Deep Space Mountain Marathon

Plenty of kangaroos in Orroral Valley

My 5km jog on Saturday morning didn't fill me with confidence.  It wasn't hard, but I wasn't cruising as easily as I would have hoped the day before a big race.  It was humid, and I always think that has an enervating effect, but nevertheless, it made me wonder how I was going to manage the 42km Deep Space Mountain Marathon the next day.  Have faith in your preparation, I told myself!

I drove down to Canberra on Saturday afternoon and stayed with relatives on Saturday night, sneaking out at 5:30am for the one hour drive to the Orroral Valley where the race started from the site of a dismantled space tracking station.  I love the mountain country south from Canberra and enjoyed the unhurried drive on a beautiful cool Sunday morning.  Four years ago, I had completed my 660km hike along the Australian Alps Walking Track at Namadgi, just south of Canberra, and the race would be along a small section of the same track.

Early creek crossing

There wasn't much going on when I arrived at the start location apart from hundreds of kangaroos grazing nearby.  I walked and jogged a little to loosen up then went to the start line for the race briefing by the organiser, John Harding.  He was a good marathon runner, and I ran second to him (2:32:13) in the one of the earliest Canberra marathons (1977), nearly 40 years ago.  We've both changed a bit!

Cruising?

I knew the race would be low-key, but the field was much smaller than I anticipated, with just 20 runners.  The later events - Half Marathon, 10km and 5km - had larger numbers.  That didn't bother me much and I quickly moved to the back of the field as we set off on the short (and only) stretch of sealed road up a gradual hill.  I'm learning to settle into a rhythm early in a race without worrying about what everybody else is doing.  With age, it is easy to get into oxygen debt quickly if you go out too hard.  I think it probably has something to do with the cardio-vascular system starting more slowly.

Beautiful sub-alpine scenery

The course was a double out-and-back to the site of the old Honeysuckle Creek Space Tracking Station (hence the race name), climbing over the shoulder of Mount Tennent, along a fire-trail that had some very steep ascents and descents, and undulated the rest of the way.  My plan was to run as many of the hills as I could on the first lap and then try and run the same hills on the second lap.  I had confidence that my comparative advantage would be up the hills and that's the way it worked out.  By the time I reached the highest point on the way out at 7.5km, I had moved into the front half of the field.  However, I didn't make up much ground on the descents, which were positively scary and dangerous in a few places.  Loose fine gravel and exceptional steepness had me fearing my feet would skid out from under me at any moment and I took very short steps, just hoping to stay upright.

I was tired at the half-way point, reached in just over two hours and surprised to learn I was now seventh, though with three or four more runners within a kilometre behind me.  I told myself that if I could run up all the hills on the second lap, nobody would catch me and I might even catch some of the runners up ahead.  At the turn on the second lap (3/4 mark of the race), though very tired, I was indeed closer to the runners in front and further clear of those behind.  I broke my rule about running up all of the hills with about 8km to go, but my legs were almost non-functional.  Neverthess, I moved into fifth at this stage and was now less than 200 metres behind two other runners.

Running in to the finish

Unfortunately, this was the highest elevation point and there followed the 4km of downhill, some of it steep and some very steep, and the two runners got away from me.  When I emerged from the forest, with 2km to go, they were both still in sight, and I managed to close to about 100m of fourth place by the finish.  My legs were totally hammered by the end, and my chronic right heel injury was sore, but I was happy with my run, finishing in 4:08 with 42.3km on my Garmin.  Given the course topography, I don't think I could have done much better, and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenges of the climbs and the beautiful alpine and sub-alpine forest running.  There were times on the run, even when exhausted, when I thought life couldn't get much better for a near-65 year old.

For today, I just walked 5km, and though my right heel was a bit sore and my legs still stiff and tired, there didn't seem to be any new injuries.

Surprise!

Running near Winter Park, Colorado

During a US road trip with Sharon and her children in June of this year, one of our early stops was a few days at Winter Park, a ski resort in the Rocky Mountains.  There was no snow, but it was still cold at night and there was snow visible at higher elevations.

Sharon and I did a few longish morning runs through the surrounding forests, including one memorable 20km run.  The runs from Winter Park tended to be all uphill on the way out and downhill on the way back and I tended to get ahead of Sharon on the climbs and get caught on the descents.  This particular run was following the usual pattern and I had a lead by the time we passed through the highest point and began our descent back to civilization.

The moose takes fright and runs off

Approaching the small town of Fraser on a gravel road, I thought I heard the tell-tale footsteps of Sharon coming up behind me, and after a hundred metres or so, turned to see how she was going.  It wasn't Sharon at all, but a young moose.  We both got a big fright and it scampered off into the forest while I tried to get a picture.

I had been telling my fellow travellers that it can be hard to see moose, and never expected to have one come to see me.  I suspect it was a young male checking me out, but don't really know.  It's always a thrill to encounter large animals in the wild.

For training today, I ran an easy 6.5km, still conscious of some sensitivity in my right heel, and followed that with nine holes of golf.  I will run a bit harder tomorrow.

Hoping

I met this guy on my walk today

The heel I hurt on yesterday's long run remains painful, but has improved.  By this afternoon, I was able to walk 5km without serious discomfort.  I'm hoping that by tomorrow it will have improved sufficiently to complete my usual Tuesday morning run with a group from Trotters.  It will be sore, but if I can get through without making it worse, some optimism will return.

However, I'm also trying to mentally prepare myself for a worse case scenario.  It's always important to know what your options are, and I have played out several in my mind.  One thing I don't want to do is to soldier on despite worsening pain.  All serious runners know the temptation when fit to keep on running, regardless of an injury, for fear of losing their fitness and wasting all the time and effort they have invested to get to that stage.

Thirty or forty years ago, I would have visited a doctor to get anti-inflammatories prescribed so that I could continue to train and race.  In retrospect, I cannot remember a time when this proved to be a sustainable solution.  Either I ended up needing to have more time off running, or in the more serious cases, surgery.  These days, I don't feel any temptation to resort to anti-inflammatories.  Better not to mask the pain so that you really know the scale of the injury.  If the injury seems bad tomorrow, I will be scaling back my training.

Mixed fortunes

Good omen?

As I left my house at 5:00am in the pre-dawn gloom to start my 37km long run, I found a $50 note on the footpath.  I hoped that was a good omen, because I really wasn't looking forward to the next three plus hours.  I felt a bit tired and sore all over from yesterday's hard 10km, and had even brought along my iPod and headphones, so that I could listen to music as a distraction (something I rarely do these days).

Once I started running, I didn't feel as bad as I expected, and after the usual four to five kilometres of warming/loosening up, I settled into a reasonable pace.  The iPod took my mind off the time ahead as many of my playlist tunes are evocative of times and people I have known - a trip down memory lane.

Lake Tuggerah

After the undulating first 12km, the next 10km to The Entrance is flat, much of it along the bike path bordering Tuggerah Lake and my pace picked up to comfortably average sub-5:00/km on a superb early morning.  Even when I started hitting some more undulations after 22km, I was maintaining my pace well.  But as I climbed a gradual hill with 9km to go, I became conscious of my chronically-injured right heel becoming very tender and painful.  Within a kilometre my pace had dropped back to 5:30/km, I was favouring my right heel significantly, and I had lost the good running form I had maintained to that point.  I plodded on to the end, not enjoying it at all and hoping that my heel problem wasn't returning to dog my life as it had done up until six months ago.

The Entrance

It's now eight hours later, and the heel is still painful to walk on, though has improved somewhat.  I just have a 5km walk scheduled for tomorrow and a shorter run on Tuesday, so I'm hoping that gives it time to recover sufficiently for the 20-25km run I had planned for Wednesday.  If not, I'll have to re-evaluate my training and racing plans for the next three weeks.  Not happy!

Just plain good fun

The scene just after Avoca Lagoon was opened to
the ocean on an earlier occasion.

I wasn't going to write a blog post today, but I enjoyed this morning's run so much, I wanted to recount the adventure.  To the north and south of Terrigal, from where the Trotters run at 6:00am every Saturday morning, are two coastal lagoons, Wamberal and Avoca.  Most of the time, they are separated from the ocean by sandbars, but occasionally they are open to the sea.  Following heavy rains and/or in very stormy conditions they sometimes open naturally, but if the lagoons get too high, the local councils (or, occasionally, enterprising kids with shovels) deliberately open them.

This morning's run, Avoca Amphitheatre, crossed the Avoca Lagoon mouth twice.  I knew the lagoon had been opened by the council a week or so earlier, but hadn't actually run that way since.  I also knew it was a full moon night, so the tides were likely to be high.  And, to make it more interesting, it was very dark and raining as we set out for the 11km run, with the sun not due to rise for another hour.

The front page picture in the Central Coast Express
Advocate Newspaper earlier this week was of the
just opened Wamberal Lagoon mouth.

A number of the runners, including me, were wearing headlamps in the pitch darkness as we approached the lagoon mouth in single file along the bordering trail.  On arriving at the channel it was comical to see the lights and shadows of runners swarming, like a flock of small birds, as they examined first one place and then another as possible crossing points.  It was absolutely impossible to determine the water depth in the darkness, and I headed towards the ocean opening where experience had taught me it was likely to be shallower.  To my right, I could pick out one earlier runner already halfway across in chest-depth water while most others milled on the bank to watch.  I plunged into the water nearer the breaking surf and found it wasn't nearly as shallow as I had expected.  Soon the water was above my waist and breaking waves were occasionally washing over my left shoulder as I struggled on in the turbulent water.  Nearer the other side, the channel was even deeper and very fast flowing as the incoming tide sought to fill the empty lagoon.  It was a struggle to keep my feet, but I made it across and was joined by a few other runners before we set off through Avoca Beach for the remainder of the run.

It was an exhilarating experience, and not really dangerous, so long as you were prepared to swim with your shoes on if you lost your footing.  I think I was running on adrenalin for the balance of the run, including the recrossing of the channel which was easier in the pre-dawn light.

I know that many Trotters turned around rather than risk the channel crossing, and everybody needs to make their own safety judgments.  But for me, one of the joys of running is dealing with whatever terrain or weather is encountered.  It yields a sense of empowerment and satisfaction, as well as being just plain good fun.

Human encounters

Brixton.

There are a number of posts in this blog about alarming and interesting encounters I have had with animals while out running, but only a few about human encounters.  Before going any further, however, I have to acknowledge that male runners face far fewer human threats than female runners. A number of females I know personally have been harassed and chased by men when out running, and we have all read stories about women runners assaulted and even killed.  I have always felt fortunate to be able to run almost anywhere I like without fearing human interference, and those few bad encounters I have had don't amount to much.

A few scary incidents have already been mentioned in this blog including being stopped by abusive Russian police while out running near Smolensk (see ‘No Visa’), being chased by two guys in a car and on foot while leading a half marathon (see ‘Unexpected Hazards’), and being followed by a guy whose car I had banged when he cut me off at a corner (see ‘A road rage story’).

Bucharest, Romania.

In the London suburb of Brixton, I sometimes felt quite intimidated by milling groups of black youths blocking the footpath during my evening running commute in the mid-1970s.  They never showed any inclination to move aside as I approached, and I always had to slow down and gently work my way through the group.  One time I received a good-natured whack across the butt with a cricket bat as I passed, but that was the worst that ever happened.

On another occasion in the mid-1970s, I was returning to our campsite from an evening run through the suburbs of Bucharest in Romania, when I met a group of loud young men and women walking towards me, line abreast, along a path.  They showed no sign of letting me pass.  I moved to the very left-hand side, where there just room to squeeze through, but as I passed one of the guys pushed the girl on the end of the line into my path.  I just had time to drop my shoulder to absorb the impact and knocked the girl heavily to the ground.  Pandemonium broke out and I didn't hang around to see if the girl was OK, instead accelerating off into the gloom.

Swan Street Bridge, Melbourne.

The only other physical encounter I can recall occurred when running across Swan Street Bridge in Melbourne one warm summer evening.  As I passed an intoxicated young guy coming the other way, he suddenly and unexpectedly swung his fist hard into my stomach.  Although briefly winded, I recovered and angrily approached him demanding to know why he had hit me.  Putting his bag down, he struck a defensive pose.  Rather than fight, I quickly grabbed his bag and ran further across the bridge.  A small crowd gathered as I hung the bag over the railing, threatening to drop it into the Yarra River below.  In the end, I cooled down, threw his bag back to him, and continued my run.

I have heard of runners being hit by objects thrown from cars, but that has never happened to me, although I did once cop a milkshake while out riding my bike.

Elwood coastline with Melbourne skyline
in the background.

Perhaps the most interesting human encounter I ever had was in the early 1980s during my regular Wednesday evening 20 mile run which incorporated a long stretch on paths along the coast of Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne’s inner suburbs.  One very warm summer evening, on a more remote stretch of the path in Elwood, two young women were walking towards me along the path wearing towelling robes, apparently having been swimming or sunbathing.  I saw them exchange words and then just before I reached them, they said ‘Ta Dah!’ and both flung open their robes to reveal nothing was being worn underneath.  I must have looked shocked (and I was), and heard them laughing loudly behind me as I continued on my way.

I ran a slow and lethargic 15km this morning on the roads with a few hills.  My legs still felt heavy and stiff from Sunday's long run, although I was moving more freely by the end.  When breathing harder on the hills, I'm still occasionally getting a feeling of pressure in my chest at the base of the sternum, but there's no other evidence of a problem and I'm inclined to pass it off as just the result of breathing harder.  My resting pulse rate is now back below 40, where it was before I had the heart and lung problems late last year.

Alligators!

Long Pine Key, Everglades National Park.

While browsing an old training diary recently, I was reminded of an alligator encounter on a training run in the Florida Everglades. I had forgotten about it because it wasn't that scary at the time, and subsequent alligator encounters have reinforced the notion that they are relatively harmless, unless, perhaps, provoked.

Long Pine Key Trail.

The running encounter happened on a morning seven-mile out-and-back training run from the Long Pine Key Campground in Everglades National Park.  It was a "hum drum" run and I wasn't expecting any excitement, particularly on the return from my turnaround point, when I suddenly realised that the log-like object lying beside the trail was an alligator.  It hadn't been there on the way out, but looked like it had now settled in for a long sleep, and didn't appear at all fussed by my appearance.

Alligator at Long Pine Key.

It was only about 1.5 metres long, so not very threatening, and I just slowed to a walk and passed without getting too close.  Nothing happened and I resumed my run.

In later years, when living in the US, there were a couple of occasions when I was playing golf with my son at a public course in Georgia where it was quite common to find alligators basking next to the water hazards.  Although apparently docile, we never did bother trying to retrieve golf balls that landed too close.

I just coasted around an easy 5km in Copa today, bearing in mind that it could be a demanding weekend with the Trotters 13.5km tomorrow morning and a long trail run on Sunday.  I can't say that I felt fresh, but after warming up, I was moving OK.

Cassowary

The curious cassowary approaches.

Cassowaries are large flightless birds that live in northern Australia and New Guinea, ranking behind only the ostrich and emu in size.  They are reputedly hard to find, potentially dangerous and prone to chase people if disturbed.  Quoting Wikipedia: "A cassowary's three-toed feet have sharp claws. The second toe, the inner one in the medial position, sports a dagger-like claw that is 125 millimetres (5 in) long.  This claw is particularly fearsome since cassowaries sometimes kick humans and animals with their enormously powerful legs. Cassowaries can run up to 50 km/h (31 mph) through the dense forest. They can jump up to 1.5 metres (4.9 ft) and they are good swimmers."

Up close and personal with the cassowary
before starting the run.

On several trips to North Queensland prior to 2011, I had only ever seen a cassowary once, glimpsed as it emerged from the jungle beside the road as we drove by.  So, when Sharon and I visited the region in 2011, an encounter seemed unlikely, though like most tourists we hoped to see one.

We visited Mission Beach, a town south of Cairns, on one day and planned to include a short 8km run through Djiru National Park along the Musgravea Trail in our activities.  The area was known for its cassowary population, and Sharon was a little nervous about the possibility of an encounter.  I, on the other hand, thought it unlikely and played down the risks should we be lucky enough to see one.

Sharon setting the pace after the cassowary
had departed.

We parked our car at the Licuala trackhead and were very surprised to find a curious cassowary wandering around the parking area, obviously not the least bothered by our presence.  It had probably been fed by tourists (discouraged) and now associated people with food.  Sharon and I stretched and walked around a little, taking some photos and waiting for the cassowary to lose interest.  It remained curious, and eventually I became impatient to start running, while Sharon remained reticent.  I set off down the trail and almost immediately the cassowary began chasing me while Sharon, who had remained stationary, called for me to stop.  I continued running, looking over my shoulder a little warily, and very conscious of the bird's sharp talons and potential speed.  The bird continued chase behind.

On the Musgravea Trail.

Eventually, I decided discretion was the better part of valour and stopped and turned around.  The cassowary also stopped, hesitated for a moment, and then just wandered off into the scrub.  We completed our run and there was no sign of it when we returned to the car park.  We had survived our cassowary encounter, and didn't see another on the trip.

I ran an easy 5km round Copa this morning, moving a little better, but with my bad right knee quite sore all the way.

Marine encounters

Hatteras Island, North Carolina.

Yesterday, as I finished my walk along the Copa beach, I was lucky enough to see a pod of dolphins just beyond the breaking waves.  It's always a thrill to encounter wild animals when out running, and I have written about some of those rare encounters in other posts (Katahdin, More animal encounters, Yellowstone).  Meetings with sea life tend to be even more rare, and yesterday's sighting got me thinking about other such occasions.

Probably the most exciting encounter was thirty years ago when we were touring the U.S. and camped on Hatteras Island, a very long and extremely narrow barrier island off the coast of North Carolina.  Two islands just to the north were Nag's Head, famous for the historic Kill Devil Hills where the Wright Brothers took the first powered flight, and Roanoke, where one of the earliest groups of English colonists in America, comprising 150 people, disappeared without trace some time between ship visits in 1587 and 1590.  Despite the local history, the running options on Hatteras were very limited - either a run along the boring road that traversed the length of the island or along the sandy beach.

Hatteras Island beach.

I chose the latter, and having run a 25 miler the day before, was just cruising southwards along the empty and monotonous beach, when I got the feeling I wasn't alone.  Looking into the small surf to my left, there was a pod of fifteen to twenty dolphins, little more than 20 metres from the water's edge, travelling south at exactly the same speed as me.  I have to believe they knew I was there, because for the next half mile, they maintained their relative position as we eyed each other off.  They then peeled off into deeper water and I was on my own again.  I had another "marine" encounter a mile or two further on, with a very large and very dead hammerhead shark on the water's edge, but that doesn't really count as wildlife.

A whale passes South Point on Wilsons Promontory.

Although not a running encounter, another meeting that lives large in my memory was at the start of a mountain bike ride from the southernmost point of mainland Australia, South Point on Wilsons Promontory, to the northernmost, Cape York, in 2006.  It wasn't possible to ride my bike all the way to South Point for the start because of National Park regulations and difficult trail, so I set out early one morning from the settlement at Tidal River to hike the 42 kilometre round trip.  At the isolated South Point, large and slippery boulders washed by occasionally large swells made it quite difficult to clamber down to the water's edge to fill a small jar of water I was planning to carry for the 4300km journey north and empty into the sea at Cape York.  At one point I wondered whether my journey was going to end where it started, with my body never found, but eventually accomplished the task.  As I climbed back up to a point of relative safety, I heard an incongruous noise just to my right, and there, moving very slowly through the water about 20 metres offshore, and occasionally spouting, was a large black whale.  It was close enough for me to see its eye and it seemed to be looking right at me.  I took the sighting as a good omen, and as it turned out, had a great trip.

I walked 6km today, including some hills, without any difficulty or breathlessness.  However, I am constantly conscious of my heart beating, and although my pulse seems regular, can't escape the feeling that something is not quite right.  I woke in the small hours and couldn't go back to sleep, just lying there hyper-sensitive to my heart beat, trying to work out whether it was functioning properly, and looking for signs that it was not.  It may be, and I hope it is, just some post-procedure anxiety.  If that's right, then my sensitivity will diminish in the next couple of weeks and my confidence will grow, but at the moment I still feel like I am walking on eggshells.

Little nuisances

Terrigal Trotters doing leech inspections after a trail run.

After yesterday's somewhat heavy blog post, I thought I would talk about something lighter today, the little creepy crawlies that I have encountered while running.

Probably the worst are leeches, which are quite common on the NSW Central Coast where I now live.  In fact, I don't recall ever encountering them while running before moving here ten years ago.  You can get leeches on any long run in the nearby forests, but they are usually worst after rain and in the moist rainforest gullies.  Runners have various home remedies for keeping them at bay, but I don't think any are fool-proof.

One of the offenders.

The leech bites themselves are not painful, but the sight of an engorged leech, or one looking for somewhere to latch on, is always a gruesome find.  Getting them off can be tough, though I have usually managed to flick or pull them off.  Alternatives are salt or flame, I hear.  Often you do not know you have one until you see blood on a shoe or sock, and I have seen some very bloody socks revealed when shoes are removed.  There are also plenty of stories about leeches being found on other parts of the anatomy that I won't go into here.  Initially, the main problem is the anticoagulant used by the leech to facilitate feeding which causes their bites to bleed continuously.  However, the worst impact comes a few days later when the bites begin to itch savagely.  I have woken up at night scratching furiously at badly bitten, red and swollen ankles.  In some cases, the bites can even lead to blood poisoning and a trip to hospital, as happened to Sharon a few years ago.

A Golden Orb spider.

Spider webs are an occupational hazard for trail runners and it often pays to run behind someone else when you are the first runners along a trail.  I'm not aware of ever having been bitten by a spider while out running, but the encounters can be scary.  Locally, we have the Golden Orb spider which is quite large and builds strong and extensive webs, often across trails.  The large spider then sits in the web waiting for something to be caught.  They generally feed on moths, beetles and insects caught in their webs, but they have been known to catch and eat small birds and bats.  I have had the experience of running into one of the webs and then, while scrambling to extricate myself, finding the huge spider almost sitting on my face.  They're not dangerous, but can give you a good scare.

The country lane in Essex near where I was stung
by the wasp.

Perhaps the biggest scare I had from a small animal happened when I was out for a long Sunday morning run through the Essex countryside one Spring Sunday morning.  A wasp flew into my mouth and bit me on the very back of my tongue near my throat before I could spit it out.  Initially, it was just painful, and I continued running, but a few kilometres later, I could feel my tongue swelling up and my breathing becoming restricted.  I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and swallowing my pride (actually I couldn't swallow anything by this time), I found a public telephone in a small village and called my wife reverse charges to come and get me.  I was a bit anxious for the next couple of hours, but the swelling gradually subsided and there were no other symptoms.

Voyageurs Provincial Park, near Montreal in Canada.

Flies and mosquitoes can also be irritating, but not particularly dangerous.  I can still remember a long run in a Voyageur Provincial Park near Montreal in Canada in the late spring when the mosquitoes were voracious and biting me incessantly through the back of my sweaty T-shirt, no matter how fast I ran.  You just have to try not to think about it or it drives you nuts.  Apparently caribou lose half a pint of blood a day to mosquitoes in the spring and early summer.

I walked about 6km today, taking care not to get my heart rate too high when walking up hills.  I learned that my Electrical Cardioversion procedure will be this coming Monday.

More animal encounters

A troop of baboons

Despite overcast, warm and humid conditions this morning, not usually the best for running, I felt quite good for my 13km loop.  I expected to be a little tired and sore from Sunday's long run, but coped with the hills well and maintained a good pace.  The only cloud on the horizon was that my sore right knee gave way unexpectedly on two occasions while running down hills.  This was unusual and hopefully not a sign of things to come.

While grinding my way up the first hill this morning, I was baled up by a dog who snarled and barked at me for a while but eventually backed off.  There was no sign of an owner, though I suspect they would have heard me yelling at the dog.  I'm of the view that I should be able to run around the suburban streets without having to deal with domestic animal threats and I've written a post before about Canine Challenges.  Of course, when you run in the domain of the animals, you accept the risk of, and responsibility for, dangerous encounters.

The Zambezi River above Victoria Falls

I have previously written about the threats from snakes (Reptilian Encounters), bison and bears (Yellowstone).  However, the wildlife encounter that scared me most was with a troop of baboons while running near Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe in 1985.  We were visiting the area with friends and I had gone for a run of about 10km on my own along some of the local rural roads.  I rounded a corner to find a large troop of baboons, comprising adults and infants, scattered across the road.  I had seen some baboons in the wild earlier on the trip, and also read about the damage caused by one in a village soon after our arrival in Zimbabwe.  They possess an impressive and intimidating set of teeth, which they tend to bare when angry.

I briefly considered turning back, but decided that, living in the area, they were probably comfortable with humans, so continued on.  They stopped their foraging to watch my approach, and I began to regret my decision to proceed, reinforced when some of the adults began snarling at me.  Bluff seemed to be the best option, so I choose a route through the troop that didn't go too close to any individual baboon and ran through, ready to start snarling and lashing out myself if necessary.  They continued snarling, but didn't make any moves towards (or away) from me.  I kept running, held my breath, and soon they were behind me and foraging again.

A lion in Hwange National Park

The same trip to Zimbabwe yielded some other memorable wildlife encounters and non-encounters.  Just a few days before the baboon scare, my friend, Keith, and then wife, Barb, and I had gone for an evening run along a foot-trail through jungle bordering the Zambesi River, upstream from the Victoria Falls.  Keith had warned us the river was inhabited by crocodiles and that someone's pet dog had been taken by a crocodile the previous year from the very path we were running along.  Our senses were heightened throughout what was a spectacular sunset jungle run, but we all jumped every time we startled something in the undergrowth or heard a splash in the river.  The biggest jump came, however, when Keith yelled loudly as bat flew out of the gloom and into the side of his head.

Earlier during the same trip, we stayed in a small compound in the Hwange National Park, protected from the wildlife by a high surrounding fence.  It was not safe to run in the Park outside of the compound because of dangerous wildlife, and particularly the lions which had been sighted nearby.  One day, Keith and I were keen to go for a run, so drove from the compound to the Park entrance and ran a somewhat boring out-and-back 10 miles along a road bordering the Park.  Keith pointed out that there was no fence around the outside of the Park and therefore absolutely nothing to stop the wildlife from venturing on to the road where we were running.  In fact, we had seen some wild elephants nearby.  As Keith said, if a lion spotted us, one of us was dead (and he was fitter and faster than me at the time).  Nothing happened.

Yellowstone

A hiker on the Howard Eaton Trail in Yellowstone
National Park, Wyoming, USA

Whenever I see anything about Yellowstone National Park on the television, or discuss the animal perils of trail-running, I think back to a run I did in the famed Park in the early 1990s.  It's a run that doesn't reflect that well on me, I'm afraid.

We were on a multi-week camping trip with another young Australian family from St Louis, where we were living at the time, and had driven our small Recreation Vehicles (RVs) across the mid-west to Yellowstone.  Andrew, the father in the other family, was an enthusiastic, if occasional, runner and was keen to join me on some of the runs I planned during the trip.  As usual, I spent a lot of time scanning maps looking for interesting places to run, and had spied the Howard Eaton Trail that ran from near our campground at the Canyon Village to a place called Fishing Bridge.  There was a picnic area at the latter and we arranged for our families to drive there and meet us for lunch.  The total running distance was going to be about 25km, which was going to be a challenge for Andrew. 

The Howard Eaton Trail route in Yellowstone
National Park

The trail followed the valley of the Yellowstone River so wasn't particularly difficult, but it did pass through known habitats of grizzly bears and bison.  While I don't go looking for trouble, I'm willing to take calculated risks if I deem the rewards worthwhile, and am fatalistic about the outcome if the worst happens.  We had seen bison roaming in our campsites, and though of intimidating size and appearance, they didn't seem to be particularly aggressive.  We had also seen a grizzly from the road, and they are of even more intimidating size and appearance.  We were caught in a "bear jam" at the time and it was amusing to watch all of the mothers suddenly hustling their children back into their cars when the grizzly we had all got out to observe and photograph turned in our direction.

A bison in Yellowstone National Park

The early kilometres of our run to the trailhead from the campground and along the trail were easy going and we ran at a good pace.  As we got further into the run, our trail crossed a pasture where we could see a herd of bison grazing.  The nearer we got, the more they began to pay attention to us, until they were all quietly watching our approach.  One, in particular, had our attention as it was standing right on the trail.  Our distance closed to less than 100 metres and still the bison did not move.  I was in the lead and telling Andrew I was sure that the bison was playing a game of bluff and would get off the trail (the only alternative seemed to be retracing our steps, and I wasn't keen to do that).  With less than 50 metres between us, the bison put his head down and started snorting and pawing the ground with his right foot, and I started to doubt the wisdom of trying to call his bluff.  I kept running and the distance closed to 25 metres.  Suddenly the bison snorted, lifted his head, and bolted away from the trail.  I think our collective exhaled breaths were nearly as loud as the bison's snort and we continued on powered by adrenalin.

A grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park

After about 15 kilometres, as we entered a dense pine forest, Andrew's pace flagged and I waited a number of times for him to catch up.  This caused him some embarrassment and he soon suggested I go on ahead.  I was selfishly frustrated at the pace and accepted his offer, taking off through the forest.  Of course, this was the area where we were most likely to meet a grizzly, and any such meeting was likely to end badly.  After a short while, feeling very alone and with all my senses on high alert, I began to wonder whether we might have been wiser to stick together in case of an ursine encounter, but I was reluctant to stop running and kept going.  About 30 minutes later I emerged from the forest and met our families in the picnic ground as planned.  Another 30 minutes passed, still no Andrew, and I started to feel guilty.  After another 15 minutes, visions of a grizzly munching on Andrew began to take shape in our minds.  The guilt finally got to me and I started jogging back along the trail, but had only gone a short distance before meeting Andrew, still happily all in one piece, but exhausted.  He had barely run at all after I left him and the last 10km had taken well over two hours.

My run today was a flat and slow 7km across the sandbar, through McMasters Beach, and return.  I tried some new shoes, but my right Achilles was still sore and my right knee needed nursing the whole way.  However, I didn't force the pace and tried to enjoy the beautiful warm and sunny morning, telling myself that I was lucky to be running at all.

Reptilian encounters

Eastern Tiger snake

The warmer weather in the last month has encouraged the emergence of reptiles in the Australian bush, and there have been a number of sightings by runners along the local trails.  I have never heard of a runner being bitten by a snake, but no doubt the risk exists.

In the 1980s, my then wife and I owned a weekend shack at a place called Labertouche in the foothills of the mountains about an hour's drive east of Melbourne.  The shack could sleep a dozen people or more, in somewhat rustic conditions, and proved to be a great place for serious running training along the nearby fire-trails for us and our friends.  For some reason, in the earlier years of our ownership, there seemed to be a boom in the local snake population and almost every run of an hour or more involved at least one snake encounter, with the most common type being the Tiger snake, known for its aggressive nature.  The snake-spotting instincts I developed have stayed with me and I still analyse all sticks on the trail in front of me for the tell-tale signature of a snake in repose.  For those snake-abundant years, even at the height of summer when I would usually run topless, I always wore very thick long socks to just below my knees to reduce the chances of a successful envenomation, and carried a compressive "snake" bandage in case the worst happened.

Australian goanna

Despite encountering many snakes while running over the years, I have only once been close to a bite and that was when a small group of us, distracted by conversation, ran over a Tiger snake sunning itself on a fire-trail.  The first couple of runners frightened the snake which then reared up and lashed out in different directions as it sought to protect itself and find an escape route.  There were panicked runners leaping and yelling in all directions until the snake made good it's escape into the nearby undergrowth.

Another reptile frequently encountered in the Australian bush which can be scary, but not particularly dangerous, is the goanna.  It can grow up to two metres in length, possesses a nasty looking mouth and claws, and has the unnerving habit of crashing through the undergrowth and rapidly ascending trees when alarmed.  On one occasion, also when running from Labertouche, the fright we received when a startled large goanna raced up a tree was compounded when it lost its grip and crashed the ground just in front of us.  More leaping and yelling runners.

No training for me today; not even a walk.  My knee was quite sore all night and still painful this morning, though not as bad as yesterday.  The tell-tale test for recovery will be the ability to kneel down and then sit back on my haunches.  With this injury, the pain behind the right knee makes sitting back impossible at present.  If I'm lucky, the pain will abate sufficiently in the next few days to allow me to resume jogging.  Unfortunately, I may have to remove the heel raises protecting the sore right Achilles to give the knee more stability.  Everything's connected to everything else.

Canine challenges

I'm occasionally bailed up by dogs when running from Copa
to McMasters across the green-marked sand bar.

After walking for 4km this morning, I finished off with a kilometre of slow jogging.  There remains some weakness and tenderness in the arch but the new insoles seem to provide sufficient support to avoid aggravating the injury.  I was not confident about trying to run, but it seemed to go OK and I might try a similar work-out tomorrow.

As often happens on my walks and runs on the Central Coast, I encountered people out walking their dogs.  We never had pets when I was a child, apart from the odd canary and hamster, and I never developed an affection for dogs.  At best, I tolerate them, and when running, I don't like them.

Until recently, I had never been bitten by a dog while out running, but have had numerous unpleasant encounters over the years.  The first instance I can recall of actual physical harm was when out running in the late 1970s with a small group of friends from my home in the inner Melbourne suburbs.  We were running across a park at twilight when I was brought down by a dog careering into my legs from behind without warning of any kind.  I remember hitting the ground hard, sustaining some minor cuts, abrasions and bruises, and banging one knee quite hard.  The owner was very apologetic, but this has not always been the case.

Occasionally, when running across the sandbar between Copa and nearby McMasters Beach, I have been bailed up, pawed and slobbered on by dogs.  It is an "Off Leash Area", but dogs are still supposed to be under their owner's control.  I find it very annoying to be told that it wouldn't happen if I hadn't been running, and have had a few short arguments on the subject with the offending dog's owner.  My usual response is that, if it happens again, I'll be reporting them to the Council, but without the means of identifying accurately the dog or the owner, that's unlikely to happen (and they know it).  In these cases, which have happened in plenty of other places during my running career, I know the dog is usually just being over-exuberant, but that doesn't excuse the dog's owner's lack of control, which is interfering with my activity.

I stayed away from the Beatties Road access to Kincumber
Mountain for five years after being challenged by savage dogs.

Encounters with malicious and/or territorial dogs obviously carry more risk.  One of my good running friends, Keith, and his wife, accepted assignments as teachers in the newly independent Zimbabwe in 1983.  Keith was a very handy runner and tells the story of being the only white runner in the leading bunch of a 10-mile road race through the streets of Harare.  White residents tended to keep guard dogs on their properties that were very antagonistic towards black Africans, and when a couple of these managed to escape their compound as the runners passed by, Keith suddenly found himself in the lead on his own as his fellow competitors scattered.  A couple of them rejoined him in the lead a kilometre or two later, but the others were not seen again.  The corollary of this story is that when we visited Keith and his wife in Zimbabwe in 1985, I joined Keith for a run with some of the students from the poor black school where he taught.  He often paid them a small sum as encouragement to run with him after school, and some of them even ran in their school uniforms ("At least take your tie off!").  Our route took us through the poor African village where most of them lived and the sight of us running generated shouts of delight ("white man running" in the local language) from the village kids as well as unwanted attention from the village dogs who left the black kids alone while defending their turf against the white intruders.

Both towns I lived in while working in the US did not allow fences around houses but required dogs to be restrained or invisible fences (buried boundary wires that generate a radio signal that triggers deterrent unpleasant electric shocks in the receivers on the dogs' collars) installed.  I could never quite get over the expectation that one day, one of the dogs I often saw hurtling towards me across the lawns of a house I was running past was going to burst through the invisible fence and get me.  Apparently it can happen, but it never did to me.

If I am bailed up by dog with malicious intent while out running, I usually do a fair bit of yelling, pick up a stick or stone and act in a threatening manner while slowly moving away.  So far I haven't been bitten in such a situation, but have had some very scary encounters.  Some were so worrying that I have avoided those roads in future.  Locally, there is a nice run up onto the scenic trails of Kincumber Mountain that I didn't use for more than five years after being confronted by two large savage dogs on one occasion.  An old running friend, JB, had mastered the art of letting savage dogs get close to him and then giving them a swift kick under the chin.  I have never been quite brave or confident enough to employ this method.



Blue Heelers are also good at rounding up runners.

In recent times, I have become more cautious around dogs on a lead.  A year ago, as I skirted around a lady walking a large dog in the same direction I was running, it suddenly turned around and launched itself at my throat.  I managed to get my forearm up quickly enough to protect my throat but was knocked sprawling on to the road with scratches on my chest from its front paws.  The owner reacted quickly enough to drag the dog away before it got to me while I was lying on the road, but it was a frightening experience.  Of course, the owner was apologetic and insisted that it had never done anything like that before.  The same excuse was proffered six months later by another owner when their small dog, being walked on a lead, suddenly jumped up and sank its fangs into my thigh as I walked past, drawing blood.  Nowadays, I try and stay out of leash range when passing dogs.

On a lighter dog-related note, another old running friend, Pratty, used to bring his Blue Heeler cattle dog, Bung, with us on some of our long runs.  The dog, which always got very excited when Pratty put on his running shoes, would spend the whole run rounding us up, making sure nobody got ahead, dropped off, or strayed laterally.  It constantly got under our feet and how it did not get run over by a passing car is beyond me.  It is a testament to the strength of our friendship with Pratty that we ever tolerated Bung on our runs.  Ironically, later in life, Bung used to run away whimpering and hide whenever he saw Pratty put on his running shoes.

A road rage story

No training today, just an easy 4-5km walk favouring my right arch.  So long as I walk on the outside of the foot, there is not significant pain.  The sore right arch does feel a bit better, so the plan not to run, but walk, for the rest of the week still seems viable.

Since there's not much running to discuss today, I thought I would relate another anecdote from my long running career.  It relates to road rage, and if there's any moral to the tale, it's probably to avoid it if possible.

Back in the 70s, I sometimes did my long runs with a friend from the running club I will call Harry.  I can't remember what Harry's best marathon time was, but I think it was around 2:40.  He was small and stocky, and not really built for running, but he trained hard and was quite obsessive about sport, running in particular.



Bridge Road, Richmond, these days.  Not much
changed in 40 years.

We both worked around the Melbourne CBD and commuted by running to and from our offices.  Occasionally, after work, we met up for a run of about 32km, finishing at my house.  I would then drive Harry home.  One twilight, we were about 25km into our run, travelling on the left-hand footpath of a main road, when a car travelling in the same direction turned left into a minor street right in front of us, causing us to pull up sharply.  Road law said that, when turning left or right, a driver had to give way to pedestrians.  I tended to get annoyed when drivers cut me off in this fashion and had adopted the custom, learned from another running friend, of giving the offending vehicle's boot (trunk) a bang with my palm as it passed in front of me.  This didn't cause any damage, but sounded very loud inside the vehicle.

That's what I did on this occasion, before Harry and I continued on.  However, the unhappy driver made a U-turn and followed us for the next 5km, stopping periodically to remonstrate with us.  He didn't try to physically stop or harm us, and each time we encountered him we just gave him a wide berth and continued on.  Harry was enormously impressed with the impact of my action on the driver, and filed the technique away for future use.

About a year later, he was running home along Bridge Road through the Richmond shopping strip when a tradesman's vehicle exiting a narrow side street from the left blocked his path.  Harry banged a panel on the side of the vehicle and began running round its rear.  Unexpectedly, the tradesman quickly jumped out of his vehicle, ran around the front, grabbed hold of Harry, and began roughing him up.

Suddenly, yells were heard from shoppers and the tradesman turned to see his vehicle rolling slowly across busy Bridge Road.  In his haste, he had not applied the hand brake.  He released Harry and raced back to his vehicle but was unable to stop it from mounting the opposite kerb and rolling into the front of a florists shop.

Harry seized his opportunity to escape at speed up Bridge Road and never again ran home via that route.

Unexpected hazards

I stuck to my decision of yesterday and did not go for a run, or even a walk, today.  The pain in my arch is minimal walking around the house, so I'm hopeful that after another day off tomorrow, the pain will no longer be an issue.

With no training to report on today, I thought I would include a copy of an article I wrote for my Kew Camberwell District AAC's July 1981 newsletter about an incident in a race earlier that year.

______________________________________________________

IT'S NOT ALL BEER AND SKITTLES UP THE FRONT

The gun fired (Fred's whistle blew) for the start of the annual Victorian Marathon Club Tullamarine Half Marathon on 2 May 1981 and the field settled into the traditional bunch to fight the gale-force headwind. The pace was extremely slow, but like half a dozen others, I was more than happy to let a "bigger bloke" bear the brunt of the conditions. The course consists of two equal laps with three-quarters of each lap passing through windswept rural land and the remainder through suburban Tullamarine. Initially you head north into the country and I waited until we turned south out of the wind before making my move to the front. By the time I had covered five miles, I was into the suburbs again with a lead of some two minutes.



On my way to 2nd Place (2:31) in the 1976 Victorian
Marathon Club Marathon Championship.

As I ran along the left-hand side of the broad suburban road (as instructed by Fred) I was contemplating the hazards of starting too fast when another hazard drew itself to my attention. The extremely loud screech of brakes and tyres immediately behind caused me to simultaneously break the Club high and long jump records (not to mention heart rate). I landed in a quivering heap on the grass verge and looked back to see that a bright red panel van complete with wide wheels and chrome trim had stopped about two metres behind where I had been at "lift off". Inside were two lads having a good laugh at a joke I failed to see. We exchanged a few pleasantries, which did little to dissipate my fear-turned-to-fury, and I looked for a more tangible means of expressing my disapproval. My gaze fell on a small stone in the grass and picking it up I took hurried aim (I was now running again) at the open passenger window. Alas! I missed and hit the bright red duco on the door. This was a joke the lads failed to see. The van was quickly in pursuit and pulled into the curb a few metres in front of me. The driver and passenger started to get out but were too late and I was past. The driver's IQ was not as bright as his duco and he tried the same thing again only to miss me by a wide margin. At this point he must have been hit by a flash of inspiration because he drove to a point one hundred metres in front of me this time before stopping.

I unleashed my finishing burst eleven kilometres early and rapidly closed on the rear of the van as the driver struggled for traction on the road attempting to round the front of his vehicle. He was wearing football boots and they were slipping on the bitumen! The passenger was also getting out and I really put my head down. The driver reached the grass verge and accelerated rapidly but not quite quickly enough and I just managed to evade his outstretched hands. My nascent sense of victory was aborted by the sight of another van stopping further up the road. Two large fellows got out, and with arms spread-eagled, blocked the path in front of me. The footballer was still hot on my heels and I had visions of the rest of the field seizing their opportunity to overtake while I was pummelled to a pulp on the footpath. On my left was a metre high school fence. Just as I was about to vault it and head for Mildura, the fellows in front yelled to my pursuers to leave me alone and moved apart to let me through. They then jumped on the footballer and I never looked back. However, I did run on the right-hand side of the road for the remainder of the race (despite Fred's remonstrations) figuring that if the lads wanted to run over me from behind they would at least have to drive on the wrong side of the road to do it.

[Footnote:  I finished 1st in 68:16]