Hiking the Larapinta Trail
The Larapinta Trail starts (or finishes) just outside of Alice Springs (depending on the direction you’re heading in). Wikipedia will tell you it’s 223km. The NT Government website says it’s “over 230km.” I recorded 246km with over 7000m of elevation gain. It’s gnarly, isolated and requires detailed planning. I met one guy who was running it in four days but most people take somewhere between 12-18 days to hike the trail.
You need to carry everything you might need for the duration of your trip and you need to plan where you’re going to pick up your water and food.
The idea popped into my head as I was agonising over another painful relationship breakdown whilst sitting at my desk at work. This combination of sedentary work and heart break seems to be the recipe for most of my adventurous ideas. I had never hiked with a large heavy pack before but I’d run a lot of multi day races before. How hard could it be?
I decided I would hike the trail in 16 days. I had no idea if this was a good amount of time, I just randomly picked the days. I would do the trail solo. I had zero idea what I was doing but figured I had a little bit of time to learn. A quick Google search told me that the majority of hikers who hike the entire Larapinta Trail choose to do it solo (I have no idea if this is true) and the majority of those solo hikers are women, so that was all I needed to convince myself this was a fantastic idea.
I chose three food drops spaced out over the course of my hike and I booked a transfer to take me out to Redbank Gorge where I would start my hike. I chose to hike from Sonder to Alice, mostly because I really didn’t know how long I would take and I liked the freedom of hiking from the middle of nowhere back into Alice. This proved to work well for me as I ended up hiking the trail in 14 days rather than the 16 planned and I was able to walk straight into Alice into a hotel room with a shower with no delay.
Other than Google searches, I reached out to friends who knew more than I did about hiking and about the Larapinta Trail. They all gave me pearls of wisdom (thank you Emma, Jan and Celesta!) and I joined the Larapinta facebook group. As much as I despise social media at times this page was an incredibly useful resource for a novice like me.
So with my brand spanking new Osprey hiking pack, I boarded a plane to Alice Springs ready to take on this adventure. Having never been to Alice before, I was already moved by the presence of the land I was standing on when I arrived. I could barely wait for my adventure to begin.
Day 1: Mt Sonder Return 18km
The bus picked me up from my hotel around 8am and off we went to Redbank Gorge. I was the last to board the bus with new friends already seated, belted up and brimming with excitement. It was a couple hour drive to get to Redbank Gorge and as we got closer we could see Mt Sonder in the distance. We all held our breath with awe and excitement.
When we got to Redbank Gorge, we all went our own ways to set up camp. I found a quiet, flat spot in the dry riverbed.
It was around midday when I decided I simply couldn’t wait for sunset to hike Mt Sonder, I had to do it now! You can’t camp on Mt Sonder so this part of the trail is an 18km hike out and back from the Redbank Gorge campground. As it’s out and back, there is no need to take your full pack, so I took my day pack with 1.5L of water (mistake number one – thinking like a runner) and off I went in the midday sun.
It took me around 4-5 hours to complete the hike with a generous lunch break at the summit. I was overflowing with excitement and stupidity and cake. I decided the cake I’d bought in Alice was too heavy to spread out over two days so ate it all in that one hike up Mt Sonder and I didn’t take nearly enough water. I returned to the camp site dehydrated and stupidly happy…and thinking about cake. Damn, it was going to be 16 days before I got to eat cake again
Day 2: Redbank Gorge – Hilltop Lookout 16km
I awoke with the day light on day two and whilst the priority of the hike was my mental health, not the physical adventure of it all, I couldn’t help but feel like it was a race – against who I have no idea. Old habits die hard. I threw all my shit in my pack and got on the trail as quickly as I could. What a fool! In my rush I had packed my bag so poorly that nothing fit right. As I was planning to camp at a dry camp, I also had 6L of water in my pack. I vowed not to rush in the mornings as a poorly packed backpack could ruin the day.
In my journal reflecting on day 2, I’ve written, “every step was a Ta Da! moment.”
The climb up to HIlltop Look out was hard with the heavy pack, full of water and food. My body hadn’t adjusted to the warm temperatures or the demands of the hike and each step felt challenging but the excitement won out. I watched the sunset from my tent and the most magical sunrise the following morning.
Day 3: Hilltop Lookout – Ormiston Gorge 20km
I honestly can’t recall much of the scenery on this section of the walk other than getting into Ormiston Gorge. My journal is a ramble of past hurts so all I can reflect on this is that on Day 3, the hike started to do exactly what I had hoped. The long days on my feet, the isolation and the heat were turning my thoughts inward and I finally had the space and quiet to reflect on the shit show of 2020, the dissolution of my marriage prior to that shit show and all the other circus events that have occurred in the past five years. But! The joy of the Larapinta is that you can’t feel too sad. You’re reminded of the beauty of the world and just how small we are in this huge old universe.
I set up my tent in the campground at Ormiston Gorge and then went down to the towering walls of the gorge and pound. I thought about having a swim in the waterhole but it was so cold. I sat on the sandy beach by the waterhole and grew increasingly annoyed at the music being played by two young guys sitting nearby. One of the problems with Ormiston Gorge is that it’s open to vehicles so these weren’t hikers but day trippers. Of all crimes they could commit – they were listening to fucking Cold Play. But they were so nice. One of them asked me if I minded the music. In my head I said “fuck yes!” Out loud, I heard myself say “no that’s okay.” Then he asked me if I had any requests. I wanted to ask whether he had any grindcore or at the very least to ask him to turn that fucking Cold Play off, but instead I politely said “no no, you’re fine.”
Ormiston Gorge was also the first night I was confronted with one of my fears – mice! At first I felt my heart lodge in my throat and I wondered how I was going to sleep with mice running around my tent. There was one mouse in particular who seemed to have a thing for me. Getting to know him on an individual level quietened my fears a little. I could see he had a funny little personality. I’d also been hiking for three long days in the heat and it didn’t take long before I was dead to the world.
Day 4: Ormiston Gorge – Hermitt’s Hideaway
I left Ormiston Gorge with a very heavy pack. I knew the next night would be a dry camp and it was hot so I took 7 litres of water. I also had just picked up my first food drop so I had five days of food in my pack. My inexperience was showing. Hiking with an extra 7kg is no problem for me, but hiking with 7 litres is a different matter. The water moves throwing out your balance. Add to this my fear of heights and day four was turning into a beauty! As I got to my first real exposed height on the trail, I felt the pack pulling me back. I was struggling to see the markers and I started to get anxious. Rock scrambling with sharp drop offs put me off my game and I started to tremble. Then I took a wrong turn. On this high section of the trail the markers zig zag around the obstacles but I didn’t realise this. I just saw the marker two markers ahead of me and so went over the very scary shit that the markings were designed to avoid. When I got to that section of the trail I couldn’t see the next marker and I was convinced I was going the wrong way. The trail was so narrow there was no where to stop so I shimmied over the rocks to a spot where I could take my pack off. I drank some water, ate some food and did some deep breathing. Then I pulled out my AllTrails map and I could easily see where I had gone wrong and where I had to go to get back on track. That was the worst of it over and best yet, I had been afraid and I had worked through it and moved on. I love that shit.
Hermitts Hideaway was not a planned stop but a recommendation from a guy on the bus out to Redbank Gorge. He had said it was at the 17km marker of this particular section, and sure enough there it was and it was fantastic. Another stellar sunset and sunrise to nurture the soul.
Day 5 Hermitts Hideaway to Serpentine Dam 17km
It was a warm night on Hermitts Hideaway and in my -27 degree sleeping bag, I was a little toasty (I don’t like being cold, don’t judge). I didn’t sleep well and when I did sleep, I had vivid psychedelic dreams. I put it down to all the parmesan cheese I had put on my pasta the night before. CHEESE DREAMS.
The good part about insomnia when camping is you can get up and watch the stars. I had never seen a shooting star before and within ten seconds of looking at the sky I spotted one, then another one and another one. I thought I must be hallucinating. Maybe. Who knows? Could have been the cheese.
It was a hot day on day 5 and for the most part I ”Deb Stepped” it. ”Deb Step” is that extra gear you find after eating Deb. It’s a real thing. Trust me. Sometimes you can find Deb Step without having eaten Deb any time recently if you’re an avid potato fan and can draw on the golden memories of past potatoes. I Deb Stepped it. Right up until Inarlanga Pass. Then I wigged out. Nature is amazing. Unfortunately for you the reader, I didn’t take any great photos of Inarlanga Pass, so you’ll just have to go and see for yourself.
Day 6 Serpentine Dam to Serpentine Gorge 13km
It’s hard to pick favourites, but this day was a pretty magical day. It started with a climb up to Counts Point. Counts Point is as magnificent as every brochure and website will tell you. 360 degree views of magic. Mt Sonder, Giles and Zeil can be seen in the distance.
From Counts Point, the trail follows the ridge line and it was spectacular views for much of the day before a descent into Serpentine Gorge. The gorge itself is a short walk from the campsite. I took myself down there after setting up my tent and I was the only person there. So many different kinds of birds were coming to the gorge to drink, completely oblivious to me. The green budgies and red zebra finch were definitely the stars of the show. As I sat there, they flew over me, around me, making a stampede sound as their wings fluttered, synchronised, in the acoustics of the gorge.
Serpentine Gorge
Day 7 Serpentine Gorge to Ellery Creek South 12km.
One of the unexpected awesome things about the Larapinta is that you will run into the same people time and time again at camp sites. Up until Serpentine Gorge, I had pretty much been keeping the same itinerary as two awesome women who were travelling together Michelle and Jo. From Serpentine Gorge, you can either go South or North. I was going South and they were going North so I felt a little sad knowing I wouldn’t hear their cheery voices at camp that night. We exchanged phone numbers though and given we were all from Adelaide, we figured we’d catch up again one day and share stories of the North versus the South.
This was the first time I felt tired. Whilst the trail distances don’t seem so far, with 20-25kg on my back, across this technical terrain I was hiking anywhere from 4-10 hours a day with most days being around the 6-7 hour mark. So seven days of solid hiking were catching up with me. I was also feeling insanely hungry and I hadn’t really packed enough variety of food. I was doing what I knew – which was sweet food with a salty dinner. When I run I can’t tolerate savoury food, only sweet so I had figured hiking in the heat I would be similar, but I wasn’t. I was craving something more substantial during the day, but I remembered Pop eating polenta during the war for 8 months straight and I sucked it up and figured I would survive. I was losing weight though. My pants kept falling down and I had to do a pack readjustment to make sure it was actually fitting snug.
As I was tired and hungry and knew I had a food drop at Ellery Creek South, I rested a lot during the day. Whenever I saw some shade, I took a rest and ate something. In fact, I ate pretty much everything in my pack but for two muesli bars.
When I got into Ellery Creek South, I could see why people preferred the North. The water hole was spectacular but the car park was full of 4 wheel drives and the camp site was a river bed right next to the car park. I dumped my pack and sat down to write in my journal, in no hurry at all to go and get my food drop from the locked room. Chris and Sirja were passing through – two hikers I’d met earlier. They stopped to tell me of the massive king brown snake they’d seen and that I most likely just walked past completely oblivious. Then they left and I was officially alone. Yes, I was hiking solo, but I hadn’t felt alone from the moment I boarded that bus and made all my new chums. I’d collected chums at every camp site. Now, everyone I knew was either North, ahead of me, or a few nights behind of me.
Eventually I went to the food drop room. I put my key in, opened the door, scanned all the food drop boxes and didn’t see my name. My box isn’t there. Stay calm Tash. Let’s just do this again. So I stepped out of the room, let the door shut. Then put my key in and walked in a second time. I slowly read every name on every box. Definitely not there.
Breathe.
I looked at my phone. No reception. I hadn’t had a bar of reception the whole hike. Okay, maybe one of the 4 wheel drivers will have phone reception. So I walked out to the car park. I asked one nice man if he had phone reception. He said no and when I told him what I was doing and what had happened he said he was driving back to Alice and could take me. My heart dropped. My trip couldn’t be over. Not like this.
I thanked him and scouted the car park for others. I walked over to a woman and asked her. She replied rather annoyed ”I don’t have my phone on me. It’s in the car.”
“Please, I’m not asking because I want to update my Facebook status. I’ve been hiking for seven days and I have another four to five days to go before my next food drop and I have nothing.“
”Well don’t you have a car?” She said.
”No, I walked here!”
She looked at me like she just couldn’t understand me.
“Love!” a kind farmer looking man called out to me.
“Love! That sounds like an emergency! and there’s an emergency phone a couple kilometres up the road. I’ll drive you.”
I hadn’t had a shower in days! There was no way I could let that poor kind man put up with my stench. I thanked him, got directions and assured him I could walk.
I finally got to the phone and I picked up the receiver ”fire, ambulance or police?”
“I don’t know!” I cried.
The operator put me through to the police. The phone kept cutting out as there was such poor phone reception, but the police were on it. Every time I called back I’d be put through to another operator and they were yelling out to one another, keeping one long file note. Basically I had the entire Alice Springs police department helping me out (well it felt that way). They were so kind to me. Assured me that they’d sort this out and that there was nothing to worry about now they knew my whereabouts. They told me to call back in 2 hours to give them time to try and solve the mystery so I walked back to camp. I could see dingo prints all over the road.
Take note of the emergency phone! 
Big Hole at Ellery Creek South
When I got back to camp I found the nice man and I thanked him for being kind and offering me a practical suggestion that I would never have thought of myself. He told me he was staying overnight and he pointed out his red Hilux. He said if I needed anything to leave a note on his car and he would come find me and sort me out. What a legend.
So I tried to relax and enjoy myself while I waited for the police. I had a dip in the Big Hole. Then I raided the left over food box in the food drop room and found a packet of Deb, some custard and some muesli. I was starting to think about whether I could Bear Grills it to Standley Chasm when I heard a voice yell out ”You wouldn’t happen to be Tash would you?” I looked up and he had my food box in his hands. I clapped with joy and almost hugged the guy before I remembered how bad I stunk. He explained that with all the border closures, my box had simply got misplaced. Shit happens. The adventure was to continue!
As I got myself ready for bed, I thought about the practice we’d all been following of tying our food up in the trees to keep it away from the mice. I thought of those dingo prints and I thought fuck the mice. If my tiny chihuahua can jump on the dining room table, a dingo can steal my food from the tree. Trees don’t grow that tall in the desert! There was no way I was going to be separated from my food again. I took it into the tent and spooned it all night.
Day 8 Ellery Creek South to Ghost Gum Flat 23km
Day 8 was a long hot day. The terrain was fairly flat but it was hot and I had a heavy pack with food (yay!) and water for two days.
I got to Ghost Gum Flat around 3pm and I was cursing the Larapinta Trail notes that says there is ample shade here. There was no shade! I had to set my tent up quickly just to get out of the sun and away from the flies but it was putrid in there. I lay there motionless waiting for the heat of the day to subside. Eventually, the heat eased off and Ghost Gum Flat transformed. In my journal I’ve noted:
When the sunset yesterday, I realised why people say Ghost Gum Flat is beautiful. During the afternoon it is a fly infested hell hole. Come sunset, the colours of the sky pop, the trees stand out in the vast red landscape and the birds chirp their bloody heads off.
Ghost Gum Flat
Day 9 Ghost Gum Flat to Fringe Lily Creek 14.5km
I passed through Hugh Gorge on this section. It’s slow going as you’re basically rock hoping the whole way, but I loved the variation of movement. Plus I saw wild flowers on this section that I hadn’t seen anywhere else on the trail.
Some of the wild flowers spotted across the Larapinta Trail
Day 10 Fringe Lily Creek to Section 4/5 Junction 8km
After another night of vivid dreams, I awoke feeling anxious and worried about my mum (mum was fine). I was also anxious about this next section of the trail with my fear of heights. As I ascended, I kept thinking ”We’re not really going up there are we?” and in every instance, that’s exactly where we were going. The trails was very narrow here – like a knife’s edge at times and the drop offs were terrifying.
Once at the top it was a descent into Spencer Gorge with more rock hoping and bouldering. This section might have only been 8km but it was mentally tough. It required so much concentration to not fall, die, roll an ankle or get lost.
Section 4/5 Junction is a pretty enough campsite but the best bit is Birthday Waterhole which is about a km walk from the campsite. You can camp down there too but I chose not to as you can get a 4 wheel drive in there. I prefer to camp with hikers. Frankly as a solo female, it’s just safer that way.
The waterhole was spectacular. This is one of the only water holes that gets sun so whilst it was cold, it wasn’t icy like the other water holes. I enjoyed a swim and relaxed by the water most of the afternoon watching the birds play.
Day 11 Section 4/5 Junction to Standley Chasm 18km
This part of the trail was so different. At times I felt like I was on the razorback in Victoria, other times I felt like I was in South America and other times it reminded me of the Aosta Valley in Italy. I felt so incredibly grateful to live in such a diverse and beautiful country.
I hadn’t really wanted to do this section in one go but it was all so high and exposed that other than Brinkly Bluff, there aren’t really any other camping options. I was making good time even though I was thoroughly enjoying myself and taking it all in and I realised I was going to make it into Standley Chasm in time for a burger (those burgers every bit as good as they say they are!
Day 12 Standley Chasm to Jay Creek 13.5km
I had thought about having a rest day at Standley Chasm. Standley Chasm has a great kiosk so it’s a great place to rest and eat. You can also wash your clothes there. But after eating a burger on day 11, washing my clothes and then eating two breakfasts on day 12, I decided I was going to push on. There was a TV in the kiosk area playing the news and after 11 days of tuning off to the world, I wasn’t ready to tune back in.
So two breakfasts later, I started the steep climb out of Standley Chasm. I didn’t start hiking till 11am and the heat of the day in combination with two breakfasts made for an awful start. I felt so sick as I climbed and climbed and climbed.
Then there was the bouldering!
This section was so much harder than I anticipated and whilst it was beautiful, the two days prior were jaw droppingly beautiful and so this was just hard. I had completed all the other trail sections much faster than the predicted times on the map guides but this section I took the full six hours. Did I mention it was hard?
Day 13 Jay Creek to Wallaby Gap 37.5km
This was the day I well and truely got my Deb Step on. The plan was to stay at Simpsons Gap but I had heard that it was the absolute worse camp site for mice. I knew it was going to be the hottest day on the trail so far but the next few days were going to be hotter so I decided today was the day – let’s just Deb Step it all the way. It turned into a ten hour day. The trail was flat and most of this day just felt like meditation. I was really happy and content and had stopped with most of my obsessive thoughts.
Wallaby Gap was an awesome last campsite to walk into. Friends I’d met on the trail earlier were there and new friends that I hadn’t met were just waiting. Wallaby Gap is only 14km from the trail end so no matter what our itineraries were, we all knew we were finishing the next day. We sat around talking and cooking up our last meal(s). I couldn’t think of a better way to end the adventure.
Day 14 Wallaby Gap to Telegraph Station to Alice
I cried as I packed my tent away for the last time. I cried as we ascended Euro Ridge and got one last ’Ta Da!’ moment. I walked slowly trying to draw out the last little bits of magic of this trip. I reflected on the journey I had made. The challenges I had faced both mentally and physically. The problems I had solved both internally and externally. The beautiful people I had met along the way. Some of them just passing through in that moment, others who I know will stay special connections for we have shared something special together.
If you’ve read this far, you’ve shared some of this journey with me and I hope it’s ignited something in you too, whatever that may be.
I didn’t listen to music the entire hike but it’s a 3-4km walk from the end of the trail into Alice Springs. I put on some tunes and I sang as loud as I could…and it felt so good “Shipping Steel, Shipping Steeeeeel.”
A Tribute To Amy
How this all came about
I originally signed up to run the Irrational South, a 200 mile race from Murray Bridge to Clare along the Lavender Federation Trail, whilst running on my treadmill during my two weeks of quarantine after moving from Victoria to Adelaide earlier in the year.
All the races I had planned to do were being cancelled due to Covid. I couldn’t travel. I was also struggling with the concept of “moving home” when Adelaide had never really felt like home and I’d been gone over a decade. I thought what better way to make a place feel like home than to connect with the land and what better way to connect with the land than to run 200 miles on the land.
Then I got the dreaded email that the race had been cancelled. There was an offer from Shaun Kaesler in that email, race director, to run the event anyway “fatass” and donate our entry fee to charity. I didn’t even consider it and instead devoted myself to getting fat. I skipped that weekend’s long run and chowed down on the burgers and beer.
That Sunday afternoon, I got a call from my dear friend Tanya to tell me that our dear friend Amy had passed away. We were all in shock.
I didn’t really know how to process the realisation that Amy had passed. She was larger than life. An over achiever in every aspect and just someone you wanted to be around.
Amy taught me many things, but the one thing that stood out to me was the way she lived her life. If she saw a problem, she was instantly part of the solution. She didn’t make excuses – she just got on with things…so many things!
So I decided to do the run and raise funds for Lifeline. I didn’t want the way Amy died to be her legacy – that’s not why I chose to run and raise funds for mental health awareness. I wanted the way she lived her life to be her legacy. A lesson that I could share with you all – whether you knew Amy or not, that if you see a problem, be part of the solution. You CAN make a difference.
So before I go into the details of the race, I want to stop to thank Amy for all that she was and all that she continues to be. May her legacy live on in all of us and may the world continue to be a better place for her blessing.
Race recap
On a cool grey morning, I gathered with three other irrational human beings – Tim, Sarah and Tamas, on the banks of the Murray River in Murray Bridge. Michelle Hanlin gave an acknowledgment of country, drank cider from her shoe, and then we were off, on our own two feet, running all the way to Clare. None of us allowed ourselves to think that way though. To think that way would surely be the end. Instead we were just out for a little jog. We each broke it down in our own minds into bite sized chunks. For me, I was running to Monarto, around 20km away where I would see my good friend Mignon.
We all ran together for the first few kms and then we started to space out. The rain started to drizzle but it wasn’t cold. I wasn’t sure whether to put on my rain jacket or not. The drizzle soon turned into rain (and later wind and hail), so I stopped to put my jacket on – and pretty much didn’t take it off for the next 48 hours!
The rain meant I was moving well. The sandy sections around Monarto that I had thought would be slow going were firm because of the rain. The cooler temperatures also meant it was easy to keep a good pace – and almost necessary to keep warm.
I got into Monarto slightly ahead of schedule and Mignon greeted me with her beautiful warm smile and asked “have you met any new friends today?” (This was a question my late grandmother would always ask me in her thick Croatian accent when I returned from a trail run. A silly question to ask a thirty something year old – but the answer was so often yes that it stopped being silly).
“I have!” I shouted.
“Aren’t you cold?” Someone else asked. “I’m Victorian” I answered …. “and Covid free!” I added over my shoulder.
A quick refill of water and I was out again. I knew it would be around 7 hours before I saw Mignon again but the rain meant I didn’t feel the need to take a huge amount of water with me.
The next section was far flatter than I thought it was going to be. It was mostly runnable. For the most part the Lavender Federation Trail follows the same format for the entire 330km. It’s a combination of dirt roads and farmlands with no trail where you just follow a general direction. This section had a little bit more variety with some single trail coming out of Monarto and some interesting vegetation. I also saw some brilliant bird life along this section.
I caught up with Sarah during this section and it must have been around 10km or so that we ran together into Tungkillo. What a privilege it was to share some trail time with such a kickass woman.
I was ahead of schedule at Tungkillo so took the opportunity to get out of the rain for a bit. Unfortunately I was so ahead of schedule that my crew hadn’t yet arrived, but no drama. Mignon wrapped me in a towel and Michelle fed me soup and I was happy to wait in the shelter until Tanya and Sam arrived – which really wasn’t long at all.
Once they arrived, a quick change into some dry clothes and I put on my heavier gortex rain jacket and Sam and I went out into the night. Sam was undertaking first pacing duties. This was not called the Rakia World Tour for nothing though and Mignon and Michelle were both introduced to the rocket fuel, before we rocketed out into the night.
Sarah and Tim were also leaving Tungkillo at the same time and as we knew this next section was a little difficult to navigate, we all stuck together getting through the tough parts. My watch decided to die in this section (thanks Suunto), and so I stuck to Navman Sam as he guided me through the rocky farmland. We saw some sheep that looked like they were covered in fairly lights – they weren’t, it was just the way our head torches hit their eyes in the night.
After 18km of wet feet and awesome conversation, Sam tagged out and Tanya tagged in on her bike. She rode with me on the dirt trails and would meet me on the other side of farmlands that I needed to cross. At about the 100km mark, I had left Tanya to cross a farmland and once again caught up with Sarah. I was jumping over the stile when I felt an electric heat through my entire body. I screamed into the night sky, only to discover I’d just been shocked by the electric fence. I apologised to Sarah for my loud scream and she replied “what else were you to do?” We were surprised it didn’t rouse the farmers. It certainly was one way to wake up.
Both Sarah and I had chosen to rest at Eden Valley Camp Ground around 3km off the trail, so we continued our shuffle off the trail toward the campground, with Tanya along side on her bike. When we got there, Sam had set up my tent and had hot baked beans waiting for me and my precious slab of pecorino cheese. I slammed it down before climbing into my tent.
The rain came down hard and the wind felt like it was going to lift the tent off the ground. I couldn’t sleep but it was nice to be out of the elements for a while. I didn’t see the point of getting up and continuing in that weather. We’d been told that the worse of the weather was to occur on day one and that it would gradually clear, so I spent three hours shivering in my sleeping bag before being told at 6am by a cheery Tanya that coffee would be served shortly.
I drank the coffee, left my tent for my lovely friends to pack away and headed back out onto the trail. I was very stiff and didn’t much feel like running now, but knew it was important to remind the muscles what they were here to do so I started shuffling and eventually I felt good again.
I stopped to take off my fleece as the sun came up and I packed away my rain jacket. That outfit change lasted the whole of about 7 minutes before the rain started again…and didn’t stop all day.
Much of the early day was uneventful except for Tanya and Sam showing up unexpected on a dirt road with hot chips and a black coffee. I had expected to run most of this day alone but Tanya realised there was a good section she could do on her bike with me from this point so she kept me company for a little while, which was awesome.
Then it was on my lonesome again for a while. I had planned to meet Tanya, Sam and Simon (my partner and ultrarunning/crewing virgin) in Truro before preparing for the second night. This was also where Katie would meet me and pace me through the second night. Unfortunately, I had not checked the official Lavender Federation Trail properly ahead of time to check where our official meeting spot in/near Truro would be. I had glanced at the All Trails map of this section and the trail went through Truro, directly through a rest stop on the freeway so I had assumed that was the official trail and a good place to meet crew. Mistake number one – not checking the official trail map ahead of time. Mistake number two, not reading the very well signed Lavender Federation Trail and taking a side trail into Truro, when the main trail skirted around it. This ended up with me in the centre of Truro completely confused. I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong or where I should meet my crew. Tanya and Sam found me and we figured it would be easy enough for me to just continue to the rest spot where I had originally planned to meet everyone.
Once I got there I felt overwhelmed with fatigue. I had just run 160km. That fact wasn’t tiring – what got to me was the fact I’d fucked up. I was now in a rest spot on the freeway and would need to continue another 3km down the freeway to get back on trail. It was dangerous and I didn’t like it. I was so annoyed with myself.
I sat in a chair with my head in my hands and then Michelle turned up with Katie. Michelle had the official map in hand and was trying to explain where I had gone wrong. I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I asked Simon to figure out the easiest and safest way to get me back on course, which we decided was for him to drive me the 3km down the freeway. I was gutted as I did not want to be in a car for anything other than sleep this journey. I had even run the 3km out and back to the camp ground the night before to prove this point. I felt like I couldn’t go on. This disappointment and failure rocked me. I got into the back seat of my little Nissan Micra and closed my eyes. Simon sat in the front seat and I let it all out to him. What a failure I was. What a terrible tribute to Amy this was. I couldn’t go on. Who the hell did I think I was trying to do something like this? What was wrong with me?
I had 60km to go through the night to get to Eudunda, my next rest stop. This was also the hilliest section of the course and the wind was picking up. I was shivering in the back seat and I couldn’t fathom how I would do it.
A wise man, Dave “Gump” who I met during my first 100km race once said to me, when you get depressed during an ultra, eat sugar. You’ll pick up. He wasn’t wrong. I guzzled some coke, ate a Mars Bar and half a pastie and was good to go. I had to talk my new state of mind out loud to Simon. 60km was too much for my brain to process, so I was going to just keep moving. I had two crew points throughout that 60km. If at anytime I felt overwhelmed, I would call it quits for the night. Go back to Eudunda to sleep and be driven back to the trail to start again in the morning. Having this ‘get out of gaol’ plan meant I was once again breaking it down into manageable chunks. I could do this.
So Simon drove me 3km down the road and there was the ever patient Katie, waiting to pace me through the night. Off we set into the late afternoon light. We saw a few rainbows and the trail coming out of Truro was truly the most spectacular part of the course. If that isn’t a lesson for life – I don’t know what is. When times feel tough, just keep going – there is good yet to come.
Don’t get me wrong, I suffered through this section. I didn’t have any real clue what direction we were going in. I kept asking Katie if we were on track because I was convinced we were going backward. She was so patient with me and just kept us moving. I felt terrible as I knew it was really cold and I had really slowed my pace which meant Katie was feeling the cold, but this is the nature of 200 miles and of course, she didn’t complain at all. She kept the conversation going and suddenly we’d covered 20km. We checked in with Tanya and Sam and I was happy to continue on. Simon would meet us in another 20km.
That next 20km was the longest 20km of the entire race. I think it took me close to 6 hours. It was so windy. I was freezing. I had no idea where we were. I had two buffs, two hooded fleeces on and a gortex hooded jacket covering my ears so I couldn’t hear a word of Katie’s wonderful conversation and so it was just a grind, up and down hills.
Eventually we got to the car. It was 3am. Simon had been sitting on the side of the road in those awful conditions, patiently waiting for us. I sat in the front passenger seat and asked him to jack the heater up as I couldn’t feel my nose. I lay on his lap and I was shaking. Simon asked me some Dad like questions and I realised that it was stupid to push on those last 10km in the cold. I could go back to Eudunda and sleep and come back out in the early morning when the sun would be up. So I agreed to be taken to Eudunda. Five minutes down the road, I realised I’d left my poles outside the car where Simon had parked. Simon had to drive back and try and find the spot and he and Katie searched the dark road for my poles. They found them and then it was back to Eudunda where I had my first shower in a few days and put on some clean warm running clothes.
Poor Simon had to drive Katie back to her car in Truro while I got two hours of shut eye. When he got back, he just had time to lay down before I said “I’m ready to go, can you take me back to the trail?” He’d had less rest than me.
So day three began. The sun was out and I was feeling chipper. I had actually slept those two hours in Eudunda and I had a fresh bra on. Life was gooood! I put on some music for the first time and even got my jog on. I had dreaded the creek section that comes into Eudunda, but it was fine. Like everything in life, my anticipation was far worse than reality.
As I jogged along a dirt road I had recce’d in training, I felt the happiest I would feel all run. I felt life in every aspect of my being. My heart was full, my legs were moving and I knew exactly why I was here doing what I was doing. I was living. I was experiencing life to the very fullest. I started to cry and the tears just flowed out of me. I wasn’t sad, I was overwhelmed. I howled.
I composed myself just as I came into Eudunda and I realised I was only half hour behind my original run plan, despite getting lost in Truro and drastically changing the night time section to accomodate the weather and my inability to control my body temperature. Another life lesson – learn to be flexible.
I was hoping Simon had scored a late checkout and was eventually getting some sleep so I didn’t want to see him in Eudunda. I knew there was a drink fountain in Eudunda so had planned to fill up my water there and didn’t expect to see anyone really. But….the lovely Tanya and Sam were waltzing up the track, the sun was warm on my back and life had never been better.
Then I see this lovely smiling face “are you Courtney?” I ask. Courtney was going to run the 200 miler but life got in the way and so she had messaged me on facebook to see if she could help. I’d never met her before, yet here she was at 10.00am in the middle of nowhere on day three of my run, waiting for me with a coke and a finger bun. I had no idea that I needed a finger bun, but I did!
Courtney then “ran” with me the next 8km. We joked and laughed and instantly became new friends. At the end of that section, Tanya and Sam were waiting for us. Sam gave Courtney a lift back to town and Tanya got on her bike and pretty much kept me company through almost all of day three.
Day three was a lot of dirt road, but we had some great views and Tanya was blasting Hatebreed and Parkway Drive from the speaker on her bike. We shared some great memories and laughed and laughed and kept moving forward. At Inspiration Point, Sam was waiting for us for a crew stop. I had bursitis in my left foot by this stage and was relieved to get off my feet for a short time. Sam had a stretcher in the sun. I lay back and Tanya handed me that slab of cheese again. Heaven.
Back on the trail, Tanya once again keeping me company. We followed the trail markers as opposed to relying on any online maps through this section as the online maps were directing us elsewhere. As the day turned to afternoon we saw masses of kangaroos. Then the trail met up with the Heysen Trail and it was up one pretty steep hill to the next crew point where Sam and the lovely Sirelle were waiting for us.
When I drew up my race plan I knew that when I saw Sirelle, it would be a happy moment as she was to pace me through the third and final night. I ate some watermelon and more cheese, thanked the lovely Sam and Tanya for keeping awesome company throughout the day and Sirelle and I headed out into the night.
My third night on the trail with only two solid hours sleep. I was feeling good so didn’t factor in a sleep stop for the third night. To be honest, when I had drawn up my run plan, I had figured a couple good rest spots and a few trail naps would do me. What I hadn’t factored in was the weather. As it had rained non stop for 48 hours, the trail was mud and it was way too cold and damp to nap anywhere. Even on night three, when there was no rain, the trail was way too damp to safely nap anywhere.
So we pushed on knowing that our crew stop would be Simon at Manoora sometime around midnight. That time seemed to fly pretty quickly. Sirelle was great company and it was so good to catch up with her.
We met Simon on the side of the road and I had a lay down in the back seat for around 30 minutes. I may have dozed off momentarily but it was very hard to rest properly as I was excited to see Simon and wanted to know how his day was. In order for me to have enough space to nap in a tiny micra, Simon had to take all the crew stuff out of the car. So I sat inside the car yelling directions out the door “I need a fleece, a thermal, black coffee” and Simon went from tub to tub trying to find what I needed in the dark. Cars kept pulling over asking if he was okay – I guess it was a bit odd to see a car on the side of the road at that time. It was so hard to leave the warmth and comfort of the back seat, but Sirelle and I put all our layers on (a T-shirt, long sleeve, thermal, fleece and waterproof jacket) and headed out into the night.
The section from Manoora to Mintaro might be pretty in the day but through the night it was boring as bat shit. It was flat and dirt road. We tried to shuffle but my bursitis was getting bad and so somewhere in the early hours of the morning I made the call that I was pretty much walking it in now. The constant flat of the dirt road, nothing to see but the illuminated space in front of me and the total of two hours sleep had me drifting off as I was walking. I told Sirelle I was so tired that I was struggling to see properly. Later I described it as having two sets of eyelids and the first eyelid had closed. I think both of us were slightly concerned I was going blind, which can happen when ultra running, but neither of us mentioned it. Instead, we kept our focus on finding some kind of shelter that I could take a quick nap in. There was nothing around! It was just wet, flat, muddy trails. I asked Sirelle if I could just lay in the mud for a little bit and she said calmly “I can’t let you do that.”
We went past Martyndale Hall and I was outraged that there was a perfectly good mansion right there, and yet no where for me to have a little trail side nap. Didn’t they know I’d be passing by? Where was the welcome? Rich people!
Eventually I saw the remains of a shed. It was literally two pieces of corrugated iron and a few slabs of wood. I begged Sirelle to let me jump the fence and have a little nap. We pulled out a piece of corrugated iron and I lay down on it. I tried to pull my space blanket out but it had been drenched by the few days of rain and I couldn’t get it out. I fumbled with it so long that I then started to think about mice. I was sure there were mice around me. I got up. Sirelle asked if I had a good nap. We laughed our arses off and suddenly I was awake enough to push on to Mintaro.
The final stretch into Mintaro gets off the dirt road for a bit and we greeted the sunrise surrounded by farmland and a rooster crowed. We had made it through the night!
We found a nice little park bench and Sirelle wrapped me up like a little yiros in her space blanket and I went to sleep. It was bliss. I woke up fresh as a daisy and yelled “that was the best sleep ever! How long have I been asleep?” Sirelle was sitting patiently on the bench next to me and cracked up laughing. Apparently I’d been snoozing 30 minutes.
I was very excited to use the public toilets in Mintaro and very excited by the hand dryer. Eventually we got back on the trail. I was pretty damn excited that it was day four. I was going to make it. The wind and rain had disappeared. It was sunshine and happy days.
Just before we started making our way off the dirt road and into the farmland, Tanya and Sam turned up with what will forever be known as the best vegetarian pastie I have ever eaten in my life and a black coffee. We didn’t want to linger too long so off we trapsied through the waist high grass with our coffees in hand.
I was slow through here. My bursitis was rating an 8/10 on the Tash pain scale, which is pretty high, but we just kept moving. The sun really came out to play on day four so we took a little rest in Watervale in the shade to apply sunscreen and mentally prepare for the last slog.
From Watervale, the trail follows the Reisling trail through to Seven Hill. This section was not exciting. It was hot. No shade. No views. People were riding their bikes past saying “good morning”. I laughed with Sirelle, “which morning? I’ve been out here for days!”
I was burning up pretty quickly. I didn’t have a hat with me and was wearing thick tights. Sirelle called Simon and asked him to meet us at an earlier point on the trail with my hat. Michelle called at the same time. We got to Penwortham and it was a full on operation. I had Michelle take my pants off for me and put me into my shorts. Heather and Jill were giving me ice. Someone was giving me ginger beer. Simon was sun screening my legs. I basically stood there like a useless giant child and was dressed and cooled down and ready to keep moving.
As we got to Tatkana road near Seven Hill I said goodbye to my wonderful friend who had gotten me through the night and run her own ultra, and my lovely Simon accompanied for the final 18km to the finish.
This final section is hilly and it was hot. Simon was in good spirits but I was a little cranky. I was ready to be done. My bursitis was hurting on the ups and my knee was hurting on the downs. We passed Seven Hill brewery and Tan, Sam and my dad came out to say hi. Poor Dad had thought I’d finish around lunchtime so had been waiting in Clare. It was going to be a long day for him too.
I got confused by the signage as we approached Spring Gully Conservation Park. The signs saying “Lavender Federation Trail” suddenly said “Terry Lavender Federation Trail”. I hadn’t noticed that on any of the signs the entire run, so I called Michelle to check I was on track. I didn’t want to get lost 15km from the finish on a 330km run. Michelle confirmed I was on track, so Simon and I pushed on. Simon was loving the view but I was a bit over it by now. I was whinging a bit, about what I’m not sure.
Then we saw two lizards getting it on. That made me laugh. Eventually we hit the road again and I knew I was moving so slowly and I’d run out of conversation so I put my phone on the playlist I had created for the run and that many friends had added songs to. Michelle turned up to tell us we were around 6km from the finish. She filled my pockets with cans of ginger beer, ice and Panadol and said something like “only happy songs now”.
Well, the happiest song of all time came on just as she drove off – Phil Collins and Phil Bailey ‘Easy Lover.’ I sang my little heart out.
I knew we were a kilometre or so out of town when we first saw Tanya. I was so happy to see her and she guided me the final stretch that my brain couldn’t quite deal with. Then I saw Jesse. Jesse is Amy’s partner and seeing her face made it all real – what I was here to do. I burst into tears and am pretty sure I cried all the way to the finish. We picked up Sam as we continued on. Then I could see it – I could see the finish. I could hear Michelle. I could see my Dad. I started running. I ran and I smiled and cried and ran, past the finish sign to the very end of the trail.
Sirelle and Courtney were there. Hayley and Angus was there. Sarah, who had finished an hour or so before me was there. Heather and Jill were there.
I sat in a chair and told strange stories about my nanna to anyone who would listen – I’m sorry if you were there and wondered what the hell I was going on about. I was trying to tell the story of my nanna who would always ask “Did you make any new friends today” every time I went out on a run. In this instance, “today” was 82:45 and I made so many new friends.
We drank rakia and Pirate Life to celebrate – to celebrate Amy, to celebrate friends and family, to celebrate life, this precious life that we are given one chance to experience.
If I were to choose one word to summarise my experience on the Lavender Federation Trail, it is gratitude. I am grateful that I have a body that allows me to move such long distances on and with the earth. I am grateful that this ability allows me to process emotions, like grief.
I am grateful to my friends, family and partner who made this happen. So eternally grateful! I can’t believe what you lot all did for me, so selfless. Tanya, Sam, Simon, Mignon, Katie, Sirelle and my dad. And my new friends, Michelle, Courtney, Heather, Jill, Shaun, Sarah, Tamas and Tim.
I am grateful to Amy’s friends and family who supported this endeavour as a means of honouring Amy’s great legacy – especially Rebecca.
I am grateful to Amy. Whilst your time on this earth was short, you left this place and it’s people better for having known you.
Love and peace.
The nerd stuff
What did I eat?
I tried to maintain 100-200 calories per hour. I used mostly solid food – lots of oat bars, nut bars, cheese, watermelon and bananas, baked beans, a couple pasties and gluten free bread. I think this worked well as I had no hallucinations despite only getting two and a half hours solid sleep the entire run. When the weather warmed up on the last day I resorted to ginger beer, lots of ginger beer and went with more refined sugary foods like biscuits and a few Cliff gels. I couldn’t stomach anything that required too much chewing or that felt too heavy in my stomach. I think saving those high sugar foods for later in the race worked well for me.
Electrolytes?
I had a few hydralyte tablets but not much. I was peeing regularly and had no swelling so figured I was fine. I’m not much of a fan of electrolyte replacement and I drink to thirst.
Clothing
If you’re thinking about doing this 200 miler next year, prepare for rain! The farmlands mean that you will constantly have wet shoes and socks. I didn’t bother changing my top layers as it was too cold to undress and change my bra/shirt. But I changed my pants/underwear/socks at every opportunity to try and keep dry and warm.
I started the race in Abi and Joseph shorts. I chose them because of the pockets – I wanted to keep my phone in easy reach at all times for safety (maps). I later wore Run Faster pants for the same reason. I wore Arcteryx top layers. These are expensive but durable. Despite not changing for two full days I had zero chaffe. I had a merino thermal on me at all times and wore a Solomon light rain jacket during the day and heavier Gortex jacket at night.
By night two I had lost the ability to control my body temperature so needed lots of technical layers. Buffs for head, neck and face were handy as were waterproof gloves.
Combination of Steigen and Injinji Socks.
Shoes
Hoka One One ATRs. I chose a size bigger than my usual running shoes for the last half of the race.
Other gear
Salomon 12L pack. 1.5-2.5 L water with me at all times.
Black Diamond Z Ultra poles. Wouldn’t attempt a 200 miler without collapsible poles.
My head torch isn’t fancy – it’s some military style torch with 900 lumens and a generic battery. If you’re running through more than one night in variable weather, go with a torch that allows you to use a generic rechargeable battery. It’s cheaper and safer. I sold my Ayups when I started running through more than one night – they might be bright but they’re heavy and those batteries are too expensive.
Spot tracker – as this wasn’t a race but a partially supported adventure, I chose to carry a spot tracker for emergency situations.
Sleep
This is my second attempt at a 200 miler. My advice is be flexible with your sleep. Don’t push too hard – take sleep when you need it but if you can’t sleep, recognise the importance of rest and getting out of the elements too.
If you’re planning this particular 200 miler next year, DO NOT depend on trail side naps. It’s too cold and wet to nap on the trail side. You need to factor your sleep in designated rest spots.
Waiting for the storm to pass – an abstract report on Yurrebilla 56km 2019
(Photo courtesy of Glen Brooks)
Progress is never linear.
I was diagnosed with bipolar ten years ago. I have never reexperienced the sorrow and darkness I felt at that time. But life goes on and so do the disappointments. I am a positive and resilient person, but disappointment is cumulative. My view is that if the energy isn’t expelled outward in unmanaged outbursts of anger, it’s internalised as self hatred and sadness. I prefer self loathing over violence.
When I started running, it was the medicine. Everything was better. Whatever the problem may be, running was always the solution, until it stopped working.
Last year, I attempted to run Tor Des Geants – a 330km run nonstop through the Italian Alps. I was broken at the start line – and yet I thought I could do it. My body was strong but my heart was broken.
What remnants of me were in tact at the start line were completely shattered by the time I DNF’d at 220km.
I returned “home” and continued my stream of disappointments and loss. I lost all sense of normality, comfort and routine and suddenly, running wasn’t helping. Physically I was damaged, but worse yet, mentally I was too wounded to push forward. My legs had no momentum, and so I stood still. Paralysed by my own misfortunes and locked in my own labyrinth of mental illness and self pity.
But eventually my body healed, so I started with the small runs. I kept some kind of routine with the hopes that the passion might be restored.
I ran the odd 50km race – not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to make sure I was dealing with the pain of life and nothing like a good ultra to help you probe at the pain spots – dig around and see just how much it hurts, how much can you hurt?
And then it was Sunday, the morning of Yurrebilla 56km. 12 months post Tor Des Geants.
The rain beat down on the roof as I lay in bed and I thought I didn’t want to go out there.
I got to the start line – still unenthused until I saw Glen and Kate. I met those two under adverse conditions. Lost during a 100 mile race in the Flinders Ranges one year – we supported one another. Years later, friendships born through mutual suffering remain intact – and continue to grow and expand (so many other friendly faces introduced through Kate and Glen).
The race began and I started moving forward. My body felt good, it was ready to take me the distance.
I ran along the course, reminded of moments in time when I had been clouded in darkness and had sought respite and healing from the earth.
The rain came down hard then it hailed. The dirt turned to mud beneath my feet.
So may times I thought I was tired, but I just kept breathing, just kept putting one foot in front of the other and I’d come good. I could feel myself slipping into a downer and then suddenly I’d feel like my legs were brand new.
In the last 5km I thought my legs were gone. My quads were too sore to run the downhill. I told myself this was okay – I just hadn’t trained enough, but my brain wanted to challenge my quads on this conclusion. So I started pushing harder and the pain backed off.
With 2km to go, I considered walking. Instead I text my Dad that I’d be at the finish in 12 minutes and therefore had no choice but to run.
When I crossed the finish line my mum said “you look like you could turn back and do it all again in reverse.” I knew I probably could have.
Any obstacle I encountered I could overcome it. Every negative thought, I challenged its truth.
This wasn’t my fastest Yurrebilla – hell I’d barely trained for it, but at no point did I think this was too much. At no point did I embrace quitting. I was ready to take on any challenge big or small. I would find joy in all that the day had to offer – whether that was soggy aid station food that had been sitting in the rain, unnecessary hills, hail, sore legs, asthma – I was ready to love it all.
I embraced the suffering and found opportunity for growth. I ran with love in my heart, for myself and for those in my life that bring me so much joy.
Just when I thought maybe I was done with ultra running, I am reminded of my “why.”
Fast finish times are nice but they are totally irrelevant in the bigger scheme. Learning what you are made of when times get tough, recognising your own ability to fight, to push through, to just breathe and put one foot in front of the other and wait for the storm to pass, to be kind to others when you feel like shit, to put their suffering before your own, to challenge your truth, to love and be loved and do everything you do with love in your heart – well I think that’s a bloody good reason to run another ultra.
We’re going to the Prom
It’s been a little while since my last blog. I’ll explain. Weeks before Tor Des Geants, my world was pulled from under my feet. Little did I know that things would get a hell of a lot worse before I’d find any sense of grounding.
Then there was the experience of TDG itself. Drenched in failure after running for four nights through the mountains on fuck all sleep. I was a total mess. Unstable, irrational, mentally and physically broken. I forgot how to sleep, forgot how I ever lived a normal life pre TDG. Longing for more suffering yet sickened by it at the same time – what else was left for me? Everything was insignificant now and I had become insignificant because I had lost the passion for something so intrinsic to my identity.
I mention this not for sympathy, but because I think it’s important to note that progress is never linear. Many of us found running in the woes of despair, addiction, illness etc. For us it symbolises a new beginning.
But the ghosts of our past are referred to ghosts for a reason. They lurk in the shadows.
And it’s okay to fail, to not feel our best, to sit one out. Not being your best self doesn’t mean you’ve reverted to your old self.
Life doesn’t get easier, we get stronger. Though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.
I haven’t wanted to run.
I’ve pushed on but there has been no joy in it. I’ve been injured and hung over. It’s been a struggle.
New Year’s Day this year, rather than do something beautiful and hopeful as has become my tradition, I threw up the half bottle of home made Rakija and two bottles of wine I’d drunk the night before in my friend’s garden – note, no one else was drunk.
So in an effort to not repeat that dismal performance, I signed up to run the Prom 44km event to celebrate my 35th birthday. A new opportunity to circle the sun in style.
As I drove in the dark out to Wilsons Prom the night before the race, the day of my birthday, I felt more alone and insignificant than I can recall.
My beautiful friends Babi and Otto greeted me in Yanakie with wine and kindness and I felt better, but then it was lights out.
I lay in bed listening to the rain on the roof thinking
“You don’t have to run.”
“You don’t have to do this anymore.”
I was so close to pulling my first “Did Not Start.”
I had no idea how the race would go and I suspected this might be it, I might be done with running. I have nothing to prove. I’ve achieved some big goals. Why go on?
I got to the start line and saw Cathy, Michelle and Kirsten. I was happy to see some familiar faces but I still wasn’t happy to be at the race. It was raining, there was talk of more rain and wind. I hate the wind! Why?!
I told myself I could run to the first beach and turn back if I wasn’t feeling it – that would be around 20km and make the drive worth it.
Then we started running. Kirsten and I were running together along the road and as we began to climb Kirsten said “see ya later Tash.” I normally love to climb, but I wasn’t ready to push so I kept Kirsten’s pace and suddenly Cathy and Michelle had caught up. We started chatting and laughing and I thought to myself how awesome these ladies were and how glad I was that we’d all elected to do the short “fun run” version of the Prom.
The laughs just kept coming and the conversation was flowing. Such strong, intelligent women – I was starting to enjoy myself and was grateful for the company.
The trail to Sealers Cove was so muddy and slippery yet every time one of us took a near fall it just set us off laughing.
As we exited the forest onto the beach at Sealers, Kirsten and I were taking photos while Michelle and Cathy were waiting for the toilet a bit back. Kirsten and I waited and that was when I realised we’d become a posse. We’d done away with “racing” and were happy to wait a few minutes, taking snaps, to keep the gang together.
For the rest of the “race” we each took turns leading on the single trail. When someone wasn’t feeling great, we slowed to that pace. At no time did we ever think to leave anyone behind even though we’d never used words to make the pact that we started and would finish together.
At times we ran in silence, at times we laughed and at times I found myself talking about sorrows I hadn’t realised I’d buried so deep within.
We knew we had around 5km to go and whilst we’d been out for 7ish hours and had each experienced a different journey and catharsis, we each commented how easy this race had felt.
You don’t really know a person till you run with them. No matter what pain or exhaustion these women were going through, no one complained, no one got snappy. It was just laughter, support and encouragement the entire way. I can honestly say these women are fucking stellar human beings.
I went into this event thinking it might be my last and now, all I can think about is “what’s next?”
Why you should dare to fail
It’s been just over a month since I failed at my lofty goal of running 330km across the mountainous region of the Aosta Valley in Italy. I have had a lot to process.
My body doesn’t feel too bad. I still have bursitis in my feet, but other than that I have recovered well.
My brain on the other hand, is a bit broken. I thought maybe it was lack of sleep, jet lag, pushing myself to my limits. I just needed time to recover. But it isn’t that. It’s processing the fact that I failed that has broken me a little.
When I tell someone I failed, I can predict the response. It makes people very uncomfortable to call a 200km run in the mountains a failure, but the fact is, I didn’t go to Italy to run 200km. I went there to run and finish a 330km race. I did not run or finish that distance. I failed.
I’ve done a lot of things badly in my life, but no one has ever called me a failure. To be able to say with honesty that I absolutely failed is a novel way of speaking.
I set myself a lofty goal of running this race and I knew, statistically, that I had a 50% chance of success. That also means I had a 50% chance of failure.
When I say I failed, I don’t mean to diminish my accomplishment, or to diminish anyone else’s accomplishments. I still ran further than I’ve ever run and I am not insinuating that if you can’t run that far, that you are a failure. This comes down to one simple fact – I did not finish the race. I did not achieve my goal therefore I failed.
Being so physically beaten up, I have had no choice but to sit and be still and think. Why did I fail? What could I have done differently? Failure does not have to be a negative word or experience. There are many great lessons to learn through failing.
Preparation and committment are key
I wasn’t as prepared as I could have been. I tried to fit all my training into 6 weeks. I have years of endurance in the legs, so I thought I could take a short cut, but short cuts never work. You set a goal that is so huge you have a 50% chance of failing, you have to give it your all, and not just your all the day before, a week before. The day you commit to the goal is the day you must commit to give it 100%.
Sometimes it’s okay to ask for help
I wasn’t prepared to accept help. I wasted so much time at checkpoints because I didn’t have a crew. All that time added up and in the end, I timed out. I didn’t do it out of pride, but I didn’t think anyone wanted to help me. It was such an absurd goal that only meant something to me, so why would I ask someone to take time out of their life to help me? Since failing, I’ve realised I had so many people in my corner willing me to succeed. I could have asked any one of these people for help and they would have done anything I asked. If you don’t ask for help you won’t get it. So be brave and accept that you don’t know everything and you can’t do everything and sometimes, you need to ask others for help.
Trust in your own experience
I didn’t trust my gut. Years of endurance have taught me a thing or two and whilst I might not have been as conditioned as I would have liked, I knew what I needed to do to have a good chance of success. At the last minute however, I doubted myself. I got scared and I made some silly decisions. I did what others were doing – others who looked more experienced or knowledgeable than me. That wasn’t the right thing for me. My self doubt was irrational, unjustified and cost me.
I’m not a professional athlete. I do these things because I want to learn something about myself, something about life that I can put into practice daily. By failing, I learned more than I anticipated. So maybe my failure was my biggest achievement.
Dare to dream big enough that failure is a real risk.
Dare to fail.
Tor Des Geants 2018
Where do I even start with a race report on a race that runs for 330km (340 or even 350 depending on whose data you’re looking at and which race profile you check) with 24,000m of elevation.
I had it in my head that 2019 was the year I wanted to do TOR. I had a plan to get there, the races I would do to feel mentally and physically prepared before contemplating the feat of TOR. But TOR is a lottery entry system and I was told to get my entry in this year if I wanted to run it next year (as each year you’re not selected doubles your chances for the following year). Well that plan backfired and so I found myself entered into a race that having never run in Europe before, I just couldn’t quite comprehend.
The husband and I already had a trip planned to Europe (the flat parts) only a few short months before TOR and so, instead of dutifully executing a perfect race plan for TOR, I just managed to maintain some running fitness in between pierogi feasts and raikia parties before getting bitten by a black widow spider. I came home to Australia with six weeks to focus on TOR, but spent the first two weeks of that dealing with jet lag and spider bite induced nausea. Not to mention the fact that the little mountains we do have to train on were covered in snow.
Fast forward to my arrival in Courmayeur Italy, the start of the race. Thanks to that spider I was my racing weight and I quickly felt myself swept up in the magic that is TOR.
The day before the race starts, all competitors must register and have their mandatory gear checked. I was keen to eat as much gelato as possible before the race having only just recently discovered how awesome that stuff is. However, race checkin was a solid four hours of standing in line. After a few hours of standing next to one another in silence, I was asked by the people next to me whether I was here on my own. I replied in a very round about way that yes I would be racing on my own and didn’t have support crew. They looked so concerned. At this point, I didn’t understand their concerns and I thought it was because I looked so vulnerable and out of place and mistook their concern for thought that I shouldn’t be there. They were very kind and the woman gave me her facebook messenger details. She explained she was supporting her friend who was racing (and didn’t speak English) but said if I needed anything to message her. I was pretty blown away by her kindness.
Photo credit: new friend May met in line up. Who let this girl that looks like she belongs at the beach into a mountain race?
Eventually I was called forward in the line and registered and was given my drop back – this is the bag that follows you throughout the race and that you can access every 50km. Hmmm…the new design meant that the bag was a hell of a lot smaller than the previous years. I wondered how I was going to fit all my food and clothes in. The race requires you to be essentially self sufficient from life base to life base so your drop bag needs to contain the food you’ll be carrying, batteries for torches/devices etc, warm and dry clothing, a change of shoes.
After four hours of standing in line plus the time it took to actually register, the day had just disappeared. We had an hour or so to get home, pack our drop bags and then rush back for the race briefing/ pasta party.
Somehow, I managed to cram everything I thought I needed into that bag and with a bit of effort, managed to zip it up. It was too late to drop the bag off now though, so Tamyka and Derek (my two Australian TOR travellers, whom I was sharing accomodation and many laughs with) and I rushed back down to the building where the pasta party was about to start. Here we met our Hong Kong friend who told us he had never run on trails, had trained for this race by smoking cigarettes and didn’t know what the toilet etiquette was during remote trail races. We had a good chuckle about his naivity on the way back to our accomodation. I think he had a good chuckle about our naivity when we met at the start line the next day and he had his UTMB calf sleeves and Hard Rock 100 patch on his pack. He totally punked us.
Anyway, back to the accomodation for a restless night’s sleep.
Whilst the race didn’t start till 12pm on the Sunday, we still had to drop our drop bags off and given the delays we experienced with race checkin the day before, we didn’t want to leave anything to the last minute so off we went quite early. So early that we got to the start line with hours to spare. The sun was out in full force so we took a seat in the gutter in the shade and this was when my Salomon soft flasks decided to start leaking. Given I was expecting some very cold nights, this was quite a shit situation. However Tamyka reminded me that every single shop in Courmayeur sold Salomon gear and I’d only need to walk a hundred meters to find and purchase replacements. This was one of the real novelties of Courmayeur – the fact that every store was either a gelato shop, a pizza place or an outdoor gear store.
New gear purchased, another hour or so in the sun and then it was go time.
The race starts in the centre of Courmayeur and we ran a few kilometres through the town and the main street before hitting the trails. The streets were lined with people all cheering and ringing bells. I felt really emotional at this point and let myself have a little cry. I couldn’t think ahead to the finish at this point, which also runs down the same street. I was just totally in the moment, appreciating the hundreds of people who had come out to show their support. It was an atmosphere I’ve never experienced and was an absolute joy.
As we exited the streets and onto the trail and the first climb, the trail became very congested and we all just had to be patient. We arranged ourselves in a very long and slow conga line and just started moving up to Col Arp (2,571m). I took this climb very conservatively as just wanted to give myself time to adjust to the altitude changes and to warm the body up after waiting at the race start for so long. This was easy to do as the crowd had to move like one giant body – for that first climb, we were a collective being joined by an ideal or goal that seemed ludicrous to the rest of the world, but perfectly normal and exciting for us.
Once we got to the top, the long descent into the first checkpoint, La Thuile, was easy and really enjoyable. I was so relieved to get into the first checkpoint with about an hour up my sleeve on the cut offs. I had a fear that I wouldn’t make the first checkpoint and that would have been an absolute embarrassment. So the first goal was ticked off.
Photo: Once mountain down, 25 to go.
This was my first experience of the food on offer at the aid stations and I smashed into some cake that seemed to be filled with Nutella. I thought it was awesome (oh how I would come to loath that cake later in the race). Tamyka and Derek were a bit ahead of me at this point and I’d seen them leave the aid station so that kept me motivated to keep my time there short and get back out onto the trail.
Leaving La Thuile, there were two more peaks at approximately 2,800m to climb before reaching the first life base. I can’t really recall much of the terrain here. I just know that I was so relieved to come into the life base Valgrisenche which was officially at the 50km mark of the race. It must have been around 4am. I gave myself three hours here. If I left at 7am, I’d be two hours ahead of the cut off.
The food at the lifebases is a lot more substantial than the checkpoints and so I had a potato here and some tomato and a lot of cheese. Whilst cheese isn’t part of my normal day to day diet, I have no idea how anyone can survive in Italy (or Europe in general) without eating cheese. I then gave myself two hours to sleep.
The beds here were like army cots, no pillows. Just a scratchy blanket that being at the back of the pack, I knew would be covered in the sweat of all those who had slept before me. The lighting in the sleeping tent was intense. It was so bright. I put on my sleeping mask and earplugs but the light was so bright and I could feel the generator in my body. I didn’t sleep but it was nice to be off my feet. After 80 minutes though I was too anxious. I got up, changed into some clean clothes. Sorted out what I needed from my drop bag – clean socks, food, batteries.
Then I went back into the food tent to grab a coffee. “Finito! Run Out!” I was told. I looked around the tent and I felt pretty low. What I saw was so different to the recounts I had been told by others who had finished TOR. I realised then that the experience of those who are at the front, or even mid of the pack is very different to those at the back of the pack. No coffee. I was going into my second day of running with 80 minutes of rest, no sleep, with no coffee. I was low.
I dropped off my bag to the volunteers and headed out onto the trail. I couldn’t decide what clothing was appropriate for the early morning. I kept putting my thermal on, taking it off, putting it on, taking it off. A couple were moving just ahead of me, not speaking English but yelling at one another in their native tongue. I couldn’t figure out if they were fighting or just very expressive. They were very loud regardless and not having coffee and wanting to just experience the sanctity of a morning in the mountains, I overtook them. Not too long after that Tamyka and Derek caught me. They had managed a bit more sleep but were much stronger on the climbs than me. Plus the lack of coffee didn’t seem to cause the same tantrum in them as it did with me. I really couldn’t get past it mentally. I was brewing on it (excuse the pun).
It wasn’t very long before we got to Riffugio Chalet De L’Epee. I’d been so pissed about the coffee that I’d been thinking about it the entire climb and so was very surprised to see the riffugio come up so quickly. I went inside and low and behold…they had coffee. Oh my heart was singing. Praise be! I had two cups and some of that Nutella cake which I was still happy about and then left feeling like a brand new person.
My memories of the second day are a bit of a blur except for the first 3000m climb – Col Entrelor (3,002m). The day had been really hot. I was expecting cold and wet conditions. I had trained in the wet and snow in Melbourne and so had been used to wearing a lot of my mandatory gear. It was hot so all my gear was in my pack. My shoulders were hurting from the heavy load. I was tired and my face felt like it was on fire. I looked up to where the trail was heading and I just felt knackered. I was sure I was in last place as I knew there were a group of guys ahead of me but couldn’t see anyone behind me and I had a good view from part way up the Col. I started to crack the shits. It all seemed too hard. I was too tired. Where was the shade? My face was too hot. I sat down on a rock wondering what to do. There was no way out of here – no option to quit as how the fuck would I get out? I had to keep going. If I was going to quit, I had to make that decision at an aid station, not half way up a friggin mountain.
Just as I sat down my phone buzzed, I checked it and I had two messages, one from my mummy-bear telling me she was so proud of me and to keep going. The other message was from my running coach, Matty Abel. I was pretty tired and couldn’t make a whole lot of sense about what his message said. It had a lot of numbers in it. But what I did managed to understand was that I wasn’t in last place, I wasn’t out of the cut offs, that I could have a sleep at the next life base and things would be okay – I was still in the race. So I smashed into some chocolate I found in my pack and then got up, feeling brand new. I pushed on and before I knew it, I was up and over the pass.
The next pass was even higher, Col Losson at 3,299m. I’d had my tantrum and I’d moved passed it though so I didn’t worry about the numbers, I just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. On this climb, I saw a lot of people napping on the side of the trail. I also saw a LOT of spiders on the side of the trail and I knew that no matter how tired I was, after surviving that black widow bite, I would not be napping on the side of the trail.
Eventually I arrived at the second life base Cogne (106km). Whilst I did have a few hallucinations during this run, it was the things I saw in real life that were even weirder. This was the life base where I saw a woman in the complete nude, go to the toilet with the door open. She then proceeded to shower with the door open. I was too tired to care, but couldn’t quite figure that one out.
I had another potato here and some tomato (the only fresh thing that seemed to be on offer beside the odd banana). I wondered where this polenta was that all my faster friends had talked of.
The best thing about Cogne was the sleeping room. I didn’t need to worry about my alarm here as volunteers would wake you up after a set period of time. The room was dark, and there were pillows! I had two glorious hours of sleep here and I awoke to a volunteer gently touching my face. Oh I felt so happy when I got up….and there was coffee! I left Cogne feeling like I’d been given new legs.
Photo credit: Valeriano. Coming into the checkpoint in Chardonney at 133km and having a ten minute nap with a mouth full of cheese and bread (multi-tasking)
That new leg, happy soul feeling lasted most of day three. This section wasn’t too difficult and I’d started to think of the race much like a multi day race except the nights of sleep were more like a 90 minute nap, but I could fool my brain into thinking I was rested. If the race really were just a multi-day race, then today was the easy day. 45km. One long climb and one long descent.
It was another hot day and I have to admit I struggled here. I should have been okay. I’m used to running in the heat. In fact, I normally love running in the heat but because I wasn’t expecting it, it got to me. I also made a crucial error here and didn’t sunscreen a tiny little patch of skin that was poking out between my leggings and my socks. When the sun eventually went down, I realised it was so burned it had blistered.
On the long descent into the Donnas (Life Base 3), I stopped in at the last riffugio to have my number checked off and it was here that I ran into my friend Jane – who I expected to be much further ahead than me. Jane had run TOR (and finished) before but her experience shows that you are never in control in the mountains and anything can happen. She was hallucinating so badly that she had to stop and rest here. She explained to me that she couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. I hugged her and told her to be safe before I left and continued on to the Donnas.
I started running through a town and thought it must be the Donnas as my watch was already many kilometers ahead of the official distance. Here, another new friend, Valeriano, met me at some ungodly hour of the early morning to take some photos and tell me that it was another half hour – maybe an hour to the Donna’s. My heart sunk.
Photo credit: Valeriano. A few kilometers from the Donnas. What’s not to smile about really?
Out of the dark, Valeriano once again appeared and told me “10 more minutes!” I was alive again and pushed on. I ran past a pizza place and thought man that would be great right now. This was the first time I really wished I had crew or support – someone who could have brought me pizza.
I got to the Donnas with much more time up my sleeve, but I knew that the next section was the hardest section. I had been warned by my new friends that I met in the line up to registration that I needed to rest and eat hard at the Donna’s before attempting the next section. I tried to eat some food before my sleep but I was so exhausted here that the chewing seemed like it required energy I didn’t have. Once again, I didn’t see or wasn’t offered any bloody polenta. The potato wasn’t working for me, it required cutting, coordination to get it on my fork and then all that chewing. I got down what I could. I’d promised myself a shower at the Donna’s if I had enough time up my sleeve but this Life Base was all a bit confusing. Thankfully Valeriano met me here and explained where everything was. The energy was quite somber here and unhelpful so I was grateful to Valeriano.
The shower….hmmm. Given I’d been dreaming about this for three days it wasn’t quite what I had in mind. It was a squat toilet, with a crate put over it to stop you falling in, and a hose with a shower head. No where to put your dry clothes, no where to hang a towel. I’d given myself exactly 10 minutes to get clean and I think given the circumstance, making this time goal was probably my biggest achievement of the race.
I then went up stairs – yes, up stairs, to the sleeping room. Fuck ME! I was blown away by the heat in the room. I’d just had a shower but instantly started sweating. My face felt like it was on fire. I was convinced I’d been severely sun burned but then looked around at those sleeping and despite it being 8 degrees outside, no one had a blanket and most people were in their underwear. The room was dark but this had come at a price. They had bordered up the windows with black plastic which had created a sauna like environment. I was so exhausted that it didn’t seem to matter. I had three hours of sleep here and it was bliss. When the alarm went off I wondered what was the point. Many people were still asleep around me and I wondered momentarily whether to go on or not. This was one of the hardest battles to deal with – making yourself get out there after a nap. Luckily I was still so tired that my brain wasn’t really capable of much thought or action. I was in auto pilot. Put your shoes back on, take out what you need from the drop bag, zip up drop bag, get out.
The drop bag was becoming a real burden to me. It was only at the Donna’s that I realised, I’d been carrying around a heavy winter jacket and additional warm clothing in my day pack that I didn’t need given it was so bloody hot. I took this stuff out and tried to jam it into my drop bag, which was a nightmare. All the worry before the race that I wouldn’t be able to take all the things I needed in that drop bag were so unfounded. I had barely touched a thing in that drop bag. Other than clean T-shirts and socks and batteries, everything else in that bag was just causing me stress. I couldn’t make any sense of it the more tired I grew.
I put my pack on and realised that my shoulders were in a very bad way from the pack. I had just ignored them up until now but three hours of napping without the pack made it unbearable to put back on. I found a few buffs in my drop bag and put them under my bra straps to pad my shoulders out. OH BLISS! Why it took me so long to figure that one out I do not know.
Eventually, out of the Donnas and onto what I’d been warned was the hardest section of the course. It was very early morning – still very dark and I started to climb. Up, up up. I’d stopped checking the course profile as the distance to aid stations was disheartening. They were never what they said they were going to be. If it said 20km to an aid station, you could bet it was at least 25km. So I was pleasantly surprised when I came into an aid station at Perloz which was where it said it was going to be. The best thing about this aid station was that it was the only one that had any variety. I was so sick of that Nutella cake by now and here I was greeted with some sugary crispy donut thing – it was so good….AND Coffee!
I had to stop here a bit longer than I’d planned as I realised my heels were coming off my feet. Not quite but that’s what it felt like. I’ve never had blisters on my heels before but I never really experience blisters at all these days yet my feet looked pretty bad here. Because it’s not a problem I have, it’s not something I was used to dealing with so I just kept changing my socks and putting paper tape and bandaids on the hot spots. I could have gone to the medic staff, but I didn’t have any free time up my belt. The line ups were long to get assistance and I didn’t have the time to wait or the time to be dealt with – that was time I could be sleeping or eating or moving. So I ignored every pain I had and just kept at it.
The sun came up eventually and it was very cloudy and foggy. As we got higher and higher, visibility decreased. Eventually we were onto the section that I expect is a nightmare in the dark. Boulders, rocky, no real trail – just searching for the marker in the fog, trying to keep balance on sharp rocks and sore feet.
It was so foggy that there was no way to see the riffugio we were heading to (Riffugio Coda at 2,224m). Once again, my watch told me we should have hit the riffugio kilometers ago, so I just looked at the altitude on my watch and knew when we got high enough, we’d be there. Suddenly, after what felt like hours of pining, it came out of the fog. I had no idea what was going on at this riffugio. It was cold – so I went inside but there wasn’t much in there. Actually there was nothing in there except a guy making soup. I went back outside – there was coffee. It was good coffee. But the food was revolting. There was one plate that had cheese, some spam looking stuff and the Nutella cake all mixed up. I’d relaxed my attitude to cheese but I didn’t want any spam with that.
I felt annoyed here – there was no communication whatsoever. I had to ask someone if they needed to record my race number. They didn’t reply. I didn’t know what was going on. I drank some more coffee and then left. The confusion for me was that some aid stations record your race number when you enter and when you leave, others just when you enter. Some didn’t seem to know what they were doing and with no common language (I don’t speak Italian), no one seemed to know what was going on.
I moved on and started the long undulating section to Riffugio della Barma. I hated this section. It was rocky at times, very uneven. Sometimes very cold, other times very humid. I couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t get a rhythm with my movements. We started descending – a descent that isn’t quite visible on the course profile and I hated it because I knew we’d have to climb back up to get to the riffugio. Once again, the aid station was so much further than was marked on the profile. I was losing a lot of time this day because I’d budget my time for 15km, but the distance would in fact be 20km. Just before the final climb to the riffugio, some locals had set up a make shift aid station and were dancing around in cut off jeans with champagne. Many of the runners – actually all of them that were within distance stopped to have a guzzle and a party. I wasn’t feeling it. I knew I was cutting into time I didn’t have. I asked for some water and they looked surprised. “No champagne??”
I started climbing and I knew I had to claw back some time. I’d left the Donna’s with time up my sleeve, but now I was only an hour ahead of cut offs. I can climb better than I can descend, so I started pushing it. It was hot and I pushed hard and I made the biggest mistake of my race – I pushed to a point that I couldn’t recover. I got to the riffugio and looked around me. I was teary eyed. I felt like I had gone deep into a place of suffering on that last climb that I didn’t know existed. I wanted this so bad and I had pushed so hard to try and keep it within reach. As I looked into the eyes of those around me, I knew they’d all been there too. We were all silent. Not a word was spoken. Bowls of pasta were handed out while we all contemplated how the fuck we were going to get to the next aid station?
I didn’t linger long. I guzzled some coke and pushed on but was called back by one of the volunteers. I had no idea what they were saying in Italian but then figured out they thought I took the wrong poles (you need to leave your hiking poles outside each riffugio). Mine were clearly labelled with my name so I pointed. They still seeemed confused but let me leave.
Things didn’t get better for me here. It was such rocky terrain and whilst I ran wherever I could, the rocky stuff slowed me down. I wasn’t making up any time, in fact I was losing it. I tried to strike up a conversation with an Italian guy that I knew spoke English, but he was too exhausted. There were a good eight runners around me at this stage but I couldn’t communicate with any of them, and I started to sink low. I wanted it to be over, but I thought of all the sacrifices I had made to get here. I thought of my mum who needed me but had selflessly supported me to be here. I thought of the hours of training and the impact they had had on my marriage. I thought of Matty, my coach, who had been messaging me throughout the race from home giving me direction, guidance and support. I couldn’t quit. I still had an hour up my sleeve. I wouldn’t quit, I couldn’t quit.
As the sun set on day four of my race, the mountains took on a new presence – they were giant shadows in the dimming light. I understood the name of the race, this really was a tour of the giants.
I could hear the cow bells as runners were coming into the aid station at Neil (officially 192km but my watch was reading 217km). It felt like a lifetime before I eventually saw it and crawled into the room, literally. I was on the floor. I couldn’t get up. I knew I just needed half hour to eat and rest and I’d come good. Everyone was bustling about me but no one seemed to take any note of me on the floor. Another runner came in and was handed some polenta. I asked for some – they all looked confused and had to find someone who spoke English. Eventually I was handed some polenta and a cup of coke and I sat there trying to calm myself, to focus. A man then came over to tell me I had to go now. That it was going to take five hours to get to the next aid station (Life Base 4: Gressoney 205km). I looked at my watch. I only had four hours. A beautiful woman said to me “If you feel it in your heart, you can go on, but you must feel it in your heart.” That was when I started to cry. Suddenly, everyone was surrounding me hugging me. Then someone asked me how old I was. I sobbed “34.” They looked confused. Vulnerability will do that for the complexion.
I said “it’s over.”
No! They wouldn’t let me quit. I lay down on the floor and the lovely lady in the photo above covered me in a blanket, but they wouldn’t let me quit. I had to wait until I timed out at that aid station before they cut my timing chip from my wrist. In the meantime, eight men came through and also said they were out as they also knew they wouldn’t make the cut off at the next aid station. No questions were asked. Timing chips removed and bowls of polenta handed out. The lovely lady in the photo above later said to me “you’re a woman, so I believed you could do it.” In a race with 900 or so entrants, only 100 or so that are women, you feel how much everyone wants you to succeed here.
Despite the love support and belief that I got from Niel, despite believing and knowing in my heart that if I just rested for half an hour I would recover and could finish, the reality was that I didn’t have half an hour. Time was not on my side and so, with pain in my heart, I knew my race was over.
When I reflect on this race, I know that the only reason I felt such pain and disappointment was because in that moment, I discovered what was really possible. Only those who risk going too far, see how far we can really go.
Whilst I didn’t get the results I wanted, I learned so much about myself. I learned that the limits we put on ourselves need to be tested to identify their truth.
A huge thank you to all my friends and family and my husband, who supported me in this dream. A goal like this has a huge impact on your non-running life so I appreciate that it wasn’t just me who made the sacrifices.
Thank you to my Australian TDG travellers Tamyka, Derek and Konrad for all the laughs. Thank you especially to Konrad for teaching me how to use my watch the night before the race!
Thank you to every volunteer, and every person during the race, especially May, Salvatore, Maria Rosa and Valeriano who showed me such kindness.
Thank you to Matty Abel, founder and head coach of DBA coaching. Your knowledge and support I will be forever grateful for.
Woman on the trail
A little while ago I was running late at night with a friend in the Dandenong Ranges. We were running together, not because either of us really wanted company, but because both of us were nervous to be out on the trails late at night alone.
Midway into that run, a fellow runner (male), ran past us in the opposite direction. He was on his own and he looked so happy. There was no nervousness about him. I was so envious of his freedom. The ability to run alone at night on the trails with no fear is not one I have, despite being a tuff-nut.
My fear is not unfounded. Many years ago, very early on in my running years, I went out for a jog. It was 40 something degrees in Adelaide and I was wearing short shorts and a tank top. I hated my body back then and only ran to lose weight so there was no ego in my outfit. It was simply a practical outfit for the conditions in which I found myself. A couple kilometres from home I was grabbed by a gang of men under the railway bridge near my house. It was obviously just for shits and giggles for them as I remember them all laughing. One of them sprayed me in something – spray paint or some shit they were probably sniffing under that bridge. I still don’t really know what it was. I got away and ran as fast as I could home. When I told my story to those I trusted I was told “Well you shouldn’t go out in those short shorts.”
Then there are all the times I have been flashed by men whilst out on an early morning run. Too many times to keep count.
I didn’t start running to be with people. I started running to get away from people and have some time to myself. I do enjoy company from time to time but for the most part, I like to be alone.
I am currently training for a race called Tor Des Geants. It is a very long run, non stop through the mountains. I will likely be running for five or six days with short 15-45 min naps thrown in for five to six days (if I manage to make the cut off points). So as you can probably imagine, running through the night is quite important for my training right now.
Tuesday night, I got home late. It was a big day at work and whilst I usually run at lunch time on my double work out days, I just ran out of time. I thought about hitting the trails but my gut instinct told me not too. The common theme on those shows like “I Survived” is always listening to your gut instinct. So I went out jogging, planning to keep to the main roads. Dull but safe, I thought.
As I jogged down Dorsett road, I was in quite a good mood. I was really enjoying how good my body felt on a night run. It had been fuelled well and my muscles were warm. I felt really good, until I saw the man about a km ahead of me who until that point I assumed was innocently walking home from Woolworths or the train station. He turned and looked back at me and then he moved into the bushes and waited for me. I could see his shoes from the bottom of the bush.
Now what I should have done was probably cross the road, or turn back and run in the opposite direction. But I didn’t. I told myself, “Tash if that man touches you or makes a move, you need to be prepared to kill him.”
I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous and irresponsible, but that was the thought I had in that moment. So I ran toward him and as I approached I glared at him in the bushes. He said “Hello.” I grunted something, slightly confused and I kept running.
Now this man could have just been a regular nut job – not intending me any harm, but he also could have been the guy that has abducted and raped a number of female joggers in the Boronia area over the last few years. How the fuck was I to know.
Fast forward to Wednesday night when I needed to do my midweek long trail run. I almost met up with a total stranger on the VUR page just to avoid running alone. But I put my big girl pants on and went out for the run I had planned. The first hour was fine, but then it got very dark as I plodded into a very remote area of the forest. With each wallaby and deer that moved, I grew more anxious.
The thing about long runs is they give you time to reflect. I started to think of that woman that was murdered in Princess Park. I was overseas when it happened and whilst I felt the rage that most of my friends felt, I was somewhat removed from the incident and the outrage at the time. Though it affected me in ways I hadn’t realised. I realised as I jogged along that I had always known a man might jump out of the bushes and try to show me something I didn’t want to see. He might grab me. He might hurt me. He might rape me. But now, I knew, that he might kill me. He might end my life. A man, an absolute shit poor excuse of a human being might be capable of not only ruining my run, causing me harm, but he could end my life.
I need to put this in perspective. Once, I was walking down Hindley Street as a 20 something year old on my way home from the pub. A guy pulled up in his car next to me and said something perverse. I went straight over to the car and through the open window punched him as hard as I could in the nose.
I am not a fearful creature, yet I fear this creature, the one who wants to cause harm to me and my people.
The thing is, this is not just causing harm to women. That man in the bushes on Friday night – he could have had a mental illness, one that wouldn’t cause him to rape or kill me and may have really needed some help, but I couldn’t risk offering it to him. He may have just been a lonely guy who just genuinely wanted to say hello, but I couldn’t risk talking to him.
I don’t know what the answer is here, I just know I’m fed up. I don’t want to run with someone all the time just to feel safe. I don’t want to not run at night on the odd chance I run into a rapist or murderer. But I don’t want to die at the hands of scum.
UTA 2018
There are no photos to go with this blog. I questioned whether I wanted to blog at all – whether it was part of my new way (the old way). I do enjoy writing though and whilst it doesn’t really fit with the way I want to live right now, I’ve chosen to write and share regardless.
I did not take a single photo during UTA 2018, which for those who know me, is quite against my nature of recent years. I wanted to see those Blue Mountains with my eyes, feel them with my soul, not through a camera (or phone) lense. As the sun set over the Three Sisters, they’ve never looked more vivid.
I have closed my Facebook account, put Strava on private. This is all part of wanting my pre-internet heart and soul back. I used to be capable of doing great things (and terrible things) without the need for constant feedback, validation, approval, encouragement. I was rough around the edges and tough where and when it counted because I honestly and truely did not give a fuck what anyone thought of me. That was how I was raised and that is the way my heros continue to live. So in an effort to get a little bit more of myself back, I have disengaged. This blog is an exception, as is my instagram account which I am still wrestling with but won’t go into detail here as this is meant to be a race report, not an essay on why social media is making us weak and pathetic.
So to the start of the adventure that was UTA 2018. The wonderful Ross picked me up just before dawn on Thursday. We picked up the awesome Kevin and Baoping and off we headed toward Katoomba. 10 or so very funny hours later, we arrived in Katoomba. Ross dropped me off at the Hotel Gearin where I had “splurged” on a private room (in comparison to the previous years spent in various dormitories). I looked for the reception and then noted I had to check in at the front bar. An old drunk staggered toward me spilling his beer. He raised his eyebrows a few times and then greeted me with ‘hey shweet heart.’
“Have you got any other runners staying here?” I asked the guy behind the bar.
“Oh yeah, we’re completely booked out by runners.” Phew, I was with my own kind. It would be fine. I saluted old drunky and made my way to my room. A single bed, a heater and a sign warning me that on Friday and Saturday nights the hotel doubled as a live music venue but they supplied free ear plugs. Surely, given the hotel was booked out by runners, in fact the whole town was booked out by runners, this Friday might be an exception?
Fast forward to Friday night as I rechecked and packed my mandatory gear and the acoustic set began from below. That’s okay, I thought. No drums. I can handle that, I’ll just jam my ear plugs in and I’ll be fine.
Just as I got into bed ready for a full 6 hours sleep before needing to get up for the start of the race, the drums started up. The drummer had one beat and after two songs, I was ready to go and shove his drumstick somewhere unpleasant to teach him a lesson. Third song in, I was screaming internally, how could someone ride a single kick like that that with no regard? It was downright offensive. Then suddenly the alarm was going off and it was 4.30am. I must have slipped into a deep sleep midst rage.
I was wearing my VUR shirt but was in an arse of a mood until I got my double shot espresso at the start line. Apologies to anyone who may have tried to make eye contact with me and smile – I don’t make friends until caffeinated.
The lovely Celesta and Adrian were there and with hugs and laughs we wished each other well and it was time to line up in my start wave.
The first 46km of the race were really non eventful other than that I was in a delirious state of happiness where running felt effortless. Everything was pleasing me. I had chosen to listen to music on the open fire trails of the course, not because I need music, but because I had noted in training that I do tend to keep a slightly faster and more even pace when I listen to music. At 25km, Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam came on and I felt my face might crack I was smiling so hard. Even though I had put that song on my playlist it felt like such a pleasant surprise. Everything was just great.
At checkpoint three, I had decided to start practicing my “unsexy talents” which would involve eating while running rather than wasting any unnecessary time at checkpoints. I inhaled a Cliff bar as I exited the aid station and thought to myself that I must have eaten at least 500 Cliff bars over the years. I congratulated myself for being able to eat the same food day in day out over the years without being too precious about things like ‘flavour fatigue.’
This is the way of your people, I told myself.
Pop ate Polenta for 8 months straight during the war.
What’s another Cliff bar? You are so fucking tough. Good. On. YOU!
Well I think that might officially have been my last Cliff bar as I struggled with trying not to vom it up the remainder of the race. However, the fact I did not vom it up I think means I was successful at refining those “unsexy talents” required to run long races.
I’ll skip forward to the 50km point. I saw a first timer take a photo of the 50km sign and he said “so good to be on the other side of that!” I chuckled to myself as I knew well enough that that sign didn’t really mark half way. I think it merely marks the start of the real race as the first 50km really are very pleasant.
And from here, things became a struggle. As I ascended the stairs at the top of Nellies Glen I realised I was buggered. When I got to the top, I couldn’t run. My legs were completely smashed. But as ultra running goes, about ten minutes later, I was running and that fatigue was long forgotten, until it wasn’t. The roller coaster of fatigue and mania lasted all the way until the finish line. At times I would think I couldn’t possibly run another step. I hated the UTA and told myself I’d never do it again.
Fuck this race and fuck these stairs.
Then sudddenly I’d be screaming and laughing and fistpumping the air as I ran down the trail thinking
Wage War really are a great band, I don’t care that they’re 12 and the singer wears really bad shoes. This band is GREAT! These drums are great – no riding the single kick here! This run is GREAT! I fucking love this.
I had written down my time splits on my arm for easy reference and when I left checkpoint three, I was an hour ahead of my splits that would get me to a 17:50 finish. However from checkpoint three to four, I used that entire hour. From four to five, I just tried to hold my position but it was a real struggle.
Two highlights of the race both occurred around the Fairmont Resort – around the 69km mark.
I had been running for quite a while in the dark forest, when I exited onto the road that lead toward the Fairmont Resort. I was still at least a kilometre away from the resort and there were no other runners around. Out of nowhere, a guy in jeans holding a pack of cigarettes yells out to me. “Hey you! YOU! HEY! YOU!”
I looked toward him and suddenly he was running toward me. I grew up in Salisbury so I wasn’t bothered, I just thought he needed better manners. He started running along side me in his jeans and thongs and in between inhalations of his cigarette he said “I’ve run this race. The whole hungey k’s.”
“Ok mate.”
“You’ve broken the ‘orses back you ‘ave. You ‘AVE!”
“Cheers mate.”
As crazy as he was, choofing away, I actually believed him.
Then when I got to the Fairmont, they had chips and lollies. I kind of wanted some but I knew I’d be sick if I tried to eat them. I took a handful but then didn’t know what to do with them.
“You’ve got a pocket in your hi vis vest” one of the volunteers volunteered.
“Fill your pockets!”
That was so awesome. A hi vis vest that doubles as a snack holder. A classy outfit for a classy lady.
I pushed on and came into checkpoint five on a high and I realised I could still make my time goal time if I just kept moving but it would be really tight. This checkpoint was a demonstration of my real true class – I skulled a can of coke, face planted a bag of chips, burped really loudly, thanked the volunteers – all within about two minutes.
In this section – the final 22km, my new Suunto Spartan Ultra went flat after 14 hours of use. Yes I should have changed the GPS setting, but not quite the battery life as advertised. I tried not to let it piss me off.
Why do you even care? You fucking hate Strava. You don’t need no validation. You are fucking badass. You hate technology. Run the fucking miles and who gives a fuck if your watch works?
Oh but I do give a fuck if my head torch is flat!
I pulled out my backup light and cursed myself for being cheap and buying Coles brand batteries for the back up light as now it was my only light and I knew I had at least three hours to get to the finish. I just hoped it would last.
The final 5km is quite runnable – other than those bloody stairs, but with my very average back up light to guide the way, I kept tripping and I gave myself the excuse to power walk it.
Then old mate came jogging up behind me and asked me what my time goal was. I said that I thought I’d missed it. That I was hoping for sub 18 hours but that ship had passed. I didn’t have a watch so I wasn’t really sure, but I felt pretty sure I was done on that one but that I could still aim for my goal number two which was to beat my previous personal best on the UTA course of 18:25. Old mate said “What the hell are you talking about giving in like that? You’ve got 41 minutes to do 4km!” I said “Yeah but those staiiiiiiiiiiirs!” He said something like shut up and start moving! (I don’t think he said it that bluntly but I heard his message – and I needed his light!) So I got hustling and stopped making excuses and started running.
When I got to the stairs I checked my phone. I had 26 minutes to get under 18 hours. Last time I ran this race it had taken me 30 minutes to get up the stairs.
What are you saving yourself for now Tash? Fucking MOVE girly!
I crossed the finish line at 1:01am and it took me a few moments to calculate my finish time. I’d done it – I’d got in in under 18 hours. 17:55. I burst into tears. I haven’t done that since my first half marathon, but I’d really pushed hard. I was really fucking proud of myself. I felt badass.
I dedicate this race finish to the ultimate badass, Uncle Joe (my pop’s brother who was tough as nails and loved the F bomb – and for this reason, I leave my race report unedited, F bombs and all). RIP.
Razorback 40km version 2
The last few weeks have been stressful for all the wrong reasons. Work pressures, long hours at the desk, trying to get my brain to absorb that one extra piece of information. The only way to balance this way of life is to head to the mountains.
I left work at 3pm thinking I would get to Harrietville around 7.30pm. Melbourne traffic! Close to 9pm I arrived at Harrietville. Set up my tent, rechecked all my mandatory gear and fell into a deep sleep with the sound of the river and the light rain slowly washing away the dust storm of tax laws still trying to spin in my brain.
Alarm went off at 4:55 and I just wanted to stay where I was. It was the best sleep I’d had in around three weeks, but no time. Needed to get dressed, organised and pack the tent and car all before the 5:45am briefing – and still needed to pick up my race bib as Melbourne traffic meant I missed the check in and full briefing the night before.
Cold drip coffee in the system, gear check completed, race number attached. Ready to go.
Running Wild events are so unpretentious – almost everyone I adore in the running scene pops up at them from time to time and I was so happy to see Babi, Clare and Vanessa.
As I chatted to Babi at the start line I suspected something wasn’t right with my head torch. I had packed two extra sets of batteries so I very quickly changed them. Then the thing snapped off the headband. As the count down to the start was progressing, I fumbled and quickly managed to get it in place and we were off.
We started jogging up to the start of Bungalow Track. I have been running up this track to the summit monthly throughout Summer and my coach Matty Abel, has been challenging my own thoughts and perceptions of what is a runnable versus hikeable climb. I knew from my last run up here that I could run way more of this first ascent than I did the previous year and though the plan was to keep it easy for the first 20km, I suspected I would still make up a bit of time from the last year.
Within the first 100m up the track, I realised my head torch was completely fucked. The light was so dull that I could barely see where I was going and the bright lights from the competitors running behind me was actually making it worse. Every time I ran, I tripped as the shadows were jumping out at me and I couldn’t distinguish them from the tree roots. So I stood to the side of the trail, let everyone pass and then reminded myself that I knew this trail. I couldn’t run it with my shitty dim light but I could power hike it. My eyes adjusted once all the other competitor’s bright lights sped off in the distance and I vowed to keep the last woman within dim eyesight (the glow of her head torch helped here). And I just hiked and longed for daylight. When the sun rose, I realised I was only on the tail end of all the competitors I had let pass me. No one was more than a few hundred metres ahead of me. I was about half way up the mountain at this stage and whilst I tried to jog a few sections, I’d gotten a bit lazy and for the most part just kept the power hike up. When I got to the hut, I suspected that was my fastest time up there, but I didn’t have time to savour the moment. I had to keep going to the summit.
Now the sun was beaming in my face and I couldn’t see a bloody thing. Oh the irony.
Whilst some people may go out to pubs or nightclubs to socialise, it is on the summit that most of the socialising is done by ultra-runners. I totally forgot I was even racing as I stopped to chat to all my friends and bask in the glow of the sunrise over the mountains. There was no where else in the world I would have rather been.
Off the summit and along the Razorback to Diamantina Hut. Here is where I left all the F bombs of the day. The altitude in this section triggered my asthma and I could barely breathe. I also kept tripping over my feet. Having a very sore right side after face planting on Friday, I wasn’t keen to smash myself up again. Yet I kept tripping over and over. And then I saw a snake. He just slithered onto the trail, looked right at me, stuck his tongue out a few times and then slowly slithered away. It was quite mesmerising to just stop and watch him for a moment. I was pretty happy after that.
Stopped at the hut to fill up on water and have a laugh with more friends. Thank you James for hugging me in my sweaty disguisting state. Some more puffs of the ventolin and then off for the long descent down Bon Accord. I remembered the fear I had the year earlier running down Bon Accord as it was so overgrown and I suspected every sound was a snake. Having just seen a snake, I was ready to suspect every twig and stick of something more sinister.
My asthma was pretty out of control at this point and I did wonder if I should turn back to the hut and pull out. I’ve only DNF’d once in my life and so I wasn’t taking this decision lightly. I thought it through and considered whether this was something I could manage or whether it had the potential to be life threatening. I suspected that as I moved to lower ground and away from the grasses on the high plains that the asthma would improve and thank goodness I was right. Within the first km of descending, it went away. Maybe it was just that my brain was preoccupied with snakes at this stage and breathing became less important.
I am very scared of descending on technical trail. Mostly because I am a clutz. The fear of falling is very real – I have all the scars and scabs on my knees to prove this. That said, the instruction from my coach was to push the last half and I had to stop making excuses. So I just did my best. Eventually we got to a less scary decline and I could run properly again – though I did spot another two snakes in this section which caused my run to look more like a high knee Bambi canter.
Shortly before Washington Creek, I passed a woman I had been running just behind most of the day. I asked her how she was. She said “terrible.” I was shocked. I was so surprised that anyone could be feeling less than 100% amazing. It was getting very hot at this stage which I suspect triggers a bit of my mania and I was having the time of my life.
I ran on, through Washington Creek and finally, after years of training up here, understood why people say this is a nice runnable section to the finish. I’ve always been too buggered to enjoy this section but today – oh it was just dreamy. I was having the time of my life and I kept thinking “there is no place I’d rather be.”
Last year, I ran the Razorback in the 8 hours and 22 minutes that I left my nanna’s bedside while she was dying of pancreatic cancer. I had spent almost every moment that I could with her from the day that we suspected something wasn’t quite right. I had taken the day to go gather some strength for myself so that I could be there for her when things turned really bad. And they did. She passed away within weeks from the race.
I remembered running this section of the race last year. I was very alone on this section, being one of the last finishers, and I had allowed myself to scream and cry the whole way to the finish line.
I also remembered that when I returned to my nanna’s bedside post race, she wanted to see my photos of the mountains. She had the same spirit as me – it was nourished by nature.
The day she was diagnosed with cancer, she said she didn’t mind that she was dying but she would like to go out to a lake and go fishing before that happened, to visit the valleys one more time that had filled her soul with joy. Unfortunately she was never strong enough for that to happen.
So my message is, remember how lucky we are to do the things we do. Yes it might get hot, yes it might be a bit tiring. You might be scared by things like snakes, heights, face planting, but doing these things is such a privilege.
Thank you Paul Ashton for giving us the privilege to run in these beautiful places.
P.S – I finished the race in 7:26. 56 minutes faster than last year.
Two Bays write up
Yesterday I finished my forth Two Bays 56km trail run. My first ultra-marathon was Two Bays back in 2013 so this race has a special place in my heart. It’s also just a bloody fantastic event. The entry fee won’t send you broke, the volunteers are outstanding – you are taken care of, supported and looked after like a queen and the trails are just beautiful.
The race starts from Cape Schanck. You run 28km along the trails to Dromana, ring a big bloody bell and then run all the way back.
I got to the race start at 6am as I had to pick up my race bib. I had made a thermos of coffee but I couldn’t stomach it. I was feeling a little queasy. I wondered if it were just nerves. It had been a while since I’d entered a race like this.
The weather was cool and wet. I wasn’t impressed. I feel the cold dreadfully and whilst it certainly wasn’t freezing, by my standards it was. Part of the appeal of this race for me is the hot and dry conditions we normally race in. It didn’t feel like Two Bays.
We all miled about the start line and there was so much chatter. I was feeling very sensitive and the chatter was making me feel insane. It was coming at me from all directions in such a fast rhythm that I felt overwhelmed.
Then we were off running, I tried to go as slow as I possibly could go. I was thinking of a blog post my running coach Matty Abel had written a while back – something about challenging yourself to go slower than you normally would at the start of a race. I normally bolt out the gates at Two Bays, but this year I let everyone go ahead. I had my heart rate monitor on and I wanted to keep my heart rate fairly low for at least the first 5km.
Two guys started jogging behind me and one wouldn’t shut the fuck up. He was talking really loudly, going from one heroic story to another. I’m being a total bitch here, but there was just so much sound going on at the start of this race that I wondered why I race. It was really affecting me. I thought about running faster just to get away from this dude, but lucky his ego kicked in and he overtook me and I didn’t have to hear him for the rest of the race.
You might be thinking right now that I sounded pretty cranky. I wouldn’t say I felt cranky, but I felt hypersensitive and I just wished everyone would shut up. I wanted to hear the hum of the ocean as we traversed along the cliff tops, not the sound of people.
I wasn’t in the mood to chat to anyone so I didn’t, until suddenly I realised I was frowning. I stopped myself and my face felt lighter, my body felt lighter. I felt new.
I realised I was running very well. I felt really strong and was able to run most of the hills still keeping my heart rate in a conservative zone. I wondered whether it was worth pushing for a PB, but I had to remind myself I hadn’t had the best lead up to this race. I returned from Argentina at the end of November, started training in December and then developed acute bursitis in my heel and so couldn’t run hills or do any speed work in the weeks prior to Two Bays. I felt strong but I didn’t have much speed in the legs. So I focused on the first goal which was to get to the half way point before cut off.
I had thought the cut off was 3.30 at the 28km mark, but it was actually 3.45. Lucky as I got in at 3.28. That was the exact time I got in to the checkpoint the year I got my PB, except this year I had run as easy I possibly could (whilst still mindful of cut off times) to get here. I had so much in the tank. Still, let’s not get reckless.
So I just continued on, putting one foot in front of the other. This was when I really started to enjoy myself. I no longer had to be mindful of the cut off times – I was doing fine, so I just tried to make sure I looked up from time to time and enjoyed the scenery.
I started talking to other runners at this point to and met some awesome new people – this is the spirit of Two Bays – its exceptional volunteers and the friendships that are made on the trail.
The last 6km of Two Bays are always when the wheels fall off for me. I’ve cried myself to the finish line many times. I find every excuse to walk. This year I challenged myself to find every excuse to run. Taking the first half of the course conservatively really paid off as I had a lot of energy and I just started running as strong as I could. I was overtaking people instead of being overtaken. I was even energetic enough to yell out words of encouragement.
I came through the finish line in 7.29. Five minutes slower than my PB, but six and seven minutes faster than my previous two runs at Two Bays. I felt ecstatic. After the long year of ups and downs that was 2017, it felt good to be back, to have had a good race and to have finished strong.
At the end a lovely volunteer held out a bunch of drinks and snacks to me. I sat in a chair unable to speak and just pointed at the banana. It took me another hour before I could eat the banana. I’d done my best and I was pleased that I was too tired to speak or chew.
A summary of the day’s highlights:
– Seeing Kate at the half way mark and then again at the finish in her crazy green shoes, ringing that cow bell like no body’s business. I met Kate at Two Bays a few years ago when I was face down in the dirt and she had to step over me in order to get to the finish – “trail kill”. That’s what this race is about – repeat offenders – you come back time and time again whether it’s to race, volunteer or encourage.
– Stopping at the porta-loo which I don’t normally do (I’ll usually hold on till I get a kidney infection) and seeing that someone had left Donald Trump toilet paper behind. That was totally worth stopping for a few minutes and missing a PB.
– Ashley Bennet giving his podium prize to the woman who came in last just before the cut off. If I wasn’t so dehydrated and could afford the tears I would have cried. We all know that it’s the person who is out there the longest that has the toughest job. I don’t know Ash that well but he became a gold class human being to me after seeing him do that yesterday – he was also the nicest person in the elite field still managing a few words of encouragement and a smile to those of us who were plodding along at the back while he was tearing up the front (the front runners will pass most of the field as us plodders head into the half way checkpoint as it’s and out and back course).
– Eating the value of my entry fee in V-Fuel gels and sports drink. I don’t normally use electrolytes but I had a massive headache yesterday and battled with nausea all day. After the half way point I started drinking the V-Fuel electrolyte drink offered at the aid stations and my headache went and it did seem to help my nausea. As someone with fructose malabsorption, I don’t usually get the luxury of eating the food offered at aid stations. I hadn’t tried V-Fuel prior to the race but knew it was fructose free so I took a gamble and gave it a shot and I was really impressed. I felt like I had a really consistent energy buzz from the gels, they seemed to help my nausea rather than contribute to it and the flavours were pretty nice too.
Things I didn’t love so much:
– Having the same song, same riff stuck in my head for 7 hours and 29 minutes. I chose not to listen to music this race, but my brain got stuck on the opening riff of a song I heard a band play a few weeks ago. It just played on repeat in my brain the entire run. I now can’t stand that song.
Tasharama_A_Go_Go 