Jacksons Track

Countryside near Jacksons Track.
(© Bardaster)

Looking through an old training diary, I was reminded of one of my all-time favourite running routes.  It was from our shack at Labertouche, about an hour's drive east of Melbourne, where we frequently spent running weekends and holidays with groups of running friends.  There were lots of opportunities for running on quiet forest trails and rural roads, and I previously wrote a post about another favourite course there, the Labertouche North Run.

Jacksons Track today.

The 19km Jacksons Track - Aqueduct Run started out with the same gradual descent out of the forest into a pretty rural valley along an unsealed road, before turning east and joining Jacksons Track, a quiet rural road (gravel in those days) made famous as the birthplace of the Lionel Rose, who in 1968 became the first aboriginal boxer to win a world title.  I never saw Lionel there or knew exactly where on the Jacksons Track he lived, but I liked the idea of running through this little bit of history.  Years later, a book was written about the history of the area "Jacksons Track" by Daryl Tonkin & Carolyn Landon, which is a good read in its own right, but which I particularly enjoyed because after years of running in the area I could identify and picture most of the locations referred to in the book.

Lionel Rose (left) on his way to the World Bantam Weight
Championship against Fighting Harada in Tokyo in 1968.

Jacksons Track incorporated quite a long climb before I would turn northwards towards the forested mountains on Nangara Road.  After a short distance, I would turn left on to what was known as the Aqueduct, which followed the course of a buried water pipeline running from Tarago Reservoir to the southern suburbs of Melbourne.  The Aqueduct trail was almost level, following the southern contours of the mountains and the Bunyip State Forest for 8km all the way back to our shack.  Some of it was in tall mountain ash forest, and some of it was in farmland offering beautiful views to the south.  It was probably mostly on private land and there were a few gates and the occasional cow to negotiate, but I stuck to the trail and never had any trouble.

I often used the course as a time trial to test my fitness, because it was both invigorating and fast.  I quite often ran it in around 67 minutes and can remember one time running it with friends in that time and then running a second lap in exactly the same time on my own.  Those were the days!

Looking at the satellite photos, I see that Jacksons Track is now paved and there are now some houses right on the Aqueduct, so the course is probably extinct.

After yesterday's long road run, I just walked 5km today.  I felt good, though my right Achilles tendon was quite stiff and sore.

Black Forest

Hiking near Titisee in the Black Forest in 2012.

Revisiting remote (from home) places, will often evoke memories of those earlier visits, even if scores of years later.  There are a number of places in the world where this has happened to me and one is the Black Forest in Germany, and Titisee, in particular.

I was most recently there in May of 2012, as a hiker traversing the Black Forest as part of a three-month trek, primarily in the Alps.  As I passed through, I thought fondly back to my two previous visits, the first as a teenager in the mid-1960s travelling with my family in a campervan, and the second in August of 1975 on another camping tour of Europe.  On this latter occasion, I was also supposedly in training for the Enschede Marathon just five days later, but had found it hard to get in any long training runs in the previous couple of months while travelling behind the Iron Curtain.

Looking over Titisee towards Feldberg in the far distance.

After setting up camp beside Lake Titisee, I decided that a long training run might be in order, and set out along forest trails to run to the top of Feldberg (1493m), the highest mountain in the Black Forest, and return, a distance of about 32km.  I don't remember exactly which route I used, but I do have memories of a dull overcast day, hilly terrain, and dark forbidding conifer forests with little undergrowth, ideal for scary fairy tales.  I also remember that the peak, which is above the treeline, accessible via road and had a large communications tower on top, was covered in cloud and seemed quite eerie with nobody about.  No views either, of course.

Crossing the line in the 1975 Enschede Marathon
(91st, 2:59).

I didn't hang around in the cold, and returned to Lake Titisee via the same route, reaching the campsite three hours later somewhat the worse for wear, ominously for the upcoming marathon.  In the race, I managed 91st place in 2:59, my worst marathon to date at the time, and resolved not to run another marathon without training properly.

After yesterday's tempo run, which left me with the usual sore right Achilles tendon, and some stiffness, I decided to just run an easy 10km today in the hope that I will be fresher for a long road run tomorrow.  I didn't get out until late morning when it was quite warm and felt lethargic and rough.  However, that's quite often the way when it's a bit warm and you didn't really want to go for a run anyway.

Chubb Trail

Chubb Trail.

St Louis is a long way from anywhere, be it beaches, snowfields or National Parks.  And of all the places I have lived, St Louis provided the fewest good trail running opportunities.  That's not to say there aren't any, but they are not particularly long, nor very inspiring.

Chubb Trail.

There were a few I visited regularly when I got sick of running in the suburbs and local parks, and perhaps my favourite was the Chubb Trail which was only half an hour's drive from our home.  It was about 7 miles in length and my usual run would be out-and-back for 14 miles, and occasionally I would tack on the Castlewood Loop for an extra 3 miles.  The Trail, which generally followed the course of the Meramec River, started with a hilly section in Lone Elk County Park and ended with a climb to the turnaround in West Tyson County Park.  In between, in the river valley, it was flat, passing through an old farming area which is now a mix of forest and prairie.  It was all very runnable and the hills weren't too bad.

I wouldn't call it an exciting course, but I have pleasant memories of running there late on a weekend afternoon, with the sun setting as I finished, and in very chilly autumnal weather on leaf-covered trail.  One of my old friends from St Louis still runs the Chubb Trail regularly and I doubt it has changed much in the seventeen years since I was last there.

Running for me today was around my regular Thursday morning 11km circuit after the morning track session I supervise at Terrigal Haven.  I was hoping to feel fresher, but the legs were heavy and motivation was low.  I didn't push it in the hope I will recover some zest by the weekend.

Thinking the unthinkable

Katandra Reserve this morning.

After dropping my car off for a service in North Gosford this morning, I ran an easy 20km home via a route that maximised trail and minimised suburbia.  It was another beautiful morning for a run - mild and sunny with wisps of fog in some valleys.  Despite residual fatigue from Sunday's 37km road run, my legs are feeling stronger and I spent much of today's run pondering my running objectives for the next six months.

Clyde Road, this morning.

Incredibly, I'm getting to the point where the sub-3 hour marathon goal is again entering the fringes of my thinking.  I can't quite believe I'm even contemplating it, but assuming my heart problem at Christmas was just a blip, resolved by the Cardioversion, then why is a sub-3 less likely this year than last.  I fully accept it's a remote possibility, but it makes no sense to rule it out.  But maybe a change of approach is needed.  Since resuming running eleven weeks ago, I have been remarkably (for me) sensible in my training.  I haven't aggressively ramped up my mileage, I took a few days off for a minor injury, and I have mostly avoided back-to-back quality (fast or long) training days.  Although it has taken a bit longer than in the past, there has been steady improvement in my speed and endurance and that seems set to continue.

View from Clyde Road this morning.

My new thinking is that I should avoid focussing single-mindedly on the sub-3 hour goal.  Last year, I was trying to run as many kilometres a week as my ageing body could handle, and feeling pressure to improve my base speed.  However, when I look at how I'm running at the moment, and what training I was doing when at my best early last year, I was pretty much running for enjoyment, without sweating on kilometres or speed.

Kincumba Mt this morning.

Although a sub-3 hour marathon is not easy, there were times in my life when I could do it comfortably.  Maybe I need to fine-tune my approach to have fewer quality sessions (fast or long) and run those sessions fresher.  Maybe I also need to avoid targeting a particular marathon and, instead, when I think I'm ready, find one.

It seems to be worth trying, though it runs counter to the approach adopted most of my serious running career.  Counter-intuitively, it may require more self discipline for me than the high-mileage run-regardless regime of the past.

No fun

Gosford waterfront is on the Round the Bay course.
(© BigRay)

Nearly three and a half hours of running and can't say I felt good for, or enjoyed, a single step......except for the last one.  That's sometimes the way with long runs.

If I'm honest with myself, it was a bit stupid to try and run the 36.5km Round the Bay course the day after running 14km quite hard with Terrigal Trotters.  I'm not fully fit, and it takes time to recover from hard runs.  It would have been better to try tomorrow and have an easy recovery day today, but I sort of trapped myself by booking my car in for a service on Wednesday.  That matters because the service centre is about 20km from home, and I planned to run home for training (and catch the bus back later to pick the car up).  If I did my really long run tomorrow, then there would be just one recovery day before the 20km run, which is also not really enough for me these days.

The course crosses the Rip Bridge
(© Rob N_!)

Anyway, unpleasant as it was, the long run is done with no apparent ill effects.  The reason it was so hard primarily relates to gait.  Having run hard yesterday, I was dealing with two issues.  Firstly, there was general fatigue and stiffness.  Yesterday, I was running around 4mins/km for some parts, my fastest for months.  I was striding out more and holding my centre of gravity higher and further forward.  That was pushing the envelope of my current fitness, engaging muscles and stretching ligaments more than has happened for some time.  It's not surprising that stiffness and fatigue follows.  But that's good, because as my body responds to these forgotten stresses, by building muscle and increasing the range of movement, I will become a better runner.  In the short-term, however, the fatigue and stiffness impacts my stride length and I run less efficiently.  The consequence of that is a slower pace, discomfort, and even more fatigue than usual.

The course passes along the Tascott waterfront.
(© John Ford)

Secondly, my chronic right Achilles tendon was quite sore after yesterday's run and still painful this morning.  Stretching hurts it more, so subconsciously my gait alters to lessen the pain.  Generally, this means a shorter stride and splaying my feet more.  The latter has, over the years, caused chronic problems with my right knee, so I'm very conscious these days of not splaying the foot too much.  The result is more Achilles pain, a shorter stride, and an inefficient gait.

On the positive side, I'm pretty sure I will start to feel the benefit of today's run by the end of the week.  Three and a half hours of repetitive pounding on hard flat surfaces was hard on the legs, but I know from experience my legs will grow stronger as a consequence.

London to Brighton

Article from a local newspaper
about my first ultra.

I can reasonably claim to have done my first ultramarathon at the age of 15.  A year earlier, my family had moved to London where my father had a three-year posting, and I joined a unit of the Boys Brigade at our local church.  There, I learned of an annual charity walk from London to Brighton, a distance of 52 miles, and quickly volunteered along with a friend.  My recollection is that the event started in the evening and we walked through the night.  My friend stopped after 33 miles while I finished the journey in 18½ hours.  I don't remember too much about it, other than lying on my back with my legs up against a tree to ease the pain in my feet on multiple occasions in the last twenty miles, and being very short-tempered in the final stages.  Nevertheless, I finished and it reinforced my growing perception that I could do well in endurance events.

The London to Brighton race started beneath Big Ben
and across Westminster Bridge.

It also fostered my interest in the journey from London to Brighton which has an iconic place in English folklore dating back to the early 1800s when people first walked it.  Since then, there have been all kinds of events over the route involving pedestrians, cyclists and motor vehicles, but the one that first captured my interest in the early 1970s was the running race.  Although the amateur running race began in 1951, it wasn't really until the 1970s that some highly-credentialled marathon runners, amongst them Cavin Woodward and Don Ritchie, began racing and six minute mile average pace was beaten.  This was also the time I was starting to race marathons at better than six minute mile pace, and I imagined myself (very optimistically) mixing it with them.

The climb over Ditchling Beacon with seven miles to go.

In the mid-1970s I returned to live in the UK for a year or two, but didn't get to run the race for some reason (can't remember why).  It wasn't until 1991, when I was again living in the UK, that I finally ran the race, at the age of 40.  I was no longer training twice a day, had a young family, and was spending a large part of my life on planes.  Hopes of running six minute miles for the distance were gone, but that didn't stop me heading out at a good pace from beneath Big Ben at the 7:00am start.  It was a race of two distinct halves for me.

The race finishes on the Brighton promenade.

I reached the halfway mark, 27.5 miles (this was the first year of an altered, longer, course that finished over Ditchling Beacon for safety reasons), in almost exactly three hours and going strong.  After a cool start, it had become a clear and warm day, and I began to suffer soon after.  I remember making a very brief pit-stop at about 40 miles and being almost overcome by a desperate desire to lie down on the road and sleep.  I continued on, with the daunting climb over Ditchling Beacon constantly on my mind.  It was every bit as hard as I feared, but I kept running, despite being overtaken by the first woman (it still mattered to me in those days).  The last few kilometres, though mostly downhill, seemed to take forever and I was totally spent when I finally crossed the line in 7:20.  Disappointment at my performance over the latter half (it took 4:20), was quickly replaced with satisfaction at finally realising a long-term goal, and I still cherish the memory.

I ran an easy 5km for training today, feeling in reasonable shape and looking forward to tomorrow morning's run with Terrigal Trotters.

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.

Road running

An early part of today's run was along
Cullens Road which I enjoy so long as
traffic is light.

I'm getting fitter following my heart/lung problems at the end of last year and am continuing to contemplate running the Macleay River Marathon in four weeks time, just to see how I go.  One argument against running is that my legs still need some toughening up if I'm not to disgrace myself.

Although I enjoy running on trail more than road, my experience has been that if you want to race long distances on the road, you need to train over long distances on the road.  It is the hours of repetitive pounding on the road, with every step exactly replicating the preceding step's effect on the musculo-skeletal system, that builds the fitness necessary to cope with a marathon.  After training for long distances on the road, I have always been able to feel the growing strength in my legs, particularly the quadriceps.  Almost suddenly, I will feel stronger, fitter and faster, after a few long road runs.

Ward's Hill is steeper than it looks.

I know I need a couple of long road runs under my belt before tackling a marathon.  For my training today, I ran one of my favourite 21km courses from my home in Copa.  It has some long road stretches, some busy and some quiet, along with a few hills, including one really nasty one around halfway.  I felt good early, maybe the best this year, and was averaging 5 mins/km for the flat sections, but I could feel my legs getting very tired by the time I summited Ward's Hill.  By working harder, I maintained my momentum, but struggled on the last hill with three kilometres to go.

I finished comfortably, but am convinced I need to get in a couple of long road runs in the next two to three weeks if I want to reach an acceptable level of fitness for the marathon.  I haven't entered yet.

Capitol Reef

Capitol Reef National Park.

A place I would like to revisit for some longer trail runs is Capitol Reef National Park in Utah.  When we camped there in January, 1986, in the middle of winter, we had the place to ourselves.  It was so cold, the National Parks Service wasn't even bothering to collect fees.  We were running the Las Vegas Marathon a few days later, so were in the taper phase and I limited myself to a 10.5 mile circuit from the deserted campground.  It was, however, a memorable run to this day.

The view from the Frying Pan Trail.

I set out soon after 8am on a clear morning in sub-freezing temperatures, but soon warmed up on the Cohab Canyon Trail which zig-zagged up 100m in the first 500m, and then continued climbing to the Frying Pan Trail and the rocky heights at nearly 2000m altitude.  The views across the rocky, canyon-laced, plateau in the clear cold air were fantastic.  In many places I was more or less running cross country on rock slabs, soaking up the vistas, and savouring that feeling of being the only person on earth in this superb country.

The Grand Wash Trail.

After about 7km I joined the sandy Grand Wash Trail which followed a dry creek bed at the bottom of a sometimes narrow canyon, dominated by towering rocky walls.  Around 10km, I joined a park road in the Fremont River valley and followed that back to near the campground before rejoining the Cohab Canyon Trail for a short sharp climb over a knoll and back down to the campground.  It was only 10.5 miles, but because I was in the taper phase, I was feeling fresh and strong and that may explain why the run lives in my memory as such an enjoyable experience.

Cohab Canyon.

There are longer trails in Capitol Reef National Park and I look forward to returning there one day to check them out.

For today, I ran 10km, and although I laboured early until my Achilles tendon warmed up, I felt stronger than expected two days after a long trail run.  My time was quickish for this regular garbage run, despite getting struggling a bit on the climb up Avoca steps near the end, so I was happy.

A long but good day

Setting out from Congewai.

Yesterday's Terrigal Trotters run along a section of The Great North Walk explains a lot about why I enjoy trail running.  It was a day that highlighted all of the positive aspects.

Firstly, there were the ominous weather forecasts for cold wet and windy conditions for the 33km run from Congewai to Cedar Brush.  None of the thirty-five booked runners cancelled because of the adverse forecast and there was keen anticipation of battling the elements on the bus as we drove the ninety minutes to the Congewai trackhead.  However, the bad weather was clearing by the time we started running and we ended up enjoyed the best running conditions imaginable - cool, breezy on the higher ridges, low humidity, and sun-dappled tranquil rainforest glens.  It was a pleasure to be alive as we made our way southwards.

Running the forest trails.

The runners each ran their own run, with some choosing to see how fast they could go, others just cruising along with friends, and some taking it easy and stopping for photographs and views.  Trail-running, better than most sports, offers the chance to do your own thing, sharing the joys with others, but not having to do it the same way.

Adventures are almost guaranteed, whether it's missing a turn, taking a tumble, or encountering a snake, and we had all of those yesterday, some more dramatic than others, but all when least expected.  The adventure was compounded by the remoteness, and the lack of mobile phone coverage at the Cedar Brush trackhead meant we were left guessing about the fate of runners who failed to arrive as expected.  Anxiety was replaced with relief and mirth when the runners were found and their misadventures recounted.  The range of emotions experienced during trail running explains much of its appeal.

Traversing Watagan Creek
valley.

Finally, we all enjoyed the post-run camaraderie, lounging in the sun in a beautiful little valley, eating and drinking, analysing and discussing our respective adventures, and cheering each runner as they finished.  It may have been a long day, but it was a good day.

Post-run relaxation.

My own run went fine, not that much slower than last year's time on the same course, and very comfortable. My only real problems were the chronic right knee and Achilles tendon injuries that were giving me quite a lot of pain by the end.  I think trail running exacerbates these injuries, but I'm more than willing to accept the trade-off.

For today, I walked an easy 5km around Copa, and didn't feel too tired or stiff, apart from the tendon still being a little painful.  I'm already looking forward to our next Club trail run in three weeks time.

Fiji Run

Wambina fire-trail.

The Bureau of Meteorology had warned that this weekend would be the coldest for ten months, and it ominously started to drizzle while my fellow Terrigal Trotters club-mates checked in for this morning's 15km "Fiji Run", named for the palm grove passed through en route.  However, it wasn't that cold and most were wearing T-shirts as we set off at 6am in the red-tinged dawn twilight.

Part of the "Fiji Run" course.

As was the case last weekend, I may have over-committed running-wise, which is par for the course.  Tomorrow there is a Club 33km trail run, and running a tough 15km this morning was likely to make tomorrow even tougher.  Rather than test my limits, I hung back early and resolved to run the whole distance at a comfortable pace, with the goal of finishing with something left in the tank.  Despite my advanced years, I still struggle to contain my youthful enthusiasm and competitive nature, and as the run wore on, I gradually started reeling in some of those ahead of me.

Part of the "Fiji Run" course.

However, about half way, when we hit Wambina Nature Reserve and the steep climb up to the ridge, I was brought to my senses and tried to reach the top of each climb without straining and negotiated the steep technical and slippery descents carefully for fear of injury.  The last few kilometres along the road allowed me to stretch out again and I was pleasantly surprised later to find my Garmin had me averaging about 4:30 per kilometre, which is faster than I thought I was running.  I seemed to pull up OK, but tomorrow will tell the tale.

My club-mates seemed to enjoy the course, which I had cleared and marked two days ago.  It was a bit rough in parts, but the adventure of going somewhere new or rarely-visited appeals to most Trotters.

Human encounters

Brixton.

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

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

Bucharest, Romania.

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

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

Swan Street Bridge, Melbourne.

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

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

Elwood coastline with Melbourne skyline
in the background.

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

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

How much is too much?

Waiting for me the first time on the Bush Bash.

Any rational analysis would suggest running 47km on trails yesterday would be tough for me.  I've only been back running for two months after two months off while I was treated for some heart and lung problems, and on Saturday, I ran our club's 10km race in 44:01, 3:30 faster than on the same course a month ago.  I hoped, rather than expected, that the 10km hadn't taken too much out of me and that by walking the steeper hills I would cope with the 47km Brisbane Water Bush Bash.

One of the smaller hills on the Bush Bash.

A week or so ago, Terrigal Trotters was contacted by the producers of a television program, Search4Hurt, to ask whether we would take one of their rookie ultra trail runners on a 40-50km run to gauge his preparation for The North Face 100km in three weeks time.  I suggested the Bush Bash because it was easily accessible in a number of places to film progress, and enlisted some friends from the club to accompany him.  As a point of pride, I wanted to do the run as well, perhaps hoping that the rookie wouldn't be that fit and I could hang on.

Misty views over Brisbane Water.

The run started with a brief on-camera interview about Terrigal Trotters and then we were off on a drizzly, misty and overcast morning for the first bike path section.  Sadly, my quads were very heavy from Saturday's run and my early pace was slow.  The leaders, including the rookie, disappeared into the distance.  I caught them at the first fire-trail junction, 8km into the run, but only because they were waiting.  Thereafter, I managed to stay in touch with the group, partly because I was moving a little better, and partly because my colleagues occasionally waited a short while for me to catch up.

The course is a real mix of terrain.  There are scenic, but boring and hard-on-the-legs, flat bike path sections, and some short road sections, but most of the course follows fire-trails along the mountain crests surrounding Brisbane Water, including very steep ascents and descents.  The intermittent rain combined with low cloud and mist made for some great scenery and atmospheric forest.  There's nothing quite like the eucalypt forests in rain and some of the views, with forested ridges interleaved with low cloud, were breathtaking.

One of the steep descents on the
Bush Bash.

The company was good, but I gave up on trying to keep up with the bunch after 26km and drifted back to run on my own.  I suddenly felt very fatigued and slowed to a plod, wondering how I was going to manage another 20km.  Fortunately, the rookie, who had found $70 on one of the trails, bought us all a drink at the South Kincumber store (they waited for me again!), and the Coke revived me a little.  I told them not to wait for me any more, and they quickly disappeared on the steep climb up Kincumba Mountain.

One of the bike path sections on the
Bush Bash.

I expected to be on my own for the last 15km, but instead developed a symbiotic relationship with Kirrily, who had not run the course before.  I tried in vain to keep up with her, causing me to run more than I would have otherwise, and she had to keep stopping at junctions, unsure of the way, to wait for me to catch up.  This worked well until the final descent, with just 2km to go, when I started to lose my equilibrium and couldn't do more than walk most of the time, taking great care on the steep descents and stairways not to fall, and cursing the unreliability of my muscles.  There was a background concern in my mind that my problems were heart-related, but it was beating regularly, and my blood pressure seemed OK.  Kirrily was concerned, but I was still thinking clearly and was confident I could finish.  I told her to go on ahead.

Another steep descent on the
Bush Bash.

I finished safely in six hours, about an hour slower than my best, and even managed to jog the last few hundred metres.  The TV guys, who wanted to go home, asked for another short interview with the rookie and me.  I was a little worried I would fall over, and hoped I was making sense.  Towards the end, I noticed Kirrily gesturing towards my feet in the background and looked down to find my shoes seething with multiple leeches looking for a feed.  The cameraman got a last close-up of the predators before I adjourned to a wet park bench and began trying to pick them off.  It took some time, but I was lucky and none drew blood.

The run definitely tested my current fitness limits, but it was satisfying to finish with all body parts, except for my very painful right Achilles tendon, in working order.  It will take me a few days to get over it, and I tossed and turned in bed with aching feet and legs last night, but when I do I will be stronger for the effort.  For today, I just walked an easy 5km.

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.

Pindar Cave

Climbing the trail from Wondabyne Station.

Nothing like the prospect of running somewhere new and interesting to get you out of bed in the morning.  One of my Terrigal Trotters club-mates had proposed an Easter Monday trail run with a difference, and I put my name on the list.  Nine of us met at Woy Woy Railway Station and caught the 7:23am Sydney-bound train, asking the guard to stop the train at Wondabyne as we boarded.  Wondabyne is unique, a request-only station with a platform just one carriage in length at the water's edge, accessible only by train, boat or on foot.

Looking towards the Hawkesbury River and Dangar Island
from the Pindar Cave trail.

It was clear cool and sunny as we set out from the station into Brisbane Water National Park and the chatter soon died as the steep climb took its toll.  We reached the plateau and after a kilometre, took an unmarked firetrail westwards towards Pindar Cave, a place I had never visited.

Pindar Cave.

The running became more challenging as the firetrail ended and we followed an unmaintained overgrown and scrubby foot trail.  It was narrow enough that I had to keep my head down to take the brunt of the overhanging scrub, ever ready to protect my eyes, while legs, knees and arms were scratched by prickly undergrowth.  It was dour slow running and seemed to go on forever, but it was an adventure.  There was an excellent view point en route looking south to the Hawkesbury River, and after a couple of unintended detours in the thick vegetation, we found our way to the very impressive cave, a massive sandstone overhang.  There, we surprised a family camped with a breakfast fire burning and took a break to enjoy the cavernous space, before starting the return trip.

Approaching Mount Wondabyne.

On the way out we rescued the balance of our party who had lost their way by shouting directions to help them return to the trail through the wiry scrub.  More good-natured banter.  Soon we were back on the familiar Great North Walk trail and heading eastwards towards Mount Wondabyne via a mix of technical single track, sandstone slabs, firetrail and the cool glen beneath Kariong Creek falls.

Looking down to Wondabyne Station from the top
of Mount Wondabyne.

We made the short detour to the top of Mount Wondabyne where the 360° views were exceptional.  Our starting point, Wondabyne Station, was visible way below, seemingly a stone's throw away, and it was hard to believe it had taken us so long to get to our present location.

The remainder of the run was a little ordinary, especially the sections past the Woy Woy Waste Transfer Station and the sewerage treatment plant followed by a couple of kilometres through the town, and it became quite warm.  By the time I reached my car, four hours after we had started running, I was ready to stop.  However, it was more the pain in my right Achilles and knee that were the problem rather than fatigue.  I didn't feel exhausted, and felt lucky to have enjoyed a beautiful day in the bush, visiting new places in the company of friends.  Wondabyne to Woy Woy via Pindar Cave 25km.