Ouch!

Not good news!

After two months of no running, and despondency about my health problems, I know I have put on some weight.  The shorts are a little tighter, as are the T-shirts, and I can't see as many ribs in the mirror.  Up until today, I had tried not to worry about it too much.  Dealing with health concerns and the inability to run were stress enough without beating myself up about my eating or weight (see my blog post about Compensatory Eating).

On Saturday I managed to run 14km, and have now run every day for nearly two weeks.  Although not out of the woods, health-wise, it's time to get back to normal.  "Normal" includes weighing myself regularly and trying to stay at, or below, 68kg.  Not only do I feel healthier at that weight (and my clothes fit better), but it reduces the chances of injury.  I do have a chronic right knee problem (see post titled Adaptation), and it has been quite sore since I resumed running.  I firmly believe that weighing less will alleviate some of the strain.

Much faster and lighter at Croydon in the UK in 1975.

Anyway, after my run this morning, I stepped on the scales for the first time in over two months - 74.0kg!  It was demoralising to see this number, and a big wake-up call.  Even though I can't run the kilometres I would like, I can exert more discipline over what I eat.  It's time to get back onto my "no snacks, no desserts and no second helpings" diet with small breakfasts and lunches.  Occasional treats will be allowed, but I need to be much more strict overall.

My 5km run was a little faster and more comfortable this morning, though my right knee hurt and I'm still running slowly.

Washington DC

US Capitol Building.

Washington DC offers unique running.  Since my first visit in 1985, I have visited it many times for business and pleasure, and always looked forward to my regular run around the Washington Mall.  The exact distance has varied, depending on where I was staying, but my basic Washington DC 10km loop has remained the same.

Looking past the Capitol Building along the Mall to
the Washington Monument.

I try not use the word "unique" too often, but it's appropriate in this case.  Where else in the world can a 10km run take you past the United States Capitol Building, various parts of the Smithsonian Museum, the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the Reflective Pool, and (distantly) the White House, as well as the Potomac River and many other sights, well-known memorials and institutions.

Looking the other way from the Washington Monument
along the Mall to the Capitol Building.

Before 9/11, security wasn't as tight around the US Capitol, and you could run quite close to the building.  It's a bit different today, but even then you could get into trouble.  While staying with friends for a couple of weeks in 1985, and still training twice a day, I would run hard up the hill on which the Capitol sits, sometimes in darkness.  On one of those occasions, my way was suddenly barred by two policemen who emerged from the gloom and asked me to identify myself.  Of course, I wasn't carrying any ID, but after a chat they let me continue on my way.  Subsequently, I tended to stay on the more well-lit paths closer to the road after dark.

The Jefferson Memorial and the path along the shore of
the Potomac Tidal Basin.

A good part of the 10km loop runs along the flattish and wide gravel paths on either side of the National Mall.  It's a popular place to run at either end of the day, but can get busy with tourists at other times.  When feeling good, I always enjoyed building to a good pace on the long straights and chasing down and over-taking fellow runners.

Apart from the impressive buildings and monuments, the area is characterised by expansive views and vast green lawns which, depending on the weather and time of day, can be very popular with tourists and locals alike.  I have a memory of running, one balmy summer evening, past countless games of mixed gender baseball and ultimate frisbee, played by people of all shapes, sizes and ages (mostly public servants, I would guess), running, shouting and encouraging each other.  A very happy scene.

Looking from the Lincoln Memorial over the Reflective
Pool to the Washington Monument.

I also have a memory of running the course on a chill winter morning with an icy wind blowing, remnant snow of a recent storm banked against park walls and buildings, and the few pedestrians protected by big coats and sturdy headgear.  Whatever the weather, it was always an interesting and inspiring place to run.

I plodded around 5km in Copa today, feeling a little stiff and sore after yesterday's exertions, particularly my chronically injured right knee.  For the first time, I wore a new heart monitor linked to my smart phone to collect data about the run and my associated effort for later computer upload.  It showed my average heart rate as 140bpm, with a maximum of 162bpm, and an average speed of 6 mins/km - pretty slow!

Looking up

Erina Valley is part of Woody's Wun.

The Terrigal Trotters Saturday morning run this week was the 14.2km "Woody's Wun".  Coincidentally, it was the last Trotters run I did while still fully functional, back in mid-December.  It was also 6km longer than my longest run since resuming training nine days ago, and incorporated some very steep and long hills.  That made me (and others) quite apprehensive about whether I should be attempting it.  On the other hand, there was a sort of appealing symmetry if I could get around the run OK.  I wouldn't be resuming where I left off, because last time I ran quite hard and well, but just completing the course without incident would be a significant step on the road back in my mind.

I managed to fall over crossing these paddocks this morning.

I was last of the hundred or so runners climbing the first rise away from the Terrigal Surf Club, but that was a good place to be, and pretty much where I stayed for the first few kilometres.  Despite constantly self-assessing my respiration and heartbeat, it was a great pleasure to be running along in the pre-dawn darkness bantering with my club-mates again.  There have been times during the last two months when it seemed possible those days were over, and probable that the hiatus would be much longer.

Woody's Wun goes right through the Erina Fair
Shopping Mall.

On each of the solid climbs in the next two kilometres, I slowed to a walk with some of my colleagues, only resuming when the gradient eased.  Normally I would never walk up a hill during a Trotters run, but my expectations have changed, at least for the time being.  They were the kind of hills that would have brought me to a staggering halt with a heart rate of 230bpm before the Cardioversion eighteen days ago, so it was encouraging to get up them comfortably.  From there, I ran the whole way, apart from climbing a few fences and one fall while crossing a paddock.  I particularly enjoyed the steady slow climb up the side of forested Kincumba Mountain along a very technical kilometre of single track and the gentle descent which followed along a beautiful fire-trail.  Magic!

The fire-trail on Kincumba Mountain.

I even caught a few people over the last half of the run, as I settled into an easy unstressed pace, but had to keep reminding myself not to get competitive.  This will be one of my challenges going forward.  Although there were still some aches and pains, particularly in the knees, I was in better shape than a few days ago, and really enjoyed the run.  May there be many more!

Imagination?

Murray River.

Most of today was spent driving the 1,000km from Melbourne back to Copa.  I was on the road by 5:00am, after a night during which I woke several times.  I suspect the real reason for the disturbed sleep was that I knew I had an early start, but each time I woke, I found myself lying there, very conscious of my heartbeat and trying to determine whether the beat was regular.

After my 5km run yesterday morning, I was checking my pulse and it seemed that there was a double beat about every 20 to 30 seconds, although it could have been my imagination.  I hadn't experienced any breathlessness or palpitations while running, but nevertheless I'm now a bit worried that the double beat, if it's real, signals the early stages of the return of my Atrial Flutter.

Bike path along the Murray.

As I drove north along the Hume Highway in pre-dawn darkness, I wondered about the wisdom of running again today.  However, after three hours of driving and feeling a little tired, I stopped in Albury and set out along a bike path by the Murray River.  It was a pleasantly cool morning and I was pleased to feel more like a runner than earlier in the week, though somewhat apprehensive.  I wasn't running hard, but was moving faster with less stiffness in the muscles and joints.  The faster speed meant my lungs were working a little harder, and I was breathing in on two steps and out on one, but still controlled.  Nevertheless, I was constantly self-assessing myself, looking for any sign that my heart was racing or my blood pressure dropping.

Billabong at the turnaround.

After about 3km of following the full and fast-flowing river, I reached a billabong and the end of the bike path and turned round.  It was nice to see the Murray River looking so healthy after a number of dry years.

Hovell Tree Park.

The path returned through the Hovell Tree Park, where I had finished my 440km three-week hike along the Hume & Hovell Track about ten months ago.  The Hovell Tree was marked, nearly 190 years ago, by one of the explorers after whom the walking track was named.  I could vividly remember finishing there at dusk, completely exhausted after compressing the planned last two days walk into one 50km day.  Despite my exhaustion on that last day, I had a great trip, and being there again made me wish it was a year ago when I was preparing for the trip, with no heart or lung problems in sight.  Just another reminder to make the most of my time.

I was again checking my pulse again after the run, and still wonder if there's an occasional double beat.  Generally, it seems regular and strong (and back under 50bpm at rest), but I still have a nagging concern.  I have an appointment with the cardiologist next week anyway, and he'll confirm one way or the other.  For the time being, I think I keep running daily.

Singapore

Looking towards Marina Bay, Singapore.

Another city I visited frequently for work during my 16 expatriate years was Singapore, which I found somewhat bland compared to, say, Hong Kong, in terms of topography, atmosphere and running opportunities.  The climate was also challenging, with the city state lying just north of the equator.  I remember one occasion, after flying in at noon and having no afternoon commitments, setting out in the early afternoon for a 12km run.  There was little shelter from the blazing sun and the humidity was extreme, but I considered myself indestructible.  Jet lag may also have been a factor, but for whatever reason, after about 8km I began to feel incredibly tired and light-headed and had to sit on a shaded park bench for ten minutes before I could continue.  I then slowly walked the remaining 4km back to the hotel.

The path along the Kallang River.

As hotel locations varied, so did my morning run routes, but the usual 11-12km started somewhere in downtown Singapore in pre-dawn darkness and headed down to Marina Bay from where I followed a path by the Kallang River northwards.  It was cooler in the dark, but that's relative, and it never took long to be dripping with sweat.  There would be a few early workers and exercisers about, but generally I had the place to myself.

East Coast Park.

After crossing the River, the run passed some darkened sports stadiums before entering a residential area of towering apartment blocks where the locals, including many schoolchildren, were setting out for their day.  At the manicured and verdant East Coast Park, which extends all the way to the airport, I turned right along a bike path back towards the city.  After crossing the river again, I ran past the historic Raffles Hotel into the CBD and the end of the run.  If I was smart, I had turned the air-conditioning up to the maximum in my room before I left, because it always took a long time to stop sweating, and it wasn't worth showering until I had.

Raffles Hotel.

I never tried a really long run in Singapore, but I'm sure it would be hard work, and I don't envy any serious distance runners living permanently in the country.

My 5km run went a little bit easier this morning, so I hope this is the start of feeling better.  I'm still checking my pulse all the time.  I don't know how long it will be before I take a regular heartbeat for granted again, if ever.

Warfarin?

My usual 5km while staying in Melbourne passes along
some of the leafy Malvern streets.

After six days of running about 5km a day, following two months of no running, I'm about where I expected to be in terms of cardio-vascular fitness.  My diagnosis of Deep Vein Thombosis, Pulmonary Embolism and Atrial Flutter at the start of January, had me worrying whether I would ever run again.  It was a scary time.  Now that my heart is back in sinus rhythm and I'm taking Warfarin to minimise the risk of further blood clots, running is again part of my life.

I have resumed running after injuries many times in 45 years, and generally know what to expect.  There will be two weeks, or longer if I have added a few kilograms, of feeling like a fish out of water.  After that, I will begin to feel like a runner again.  Then, the return to full fitness is generally a function of how long I had been unable to run.

The run passes by the John Landy Oval
(see post here).  

I'm mid-way through the initial couple of weeks and there's no problem with my cardio-vascular system.  I'm breathing easily and my heart rate seems to be behaving itself.  What is bothering me, is how stiff and sore my legs are.  Every morning, I feel like all my joints and muscles need lubrication as I set off.  I'm surprised I don't hear squeaking!  It's worse than I expected, and I have been tempted to blame it on the Warfarin I am taking.  If my blood is slow to coagulate, maybe the inflammation that must be occurring in my ageing and cartilage-poor joints is slower to repair and then dissipate?  Maybe there is some other side-effect?

Looking across John Landy Oval in Malvern's
Central Park.

I have searched high and low on the internet for information about the effects of Warfarin on runners, but instead of finding clues to explain my aches and pains, I have found stories of endurance athletes successfully returning to serious competition while continuing to take Warfarin.  Seems like I will have to accept the ageing process is the main culprit.

Just another 5km this morning at an easy pace, with no problems apart from the above-mentioned stiffness and soreness.

Carp diem

A trail in the Yarra Valley in Ivanhoe.

While visiting Melbourne, and limited to about 5km a day, I have been running the same circuit in the Glen Iris/Malvern area.  The last part of the course takes me through streets adjacent to Malvern's Central Park, where a good friend, Tom, lived before his tragic death while cycling back in 2006.

He was another one of those people who was good at everything.  Highly respected as a lawyer, known especially for his pro bono work and support of worthy causes, he was also a very accomplished rower, having represented both the University of Melbourne and the University of Cambridge in his youth.

The Yarra Valley at Templestowe.

I can't remember when I first met Tom, but it was probably in the late 1970s, and we soon got to know each other well.  As you might expect for a rower, he was quite a big guy, but was a great all round athlete and ran some good marathons, getting into the 2:30s.  For a number of years, he was part of a small group of us who met in Kew each Sunday morning for a run on roads and trails in the Yarra Valley.  True to his nature, he also looked out for the well-being of one of our running friends who had occasional rough patches in his life.

Another trail in the Yarra Valley in Templestowe.

Although I lived outside of Australia for sixteen years from 1987, I always looked forward to visiting Kew for the Sunday morning run on home visits to catch up on all of the news, and Tom remained a good friend during all of those expatriate years.  He was a little older than me, and due to retire in less than a year, when the bike accident cut short his life.  We had toyed with the idea of doing some adventuring together after his retirement, and he would have been a great companion.  Carpe diem.

This morning's 5km passed without incident, although the aches and pains of the last few days are still there.  I'll just keep jogging the same distance for the next few days and expect I will start to feel better soon.

Realising potential

This morning's run passed by the famous Melbourne
Cricket Ground.

In a previous post, I wrote about the attributes I consider keys to reaching the top as a runner (and most fields of endeavour) - the right genes (natural talent), hard work and luck.  This is simplistic, of course, but in my chosen sport of long-distance running, the champions seem to have all three.

For this morning's run, I travelled into the East Melbourne apartment of an old friend, Bill, and we ran about 8km down to, and around, the Tan Track and back.  Bill is a formidable performer in any field of endeavour he chooses.  I first met him at University where we were both doing our Masters degrees, and he was way ahead of the class.  He is also an accomplished musician, has reached the pinnacle of his chosen academic profession, and is a quality cyclist and runner.

Looking up Anderson Street Hill on Melbourne's
Tan Track.

In all these fields, he has leveraged some good genes with fierce dedication and focus to explore his considerable potential and reach elite levels.  He's not a person who's going to die wondering "What if?" or whether he got the best out of himself.  I have always respected his attitude and sometimes wondered whether I could have been a better runner if I had his self-discipline.

Luck wasn't on his side in running and cycling, with crippling injuries shortening his competitive career, but he was hard to beat, especially over distances from 10km to 25km.  Nowadays, he's content to run for an hour most days, chronic injuries permitting, and doesn't run competitively, reasoning that this will extend his running life.  He has advised me to do the same, and I can see the wisdom of this approach.  Maybe that is what I will end up doing.

Melbourne's Tan Track.

Bill took mercy on me this morning, and we jogged our 8km at the princely speed of 6 minutes per kilometre.  The run included the famed Anderson Street hill, about which I was somewhat apprehensive, but it passed without incident and my pulse was still beating regularly when we finished.  My right calf was sore and my joints and legs ached, but it was great to be running with an old friend on a picture perfect morning around some of our old haunts.

Three days and counting

Pre-dawn on Glenferrie Road, Malvern, during this
morning's run.

My right calf was still sore after yesterday's run and it feels like a muscle strain.  I can't believe I have hurt my calf in one extremely slow run, but I guess it can happen, especially as you get older.  My usual test for the severity of calf or Achilles tendon strains is to do a few heel raises.  If, standing on one leg, I can raise my heel to stand on tip-toe without pain or weakness, then I usually continue running.  That was the case this morning, so I decided to go ahead with my planned 5km run, but to favour the sore leg and to start very slowly.

Crossing Central Park, Malvern, during
this morning's run.

The calf felt tight, but survived the 5km in Melbourne's eastern suburbs.  Actually, all my muscles and joints are quite stiff, as my body rebels against the resumption of running.  I was hoping that the walking I had done in the last two months would have made the transition to running easier, but it's still difficult.  However, I know that if I can persevere for another week or two, I will be moving more easily, and the runs will be more enjoyable.  Having said that, I already feel healthier as a result of running on three consecutive days and look forward to losing a couple of kilograms I have added since Christmas.

I was conscious of my breathing and heart the whole run, but my breathing was controlled and my pulse remains regular.  I'm gradually getting more optimistic about my prospects, but mentally preparing myself for a set-back should it occur.

Reef Hills

Reef Hills State Park.

Most of today was spent driving the 1000km from Copa to Melbourne where I will be staying for a week with family.  Because of the long drive, I wasn't committed to getting a run or walk in during the day.  However, around 3:30pm, when I was starting to feel a little tired, I pulled off the highway near Benalla in Victoria and stopped at Reef Hills State Park, where I knew there were some fire trails, and changed for a run.

It's good to be running again!

Warm sunny weather, stiffness from yesterday, and the kransky sausage roll I had less than two hours earlier for lunch, all conspired to make even a slow run hard work, but the further I went the better I felt.  Like yesterday, I was very focussed on my breathing and heart rate.  I was counting how many steps per breath (inhalation and exhalation) and the first couple of kilometres were easy with five steps per breath, decreasing to four steps as I climbed a gradual hill.  Usually, when running hard, I get three or two steps per breath, so comfortably getting more was a good sign.

Half way round, my right calf started to hurt quite a lot, but it's hard to believe that I have damaged anything given the slow pace of the run.  Tomorrow will tell the tale.  It's definitely good to be running again and generating some sweat.

So far so good

Second from left, with the University of Melbourne
Cross-Country team in Canberra for the 1979
Intervarsity Championships.

It was with more than a little trepidation that I set off for this morning's 6km walk/run after supervising the 6:00am Trotters' track session at the Terrigal Haven.  I walked the first 500 metres, which included a solid hill, then jogged a few hundred metres before walking up a second, steeper and longer, hill.  So far, so good.  Once at the top, on Scenic Highway overlooking Terrigal, I decided to jog the remaining 4.5 kilometres of the 6 kilometre course if I felt OK.

I was very slow, and felt very unfit.  At one point, I was passed by ultra-running friend, Darren, who was himself running very slowly as he came back from injury.  How slow can you go, and still be running?  My joints creaked and my chronic bad knee hurt, but my breathing remained steady.  All the time, I was examining my heart and chest with my brain, looking for signs that something was amiss, but nothing happened.

When I reached the last few small hills, hills that I had originally intended to walk up, I chose to keep running.  I felt a little reckless, but was gaining confidence, that so long as my breathing was comfortable, I was not stressing my heart.  Back at The Haven, I reached my car and stopped running.  It hadn't been any tougher than other first runs after two months off, and I felt a glimmer of hope that I was on the way back to recreational running, if not competition.

Murray Marathon

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

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

MISERABLE MURRAY MARATHONING

The start of a recent Murray Marathon.

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

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

Competitors in a recent Murray Marathon.

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

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

Competitors in a recent Murray Marathon.

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

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

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

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

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

Competing in my second Murray Marathon
(possibly 1986).

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

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

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

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

Walking and pondering

The backlots of McMasters Beach on this morning's walk.

I walked about 10km this morning in misty, drizzly, and almost autumnal weather along some less-travelled roads and trails around nearby McMasters Beach.  Walking gives more time to look at your surroundings, and I've enjoyed a closer examination of the forests and properties that I often pass more cursorily on the run.  It's all relative, of course, with walking better than running, and running better than biking, if you want to absorb your environment.  All are better than driving.

The gravestone of Allan McMaster, the first European
settler in the area named after him.

Another advantage of walking, for me at least, is that it is the best time for thinking.  I'm a stroller rather than a power walker, and the gentle perambulation seems to stimulate my analytical brain cells.  As I walked this morning, experiencing no breathlessness or heart palpitations, I wondered about the chances that my heart problems were behind me.  If not, how would the return of the Atrial Flutter (AFl) be triggered?  By running too hard?  And if it was triggered, would it suddenly be as debilitating as it was before the Cardioversion, or would the onset be slower?  What were the chances of reversion, and what were the risk factors?  Wouldn't the cells through which my heart was passing the errant electrical pulses still be there, just a dormant pathway waiting to be reactivated by stress or some other trigger?

Umbrellas were optional on a drizzly morning walk.

There was lots to think about, inconclusively, and I returned home to do some more Googling.  Nothing I could find gave me more certainty, but there were clues.  One study in particular, of men a similar age to me, found that 55% had recurrent AFl within six months of their Cardioversions.  Underlying heart disease, previous episodes of AFl, and enlarged left atriums all seemed to be statistically significant factors in those who reverted.  I'm not conscious of previous AFl events, and my cardiologist found no evidence of heart disease, but he did find "mild Left Atrial dilatation".

Cockrone Lagoon on an autumnal morning.

Other studies have found enlarged left atrial size to be more common in long-term endurance athletes, than others of a similar demographic, and that this seemed to be associated with great incidence of Atrial Fibrillation (AF) and AFl.  So, it seems reasonable to assume I remain at significant risk of reversion.  The great unknown for me, though, is whether the enlarged left atrium was the key factor in the development of my AFl, or was it the Pulmonary Embolism (PE) placing undue pressure on the heart's function that was the trigger.  Although I'm probably stuck with the enlarged left atrium, the PE should be gone soon, if not already.  Does that mean there's a good chance I won't have the problem again?  Probably not, but only time will tell, although there will never be a point at which I can say there is no further risk.

The Great North Walk

A track junction on the Great North Walk.

Yesterday's Terrigal Trotters trail run was along a section of the Great North Walk (GNW), and much of today has been spent working on applications seeking approval from various authorities for the GNW100s trail race in September, for which I am Race Director.

It's one of the wonders of life, that activities or places you had little or nothing to do with for most of your life, suddenly play a big part.  It has often happened to me that places visited for races or sightseeing many years ago, unexpectedly became a big part of my life at a future date.  I had never heard of the GNW before moving to the Central Coast ten years ago, and now I'm running on it frequently (when I can run), organising trail runs on it for the Trotters, and annually directing one of Australia's biggest ultra-distance races along a large section of it.  "GNW" has become one of the most frequently used acronyms in my life.

Part of the Great North Walk in the northern part of
the Watagan Mountains.

The GNW was an Australian Bicentennial (1988) project, building on the visionary idea of a couple of bushwalkers to develop a hiking route between New South Wales' two largest cities, Sydney and Newcastle.  It stretches 250km and cobbles together existing roads and trails, along with some new walking track, and predominantly travels through forested mountains and quiet rural valleys to the west of the more settled coast.  There are camping areas and small villages along the way, and it is estimated more than 40,000 people use it each year in some capacity.  Many of them are trail runners.

The section I have come to know very well is the 175 kilometres used for the GNW100s, the trail race I direct, which stretches from Lake Macquarie in the north to Broken Bay in the south.  Apart from lovely stretches of dry eucalypt forest, there are deep gorges of stygian rainforest, caves, waterfalls, sandstone plateaus, rocky bluffs and exceptional views.  The quiet, and seemingly isolated, rural valleys of Congewai, Watagan Creek, Yarramalong and Ourimbah Creek add another dimension to a varied and interesting journey.

Falls on Kariong Creek on the Great North Walk.

The guides suggest that bushwalkers allocate 12-14 days for the end-to-end hike, while friends Meredith and Jess (elite ultrarunners and past podium finishers in the GNW100s) have run the whole 250km in 54 hours and 52 minutes.  The record for the 175km GNW100s is an astonishing 19 hours and 27 minutes, set by Brendan Davies, another friend who was 2012 Australian Ultra-Runner of the Year.

I always look forward to the trail runs, and occasional hikes or mountain bike rides, along the GNW, but also enjoy just driving around the forest roads and fire-trails and visiting remote locations, as happens every year preparing for the GNW100s.  It's easy to forget the Sydney/Central Coast/Newcastle metropolis is often just a few kilometres away from the peaceful forests and birdsong.

I walked 5km today, including a few hills that gave me no trouble.  My pulse remains regular and I'm beginning to keenly anticipate a resumption of running at the end of the week.