A barometer

Starting up Copa Hill

I didn't feel too bad running this morning as I started the ascent of the hill out of Copa, but by the time I was two-thirds of the way up, my perception had changed and it became hard work.  This was the first time I have run my regular 10km "garbage run" in seven weeks, so I knew it would be a good indicator of my fitness.  These "garbage runs", which I discussed in my post titled St Louis, can be a good barometer for how you are travelling, as well as keeping the engine ticking over.

A gentle descent down Ridgeway in Avoca Beach

I always time myself, but never aim for a particular time.  I just run how I feel, and then see what my time is at the end.  For my Copa 10km, which incorporates two big hills and a couple of shorter ones, my times range from 50 minutes to just over an hour.  Of course, how I feel and how fast I go on any particular day, depends on a number of factors including my base running fitness, the previous day's training, how much sleep I had, what injuries I'm carrying, etc.  Based on these factors, I have an expectation of what time I will run to within a couple of minutes, and if my time falls outside of this range, then it might be a cause for concern, or for assurance.  I don't make a big deal out of it in my mind, but might use the information to modify my short-term training or racing plans.

Elevation Profile for my Copa 10km

Feeling tired by the top of Copa hill this morning was certainly consistent with this stage of my comeback from the right arch injury, so it wasn't alarming.  I had had two easy days training since the 16km Muzza's Run on Saturday, so I should have freshened up a bit and this would explain why I felt OK early in this morning's run.  However, my base fitness is not good, so I would also expect to tire quickly on hills or over distance.

The last of the four flights of steps
comprising the Avoca Steps

Copa hill is followed by a long gentle descent down Ridgeway which is good for recovery, then two kilometres of deceptive undulations along the Round Drive that quickly resurrect any fatigue, and that is what happened this morning.  The flat two kilometres through Avoca Beach can be quick if you're feeling good, but hard work if you're going too fast, and then comes the Avoca Steps which are never easy, and particularly tough when I'm unfit or tired.  This morning they were a struggle, but I kept running and then savoured the last kilometres home that incorporate some nice descents, ocean and coastal views, and a few sharpish hills to keep you honest.

This morning, my time was 53 minutes, a little faster than I anticipated, but I did feel more tired than usual for this course, so I'm about where I expected in my comeback.

Strategy

2013 started well with 18th place overall
(out of 309) in the Boney Mt Trail Half
Marathon, outside LA in the USA, on
7 January.

This morning, I ran an easy 10km from Terrigal in beautiful winter sunshine.  My right arch still hurts a little and my adductor was again a bit sore, but I'm optimistic that both are continuing to improve.

I've been reviewing my objective to run another sub-3:00 hour marathon, and how long such a quest should be pursued.  Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I still believe that, if things go well, I can do it.  On the other hand, I made three attempts over three years to break the record for the quickest circumnavigation of Australia by bike, solo and unsupported, and each failed for different reasons at about the half-way mark.  Even now, in my heart, I still believe I could achieve that feat if everything went my way, but accept that the risks are significant, and maybe I should leave it alone.

Running a sub-3:00 hour marathon at the age of 62 (or 63), is less risky and less challenging.  For example, in last month's Gold Coast Marathon, the 60-64 Age Group winner ran 2:46!  And, I only have to worry about my body, not road trains or bicycle mechanics.

An old friend, whose opinion I respect, recently told me that there was something a little sad about pursuit of these goals where the chance of success is small.  His view is that I should focus on my running longevity, since I enjoy the sport so much, and not increase the risk of injury by chasing likely futile objectives .  There's certainly some logic to that argument.  For whatever reason, I can't help trying to see how far or fast I can go; to find the edge of the "envelope".  Maybe it's a pursuit of celebrity, and I don't mind the limelight.  My brother says, that since childhood, I've had a "Look at me, look at me!" complex, and I can't deny it.

I accept that pursuing such goals may bring a career-ending injury closer.  However, I just wouldn't be happy if I wasn't running as much as I think my body can reasonably sustain.  That's what I've been doing most of the last 45 years, and its ingrained.  I also know from observation, that at my age (and younger), there are many other things that could unexpectedly bring my running career (and life) to an early halt, so why save myself.

Having said all of that, a sub-3:00 hour marathon is not my only mission in life.  Since retiring ten years ago, I have tried to have one big adventure each year, generally cycling or hiking.  If I haven't managed a sub-3:00 hour marathon by July next year, I will give up on the quest and get back to my usual adventures.  There are many things still on my bucket list.

I don't believe it's feasible to run marathons (and ultras) too frequently if you want to achieve your potential.  My rule of thumb is that such events should be three or four months apart, if you are focused on doing your absolute best.  With this in mind, I have ear-marked the Hobart Marathon (January), Canberra Marathon (April) and Gold Coast Marathon (July) as events I will train for specifically with the goal of a sub-3:00.  I still intend to run the Melbourne Marathon in October, but don't expect to be fit enough to run my best.  As soon as I get back into full training, hopefully, by the end of this month, I will work out a detailed training and race plan to target the Hobart Marathon in January 2014.

St Louis

Mason Road, St Louis, part of my regular morning 10km

Happily, the adductor muscle strain that was bothering me yesterday was not a problem on my easy 5km jog around the streets of Copa this morning.  Nor was my right arch any worse than yesterday, so I'm feeling a little more confident about getting back into full training by the end of August.

Copa is situated in a beautiful part of the world and offers plenty of running courses, but options for an easy 5km are quite limited.  In fact, there's pretty much only one loop that works from my house, and it does get a little boring day after day, despite passing by the spectacular beach.  Fortunately, there are more options for the 10-12km runs that have been the "bread and butter" of my running life.

Although my training load has varied, the standard recovery and/or morning run has tended to be 10-12km.  These runs have been referred to as "garbage runs" by other writers.  They are not quality sessions, nor are they designed to develop a specific running attribute.  But they generally reinforce muscle memory and strength, exercise the cardiovascular system and aid running efficiency.  They keep the engine ticking over, and become the most common session for many runners.  As such, they loom large in my memory of the many places I have been lucky enough to live and work in during my life, and I judge the running amenity of these places according to the variety and interest of these regular 10-12km runs.

I still managed a couple of podium
finishes while living in St Louis

Probably the most boring location, from a running perspective, was St Louis in the US, where I lived in the western suburbs from 1992 to 1997. Our area was characterised by long, mostly straight through roads laid out in a grid pattern, servicing many unconnected housing estates. It was quite hilly and also exposed, with the latter exacerbating the drastic seasonal variations. In winter, the cold air used to sweep down the Mississippi Valley from Canada and months could be spent running in dark sub-freezing morning temperatures, with wind-chills often exceeding -25°C and occasionally reaching -40°C, or worse. In summer, the warm humid air made its way up the Mississippi Valley from the Gulf of Mexico, and even the early morning runs were sweltering affairs. We were lucky enough to have a pool and the sweetest moment of most days was stripping off and diving in to that (hidden from public view) pool at the end of the run.

There was really only one 10km loop from my house, and for variation, I would alternate directions each day for my morning run (I was only training once per day by this stage of my life).  It wasn't a bad course, with a few hills and a semi-rural stretch, but running it most days each week for five years was enough.  In all of the times I ran that course, two runs in particular live in my memory, both weather-related.

Hawk Ridge Trail in Queeny Park, St Louis

At certain times of the year, St Louis used to have some violent storms with barrages of thunderclaps sounding like artillery duels.  As is my wont, I don't like changing my training plans because of weather, so I tended to go for my scheduled runs regardless.  In one early morning twilight, I was about two kilometres into my regular loop, running west along Clayton Road during a thunderstorm, when a huge thunderclap sounded directly overhead accompanied by a simultaneous lightning strike on a tree about 50 metres to my left.  I must have leapt a metre into the air and finished the run powered by adrenalin.

On another occasion, in early morning mid-winter darkness, I was heading south along the unlit and narrow Mason Road in about 7cm of fresh snow when I encountered three snow-ploughs, covering the entire width of the road, approaching me at about 50kph.  I had no choice but to leap off the road down a dark embankment to avoid being hit by the juggernauts.  Fortunately, no harm done.

If time and weather permitted, I sometimes ran a 12km loop that incorporated trails in the nearby picturesque Queeny Park, but the park didn't officially open until 8:00am so I was reluctant to do that too often.  However, it was a great place to run some laps on weekends.

Muzza's Run

The trail, part of Muzza's Run, crosses a creek
near Seymour Ponds

It was with some trepidation that I set out from Terrigal this morning in the pre-dawn darkness with a hundred other Terrigal Trotters for the 16km Muzza's Run.  It was the furthest I have run for six weeks, and I have only resumed jogging short distances this week after four weeks of no running.

Muzza's Run is named in honour of Murray "Muzza" Antony, a long-standing member of Terrigal Trotters who was tragically killed in an industrial accident three years ago.  This course, which was originally known to us as Seymour Ponds, was one of Muzza's favourites.  Muzza was about my age and a talented runner.  We always kept an eye on each other's form and enjoyed a friendly rivalry.  I was a spectator, supporting Sharon, at the 2009 Melbourne Marathon and witnessed Muzza just fail in a valiant attempt to break 3 hours as a 60 year old.  He was on track, but faded a tad in the last 10km to finish with 3:07, still an excellent time.  Just three months later, he was dead, a reminder to me, and us all, to live life to the full and not count on tomorrow.

Muzza at the 2006 Canberra Marathon

After a very cautious start this morning, I gradually gained confidence in the ability of my right arch to survive the whole distance and chose to bypass several opportunities for short-cuts around the 6km mark.  I felt like I was moving quite freely and gradually reeled in some of the people ahead of me.  In the single-track forest section, I took extra care to protect my injured foot, especially down the step sections, and avoided any obvious damage.  My lack of fitness began to tell after 10km and I just concentrated on trying to hold my form for the balance of the run.

A small strain in my right adductor muscle has been one of my "niggles" for the last couple of days, and it was a little painful today for the first kilometre and has become sore again after the run.  From memory, I have had this problem in the past and it has gone away after a few days, but I need to keep an eye on it.  My intention is to only walk or jog for tomorrow's exercise so that will give it some rest.  It will also be interesting to see how my arch injury is tomorrow.  If it's no worse, then I will probably join the Trotters' bus to Sydney next Sunday for the annual City to Surf 14km, but not with the intention of running hard....just to enjoy the crowds and camaraderie.

Adaptation

The use of trekking poles has made a big difference to the
ability of my knees to deal with long hiking expeditions.

I'm in a bit of a quandary about my new insoles, bought to alleviate the pain in my right arch.  As you would expect, wearing these orthotics feels a bit strange in my shoes when running, and although they have certainly eased the arch pain, they have also affected me in other ways.  Normally, after resuming very easy running for a week, I wouldn't expect to have the aches and pains I'm currently experiencing in my feet, ankles and legs.  This morning, I couldn't even manage a quadriceps stretch in my right leg because of the pain it generated in my right knee.  This is unusual, and a bit of a worry.  My right knee has been very troublesome in recent years and I don't want to aggravate it.  It is the same knee on which I had surgery in 1980 (see previous "Lack of patience" post).

On two occasions in the last seven years I have had to stop running for extended periods because of pain in this knee, and on both occasions, scans revealed significant damage.

"Large chondral crater of the lateral patellar facet"

"Marked patellofemoral joint arthrosis, particularly laterally. Subchondral
bone change. Patellar tendinopathy. Torn medial meniscus."

Extended rest allowed the painful inflammation generated by these problems to abate and then careful resumption of walking and running enabled my gait to adapt, but I'm keen to avoid a recurrence.

That's not me, but I spent many hours hanging in
inversion boots to alleviate a lower back problem.

Similarly, thirty years ago, the stress fracture of a small bone in my lower back (left minor pars articularis) led to the displacement of a vertebra and years of significant sciatic pain that severely impacted my running.  Time has stultified the tissue around the vertebra, providing local support, and my posture and muscle strength have adapted, to gradually take pressure off the sciatic nerve.

For both injuries, doctors and specialists said surgery was an option, but might not improve my ability to run and might cause future complications.  It was suggested, explicitly and implicitly, that my running career was over.  Yet, I'm still running!

I don't put this down to a tolerance of pain, or to single-minded determination.  I suspect that most people my age, if they had their knees or lower back scanned, would get a scary picture.  However, I believe that our bodies adapt, we consciously and subconsciously change our gait, and we take more care in situations likely to aggravate the injury.  Pain is still present, but we know what it means and how to manage it.

I toyed with the idea of walking instead of running this morning, and also thought about removing the new insoles to see if that made a difference to my niggles.  However, in the end, I decided an easy 5km wearing the insoles was the best course.  My thinking is that my body needs time to adapt to the insoles and gentle running is likely to aid that process.  There were lots of twinges in the first kilometre, but none crippling, and I persevered.

I remain keen to ditch the insoles as soon as I can and get back to the running form I'm confident my knee can handle.

No silver bullets

Oh to be young again....
Leading in a 3000m Steeplechase at Croydon Harriers
track in 1975 (finished 2nd in 9:34)

It's still too early to say the worst of my right arch injury is over, but I am getting more optimistic.  I ran 6km after supervising this morning's track session at The Haven and finished no worse than I started.  Maybe I'll run further on Saturday, although the scheduled Trotters' run is Muzza's Run which, at 16km, may be just a little too far to step up.  However, there are some obvious short-cuts that will give me 10-12km, and that will work fine.

I give myself no chance of getting fit in time for a sub-3 hour Melbourne Marathon in October, although it's still possible I might run it for training (I have already entered), with my eye on the Cadbury Hobart Marathon on 12 January 2014 for a serious attempt at a fast time.  Even writing such an objective down, makes me apprehensive.  As the past few months have shown, I'm very vulnerable to injury, and just marking a date on the calendar seems to risk disappointment.

For the moment, my focus is just on getting fit again.  Diagnosis by Google seemed to indicate the likelihood of a ligament injury, as discussed in a previous post, and it seems ligament injuries can take six to ten weeks to heal (I'm generalising, of course).  It is now almost six weeks since I sustained the injury, so provided I don't set myself back, it does seem feasible that I will be back to hard training in four weeks.

Over the years, I have definitely become more cynical about the treatment of injuries, especially muscle and ligament tears.......or maybe I have just become lazy and cheap.  I believe that most soft tissue injuries will repair without third party intervention, given time and rest.  We are all very tempted, including me, to seek ways of shortening recovery time through medication, physiotherapy, etc., when we sustain an injury.  But there are no silver bullets.  Injuries take as long as they take to get better, and there are few short-cuts.  It may seem that treatment is making a difference, but usually those treatment regimes take time (and money), and during that time, the body is healing itself anyway.  My theory is that, at best, you are probably just fiddling at the margin.

I absolutely accept there are injuries that do need medical intervention, and I'm no doctor.  My advice to athletes who ask me about their injuries is to start with a doctor if they are in doubt about the nature of the problem.  The doctor has access to the best diagnostic tools and can refer you to specialists or recommend a range of treatments, including from allied health professionals.  If you start with these allied health professionals, then maybe not all possible diagnoses and treatments will be considered. 

The Three Hour Run

Bogong High Plains near Mt Fainter

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

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

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

__________________________________________________

THE THREE HOUR RUN

Bogong High Plains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ben Cooper cairn on a fine day

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

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

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

Falls Creek in winter

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

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

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

Lack of patience

I featured on the advertising poster for the
1980 Whyalla Marathon

I ran another 5km round the streets of Copa this morning, a little faster than yesterday, which was a little faster than the day before.  The sore arch is still lingering in the 3 out of 10 pain range, but maybe getting marginally better.  There's a specific point on the arch where the pain is sharp, but not intense.  More like the pain you would get from a blister.  I hope I'm not on the slippery slope, where I'm so enjoying getting back to some running, that there's a temptation to ignore the pain and keep going.

At least I'm not as bad as 30 years ago when, once I got quite fit, I could not bring myself to pass up opportunities to win races and accept any related travel, despite carrying significant injuries.  In the first half of 1980, I incurred what was initially a minor knee problem, diagnosed as a small tear in my patella tendon.  A few weeks off, once I realised it was more than a passing niggle, would probably have fixed the problem.  But I was on a high after running my first sub-2:20 marathon a year earlier, was very fit, and wanted to "cash in" on my heavy training investment.

The [Euroa] Gazette, 15 April 1980

In particular, I was very keen to take up an all expenses paid trip to Whyalla for the Whyalla Marathon, which I had won the previous year, and to do well in the Australian Intervarsity Championships in Hobart, representing the University of Melbourne where I was doing my Masters part-time.

Initially, I took anti-inflammatories to reduce the pain and enable continued training, but when this didn't do the job, I had a cortisone injection in the offending knee from my sports doctor.  I was warned to train less in the days following the injection, but my definition of "less" involved 120 kilometres of running, including a 15km race, in the ensuing five days.  It was less than I had been doing, but probably not "less" by the doctor's definition, and I paid the price.

Extracts from my 1980 Training Diary

I managed to get through the Whyalla Marathon, coming a disappointing second in 2:30, but a month later, needed another cortisone injection to get me through the Intervarsity week.

Despite two weeks of rest after Intervarsity, my knee wasn't improving and I ended up having surgery to stitch my patella tendon back together and clean out all of the scar tissue.

It was another couple of months before I could begin running seriously again, which in retrospect, seems a fast recovery.  But the reality was that I lost more than six months of my prime running years because of this injury, instead of six weeks if I had managed it conservatively.  Of course, I had some wins and great experiences during this period, but it doesn't compare to what I might have achieved if I had heeded the early indicators of knee trouble and had some time off.

Patience and persistence

Maitland Bay in the nearby Bouddi National Park

Another 5km around the streets of Copa went well on a beautiful mild sunny winter's morning.  I'm getting more optimistic about my running, though there is still pain, and will take it day-by-day for a while.  It would be nice to run a bit further in the near future, but maybe I'll leave it until the weekend.

Just as I was finishing my run, I met fellow Terrigal Trotter and Copa resident, Judy, complete with Camelbak, heading out for a long run to Killcare through Bouddi National Park.  I was very envious.  Some of the trails in the Park are rough and slow, but the scenery is breath-taking and you could be a million miles from civilisation.


Part of the Bouddi Coastal Walk

Judy is a late-comer to running, though with plenty of outdoor adventuring in her past.  She has become a keen trail-runner who planned to run The North Face 50km a few months ago, until badly tearing a calf muscle leaping a creek during a Club training run in March.

I'm sure Judy won't mind me saying that she exemplifies a number of my club-mates at Trotters who are ordinary people finding themselves doing extraordinary things.  Starting with some short slow runs, their confidence in their capability has grown to the point where they are now tackling events that would have seemed unimaginable to them ten years ago.  A club, such as Terrigal Trotters, helps this progression through a providing a supportive environment and the opportunity for shared experiences with like-minded people.

It was encouraging to see Judy out tackling a long run, not only because I'm happy to see she has recovered from her serious injury, but because it is confirmation to me that with patience and persistence, I'll be able to follow her example and be back to fitness in the not-too-distant future.

Realising potential

Scene from the Hunter Valley marathon

I took a chance this morning, and jogged 5km through the streets of Copa for my exercise.  My arch was a bit sore the whole way, maybe 3 out of 10 on my pain scale, just short of needing to scale back training.  The new insoles are definitely helping, but are not eliminating the pain.  Nevertheless, I'm a bit more optimistic about my running and will try another 5km tomorrow.

One consequence of wearing the new insoles is that they have an impact on my running gait, and I need to be careful not to get any other injuries.  Last night, I was jolted awake by a severe cramp in the arch of my left (good) foot and my quads have been aching this afternoon after what was a very short run this morning.

After the Trotters Saturday morning run yesterday, I was talking to one of my club-mates who was quite disappointed with his debut marathon time the previous weekend at Hunter Valley and his subsequent soreness.  I knew he had an interrupted preparation and also picked a tough course for his debut, and told him he should not be too hard on himself.  In my view, the interrupted preparation not only made the race harder for him, but meant that it took more out of his under-prepared body, increasing his post-run soreness.

A gap has opened between the best and the rest in marathons

I'm sure he will do much better at his next attempt, and voiced my opinion that to really get the best out of yourself in a marathon, you need to pick a race three or four months into the future and then train for it, ignoring the temptation to do well in every race that appeals to you in the interim.

There are many marathon and ultra trail and road races to choose from these days.  They are well organised and offer interesting and challenging courses.  Race anticipation and camaraderie is heightened by social media, making them immensely appealing and hard to resist.  Consequently, many runners like to compete in as many as possible.  I have tended to do the same myself in the twilight of my career, so would not criticise those who do the same.  However, I think this approach represents a cultural change in the running population, and means that many of today's runners, both elite and journeymen, never find out how good they could really be.

One result has been that, although more people are running long-distance events these days, the average performance standards have dropped.  At the "pointy end", the best athletes are running faster than ever and continue to improve, but a gap has opened between the elite and the rest of the field.  I think this may be because the runners with potential to fill this gap are more interested in the various running experiences offered, than in seeing just how good they could be, and applying the focus and training necessary to realise their full potential.  This is not a criticism, but I feel a certain sadness that many runners will never find out just how good they could be.

Enough is never enough

Aerial view of The Haven

After managing to jog a kilometre yesterday at the end of my walk, I decided to do something similar today.  It was Saturday, so the usual early start on a very cold morning at Terrigal.  The skies were clear with a bright half-moon and an icy breeze that brought a significant chill to the 100 or so runners standing around chatting before the regular end-month 10km time trial started at 6am.

After the runners set off, I walked the half kilometre along the beachfront to The Haven with fellow injured clubmate, Brian, and we jogged a couple of laps of the 500m road loop before Brian left to finish his session on the grass rugby field.  Originally, that was as much jogging as I had planned for the day, but although my right arch was sore, I didn't feel like I was aggravating the injury.  So I decided to do another two laps, and then some walking.  After those two laps I decided I could handle another two before walking back to Terrigal.  And after those two laps, I decided I might as well jog the 500m back to Terrigal.  So, in the end, I jogged about 3.5km.

This little exercise in gradualism illustrates a challenge I always struggle with during come-backs.  When you can't run at all and are putting on weight and losing condition, you tell yourself that, if you could just jog a few kilometres a day, life would be good.  You might not be able to race, but who cares.  Your fitness and weight might stabilise and you could at least work up a bit of a sweat.

Then, after two days of jogging a couple of kilometres, you start thinking, if you could just manage 5km a day, that would be really good, and so on.  Before long, it's 10km per day, and maybe the Trotters Saturday morning run.

Sometimes this approach works for me, but not always.  More often, you get to running the 5km per day, and after a few days, the injury starts hurting a little more.  At the same time, with those couple of runs under your belt, you feel a little fitter and don't want to believe that you have overdone it.  Maybe it's just some scar tissue hurting, or an atrophied muscle struggling with renewed running.  Before you know it, you have to accept that the injury has worsened, it's time to back off the running, and you have set yourself back a week or two (or worse).

I feel like I may have started down that slippery slope with the last two days of jogging, even though it was only for short distances.  I now have to be alert for any deterioration in the troublesome arch and be ready willing to cut back or stop if that occurs, regardless of the temptation to keep going.  It will be a bit easier to make that decision, if necessary, now that I have given up on the idea of running the Melbourne Marathon in October.  The new, very tentative plan, is to run the Hobart Marathon in January assuming I can get back to full training during September.  I will revise my training program when I'm confident I am over the injury.

Canine challenges

I'm occasionally bailed up by dogs when running from Copa
to McMasters across the green-marked sand bar.

After walking for 4km this morning, I finished off with a kilometre of slow jogging.  There remains some weakness and tenderness in the arch but the new insoles seem to provide sufficient support to avoid aggravating the injury.  I was not confident about trying to run, but it seemed to go OK and I might try a similar work-out tomorrow.

As often happens on my walks and runs on the Central Coast, I encountered people out walking their dogs.  We never had pets when I was a child, apart from the odd canary and hamster, and I never developed an affection for dogs.  At best, I tolerate them, and when running, I don't like them.

Until recently, I had never been bitten by a dog while out running, but have had numerous unpleasant encounters over the years.  The first instance I can recall of actual physical harm was when out running in the late 1970s with a small group of friends from my home in the inner Melbourne suburbs.  We were running across a park at twilight when I was brought down by a dog careering into my legs from behind without warning of any kind.  I remember hitting the ground hard, sustaining some minor cuts, abrasions and bruises, and banging one knee quite hard.  The owner was very apologetic, but this has not always been the case.

Occasionally, when running across the sandbar between Copa and nearby McMasters Beach, I have been bailed up, pawed and slobbered on by dogs.  It is an "Off Leash Area", but dogs are still supposed to be under their owner's control.  I find it very annoying to be told that it wouldn't happen if I hadn't been running, and have had a few short arguments on the subject with the offending dog's owner.  My usual response is that, if it happens again, I'll be reporting them to the Council, but without the means of identifying accurately the dog or the owner, that's unlikely to happen (and they know it).  In these cases, which have happened in plenty of other places during my running career, I know the dog is usually just being over-exuberant, but that doesn't excuse the dog's owner's lack of control, which is interfering with my activity.

I stayed away from the Beatties Road access to Kincumber
Mountain for five years after being challenged by savage dogs.

Encounters with malicious and/or territorial dogs obviously carry more risk.  One of my good running friends, Keith, and his wife, accepted assignments as teachers in the newly independent Zimbabwe in 1983.  Keith was a very handy runner and tells the story of being the only white runner in the leading bunch of a 10-mile road race through the streets of Harare.  White residents tended to keep guard dogs on their properties that were very antagonistic towards black Africans, and when a couple of these managed to escape their compound as the runners passed by, Keith suddenly found himself in the lead on his own as his fellow competitors scattered.  A couple of them rejoined him in the lead a kilometre or two later, but the others were not seen again.  The corollary of this story is that when we visited Keith and his wife in Zimbabwe in 1985, I joined Keith for a run with some of the students from the poor black school where he taught.  He often paid them a small sum as encouragement to run with him after school, and some of them even ran in their school uniforms ("At least take your tie off!").  Our route took us through the poor African village where most of them lived and the sight of us running generated shouts of delight ("white man running" in the local language) from the village kids as well as unwanted attention from the village dogs who left the black kids alone while defending their turf against the white intruders.

Both towns I lived in while working in the US did not allow fences around houses but required dogs to be restrained or invisible fences (buried boundary wires that generate a radio signal that triggers deterrent unpleasant electric shocks in the receivers on the dogs' collars) installed.  I could never quite get over the expectation that one day, one of the dogs I often saw hurtling towards me across the lawns of a house I was running past was going to burst through the invisible fence and get me.  Apparently it can happen, but it never did to me.

If I am bailed up by dog with malicious intent while out running, I usually do a fair bit of yelling, pick up a stick or stone and act in a threatening manner while slowly moving away.  So far I haven't been bitten in such a situation, but have had some very scary encounters.  Some were so worrying that I have avoided those roads in future.  Locally, there is a nice run up onto the scenic trails of Kincumber Mountain that I didn't use for more than five years after being confronted by two large savage dogs on one occasion.  An old running friend, JB, had mastered the art of letting savage dogs get close to him and then giving them a swift kick under the chin.  I have never been quite brave or confident enough to employ this method.



Blue Heelers are also good at rounding up runners.

In recent times, I have become more cautious around dogs on a lead.  A year ago, as I skirted around a lady walking a large dog in the same direction I was running, it suddenly turned around and launched itself at my throat.  I managed to get my forearm up quickly enough to protect my throat but was knocked sprawling on to the road with scratches on my chest from its front paws.  The owner reacted quickly enough to drag the dog away before it got to me while I was lying on the road, but it was a frightening experience.  Of course, the owner was apologetic and insisted that it had never done anything like that before.  The same excuse was proffered six months later by another owner when their small dog, being walked on a lead, suddenly jumped up and sank its fangs into my thigh as I walked past, drawing blood.  Nowadays, I try and stay out of leash range when passing dogs.

On a lighter dog-related note, another old running friend, Pratty, used to bring his Blue Heeler cattle dog, Bung, with us on some of our long runs.  The dog, which always got very excited when Pratty put on his running shoes, would spend the whole run rounding us up, making sure nobody got ahead, dropped off, or strayed laterally.  It constantly got under our feet and how it did not get run over by a passing car is beyond me.  It is a testament to the strength of our friendship with Pratty that we ever tolerated Bung on our runs.  Ironically, later in life, Bung used to run away whimpering and hide whenever he saw Pratty put on his running shoes.

Brushes with fame

John Walker wins Gold at the 1976 Montreal Olympics

After supervising the regular Thursday morning track session at The Haven this morning I walked a 5km loop wearing my new insoles with arch supports.  It is definitely more comfortable walking with the arch supports, and there is less pain.  It's tempting to try running, though I can tell, when I move my foot in certain ways, that the problem remains.  I don't believe the walk did me any harm, so I'll try the same again tomorrow morning if nothing changes.  Maybe I'll get the bike out on the weekend for some additional exercise.

When relating the tale of my attempt to run the Milford Track in New Zealand in a recent post, I was reminded of another humorous running anecdote from the same trip.  As mentioned, in January 1979, we were a group of four couples on a sightseeing and camping tour of New Zealand in a minibus.  The males in the group were all serious runners and we looked for opportunities to compete in local events wherever possible.  Towards the end of the trip, we managed to talk our way into participating in a high-profile evening international track meeting at Hamilton on the North Island.  It was part of a summer circuit in New Zealand and I suspect we got in more because we were Australians, than because of our talent.

Rod Dixon went on to an exciting and close win
in the 1983 New York Marathon

The Mile was the feature event and New Zealand boasted some of the best Milers in the world at that time.  Two of them, John Walker (Gold Medal 1500m, 1976 Montreal Olympics) and Rod Dixon (Bronze Medal 1500m, 1972 Munich Olympics), were running, along with several other New Zealanders and Ken Hall (Australian Champion 1500m, 1977).  Two of my friends, JB and Pratty, managed to inveigle their way into the Mile field (much to Ken Hall's amazement).

The pace was hot in the Mile and the field well spread out with a lap to go.  John Walker cruised to a win in 3:56 with Rod Dixon second and the rest of the field trailing behind.  Poor Pratty, who wasn't even into the home straight when Walker finished, found himself weaving through fans who had poured on to the track to congratulate their hero, for the last 100m to the finishing line.

Keith and I didn't have the credibility to get into the Mile, but were happy to get a run in the lower key 3000m event.  I finished in 8:37, somewhere in the middle of the field, and later walked back to the changing rooms.  As I approached the door, I was flattered to have an autograph book thrust in front of me by a young track fan until he opened his mouth and asked "Can you please get me John Walker's autograph?"

Army influences

I

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

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



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

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


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

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



My OTU Class Graduation Parade, October 1971

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

Graduation from OTU

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

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

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

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

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