Perspective

Looking towards Wamberal on my evening walk

Sustaining a running injury is a "first world problem" unless you are a professional athlete.  I'm not minimising the impact an injury can have on someone who is dedicated to, or maybe obsessed with, running, but it all needs to be kept in perspective.

Terrigal this evening

That's what I have been trying to do since straining my right calf during last Sunday's race.  I had built up the importance of the race in my mind and really was upset at not realising my expectations.  It's a missed opportunity that may not be repeated, but it's not life-threatening, or even lifestyle threatening, and definitely not unique.  It's not hard to make a list of running friends who have had bigger dreams smashed in just the last year.  Nevertheless, it's hard to stop thinking depressingly about the race outcome, and I guess the hurt will last a while longer.

On the positive side, I'm now referring to my injury as a calf strain rather than a calf tear.  After being painful when walking on Sunday and yesterday, the pain is barely perceptible today, and I went for a gentle walk this evening.  I'm trying to avoid undue optimism, or resume running too soon, but if I manage walking without pain tomorrow and Thursday I'll try a short jog on Friday.  I would really like to do the Trotters Run on Saturday morning, because it's one I mapped and carries my name (Dave's Damn Run), but common sense tells me it would be a mistake to run with others so soon.

Halloween

Some of my fellow Trotters ready for this morning's run

Terrigal Trotters held its first official Halloween Run this morning and it was a great success for the club.  A good number of members made the effort, and some made heroic efforts, to dress up for the occasion and we all had plenty of laughs.  It's rewarding to belong to a club with the critical mass of committed members sufficient to make such a social event a success.  Just another aspect of a club that plays a very large part in my life these days.  The friendly running rivalries that make runs competitive enough to be good training, and the collegial support offered by club mates have helped prolong my running career.  I have always belonged to running clubs, and most have provided a good blend of social and athletic opportunities, but Terrigal Trotters has come along at just the right time with its range of ages, genders, backgrounds, interests, abilities and inclusive culture to provide continuing motivation as my athletic capability declines.

After the run....that's me in the middle

Fortunately, the weather wasn't too warm, because running the whole 10km in my skeleton suit, including the full head covering, was a very warm affair.  I had resolved before running that I would run as fast as I felt comfortable, without worrying if I was further back in the Trotters field than usual, and that was how it worked out.  I could feel some pain in my troublesome heel, but it was hard to work out whether or not it was affecting my running efficiency, given I was running in the skeleton suit.  I've decided to go ahead with my scheduled 42km trail run tomorrow, hoping that it doesn't set me back.  If I get through it without the heel getting worse, I will gain confidence that I'm back on track.  Fingers crossed!

Addiction

Running around 100 kilometres a week with a body that has absorbed many thousands of kilometres over the past 46 years, and knowing that it increases the chances of a future knee replacement or other terminal injury, is not rational.

I know it, yet pride myself on generally being rational and cool-headed.

The Mayo Clinic's website lists behaviours consistent with drug addiction as

• Feeling that you have to use the drug regularly
• Having intense urges for the drug
• Over time, needing more of the drug to get the same effect
• Making certain that you maintain a supply of the drug
• Spending money on the drug, even though you can't afford it
• Not meeting obligations and work responsibilities, or cutting back on social or recreational activities because of drug use
• Doing things to get the drug that you normally wouldn't do, such as stealing
• Driving or doing other risky activities when you're under the influence of the drug
• Focusing more and more time and energy on getting and using the drug
• Failing in your attempts to stop using the drug
• Experiencing withdrawal symptoms when you attempt to stop taking the drug

I can substitute "running" for "drug" (with some grammatical flexibility) in the above symptom list and many of them apply to me. I am addicted to running.

But does the running addiction matter? It may bring my running career to an earlier end. I may be getting around on a walking stick by the time grandchildren arrive. My legs may not tolerate the hiking and cycling adventures still on my bucket list. It may dominate my social life.  All of these things do matter, but others matter more.

My father is now a nursing home resident with a quality of life I have no wish to emulate. His fate has reinforced a desire to live life to the full while I have the means. I'll be 65 in six weeks and there are many ailments that could claim me in the years to come. I only have to look around my demographic.  My legs can't be the only thing wearing out.

The last six months of running has given me rewards (highs) that I thought had been consigned to history. It makes me feel alive and younger. I believe that more may be achieved with determination and good management, and I want to see how far I can go.

Mind games

This morning's run crossed Narara Creek in Gosford.
(© WoollyMittens)

Even though I had an easy day yesterday, running a relatively flat 10km, I still wasn't looking forward to today's planned 36.5km Round the Bay road loop circling Brisbane Water.  The reasons probably included that I would be doing it solo, and that I'm over-familiar with the course, having clear memories of how hard the last 10km often is.  Of course, I could choose to run somewhere else, to get a change of scenery and a bit more motivation, but then I would feel I was giving in and choosing an easier option.  I often say that it is the sessions you don't like doing that are probably the ones you need.

The Spike Milligan Bridge was also crossed this morning.
(© WoollyMittens)

The tricks I employ to get me through a long tough solo run, will be familiar to many runners.  I start, these days, by carrying an iPod and listening to music, podcasts or the radio.  This helps, just a little, to distract me from thinking about how far I still have to go.  But the main technique to avoid focusing on the distance, is to set intermediate goals.  The Round the Bay course is very roughly an equilateral triangle, and I start at one corner.  The first objective is to complete the first side feeling comfortable.  The second objective is to complete the second side feeling like I have a little left in reserve.  Then comes the hard part.  By this time I'm very fatigued and just want it to be over.  I break up the third side into shorter and shorter sections with a milestone at the end of each - an intersection, top of a hill, or a landmark.  Having them get progressively shorter helps mentally because it takes less time to reach each milestone and I count them down to the finish.

Maitland Bay Road was part of this morning's run.
(© Maksym Kozlenko)

Of course, these mental tricks never really stop me thinking about how far and how long I still have to run, and the closer I get to the end, the more my focus changes to how great it will feel to stop and then walk the very leisurely one kilometre around the park at the finish.  Nothing beats that feeling of relief when I stop running, nor that sense of satisfaction I get as I stroll that warm-down kilometre knowing that I have achieved my goal, made a contribution to my near-term future fitness.......and that will be the last Round the Bay for a month or so because of other running plans.

My time this morning was about six minutes faster (3:18) than last week (3:24), which isn't a lot, but I did feel stronger, and if my right Achilles tendon and knee had behaved themselves, I would have been running faster in the last 12km.

Quandary

The Terrigal Trotters crew at last year's
Macleay River Marathon.

It wasn't a big deal, but it's always good when a plan comes together.

For most of the past week I have felt stiff, sore and lethargic.  My right Achilles tendon has been particularly painful.  I have been paying the price for last Saturday's harder run, particularly the fast downhill technical sections, and Monday's 25km trail run.  Knowing I wanted to run the ANZAC Day run yesterday, the 10km Handicap today, and the 47km Bus Bash tomorrow, I decided after Monday to maintain my regular running routine this week, but to avoid pushing the pace, to run on roads and to tie my shoes more loosely.

Even surfaces and straight line running impose less strain on the Achilles, as does a slightly looser shoe, and the no pressure running was designed to address the lethargy and stiffness.  Even yesterday, I didn't feel that good, though there were some glimmers of better form near the end of the run.  But today, from the moment I started my warm-up, I felt looser and fresher, and my Achilles was the best it's been for five days.

Getting my timing chip removed after
last year's Macleay River Marathon.

Four weeks ago, on the same course as for today's 10km run, my time was 47:36.  My allocated handicap time today, based on performances last year before my heart and lung problems, was 44:00.  This ruled out any chance of a podium finish, which was a good thing. It eased what would otherwise have been self-imposed pressure to run as hard as I could.  Instead, I started the run believing that any time between 44 and 47 minutes would be good and was very happy to finish right on 44:00 after a slow start.  The plan had come together, though I still have to survive tomorrow's 47km Bush Bash.

After the run, a friend was talking about the Macleay River Marathon which is on in six weeks time.  Last year, fresh from three weeks of hiking, I ran quite well for 3:24 without getting serious about the race.  I can hardly believe it, but I'm entertaining the idea of running it again.  Three months ago, I was wondering whether I would ever run again.  Am I being stupid?  Today's race, not taken seriously, resulted in a reasonable time for my age.  With a few more miles, and a few less kilograms, it's reasonable to think I could knock a few more minutes off the 10km time and run a comparable marathon time to last year.  But am I pushing too hard?  I don't feel like it, my heartbeat has stayed regular, and I am healthy.  Perhaps I should just treat the Atrial Flutter episode as a bad memory and get on with my running life.

ANZAC Day Run

Terrigal Trotters head out for their ANZAC Day run.

My running club, Terrigal Trotters, has an ANZAC Day tradition of meeting at a club member's house at 6:30am, listening to a recording of Last Post and observing a moment's silence before heading out on a pack run.

Terrigal Trotters ANZAC Day Run.

Today is ANZAC Day, and about twenty runners met to continue the tradition.  It's a bit folksy, with a small wreath, a recording of Last Post, a few appropriate words from the host, and twenty runners standing around in their running gear observing a minute's silence, but poignant nevertheless.  We all take it seriously, and ponder on the twists of fate that meant many of our generation, and of preceding generations, never had the opportunity to grow families and pursue interests as we have fortunate enough to do.

Finishing the Terrigal Trotters ANZAC
Day run.

At such times, I always think of my maternal grandfather, who lied about his age to join the Australian Army in July 1917, was on his way to the UK a month later, and was wounded in the leg in France in March 1918.  He returned to the trenches a few months later where his best mate, an older soldier who had looked after him throughout their service, was killed in action.  I know the memory of this stayed with my grandfather throughout his later life which saw three children and thirteen grandchildren.  It could so easily have been my grandfather who was killed, and I wouldn't be here and nor would many of my very accomplished siblings and cousins.  It's hard not to think about the talent and opportunities lost to the world through war, and the lives directly and forever affected by the loss of loved ones.

The letter my great grandmother received informing her
that her son had been wounded in France.

Another ANZAC Day tradition seems to be rainy weather, and it was showery when we met, but the rain stayed away for a very pleasant 11km along firetrails and roads.  I'm sure we all appreciated how lucky we were to enjoy the camaraderie of friends and the health to run in such an environment.  A short time later, thunder, lightning and heavy rain arrived.

Missteps

Terrigal Trotters gather before a Saturday morning run.

This morning, with the sun not rising until after 7:00am and heavy cloud cover, it was very dark for the 6:00am Terrigal Trotters' "Avoca Steps" run.  The Club Committee, of which I am a member, has been encouraging runners to wear light coloured clothing and carry lights or wear headlamps for safety reasons.  The lights were definitely needed today.

I missed the start by three or four minutes because I was packing up the registration books, and by the time I started running, I might as well have been running solo.  Even with my headlight, which is lightweight but not particularly light, the pitch darkness as I climbed the steep dark Kurrawyba lane nearly brought me undone.  Negotiating some posts, I stood on a pavement edge and nearly went down.  Life number one!

Descending Tramway, a few runners were visible in the far distance under the street lighting, but the bulk of my 100+ club-mates were still way ahead.  I was very conscious of not pushing too hard early since I hadn't had time to warm up and remain worried about unduly stressing my heart, so I focused on running evenly and efficiently, sure I would start to catch people within the next few kilometres.  There is no lighting at all on the grass reserve beneath the trees bordering Avoca Lagoon, but I held my pace, relying on memory as much as my headlight.  Nearing the sandy border of the lagoon, I caught my friend, Wayne, who tried to warn me about a hole he had just tripped on, but was too late.  I felt my toes plant on the edge of a small but deep hole in the darkness and my heel stretch down into the nothingness, while my knee hyper-extended backwards stretching ligaments to breaking point.  It hurt momentarily, and I limped for a few steps, but I escaped serious injury.  Life number two!

The last hill on this morning's Trotters run was the climb
to the Skillion Lookout.

With a sense of good fortune, I continued around the lagoon edge and reached Avoca Drive, a long straight stretch with street-lighting where I picked up the pace and began to reel in some of the stragglers.  I was feeling tired, but maintaining form and regular breathing, when I reached the base of the Avoca Steps.  Again the headlamp proved its worth, delivering just enough light for me to pick out the steps as I tried to keep running.  In a couple of places, my path was hindered by runners who had become walkers, and I called for space to pass as I approached.  This didn't work for the last group near the top of the steps and I tried to go around them on the darkened border of the path.  I misjudged and stumbled to the ground in the gloom, but was again fortunate not to injure more than my pride.  Life number three.

Thereafter, I stayed upright, and although very tired over the last kilometres and struggling up the hills, I continued to catch runners and finished in a reasonable time.  I was happy with the run, and particularly happy that my heartbeat remained regular, despite the challenging hills.  However, I know I was lucky none of my little missteps in the dark resulted in torn muscles or ligaments.  On another day, I might have been looking at three weeks off with a soft-tissue injury or worse.  Part of the problem was that I was taking chances in the darkness to try and catch the field.  But for me, taking some calculated risks and accepting challenges are what life is about.  Sometimes you are lucky, and sometimes you're not.  It's the same with the risk of my heart problems recurring.  I could wrap myself in cotton wool, but that would be no life.

Murray Marathon

I just walked 5km today, again with no problems, and even jogged the last 100 metres to see how it felt.  I'm seriously thinking of jogging a few kilometres tomorrow, ever ready to stop if anything feels amiss.

In years gone by, when I couldn't run because of injury, I often tackled other endurance sports.  Browsing through some old magazines, I found this article I wrote for the Victorian Marathon Club Newsletter published in June 1985, about my first attempt at the Red Cross Murray Marathon (now run by the YMCA).

MISERABLE MURRAY MARATHONING

The start of a recent Murray Marathon.

Following my third left Achilles tendon operation in April 1984, I found myself under doctor’s orders to do little or no running for six months, the first two of which were to be spent on crutches.  After these two months, I abandoned the crutches for a bicycle, and after one more month, combined the cycling with a little jogging.  The combination didn't work and I found myself with a stress fracture in my left foot and orders to stay off my foot for six weeks.  So it was off to the Richmond pool for a mile of slow freestyle each morning - terribly boring.

After the required rest period passed I began jogging, but aware of the Byrnes’ penchant for sometimes slightly overdoing things, began to look for some other form of exercise to combine it with.  Then, brainwave (!), I would start canoeing and enter the Red Cross Murray River Canoe Marathon, a long held ambition of mine.  Inquiries revealed that entries for the five-day, 404km event from Yarrawonga to Swan Hill closed at the end of November, giving me a month to decide whether I could do it and a further month after that to sharpen up.

Competitors in a recent Murray Marathon.

By following up personal contacts I borrowed an old white-water kayak (stable, slow, difficult to steer) and entered my first race, a 20 miler, a few days later.  I never discovered where I came but I didn't fall out!  Soon after, Phil Hamer, an ex- Box Hill marathoner, lent me a touring kayak (TK1, unstable, faster, easier to steer) and I plunged into daily training.

Two weeks later I strained some ligaments in my upper back quite badly and had to give away completely all paddling and running for two weeks - I even had difficulty walking.  My illusions of being competitive with the best rapidly faded and it looked unlikely that I would be able to participate at all.  However, frequent physiotherapy got me back on the water and road in time for four more weeks training.  I should admit to falling out of the kayak into the lovely Yarra more than once in that time.

Competitors in a recent Murray Marathon.

Barb and two of her girlfriends agreed to be my land crew (together with one of their two-year old daughters) and we arrived in Yarrawonga ready and rarin' to go at Lunchtime on Boxing Day.  The remainder of the day was spent registering, checking equipment and some practice paddling.  After watching a few of the novices fall out in front of the assembled crowds, I refrained from the latter.  Equipment was in large part dictated by the hot sunny weather and comprised sunglasses, Arab-like headdress, pyjama pants, long-sleeved top and chamois gloves.  Into the kayak went two 2-litre drink containers from which long plastic tubes were connected by safety pins high on my chest so that drinks could be taken without stopping paddling, a mandatory life jacket (not worn) and a container of jelly beans.  My seat had two layers of foam rubber as well as a sheepskin cover.

Day 1 dawned bright and sunny and I arrived at the start with minutes to spare after watching some of the earlier, slower classes get under way.  There were 500 paddlers in 300 canoes, 69 of which were in my class - the Men's Open TK1.  Water turbulence caused by the frenetic early paddling was my biggest problem as the starting gun boomed and I only just avoided tipping out whilst dodging a capsized competitor.
The key to marathon paddling is 'wash-riding', i.e. sitting right on the tail (only inches away) of another competitor and effectively surfing on his wake.  This technique reduces the paddling effort required by about 10% but takes careful concentration and occasional sprints as the leader (who, not surprisingly, sometimes objects to giving people free rides) surges to get away.  I resolved to spend as much time as possible wash-riding and every time a TK1 passed me I would detach myself from one kayak and attach myself to the new one.  By paddling hard and wash-riding I found myself well-placed after 60km when some of the short-comings of my paddling technique began to manifest themselves in my right wrist, which swelled up, turned red and blue and became extremely painful - tenosynovitis.  I struggled on for the last 32km, finishing 14th for the day.

Day 2 was even longer, 96km, and soon after the start I damaged the deltoid muscle in my right shoulder and was reduced to virtually one-armed paddling.  Each day's paddling was divided into four or five checkpoints about 2 hours apart (with a medical post half-way between each).  Just prior to the first of these, five TK2’s (two men) swept past me creating waves which my weakened condition couldn’t cope with and I fell out much to my embarrassment in front of the assembled hundreds.  The day continued to deteriorate.  I felt I had reached the low point of my life - limping from medical post to medical post, administering ice packs, receiving massages, scoffing copious Aspros, falling out and generally wishing I was dead.  Only the embarrassment of sending my caring land crew back to Melbourne after 1½ days prevented my withdrawal.  After 10 hours I finished - 54th this time - dreading the next three days.

Day 3 is a bit blurred in my memory though I do remember falling out once for no particular reason in front of a group of fishermen.  The intensive medical treatment continued, and as I grew gradually used to my disabilities, my average speed improved.  Withdrawing, though pleasant to contemplate, was not an option since ex- Club member Mike Hall and his family and Ray & Marilyn Wilson were expected in Echuca, the stage finish, to see the spectacle.  I was 37th for the day.

Day 4 began with some optimism and I actually chased a few canoes to wash-ride.  The optimism was misplaced.  I strained the ligaments in my back again after four hours and limped across the line 24th for the day.  It was only the conviction of the doctors that none of my injuries would lead to permanent disabilities if I soldiered on that kept me going.

Competing in my second Murray Marathon
(possibly 1986).

I set out on Day 5, the final day, intent only on survival, slowly paddling down the river until, 20km from the finish, the old competitive spirit surfaced again.  In the distance in front of me, I spied another TK1 and set out in pursuit.  Unknown to me, he in turn was pursuing another TK1.  Two hours later, the three of us were together - exhausted- and straining for the finish 3km away.  The last 200m was a mad sprint (I nearly fell out twice) with me taking the silver medal in our little trio.  After 37 hours of paddling I came 32nd in my class and was a physical wreck, unable to even lift a toothbrush with my right arm.  Two and a half weeks passed before I would jog again.  The finish of the race was followed by a presentation and huge New Year's Eve in the Swan Hill Showgrounds.

The Red Cross organisation was superb.  In addition to the medical posts a large medical centre operated at each campsite until 10pm at night and from 5 .30am each morning where queues could be found for massages, physios, doctors and repairs to hands, bums, wrists and miscellaneous.  On the fourth night the team of about 12 masseurs massaged over 400 paddlers.  Including land crews and officials, the camp totalled near 3000 people, yet the special teams of volunteer marshals wearing colour-coded jackets ensured that everything worked smoothly and no-one got lost driving between check points.

To ensure no paddlers missed the start each day (the slowest left first at 7 .00am) the organisers kindly drove a loudspeaker van around the campsite at 5:00am playing 'Morning Has Broken' and 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life to the accompaniment of unprintable shouts and comments from roused paddlers and land crews.

No canoeist could complete the course without the aid of a land crew and I owe a great debt to mine.  The girls nursed me through each day, literally lifting me out of the canoe at check points, filling drink bottles, administering 2-3 Aspros each time and a couple of handfuls of jelly beans, massaging shoulders, offering words of encouragement to unreceptive ears and spending long hours driving and waiting in the hot sun.  Even after they had lifted my disabled body from the canoe for the last time each day they still had to put up the tents and prepare the meals whilst I lay down or sought medical treatment.  I can't say it was a pleasant experience but it was one not to be missed and I will be back - better prepared and more competitive - in a few years time.  Even the land crew said they'd come back though Barb thought it might be easier to be a paddler next time.

The other side

Running near Moab in Utah in 2012.

There's little doubt now that I will never run another sub-3 hour marathon.  So, you may ask, why is this blog continuing?

I always had at the back of my mind a plan to use these blog posts as raw material for a book that would organise the content more coherently, and hopefully, encourage people to run and explore their potential.  In a perfect world, the climax of the story would have been a sub-3 hour marathon, but life is seldom perfect, and this blog has morphed into a diary of ageing and its challenges to the obsessed runner.

Writing a blog post almost every day is not necessary, of course, but it's a good discipline on me to generate content and it also serves as a diary to record my thoughts and emotions on this part of life's journey if I do ever come to write a book.

Running the half-marathon leg in a relay Half Ironman
with my siblings in Geelong in 2010.

You never know how you will deal with serious health issues when they arrive.  I have had recent first-hand experience of friends diagnosed with cancer and pulmonary embolisms and it's hard to know how they are feeling about their condition, or what to say to them without seeming patronizing or out-of-touch with their reality.  Now I'm starting to see it from the other side of the fence.

One thing that has surprised me is how fatalistic I feel about it all.  Of course, I will do everything I can to get well, run again and have a long life.  But, suddenly, it's conceivable that none of these things will happen.  When you learn that the mortality rate from undiagnosed pulmonary embolisms is 26% and you have episodes when you feel your heart beating at 235 beats per minute (that's nearly four beats per second!) and your blood pressure crashing, a new reality dawns.

A member of the Tiffin Boys Grammar School Cross-
Country team (sitting on the grass) in 1967 in London.

Much to Sharon's concern, I have started getting my life in order, making sure my records aren't in too much of a mess, that my will is current, and that everything important can be found relatively easily.  If the worst suddenly happened, and it could always be an ill-timed truck, rather than a health problem, I want the clean-up to be as easy as possible.

"What ifs" don't figure at all in my thinking.  I have always been an advocate, when decisions arise, of gathering as much information as feasible, making a careful analysis, and choosing the best apparent option.  Once done, no regrets and no looking back wondering "what if".  Although there are many things I still want to do, experience and see, I can honestly say that I have had a full and interesting life.  If the lights went out tomorrow, I would be more worried about the impact on my loved ones than any missed opportunities of my own.

My exercise for today consisted of nine holes of golf with friends, Dave and Bruce, on a beautiful sunny morning.  Sadly, the conditions were not matched by my form.  I played quite badly for the first six holes, and more worryingly, had some episodes when I could feel my heart pounding and my blood pressure dropping while dragging my buggy up small hills.  This was a new and disheartening (literally) experience on the golf course, but my mood lifted somewhat as I parred the last three holes, something I can never remember doing before.

A sedentary life

Golfing with Sharon at Gloucester, NSW

Another warm day on the Central Coast, so it was a sweaty 10km round my usual "garbage" run course.  I didn't feel too bad, though the right Achilles tendon and knee remain painful. It was almost another enjoyable run.....two in a row.....but I flagged a bit near the top of the hills.  Nevertheless, it was a good, if easy, training run and my time was a respectable 54 minutes for this course.

Sharon and I headed off for a few days away in the Barrington Tops region after my run and we played a game of golf in the afternoon.  My Achilles was sore walking round the course, and I wondered about the wisdom of playing.  It's often a dilemma for a serious runner, whether or not to participate in other recreations that could cause or aggravate running injuries.  I think that when you are younger, you can get away with it, but as you get older the risks increase.

Some of my serious running friends are tradesmen and I admire the way they can run after a day's work when they must already be physically tired.  If they get injured, they have to soldier on at their work regardless, or the bills don't get paid.  I've always thought that unless you are good enough to be a professional athlete, a sedentary job is preferable to one involving physical labour, or being on your feet all day, if you are serious about your running.  I consider myself fortunate to have had sedentary jobs during my running career, and I still spend a lot of each day at my desk.  I don't have any statistics to support this contention, just my personal preference for recovering from, or preparing for, running training sitting at a desk than physically labouring.

Having said that, I have known some serious and accomplished runners whose work involves physical labouring.  Maybe that builds a core strength and toughness missing from us desk wallahs.

September 11th

Pear Tree Point Road, Darien

My legs were very heavy, as I expected they would be, when I set out for this morning's 11.5km run after supervising the Terrigal Trotters track session at The Haven.  I plodded slowly up the early steep hills, with my legs still feeling every metre of yesterday's 30km trail run.  When the course flattened out, I felt a little better, but as soon as I hit the hills again, the fatigue returned.  I was still coughing a lot, but was happy to find that my right Achilles tendon wasn't too bad after yesterday's exertions.  Perhaps a glimmer of light at the end of that particular injury tunnel?

Looking down Long Island Sound from Pear Tree Point
Beach, Darien

As I often do on these tedious runs, I listened to the morning news programs on my radio, and heard a report on yesterday's commemorations in the US of the 12th anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks.  I was working in the New York area on that day, on the top floor of an office tower 30 miles north of the Twin Towers, and the events are etched in my memory.  On a very clear sunny day, we could see the smoke rising from the downtown skyline while we followed events on television, and soon sent our anxious staff home.  My company, which was a major supplier of financial information and systems to Wall Street, had a number of offices near the Twin Towers, and I was a frequent visitor to our offices and clients, including in the doomed Towers.  Sadly, six of our staff died, along with many clients.  I knew a number of people directly affected, including some later honoured for their efforts that day.  Our lives had a shadow hanging over them for many months.  Parents at my children's schools had been lost and forlorn cars in the station car parks along our line gathering dust over the ensuing months.  They were the cars of commuters who never came home.

The New York City skyline was incomplete
after September 11, 2001.

There was a pervasive sense of loss in the community, and it affected us all in many ways, large and small.  One of my favourite runs from my home in Darien, Connecticut, went along the pretty Pear Tree Point Road past Pear Tree Point Beach.  Although they were 35 miles away across Long Island Sound, on a clear day it had been possible to get a glimpse of the Twin Towers from a couple of points along the road, something we enjoyed showing our visitors.  It's trivial in the scheme of things, but for our remaining time in Darien I rarely ran past those points without looking in the direction of Manhattan and experiencing a visceral feeling that something was missing.

Army influences

I

This exit from the Hume Highway was very familiar to
me in 1971/72.

drove the 1,000 kilometres back from Melbourne to Copa today and didn't manage to squeeze in any exercise.  Whenever I drive to or from Melbourne along the Hume Highway, the first 100 kilometres up to Seymour and the Puckapunyal Army Camp turn-off, evokes strong memories.
One evening in late 1970, I was helping wash the dishes in my family's kitchen and listening to the radio when they broadcast the lottery in which marbles marked with all of the dates in the latter half of 1970 were drawn.  If you turned twenty in that half year, and the date of your birthday was drawn out of the barrel (22% chance), you were destined for two years of National Service in the Australian Army.  My birthday marble was drawn.  I was finishing my second undergraduate year at Monash University and could have sought a year's deferment, but I was living at home, riding a Honda 50cc motorbike (hardly a "chick magnet"), and perennially short of money despite various casual and vacation jobs.  The Army offered generous tertiary education support for ex-serviceman, and I wasn't philosophically opposed to the Vietnam War at the time, so I didn't seek a deferment and started my military career in April 1971.  I hoped to continue my running, but didn't really have any idea how practicable this would be.



Mug shot on arrival at the Officer Training Unit (OTU),
Scheyville, in April 1971 (I'm the one in glasses!).

The first two weeks of basic training, with about 3,000 other recruits in the 2/71 Intake, involved multiple haircuts, tedious chores, hours of marching and drill, and scary guard duty armed only with a bayonet.  It also included an officer selection process and I was picked to join 180 other recruits at the Scheyville Officer Training Unit (OTU) west of Sydney for a very intensive six-month training process.  There was a new intake every three months, so a senior class was already in residence.  On the second day at OTU, they had their quarterly cross-country race.  Despite not having run at all for nearly three weeks, I won the race easily and equalled the course record, despite stopping numerous times to wait for following senior classmen to show me the way.


Some of my fellow OTU classmates after we had returned
exercises in what is now Wollemi National Park

I have found right throughout my life that distance runners are a respected group in society.  Maybe this is because most people have competed in distance running events at some point in their lives and have a good first-hand appreciation of the discipline and effort that success requires.  My win immediately made me the best known recruit in the whole of the OTU and this proved to be of great benefit, so long as I didn't screw-up.  Cadets were continually assessed by all of the OTU staff who were required to carry around notebooks and allocate comments and ratings in different categories, such as "Cool Under Stress", on everything they saw.  Since they all knew my name right from the start, and because I believe there was a positive view of me after the race win, I think I got a head start on my classmates (although we never knew the results until the end of our course).  The pressure on the cadets was immense and continuous, and I quickly learned valuable lessons about personal organisation and concurrent action, which have stood me in good stead ever since.  There was another cross-country race three months later when the next intake arrived, that I also won, but my time was slower.  I'm sure I was the only cadet who ever finished their six months training less fit than when they had started.  I did get special dispensation to leave the camp area for occasional training runs, but we only had 30 minutes of free time each day, so 5km was about as far as I could go.  I was 4kg heavier by the time I graduated six months later, eighth in my class.



My OTU Class Graduation Parade, October 1971

The Vietnam War was winding down, and no graduates in my class were to be posted overseas.  Like many of my colleagues at the time, I was disappointed.  I didn't want to kill anybody, but I did want to know how I would handle the pressures and challenges of leadership in a combat situation.  I wanted to test myself.  Since an overseas posting wasn't possible, I requested a posting near Melbourne so I could resume my running career with my club and friends.  The Army, who thought I was a better athlete than I really was, tried to be accommodating and I was posted to a Transport Training Unit at Puckapunyal, 100 kilometres north of Melbourne.

Graduation from OTU

As a very green twenty year old Second Lieutenant, I was put in charge of seven NCOs and fifty recruits, and I often look back with embarrassment at how I handled my responsibilities (or didn't, as the case may be).  I was arrogant, self-centred, over-confident, immature and made many errors of judgment, though fortunately none serious.  I didn't really take the Army seriously.  I avoided tasks I didn't like, if I possibly could, and failed to lead by example in others.  My uniform was less than stellar, I took off to Melbourne on Wednesday afternoons "for a run", while the rest of the battalion participated in compulsory sport, and I couldn't be bothered getting my truck licence, despite leading a driver training platoon.  I was elected "Mess Member" at the Officers Mess, with responsibility for meal and wine selection, and couldn't care less about either.  I didn't drink alcohol or "party" (one reason I was put in charge of bar supplies), to the chagrin of my fellow junior officers, and once had twelve stitches inserted in my brow after being punched by one of them for resisting an incursion into my room with a fire hose.  I used to drive between Melbourne and Puckapunyal several times a week, often at high speed in my new bright orange Datsun 1600.   The police once booked me for averaging 102 mph over a 5 mile stretch (got off with a fine, unbelievably) and I had one serious accident in which my car hit and rolled a turning minibus full of construction workers (fortunately, no serious injuries or police charges).

Program extract from my Battalion's
Athletics Carnival in Puckapunyal.

The Army did gradually knock me into shape, and I credit them with teaching me several valuable life lessons, particularly the need to lead by example and not ask anybody to do anything you wouldn't do yourself.  On several occasions, I had to deal with the relatives of soldiers who had been killed in exercises or traffic accidents, and one time was base duty officer when a fellow officer attempted suicide in his barracks.  Later in my time at Puckapunyal, I was made Admin Officer for the Company and, among other things, had a roll in resolving the personal problems of 300 recruits and NCOs.  It was a real eye-opener for a middle-class boy from the suburbs, and gave me a much greater understanding of the lives others live, and their complications.

I did manage to get more serious about my running career, often training on the tracks and hills of the tank training range, or out along minor country roads, in the evenings.  I can also remember regularly dragging my platoon out for 5km morning runs.  I won races ranging from the 110m Hurdles through to the 5,000m in various divisional championships within the Armed Forces and represented them against the Universities.  On most weekends, I also ran in Victorian competitions with my club.

The length of National Service was cut to eighteen months from two years by the incoming Labor Government while I was on duty and I left the Army in October 1972, a little bit older and wiser than when I entered.  I was surprised to be asked to stay on in the Army when the time came for my discharge, but I had had enough and was keen to finish my degree and get back to serious running.

Other sports

Golf at 7am again this morning and I headed out for my easy 5km at 5:15am on the longest night of the year. It was cold and my right Achilles was sore, but didn't feel too bad considering how hard last night's track session had been for me.  One of the reasons that I squeeze my run in before golf is that I think it loosens me up a little.  There have been occasions in the past when I have run after golf and suffered from side or back injuries.  I can't specifically tie those injuries to golf, but I do think that participating in other sports can be risky if you are a serious runner.



Melbourne Herald, 1 February 1973

I gave up other sports I enjoyed playing, such as cricket, tennis and volleyball, during my twenties because either running took up too much time, or because of the risk of injury.  I also frequently represented my Club in hurdles and jump events, and even competed in the State Decathlon Championships when 22, coming 10th out of 18 entrants.  My pole-vaulting was execrable and inspired the accompanying article in the Melbourne evening newspaper.

In my late twenties, when I got really serious about my marathon running, I realised that injuries in other sports and events risked derailing my ambitions and I began to focus strictly on running.  I confess that I now question the value of time devoted to other types of training, such as cycling or cross-training, and particularly think they should not be substituted for running training for the serious runner.  But, everybody is different.  I always raced best when running a very high mileage (200km -240km per week) which didn't leave much time for other training when working full-time, but I know of others who have successfully used a different approach.

During my preparation for the Melbourne Marathon over the next four months, I have decided to stay away from my bike and kayak, just in case they are incompatible with the running.  I decided, however, that playing golf had lower risk, but after this morning am not so sure.  Not only did I play my worst round for a long time, but I could feel tingling nerves in my lower back and some stiffness from yesterday's track session.  The two are probably connected.  Hopefully, I will feel more flexible for tomorrow morning's run with Terrigal Trotters during which I hope to run hard.