Chorleywood

Chess Valley, England.

For two short years in the early 1990s, I lived in Chorleywood, a village in the Chiltern Hills north-west of London.  The reason I say "short" is that it remains the best place I have ever lived for interesting running courses, and I would have enjoyed living there for much longer.  There was no limit to the number of public footpaths, public bridleways and country lanes that could be cobbled together to make a course of any length, many of which avoided any significant road travel at all.  An added bonus were the tiny villages, hedgerows, country churches, historic mansions, fairy tale woods and rolling fields that made up the Chiltern landscape.  For those unfamiliar with English public footpaths and bridleways, they are historic rights of way, often crossing fields or passing through farmyards, that crisscross the English countryside.  Most are very runnable, though the less frequently used can become overgrown with weeds and nettles.

Chess Valley watercress beds.

It was easy to come up with a different and interesting course for every morning of the week, and despite my relatively short life there, the memories still live large.  All the morning "garbage" runs were good, but if I had to choose a favourite, it would be a regular 13km which captured all of the best local elements.

Starting from home in the village, the route ran along a lane and a couple of back streets before turning onto a farm road and passing by some stables.  From there it crossed the dark Carpenter Wood, with its leaf-littered undulating floor, and under the rail line to London through an old brick arch.  Much of today's Chorleywood village was built by the owners of the railway as a means of encouraging population growth and consequently commuters, though signs of settlement date back to the Paleolithic era.

Chorleywood Common.

The route then travelled along a bridleway which could get muddy after rain, before crossing a road and skirting the historic village of Chenies with its Manor House.  From there it followed a bridleway overlooking the Chess River Valley then descended through West Wood and over a field to cross the river beneath

historic Latimer House.  The next five kilometres followed the river downstream on beautiful and well-travelled public footpaths, through green pastures and passing a water cress farm before crossing the crystal clear river again on a small footbridge and climbing out of the valley through woods and parklands.

Chorleywood Common.

After crossing a busy road, it traversed the superb Chorleywood Common, to reach the village and a solid climb along Shire Lane to home, completing a run that changed with the seasons, and I never tired of doing.  One of the things on my bucket list is to go back and spend a few months, or longer, staying somewhere in Chorleywood, running and walking through the surrounding countryside, and making the easy commute into London to enjoy its attractions.

Today's exercise was the customary Friday golf game, and I was pleased to get around without any of the breathlessness and heart palpitations I experienced last Friday.  After the game, I visited the medical clinic to get my weekly blood coagulability tested, and the doctor checked my pulse.  She thought I was on some kind of medication, it was so slow, but seemed happy when I told her it was usually around 40bpm.  Her opinion was that I could exercise so long as I didn't get my heart rate near maximum, but I'll stick to my plan of only walking until the end of next week.

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.

Nelse-Bogong Loop

Bogong High Plains near Mount Nelse.

In December 2011, I decided to stop off for a few days on the Bogong High Plains on my way back from Melbourne to Copa after visiting relatives.  I booked a small apartment for my stay with the intention of getting in a few long runs at altitude on the High Plains as part of my preparation for the Bogong to Hotham 64km the following month.  I was coming back from injury and felt some long runs would build my stamina and confidence.

For the biggest long run, I mapped out a 50+ kilometre loop that incorporated part of the course of the upcoming race and set out at 7:00am on a cool sunny morning from near the Rocky Valley Storage Dam.  The half-way point was to be the summit of Mount Bogong (1986m), and although the last half of the course was along familiar trail, the first half of the loop wasn't, and I was excited about running some new trail.  I headed north towards the barren Mount Nelse for the first 8km which climbed gradually away from the Dam on easy running fire-trail.

Mount Bogong from Grey Hills.

I expected the run would take me seven to eight hours and I was wearing a Camelbak containing a couple of Snickers Bars, a map, my phone, a rain-jacket and a cup for getting water out of streams to drink.  Before leaving my apartment I had a slice of toast and jam and figured that the Snickers Bars would be sufficient nutrition for the time I would be out.

At Warby Corner, near Mount Nelse, I turned left onto the Spion Kopje track which followed a high spur westwards with expansive views north and south of fog-shrouded valleys in very still conditions.  I was fresh, the running was easy, and not a soul was in sight.  I felt privileged to have the place to myself, and lucky to be fit enough to do the run.

Quartz Ridge from Mount Bogong.

Things started to change after 5km when I turned north along the much harder to follow Grey Hills Track which followed a scrub covered spur over a series of knolls.  In many places the wiry scratching scrub obscured the track and the going was slow with the occasional short climbs sapping my energy in the thinner air.  The views were still good, but a lot of my time was devoted to watching where my feet were going, especially near the end of the track which descended steeply to Bogong Creek Saddle.  After a brief section of firetrail, I began the steady ascent of the Quartz Ridge Trail towards the summit of Bogong and the half-way point.

Around this time, the sky clouded over and the weather began to look more ominous, a common pattern in the high country.  It was also around this time that my lack of fitness and the harder work along the Grey Hills Track began to kick in, and I found myself walking the steeper sections.  As the trail approached the Hooker Plateau, near Bogong, it passed along an exposed ridge near Quartz Knob with sheer drops to the west.  It was quite runnable but the trail wasn't always obvious and a few times I just headed cross-country in what I surmised to be the correct direction until I again picked up the trail.

At the summit of Mount Bogong (1986m).

At the summit of Mount Bogong, rain seemed imminent and the wind was picking up, so I didn't stay long before heading south-east along the bare ridge to Cleve Cole Hut and some more sheltered trail.  It soon began to rain steadily and I donned my rain-jacket, starting to feel a little cold.  The rain continued on the long technical descent to Big River through the mountain forest.  This is a beautiful section of trail and the rain just made it more atmospheric.  There's nothing quite like running or hiking through rain in an Australian eucalypt forest.  Despite now being way behind schedule, I was still enjoying myself and stopped to get a drink from a small stream just after crossing the raging Big River, hanging onto the wire safety cable.

Roper Hut.

I knew the long climb up Duane Spur would be tough - it always is in the Bogong to Hotham race - and it did not disappoint.  I was soon walking and starting to feel very hollow.  My Snickers Bars were long gone and I had had nothing else to eat for eight hours.  Half way up the climb I began to feel light-headed and could feel myself bonking.  Fantasising about Mars Bars is always a sure sign I have exhausted my glycogen energy supplies and am starting to slowly burn fats, and I was ravenous for a Mars Bar.  I started to doubt my ability to finish inside of twelve hours, thinking I would have to walk all the way back to the car, when the trail passed near Roper Hut.

From experience, I knew that hikers sometimes left unused food in mountain huts and I wasn't disappointed, though the choice was limited.  There was a glass container containing a small amount of sultanas and nuts of uncertain age, and several small sealed sachets of dried apple, something I had never previously tried.  I started eating the sultanas and nuts, which definitely tasted very old, wondering what kinds of unseen fungus they might contain and what would be the health consequences.  After a few more, I decided I would be safer with the dried apple and left with the sachets.  They weren't very big and didn't last long, but I could feel my energy levels lifting and resumed running the level sections of trail with about 10km to go.  Before long, I was wishing I had taken all of the sultanas and nuts to eat, but was saved by the gradual downhill run after Mount Nelse and finished back at my car eleven hours after I had started.  I'm sure I could run this course a lot faster if fully fit and maybe a bit more nutrition en route, but it was satisfying nevertheless, and the completion of such runs often gives my training program a kick start.

I only managed a 4km walk this morning because of time constraints, but did it comfortably.

Chilkoot Trail

Prospective miners ascend to the Chilkoot Pass during
the Klondike Gold Rush.

Apart from its health benefits, running has often helped me do things more quickly and efficiently.  I have talked about its use for commuting (see post titled Commuting), and running is a great way to journey through remote areas, but it's also been useful in facilitating one-way hiking trips in remote country.

Old boiler on the Chilkoot Trail.

In July of 1985, my then wife, Barb, and I were touring Canada and Alaska by campervan when we decided we would like to hike the famous Chilkoot Trail.  The Trail was the major access route from the sea at Dyea, near Skagway, to the Yukon goldfields during the 1890s Klondike Gold Rush.  The 33 miles of the Trail was only the start of the miners' journey to Dawson City.  It got them to the headwaters of the Yukon River where they then bought or built boats to float the remaining 560 miles downstream.  The Trail started in the US, but crossed into Canada at Chilkoot Pass (3075ft) where Canadian Mounties enforced a requirement that each miner have one ton of supplies with them (calculated to last a year).  This requirement meant that miners had to move their huge loads forward along the Trail in stages, and thriving camps grew up along the way, and much rubbish was discarded.

Chilkoot Trail.

These days, the Trail passes many rusting artifacts from those days and the abandoned locations of the towns and camps that sprouted during that time.  From the northern end of the Trail at Lindeman Lake, it is possible to hike a further 5 miles following a disused rail line to the nearest road access, the Klondike Highway.  We decided to take two days to hike the Trail and allocate half a day at the beginning and end to get to and from Skagway.

Near Chilkoot Pass.

The night before we started we camped at the trailhead in Dyea and in the morning unloaded our hiking gear before I drove our campervan back into Skagway where a kindly National Parks ranger had suggested we park it outside his house for safety.  I then ran the 9 miles back to Dyea along a road that followed the contours around forested hills overlooking the headwaters of Chilkoot Inlet.  On arrival at Dyea, we set out on our 48-hour hike which followed the very interesting Trail and included deep snow, occasional drizzle, thick fog and very cold weather.  We were glad we weren't carrying a ton of supplies each and had great admiration for the endurance of the miners.

Our hiking journey finished 38 miles later on the Klondike Highway, 28 miles north of Skagway, at 1:00pm on the third day.  We were both very tired and cold, and decided to try hitch-hiking back to Skagway, but gave up after an hour.  Plan B was that I run back to Skagway to retrieve the campervan.  The notes from our diary record that I donned "long thermal underwear, shorts, two extra tops, balaclava, gloves, passport, credit cards, money and car keys" before setting off southwards in the bitter cold.

White Pass.

The first miles were relatively flat, but very exposed, skirting several lakes beneath snow-covered peaks, before climbing a little to White Pass which marked the border between Canada and the US.  I stopped in at the very quiet border post to show my passport on a grey overcast afternoon to a US border guard who showed not the slightest interest in my strange garb or my lack transport, before beginning the steady descent towards Skagway.  Despite the greater protection provided by the thickening forest and deep valleys, and the slightly warmer conditions, I became very tired and was totally exhausted by the time I reached our van around 6:00pm.  I drove back to get Barb, picking her up about 7:00pm, and we continued onto the town of Whitehorse where we camped later that night.  Those three days of adventure still live large in my memory.

I walked 14km this morning through forests, exploring trails in the McMasters Firetrail area, in warm and sunny conditions.  I was a little breathless near the top of some of the longer climbs, but not too bad and enjoyed getting a bit hot and sweaty for a change.

JFK 50 Mile

Running the Appalachian Trail section of
the 2000 JFK 50 Mile.

I've never counted how many races I have run, but I'm sure it would be a four-figure number.  Some of those races stay in your memory for one reason or another.  One favourite, which I have only managed to run twice, is the JFK 50 Mile held each November in Maryland, USA, about an hour's drive north-west of Washington DC.

The race has an interesting history. In 1963, President John F Kennedy launched a national fitness drive that included a challenge to the nation's military officers to meet the standard set by Teddy Roosevelt in the early 20th Century of being able to cover 50 miles in 20 hours on foot.  Others were keen to test themselves against that standard and a number of 50 Mile races were organised around the US in that year.  Sadly, Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963, and the Maryland race changed its name from the JFK 50 Mile Challenge to the JFK 50 Mile Memorial in 1964 and has been run every year since.  It is the only surviving 50 Mile race from that time.

Looking over the Potomac near where the JFK 50 Mile
descends to the river.

Being so close to Washington DC and many US military bases, and with its military-related origins, the field always includes many service personnel, giving it another dimension.  For a long time it was the largest ultra race in the US, averaging around 1,000 finishers in the last decade or so.

The C&O Canal towpath.

Apart from my passion for trail ultra-running, the race appealed to me because a section was run along the famous 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail that I had hiked a decade earlier.  Being just half a day's drive from where I was living in Connecticut at the time was an added bonus.

The race is actually a varied mixture of terrain and surfaces.  It starts with a run down the main street of the small town of Boonsboro before climbing 1,172ft on mostly sealed road for the first 5.5 miles.  The field spreads out quite quickly.  The next 10 miles follows the lovely Appalachian Trail, paved with autumn leaves, southwards along a timbered ridge before descending 1,000ft to the C&O Canal towpath which follows the Potomac River upstream.  If you are going well, as I was in 1999, the first year I ran the race (64th, 8:02:17), the marathon-length dead flat towpath is an opportunity to gain time and places.  The second time I ran, in 2000 (118th, 8:48:47), the towpath stretch seemed demoralisingly endless.

The Potomac River along the JFK 50 Mile course.

After the towpath, there's an undulating 8.5 mile run through rural countryside, which can also be a tough stretch if you are running badly, to the finish in Williamsport.  The community support for the race, and the size of the field, along with the military dimension, help make it a special and memorable race, and I hope to do it again one day.

For my exercise today, I played my usual Friday morning 9 holes of golf.  Later, I was pleased to get a call from the Cardiologist's rooms offering me an appointment next week, three weeks earlier than scheduled.  I think I have the Respiratory Specialist I saw on Wednesday to thank for that, and am looking forward to finding what can be done about my heart arrhythmia, and when I can start running again.

The Warrumbungles

The Breadknife.

A favourite Australian running destination of mine, which I don't get to visit often enough, is the Warrumbungle National Park in central New South Wales.  It's a long way from anywhere, which explains the paucity of visits, but it has excellent hiking (running) trails and wonderful camping.  In the 1970s and 1980s, we spent a number of vacations there, often with friends.  There would usually be a morning run and an evening run, with the day filled with hiking, reading, volleyball and cricket games, and the evenings devoted to board and card games around the campfire.

Belougery Spire.

In any stay, my favourite run was a 23km loop that incorporated some of the Park's main hiking trails and scenic highlights.  From the campground, the first few kilometres followed Wambelong Creek across the open grassy valley floor and past small groups of kangaroos, before crossing the main road and climbing to join one of the Park's main hiking routes, the Pincham Trail.  The Trail then followed the small babbling Spirey Creek upstream towards the mountains through the shady dry eucalypt forest for about 3km before leaving the Creek and ascending more steeply, including some steps, to the Warrumbungles signature landmark, the Breadknife, a thin slice of towering rock, and the High Tops, where the vegetation is occasionally more heath-like.

Our group camping in the Warrumbungles in May 1978.

The views are spectacular from the High Tops and sometimes we could hear and see roped-together rock climbers slowly ascending the sheer Belougery Spire across the narrow deep valley to the east.  As the trail continued westwards, generally following the ridge to the Western High Tops, there were more views, sometimes taking in the distant flat grazing lands of the Western NSW plains.

After 15km, the running route joined the Burbie Firetrail which it followed downhill through the dry eucalypt forest, occasionally steeply, back to the valley floor and an easy run back to the campground along Park roads.

Post-run wash in the Warrumbungles in
May 1978.

It is not a particularly long run, but is technical in parts and has the steep and taxing main climb that make it a good work-out.  It's another of those runs which I used to fly along in my prime, but would now be happy to just jog around, stopping occasionally for the views.

No jogging for my exercise today, but I did manage another 10km walk, including some long hills, without any ill-effects.  I'm finding walking for two hours along well-known routes quite tedious, mentally, despite listening to the radio or podcasts as I go.  I would like to walk this far most days until I can jog again, to maintain leg and joint fitness and to raise my heart rate at least a little, but I'll probably alternate with shorter daily walks in the interests of having a sustainable regime.

Katahdin

Mt Katahdin

One of my favourite places in the world to run or hike is Mt Katahdin in Baxter State Park in Maine, USA.  My then wife, Barb, and I first visited the Park in 1985 when we were touring the US for a year.  It's worthy of a visit in its own right, but my interest had been piqued by a former work colleague's wife, a native of Boston, who had told me about the 3,500km Appalachian Trail which had its northern terminus on Mt Katahdin.

Moose

The place had an early impact on me.  While running from our campsite on the first morning, I encountered a moose.  Every visitor to Maine hopes for a moose sighting, but my first was completely unexpected and very exciting.  I was just cruising along a deserted park road through a conifer forest at the base of Katahdin when, in the misty early morning light, I saw what looked like a very tall man walking along the road towards me.  As I continued on, the shadowy figure got taller until I finally worked out that it was a moose strolling obliviously in my direction.  They're not generally dangerous, unless you hit them while driving (22 people killed in Maine in the last decade), but they are intimidatingly large, often reaching a height of more than 2.5 metres.  Finally, the moose woke up to my approaching presence and crashed off into the forest.

Reaching the top of Katahdin after 3,500km and
4 months of hiking in August 1986

Later that day we climbed the spectacular Mt Katahdin (1606m), a 17km strenuous round trip along the Hunt Trail.  It involved some taxing and scary boulder scrambling, and a very exposed plateau-like top, but the views from the peak of the isolated mountain were spectacular and rewarding.

Fifteen months later, I was back there again, completing my northbound Appalachian Trail hike (and spotting a few more moose on the way), but this time the views were limited and the weather deteriorating.  After four months of hiking it was, nevertheless, a profound moment in a spiritual place.

Looking down Hunt Trail on Mt Katahdin

Another thirteen years passed before I saw the top of Katahdin again, this time during a family camping trip to Maine while we were living in Connecticut and I was working in New York.  I managed to squeeze in a return run from our campsite to the peak before the day's activities, and enjoyed having the whole mountain to myself in the morning light.  Despite the steepness and difficulty of some sections, the return trip only took about 2.5 hours.  It brought back many memories, as I'm sure it will when I set out southwards from there this coming October (fingers crossed!).

I managed to comfortably walk 10km for exercise this morning, including some significant hills.  I felt good all the way and spent the last half rationalising a return to gentle jogging next week assuming my INR blood test shows my anti-coagulant levels are in range.

Fibrillation or flutter

Part of my walk around Copa today

I wasn't really anticipating any good news when I had a long consultation with my GP today, just a summary of the tests so far and referrals to some specialists.  If anything, I came away a little more positive.  She confirmed that all of the blood tests for more sinister underlying conditions had come back within normal range, and provided more detail on the cardiac tests and leg ultrasounds.

Apparently, the cardiologist diagnosed Atrial Flutter (AFl) rather than Atrial Fibrillation (A-fib) as being my heart condition, and according to the GP, this is the better diagnosis to have.  I gather A-fib is chaotic disorganised beating of the Atria while AFl is regular, but way too fast, beating of the Atria and may be a little easier to treat and sometimes stops of its own accord.

Looking north from Captain Cook Lookout
during today's walk

The leg ultrasound report found "some occlusive thrombus in one of the peroneal veins from 7cm below the knee crease to 20cm below".  The GP says her starting theory would be that the thrombosis in the leg has thrown off small clots that have impacted both my lungs (Pulmonary Embolism) and heart (AFl), but has referred me to a respiratory specialist and a cardiologist to try and confirm the diagnosis and prescribe treatment.  In the meantime, I continue with the Warfarin anti-coagulant.  The earliest specialist appointments are six weeks away, but I guess the fact that I'm not seen as an urgent case is a good sign.  It probably means, however, that my exercise is going to be limited to walking until at least the end of February and any prospect of returning to serious marathon training in time for the Gold Coast Marathon in July is remote.

Looking south from Captain Cook Lookout during
today's walk

I won't abandon the marathon goal until I speak with the specialists, and dearly want to resume regular running.  However, I am already mentally more focussed on the need to be fit for my next planned adventure, a 3500km southbound hike along the Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia in the eastern US starting in Autumn (October) and finishing in the Spring (March).  I know there is a possibility that this too could be scuppered by my current health problems, but I'm trying to be optimistic.

I walked about 8km today, not particularly quickly, and felt fine the whole way.  I gather that regular leg use is recommended in the treatment of Deep Vein Thrombosis, so being able to walk 8km without pain or other problems must be a good thing, I reckon.

New plan

After finishing a woeful 2004 Six Foot
Track Marathon (296th, 5:33)

Today has been another day for contemplating what next.  Do I still want to try and run a sub-3:00 marathon?  If so, what is a reasonable time frame for another attempt?  Do I want to keep writing a regular blog about running?  What of my other "bucket list" ambitions such as the Pacific Crest Trail and the Te Araroa Trail?

Also, it is now less than four weeks to the annual Great North Walk 100s (GNW100s), for which I am the Race Director, and most of my time in the next month will be devoted to preparation for that race.  I don't really want or need the pressure of keeping to a serious training program during this month when time will be frequently tight.

These are "First World Problems" of course, and I don't pretend otherwise.  Over the weekend, another good running friend from Terrigal Trotters was struck down with an unexpected and serious illness.  It looks like he will be OK, but it's a reminder to me to keep my issues in perspective.

Finishing the 1979 Canberra Marathon
(2nd, 2:23)

A tentative plan has evolved.  For the next six weeks, I will still run most days (and average about 100km per week), but won't train to a specific plan or for a specific race.  This will improve my fitness significantly, assuming I don't get injured, but will be without pressure.  I will not post any updates to this blog.  Apart from not having a "project" to write about, I will need the time for GNW100s preparation.

From the start of December, I will work to a training plan that prepares me for the Six Foot Track Marathon (45km trail race) on 8 March 2014 and the Canberra Marathon on 13 April 2014, with the goal of running a fast time in the latter.  I will resume posting to this blog at that time.

See you then.

Strategy

2013 started well with 18th place overall
(out of 309) in the Boney Mt Trail Half
Marathon, outside LA in the USA, on
7 January.

This morning, I ran an easy 10km from Terrigal in beautiful winter sunshine.  My right arch still hurts a little and my adductor was again a bit sore, but I'm optimistic that both are continuing to improve.

I've been reviewing my objective to run another sub-3:00 hour marathon, and how long such a quest should be pursued.  Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I still believe that, if things go well, I can do it.  On the other hand, I made three attempts over three years to break the record for the quickest circumnavigation of Australia by bike, solo and unsupported, and each failed for different reasons at about the half-way mark.  Even now, in my heart, I still believe I could achieve that feat if everything went my way, but accept that the risks are significant, and maybe I should leave it alone.

Running a sub-3:00 hour marathon at the age of 62 (or 63), is less risky and less challenging.  For example, in last month's Gold Coast Marathon, the 60-64 Age Group winner ran 2:46!  And, I only have to worry about my body, not road trains or bicycle mechanics.

An old friend, whose opinion I respect, recently told me that there was something a little sad about pursuit of these goals where the chance of success is small.  His view is that I should focus on my running longevity, since I enjoy the sport so much, and not increase the risk of injury by chasing likely futile objectives .  There's certainly some logic to that argument.  For whatever reason, I can't help trying to see how far or fast I can go; to find the edge of the "envelope".  Maybe it's a pursuit of celebrity, and I don't mind the limelight.  My brother says, that since childhood, I've had a "Look at me, look at me!" complex, and I can't deny it.

I accept that pursuing such goals may bring a career-ending injury closer.  However, I just wouldn't be happy if I wasn't running as much as I think my body can reasonably sustain.  That's what I've been doing most of the last 45 years, and its ingrained.  I also know from observation, that at my age (and younger), there are many other things that could unexpectedly bring my running career (and life) to an early halt, so why save myself.

Having said all of that, a sub-3:00 hour marathon is not my only mission in life.  Since retiring ten years ago, I have tried to have one big adventure each year, generally cycling or hiking.  If I haven't managed a sub-3:00 hour marathon by July next year, I will give up on the quest and get back to my usual adventures.  There are many things still on my bucket list.

I don't believe it's feasible to run marathons (and ultras) too frequently if you want to achieve your potential.  My rule of thumb is that such events should be three or four months apart, if you are focused on doing your absolute best.  With this in mind, I have ear-marked the Hobart Marathon (January), Canberra Marathon (April) and Gold Coast Marathon (July) as events I will train for specifically with the goal of a sub-3:00.  I still intend to run the Melbourne Marathon in October, but don't expect to be fit enough to run my best.  As soon as I get back into full training, hopefully, by the end of this month, I will work out a detailed training and race plan to target the Hobart Marathon in January 2014.

Downtime

Another quiet day on the exercise front.  I didn't even go for a walk after the morning track session at The Haven.  There are still occasional traces of pain in my right arch when I walk, but certainly not bad enough to prevent me running if I wanted too.  I just have to tell myself that these few days, and perhaps weeks, will pass quickly enough and I will be glad I didn't try and rush back too early.  That's the theory, anyway.



Three failed attempts to break the record for riding solo
and unsupported around Australia occupied injury time
(2007, 2008 and 2009).

When running plays as large a part in your life as it has in mine, the absence of running leaves a large void that is easily filled with self-pity and eating.  Back in my prime, when I was running 200+ kilometres a week, these voids were even larger and sometimes longer.  I soon learned that the best way of managing them was to fill the space with meaningful activity and see them as an opportunity.  If other activities I enjoyed were still possible, such as hiking, bike-riding or kayaking, then I would pursue those.  If I could give myself some kind of challenge, then even better.  When studying, it was a chance to complete assignments.  In a worst-case scenario, it might mean some long-delayed DIY work around the house or gardening.


I completed the 250km River Murray Red Cross
Canoe Marathon twice while unable to run (circa 1980).

This week, I have spent a lot of time on detailed planning for my next adventure (since retiring, I've tried to have at least one adventure each year).  Two options I'm considering involve hiking part, or all, of two famous long-distance trails.  One is the 3,000 kilometre Te Araroa Trail which runs the length of New Zealand and the other is the 4,200 kilometre Pacific Crest Trail which follows the crest of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade mountain ranges from Mexico to Canada in the western US .  Both are on my "bucket list".  However, before committing I want to have a good idea of the terrain, gear I will need, the distance between resupply options, likely weather, best timing, and so on.  I enjoy the research, and it gives me something positive to think about, and anticipate, at a time when frustrated by my inability to run.

Fourth of July adventure

Kids playing on Copa beach this morning.

My training for today was again another 6km walk around the hills of Copa, this time in warm and sunny conditions.  It was a beautiful day and holidaying kids were playing on a sand cliff on the beach.  My right arch was a little painful, but certainly tolerable, and it would be very tempting to resume running if I could be sure the pain wouldn't worsen.

Most years, when July 4th passes, I think back to the times I have been in the US on that date.  Usually, the day was marked with family picnics and fireworks on balmy evenings at the local high school, but one, in particular, sticks in my mind.

In the mid-1990s, on the July 4th weekend, my family was on its way back to St Louis, where we lived at the time, from a touring vacation in our small campervan through Utah and Colorado.  During the two-week trip, I had kept up my running and I persuaded my then wife to let me run a trail from the western side of the Great Divide to the eastern side in Rocky Mountains National Park while she drove our campervan round to meet me.



Flattop Mountain (at left) on a better day.

It had been a late winter and I was not sure which trails were open, so we called into the National Parks Kawuneeche Visitor Centre where I enquired, somewhat obliquely, about the trail from Green Mountain Trailhead across Flattop Mountain (12,324ft) to Bear Lake.  I did not let on that I was planning to run it, in case they prohibited me from doing so.  The ranger wasn’t much help and didn’t know what conditions were like, nor whether any rangers had hiked the trail yet this season.  Not a good start, but I was reluctant to scupper the idea as the opportunity might not arise again.

We drove to the Trailhead, where spice was added to the venture by the display of several posters listing details, including pictures, of hikers missing in the area I was about to enter.  I set off in shorts and a T-shirt with a rain-jacket tied around my waist and a map in my hand for the 16 mile run, which included 3,000ft of ascent and descent.  The weather was fine and the early running through pine forests, across alpine meadows and past cascading streams was magical.

After about five miles, I began to encounter some snow on the trail, although it was still quite runnable.  More worrying, though, were the ominous clouds gathering on the mountain ahead, accompanied by flashes of lightning and peals of thunder.  As I crossed Tonahutu Creek using a snowbridge, I saw two climbers, roped together and wearing all of the gear, descending the snowy slope ahead of me.  I waited for them to reach me and discussed the route of the unseen trail (hidden beneath the snow slope).  They had aborted their ascent of Flattop Mountain because of the thunderstorms forming on the upper slopes, but I felt committed to continue.  The climbers were not impressed, and one said he felt compelled to tell me that he considered me ill-equipped to proceed.  I thanked him for his input, put on my rain-jacket, for it was now getting quite cold, and headed off up the slope towards a gap in some trees ahead where I surmised the trail passed.  Where the climbers had been slowly post-holing down the slope in the deep snow because of the weight they were carrying, I was light enough not to break through the snow crust, and quickly ascended and crossed the snow slope.



My route across Flattop Mountain

Then began a steady ascent, above the tree-line, to the summit of the aptly-named Flattop Mountain.  Nearer the summit, the winds were fierce and visibility near zero in the heavy cloud and sleet.  It was impossible to see the trail, but fortunately there were stone cairns to follow across the plateau-like mountain top.  Sadly, it was not possible to see from one cairn to the next, so my pattern became to head off into the wind and fog in the direction I thought correct, but to return to the cairn after a hundred metres or so if I could not find the next cairn.  I would then set out in a slightly different direction and repeat the process until I did spy the next cairn.  I was bitterly cold and quite anxious, especially when a couple of my direction-finding runs found me at the edge of a seemingly bottomless precipice, but I remained methodical and careful, repeatedly telling myself that I was OK.  I was still capable of running and my brain was still working.

The three miles across the mountain top seemed to take forever, but actually took about an hour.  Finally, the trail began to descend and became easier to follow.  I was very cold and flew down the last four miles of steep switch-backing trail to Bear Lake in about 25 minutes, dreaming of some dry warm clothes and shelter.  Sadly, my wife’s journey with our two young kids in the under-powered campervan had been similarly epic.  Driving sleet and gale-force winds slowed all road traffic to a crawl and it took her five and a half hours to negotiate 45 miles of road in the appalling conditions with our young son asking whether “Daddy was going to die?”.

I ended up spending nearly two hours shivering in my shorts and rain-jacket in the car park, where there was no shelter, waiting for her arrival and wondering what had happened before she finally turned up and we were all happily reunited.

Shoes

Yesterday, I took delivery of some new Nike Pegasus shoes I had purchased online and christened one pair with a 6km walk around Copa this morning, including some steep hills and steps.

I wore the new shoes in the hope that their cushioning and arch support would be better than my current Pegasus shoes.  I could feel the arch support pressing on the painful area of my right foot, suggesting that it was, perhaps, offering more support than my older shoes.  Consciously walking on the outside of the foot almost eliminated the pain and I remain hopeful that I might be able to jog lightly, pain-free, on Sunday.

When runners consult me about injuries, I often suggest they try wearing different shoes to see if that makes a difference.  Even if they are the same brand, slight manufacturing variations and differing levels of wear can make a difference.  I have been wedded to Nike Pegasus and its forerunners for many years and am now reluctant to change brands for fear of creating new injuries.  However, I don't think there's anything special about them - it's more the devil you know versus the devil you don't.



Taking a break while hiking the Appalachian Trail in 1986

Like many runners who started in the 1960s and 1970s, some of my earliest shoes were cheap Korean and Japanese imports bought primarily because they were light and cheap.  Later I graduated to some of the early Tiger models which met the same criteria.  I think that, when you are young, your body is more adaptable and forgiving, so you can get away with less support and cushioning in your shoes.  Someone once told me that there are fat pads in our feet which provide cushioning and that these break down as you get older.  This is consistent with my own experience.  For instance, back in 1986, at the age of 35, I hiked the 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail up the east coast of the U.S., mostly in a pair of New Balance running shoes.  Despite carrying a pack that averaged 20 kilograms, I had few foot-related problems.  When I resumed my long-distance hiking career a few years ago, wearing running shoes, I experienced severe pain in the soles of my feet after a few days.  After switching to good quality hiking boots, offering support and cushioning, I have had no foot problems.

Although I favour Nike, I think that there are many excellent running shoes out there these days.  In my earlier career, apart from Tiger, I also wore Brooks, New Balance and Adidas for extended periods and found them all good.  Every individual is different, and every individual needs to experiment with different shoes until they find the brand and model that suits them best.  Sometimes, if injuries persist, orthotics might be needed.

Tactical modifications

Wednesday, 12 June 2013

I decided last night that I would be wiser to just run a “no pressure” 10km today and postpone the scheduled mid-week long run until tomorrow.  I do believe that the long runs are successfully converting me from a hiker to a runner and want to stick to my original plan, but I also want to have a faster run on Saturday morning at Trotters and can’t afford to leave the long run until too late in the week.  If I did that, then I would risk injury from running fast too soon after running long.



The main road into McMasters Beach.......
the only flat running nearby.

After spending time warming up with exercises and a few household chores, I set out around 9am for the flattest 10km available from Copa.  This involves crossing the sand bar at the mouth of the adjacent lagoon and running out and back along the main road into McMasters Beach.  There are still a few hills, and I generally avoid out-and-back courses if I can, but it’s the only option for an easier 10km from home.

I felt good in the early kilometres, moving more freely and with better running form than expected, and even contemplated converting the 10km run into a 30km run.  However, I decided to stick to the plan and later on felt a few twinges in my calf and back and some muscle fatigue in the legs, which confirmed the wisdom of my choice.

I finished in good form and decided, perversely, that I would be wiser to cut back tomorrow’s long run to 15km instead of 25-30km.  My thinking is that I have reached the point where my running form is good again, which was the purpose of the long runs, and now I would be smarter to ensure my full recovery from last Sunday’s marathon before embarking on my 17-week Melbourne Marathon program, starting this Sunday.

Joys of trail running

Sunday, 2 June 2013

In the last two years, I have organised occasional runs along the Great North Walk (GNW) for interested Terrigal Trotters members.  We hire a bus, charge a small fee, and drop runners at one point on the GNW and pick them up at another.  The runs vary in length between 25km and 40km and we provide some drinks and nibbles somewhere along the way and at the finish.  The runs have become quite popular with usually 20 to 40 people participating.

Today was the GNW run from Wakefield to Congewai, a distance of 40km, with a shorter 30km option.  I planned to do the 40km as the next in my program of a long run every three days with the goal of turning myself from a hiker into a runner.  Although yesterday’s run indicated to me that I was making progress, I still didn’t feel like a runner and my right Achilles tendon, and now my right groin, were giving me some trouble.  It may have been safer to have a rest day, but I enjoy the GNW runs for the camaraderie and bush experience, and with two easier training days coming up, I decided to take the chance and run.



Finishing the Wakefield to Congewai 40km Trotters Trail Run

It turned out to be a wet, cold and windy day and I hung back early and tried to run within myself while enjoying the company of some fellow runners for the early kilometres.  This section of the GNW is particularly tough and it took about 4 hours to cover the first 23km that included precipitous ascents and descents on slippery muddy trail through very dark and gloomy rainforest valleys.  I wasn’t going fast, but the climbs and dangerous footing gradually wore me down anyway.  Much of the last 17km was on a saturated and puddle-strewn fire trail along a high windswept ridge in steady rain and gale-force winds.  I was only wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and began to get very cold with an hour to go and was dreaming of dry clothes and a warm bus.  I stopped to put on the rain-jacket I was carrying and this took longer than it should because of the difficulty I had in using my fingers.  I was getting clumsy and I knew this was a bad sign in these conditions.  As is my habit in challenging conditions, I kept reminding myself that I was still moving at an acceptable pace and that my brain was functioning.

Eventually I reached the point where the trail becomes single-track and drops off the ridge down into the Congewai Valley where the bus was waiting 5km away.  I caught a couple of the club’s female members, also ready for the bus, but still in good cheer after having been lost for a while.

I knew I was a bit cold-affected when I took an inordinately long time to dry off and change into warmer clothes, and I was still shivering 30 minutes later.  However, I had completed the run as planned, and although both Achilles and groin were quite sore at times, was optimistic that there was no serious damage done.  One after effect of the run lingered through the night during which I woke numerous times with itchy, painful and swollen feet reacting to the number of leech bites I had sustained.  Leeches are an occupational hazard of runs in the Central Coast bush in, or soon after, wet weather, but I have never reacted as badly.  It’s uncomfortable, but only a superficial problem that does not prevent me training and will be gone in a few days (although I have known people to have leech bites develop into significant infection problems).

Terrigal Trotters

Saturday, 1 June 2013

I have come to love my Saturday morning runs with Terrigal Trotters.  There’s a lot to like about a Club that consistently draws more than 100 people down to the Terrigal beachfront for a 6:00am run every Saturday morning, rain hail or shine.  Saturday runs are recorded for each member and several have more than 1,000 to their credit.  I’m on the Club Committee and do a few volunteer jobs around the Club so still go down to Terrigal, even if I am injured, but it’s much more fun when I am fit and running well.  We have a variety of courses between 10 and 16 kilometres in length and most incorporate some killer hills and trail.  They start socially, and then get more serious for those of a competitive nature in the second half.  I enjoy the camaraderie and rivalry and savour the sometimes hard-fought runs back to the beach and finish.



Terrigal Trotters gather after a Saturday morning run

I believe that it’s important to have some fast “tempo” running as part of a training program and the Saturday morning runs with Trotters provide a weekly opportunity  for one.

However, for this morning’s run, I knew I would be foolhardy to get competitive, given my still tired and sore body.  So I hung back early, chatting to friends and waiting for my body to warm up and see how I was moving.  There were a few tough hills in the first four kilometres and I just jogged slowly up them, passing many of my fellow Trotters who tend to walk up the very steep hills.  As is usually the case, the hills warmed me up quickly and by the top of the first, I was getting into a comfortable running rhythm.  For the rest of the run, I concentrated on just running steadily without straining and fought off the temptation to chase some fellow runners I could see ahead, who I would usually expect to beat, and on whom I was gradually closing.  I could feel the competitive juices starting to flow, but restrained myself and finished the 13.5km run comfortably tired.  There were still a few niggles, but I feel like I am making progress on my plan to spend these three weeks turning myself back into a runner after three weeks of hiking.

Loosening up

Thursday, 30 May 2013

My right Achilles was sore from the moment I got up.  I hobbled around trying not to stress it while I got ready for the regular 6:00am Thursday track training session that I supervise at Terrigal Haven.  I use the word “supervise” somewhat loosely, because the sessions, which are attended by about ten of my Terrigal Trotters’ friends, would happen whether I was there or not.  I do map out a program tailored towards peaking for several major marathons, and I think everybody is happy to have someone else tell them what to do.  The sessions last about an hour and I don’t do much more than spell out what the session entails and offer encouragement and sometimes advice on injuries or to novices.  I enjoy the camaraderie and try to keep walking around to loosen up for my own run, which will follow.



Terrigal Haven, where the Thursday morning track
sessions occur.

The runners prefer to do the sessions on the grass rugby oval, even though it is very dark to start in winter, and some wear headlamps.  This morning, in addition to the marker cones I traditionally use to define the lap, I brought along some cheap LED lights ($1 per unit) I had purchased on eBay and put them out with the cones.  It worked well, I think.

The walking around while the runners ran their laps loosened my Achilles and when the session was over, I was ready to run.  After the runners left, I stripped off at my car and set off to run a 22.5km circuit as my day’s training.  My quads felt very tight and heavy right from the start and I resigned myself to a laborious two hours of running.  I tried not to push at all and, early on, worried about a few niggles, especially in my left hip that had been the site of some problems in the last two years.  My chronic right knee injury hurt, but I expected that and knew it would cope.  Thankfully, the shooting pain I briefly experienced climbing the stairs soon after rising this morning did not return.  So many things that can go wrong with a runner’s body, that I often wonder how (and why) we keep going.

I plodded along, negotiating the substantial hills en route, and just tried to ignore the muscle fatigue and stiffness.  It’s all about risk management, really.  It did feel risky setting out on a two-hour run when my muscles were so fatigued.  However, it is also true that just five days ago I had hiked nearly 50km in a day carrying a 20kg pack at the end of many days’ of hiking.  It seems reasonable, that so long as I run slowly, I should be able to manage 22km.

I finished in 2:06, which though slow, was faster than I had expected or felt like I was running.  I savoured my warm-down 15 minute walk around the perimeter of The Haven in the warming sunshine.  Injuries often show up one or two days later, so I can’t be sure whether my decision to run was wise.  For the moment, I’m still on track.