between 3:10 and 3:20 on Sunday, not the sub-3:00 I had been looking for, but OK if I can do it.

When I started this blog, the idea of book-ending my marathon career with a sub-3:00 hour marathon in Sunday's Melbourne Marathon had an appealing sense of symmetry.  Although the Melbourne Marathon was not my first marathon, it looms large in my marathon life for many reasons.  Most importantly because, although I had run faster and was known to the Victorian running cognoscenti, my second place in the first ever Melbourne Marathon, known as the "Big M", meant much more for my running profile and recognition as a serious marathon runner more broadly.  It was a good performance in an event that generated a lot of public interest in Melbourne.

Running in second place around the 30km
mark in the 1978 Melbourne Marathon

My memory of the actual race is somewhat patchy.  I do recall always being a bit suspicious that the course was long, maybe by nearly half a mile.  I don't know how Fred Lester, the Race Technical Director and a good friend and club-mate, measured it, but I had a sense that the start, which I recall as being south of Frankston, seemed somewhat convenient, organisationally.  I noted, that in subsequent years, the start moved to the north side of Frankston.  This could have been explained by a change of the course to follow the coast all the way on the point-to-point course, but only partially in my view.  The times of the leading runners in 1978 did seem slow to me.

For the early kilometres, there was quite a large leading pack, most of whom were known to me, and I remember moving along comfortably and feeling good.  The race was being televised live, and I remember getting a buzz from having the camera truck in front of us, complete with commentators, including Ron Clarke, one of my heroes.

I wasn't considered a contender for the race, but things went well for me and by about 15km I was one of a breakaway bunch of four runners comprising Jim Langford, the 1978 Australian Marathon Champion (2:19), Bill Scott, the 1978 Victorian Marathon Champion (2:16), Kevin Rock, a Kew-Camberwell club-mate and training partner and 4th in the 1978 Australian Marathon Championship, and me.  Apparently, Ron Clarke, commentating from the back of the truck, told the live television audience that my style was too bouncy for a good marathon runner and that I would not be there at the business end of the race.

Finishing the 1978 Melbourne Marathon (2nd, 2:23)

Soon after the half-way mark, Bill applied some pressure and Jim and Kevin dropped off the pace.  I followed soon afterwards, but maintained a margin over Jim and Kevin, which I held to the finish.  I don't remember much else about the race, except that it followed the main road between Frankston and Melbourne, the Nepean Highway, and there was only limited traffic control.  With about 10km to go, approaching St Kilda where the road was many lanes wide, my sister was riding shot-gun behind me on a bike to protect me from the traffic.

Bill's time was 2:21:04, and I followed in 2:23:06 for second place, two minutes ahead of Jim.  My then wife, Barb, was third in the female race in 3:07.  I don't think I won anything of significance for my efforts, but really savoured the minor celebrity status I enjoyed for a short while.  Bill, who was also a world class 10000m and cross-country runner, won a trip to North America where he later won the Vancouver Marathon in 2:15.  Sadly, he suffered from some serious injuries throughout his running career and I don't think we ever saw how good he might have been.

Having faith

Gardiner's Creek Trail

The plan for this morning's run was an easy 15km just to work up a bit of a sweat and let my body know I am still running seriously.  I chose a course that included a good chunk of the Gardiners and Scotchmans Creek bike paths that are a favourite running haunt of mine in Melbourne.  The excellent bike paths of Melbourne set it apart from other Australian cities, except maybe for Canberra, and the network is now vast, providing endless safe and scenic running options.

As it turned out, a warm and blustery pollen-laden wind made the run quite hard, exacerbated by a right knee that was more sore than it should have been.  By the half-way mark of what turned out to be a 16.5km run, I wasn't feeling very feisty and was glad I didn't have another 34km to go.  When you're tapering you expect to start feeling good, and when you don't it can be troubling.

Gardiner's Creek Trail

I kept telling myself that I must have faith in my fitness and not worry too much about how I feel on any particular day.  I was running strongly on Sunday and there's no reason why I would have lost any form since then.  Sometimes, after a long day's travel, as I had yesterday, you can be a bit stale and lack rhythm.  The pollen and warmth could also be a factor.  I know that on race day, Sunday, I will front up, full of adrenalin and ready to go.  Today's run will be forgotten.

I also know that having faith in your preparation is key during a race.  Most of my personal best times have come in races when I was absolutely exhausted at the half-way mark and running very fast by previous standards.  In those races, I somehow maintained the pace through the second half, though it was very hard work.  Success depended on staying mentally engaged and having faith that my preparation would see me through.  Of course, the preparation is the most important factor, but success also depends on having the confidence to deploy and fully utilise that preparation.

Mid-taper

Penrose State Forest

Most of today was spent driving from Copa to Melbourne, a distance of about 1000km.  I left at about 5am so as to beat the peak hour traffic in the Sydney suburbs, and stopped at 7:30am at Penrose State Forest in the NSW Southern Highlands to go for an easy 5km run.  I have often driven past the Forest on the highway and thought it might be a good place for a run, so today was the day.

It was very enjoyable, though short, running along some logging roads through the pine plantation in the cool and sunny early morning.  I felt good and could have gone further, so was happy that I’m on track with my taper.  I’m following half of my usual taper recommendation.  Instead of 75% of distance and intensity two weeks out from the marathon and 50% of distance and intensity one week out, I’m just doing the second part.

Penrose State Forest

Not only did this morning’s run feel comfortable, but my right Achilles and knee injuries are only minimally painful, though I’m still nursing both.  One benefit of this taper week is that both injuries have a chance to mend a little.

For my tapers, I still like to maintain the same routine and will run each day from here up until the marathon on Sunday, just less.  Keeping everything the same as usual helps keep the body’s functions normal, including eating patterns, and I think that helps mentally.
I arrived in Melbourne in the late afternoon and plan on an easy 15km run tomorrow morning, my last run of any consequence for the week.  After that, just an easy 5km per day up until the race.

Hydration

Reaching for a sponge at a drink station
in the inaugural Melbourne Marathon
 in 1978 (2nd, 2:23:06)

It warmed rapidly today, so the small group of us who set out for a long run on local roads at 6am (the first day of Daylight Saving), were glad of our early start by the time we finished.  It was to be my last long run before the Melbourne Marathon next week, and another good test of my fitness level.  The run went well and I felt like I could have kept running when I finished, giving me confidence that, if I run sensibly next week, I won't disgrace myself.  My right knee got quite painful at times, but this was expected.  I was the only one of the group not carrying any fluids for the run, though I did have $10 in my pocket in case emergency hydration needed to be purchased along the way.  As it turned out, I did not need a drink during the 2:56 the 32.5km took me, and wasn't even that thirsty when I finished.

I don't like carrying gear, including fluids, nor do I like stopping during long runs to drink.  Maybe I'm a prima donna, but I find even short stops can break my running rhythm, and there have been times when this has cost me in an event.  My own layman's theory of hydration for distance runners, based on an experiment of one, is that the more long running you do without frequently hydrating, the more your body adapts by "camelling up", i.e., storing fluids in the body in anticipation of the next long run.  It's the same theory that applies to the muscles storing glycogen in response to repeated training runs.  It seems to be common sense to me that the more you do something, and the more you press against the edge of your body's envelope, the more your body adapts to the increasing load.

This morning's long run took in a roller-coaster section
of the Ridgeway

Of course, the trick is not to "tear the envelope", by pushing too far.  I have definitely finished training runs and races seriously dehydrated and in difficulties, though have never ended up on a saline drip.  If conditions are warm to hot, or you are running for many hours, you have to drink or you will cause yourself harm.  I am not advocating a "no drinking" policy and recognise that every individual is different and needs to find their own balance.  However, I would argue that runners who drink frequently in benign conditions are missing an opportunity to train their body to "camel up" and are condemning themselves to carry and/or stop for more fluids in races.  A side effect is that your stomach then has to do some work processing the fluids into the blood stream.  It seems to me that if you can avoid the need for this function, you are likely to run better.

In my best running years, I drank very sparingly during marathon races unless it was hot.  Usually, I would put out plastic sauce bottles containing some flat Coca Cola at each 5km feeding station.  Then I would run through, grab the bottle, and take a couple of well-spaced mouthfuls before discarding it.  If I didn't feel thirsty, or it was nearer the end of the race (does the body really process fluids into the bloodstream in any meaningful way in the last 30 minutes of a race?), or I was in a pack of runners making it difficult to get the bottle, then I wouldn't take a drink.  On average, I would have been lucky to drink a total of more than 400ml during marathon races, and sometimes nothing at all in cool conditions.  I was much more inclined to pour water over myself from a sponge or cup to keep cool.

Of course, for your body to "camel up" between runs, you have to drink a lot of fluids, and I do.  In my case, and I take a lot of flak for this, it's mostly diet colas with some fruit juice and black coffee thrown in occasionally.  Almost no water!  In total, about three litres of fluid a day.

Pacing

Part of the "Erina Bush" run where it passes through the
Kincumba Mountain Reserve

This morning's Erina Bush 13km Run with Terrigal Trotters was always going to be a good guide to my current level of fitness.  It is one of my favourite runs, with a mix of road and technical trails and some testing hills.  In the past, when fit, I've run the course hard (after the initial 2km-3km of socialising) and been somewhere near the front of the pack.  However, today, the front-runners quickly left many of us behind, and despite running the first long climb comfortably and reasonably quickly, the leaders were long gone and I joined a few friends stretching out in pursuit.  It seemed we were running fast, but making little ground.  By the time I passed the half-way point, I could feel my lack of fitness beginning to kick in, and the long technical single-track climb up a spur of Kincumba Mountain, which I love to power up if I can, proved hard work.  From there, I just tried to maintain my pace and position, and finished very tired and coughing way too much, in 59 minutes.

Despite not running as well as I would have liked, the run had great value.  Not only did it confirm to me that I am on the way back to fitness, but it was hard enough to sober my time expectations for next week's Melbourne Marathon.  I won't get carried away thinking that somehow, miraculously, I have a chance of running near three hours, and will avoid (hopefully) setting out too fast for my fitness.  I would judge that I'm a couple of minutes faster over 10km than just a week ago, which is a welcome improvement, but that I'm still a month short of being competitive with the usual suspects on the weekly Trotters runs.

Roger Bannister (centre) led by Chris Brasher and tailed
by Chris Chattaway, his two pacers, on the way to the
first ever sub-4 minute mile in 1956

A number of my Terrigal Trotters club-mates are also running in the Melbourne Marathon and one, hoping for his first sub-3:00 marathon, has been training with another club-mate with a recent 2:40 to his credit, who is also running in Melbourne.  The rumour is that the latter will be pacing the former during the race to his sub-3:00, and there has been some banter, in person and on the club's Facebook page, about whether this is reasonable or if any time achieved will need to be asterisked.

Pacing is commonplace in running today from the 800m distance up to ultra-marathons, but there was a time when it was considered unethical.  Maybe this started to change with Roger Bannister's historic first sub-4 minute mile, where he was paced for the first three laps by colleagues, an approach which generated some criticism at the time.

For me, it's not an ethical issue, but a personal preference issue.  I think most runners, if asked, would say they valued a particular time achieved without pacing more than the same time if they had been paced.  However, if asked whether they would rather not run a certain time if the only way it could be achieved was with a pacer, most would choose the paced time.  You still have to run the time.

These days, in the larger marathons, the organisers frequently appoint experienced and identified runners to run the pace required to achieve certain benchmark times.  Knowing I would make use of this service during a race if I was struggling to reach my goal time, I can't afford to be righteous on this issue.  Achieving a time on my own, without the help of a pacer, would definitely satisfy me more, but I also hate asking for directions when lost. 

Tapering

Start of the 1977 ACT Marathon (I'm in there somewhere)

Tapering for a marathon used to be one of my favourite times.  The training pressure comes off, and you can run for less time and less intensely without guilt.  If your training has gone well, pleasant anticipation of the race builds and visions of success become almost palpable.  As your body freshens up and minor injuries abate, you feel stronger and more capable as each day passes.

Conversely, tapering can be a worrying time.  Rationality can go out the window and emotions can take over.  After training hard for months, you wonder about the wisdom of reduced training intensity and fret about losing your edge, or putting on weight.  A lot of self-examination goes on.  Small niggles becomes potentially serious injuries.  Every training run becomes a test of your readiness, and if the run is hard work, you question whether you are ill or over-trained, or maybe under-trained.  If anybody coughs near you, or complains of feeling unwell, your first thought is of your own health, and not theirs.  There is a temptation to modify your diet to include more carbohydrates and build your energy reserves, maybe even precede it with a depletion phase.

Nearing the end of the 1977 ACT Marathon (2nd, 2:32)

Over the years, I have fallen foul of all of these concerns, and maybe still do (see post titled The idea forms).  However, when asked by others for advice about tapering, my response tends to be more rational.  I think two weeks of taper is enough, with training distances and intensity reduced to 75% of full load in the first week, and 50% in the second week.  However, it's hard to generalise about the appropriate level of tapering, and some runners need not cut their training intensity by that much.  Having said that, I don't think I have ever felt, post-race, that I tapered too much.

Otherwise, I like to keep things as normal as possible, sticking with the usual training routines and diet.  The very act of tapering will lead to a build-up of the body's energy stores, and there is risk attached to changing diet and habits.  It's worth staying away from sick people and catching up on any sleep deficit.  Finally, I would advise having faith in the training you have done and not fretting about losing condition or feeling over-tired on any runs in the taper period.

For reasons discussed in yesterday's post, Get fit quick, I only plan a one week taper for the Melbourne Marathon on 13 October, and am still training relatively hard this week.  I expected this morning's run to be difficult after yesterdays 37km road run, but it went better than hoped.  It wasn't fast by any means, but the 11.5km  passed by easily enough and my legs did not feel too fatigued.  My right Achilles tendon was quite stiff and sore, but that was anticipated, and my right knee was less painful than expected.  Overall, the run was encouraging and I feel my short-term fitness strategy may be working.

Get fit quick

Runners lining up for the start of last night's Central Coast
10km/1hr Championship at the Mingara Athletic Track
(courtesy Judy Murray)

By my usual standards, it was a late night last night.  I had been helping officiate at the local Central Coast 10km/1hr Championships at the Mingara Athletics Club twilight meeting and didn't get home and finish dinner until 9:00pm.

It's about the only time I get involved in track meetings these days, as the event is jointly sponsored by my club, Terrigal Trotters, and I generally help out with the lap-scoring.  For some years in the early 1980s, I was secretary to the committee that organised all regular track and field competition in Victoria (involving thousands of athletes) and managed a number of track and field meetings, so saw plenty of track racing, as well as competing myself.

I keep saying I will run in the 10km one year, but don't really have fond memories of 10km track races and don't want to do it unless I'm running well.  Twenty-five laps of the track can be mentally tougher than the marathon, and I always preferred the latter.  I don't think I ever achieved my potential at the track 10km (despite winning an Australian Universities title in 1979) and often wondered whether it was a lack of mental toughness.

Part of the lap-scoring crew, ready to go for the Central
Coast 10km/1hr Championship last night
(courtesy Judy Murray)

Last night's racing was fun to watch and a number of runners achieved Personal Best times, while others ran their best times for some years.  I always find it inspiring to be present on such occasions and feel very happy for the athletes.  Others did it tough, but soldiered on to the end anyway.  Also inspiring.

My late night made it that much harder to get up at 4:00am, as I did this morning, to beat the heat for my planned 36.5km run around Brisbane Water (see Round the Bay).  The Melbourne Marathon is only eleven days away, so it might seem a risky strategy to embark on a third 30+km run within eight days, but I think it's appropriate for where I am of my personal fitness scale.  I know I am not currently capable of running anywhere near a sub-3 hour marathon in Melbourne, but would like to comfortably run faster than the 3:24 I recorded at the Macleay River Marathon on 9 June 2013.  I feel I am fitter than I was then and have been running better in the past week.  Whatever time I run in Melbourne, will be the base on which to build for a faster marathon in three months time.

The reason for the series of long runs every three or four days, is that this has worked best for me in the past to quickly return from injury.  I'll do one more long run this Sunday, a week before Melbourne, and then have a very quiet week in the hope that I freshen up and that the chronic injuries ebb away a little.  If I was fitter, I would have a longer taper, but at this stage I believe that the current series of long training runs has the potential to improve my marathon time by 5-10 minutes by Melbourne.  Assuming, of course, I don't get injured.

This morning's run was relatively comfortable for the first 24km, but my legs became very tired in the last 12km, and I slowed.  I messed up my timing, but think it was between 3:10 and 3:15.  I would like to be running faster, but have to accept that I had a hard long run three days ago, and my legs and chronic injuries are still feeling the effects.

Ferny Creek 21

A very wintry Ferny Creek

Another Sunday, and another Sunday long run.  While tackling The Orchard 32km Run this morning (see previous Post), my thoughts went back to the premier Sunday long run of my running career, the Ferny Creek 21 (Mile), which I ran for many years in my 20s and 30s.

Apparently the Ferny Creek runs started in the early 1960s with Ron Clarke, Trevor Vincent and other notable runners meeting at a café at Ferny Creek on a Sunday morning for their weekly long run.  The Dandenong Ranges, where Ferny Creek is situated, lie about 30 kilometres east of Melbourne, and consist of a mix of mountains, towering mountain ash forests, lush fern gullies, quiet back roads and walking tracks.

By the time I joined the group in the late 1960s, there were often 30 runners or more, and I soon graduated from the short 14 Mile, to the longer, 21 Mile, as my marathoning career began.  The Ferny Creek 21 had a lot going for it in my mind.  It was through ideal running country, the standard was very high, and it was an opportunity to rub shoulders with, and test yourself against, the best runners of the day.  There were sections of road and trail, sometimes in parallel (offering a choice), and there were famous (amongst the running fraternity) hills.

The top of Aeroplane Hill

The first was Two Mile Hill, reached after four miles, where the social chatter abruptly stopped.  The hill wasn't that steep, but climbed 400 feet in two miles, and could be run at speed.  In all the years I ran the Two Mile Hill, I don't think I ever reached the top first, even at my fittest.  It seemed that some runners considered it their main race of the week, while others, such as Rob De Castella, Chris Wardlaw and Gerard Barrett, were just too good.  At the top there was a ritual urination stop while waiting for the stragglers before the run continued in a more competitive mode.

The second famous hill, Aeroplane Hill, came after fourteen miles.  It wasn't so long, but was very steep.  It was preceded by a few foothills that were significant in themselves, and I can remember introducing a club-mate to Aeroplane Hill by telling him that the "foothills" were actually Aeroplane Hill.  He was feeling very pleased with himself until he came round a bend to be confronted by the real Aeroplane Hill and his eyes nearly bugged out.

There were still more hills, including through the beautiful Sherbrooke Forest, before the final mile and a half of gradual downhill running back to the café.  The café produced excellent milkshakes and most runners adjourned there after the run to discuss the morning's times and the previous day's races.

Sherbrooke Forest

Sadly, in the early 1980s, restrictions were placed on runners in Sherbrooke Forest for (unproven) ecological reasons, and the 21 Mile course had to be modified a little. Runners still meet at Ferny Creek to run on Sundays, and whenever I'm in Melbourne, and fit, I try to get up there to run the course for old times sake.  These days, if I break 3 hours, I'm doing well.  My best time, from memory, was 2:07 run with Gerard Barrett and Rob De Castella one Sunday in the early 1980s.  Those were the days.

This morning's run went much better than I had anticipated.  My legs weren't too tired from yesterday's 10km race, and seemed to cope with the early hills comfortably.  Having a couple of mates to run and chat with helped the kilometres to pass, though there was little talking on the return trip.  My knee and Achilles were sore, but manageable, and a fall at one point yielded some minor cuts and abrasions.  I kept waiting for the wheels to come off in the last 12km, but managed to maintain a good pace and finished in 2:54, very tired, but not shattered.  That's more than 15 minutes faster than a month ago so is reason for cautious optimism that I'm returning to some form.

Who's up and who's down

Down - walking dejectedly away from the
finish of the 1982 Montreal Marathon
(46th, 2:29, "possibly my worst
performance ever") where I struggled
with an Achilles problem and the effects
of anti-inflammatories

I didn't get time to warm up much this morning for the Terrigal Trotters Flat (mis-named) 10km Time Trial, so started slowly and nursed my sore Achilles and knee through the early kilometres.  Consistent with the feeling I've had this week that I have somehow "bottomed out" in my running, I felt I was moving better and running more strongly than for the past month or so.  Nevertheless, I lack race fitness and stamina, flagged on the hills and found the last half hard.  My time of 44:52 was about what I had expected, though I had feared it might be worse as I slowed during the second half.
The monthly Time Trial is always a good bench-marking event, though you can't get too excited about who you beat and who beats you.  This is because nobody is at their peak or nadir all of the time.  There were runners in front of me this morning who I might have hoped to beat if fit.  At other times, when I was running well, they would have had the same thoughts about me.  Running and fitness is cyclical, maybe because of illness or injury, or maybe because of work or family commitments.  For some runners, staleness becomes an issue, training and racing become chores, and they seem to lose their "mojo" for a period of time.

Down - dealing with a serious lower
back injury in the early 1980s that
 cost a lot of running time

At a race like today's it is possible to identify people at all stages of the cycle.  You feel pleased for those on the upswing or at their peak, and sad for those whose performances are sub-par for some reason.  Within Trotters, it's great to see some people running very well at the moment who have struggled for the past year or longer.  They are loving that sense of capability and potential that comes with race fitness and are relishing the opportunity to compete in events denied to them in the last couple of years.  I feel very happy for them, but also want to tell them not to overdo it and to savour this period when everything is going well.

Up - running well and centre picture in the first
Melbourne Marathon in 1978 (2nd, 2:23)

Then there are others struggling to keep running with injuries or illness, or maybe just resigned to walking until they feel better.  At this stage it's easy for them to feel depressed and dispirited.  Every runner knows (and most non-runners don't) the frustration that accompanies the inability to run regularly for whatever reason.  Continuing to associate, socially, with those who are running regularly can make the pain even more exquisite, though those same people are also best equipped to empathise.  I feel sad for those who are struggling, but also want to tell them that their time at the top of the cycle will come again if they have patience, that they should use their downtime wisely, and that, believe it or not, there are more important things in life than running.

Central Park

Central Park, New York

I was joking with the members of the Terrigal Trotters track group this morning about how the session, which involved striding the straights and jogging the bends of the grass track, was the antidote to the "garbage" runs we do most of the time - the runs we generally do from home, around a regular course and at no specific place, just to maintain fitness.  My own run, following the track session, was truly garbage.  I started slow and finished no faster, coughing and hawking the whole way, and never feeling like a runner.  It's hard to believe, that four months ago, I was hopeful of being in sub-3 hour marathon shape about now.  I seem to be regressing rather than progressing.

Training in Central Park, New York
(courtesy, Robert Caplin for the New York Times)

Turning my mind to happier running times and more inspiring garbage runs, perhaps the best known garbage run in the world is around New York City's Central Park, a run I came to know and love over 16 years of business trips to New York, sometimes for extended periods.  There are other places to run in New York, principally along the Hudson and East River waterfronts, but none comes close to Central Park for interest and challenge.  I soon learned to book myself into hotels and apartments convenient to the Park if at all possible on trips to the Big Apple.  In the late 80s, the seedy Days Inn on W57th Street, a couple of blocks from the Park, was a frequent stopover.  It certainly established my budget-conscious credentials with my colleagues, and the rooms all reeked of cigarette smoke, but the clientele was often exotic and it was common to find the lobby full of ballet dancers from the collapsing Soviet Union (it was also close to the Lincoln Center) or nefarious-looking tanned and bejewelled foreign businessmen.  I also spent a lot of time at the mid-town Club Quarters, a business hotel ten blocks south of the park, and for a three-month period, had an apartment close to Times Square and the theatre district.  Of course, I didn't go and see a single show during that period.

Sharon running in Central Park, New York,
during our Christmas 2009 visit

Even the runs to and from Central Park in the early mornings along the broad and quiet 5th, 6th or 7th Avenues, dodging the hose spray from janitors cleaning the sidewalks beneath the towering skyscrapers, were a time to stretch out and appreciate life's blessings.  Once at Central Park, you would become one of an ever-increasing throng of runners joining the merry-go-round from surrounding streets and apartment blocks.  Most runners travelled anti-clockwise on the largely traffic-free loop road, but not all ran the big loop which took you right up to the edge of Harlem.  Some preferred flat laps of the reservoir which provided great views of the city skyline, while others had their own shorter loops utilising some of the cross-roads and paths.  I liked the full 10km lap around the outer road.  It incorporated some good hills, long straight stretches and plenty of greenery.  You could hear and occasionally glimpse the busy city traffic on the roads adjacent to the Park, but it was relatively peaceful inside the Park unless you strayed a little wide from the pedestrian lane and got shouted at by one of the cyclists who looped the Park at speed.  There were literally hundreds of runners circling the Park in the peak morning hours, and if you were feeling good, you always had somebody up ahead to catch and pass at impressive speed.

The runners exemplified New Yorkers and included some strange sights.  I remember one guy who always ran in shorts and bare-chested, even when the temperature was well below freezing (his chest was very red on those days), as well as a variety of incredibly well-muscled Atlases and Amazons.  Others always looked immaculate in the latest gear whilst a few looked like they had been sleeping in the Park before their run.

I never had a bad experience running in Central Park, though I do vividly remember one morning when I ran there at 4:00am because of an early flight out, and found myself the only runner there.  I could see shadowy figures in places by the side of the road in several places and ended up running down the very middle of the road, adrenalin pumping, ready to make a speedy escape in any direction if necessary.  Nothing happened.  I would love to still be able to run some laps of Central Park on a regular basis, but opportunities are few and far between these days.

Strategising

Crossing Austria as part of my 2012 Via Alpina hike

I did manage to run 5km this morning, but I felt slow and heavy-legged.  I took care to minimise the strain on my injured right knee and it survived the distance without getting worse, but my right Achilles tendon was sore and I didn't feel like I was moving well.  With an Achilles tendon injury, my body subconsciously responds to the pain signals by shortening my stride length and avoiding pushing off too hard from that leg.  The consequence is an inefficient gait, more effort to run at the same speed, and premature fatigue.

Crossing a river on the Old Telegraph Track in Far North
Queensland during my ride between the southernmost and
northernmost tips of the Australian mainland in 2006

Even accounting for the Achilles and knee problems, running has been a chore of late.  Apart from a very modest performance at the Woodford to Glenbrook 25km a few weeks ago, satisfying runs have been scarce for three months.  It's enough to make me wonder whether I need some kind of circuit breaker, a period where my body can get back on an even keel.  In the last ten years, such a circuit breaker has been provided by the annual hiking or biking adventures I have been lucky enough to enjoy in retirement.  In almost every case, I have finished the adventure feeling fit, strong, refreshed and ready to resume my running career.  Maybe it's been one of the reasons my running career has lasted through these last ten years.

My intention had been to dedicate myself to running the best marathon I possibly could in the period up until mid-2014, but I'm worried that my right Achilles tendon injury might be a show-stopper.  My favourite medico, Dr Jon, is away for a few weeks, but when he gets back, I intend to find out whether surgery is needed.  My expectation is that I have a calcification on the heel which is inflaming the tendon and will need to be removed.  An MRI will tell the tale.  If surgery is required, then it will almost certainly involve a lengthy rehabilitation period and the shelving of any short-to-medium term running ambitions.  It may be the right time to embark on another hiking expedition, once ankle function has been regained, and I'll be looking at the Pacific Crest Trail in the United States and the Te Araroa Trail in New Zealand (see Downtime post) as primary candidates.

For the time being, however, I'll soldier on as best I can, hoping that something turns up, and continue the blog.

Best laid plans

I had hoped to be running this trail in the
Australian Alps early next week (photo taken
 on my hike through the Alps in 2011)

Injured again!  Yesterday I was starting to believe that I had resolved my right Achilles problem with the new heel raises, and that I was getting over my bronchial problems.  I was looking forward to a few days down at Thredbo in the Australian Alps early next week, where I planned to run some favourite alpine trails while Sharon and Jack did some skiing on the last of the season's snow.  With just a month to go until the Melbourne Marathon, and less to the shorter Australian Masters Games events prior to the marathon, there seemed to be some chance I could perform respectably, at least.

Some more of my planned running scenery for next week

Now I don't think it will happen.  I started Terrigal Trotters 10.5km North Avoca Lake Run quite conservatively this morning, having warmed up for a few kilometres.  Although I found the whole run hard, particularly the hills, I gradually worked my way through the field.  I never caught the front-runners, and still lack freshness and zest, but at least I ran a lot better than last week.

I wasn't conscious of any particular problems during the run, though my chronic right knee and Achilles injuries were about as worrisome as usual.  The new problem became evident after the run, when a dull pain emerged behind my right knee and proceeded to get worse and worse during the day.  If I sit down for any length of time, the pain is significant as soon as I try straighten the knee and begin walking again.  I have a feeling that it is related to the Baker's Cyst, a fluid sac behind the knee, that can become swollen if the knee is unstable.  It's an injury I have had in the past and the swelling can take a long time to subside (friends have had the fluid in the sac removed via a syringe, but often the problem quickly recurs if the knee is still unstable).



Diagram of the knee showing the location of the
Baker's Cyst, which I believe to be my latest injury

Anyway, given that I am not in peak form nor believe I'm destined to run well in Melbourne, it's easier to be smart and see if the knee settles down rather than plough on with the planned training for this week.  Today was the first time I have run faster in the new heel raises, and my guess is that this slight change in the angles of the lower leg and foot biomechanics has increased the pressure on the knee and affected its stability.  I've only been wearing the heel raises for four days, and my muscles and ligaments have probably not had sufficient time to adapt to the change in the biomechanics, especially if I'm running faster and putting more pressure on all joints.  There's an outside chance that the pain will subside overnight, and I'll be able to run tomorrow, but already in my head I've written off the next month, including the planned races.

Acclimatisation

Jack Foster winning the
1975 Honolulu Marathon

It was unseasonably warm overnight, with the temperature staying above 20°C.  Blustery northerly winds had raised the temperature to near 30°C by the time I headed out for an easy 10km at mid-morning.  Although the heat made the run harder work, I welcomed it.  I have a theory that you need to run in hot weather for about a week before your body adapts to make the running easier.  So the early days of heat in any summer will initially be hard work.  It's very hard to go from cold weather to warm weather and run well straight away.  A period of acclimatisation is needed.  This morning's run should have started that process for the coming summer.

The heat reminded me of a story I had been told about Jack Foster, a great New Zealand marathon runner, famous for the world record times he ran in his 40s (2:11:18) and 50s (2:20:28).  He only started running at the age of 32.  In early 1978, Jack was keen to get a place on the New Zealand team for the Commonwealth Games to be held in Edmonton, Canada, in August of that year.  For whatever reason, maybe injury, Jack hadn't run a qualifying time and was desperately looking for a certified marathon somewhere in Australasia to record a good time.  The only marathon he could find was in April in Whyalla, a remote steel town in South Australia, so he wrote to them and they invited him to run as their guest.  It was a new marathon and they were keen to get the publicity.  I heard this story the next year, when I was fortunate enough to be invited by the organisers to be their guest runner.

At least I managed to get on the same poster
as Jack Foster

Anyway, Jack needed to run a time of something like 2:16 to qualify and was optimistic that the flat Whyalla course would give him every chance.  Unfortunately for Jack, Whyalla can get hot, even in autumn, and during the race the temperature rose to 34°C.  The organisers had a huge barrel of water at about the 20 mile mark which they were intending to use as a source of water to douse passing runners.  By 20 miles, Jack's hopes of a qualifying time had evaporated in the heat, and the organisers told me that Jack actually jumped in the barrel of water to cool off before continuing to the finish in 2:26:52.  A year later, without the heat, I won in 2:27:43, so I have an appreciation for Jack's talents.  Sadly he was killed in a collision with a car while out training on his bike at the age of 72.

My right Achilles tendon was still quite sore when I set out for today's run, and I did wonder whether I was wise running at all.  But this injury has been with me for some years, and comes and goes in intensity, so I'm hoping careful management will help it settle down.  Part of that careful management is not forcing it, so I wasn't able to stretch out.  My running style felt awkward, which it was, and I'm sure I looked like an old man going out for a jog, which I was.  I hoped it might loosen up on the one kilometre climb out of Copa, but if it did, it was only a little.  I felt less fatigued than expected, given the 25km trail race on Sunday, but it got harder in the last kilometres as the hills and heat took their toll.

My time for my regular 10km loop was slow, 58 minutes, but that was of no consequence today.  The weather conditions were bad for anybody with breathing issues and the run was accompanied by lots of coughing and spluttering.  The mailman brought the new Sorbothane heel raises I had ordered today, so I'm hoping that will give my Achilles tendon some relief, and a visit to the doctor later resulted in a reversion to the former asthma medication which my body seemed to handle better.  I may risk a longer run tomorrow.

Waiting for momentum

Part of the Terrigal Trotters track group going through
their early morning paces at Terrigal Haven

This is my 100th post in this blog, and I'm sure all readers are tired of hearing about my injuries and illnesses day after day.  Yet, this is the life of a runner, and I wanted this blog to be a true record of how I was feeling about my running and my journey towards a goal.  When I started, I optimistically thought it would be a tale of ever-increasing fitness, hopefully taken to a new level, on the way to a sub-3:00 hour Melbourne Marathon on 13 October of this year.  It has actually turned out to be a record of the setbacks, disappointments and frustrations that have been the more common theme of my running career, and many running careers.

With only five weeks to Melbourne, the best I can hope for is to run faster than I did at the Macleay River Marathon back in June (3:24), but I'm trying not to get too hung up on what is an acceptable time.  Instead, I will treat it as a long training run, and to that end, have entered some Australian Masters Games events (5,000m track and 8km cross-country) in Geelong during the week before.  It's a way of telling myself that what I run in the marathon is not that important.

To get serious about running a good marathon I need a few months where I have training and psychological momentum.  This isn't something that can be turned on with a switch.  My strategy will be to keep plugging away at around 100km per week, injuries permitting, and wait for a feeling of well-being to return.  With that, will come motivation and serious planning for the next marathon, probably in Hobart in January.

It was yet another beautiful morning on the NSW Central Coast, and I enjoyed watching the track group run their 300m repetitions on the grass at The Haven before setting out on my own regular 16.5km run.  My right Achilles was quite stiff and sore after last night's run.  It feels like it has set in concrete and doesn't have the flexibility to let me run properly.  In my early days, I would have forced it to loosen up, ignoring the pain and consequences, but these days, I try and modify my gait to avoid undue pressure and lessen the pain.  This means a shortened stride length and this morning's early kilometres, up the steep hills of the Scenic Highway, were run at little more than a shuffle.  I must have looked pathetic.....and old.  At the top of the hill, a girl joined my route from a side street just in front of me.  She seemed to be running very slowly, but I wasn't catching her.  This didn't help my mood.

As the Achilles gradually became more loose, my speed and form improved and I slowly passed the girl.  Although very tired from last night's running, my legs did feel a little stronger as I went further, and I felt lighter on my feet, almost enjoying the flats and downhills.  This lightness evaporated in the last few kilometres and I was exhausted when I finished.  Pathetic, really, for just a slow 16.5km run.  However, a week ago at the same time I could only manage a 6km run so I guess that's progress (from a low base).

Racing injured

Two Peoples Bay, near where I stayed when I ran the
Albany Marathon in 1981

My right Achilles tendon and arch were both quite sore this morning, but that was to be expected after a long run, so I wasn't too worried.  In late morning I headed out in the warmth and sunshine for a 5km walk round Copa, taking care not to force the stiff and sore Achilles.  I felt quite flat after the rigours of yesterday's run and a late night (Terrigal Trotters Annual General Meeting).  My chest was still congested and I was glad a run wasn't scheduled for today.

I still intend to run the regular Six at Six tomorrow night and the 25km Woodford to Glenbrook trail race on Sunday, but it's hard to believe I'm going to run well in either.  I'm in the "stick to the plan and it will all work out" mode, which has generally served me well in the past, but not always.

Near the half-way point of the Albany Marathon course

Running injured is never much fun.  Non-runners often do not appreciate how frequently injuries afflict runners or how hard it can be to produce your best.  Back in 1981, I received an invitation to run in the Albany Marathon in Western Australia, with all expenses paid.  It was shortly after running second in the 1981 Big M Melbourne Marathon in 2:19:29, and I'm sure the organisers thought I would back up a month later with another sub-2:20, and a new course record in Albany.  Unknown to them, I had been carrying a serious Achilles tendon injury for some time and was already booked in for surgery four days after their race.  However, with the help of anti-inflammatories, I was still running, and was reluctant to pass up the chance of a free trip to the West.  I told them I couldn't guarantee anything faster than about 2:25 in a small race on an unknown course, and neglected to mention the upcoming surgery.

They organized the tickets and I travelled to Albany two days before the race, staying in a lovely guest house on a bay to the east of town.  My Achilles was very sore and I hadn't run further than 16km in three weeks.  Then, to my consternation, I developed a blister on a short training run, and through changing my gait, ended up with a painful locked muscle on the outside of my left shin.  I was having trouble walking, let alone running, but didn't feel I could, or should, say anything about my problems to the organisers.  I just hoped that I could win the event with a minimum of fuss, even if my time was slower than predicted.

My Race Certificate for the Albany Marathon

The day of the race was cool, overcast and blustery, and I was taken aback to find Dave Eltringham, a well-performed marathoner I knew from Melbourne, in the line-up.  He was a native of nearby Esperance and was home on vacation and to run the marathon.  I was starting to feel a lot of pressure.  When the gun fired, I quickly went to the lead at a solid clip, hoping any contenders (i.e., Dave) would give up early.  I was soon on my own, and after about 10km, relaxed the pace a little.  My Achilles hurt, my locked muscle was painful, I was having trouble running smoothly, and I just wanted it to all be over.

I reached the half-way point in exactly 1:12:30, and glanced over my shoulder, hoping nobody would be in sight.  Dave was a good runner, but with a best of just under 2:30, I hoped he would not be in contention at that pace in a minor marathon.  Alarmingly, he was less than 100 metres behind, obviously having a great run, and with me squarely in his sights.  I was not going to be able to coast the last half and tried to lift my tempo a little.  It was very hard work, made harder by some violent cold rain squalls and fierce winds in the last 10km.  The finish finally came into sight and I collapsed across the line in exactly 2:25:05, drenched, absolutely exhausted and in a lot of pain from my injuries.  Dave followed a minute or so later in a new Personal Best time.

The organizer commented that my time matched my pre-trip prediction almost exactly and that my two halves were perfectly even.  I could tell he thought it was just a "milk run" for me, where I had taken it as easily as I could whilst meeting my commitment.  In reality, it was one of the hardest races I ever ran, and one of those of which I am most proud.

Chicago

Lincoln Park, Chicago

I only had a short jog scheduled for today, anyway, but I still found it hard, with the same issues as yesterday - breathlessness, excessive sweating and lead-leggedness.  I don't feel too bad when I'm not running, just a little fatigued, so I'm hoping I'll be healthy again shortly.  There is a tough 15km run scheduled for Terrigal Trotters tomorrow, so that will be a test.  As soon as I feel I'm healthy and running well again, I'll put together a training plan for the Hobart Marathon in January, my next best chance of running a sub-3 hour marathon, having given up on running well in the Melbourne Marathon, in just six weeks time.

Not having much to write about today, I thought I would revisit another of the regular morning running courses from my past.  Between 1987 and 1990, I held joint responsibility with a colleague for setting up the North American operation of my company in Chicago.  For a while, my colleague, who was based in Stockholm (I was based near London), and I alternated our time in Chicago and mostly stayed in a corporate apartment we leased.

Prior to this assignment, I had only visited Chicago once, briefly, and didn’t hold it in very high regard.  However, as I spent more time there I grew to love it and now rate it as one of my favourite cities.  I liked the cleanliness and professional bustle of the city, the friendliness of the people, and its classical stone buildings offset by the towering skyscrapers.  Tucked away everywhere were atmospheric little bars and bistros.  From our apartment on the southern edges of the central business district, I also grew to love my regular Chicago early morning run.

Along the Lake Michigan waterfront
to Chicago

The route headed north through the early morning quiet of the business district, known as The Loop (where I would be working later in the day), and joined LaSalle Street which took me across the very unimpressive Chicago River, more like a large drain, and out of the city.  After the river, North LaSalle Street traversed a couple of kilometres of quiet inner suburbs of picturesque old houses and apartment blocks to the famed Lincoln Park.  From there, my route followed a network of gravel paths and horse rides before skirting the north side of little Diversey Harbor to reach the vast Lake Michigan and turn south for the return to the city.

For five kilometres the route followed perfectly flat concrete paths along the Lake and I can remember flying along here, passing joggers at speed on my good days.  At the southern end, the path was squeezed between the busy multi-lane Lakeshore Drive and the Lake and one winter I vividly recall being hit hard in the chest by the stream of snow blasted from the side of a snow plough travelling the opposite direction along the Drive.  I could see it coming but there was nowhere to go.

The Chicago waterfront on a windy day

The snow plough experience paled, however, compared to another winter experience I had in the same area.  There was no path, but it was possible to run along a sort of wide sloping concrete shelf that bordered the lake.  At the edge of the shelf was a vertical drop of about half a metre into the deep lake.  If it had been windy, waves broke over the concrete shelf, and if cold, the breaking waves would freeze on the concrete.  One morning I was running along there in the winter pre-dawn darkness, trying to dodge the iciest sections, when I slipped and fell.  It was bad enough landing on the rock hard ice, but soon I became aware of a worse fate.  I was sliding, on my back,  down the ice-covered concrete slope towards the drop-off into the semi-frozen lake.  I spread my arms, trying to reduce my weight and catch one of the icy ridges caused by the waves.  After about five metres, with about ten to go, I managed to stop myself and then very gingerly got onto my hands and knees and crawled up the slope and off the ice.  It was dark, there was nobody around, and I have often wondered how long it would have taken for them to find my body if I had gone into the lake.  There was no way I could have climbed out or survived long enough to swim to safety.  I continued to use the same route in winter, but ran very carefully, and as near the top of the concrete ledge as I could go, walking if necessary.

The last part of the run crossed the open parks in front of the Art Institute of Chicago and back to the city and the apartment.

As far as “garbage” runs go, this was quite a long course (16.5km), but it was flat and fast and usually took around an hour.  I experienced it in the rank humidity of a Chicago summer and the way-below-freezing temperatures of a Chicago winter, and have very fond memories of both.

Can't take a trick

Better days......leading in the 1983
Stawell Marathon (1st, 2:29)

Another bad day at the office.  After last evening's abortive Six at Six race, I slept badly, waking up sweating several times, and rose early this morning feeling tired and unmotivated.

I journeyed to Terrigal Haven for the regular 6:00am track session and afterwards set out for my own planned run of 16km.  It didn't go well.  The two steep hills in the first kilometre are always a hard way to start a run, but usually, once I reach the ridge above Terrigal I start to feel warmed up and begin to move better.  That didn't happen this morning, when every step seemed a struggle and every breath an effort.  After a couple of kilometres, I began to question the wisdom of completing 16km, especially on the planned hilly course, and after 3km I made the decision to return to The Haven via the shortest route.

The last 3km, run at a very slow pace, were tough.  I was short of breath, heavy-legged and sweating profusely, especially round the head, and very glad I had chosen the short route back.  It took me about 37 minutes to run the 6km and I'm now convinced I have some kind of bug.  My chest feels weak and I lack energy.  Hopefully, it's just a short-term thing.  I can't really be bothered going to see the doctor.  My right Achilles tendon was also quite sore for the whole run, and I just don't feel like I can take a trick at the moment.  I would like to have just one day where I feel like I am running well and it seems like months (and is months) since that happened.

From experience, I know that I must keep running through this period, perhaps taking it a bit easier until I feel healthier, but generally sticking to my training regime, and eventually things will stabilise and running will become more enjoyable.  I also need to remind myself how unhappy I was when I couldn't run at all, and count my blessings.  I'm a believer in the body sorting itself out if you give it time and am hopeful that, in another month, the current period will be just a bad memory.

Pulling out

Extract from the Boston Globe on 20 April 1982 after
Salazar had won the Boston Marathon by 2 seconds from
Dick Beardsley in 2:08:51 (I was 49th in 2:22:39)

Tonight's Six at Six run didn't go so well.  Maybe it was the effects of my cold, or maybe it was that I ate lunch too late, but for whatever reason I was struggling to get the air I needed after just one lap (1.2km) of the 6km race, and briefly stopped before backing off and running the remaining four laps at a comfortable pace.

I had followed my plan of getting there an hour early and running 10km as a warm-up, but even in that warm-up, I didn't feel I was travelling well.  Plenty of coughing, hawking and spluttering to go with indigestion, so maybe I would have been wiser not starting.  However, as discussed in yesterday's post, I'm reluctant to back off from my planned training unless for a good reason.

Salazar in flight

As I drove home from the race, I examined my motives for pulling out.  Although I don't often pull out of races, I have pulled out of a number over the years, particularly in my early running career.  Whenever I do, it always awakens some deep-seated self-doubt about my toughness in the face of adversity.  I can always rationalise a decision to pull out at the time, but almost always regret it later.  There are some runners, such as one of my marathon heroes, Alberto Salazar, who have run themselves to the point of insensibility or collapse in races.  I have never run myself that hard, and it makes me wonder whether I have fully explored my physical potential as an athlete.

For today, however, I know I do have a cold, and that it is affecting how I feel when running.  I will trust that when it abates, I will feel and run better.  On the plus side, I barely felt my injured right arch tonight.