Hydration

Reaching for a sponge at a drink station
in the inaugural Melbourne Marathon
 in 1978 (2nd, 2:23:06)

It warmed rapidly today, so the small group of us who set out for a long run on local roads at 6am (the first day of Daylight Saving), were glad of our early start by the time we finished.  It was to be my last long run before the Melbourne Marathon next week, and another good test of my fitness level.  The run went well and I felt like I could have kept running when I finished, giving me confidence that, if I run sensibly next week, I won't disgrace myself.  My right knee got quite painful at times, but this was expected.  I was the only one of the group not carrying any fluids for the run, though I did have $10 in my pocket in case emergency hydration needed to be purchased along the way.  As it turned out, I did not need a drink during the 2:56 the 32.5km took me, and wasn't even that thirsty when I finished.

I don't like carrying gear, including fluids, nor do I like stopping during long runs to drink.  Maybe I'm a prima donna, but I find even short stops can break my running rhythm, and there have been times when this has cost me in an event.  My own layman's theory of hydration for distance runners, based on an experiment of one, is that the more long running you do without frequently hydrating, the more your body adapts by "camelling up", i.e., storing fluids in the body in anticipation of the next long run.  It's the same theory that applies to the muscles storing glycogen in response to repeated training runs.  It seems to be common sense to me that the more you do something, and the more you press against the edge of your body's envelope, the more your body adapts to the increasing load.

This morning's long run took in a roller-coaster section
of the Ridgeway

Of course, the trick is not to "tear the envelope", by pushing too far.  I have definitely finished training runs and races seriously dehydrated and in difficulties, though have never ended up on a saline drip.  If conditions are warm to hot, or you are running for many hours, you have to drink or you will cause yourself harm.  I am not advocating a "no drinking" policy and recognise that every individual is different and needs to find their own balance.  However, I would argue that runners who drink frequently in benign conditions are missing an opportunity to train their body to "camel up" and are condemning themselves to carry and/or stop for more fluids in races.  A side effect is that your stomach then has to do some work processing the fluids into the blood stream.  It seems to me that if you can avoid the need for this function, you are likely to run better.

In my best running years, I drank very sparingly during marathon races unless it was hot.  Usually, I would put out plastic sauce bottles containing some flat Coca Cola at each 5km feeding station.  Then I would run through, grab the bottle, and take a couple of well-spaced mouthfuls before discarding it.  If I didn't feel thirsty, or it was nearer the end of the race (does the body really process fluids into the bloodstream in any meaningful way in the last 30 minutes of a race?), or I was in a pack of runners making it difficult to get the bottle, then I wouldn't take a drink.  On average, I would have been lucky to drink a total of more than 400ml during marathon races, and sometimes nothing at all in cool conditions.  I was much more inclined to pour water over myself from a sponge or cup to keep cool.

Of course, for your body to "camel up" between runs, you have to drink a lot of fluids, and I do.  In my case, and I take a lot of flak for this, it's mostly diet colas with some fruit juice and black coffee thrown in occasionally.  Almost no water!  In total, about three litres of fluid a day.

Pacing

Part of the "Erina Bush" run where it passes through the
Kincumba Mountain Reserve

This morning's Erina Bush 13km Run with Terrigal Trotters was always going to be a good guide to my current level of fitness.  It is one of my favourite runs, with a mix of road and technical trails and some testing hills.  In the past, when fit, I've run the course hard (after the initial 2km-3km of socialising) and been somewhere near the front of the pack.  However, today, the front-runners quickly left many of us behind, and despite running the first long climb comfortably and reasonably quickly, the leaders were long gone and I joined a few friends stretching out in pursuit.  It seemed we were running fast, but making little ground.  By the time I passed the half-way point, I could feel my lack of fitness beginning to kick in, and the long technical single-track climb up a spur of Kincumba Mountain, which I love to power up if I can, proved hard work.  From there, I just tried to maintain my pace and position, and finished very tired and coughing way too much, in 59 minutes.

Despite not running as well as I would have liked, the run had great value.  Not only did it confirm to me that I am on the way back to fitness, but it was hard enough to sober my time expectations for next week's Melbourne Marathon.  I won't get carried away thinking that somehow, miraculously, I have a chance of running near three hours, and will avoid (hopefully) setting out too fast for my fitness.  I would judge that I'm a couple of minutes faster over 10km than just a week ago, which is a welcome improvement, but that I'm still a month short of being competitive with the usual suspects on the weekly Trotters runs.

Roger Bannister (centre) led by Chris Brasher and tailed
by Chris Chattaway, his two pacers, on the way to the
first ever sub-4 minute mile in 1956

A number of my Terrigal Trotters club-mates are also running in the Melbourne Marathon and one, hoping for his first sub-3:00 marathon, has been training with another club-mate with a recent 2:40 to his credit, who is also running in Melbourne.  The rumour is that the latter will be pacing the former during the race to his sub-3:00, and there has been some banter, in person and on the club's Facebook page, about whether this is reasonable or if any time achieved will need to be asterisked.

Pacing is commonplace in running today from the 800m distance up to ultra-marathons, but there was a time when it was considered unethical.  Maybe this started to change with Roger Bannister's historic first sub-4 minute mile, where he was paced for the first three laps by colleagues, an approach which generated some criticism at the time.

For me, it's not an ethical issue, but a personal preference issue.  I think most runners, if asked, would say they valued a particular time achieved without pacing more than the same time if they had been paced.  However, if asked whether they would rather not run a certain time if the only way it could be achieved was with a pacer, most would choose the paced time.  You still have to run the time.

These days, in the larger marathons, the organisers frequently appoint experienced and identified runners to run the pace required to achieve certain benchmark times.  Knowing I would make use of this service during a race if I was struggling to reach my goal time, I can't afford to be righteous on this issue.  Achieving a time on my own, without the help of a pacer, would definitely satisfy me more, but I also hate asking for directions when lost. 

Chappel

The Cornfield, John Constable (1826)

Another early start for golf this morning, so I squeezed in a slow 5km at 5:00am round Copa, before setting out.  For most of my working life, I was running within 30 minutes of rising, having dressed and completed my usual exercise routine (see post titled Transition from Hiker to Runner), but in the last ten years it has taken longer for my body to loosen up.  I usually now wait an hour or two before heading out, and this morning's run, less than 30 minutes after waking reminded me why.  My joints creaked, my limbs were stiff, and my right Achilles tendon was sore.  It took a slow and awkward 27 minutes to get round my usual course, not a very encouraging run.

One of the times during my working life when I always headed out for my regular morning run just 30 minutes after rising, was when I was living just outside the small village of Chappel in the UK in the late 1980s.  Chappel was in "Constable Country", near the county border between Essex and Suffolk, and at the time, my working days were divided between a huge renovated Tudor mansion my company owned nearby, and our London office, about an hour away by train.



One of the country lanes on my morning 17km run in Chappel

We lived in the lodge house for a manor farm in a beautiful location overlooking the rural Colne River valley.  In the summer, we were surrounded by wheat and golden rapeseed fields, but my most abiding memory is of the howl of the winds past the house on the bleak winter morning's before I set out for my run.  Sometimes the winds were accompanied by sleet and snow and it took a lot of willpower to step out the door into the pre-dawn darkness.

The railway viaduct across the Colne River Valley
at Chappel, Essex, UK

The countryside was a patchwork of fields, country lanes and public footpaths, dotted with picture-book villages, and there were many options for run routes.  Since a lot of my running was done before dawn and without a light, I tended to pick little-used country lanes I could run down the middle of without worrying about traffic or obstacles, and soon settled on a favourite 17km loop which generally took me a little over an hour.  Even now, I wish I had lived in the area for longer, though I think the years have dulled the memory of those blasting winds and freezing winters.  Despite limited protection offered by hedgerows and hills, much of the course was exposed to the elements.

Of course in the summer months, when the sun rose early and I still had the lanes to myself, it was just magical.  Agricultural smells filled the air, and I could watch the crops mature and be harvested.  My route passed by many quaint old farm-houses, often with thatched rooves and surrounded by archetypal English country gardens.  There was even an ancient high-arched viaduct across the valley along which a little two-carriage diesel train infrequently clattered.

Tapering

Start of the 1977 ACT Marathon (I'm in there somewhere)

Tapering for a marathon used to be one of my favourite times.  The training pressure comes off, and you can run for less time and less intensely without guilt.  If your training has gone well, pleasant anticipation of the race builds and visions of success become almost palpable.  As your body freshens up and minor injuries abate, you feel stronger and more capable as each day passes.

Conversely, tapering can be a worrying time.  Rationality can go out the window and emotions can take over.  After training hard for months, you wonder about the wisdom of reduced training intensity and fret about losing your edge, or putting on weight.  A lot of self-examination goes on.  Small niggles becomes potentially serious injuries.  Every training run becomes a test of your readiness, and if the run is hard work, you question whether you are ill or over-trained, or maybe under-trained.  If anybody coughs near you, or complains of feeling unwell, your first thought is of your own health, and not theirs.  There is a temptation to modify your diet to include more carbohydrates and build your energy reserves, maybe even precede it with a depletion phase.

Nearing the end of the 1977 ACT Marathon (2nd, 2:32)

Over the years, I have fallen foul of all of these concerns, and maybe still do (see post titled The idea forms).  However, when asked by others for advice about tapering, my response tends to be more rational.  I think two weeks of taper is enough, with training distances and intensity reduced to 75% of full load in the first week, and 50% in the second week.  However, it's hard to generalise about the appropriate level of tapering, and some runners need not cut their training intensity by that much.  Having said that, I don't think I have ever felt, post-race, that I tapered too much.

Otherwise, I like to keep things as normal as possible, sticking with the usual training routines and diet.  The very act of tapering will lead to a build-up of the body's energy stores, and there is risk attached to changing diet and habits.  It's worth staying away from sick people and catching up on any sleep deficit.  Finally, I would advise having faith in the training you have done and not fretting about losing condition or feeling over-tired on any runs in the taper period.

For reasons discussed in yesterday's post, Get fit quick, I only plan a one week taper for the Melbourne Marathon on 13 October, and am still training relatively hard this week.  I expected this morning's run to be difficult after yesterdays 37km road run, but it went better than hoped.  It wasn't fast by any means, but the 11.5km  passed by easily enough and my legs did not feel too fatigued.  My right Achilles tendon was quite stiff and sore, but that was anticipated, and my right knee was less painful than expected.  Overall, the run was encouraging and I feel my short-term fitness strategy may be working.

Get fit quick

Runners lining up for the start of last night's Central Coast
10km/1hr Championship at the Mingara Athletic Track
(courtesy Judy Murray)

By my usual standards, it was a late night last night.  I had been helping officiate at the local Central Coast 10km/1hr Championships at the Mingara Athletics Club twilight meeting and didn't get home and finish dinner until 9:00pm.

It's about the only time I get involved in track meetings these days, as the event is jointly sponsored by my club, Terrigal Trotters, and I generally help out with the lap-scoring.  For some years in the early 1980s, I was secretary to the committee that organised all regular track and field competition in Victoria (involving thousands of athletes) and managed a number of track and field meetings, so saw plenty of track racing, as well as competing myself.

I keep saying I will run in the 10km one year, but don't really have fond memories of 10km track races and don't want to do it unless I'm running well.  Twenty-five laps of the track can be mentally tougher than the marathon, and I always preferred the latter.  I don't think I ever achieved my potential at the track 10km (despite winning an Australian Universities title in 1979) and often wondered whether it was a lack of mental toughness.

Part of the lap-scoring crew, ready to go for the Central
Coast 10km/1hr Championship last night
(courtesy Judy Murray)

Last night's racing was fun to watch and a number of runners achieved Personal Best times, while others ran their best times for some years.  I always find it inspiring to be present on such occasions and feel very happy for the athletes.  Others did it tough, but soldiered on to the end anyway.  Also inspiring.

My late night made it that much harder to get up at 4:00am, as I did this morning, to beat the heat for my planned 36.5km run around Brisbane Water (see Round the Bay).  The Melbourne Marathon is only eleven days away, so it might seem a risky strategy to embark on a third 30+km run within eight days, but I think it's appropriate for where I am of my personal fitness scale.  I know I am not currently capable of running anywhere near a sub-3 hour marathon in Melbourne, but would like to comfortably run faster than the 3:24 I recorded at the Macleay River Marathon on 9 June 2013.  I feel I am fitter than I was then and have been running better in the past week.  Whatever time I run in Melbourne, will be the base on which to build for a faster marathon in three months time.

The reason for the series of long runs every three or four days, is that this has worked best for me in the past to quickly return from injury.  I'll do one more long run this Sunday, a week before Melbourne, and then have a very quiet week in the hope that I freshen up and that the chronic injuries ebb away a little.  If I was fitter, I would have a longer taper, but at this stage I believe that the current series of long training runs has the potential to improve my marathon time by 5-10 minutes by Melbourne.  Assuming, of course, I don't get injured.

This morning's run was relatively comfortable for the first 24km, but my legs became very tired in the last 12km, and I slowed.  I messed up my timing, but think it was between 3:10 and 3:15.  I would like to be running faster, but have to accept that I had a hard long run three days ago, and my legs and chronic injuries are still feeling the effects.

More animal encounters

A troop of baboons

Despite overcast, warm and humid conditions this morning, not usually the best for running, I felt quite good for my 13km loop.  I expected to be a little tired and sore from Sunday's long run, but coped with the hills well and maintained a good pace.  The only cloud on the horizon was that my sore right knee gave way unexpectedly on two occasions while running down hills.  This was unusual and hopefully not a sign of things to come.

While grinding my way up the first hill this morning, I was baled up by a dog who snarled and barked at me for a while but eventually backed off.  There was no sign of an owner, though I suspect they would have heard me yelling at the dog.  I'm of the view that I should be able to run around the suburban streets without having to deal with domestic animal threats and I've written a post before about Canine Challenges.  Of course, when you run in the domain of the animals, you accept the risk of, and responsibility for, dangerous encounters.

The Zambezi River above Victoria Falls

I have previously written about the threats from snakes (Reptilian Encounters), bison and bears (Yellowstone).  However, the wildlife encounter that scared me most was with a troop of baboons while running near Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe in 1985.  We were visiting the area with friends and I had gone for a run of about 10km on my own along some of the local rural roads.  I rounded a corner to find a large troop of baboons, comprising adults and infants, scattered across the road.  I had seen some baboons in the wild earlier on the trip, and also read about the damage caused by one in a village soon after our arrival in Zimbabwe.  They possess an impressive and intimidating set of teeth, which they tend to bare when angry.

I briefly considered turning back, but decided that, living in the area, they were probably comfortable with humans, so continued on.  They stopped their foraging to watch my approach, and I began to regret my decision to proceed, reinforced when some of the adults began snarling at me.  Bluff seemed to be the best option, so I choose a route through the troop that didn't go too close to any individual baboon and ran through, ready to start snarling and lashing out myself if necessary.  They continued snarling, but didn't make any moves towards (or away) from me.  I kept running, held my breath, and soon they were behind me and foraging again.

A lion in Hwange National Park

The same trip to Zimbabwe yielded some other memorable wildlife encounters and non-encounters.  Just a few days before the baboon scare, my friend, Keith, and then wife, Barb, and I had gone for an evening run along a foot-trail through jungle bordering the Zambesi River, upstream from the Victoria Falls.  Keith had warned us the river was inhabited by crocodiles and that someone's pet dog had been taken by a crocodile the previous year from the very path we were running along.  Our senses were heightened throughout what was a spectacular sunset jungle run, but we all jumped every time we startled something in the undergrowth or heard a splash in the river.  The biggest jump came, however, when Keith yelled loudly as bat flew out of the gloom and into the side of his head.

Earlier during the same trip, we stayed in a small compound in the Hwange National Park, protected from the wildlife by a high surrounding fence.  It was not safe to run in the Park outside of the compound because of dangerous wildlife, and particularly the lions which had been sighted nearby.  One day, Keith and I were keen to go for a run, so drove from the compound to the Park entrance and ran a somewhat boring out-and-back 10 miles along a road bordering the Park.  Keith pointed out that there was no fence around the outside of the Park and therefore absolutely nothing to stop the wildlife from venturing on to the road where we were running.  In fact, we had seen some wild elephants nearby.  As Keith said, if a lion spotted us, one of us was dead (and he was fitter and faster than me at the time).  Nothing happened.

Why running?

Richmond Park, London

Running has dominated my life, as readers of this blog and people who know me, will attest.  It is a passion, and maybe an obsession and addiction.  I believe people need to have a passion or passions to get the most out of life, but those passions vary widely.  It's hard to know how much is determined by nature versus nurture, or maybe just accident.  I think nature and nurture both play a role in the kind people we are and the things that appeal to and captivate us, but that much of our lives is determined by accidents or coincidences.  We encounter people, opportunities and things, often unexpectedly, that change our lives.

Schoolboys Cross-Country Race in Richmond Park (1967)

I have pondered what set me on the road to being a passionate (some might say obsessed) runner.  If I had to pick one thing, I would say 'size' - absolute and relative.  As a child, I enjoyed team sports, and was reasonably good at them, but I was a late developer and by my mid-teens didn't have the physical mass to hold my own in rugby, nor the height to be a good fast bowler in cricket.  Though still in the school teams for each, it was becoming apparent to me that I wasn't going to keep my place in senior teams.  Relative size was also important, because about this time my (20-month) younger brother caught me in height and not only started beating me at tennis, but was also an excellent rugby and cricket player.  I was losing the battle in the sibling rivalry stakes, and as many siblings do, I looked for something else where I might distinguish myself.

Tiffin Boys Grammar School

I was attending Tiffin Boys Grammar School in the London suburb of Kingston-on-Thames at the time (my father had been posted to London for three years with his job) and cross-country running was a school sport.  It was mostly inhabited by those not interested in team sports, and it was noticeable that when the annual school cross-country race came around, it was always someone from one of the rugby teams who won, not a member of the cross-country team.  It was a 'poor relation' sport, but that made it easier to excel and I had a number of friends on the team.  I even won a race once against another school's team, but was certainly not outstanding.  Many of our school races were in the nearby Richmond Park, a seemingly vast expanse of grassland, hills, small woods and many trails, and I came to love the place.

Running on the Tiffin Boys
Grammar School playing
field in 1967

As an incentive to train, there was a club within the school called the All Weather Running Club, looked after by my Chemistry teacher.  The goal of club members was to run from the school to the gates of Richmond Park and back, every Tuesday and Thursday night after school during the autumn and winter terms, regardless of the weather.  It was only a two-mile roundtrip, but for fifteen and sixteen year olds to do it voluntarily through frequently foul weather and in winter darkness, without missing a scheduled night, was significant and a source of pride.  I began to think of myself as a tough and accomplished runner, despite a lack of competitive success.

Around this time, at my initiative, a friend from the team and I rode our bikes up to the gates of Richmond Park one Saturday and then ran non-stop right around the perimeter paths of the Park, about 12 kilometres.  This seemed an incredible distance to us, our families and our friends, and gave me the kind of recognition and self-esteem I craved as an under-sized teenager.  Soon afterwards, I returned to Australia and continued my running career at Melbourne High School and Monash University where more encounters and coincidences further grew my passion for running.

My right knee was very sore overnight, and the right Achilles was stiff and sore this morning, but I expected that after yesterday's long run on fire-trails.  I haven't had a day off for a while so was happy just to walk gently for 5km this morning around the local streets.  The Achilles hurt a little while walking, but not enough for me to think running tomorrow will be a problem.  I feel a sense of optimism after yesterday's run that I'm on my way back.  It's hard to explain what has changed, and I have to be careful not to get too enthused.  My doctor has told me in the past that I have borderline low white and red blood cell counts, and it almost feels like the oxygen carrying capacity of my blood has suddenly improved in the past week.  No drugs are involved, so I have to assume that I've been ailing with something that has now passed.  Of course, this diagnosis is not based on anything other than a gut feeling, and may be wildly off the mark.  The next few weeks will tell.

Ferny Creek 21

A very wintry Ferny Creek

Another Sunday, and another Sunday long run.  While tackling The Orchard 32km Run this morning (see previous Post), my thoughts went back to the premier Sunday long run of my running career, the Ferny Creek 21 (Mile), which I ran for many years in my 20s and 30s.

Apparently the Ferny Creek runs started in the early 1960s with Ron Clarke, Trevor Vincent and other notable runners meeting at a café at Ferny Creek on a Sunday morning for their weekly long run.  The Dandenong Ranges, where Ferny Creek is situated, lie about 30 kilometres east of Melbourne, and consist of a mix of mountains, towering mountain ash forests, lush fern gullies, quiet back roads and walking tracks.

By the time I joined the group in the late 1960s, there were often 30 runners or more, and I soon graduated from the short 14 Mile, to the longer, 21 Mile, as my marathoning career began.  The Ferny Creek 21 had a lot going for it in my mind.  It was through ideal running country, the standard was very high, and it was an opportunity to rub shoulders with, and test yourself against, the best runners of the day.  There were sections of road and trail, sometimes in parallel (offering a choice), and there were famous (amongst the running fraternity) hills.

The top of Aeroplane Hill

The first was Two Mile Hill, reached after four miles, where the social chatter abruptly stopped.  The hill wasn't that steep, but climbed 400 feet in two miles, and could be run at speed.  In all the years I ran the Two Mile Hill, I don't think I ever reached the top first, even at my fittest.  It seemed that some runners considered it their main race of the week, while others, such as Rob De Castella, Chris Wardlaw and Gerard Barrett, were just too good.  At the top there was a ritual urination stop while waiting for the stragglers before the run continued in a more competitive mode.

The second famous hill, Aeroplane Hill, came after fourteen miles.  It wasn't so long, but was very steep.  It was preceded by a few foothills that were significant in themselves, and I can remember introducing a club-mate to Aeroplane Hill by telling him that the "foothills" were actually Aeroplane Hill.  He was feeling very pleased with himself until he came round a bend to be confronted by the real Aeroplane Hill and his eyes nearly bugged out.

There were still more hills, including through the beautiful Sherbrooke Forest, before the final mile and a half of gradual downhill running back to the café.  The café produced excellent milkshakes and most runners adjourned there after the run to discuss the morning's times and the previous day's races.

Sherbrooke Forest

Sadly, in the early 1980s, restrictions were placed on runners in Sherbrooke Forest for (unproven) ecological reasons, and the 21 Mile course had to be modified a little. Runners still meet at Ferny Creek to run on Sundays, and whenever I'm in Melbourne, and fit, I try to get up there to run the course for old times sake.  These days, if I break 3 hours, I'm doing well.  My best time, from memory, was 2:07 run with Gerard Barrett and Rob De Castella one Sunday in the early 1980s.  Those were the days.

This morning's run went much better than I had anticipated.  My legs weren't too tired from yesterday's 10km race, and seemed to cope with the early hills comfortably.  Having a couple of mates to run and chat with helped the kilometres to pass, though there was little talking on the return trip.  My knee and Achilles were sore, but manageable, and a fall at one point yielded some minor cuts and abrasions.  I kept waiting for the wheels to come off in the last 12km, but managed to maintain a good pace and finished in 2:54, very tired, but not shattered.  That's more than 15 minutes faster than a month ago so is reason for cautious optimism that I'm returning to some form.

Who's up and who's down

Down - walking dejectedly away from the
finish of the 1982 Montreal Marathon
(46th, 2:29, "possibly my worst
performance ever") where I struggled
with an Achilles problem and the effects
of anti-inflammatories

I didn't get time to warm up much this morning for the Terrigal Trotters Flat (mis-named) 10km Time Trial, so started slowly and nursed my sore Achilles and knee through the early kilometres.  Consistent with the feeling I've had this week that I have somehow "bottomed out" in my running, I felt I was moving better and running more strongly than for the past month or so.  Nevertheless, I lack race fitness and stamina, flagged on the hills and found the last half hard.  My time of 44:52 was about what I had expected, though I had feared it might be worse as I slowed during the second half.
The monthly Time Trial is always a good bench-marking event, though you can't get too excited about who you beat and who beats you.  This is because nobody is at their peak or nadir all of the time.  There were runners in front of me this morning who I might have hoped to beat if fit.  At other times, when I was running well, they would have had the same thoughts about me.  Running and fitness is cyclical, maybe because of illness or injury, or maybe because of work or family commitments.  For some runners, staleness becomes an issue, training and racing become chores, and they seem to lose their "mojo" for a period of time.

Down - dealing with a serious lower
back injury in the early 1980s that
 cost a lot of running time

At a race like today's it is possible to identify people at all stages of the cycle.  You feel pleased for those on the upswing or at their peak, and sad for those whose performances are sub-par for some reason.  Within Trotters, it's great to see some people running very well at the moment who have struggled for the past year or longer.  They are loving that sense of capability and potential that comes with race fitness and are relishing the opportunity to compete in events denied to them in the last couple of years.  I feel very happy for them, but also want to tell them not to overdo it and to savour this period when everything is going well.

Up - running well and centre picture in the first
Melbourne Marathon in 1978 (2nd, 2:23)

Then there are others struggling to keep running with injuries or illness, or maybe just resigned to walking until they feel better.  At this stage it's easy for them to feel depressed and dispirited.  Every runner knows (and most non-runners don't) the frustration that accompanies the inability to run regularly for whatever reason.  Continuing to associate, socially, with those who are running regularly can make the pain even more exquisite, though those same people are also best equipped to empathise.  I feel sad for those who are struggling, but also want to tell them that their time at the top of the cycle will come again if they have patience, that they should use their downtime wisely, and that, believe it or not, there are more important things in life than running.

Sleep

Late night dinner in the western Queensland town of
Cloncurry while trying to break the round Australia
record in 2007

The problem with Thursdays is, that after getting up early to supervise the 6:00am Terrigal Trotters track session at The Haven, I eat late and get to bed late after supervising the 6:00pm track session at Adcock Park in Gosford.  (I'm not complaining about the track sessions.  I find them rewarding and it's a way for me to pay back with a bit of volunteering after a working career during which my volunteering was minimal.)

As I get older, it seems I like my sleep more.  If golf is scheduled for early Friday morning, as it often is, I get very tired and start to dread the early starts that follow on Saturday and Sunday.

Crossing the Atherton Tableland in the Northern Territory
during the 2008 attempt to break the round Australia record

I'm sure that all serious runners think about the amount of sleep they get and regret that they don't get more.  Earlier in my running career, I envied the full-time athletes who had nothing to do all day but train and sleep and figured this could be a key factor in their success.  I also used to get stressed if I could not get a good night's sleep before a big race.

However, as I have aged, my views on sleep have become more relaxed.  I now don't worry if I get insufficient sleep the night before a big race.  Instead, I try and get a few good nights' sleep in the week before and just take what I can get the night before.  Often you are sleeping in a strange place or maybe sharing accommodation and subject to the night routine of others.  Despite a lack of sleep, I have found the adrenalin, excitement and atmosphere of race day is enough to get you up mentally for the race.  The last thing you need to be worrying about is a sleepless night.  Once the race starts, you tend to forget all about it.

Taking a break in the Northern Territory during the 2009
attempt to break the round Australia record

The other thing I have learned is that I can survive on a lot less sleep than I would like.  During my working career, I averaged a little over six hours per night, but functioned fine so long as I was doing something.  If I sat still in a presentation or lecture, or on a plane, I was prone to go to sleep, but if I kept working I was fine.  The real sleep test for me came during my three failed attempts to break the record for riding a bike solo and unsupported around Australia.  I soon learned that success was as much a function of being able to operate on little sleep as it was on cycling prowess.  Almost all nights were limited to four to five hours sleep, with 1:00am starts, 300 kilometre days, and occasional brief cat-naps during the day if I became too tired to continue.  I was amazed at what my body could do if tested, though if you consider the privations of, say, soldiers in the trenches during the First World War, my efforts were modest.

The lesson for me about sleep is that you should get as much as you can, but not sweat it if you run short.  So long as you are motivated, you can keep going on minimal sleep.

Not wanting to leave today's run until after the morning golf game, I got myself up at 4:30am and squeezed in a slow 5km around Copa in the early morning half light.  My right Achilles was quite painful and my pace was slow, but I do feel I'm moving more freely.  It's the monthly Terrigal Trotters 10km Time Trial tomorrow, and I would like to run a reasonable time, but am trying to avoid any expectations.  I feel that my overall fitness is at about 75% of where I would like to be, and this is unlikely to translate into a good 10km time.

Hidden treasures

Trails atop Kincumba Mountain

Summer has come early to the NSW Central Coast, and it was even warm for the Thursday morning track group going through their paces at 6:00am at the Terrigal Haven.  By the time I headed out for my run around 7:00am it was warm and sunny, but not oppressive.  After the easy recovery day yesterday, I hoped to run about 15km today, and since I was car-less after the track session (Sharon attended the session and drove my car home), I picked a course that included some nice trail and avoided some of the busiest peak hour roads.

Looking east over Avoca Beach from Kincumba Mountain

My route was up and over Kincumba Mountain, one of the hidden jewels in our area.  I suspect that there are people who drive around the base of Kincumba Mountain for much of their lives without ever venturing into the 700 hectare reserve, and they don't know what they are missing.  Atop the mountain, you could be hundreds of kilometres from suburbia. It's far enough from the roads to avoid traffic noise and the only sounds tend to be those of the birdlife.  The climbs on the trails through the forest up the 200m high mountain are steep, but runnable, while the top is almost plateau-like with some nice long flattish fire-trails where you can stride out.  But perhaps the best thing of all about Kincumba Mountain is that you can frequently run right across, as I did this morning, and not see another person.  You feel that you have the whole place to yourself, a precious pleasure amid the hubbub of the Central Coast.  And, to those in the know - mostly runners, mountain bikers and hikers - there are other mountains around the Central Coast where you can enjoy the same solitude.

My right knee was very sore during the run, but I tried to tread carefully and avoid stress on the inside where the pain is greatest.  I suspect I also have some bone bruising at the top of the tibia, but that's a layman's diagnosis based on previous MRI's and the prevailing pain at the time.  On the positive side, my Achilles tendon wasn't too bad and for the last 5km, when I came down from the mountain and ran along the roads with more reliable footing, I felt like I was moving well, and with some stamina for a change.  It's probable that the reduced pain in the Achilles was allowing me a longer stride length and better running form.  Whatever the reason, the beautiful run over Kincumba Mountain followed by a good stride out along the road back to McMasters Beach, made for a great morning session.  It was good to be alive.

Technology

Gloucester, NSW

I don't own a GPS watch as used by many runners these days.  It's not that I have a philosophical objection to them, it's just that they look a bit bulky and don't meet any of my current running needs.  I do, however, like to use MapMyRun for plotting routes and measuring distances, and wish it had been available 30 or 40 years ago.  In my earlier running career, distances were calculated using street directories, rulers, paper and pencil, and measuring a long run was a big exercise, especially if the roads weren't straight.  These days it's relatively easy to measure a course pre- or post-run on my computer and save the information for another day.

Another great advantage of MapMyRun and Google Maps is being able to work out a running course in an unfamiliar area.  In years gone by, when on extended touring trips in Europe and North America, many of my daily training runs consisted of running out along a main road for 20 or 30 minutes, turning around and then running back the same way.  If the main road was busy or lacked a shoulder, the run could be unpleasant.  Nevertheless, when you're in a strange town and don't have detailed maps, it's not always a good idea just to set out along a side road in the hope you'll be able to find a safe loop of the desired distance.  Often on these minor roads you can encounter unrestrained territorial dogs, or perhaps find yourself unexpectedly on private property or at a dead end.  Maybe you just get uncomfortably stared at by folks unused to the sight of a runner on their back road.  Of course, these things can happen even if you know where you are going, but at least the maps, satellite views and photography can give you a better idea of the roads, distances, settlements and terrain.

Oops!  There's supposed to be a bridge here

This morning, after the long run yesterday, I was looking for an easy 10km running route from our motel in the small town of Gloucester that didn't involve running out of town along the main road.  Using MapMyRun, I worked out a loop of 9km that kept to the local back streets and minor roads of the town and set off at a very easy pace, with my Achilles tendon and knee both still painful from yesterday's run.  After about 3km, I went to turn right along a street on my planned route to find a dead end.  Alas, Google Maps and MapMyRun showed a bridge crossing a small creek on the edge of town where no bridge existed.  I could see the gravel road I planned to run along on the other side of the creek, but would have had to wade across to get there.  I abbreviated my run to 7km following a few other minor roads and didn't encounter any dogs or banjo players.  So much for technology! 

Barrington Tops

Sharon tackling one of the obstacles on
the Link Track

Being in the Barrington Tops area for a couple of days, I just had to search out a nice long trail run for Sharon and me to do today.  Neither of us is in great form at present.  My problems have been documented ad nauseam in this blog and Sharon has been making a slow comeback from shin stress fractures.

The route we chose was the Link Track that connects the Gloucester Tops to Barrington Tops via a forested ridge, a 34km out-and-back trip, starting at about 1300m and climbing to about 1500m at the Carey's Peak turnaround.  It was forecast to be a warm day, so the idea of running at altitude had some appeal.  It was also quite windy, so that helped keep us cool as well.

The track wasn't that hilly, but was narrow and technical in many parts.  The terrain varied from glades of Antarctic beech to more tussocky open alpine forest.  We had the place to ourselves and saw no-one at all, despite it being school vacation time.

Beautiful trail running on the Link Track

It turned into a run of two halves, with me leading on the way out, waiting at the top of hills for Sharon to catch up, taking pictures, and walking the more significant hills.  Sadly it was quite hazy at Carey's Peak, so the views were restricted, but it was still impressive.  I started to feel very achy and sleepy as we began the return trip and soon it was Sharon waiting for me on the hills and taking the photographs.  The further I went the more liberal became my interpretation of what was a hill, and therefore walkable.

With a few kilometres to go, I caught Sharon making hand signals at a distance to indicate the presence of a snake on the track and I got a good picture.  From there, I pretty much walked all the way back to the car, feeling absolutely exhausted.

Some wildlife on the Link Track

I shouldn't feel this bad, so will write it off to remnants of the illness I had on the weekend.  By contrast, Sharon was very happy with her run, being easily the longest she has done for some time.

On the plus side for me, my Achilles pain wasn't too bad and the knee bearable during the run.  Neither seems to be worse post-run, but I did kick a rock or stump during the second half of the run and felt sharp pain in the right arch that was giving me problems a couple of months ago.  Hopefully, it will be fine.

Despite my exhaustion, I count myself lucky to have been able run/walk through such an environment, and will relish the memory.  I think the Australian bush is in my DNA and I always feel right at home there.  Despite going quite slowly, we essentially completed what is supposed to be a two-day hike in just 5.5 hours.  Trail running gives you many more options in wild country.

A sedentary life

Golfing with Sharon at Gloucester, NSW

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

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

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

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