Tommy Hafey

In his 70s, Tommy Hafey was used to advertize Jeeps,
which were celebrating their 70th birthday.

Tommy Hafey wasn't a runner, he was an outstanding Australian Rules Football coach and former player.  And he didn't even play for my favourite team, but he was a role model for anybody interested in a healthy lifestyle and an exemplar of self-discipline.  He was ever-present in the news in my formative running years in Melbourne, and some of my regular runs passed by the Richmond Football Ground where he was a celebrated coach.  Although I have no specific recollection of ever meeting him, I have a vague feeling that our paths did cross once or twice.

This morning, I heard the sad news that Tommy had died yesterday at the age of 82.  It was a bit of a surprise, because I had heard him interviewed quite recently, and he was very articulate, upbeat, and still religious about his early morning run, swim, and push-up routine by Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne.

Tommy doing his early morning push-ups by Port
Phillip Bay in Melbourne.
(Picture: Andrew Tauber Source: Herald Sun)

I admired him because he espoused many of the ideas that are dear to my heart.  Most importantly, perhaps, was his dedication to physical fitness and self-discipline.  Not only did he lead by example through his personal exercise regime, and never smoked or drank alcohol, but he was a trail-blazer in developing fitness programs for his football teams, including employing the ideas of cutting edge runners/thinkers such as Percy Cerutty and Herb Elliott in the 1960s.

He was passionate about the value of exercise generally and was an evangelist for a healthy lifestyle, changing the lives of many people for the better along the way.  Apparently it took a malignant brain tumour to finish him off, and mercifully it appears to have been a short illness.  His passing has tinged my day with a little sadness.

My exercise for today comprised a slow 10km run on stiff and tired legs.  It was a grind early, but once I warmed up became a little more enjoyable.  The good news was that my right Achilles tendon was much less painful.

Managing the Achilles

Today's flat even road run passing through Avoca Beach
took the pressure off my painful Achilles tendon injury.

For a year now, whenever I have been able to run consistently for a few weeks, my right Achilles tendon has become painful.  Achilles injuries have been the bane of my running life.  I guess there were deficiencies in my genetic design and an addiction to distance running didn't help.

The only long-term relief I have experienced came from major surgeries in which the tendon was cleaned up, the bursa removed, a heel spur removed and a corner of my heel bone cut off.  This was done to my left heel in my thirties and my right heel in my fifties and on both occasions it took a long time to recover.  Two earlier, less radical, surgeries on the left heel only gave relief for a couple of years each time.

Today's run included this flat section
approaching McMasters Beach.

Of course, surgery is the last resort, especially if it's going to stop you running for more than a year.  To avoid surgery, I have tried just about every possible treatment  - ice packs, massage, cortisone injections, post-run cold running water, anti-inflammatories, stretching, orthotics, heel raises, shoe heel cut-outs, running on flat surfaces, avoiding hills, doughnut bandages, alternating shoes - apart from retirement from long distance running.  My conclusion is that none of these non-surgical treatments provides a permanent solution.

At best, they are delaying actions, and that's what I feel I have been doing with my current right Achilles problem.  For a while the Hoka shoes seemed to place less strain on the Achilles (but more strain on my bad right knee).  Now, even they don't seem to provide relief.  My heel became very sore on Monday's long trail run wearing the Hokas.  For today's 15km run, I changed back to my Nike shoes and stayed on the road.  The heel was sore but didn't get worse, although I was running slowly.

I really don't want to have more surgery, so I guess I'll keep trying most things that provide temporary relief, short of cortisone or anti-inflammatories.  They just mask the problem while you do more damage.

Reliving Boston 1982

I walked 5km today to give me aching joints a chance to recover after yesterday's exertions.  My right Achilles remains quite sore and concerns me a little, but hopefully the day off running will see it improved tomorrow.

The results of this year's Boston Marathon were on the news this morning, reviving memories of the two times I have competed there (1982 and 1986).  Although I have previously written blog posts about the 1982 race, I thought I would use the occasion to reprint an article I wrote for my club, Kew Camberwell, newsletter after the event.
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BOSTON MARATHON - 1982

Crossing the line (2:22, 49th) in the
1982 Boston Marathon.

Early in February I received a telephone call from Ted Paulin at the 'Big M' Marathon Committee.  Apparently Andy Lloyd, winner of the 1981 'Big M' had declined his first prize of a trip to the 1982 Boston Marathon and as runner-up I was next in line.  Having had an Achilles operation in late November with little training since and none in the preceding three weeks I had some doubts as to whether the eleven weeks remaining to the ‘Boston' (19 April 1982) would be sufficient to get at least reasonably fit.  My surgeon gave me the green light so I mapped out a training schedule which saw me go from 0 to 120 miles per week in four weeks and totalling 1224 miles over the eleven weeks.

I took a few extra days leave and spent five days with clubmate, John, and his wife, Brenda, in California en route.  They were very interested to hear all the club news and send their regards to all their old friends.  Despite some injury problems, John is training and has recently started competing in a few fun runs.  They are living in a house in the Santa Cruz Mountains, an area not unlike the Dandenongs, where it seems to rain all the time.  In the first three months of this year they had 89" of rain (Melbourne has 26" per year) and roads were closed, rivers flooded, and landslides commonplace.  If rain wasn’t enough, John took me on some very muddy tracks and in three days I had used my entire supply of clean running gear.

The Prudential Center basement carpark
after the 1982 Boston Marathon.

From California I flew to Boston arriving four days before the race with the first vestiges of a heavy cold - the product of sunny California.  For four days I trained lightly twice daily, tried to fight off the worsening cold, watched television and attempted to read all the articles published in the press about the forthcoming marathon.  The coverage was of ‘VFL Grand Final’ proportions culminating in direct television coverage of the entire race by four different television stations.

Race day, a public holiday Monday, dawned bright and sunny and I set off by train to the Prudential Center in town from where a steady stream of buses was transporting runners to the start at Hopkinton, 26 miles away to the west.

Winner, Alberto Salazar, speaking at the medal presentation
after the 1982 Boston Marathon.

The atmosphere in Hopkinton was electric.  All roads leading into the town had been blocked by the police at 9 a.m. - 3 hours before the start - and the only motorised traffic was the buses delivering their cargoes of 'psyched-up', animated athletes.  In the town centre you could hardly move for runners and spectators whilst overhead circled four helicopters and four light planes beaming television pictures to the entire U.S.A. There were 7623 official entrants for the race plus an estimated equal number of unofficial runners (entrants must meet stiff qualifying standards before being accepted) on the narrow road for the start at midday.

The first 800 metres is steadily downhill and everyone sets off at a furious pace.  Despite holding myself back and despite it taking me 10-15 seconds to get past the starting line I still reached the first mile in 5:05.  I had resolved to run the first half of the race steadily because of the question mark over my fitness but this proved impossible.  I was literally passed by scores of runners yet went through 5 kilometres in 15:50.  It was very warm with the temperature in the low 20’s complemented by a bright sun and a slight following wind.  By 10 kilometres (32:00) I was holding my own but getting decidedly warm.  The course was lined by thousands of spectators who cheered, clapped and held out cups of water to the competitors.  For the first few miles the course passes through a series of villages which is where the crowds are at their thickest until the suburb of Wellesley is reached after eleven miles.  Here crowd support reaches new undreamt of dimensions as the runners pass the Wellesley College for women.  The girls leave a gap about one to two metres wide for the runners to pass through and scream.  If you can imagine what it is like to run quickly down a hallway lined with giant stereo speakers you may be getting close.  You start to lose touch with reality.  Unfortunately, reality just around the corner as I had feared when passing through 10 miles in 52:07.  My next seven miles were miserable as various ailments assailed me and the crowds witnessing my demise grew thicker and thicker.  By now every inch of the course was covered by onlookers often three or four deep and usually only a couple of metres apart.  At 17 miles I heard a time which indicated that at my present rate of decline I would run 2:25 or over and also that I was in approximately 130th place.

Showing off my "First Hundred" finishers
medal after the 1982 Boston Marathon.

My big ambition, apart from beating Greta Waitz, was to run in the first hundred and earn a medal.  The course now entered the Newton Hills, a series of four hills climaxing in the world-renowned Heartbreak Hill at 21 miles.  For some reason my pace began to pick up and I actually began passing people.  The heat was taking its toll and a lot at fast starters were now paying their dues.  The crowds on Heartbreak Hill were unprecedented and the noise indescribable.  To pass a runner was often difficult because of the narrow path left by the spectators who were reaching out to touch you and give you much needed cups of water.  I was really starting to motor now and set out to run the last five miles hard.  Coming down from the hills on the winding course the closeness of the crowd often meant that a runner only five metres in front of you could not be seen.  Thousands of people crowded around the last 400 metres and I found the energy to catch a few more competitors before crossing the line in 2:22:39.  My relief at the time turned to joy upon receiving a note congratulating me on being in the first hundred.  It took some hours to find out I had come 49th.

All finishers were directed into the cavernous basement car park of the Prudential Center where they could collect gear left at Hopkinton, get refreshments, have a shower and receive medical attention if necessary.  The warm conditions resulted in a lot of stretcher cases (about 600) and the underground hospital resembled a scene from the Crimean War.  The winner, Alberto Salazar, received intravenously three litres of fluid after his temperature had dropped to 88°F following the race.

Two old Kew-Camberwellians also competed in this year’s race – Trevor and Kishore – but, unfortunately, I do not have their results.

I cannot hope in this article to convey the atmosphere and excitement present at Boston. However, I do encourage all distance runners to take part in this unique event at least once for an unforgettable experience.

Coast to Kosciusko

Runners line up for the start of the 2009 Coast to Kosci
on the beach at Twofold Bay.

For my training today, I ran the same local "garbage run" 10km course that I suffered through last week (see Benchmarks).  I still felt tired and sore from Monday's long run and my expectations for the run were low.  The first couple of kilometres matched those expectations but as I warmed up I felt better and managed to run all of the way, including up the Avoca Steps, which I hadn't managed a week ago.  My time was slow by historical standards, but better than last week.  Maybe I'm getting fitter.

Not all of my most memorable running experiences have been when I was running.  In 2009, I was asked by my friend, Carl, to be part of his support crew for the 240km race from the Coast to Kosciusko - sea level near Eden on the NSW south coast to the top of Australia's highest mountain, Kosciusko, 2228m.  Carl is a character and a well-performed distance runner, so it promised to be an entertaining few days, and I wasn't let down.  I wrote the article below about our shared adventure for the Terrigal Trotters newsletter.
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CREWING FOR CARL

When I volunteered to join Steve as support crew for Carl in this year’s Coast to Kosciusko Ultramarathon, I thought we would be in for an entertaining weekend….and I wasn’t disappointed.

Carl motoring early in the race.

The fun started when we stopped by the beach south of Eden where the race would start the next day and Carl realised that he would have to negotiate 100 metres of soft sand before reaching the road.  The solution was two garbage bags, one on each foot over his shoes for the brief sand run the next day.  Effective, but not particularly sartorially elegant.

There was more fun the night before the run when Carl smeared Friar’s Balsam over his feet prior to taping them for the run and then managed to pick up every bit of grit and dust on the floor of our cabin with those parts of his feet not covered by tape.

After the pre-race briefing and dinner we only managed only a few hours sleep before the 3:45am alarm and our short drive to the beach for the 5:30am start, backlit by a beautiful sunrise over Twofold Bay.  Carl’s shoe coverings were a big hit and served the useful purpose of preventing him going off with the leaders and thus starting conservatively.  When we next saw the runners, after about 15km, Carl had moved through to 7th place in the field of 27 after being last onto the road.  He looked good and confident, although so did everybody else.

Climbing away from the coast.

By the marathon mark, passed in 4:02, Carl had moved into 2nd place, a steady 12 minutes behind Jo in the lead. Carl thought that Jo was the clear race favourite and was happy to be so close.  We were stopping every four kilometres to resupply Carl on the run and enjoying the breezy sunny day in the quiet rural valley.

The first major climb of the event occurred at about 55km when the road ascended 600 metres over a distance of 7km.  With the adrenalin pumping, and Jo only 7 minutes ahead after a toilet stop, Carl tried to run the whole climb and came unstuck with a kilometre to go and had to walk.  Incredibly, Jo powered the whole way up and then proceeded to run away from the field for the remainder of the race, finishing 5 hours and 26 minutes ahead of the next runner.

Crossing the high plains.

Carl then settled into an even pace across the rolling high plains along dusty back roads, gradually increasing his lead over those behind him whilst losing ground to Jo.  Despite some nausea, which disappeared when he stopped taking the Succeed tablets recommended by Darrel (thanks, Darrel!) everything seemed to be going swimmingly and, after 12 hours, Carl seemed to be destined for a clear second place.

Steve following Carl on the bike.

Then we reached the end of the gravel road and almost immediately Carl began to have trouble on the camber with his infamous toes.  The pace slowed and the stops became more frequent.  “Imelda” had brought along a large crate overflowing with shoes and Steve and I now seemed doomed to try every pair on Carl in an effort to relieve foot pain.  One pair lasted only 10 metres before Carl returned to the car to change them and others wouldn’t have lasted much longer if we hadn’t adopted a selective deafness approach to change requests.
We had a bike rack on the back of my Nissan which was articulated so that, with some effort, it could be swung out to enable the rear doors to be opened without unloading the bikes.  The fridge, shoes and drinks (Carl had brought enough sports drink and bottled water to supply every competitor in the race……and their support crews) all had to be accessed via the rear doors.  We soon learned that the act of closing the door and replacing the bike rack was a signal to Carl to ask for something that required everything to be opened again.  You might ask why we didn’t make this stuff accessible via the side doors?  The answer was Carl had also brought two huge crates of food, including a round watermelon the size and weight of a bowling ball, most of which we returned to his home after the race, unused and unopened.  Carl pretty much lived on energy/breakfast drinks the whole way.

Carl still looking good.

Despite the severe pain from his toes and great fatigue, Carl soldiered on, running almost all of the time, but his confidence was taking a hit.  As night fell we got Carl’s night gear ready to wear.  Steve was very impressed with Carl’s two headlamps, both in their original unopened packaging and needing to be assembled, with price labels of, respectively, $5 and $15 (no expense spared!).  We were both impressed that it took three attempts to get the “right” reflective vest (pinning his race number on at each attempt).  We suspect there are a few workers at the place Carl works trying to find their safety gear!

Since midday, either Steve or I had accompanied Carl on a mountain bike, carrying drinks and snacks and offering words of encouragement……or dropping back when we had enough conversation.  As the night wore on this became more necessary as Carl’s mood became more pessimistic and he became more tired.  I had to keep finding things to talk about and occasionally shouting at him to get back onto the road.  Once he came to an abrupt stop, telling me that he had seen a couch on the road in front of him!

The sun sets on the high plains.

Around midnight, at the base of the major climb over the Beloka Range we set up a comfy bed for Carl beside the road and insisted he have a 15 minute sleep.  He claims he didn’t actually fall asleep, but seemed dead to us, and his mood was definitely better as he set off up the hill.  We were pretty sure we were being caught from behind by this time, but still hadn’t seen any closing runners' lights.  We crossed the Beloka Range in the small hours beneath brilliant starry skies and Carl picked up some momentum as we descended towards Jindabyne.  Paul, the Race Director, passed us in his vehicle and told us Phil was about 3km behind us with another two runners in the next 5km after that.

Steve following Carl on the last stretch to the summit
of Kosciusko.

Carl just kept on running all of the “downs” and “flats” and most of the “ups”, and I felt we were holding our own, although Phil’s support vehicle kept on catching up to us and then stopping to wait for him.  We skirted a slumbering Jindabyne just before dawn and set out on the steady climb to Kosciusko, about 50km away.

Carl’s pace was slowing again, he was feeling nauseous, and hugely fatigued.  We tried to keep him going in the hope that the rising sun would revive his spirits.  A low point was reached about 8am when the toe pain and fatigue became too much for him and he stopped to change his shoes.  He became disoriented and distraught and could not stand up without losing his balance.  At this precise moment, Phil caught and passed us.  Even though he must also have been exhausted, he could see Carl was in a bad way and enquired whether he or his crew could do anything to help.  We politely declined and encouraged Carl to begin walking again, with us walking either side for a short way in order to catch him if he fell.  It was heart-wrenching to see his pain and fatigue, but we knew how much he had invested to get this far and how much he would regret it if he didn’t continue.

Carl at the summit of Kosciusko.

He managed to stay upright and, after a few hundred metres, regained his focus.  In another couple of kilometres, we even managed to encourage him to run some of the “flats” and “downs”.  At this stage, I think Carl had accepted he wasn’t going to catch Phil and his focus switched to holding onto his third place.  We were sure that there were a number of runners within 10km behind, all moving faster than Carl.

He showed great spirit and, as we climbed above the tree line in the Alps on a beautiful clear day, we even got an occasional glimpse of Phil far ahead, and felt we were holding him to a 2km lead.  But, we also got sore necks from looking round to see if we were being caught from behind.  We soon heard that the first woman, Pam, was gaining on us, although we could not pick her out on the road.

Descending Kosciusko.

We were still at Charlotte Pass when Pam’s crew arrived, confirming that they were close behind, but Carl could smell the end now (he “only” had to run the 8.2km to the summit of Kosciusko and then return to Charlotte Pass to finish).  He looked stronger than for some time, and set off along the rough trail with Steve and I following on mountain bikes.  After a couple of kilometres we met a runner (not in the race) coming the other way who said that Phil was only a kilometre in front.  Carl’s competitive juices began pumping and he ran up the steep trail virtually non-stop to the hut 2km from the summit where we had to leave the mountain bikes.  We persuaded him to pop a couple of Nurofen to help deal with the toe pain on the forthcoming descent, and he set off running up the last bit of the trail to the summit with Steve and I, in our biking gear, in hot pursuit on foot with camera and drinks.

The end.

We still hadn’t seen Phil or his crew and wondered whether we had somehow missed them.  Then, just as we came into view of the summit cairn, there they were coming the other way.  Phil was still running, but had some problems and didn’t seem up to defending his second place.  A kilometre later, just after crossing a small snowfield on the trail, Carl overtook him and raced away towards the finish, opening up a gap of 17 minutes, to finish in 31 hours and 27 minutes.  On that last section, he seemed to be running as well as he had the whole race.

Second place was a just reward for Carl’s Herculean effort.  Steve and I felt privileged to witness the guts and determination he showed in dragging himself back from the depths of despair after such a good start, to achieve such a great result.

Benchmarks

Near the start of the Avoca Steps.

Benchmarks can be useful in gauging your running fitness, and perhaps more importantly, signalling possible problems.

These days, I tend to judge fitness by the time taken to run a regular course, and how I felt doing it.  In earlier days, I often used a time trial on the track, or something like the average times achieved running multiple 400m repetitions in a track session, as guides.  They're not foolproof methods, and subject to the vagaries of small sample sizes, but if a benchmark is achieved it gives you confidence that your training is going to plan and that, in turn, gives you the confidence to go for the time or place aspired to in your target event.

More of the Avoca Steps.

I have also employed benchmarks to gauge the seriousness of an illness or injury.  One sort of reverse benchmark I used for years was that if I was too ill to run, then I was too ill to go to work.  Of course, I never wanted to miss a run, and never had any really serious ailments, so never missed a day of work.  However, I probably infected many work colleagues with colds, and occasionally, influenza over those years.

Further up the Avoca Steps.

Running a much slower time for the Terrigal Trotters 10km Time Trial at the end of December last year (56 mins instead of the 44 mins my fitness level indicated), alerted me to health problems later diagnosed as Deep Vein Thrombosis, Pulmonary Embolism and Atrial Flutter.  Now that I'm on the road to recovery from those conditions, I'm very attuned to sub-par training runs, anxiously analysing them as possible indicators of health problem recurrence.

The final section of the Avoca Steps.

Several of my local "garbage run" courses, have very steep climbs that I almost always run up, regardless of fatigue.  In fact, the only times I have failed to run up them is when I have been ill.  These are my current benchmarks.  One of them is the "Avoca Steps", which is actually a series of flights of steps and footpath climbing about 80m over 500m.  It's always a test to run up them, no matter what the speed, but I almost always do.  This morning, however, as I approached the base of the Steps, 7km into my morning 10km run, I just couldn't face the thought of running all the way to the top.  Ultimately, these things usually come down to mind over matter, and there have been many times on this hill, and others, where I have just refused to stop running and taken it a step at a time all the way to the top.  I have prided myself on my ability to do this, and attribute my relative strength running hills to my refusal to shirk them in training.  However, my recent health travails are fresh in my mind and the worst effects were brought on by running, and sometimes just walking, up hills to the point of serious breathlessness.

This morning, my rational self won and I walked up the Avoca Steps, but it hurt my pride and worried me some.  I can't put my finger on a single problem, but can think of multiple reasons, none of them individually important enough to explain my excessive fatigue.  For the moment I'm assuming that it is the combination of these factors - lack of fitness base, a total of 45km solid running on the weekend, and a head cold that is now beginning to affect my chest - that explains my troubles this morning.  However, if the fatigue persists through to the weekend, I'll be considering whether another visit to the doctor is required.

Chorleywood long run

Approaching Amersham.

In my "Chorleywood" post of 14 February 2014, I described why it was the best place I have lived as a runner, with a wide variety of trails, terrain and interesting sights.  In that post I outlined one of my favourite "garbage run" courses in Chorleywood, but I also had a favourite long run that matches any I have been able to run from home during my running life.

Crossing Hervines Park in Amersham.

Many London commuters live in the villages and towns of the surrounding Chiltern Hills, but amazingly, I could still find places to run where I was largely on my own and surrounded by countryside.  The 30km course was a loop that primarily followed public footpaths, bridleways and country lanes through dark woods, across fields and through some quaint villages.  The scenery varied continually along the route with another dimension added by the dramatic seasonal changes.

Looking towards Hill Farm, near Chesham.

Descending through a cornfield towards Amersham in oppressive early summer heat, slogging through deep mud in the cold drizzle of a dark winter's day near Chalfont St Giles, and passing daffodils on bright sunny spring days in the Chess River valley, are among treasured memories of this course.  However, maybe it's the dismal winters and colours of autumn that I miss most as a resident of Australia.

I look forward to enjoying some more runs on my Chorleywood 20 Miler some time in the future.

The Chess valley.

Still suffering from a bad head cold and the weekend's running, I chose to jog just 5km around Copa today.  It was very slow and my chronic right knee injury was painful, but I expected the latter after the stresses of the technical trail on Sunday.  Last year, I would have forced myself to run at least 10km today, and I feel a little guilty for doing less, but I know I have to give myself permission to "under-train" as I recover from the heart problem.

Heavy weekend

The runners gather at Somersby for the start
of the trail run.

The weekend proved to be a test of stamina, and not just running stamina.  It started with the Terrigal Trotters' run "Tegart's Revenge", a 14.5km course, early on Saturday morning.  I expected it to be my hardest run for some time, and it didn't disappoint.  It's not that I went out quickly, but it is one of those courses that has long stretches where you build momentum and then maintain it - good for tempo running - and I regretted not being fit enough or healthy enough to mix it near the front of the pack where I knew it would be fast and competitive.  Still with an underlying anxiety that my heart problem will return, I stuck to my pre-run plan of never stressing myself to the point where I was gasping for breath, but the long sections of concrete path and road were punishing for my unfit legs and I was very tired by the end.  It was a pleasant surprise to find I had averaged 5mins/km pace for the distance which also included some significant hills.

On the early part of the trail run.

The afternoon and evening were then spent at an outdoor rock concert in the Hunter Valley where many of the audience and performers were my vintage, though few looked capable of running 14.5km.  By my standard it was a very late night, and I didn't get to bed until after midnight.

The 4:45am alarm on Sunday morning was unwelcome, but unavoidable.  I was the organiser of trail run with my fellow Trotters and had to meet the bus at Staples Lookout, the finish point, soon after 6:00am for the drive to the start.  At Somersby we began for the 29km run back to Staples along The Great North Walk trail.  This section is a particularly nice run, but the terrain gets progressively harder, and the warm and humid weather had us all soon sweating.  I knew my legs would be tired from yesterday's hard run and that the lack of sleep would take its toll, so I started out very gently, close to last of the 30 runners.

Looking west from Mt Scopus on the trail run.

I settled into a gentle rhythm, my stiff and tired legs gradually loosened up, and I really began to enjoy the running.  I did have a couple of stumbles and two falls, neither of which did any apparent damage, perhaps because I was carrying my feet too low on the technical trail.  I reached the drink stop at 16km in good shape, but aware that the remaining trail was very challenging.  Even though I walked up the steep rocky stepped climbs, they took their toll in the heat and I knew I should have carried more fluids.  My tired legs began finding the descents just as taxing as the climbs, and with about 5km to go I began to feel a little light-headed, struggling to keep my balance at times.  Despite my disorientation, I was aware that my heartbeat was still regular and strong, so I wasn't too concerned.  I pretty much walked the last 3km, which was almost entirely uphill, but that was OK.  My time was slow, but it was a great feeling just to have finished.  I recovered quickly, very happy to think that trail runs of this length were now back on my agenda, even if slower than I would like.

After getting home in the early afternoon, I began sneezing a lot and my sinuses became congested.  It proved to be the start of a heavy head cold which was worse today, so I didn't bother going for my planned walk.  I usually wouldn't let a head cold stop me exercising, but after the solid weekend, I figured it would do more good than harm to have the day off.

A big day

Rolet de Castella (#95) on his way to his first
sub-3 marathon at age 57.

Earlier this month, I wrote a post about Robert de Castella and earlier this week, on ABC Radio, I heard him interviewed at length.  During the conversation, the running background of Rolet de Castella, Rob's father, was discussed.  I didn't know Rolet well, just enough to say hello, but I did know that he was one of those runners who had defied the odds and revived their running careers after severe heart problems.  Rolet had a stroke in 1974 at age 50, and a heart attack a year later, but loved his running so much he was soon back on the roads each time.  In 1975 he read about the Pritikin Regression diet, adopted it, and was soon running seriously again.  By coincidence, the 1979 Victorian Amateur Athletic Association Marathon Championship was a very big event for Rolet, Rob and me.  I found an article by Dick Batchelor in the Spring 1979 edition of the Victorian Marathon Club Newsletter about that day.
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DE CASTELLA'S DAY - Dick Batchelor.

The remarkable 2:14:22 run by Rob deCastella at Point Cook on June 23rd means that Australia now has at least five world-class marathon runners (Chettle, Barrett, Scott & Wardlaw are the others).  These five enjoy a clear margin of four or five minutes over other Australian runners.  Australia must take its full quota to Moscow next year.

First event at Point Cook was the inaugural Victorian Women's Marathon Championship, starting at 12:30 in perfect conditions - cool and almost windless.  Very fittingly, the event was won by Lavinia Petrie, who has fought for such a race for several years.  It must be said that the women's times were rather slow, but we hear that such accomplished performers as Angela Cook are training for their debuts, so standards could rise dramatically.  Results: 1. Lavinia Petrie 3:02:07; 2. Kathie McLean 3:04:33; 3. Jacquie Turney 3:25:29; 4. Barbara Fay 3:25:55; 5. Glenda Humphreys 3:30:18.

Most of the 136 finishers in the men's event improved on their best times, with increments of 5 or 10 minutes not uncommon.  The "traditional" course was used, an out and back journey with only one hill (an overpass) to be negotiated!  When I saw the leaders after they had rounded the turn, Vic Anderson was striding powerfully in front (67:15 turn) with deCastella (67:29) and John Bermingham running side by side about 25m back, followed by Paul 0'Hare (67:31), Dave Byrnes (67:45), Graeme Kennedy (68:05), Bob Guthrie (68:22) and Neil McKern (68:35).

At 16 miles deCastella took the lead, Bermingham dropped out but big Vic and the others kept hammering away.  At 20 miles, from all accounts (your correspondent by then being several miles back down the road), Pat Clohessy urged de Castella to speed up and he cleared away from his pursuers, covering the final 3 miles in under 15 min!

The very consistent Dave Byrnes came through strongly in the closing stages to be second in a PB 2:19:06 with Vic Anderson third after doing so much of the early pace.  As the clock approached the 3½ hours cut-off, few people noticed a compact and mature runner who crossed the line in 127th place – 3:25:14.  Four years ago this man suffered a severe heart attack, despite having been a regular jogger.  Encouraged perhaps by the athletic achievements of his two sons, this man rehabilitated his health with a stepped up running program and careful dieting.  He completed his first marathon last year and June 23rd was his first time under 3½ hours.  His name? Rolet deCastella, and what a unique "double" he and his son achieved on June 23, 1979, at Point Cook!!

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Rolet went on to run many more marathons, including a 2:58 at age 57.  He died of a heart attack while out running at age 73.

Just an easy 5km for me today.

Psychological effects

5:30am in Terrigal and the first Trotters begin checking
for the Saturday run or walk.

Like most Saturdays, today started with a 4:30am alarm and arrival at the Terrigal Surf Club fifty minutes later to join my Trotters club-mates for our weekly 6:00am run.  Only, I'm not running at the moment......but I'm not alone.

I have never analysed the stats, but my guess is that you could divide the Trotters population into quarters.  One quarter are fit and running well. Another quarter are running, but carrying an injury.  A third quarter are running, but coming back from injury, and the final quarter are unable to run because of illness or injury, some permanently.

Kurrawyba Avenue in Terrigal was on
my walk route this morning.

Many in that final quarter are not only dealing with pain associated with their ailment, but also dealing with the psychological impact.  Fortunately for me, there's no physical pain, but I do feel the psychological effects.

The easiest to deal with is the loss of routine.  Like most serious runners I have always relied on routine to help me fit training in with family and other commitments, and the loss of routine can be destabilising and depressing.  Replacing running with some other form of exercise, if at all possible, and using any additional spare time to work on other useful or meaningful projects has generally worked for me.

One of the most challenging impacts can be the loss of identity.  The thing that most people know about me is that I'm a reasonably good runner.  Although I like to think there are other dimensions to my character, I do also see myself as a runner.  In the last month, in my own eyes, and the eyes of those around me, I am morphing from a serious masters athlete to a senior citizen with cardiovascular problems.

Sunrise over Terrigal.

Along with the loss of identity can go a loss of self-esteem.  The podium finishes that I enjoyed in the past, and these days, just keeping up with younger runners, builds self-confidence.  Absorbing challenging training regimes and successfully planning and preparing for major races also contributes positively to self-esteem.  The longer I am unable to run, the less happy I am with myself, even when there's nothing I can do about it.  And the worse I feel about myself, the more likely I am to over-eat and put on weight and so the downward spiral goes.

I also have real fears that being unable to run for an extended period of time will lead to a deterioration in my overall health.  Of course, it seems likely that running caused my current cardio-vascular problems, and I recognise that running is not a guarantee of good health.  However, I have no doubt that the fitness gained through running has improved my quality of life and fended off other ailments that beset my demographic.  I now worry that all that good work will be undone if I can't get back to serious exercise.

Early morning stand-up paddle boarders.

Finally, I have always found that running refreshes me and helps me deal with life's stresses.  This was certainly true during my working life, where the morning run seemed reset my body clock and wipe away (or at least diminish) problems.  Maybe it's the lack of oxygen getting to the brain, but I always found it difficult to worry about things, or even do relatively simple mathematical calculations, while on the run.

While most of my club-mates ran this morning, I walked a comfotable 6km.  I'm still in a holding pattern.

“On Death and Dying”

Looking towards Avoca Beach from North Avoca
during today's walk.

Serious runners with more than a few years behind them will be familiar with the psychological impact of injuries.  As discussed in my post titled "Punctuated Equilibrium", major injuries have derailed my running and racing plans and, perhaps, permanently inhibited my running potential.  Even soft-tissue injuries that later healed completely, were devastating when they thwarted plans for a big race. In dealing with such injuries, to some degree or another, I have recognized my own emotional progression in the stages identified by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in her seminal work “On Death and Dying” - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

With my recently-diagnosed health problems - Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT), and associated Pulmonary Embolism and Atrial Flutter - I can feel myself travelling the same road again.  The territory is familiar, though maybe amplified by the potential whole-of-life impact of the diagnosis, and I am confident I will eventually reach the "Acceptance" stage.  In the meantime, I'm tracking my progress through the earlier stages of the process.

Avoca Lagoon.

Denial.  When, during the Terrigal Trotters' Santa Run just before Christmas, I first experienced unusual shortness of breath, palpitating heart and excessive fatigue, I didn't believe there was a serious problem.  It was warm and humid, I had been training hard, and I was wearing an Elf suit.  Worst case, I had picked up some kind of bug, which would pass in a few days.  I was still in denial a week later, but finally accepted something was seriously wrong when I struggled badly a week later in the monthly Trotter's 10km Time Trial.

North Avoca Lake Track.

Anger.  After the diagnoses, it appeared likely the originating DVT resulted from failing to drink enough following a warm long run before having a longish nap.  Low blood pressure, viscous blood, and inactivity combined to produce clots.  No doubt other risk factors were involved, but addressing these two may have prevented the problem.  I kept returning to the day in question and asking myself why I didn't stop at a store on the way home to buy a drink, as I would usually do, and why I recently started having post-run naps when for decades I had "pooh-poohed" the idea?  Why had the heart and lungs that had served me faithfully for 45 years of serious running now let me down?  Shouldn't the years of training have made them more resilient?  Would things have been different if I hadn't recently changed my shoe brand after decades with Nike Pegasus?  Overnight I had moved into a new demographic.  I was now discussing heart issues with my step-mother as an equal when a month earlier we had seemed to live on different health planets.  There was also anger that I could no longer exercise with the same intensity, perhaps impacting my health in other respects.

Avoca Lagoon.

Bargaining.  I have kept Googling, reviewing the medical websites and the experiences of others, and theorising on the quickest acceptable way to return to running.  Positive snippets of information are seized on, but often discounted or disregarded after rational consideration.  If I have larger lung and heart capacity than the average human, then even if they are functioning sub-optimally, I should be able to jog conservatively when others would be limited to a walk?

I'm still in the "Bargaining" phase because I don't have good information about my prognosis yet.  No doubt, I'll keep coming up with hypotheses that get me back to running sooner rather than later, but know that expert opinion based on my particular situation is needed, and that feedback will only start with my specialist appointments at the end of February.  I periodically experience some symptoms of the "Depression" and "Acceptance" phases, but feel those phases are yet to come, and I will discuss them in a future post.

Another 10km of easy walking for exercise today following the early morning track session at Terrigal Haven.  I tried walking somewhere less familiar to make it more interesting and that seemed to work.  If I want to keep walking 10km each day, maybe I'll have to drive to some varying locations.

Punctuated equilibrium

Hanging upside down was one of
the treatments I tried for my chronic
back injury.

When I was in my running prime, I gave little thought to athletic decline.  I knew many veteran (masters) runners and recognised my potential as a runner would decline as I aged.  However, I never thought much about the process.  If anything, I expected the decline to be a smooth glide path.  Each year would see slightly slower times for benchmark distances and I would be chasing podium places as I entered each new age group.  It was a naive and simplistic view of the process, and my only defence is that these issues seemed remote and I didn't give them sufficient thought.

Now, with ageing parents and my own ageing body, it has become obvious the process of ageing and athletic decline is more akin to the evolutionary biology theory of "punctuated equilibrium".  This postulates that, over time, long periods of stability with little change are punctuated by events causing significant change.  Rather than being on a gradual descent to our ultimate demise, or the end of our running career, we have periods, often lasting years, when our abilities and capabilities remain relatively static.  As runners, these stable periods may include various soft tissue injuries and oscillating fitness, but our basic capabilities are essentially unchanged.

Looking towards North Avoca from Avoca Beach
during this morning's walk.

Significant events for runners are those injuries from which we never really fully recover, despite how hard we train.  There were no more Personal Bests for me after a back injury (spondylolisthesis) sustained  in 1979 brought to an end the steady improvements I had seen in the preceding years.  Likewise, a serious knee injury in 2006 meant a lot of time off running and a limit on training load I could sustain in subsequent years.  I could plot other significant injuries over the years that have also had a lasting impact on my running capability.

Looking from Copa, low cloud covers Mount Bouddi
during this morning's walk.

Now I'm trying to reconcile myself to the capability change that will result from my Deep Vein Thrombosis and associated Pulmonary Embolism and Atrial Flutter.  I'm still in the midst of this "event" and don't know the level of capability I will emerge with, but it will almost certainly be less.  Goals will have to be recalibrated, or frustration will build.  I'm not reconciled to these changes yet, but can sense I am in the midst of the process and will eventually accept what must be.

This morning, I walked a comfortable 10km in misty rain beneath low cloud.  It was a nice change from the relentless summer weather of the last three weeks.

When to run again?

My walking route this morning took me through the
Avoca Beach Markets.

When I went to bed last night I had decided that today's exercise would include some light jogging.  It's not so much that I'm desperate for an endorphin high, or even the satisfying fatigue that follows a run.  It's more that I was very fit four weeks ago and I can feel that condition ebbing.  I know these feelings are familiar to all injured runners, but this time around I'm conscious that a miscalculation on when to start running again could feasibly have fatal consequences rather than just a setback in recovery time.

Avoca Beach Markets.

So, this morning, while enjoying my cup of decaffeinated coffee, I surfed the Web and pondered the most rational approach to a return to running.  I don't want to take stupid risks, but I don't want to be too timid either.  Finally, I decided to just walk 10km today and use the time to work out a rational strategy.  I do my best thinking while walking.

The first conclusion I reached was that the Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT) diagnosed seventeen days ago was still at significant risk of throwing off small clots that could impact my lungs and heart.  Many sites on the Web indicated a minimum of four weeks and usually six weeks for DVT's to resolve themselves.  I should probably wait another three weeks and possibly an "all clear" from another ultrasound exam of the lower right leg before resuming jogging.

Avoca Beach Markets.

The second conclusion I reached was that my exercise, whether walking or running (when the time comes), should be at a pace which does not push my heart/lungs into what I'm calling the "Amber Zone".  Twice during today's 10km walk, near the top of steep and longish hills, I could feel myself beginning to struggle for breath and an unpleasant sort of pressure (not pain) building in the base of my chest as my heart began to race.  It was as though the clutch was slipping and no drive was being transferred from the engine to the wheels.  This was the same feeling I had when running faster up hills just before being diagnosed with Pulmonary Embolism (PE), so I'm becoming familiar with it.  I didn't have to stop walking for the sensation to abate today, but did need to slow right down to a dawdle.  I would define the "Red Zone" as being the need to stop and sit down, and I have not reached that point yet, nor do I want to.

Avoca Beach Markets.

Like most chronic injuries, I feel like I'm starting to get a handle on how to manage it, but know it is not wise to look for the "edge of the envelope" as has been my inclination in the past.  I also know that, even after the DVT has resolved itself and the clots in the lungs are no longer an issue (which could take months), I will still likely need some sort of medical procedure to address the Atrial Flutter problem before I can start running hard again.  Patience!

[I have posted my Post-DVT Training Diary here, or it is accessible from the Links menu at right.]