Fred Lester

Fred Lester in full flight.

I like to think that I'm a self-coached runner, but know that there are people I have encountered during my running career who have had a profound influence on me, even though I might not have acknowledged it at the time.  One such person is Fred Lester, who was coach of the YMCA Amateur Athletic Club when I first joined at the age of 19 in 1970, and who remained a respected friend for the rest of his life.  He died in 2010 at the age of 87.

Although I didn't know it at the time we first met, and didn't bother to ask, Fred had already had a very interesting life.  All I knew was that he was also Secretary of the Victorian Marathon Club, wore an Australian Army slouch hat, spoke with a strong German accent, and was always willing to provide coaching advice.  As young twenty-year-olds, with the world at our feet, we were often cruel to the resilient Fred.  We jibed him about which side he fought for in World War II, when in fact he was a German Jew who had escaped Germany just before the war as a boy and ultimately ended up enlisted in the Australian Army.  He wore panty-hose in winter to keep warm, long before similar running-specific clothing was sold, and encouraged us to do likewise.  None of us did, but we certainly gave him a hard time about it.  He often prescribed a track session when we turned up at the old Yarra Park grass track in Melbourne for evening training and we would studiously ignore his advice, and do our own thing.

Fred Lester with his hero Emil Zatopek.

In my mind, the Fred story that impressed me the most was that he needed to make a pit stop during a marathon in his younger years, and rather than seeking cover, apparently just squatted in the middle of the road, did what was necessary, and continued on.  He had been a proficient marathon runner in his day, always looked superbly fit during all the time I knew him, and had an enormous passion for athletics.

He was an excellent coach of younger athletes and always had a few coming up through the ranks, mostly via the Catholic School system.  He drove them and us to races in his van and we often wondered what their Catholic parents would think if they knew their children were under the tutelage of a proud card-carrying member of the Australian Communist Party.  To his absolute credit he kept his running and political lives totally separate, though was always quick to rail against authority and bureaucracy.  Fred didn't tolerate fools, and I can remember hearing him say "Christ, you took your bloody head out there, why didn't you use it?" on more than one occasion after I had messed up a race tactically.  Many runners from those years have other favourite Fred sayings.

Fred laying down the law to some junior
volunteers at a running event.

Apart from encouragement, Fred's greatest impact on me during those days was perhaps via the Victorian Marathon Club which provided a range of road, and occasionally track, races for runners to augment the official VAAA races of the time.  I loved those races, which gave me a chance to shine in smaller fields, especially as I became a better runner.  Winning the VMC's King of the Mountains and being first Australian home in several VMC Marathons, the latter leading to trips to New Zealand marathons at a critical stage of my career, were highlights still bright in my memory.

I now also realise that Fred, leading by example, probably sparked my interest in creating events for runners of all standards, something which provides me with great satisfaction to this day.  One event he created, the annual Emil Zatopek 10,000m track race in Melbourne, continues to attract the very best runners in Australia each December more than fifty years since its inception in 1961.

I haven't done justice to Fred's contributions to me and running in this brief blog post.  You can read an excellent article published in the Melbourne Age newspaper about Fred's very interesting life here.  It's worth the read.  The collected volumes of the Victorian Marathon Club Newsletter, available here, give some indication of how much work Fred put into the running scene over many years.

For my training today, I ran an easy 11km.  I was tired after yesterday's 21km, but I was pleased with the underlying strength I'm starting to feel in my legs and my average training pace is gradually improving.

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.

1982 Montreal International Marathon

Finishing the 1982 Montreal International
Marathon (46th, 2:29).

Just an easy 10km on some trails and the beach for training today.  After the comfortable 15km yesterday, I would have expected to feel better this morning, and was a little worried by how hard the early kilometres were.  In fact, I wondered whether there had been a recurrence of the heart problem, although I wasn't aware of any palpitations.  I did manage to run up one of my benchmark hills, and actually felt better after that, although my overall time for the regular Little Beach course was slow.  I'll be interested to see how I feel tomorrow morning.

Another occasion when my running didn't match my expectations was the 1982 Montreal International Marathon, although every other aspect of the event was exciting and memorable.  I wrote an article about it for the Kew Camberwell running club newsletter.
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1982 MONTREAL INTERNATIONAL MARATHON - David Byrnes

As a consequence of my 2:19 in last year's Big M Marathon, I was fortunate enough to be selected in the Australian team for the Montreal International Marathon to be held on 30 May 1982.  As this was my first Australian singlet, I was, of course, very pleased and determined to do well.  However, my chronic achilles tendon injury caused me to avoid racing for the six weeks before the race and this lack of speed-work, in combination with some medication I was taking for the injury resulted in one of my poorest performances ever - 46th place in 2:29.  It was particularly disappointing because, despite the injury, my training form was very good and I knew I was in better shape than when I ran 2:22 in the Boston Marathon some six weeks earlier.

Looking over Montreal from Mount Royal.

My performance clouded what was otherwise an enjoyable and unique experience.  The Australian team, consisting of John Stanley, Graeme Kennedy, Garry Hand and myself, arrived in Montreal six days before the event and were met by representatives of the organisers.  Of the total budget of $1.5 million for the event, $300,000 was spent on airfares to bring some one hundred athletes to the event and all were to be accorded the same star, or 'elite' status which we enjoyed.  Our hotel, the Sheraton, had only been open for six weeks and our $130 a day rooms on the 20th floor left nothing to be desired.  The race administration had taken over the whole 7th floor and provided, for the 'elite', a 'hospitality' room which contained a bottomless fridge (always full of beer, coke, yoghurt and other goodies), magazines, coffee and so on.  Another 'entertainment' room was stocked with video and other games for our amusement and a third 'dining' room had breakfast and dinner available for us all at no cost.  In addition the Province of Quebec provided six or seven hostesses and hosts to look after us.  Amongst other things, they organised sightseeing tours by bus and boat, trips to the baseball and soccer (both in the 1976 Olympic Stadium), to the races, to a rock concert and so on.  Since only two teams (the Australian men and French women's) plus a few other individuals were in Montreal for the first few days, we received almost individual attention from the organisers.  In addition, we had VIP seats and everything laid on at all these events since they were sponsored by Molson's Brewery which was also sponsoring the Marathon.

Jacques Cartier Bridge, Montreal.

Early during our stay, Serge Arsenault, the race director, called our team to a private meeting and after explaining the race details, informed us of our $30 a day living allowance and went on to list the prizes available for the race.  First place would earn $10,000 down to tenth place $500 with performance bonuses of $750 for each minute under 2:15 as well as $5,000 for the first team, $3,000 for second and $1,000 for third.  He then asked how we wanted prize money paid should we be lucky enough -in cash, by cheque, or to our national association.  In the event, the Australian team came second behind Italy in the teams race and John Stanley, our nominated manager, collected three crisp $1,000 notes (which were later deliveved to the AAU).

There is practically no dividing line between professional and amateur athletes in North America now and Benji Durden (USA), who won the race in 2:13, openly admitted that he won $35,000 in cash last year in the U.S.

Montreal Olympic Stadium.

Montreal is a predominantly French-speaking city of some 3 million people on an island in the St Lawrence River.  The dominant feature of the city is the tree-covered Mount Royal (MontReal in French) which provided good training territory only a kilometre from our hotel.  For our entire stay the weather was warm and humid which made training a sweaty affair but was otherwise very pleasant for looking around.  The day of the race was no exception and a 6:30 am news bulletin informed us that it was 20°C and rising.  During the race it was sunny and very humid with temperatures recorded at 30°C along the course.  However, it was not the temperature which affected me.  I started badly, running 16:30 for the first 5km, 17:30 for the second and 18:00 almost exactly for each 5km thereafter.  Of course by 10km I was already almost three minutes down on the leaders and spent the rest of the race wishing I was home in bed but not daring to pull out.

Because of my slow start, I don't think anyone passed me after about 10km and as the heat took its toll, my place improved rapidly - 90th at half-way, 46th at the finish - however this was no consolation at all.  My team-mates performed well with the exception of Gary Henry (who joined the team from the U.S. where he had been studying) and the results were as follows:
     16.  Graeme Kennedy - 2:19
     20.  Gary Hand - 2:20
     24.  John Stanley – 2:21
     41.  Gary Henry – 2:28
     46.  Dave Byrnes – 2:29.

The main reason we came second in the teams race was the casualty rate in the other national teams, many of whom had insufficient finishers to count.

The race, similar to our Big M Marathon, was a mass participation event. However, to make the organisation manageable only the first 12,000 entries were accepted!  The race started on the giant Jacques Cartier Bridge across the St Lawrence Seaway and ran through the suburbs out around the 1976 Olympic Village and Stadium before returning to pass through the central city area.  It then proceeded out on to two islands in the Seaway, circling the Canadian Grand Prix circuit, and passing through the World Expo site to the finish.  Unfortunately there was little crowd support over the last 10 kilometres (where it was most needed) in contrast to the first 30 where the route was lined with people.  Although, it must be said, that unless you were recognised as a 'Quebecois' (from the province of Quebec), runner the support was somewhat muted.

The evening of the race there was a dinner and disco for the elite athletes and organisers which was enjoyed by all and then after a day to rest up, we returned to Australia - a 48 hour trip.

Relays

Fellow Kew Camberwell team members for the
1980 New Zealand Road Relay Championships.

There is plenty of camaraderie in distance running, but it is not usually thought of as a team sport.  There are club competitions run by various State and National running organisations for road and cross-country running, but my observation is that it still ends to be an individual competition with the performances just aggregated to determine team positions after the event.

The exception is relay racing where each individual runner is very conscious of their team membership and expectations.  I have known runners who almost always perform better in a relay race than when they are running for themselves, and others who find the pressure too much and choke.

Start of the 1980 New Zealand Road Relay Chempionships.

Most of my relay running was done in the 1970s and 1980s when I was a member of Kew Camberwell District AAC and its antecedents.  In our heyday we were one of the strongest distance running clubs in Victoria and derived some perverse pleasure from our lack of national and international stars of the kind that characterised the ranks of the two best Victorian clubs, Glenhuntly and Box Hill.  We were a club of journeyman runners who enjoyed fierce, but good-natured, competition amongst ourselves then took great pride in our ability to be competitive with the best clubs in team competition.

Running my leg in the 1981 New
Zealand Road Relay Championships
(9.6km, 29:34).

Although there were some relay competitions in Australia, it was the annual New Zealand Road Relay Championships that really caught our attention after Glenhuntly returned from competing there in 1979.  The competition in New Zealand was of exceptionally high standard and the event, which called for a team of ten to run an average of 10km each, was very competitive and continues to this day.  As I recall, the super Glenhuntly team had only just got onto the podium.

We managed to muster sufficient members to run in the competition in three different years in the early 1980s, but it was the first trip that sticks most in my mind.  We travelled over as a group starting in Auckland where we competed in a local road race before driving south in a hired van to Wellington where the Relay was to take place the following weekend.  There were 23 teams in A Grade and our goal was a top ten finish.  Glenhuntly were there again.  Our early runners excelled themselves, and the rest of us lifted to match their efforts.  I was only a few months past major knee surgery and couldn't run very well downhills so was given a 6.2km all uphill leg.  I wasn't at my best, but can still remember the pressure I felt to maintain our good position on that long climb.  The junior runner in our team who ran the downhill leg after me, wore the soles off both his feet blasting down the hill and had trouble even walking in the days that followed.  I can still remember Chris Wardlaw, a two-time Olympian and Glenhuntly team member, complaining to us "that seven legs have passed and we still haven't caught you bastards", or words to that effect.  That made our day.  Their class ultimately told and they finished seventh overall, but we were just two places and two and a half minutes behind.

The Kew Camberwell team for the 1983 New Zealand
Road Relay Championships.

We never did quite as well in the subsequent years, but I'm sure all of us who ran in the Kew Camberwell teams still remember them fondly.

Being Saturday, it was the usual Terrigal Trotters run at 6:00am, and I went down to meet my friends who were running and went for a 6km walk while they were out.  I feel like I'm treading water, waiting for the specialist appointments and my body to repair itself.  Not much else I can do at present, but it's very frustrating.

Trotters

Terrigal

Last night was the monthly Terrigal Trotters Committee Meeting at the Terrigal Surf Life Saving Club.  I always get a sense of privilege rocking up to the Surf Club on a Monday evening during holiday season.  Terrigal is a very popular holiday destination and during the summer you have to make your way through throngs of holiday makers knowing that by next month's meeting they will all be back at work or school and you will still be here, continuing to enjoy the delightful beach, hinterland and weather that have attracted them for their vacation.

Terrigal Surf Life Saving Club

Over my athletic career, I have belonged to a succession of running clubs - Melbourne High School Old Boys (defunct), Kew Camberwell District (defunct), Croydon Harriers (UK), Colchester & Tendring (UK), Watford Harriers (UK), St Louis Track (US) - and now Terrigal Trotters.  Along the way I have served in various Committee positions in some of these clubs and Terrigal Trotters stands out as unique.  Most Clubs seem to rely on two or three people to do much of the work assisted occasionally by other club members.  At Terrigal Trotters, without counting the numbers, I would guess that there are 20 people who make a very significant contribution to the Club's activities and many more who are willing to help out with particular events.

Terrigal Trotters Santa Run

The Committee is energetic and the Club inclusive.  Membership is growing and there are new people showing up for every Saturday's run, many of whom soon become hooked on the format and camaraderie.  It's fun to be a part of and volunteers enjoy involvement in professional and successful events.  Such success feeds on itself, drawing in more volunteers and participants.

Each month, one of the Committee Meeting agenda items is to nominate people who have made an exceptional contribution to the Club in the previous month and then select a Club Person of the month.  It is illustrative that there were 30 members nominated for their efforts in the past month.  Surely a sign of a vibrant club doing it's bit to promote fitness, health and fun.

Terrigal Trotters Christmas Party

My exercise today was another 5km walk around Copa.  I felt good and really wanted to be running.  Unfortunately, resumption still seems to be some way off.  My Echocardiogram this morning revealed significant Atrial Fibrillation in my heart and the specialist immediately sent me off for an Electrocardiogram (ECG) which confirmed his diagnosis.  The results still have to be reviewed by a Cardiologist, so I don't have a detailed report, but Googling the condition makes it plain that I have been lucky, will remain on Warfarin to reduce the risk of Stroke, and will need to consult some specialists before daring to run again.

1981 Melbourne Marathon

The lead bunch in the 1981 Melbourne Marathon at
about 5km.  I'm on the left and eventual winner, Andrew
Lloyd, is in the centre wearing the hat.

I ran a very gentle 5km this morning, telling myself that I was feeling fresh and in good form for Sunday's Melbourne Marathon.  It was very slow, but none of my chronic injuries were very painful, so that was a good sign.  Later I travelled into the city to pick up my race pack from the Runner's Expo and chatted with some friends I met there, before lunching with the son of a friend who will be running his debut marathon on Sunday.  All of these little events and meetings help build the anticipation for Sunday's run and are part of the marathon experience.  We're all wondering how things will turn out on the day, and just want to get running.

In yesterday's blog I wrote about how much the Melbourne Marathon was a part of my earlier running life and about my experience in the first Melbourne Marathon in 1978.

The leading bunch at around 5km of the
1981 Melbourne Marathon with me in
the foreground

By the time I ran the 1981 Melbourne "Big M" Marathon, I was recognised as an experienced marathon runner and a podium prospect in the races I ran.  I had also dealt with some career-threatening injuries, particularly a serious lower back problem, and was never sure I would make it to the start line of any particular event.  Another injury, to my left Achilles tendon, was serious enough to warrant anti-inflammatories and I was scheduled for surgery a month after the race.

My success in the 1978 "Big M", and subsequent personal best of 2:19 in the 1979 Victorian Marathon Championship, had also attracted a minor level of sponsorship with Brooks Shoes.  There was no money involved, but they supplied me with shoes and running clothing and I agreed to wear their running attire at certain events.  This was the case for the 1981 "Big M", and they had supplied me with their latest and greatest marathon running shoe a month before the event.  I wore them in lead-up long runs, including the week before the marathon on forestry roads from our weekend shack in the mountains about an hour east of Melbourne.  When I returned from that last long training run, while still wearing my running gear, I decided to cut up a fallen tree on our property before showering.  A log slipped as I was cutting and knocked the chainsaw down to my left foot where it neatly sliced through the top of one of my new shoes, but incredibly didn't draw any blood.  This is one of several occasions in my life where, but for some good fortune, serious injury or worse would have been incurred.  I had to sheepishly call the Brooks rep, explain my mishap, and request a replacement pair of shoes, which he supplied.

Around the 15km mark of the 1981 Melbourne Marathon,
Andrew Lloyd and I began to get away from the field

The race itself had a good field, including two-time winner, Andy Lloyd from Sydney, known throughout Australia as the "Fun Run King".  Andy later won the City to Surf Fun Run four times and represented Australia on the track, winning a Gold Medal in the 5000m at the 1990 Commonwealth Games (worth watching on Youtube).  He was a superbly talented and versatile runner who was probably wasting his time on the marathon at this early stage of his career.  Anyway, the pace was solid and steady from the start at about 16:00 per 5km, and a large bunch gradually thinned out until around half way, it was down to just Andy Lloyd and me.  After I had shadowed him for a while, he tired of my presence and began to throw in some surges, running faster for a few hundred metres and then backing off.  After a few of these, it had the desired effect and I dropped off as well.  With about 6km to go, his lead had stretched to about two and a half minutes, even though I was still running reasonably well.  At this point there was a slow climb on the course (Fitzroy Street) before a seemingly endless long finishing straight along the broad and tree-lined St Kilda Road.  The climb must have taken its toll on Andy because when I turned into St Kilda Road, I could see him and the lead car ahead and began making some ground on him.

Nearing the finish of the 1981 Melbourne Marathon
(2nd, 2:19:30)

My club, Kew-Camberwell, traditionally manned the 40km feeding station for the "Big M" Marathons, and one of the thrills of my life remains running through a tunnel of my screaming club-mates as I closed in on the tiring Andy.  Alas, I left my run too late and finished 27 seconds behind him in 2:19:30.

The postscript to this story is that Andy turned down the winner's prize of an all expenses paid trip to run in the 1982 Boston Marathon, and it was passed to me.  He had been the two previous years and apparently didn't feel the need to go again.  It was very generous of him to let me have the trip, and I took extra pleasure in watching his accomplishments in subsequent years.

1978 Melbourne Marathon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bacchus 12000

Griffith today

A race which lives large in my memory, and probably in the memory of many 1970/80s runners, was the Bacchus 12000, a 12km race held at Griffith in the NSW Riverina every Easter.  Griffith is in the centre of a wine-growing area, and in those days, marijuana growing and organised crime as well.  Local identity and anti-drugs campaigner, Donald Mackay, disappeared in May 1977 from Griffith and his body has never been found.  One of my memories from the time is of vast vineyards with long driveways and Italianate mansions.  It was definitely a place of the 1970s.

Runners travelled from the cities of Melbourne and Sydney for the race because of the valuable prizes offered, generally airfares to the US.  Many camped at a local recreation ground designated for the purpose, and I can remember a youthful student, Rob De Castella, camping there having driven up in his old Peugeot.  Race day itself always seemed very hot and dry and the course included exposed gravel roads and a tough climb.  The field was always very high quality and would have done justice to any Australian distance-running championship.  I don't remember ever doing very well there.

The Kew Camberwell Athletic Club encampment at
Griffith prior to the 1979 Bacchus 12000

The first year we went, the post-race function was held in a winery and turned into a sort of Bacchanalian Feast, which didn't do much credit to the running fraternity.  In subsequent years, the organisers wisely held the function outdoors at the race finish, although that still ran some risks.  All finishers received a bottle of local specially-labelled port, and one year my club had a special event which was won by whoever was the first to finish their bottle of port (and keep it down for an hour) after running the race.  I'm a non-drinker, so didn't participate, but recall my brother came second.

My club, Kew Camberwell, usually had a large contingent of runners and partners attending, and apart from some running and the race itself, we spent our time playing pick-up cricket and soccer matches on the recreation field where we were camped, visiting wineries and patronising the local clubs.  I remember one hard-fought soccer match, played the day before the race, resulting in one of our best runners dislocating his shoulder after a rough tackle.  To the amazement of our colleagues from the Glenhuntly running club, camped nearby, we continued with our game after arranging for one of the girls to take the injured runner to the local hospital.

The victorious team, after a Kew Camberwell intra-club
pick-up cricket match at Griffith just prior to the 1979
Bacchus 12000

Another often-told story related to a year when the prize of a US return airfare was to be a lottery drawn from the first ten finishers in the race.  It was a very hot year, and one of our best runners was coming 10th as the race passed through some suburban streets approaching the finish.  Another member of our club was a little way behind in 11th place and noticed his club-mate ahead begin weaving all over the road before collapsing unconscious in the gutter with heat exhaustion.  The trailing runner had to make a quick decision about whether to stop and attend to his fallen friend, or continue on, now in 10th place, to the finish.  He chose the latter, but sadly didn't win the prize draw.  We all visited our dehydrated and heat-affected club-mate in hospital later, where he was kept overnight, but not until the post-race celebrations were over.  Those were the days.

For my exercise today, I just walked 5km as planned.  My joints were a bit stiff and sore after yesterday's long run, but I didn't feel very tired, which is a good sign.  The only visible cloud on the horizon before next Sunday's Melbourne Marathon, is that Sharon has a bad chest and sinus infection, and is being treated with antibiotics.  Selfishly, I hope it's not contagious.

Outclassed

Peter Norman finishing second in the 200m Final
in the 1968 Mexico Olympics

Amongst the early highlights of my running career were the occasional encounters with world class athletes.  In a previous post, Brushes with fame, I wrote about crossing paths with New Zealand greats, John Walker and Rod Dixon.  Much earlier, in April 1970, at the age of 19, I had the thrill of racing against an Olympic Silver Medallist.

It came about at one of the country athletics meetings to which my club-mates and I used to travel in my early running career.  Most of us were still living at home and these meetings, in Victorian country towns such as Horsham, Stawell, Halls Gap, Strathmerton, Myrtleford and Omeo, provided a great reason for us to get away for a weekend.  The usual routine involved driving up late on the Friday night, often after a volleyball game, camping at or near the track, racing on the Saturday afternoon, adjourning to the local pub on Saturday night in the hope of meeting some girls (rarely successful), and a longish run on the Sunday morning before driving home.  Apart from the attraction of a weekend away with our mates, the track meetings were an opportunity to be big fish in a little pond.

A track meeting at Stawell, Victoria, in the early 1970s

They were usually part of an annual town festival, with the track marked out on the local football ground and other events, such as highland dancing competitions and wood-chopping, going on around the perimeter.  We always fancied our chances of coming away with some trophies, but there always seemed to be a local dark horse who showed us our place.  I can't remember why, maybe because of some family connection to the area, but the big attraction for this particular weekend at the Wimmera Athletic Club meeting in Horsham (300km north-west of Melbourne) was to be Peter Norman, who had finished second in the 200m final at the Mexico Olympics just two years earlier.

A track meeting at Myrtleford, Victoria, in the early 1970s

Early in the afternoon, I had competed in my primary event, the 880 yards, without distinction, finishing unplaced in 2:06.  After the 880, I discovered that there were still some places available in the 220 yards, an hour or two later.  I suspect that was because only a limited number of local sprinters were willing to be embarrassed by Peter Norman, but this didn't bother me as a brash 19 year old with no sprinting ability.  I booked my place in the race and don't recall where I finished (almost certainly last), but my time of 25.7 would have put me about half-way down the straight when Norman crossed the line.  The only thing I really do remember about the race was that Peter Norman was a chatty down-to-earth guy without a hint of arrogance or pretentiousness.  His speed was awesome.

I walked for about 5km this morning, and found that so long as I concentrated on keeping my right foot aligned with the direction of travel, i.e., not splayed to the side, as is my habit, the pain in my injured right knee was not so bad.  I sense that I may be able to resume limited running tomorrow as long as I keep that right foot pointing forward.  Time will tell.

Hunting joggers

Melbourne's Tan Track

The reasonably fast downhill trail sections in yesterday's Terrigal Trotters run, aggravated my right arch injury a little, and a stint of dancing at last night's Trotters 30th Anniversary celebration didn't help either. So, I set off for a slow 8km this morning with some trepidation.  My right Achilles tendon had also suffered yesterday and remained sore.

However, despite the need to favour my right leg for the first few kilometres until the injuries warmed up, I did feel a bit fresher and stronger than has been the case for the past few days.  The 8km Copa Circle route that I use has plenty of hills and I was pleased to find that, despite quite warm conditions, I coped quite easily.  It gives me a little confidence that I'm over the chest bug that has troubled me the last week, and also to try a longer run tomorrow.

About a third of the way around today's run, I spied a tall lean jogger a hundred metres ahead, running down the road with a small dog on a lead.  It was a lovely sunny and warm morning and I took him for one of the weekend visitors to Copa out for a Sunday morning run.  He wasn't going fast, and despite my own modest pace, I gradually hauled him in.  I confess that I'm never very happy being caught from behind when out for a run, particularly when it comes as a surprise, so when I'm doing the passing, I always try to make eye contact and say hello.

This morning, however, the jogger showed no inclination to make eye contact  or acknowledge me and immediately increased his pace, somewhat to the distress of the small dog.  I consciously avoided throwing down the gauntlet by increasing my pace, because I would have felt ridiculous, so we ran in tandem, each on his own side of the road, for what seems like a long time, but was probably only 500m or so.  We parted company when the road began to climb a short sharp hill and he gave up, as I suspected he would, after a 100 metres of straining to keep level.

We used to kid a fellow Kew Camberwell club-mate in Melbourne about one of his favourite lunchtime activities, "hunting" joggers.  Ray was a very good runner, with a best time of around 30 minutes for 10km, and worked as a public servant in the Melbourne central business district.  Like many city workers, Ray used to go for a lunchtime run around the Tan track, where he would delight in catching slower lunchtime runners from behind.  The runners, who were always men, and presumably suffering from excess testosterone, often sought to keep pace with Ray as he eased past.  Once Ray had the jogger on the hook, he just kept slowly increasing the pace until, with a gasp, they dropped off.  Very sadistic.

Ridgetops Tour

Northern Flinders Ranges

All body parts seemed to be creaking when I rose this morning, and my bad knee had been painful at times during the night.  Such is the price of a longish (barely) run, up and down steep hills and along trails, when old and unfit.  I knew that this morning's "easy" 10km would not be very easy, and that proved to be the case.  The further I went, the looser my limbs became, but I was slow and my knee hurt.  Despite all that, and a slow time for my regular 10km, my mood was good.  Providing I don't slip back into injury, I can sense that I'm getting fitter and I know that the aches and pains will diminish in the next week or so if I soldier on.

In the absence of other news, I thought I would include another anecdote from my running past.  This one tells the tale of a long run during a camping trip to the Arkaroola section of the northern Flinders Ranges with another couple in the early 1980s.   See the St Mary's Peak post for the story of another run on an earlier vacation.  Below is an edited version of the story submitted to the Kew-Camberwell newsletter about the run.

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THE RIDGETOPS TOUR

The Ridgetops Tour trail

For those who haven't had the pleasure of travelling the Ridgetops Tour, a comparison of it with the Luna Park Scenic Railway is justified.  Pratty and I decided to run the length of the track and then to push on for another four or five miles along a disused, impassable trail to Paralana Hot Springs where we were to be met by our wives who were going to drive there via another route. We estimated the total distance to be about 20 miles (32km) and set off early to avoid the heat of the day after trying to memorise the wall map we had seen.  The track wasn't open to the public and the only access was via commercial tours, so there were no maps available and we were not sure we were even allowed to go there.

It is true that I wasn't at peak fitness for this little exploit, but I feel that I should point out that the reason I started to fall behind on the precipitous hills at an early stage in the run had more to do with the large hole which opened in the sole of my left shoe and continually filled with sand and gravel than Pratty's scintillating pace.

The northern turn-around point for the Ridgetops Tour
(we continued down the track at the bottom of the photo)

After ninety minutes, we were caught by that day's organised Land Rover tour.  The tourists expressed some amazement at our stupidity, but nevertheless, gave us some liquids, which were rather scarce (actually non-existent) in this part of the world.  Amongst the tourists, there were, almost inevitably, people who Pratty knew (he always meets people he knows in the strangest places).  The fact that they were schoolgirls was never explained to my satisfaction.

After two and a half hours, we reached the turnaround point for the tour at about the same time as the Land Rover (which had made some detours) and, after another beggared drink (it was now quite hot and the tourists were beginning to regret the drinks they had given us earlier), and next-to-useless guidance from the tour driver as to the direction we were to take to get to Paralana Hot Springs, we set off in the general direction of Cape York down a boulder-strewn trail.

I don't remember a lot about this last five miles, apart from heat, glare, thirst and circling birds of carrion as we pushed slowly on along dry river beds and across rocky clearings.  I do recall that Pratty was no longer pushing the pace.

To everybody's considerable surprise (including my own), we arrived at the Springs more or less on schedule and without getting lost.  Training was light for the next few days.

The Three Hour Run

Bogong High Plains near Mt Fainter

Nothing beats that post-run feeling of breathlessness, sweatiness and accomplishment.  I am very happy to be running again.  Even though it's only been 5km a day this week, I feel unfit, my right arch still hurts, and I have a few niggles (traceable, I believe, to wearing the new insoles), my outlook has swung to positive.

Since there's not much to talk about with respect to my training at present, I thought I would include an article I wrote for the Kew Camberwell Newsletter about a long run I did with Chris Wardlaw on the Bogong High Plains in early 1984.  My club, Kew Camberwell, hired a lodge in Falls Creek for a week or two in January each year, and we spent our time running, eating and playing board games.  Other running clubs did the same and the tradition continues to this day, of athletes training on the High Plains during summer.

Chris, who I've mentioned in previous posts, was a famous figure in Australian athletics.  He had represented Australia in the marathon in the Moscow Olympics, where his performance was possibly compromised by the lead he had taken in opposing, ultimately successfully, the Australian Government's attempt to boycott the Games in protest at the USSR's venture into Afghanistan.  Our paths had crossed at Melbourne High School Old Boys Athletic Club, Monash University and various running events over the previous fifteen years.

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THE THREE HOUR RUN

Bogong High Plains

When Chris Wardlaw asked me whether I was interested in a “three hour run” the next day, I initially declined.  I had already arranged to travel down from Falls Creek with the rest of the Kew Camberwell crew to compete at Albury, and I hadn’t run for longer than 1.5 hours at a time for six months because of a back injury.  However, I found the idea very tempting because there’s nothing I like better than a bit of a run in the bush.

When I saw Chris later on I asked what pace the run would be and who else was going.  The pace was to be “slow” and he was going with Danny, a local identity and former 2:21 marathoner, and “the only man to ski from Crackenback to Hotham……..and survive”.  I was hooked, and arranged to meet them at 9:00am the next day.  Megan, Ian and Barb were to come the first few miles, before heading off on a different 18-mile loop whilst we were to continue to Tawonga Hut, on over Mt Fainter, and then descend to Bogong Village where we were to be picked up by Chris’s girlfriend.

Next day, the weather was abysmal.  It was raining, foggy and very windy, not to mention cold.  Ominously, the “Crackenback to Hotham survivor” failed to show, but after a quick glance at a map, Chris and I resolved to go anyway.  Also ominously for me, the first two or three miles were uphill, and Barb and Megan, and then Ian, dropped off the “slow” pace whilst I tried not to think about the hours ahead.  The wind was at our backs, somewhat masking the foul conditions, while we batted along at near six-minute mile pace, discussing Olympic prospects (not mine), female marathoner pregnancies, and the rescue of Robbie Morgan-Morris’s training group the previous Sunday in similarly foul weather conditions.

After an hour we climbed over the top of Ben Cooper and then descended on a rocky trail down a valley and on to Tawonga Hut.  The weather was deteriorating.  From the Hut, there was a fire-trail and a narrow foot track leading off in different directions.  We were unable to decide which was correct and eventually resorted to asking a hiker (who was spending the day in his tent!) which we should follow.  He suggested the narrow foot-trail, but said it was difficult to follow.  Off we went, climbing steeply up out of the snow gums onto open plains, where we succeeded in losing the track almost immediately.  The weather was still deteriorating.  We decided to continue up onto the top of the ridge in front of us and then follow it to the right to Mt Fainter where we expected to pick up the track again.

Myrtleford Ski Lodge, where we used to stay when
training at Falls Creek

On the ridge, the weather was appalling.  The rain was now mixed with hail, which because the wind was so strong, was blowing horizontally, visibility was down to 100 metres, and it was freezing.  We continued cross-country along the ridge occasionally having to bash our way through stretches of wiry matted waist-high scrub, all the time getting colder and colder.  We skirted a couple of craggy peaks, hoping we were staying on the right ridge until confronted with a rocky peak with no obvious way around.  We stopped briefly, both now shivering violently and having difficulty talking, to discuss the situation.  The unanimous decision was that we had to get off the ridge.  My guess was that we should head down to the right whilst Chris wasn’t so sure, thinking we may have gone round in a circle when rounding one of the peaks.

We went down to the right.  As we descended the shallow valley the scrub became thicker and thicker, and we were now both fairly badly scratched and soaked to the skin.  We were still above the tree-line and exposed to the elements.  After twenty minutes, not a lot of forward progress, and a number of falls into holes and a creek, another brief conference was held (in mumbles).  Chris was more doubtful about our direction and I was concerned about our slow progress.  We decided to continue, but after another fifteen minutes the scrub was up to shoulder height, progress was even slower, and our physical condition deteriorating.

Chris looked pretty bad – shivering violently, bluey-white, and almost unable to talk.  He was wearing a pom-pom hat and waterproof jacket as protective clothing, neither of which were of much benefit.  I was wearing only shorts, a T-shirt, and a singlet.  I knew hypothermia was setting in and started to examine myself for symptoms.  The extreme fatigue, violent shivering and clumsiness were all there, but I still did not feel disorientated.  From memory, shivering was supposed to stop in serious hypothermia cases, and I certainly hadn’t reached that stage.  However, we were still over an hour away from shelter at best, assuming we were going in the right direction, and I was seriously concerned about our chances of survival.

Another garbled conversation ensued, and in the face of Chris’s increasing doubts about our direction (he trains on the High Plains every summer) and some uncertainty on my part, we decided to try and retrace our steps, at least back to Tawonga Hut.  The prospect of returning to the ridge was not at all pleasant, but at least it would be nice to run again and maybe get the circulation going.  The climb back up was frenzied as we both went as fast as we could, crashing though the scrub, falling over, grunting and cursing.

The Ben Cooper cairn on a fine day

Once back on the ridge, we tried to follow our original course, peering through the fog for familiar landmarks and looking for faint footmarks in the muddy parts.  It was freezing, my leg muscles were feeling strange, and my knee caps and head were aching with cold.  We stumbled onwards, found a bit of a path, but couldn’t pick where we should descend to Tawonga Hut.  Rather than descend into another scrubby valley, we kept on along the ridge and then, “joy of joys”, through a brief break in the fog, saw the blurry outline of Ben Cooper with its distinctive cairn about a kilometre away to our left.

The spirit was willing, though the flesh was weak, as we battled towards it directly into the face of the roaring gale.  Once there, we picked up our track and headed for “Falls” as fast as we could go – not very fast.

All I could think of was getting back to shelter, and as I struggled up hill after hill into the wind, just kept muttering “Hot Shower, Hot Shower” as a mantra, over and over to myself whilst avoiding the thought of the distance and mountains in between.

Falls Creek in winter

Eventually we descended into Falls Creek and arrived at the bottom of the 100 metre sharp hill up to the lodge.  At this point, my legs decided they had had enough and the hill was negotiated very slowly in a drunken stagger.  We had been out for four hours.

Once I reached the lodge, I stumbled through the door muttering incoherently.  Barb pulled off my shoes and wet gear and pushed me into a hot shower where I was still shivering violently twenty minutes later.  After a bowl of soup and other goodies, my body began to revive and the adventure was over.

I visited Chris that evening in his lodge to find him lying flat out on the floor under a quilt still trying to get back to normal.  He confided that he too thought we were “goners” in the middle stages and wondered who was going to survive, the “fitter” or the “fatter”.