Annual gardening

The fire-trail through Wambina
Nature Reserve.

Those who know me, or have seen my house, know that gardening is not one of my passions.  There is, however, an annual piece of gardening that I don't mind doing - clearing and marking the trail for the Terrigal Trotters "Fiji Run" which is scheduled for tomorrow.

I originally suggested the course to capitalise on two little-used trails in the Terrigal area that are not part of our other runs.  The first trail section is short and passes through a grove of palm trees, hence the name "Fiji", and the second, longer, section climbs through Wambina Nature Reserve to a forested ridge which it then follows to its end before descending back to the suburbs.

I first encountered the ridge when some friends took me mountain-biking up that way eight or nine years ago, and have since observed the trail gradually deteriorate through lack of use and rampant lantana growth.  For the last three of four years, since the "Fiji Run" has been on the Trotters agenda, I have been in the habit of spending some time in the preceding week clearing and marking the trail.

Overgrown trail.

Yesterday, after going for my usual Thursday 11km morning run, I grabbed some breakfast in Terrigal and drove to the little-visited Wambina Nature Reserve.  I savoured the climb to the ridge through quiet forest along the leaf-covered firetrail.  It's always a wonder to me how you can find such lovely and peaceful pockets of undisturbed nature amidst the hubbub of the Central Coast.  Most area residents would have no idea it was even there.  After a few kilometres, and having negotiated a couple of locked gates, I reached the narrow foot-trail section and donned my gardening gloves and pulled out my long-shaft clippers.

For the next three hours I walked along the trail, hacking at the lantana and other over-hanging vegetation to make the trail more runnable.  In one short section, the trail had virtually disappeared into a huge lantana thicket and I spent nearly an hour hacking and bashing a usable trail.  When I finally reached the far end of the ridge, I turned and made my way back to the start, hanging flouro pink flagging tape from trees where the trail was more obscure.

Cleared trail.

Knowing it had rained recently, I wisely wore my high profile hiking boots for the expedition, but still scored a couple of leech bites on my calf which are itching as I write.  I was lucky to only have two, since I removed about ten leeches from my boots and thick socks when I returned to my car.  On the way home I needed to visit the supermarket, and padded along the aisles with blood dripping down my calf, hoping I wouldn't get ejected.  Being on Warfarin, leech bites coagulate even more slowly.

It takes a large part of the day to clear the trail, but I see it as a community service.  The local council doesn't seem to have any interest in keeping the trail open and I fear it will disappear without some attention.  I also enjoy taking my club-mates to places they may not know about, or normally wouldn't go.

This morning, I was quite stiff in the back from yesterday's exertions, but otherwise OK, and jogged a very slow early 5km before playing nine holes of golf.

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.

Managing the Achilles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reliving Boston 1982

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

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

Leon's Run

Yass Golf Club.

No running yesterday, just the drive back to Copa from the mountains with a stop for nine holes of golf at Yass on a beautiful day on a very pleasant course.  I knew I needed time to recover from Thursday's longish trail run and have found that an easy walk of five kilometres or so (even if punctuated by some terrible golf shots) is a good way to work out some of the stiffness.

It's confronting, in my sixties, to compare how long it takes to get over a long hard run these days compared to thirty years ago.  There was always fatigue and some stiffness the next day, but these days I'm practically immobile when I first get up, walking extra carefully and slowly downstairs and limping to avoid undue stress on damaged joints.  I sometimes wonder if it's a portent of life in my eighties, if I make it that far.

Glimpses of Gosford from atop Kincumba Mountain.

On the other hand, it's gratifying and often surprising to find how much improvement comes with just a day's rest or easy walking.  The thought of running yesterday had no appeal whatsoever, while today I was keen to see whether the improved strength I felt running up hills on Thursday was real or imaginary.  Although still moving gingerly after my 4:30am rising, I had confidence based on experience that once I started running I would loosen up and feel fresher.

Part of the level fire-trail atop
Kincumba Mountain.

Today's Terrigal Trotters run was the popular 14.7km "Leon's Run" from the beach to the top of Kincumba Mountain and return on a mix of road and fire-trail.  I think it's popularity stems not only from the sense of accomplishment in running to the top of the mountain (and the ensuing exhilarating descent), but also from the contrasts it offers en route - starting from the surf-lapped beach, often in the dark, and traversing sleepy suburbia to reach the forests of the mountain in the early light.  It's a serious climb, but then you get to enjoy three kilometres of  relatively level running to the turnaround point and back along the mountain crest during which you get to say hello to your clubmates travelling in the opposite direction.  If you're having a bad day, you get to see how far they are in front and who's catching you, and if you're having a good day, you get to impress those following and see who in front might be caught.

I had a good day today, considering the past four months, despite wondering a couple of times whether I could sense undue pressure in my chest during the harder parts of the ascent.  Each time, I backed off just a little so my breathing didn't become too laboured, but suspect it was just my imagination.  I definitely ran my best since the heart and lung ailments of Christmas, though there remains plenty of room for improvement.  The tank was empty for the last few kilometres.

Henry Angel

The Hume & Hovell Track.

Today's plan was to run another interesting section of the Hume & Hovell Track, this time about 18km return southwards from Henry Angel Trackhead (named after a member of the Hume & Hovell exploration party).  Both Sharon and I were quite tired after the previous two days of trail running, so we agreed to run outwards until we had had enough and then run back.

The Hume & Hovell Track.

The first part of the trail followed a creek downstream across farmland.  The foot trail was narrow and wet with dew, but the crisp sunny morning and the autumnal colours cloaking the trees bordering the creek, made it special.  The creek had been mined for gold 150 years ago, and there were lots of signposts pointing out where channels and a tunnel had been blasted out of the rocks to create races, and other mining-related artifacts.  This added another dimension to the lovely track.

At Big Hill Lookout.

After a few kilometres, we took a small detour to a lookout on Big Hill, where the Australian Alps could be seen in the distance, before returning to the trail and descending more steeply beside the cascading creek.  At 6km we crossed the Tumbarumba Creek on a shaking steel footbridge and then began a steady and often technical climb up the side of Mount Garland through Bogandyera Nature Reserve.  The trail was often precariously narrow as it made its way up the sides of steep ravines.  A trip and fall may not have been fatal, but it would be serious, and I took great care.

Crossing Tumbarumba Creek.

In all the climb was 330m over 3.5km and mostly runnable.  I was pleased that I felt fit enough to run steadily all the way up, even if it was not fast.  It was good to feel that my cardiovascular system was coping with the demands.  Eventually I reached a high point after 9.5km, and after a brief break, headed back down, chasing Sharon who had turned back earlier.  Actually, "following" might be a better word than "chasing", because it wasn't a trail for an old bloke with dicey joints to be racing down, but I enjoyed the long descent after the sweaty climb, taking in viewpoints here and there.

I was a little worried I might run out of steam on the climb back to the start point, given how technical the trail had been, but I finished strongly feeling that I am fitter than a couple of weeks ago.  Later we played nine holes of golf on a very rough and hilly country course and the fatigue started to kick in then, but it's been a great few days of running.

Kosciusko

Looking down the Thredbo River valley towards
the village.

As mentioned in yesterday's blog post, Sharon and I are heading for the mountains tomorrow and are hoping to enjoy a few trail runs.  They won't be at an altitude sufficient to impact running, but it will be less humid and cooler than the Central Coast of the past few months.  I find cooler temperatures always make running more enjoyable as does running in the mountains.

Looking towards Mount Kosciusko.

The mountains in Australia aren't that high, by global standards.  But, on the positive side, they tend to have runnable trails to their summits, providing scenic routes for inspiring running.  The ski resort of Thredbo, in Kosciusko National Park, offers a number of running options, of which my favourite is a 45km route that includes a visit to the summit of Mt Kosciusko (2,221m), Australia's highest mountain.

The steel mesh track to Mount Kosciusko.

The run starts in the Thredbo Village and follows the Thredbo River Track upstream, initially past the golf course and then through a mix of alpine forest and open clearings to a saddle, Dead Horse Gap.  A right turn takes you onto the Dead Horse Gap Trail, an occasionally technical single track which climbs above the treeline along a rocky spur.  If the weather is clear, there are beautiful views in multiple directions.  Near the top of the spur, the trail goes close to the Thredbo Chairlift Top Station and joins the main trail from there towards Kosciusko.  To preserve the alpine environment, nearly all of the next four kilometres is along an elevated steel walkway, with signs at either end prohibiting running.  If you start early enough, you will beat the first chairlift tourists of the day and have the place to yourself on this outward leg and be able to run without the risk of causing annoyance to hikers.  If later, however, you have to make a judgment about whether or not you will get into trouble.

The panorama from Mount Kosciusko.

Soon after the mesh pathway ends, about 14km into the run, the turn-off to the summit of Kosciusko is reached and it's worth making the 2km (there and back) detour to enjoy one of the best views in Australia.  Returning to the Main Range Track, which follows the alpine ridge to the north-east, more spectacular vistas stretch in all directions, and particularly over the precipitous descent towards the Geehi River to the north-west.  At around 23km, another right turn is made to descend steeply towards Blue Lake and Charlotte Pass, all above the tree-line.  There is a short steep climb from the Snowy River up to the Pass where the old road back towards Kosciusko is reached and followed gradually upwards back to the steel mesh pathway.

The Main Range Track.

Depending on the hiker traffic, it may be necessary to walk the pathway back to the Chairlift Top Station, but from there a steep and often technical descent, criss-crossing the ski runs, is made on single track back to Thredbo and the end of the run.  It's a long run, and much of it is at an altitude high enough to impact oxygen levels, but it provides some of the best scenery available in Australia on a clear day.

I took no chances with the minor hip trouble I had yesterday, and walked an easy 5km on a blustery and showery day around Copa this morning.  The hip didn't bother me at all, and I'm hopeful that after another day of walking tomorrow I will be up for a long trail run the day after.

Minor disappointment

Descending into Erina Valley along Worthing Road.

I'm far from fit, and suspected I would find the Terrigal Trotters run this morning hard.  The 11km course, Fragrant Gardens/Erina Valley, has some significant hills, as do most in this area.  I have felt lethargic and unfit most of this week, for no particular reason, so I ran 1.5km for a warm-up in the futile hope of generating some enthusiasm and form.

Despite the warm-up, I was still near the back of the pack as the 100 or so runners left the Terrigal Surf Club car park, and only started passing a few people when we hit the first significant hill a few kilometres later.  I felt like I was struggling, but still managed to pass a number of clubmates on the climb and picked up some momentum over the crest.  I tried not to think about how strongly I have run the Terrigal Drive hill in the last few years.  It has just the right gradient to permit fast running all the way to the top if you are in shape.

Hastings Road always presents
some challenges.

Just as I was anticipating reeling in a few more people as we descended into the Erina Valley, I rounded a corner and felt a sharp pain in my right hip and shooting pain in my right "glute".  After another 100 metres, with the pain persisting, I decided it was wise to stop and do some stretching to see if I could ease the pain.  It felt like a trapped nerve, but maybe not.

Of course, a number of friends catching me from behind while I stretched and walked expressed concern that I had a recurrence of my lung or heart problems.  I explained that, happily(?), it was just a run-of-the-mill running injury.  I resumed running, with less pain, after a couple of minutes and pretty much jogged the remainder of the course.

It doesn't feel like I have torn anything, but I will take it easy for a few days to let any inflammation settle down.  Sharon and I are spending most of next week in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains, and I have been looking forward to some nice long trail runs on parts of the Hume & Hovell Walking Track I hiked this time last year.

Organ Pipe Cactii

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Continuing my reprise of memorable places I ran during a year-long tour of the US and Canada in 1985-86, the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, bordering Mexico in Arizona is high on the list.

An organ pipe cactus.

Like many runners, one of the first things I do on reaching any destination is get hold of a map and work out whether there are any appealing places to run.  Sometimes, a trail or road loop jumps out as a very attractive option, and this was the case on the Organ Pipe Cactus NM park map.  I was planning a long run and there, on the map, beckoning, was the 21 Mile Ajo Mountain Loop Road.

Saguaro cactii in the Sonoran desert of the Organ
Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Unfortunately, the park campground was full and we had to stay further south in a commercial campground right on the border, literally, with Mexico.  The next morning we drove back to the park's Visitor Centre and I set out on the unpaved one-way road loop on a beautiful clear sunny day.  Although it was at the height of the season - early Spring in the Sonoran desert - and the campgrounds were full, many of the visitors were "snowbirds', refugees from the northern winter in huge recreation vehicles.  Such vehicles were prohibited from the tourist road loop, which was narrow and rough in parts, meaning that traffic was light.

Sonoran desert landscape in Organ Pipe Cactus
National Monument.

The route meandered through stereotypical desert country, dominated by the unique organ pipe and saguaro cactii, as it gradually climbed towards Mt Ajo (4,808').  After looping around the Diablo Mountains, past rocky canyons straight out of a Western movie, it descended slowly back towards the Visitor Centre, frequently offering grand vistas stretching all the way into Mexico.  I was quite fit at the time and the run was easy and very enjoyable.

In contrast, my run today was a slow 5km on stiff and sore legs around Copa.  It took the whole 5km to warm up enough to run smoothly.  Maybe it's age, or lack of fitness, or excess weight, it's hard to tell.  Although I'm running better than six weeks ago, I still have a long way to go.

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.

Building confidence

One of the smaller hills (Scenic Highway) on this
morning's run.

After a quiet training day yesterday, I decided I should run a bit further today and was pleased to find that I didn't feel too bad once I started running.  I wore my Hoka shoes for the fourth day in a row, and am wondering whether the extra cushioning is making a difference to the fatigue in my joints and thereby hastening recovery.  They also seem to be better for my chronic right Achilles injury, but as has been the case since I got them, they don't help my chronic right knee injury which is more painful.  I guess I need to strike a balance and alternates between my Hokas and my Nikes to make sure neither injury worsens to the point of being unable to run.

It is illustrative of my state of mind that I'm now focussing on musculoskeletal issues instead of my heart rate, and that's a positive sign, I suppose.  I haven't worn my heart monitor for a few weeks, so thought that today's run - 15km on road with a few significant hills - would be a good time to see how it's managing.  It's a course I have run quite quickly in the past, and the hills are hard enough to make my heart work harder.

My heart rate chart from this morning's run.

After the first couple of kilometres, including the dreaded one kilometre climb out of Copa, I was warmed up and settled into a steady maintainable pace, without testing my limits.  It was warm and humid, but I negotiated the remaining hills comfortably and managed 4:45 mins/km pace without pushing it for the last few kilometres along the flat Scenic Highway.  Although hot and sweaty by the time I finished, I didn't feel very fatigued and was satisfied with my time, given the effort applied.

On checking the heart monitor readout after the run, I found that my heart rate never exceeded 160bpm and averaged 143bpm for the run, which is very acceptable.  The question now is whether I should risk working a little harder to see how well it sustains a higher rate.  My guess is that it will be just fine, but there's no reason to rush anything.  For the moment, I'll keep my mileage around 80 km/wk and build confidence as time goes by, I lose a few kilograms, and my running fitness grows.

Returning to the scene

Crossing Mangrove Creek early in
today's run.

Perhaps irrationally, I was a little anxious about today's long run because it involved returning, for the first time, to the place where I think my serious health problems - Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT), Pulmonary Embolism (PE), Atrial Flutter (AFl) - began sixteen weeks ago.  I was running the 25km version of the Dubbo Gully loop today, not the 30km version of that day, but the weather promised to be humid again.

Dubbo Gully.

The first thing I did was make sure that I was well-hydrated before the run and that I had another sports drink waiting for me when I finished.  My best theory is, that back in December, I completed the run dehydrated and didn't drink much afterwards before having a post-run nap.  Vein damage from my chronic right knee injury, exacerbated by dehydration and low blood pressure, caused clotting (DVT) some of which ultimately found its way to my lungs causing a PE.  The lungs lost function and placed excessive pressure on my heart, generating debilitating AFl over the subsequent week.  You've heard it all before, if you are a reader of this blog.

Dubbo Gully wetlands.

Anyway, despite taking the extra precautions, I remained somewhat anxious.  The run, with Sharon and some friends, started slowly down a very long descent, and I hung back, still a little stiff and sore from yesterday's run and not wanting to strain.  I never pushed the pace, but after warming up, gradually drew away from the others on the long climbs later on the run.  Despite sweating a lot and working hard, so far as I could tell, my heart continued to beat regularly.  Both knees hurt, particularly down hills, and I cursed the extra three to four kilograms I'm carrying - so easy to put it on and so hard to get it off.  I feel sure, that without the extra weight, I would be running faster with less knee pain.  Hopefully time will tell.

Almost finished.

The course finished with a steady 3km climb, which is always tough, but pleasingly I managed to run the whole way.  My time of 2:43 was slow compared to the 2:58 run in December for the 30km version, but not that bad.  I drank and kept moving after the run and don't feel like I have damaged myself in any way.  It gives me increased confidence that the bad times are behind me and I'm looking forward to my next Dubbo Gully run.