Great Expectations

“I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.” 

-- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

It was 5am on the morning of Saturday 14 October, 20 minutes before the mandatory roll call for the Great Ocean Walk ultramarathon. All I needed to do was put on my running gear and walk the five minutes to the start line. Putting on my well-worn shorts, I noticed that one end of the drawstring had disappeared into the waistband.

Somewhat annoyed, I extracted the drawstring (which I really needed because the elastic on these shorts is not what it used to be) and started to re-thread it. I won't go into the details of what followed, but it involved a combination of a safety pin, swearing, a ticking watch, accelerating heart rate and a steak knife. I made roll call without a minute to spare.

So far, my quest to run my second 100km ultramarathon in a more relaxed state than my first was not going well. On the plus side, it hadn't even started yet.

The Great Ocean Walk ultramarathon was celebrating its ninth running.  The race, organised by highly respected race director Andy Hewat, covers the full length of the Great Ocean Walk hiking trail. It stretches from the beachside town of Apollo Bay on Victoria's south coast, to the famous 12 Apostles limestone pillars in the shallows of the shoreline near Port Campbell. It would be difficult to find a more stunning stretch of trail in Australia.

I had entered the Great Ocean Walk, often abbreviated to simply 'GOW', two years after running my first (and to that stage, only) 100km ultra. That debut was at the Surf Coast Century and although I had achieved my stretch target of sub-11 hours in that race, I had not enjoyed it. For some runners, being on their limit for hours on end is the reason why they run these races, but after much contemplation, I decided that wasn't for me.

So, GOW would be about starting conservatively, enjoying the trail, taking pictures and not worrying so much about my time. And there I was at the start line with my heart still racing and trying to calm myself down.

At the start line

The first hour or so of the race was in the dark, headlights bobbing in front of me as I settled somewhere in the second half of the 76 person field (there were also seven relay teams of two, who would complete 55/45km legs). Recent rain had turned sections of the trail into ankle-deep, foul-smelling mud. Soon, the gradient shifted up and we tackled the first climb of the day - the 7km from Shelley Beach to Parker Spur.

I enjoy hills and found myself running up this one at a reasonably comfortable pace. The thought did occur to me to slow down and walk, but I was in a good rhythm, so I decided to keep up my steady jog. I passed a few people as I reached the top of the climb around 16km into the race and began the 5km descent to the first aid station at Blanket Bay.

The descent was reasonably uneventful - more mud, a couple of runners overtaking me (I'm much better going up hills than down) and a very positive outlook. I was a few minutes ahead of where I expected to be and feeling good.

I stopped for a few minutes at Blanket Bay, having a quick chat to the volunteer who kindly re-filled my water bottles. Some complaints from campers the year before meant that support crew were no longer allowed at this checkpoint, so the first point I'd see my one-man crew member Paul would be close to the Otway Lighthouse around 32km into the race.

Near Parker Hill 

Seal Point

By this point, the morning had turned into an absolute stunner. Hardly a cloud in the sky, not too warm and only very light wind. And every few kilometres, a glimpse of a gorgeous coastline. In fact, so frequent did these vistas present themselves, that I found myself not bothering to take pictures of most of them. "Meh, another magnificent view - just like all of the others."

Approaching the lighthouse, and having passed the people who got me on the descent to Blanket Bay, I met Paul on the side of the trail. He told me I was in around 30th place. It was nice to have the update and I knew that I was moving through the field, but it wasn't that important to me.

The differing types of trail

Flash back to 2015 Surf Coast Century, when that sort of stuff was important to me. Most of the day was a battle to stay ahead of my ambitious pacing plan and despite the awesome efforts of my support crew to keep my spirits up, it didn't stop me from hating large sections of the run.

After that race had ended, the first words I said to my wife were “I never want to do anything like this again.”

And yet, here I was, about a third of the way into another 100km ultra. And loving it. Here, somewhere on the western coastline of Cape Otway, I'd found my reason for running these races. It's difficult to explain, but during this run I realised it was the grey area between competing and cruising, and keeping in that zone for hour after hour. Of course, undergoing this experience on a trail such as the Great Ocean Walk helps a little bit, too.

Looking towards Castle Cove

The official aid station at Aire River (42km) was the first chance Paul had to offer actual assistance, after the Blanket Bay restriction. I was about 10 minutes ahead of the time I told him I'd probably be there, so I made sure to relax for a few minutes, eat something and soak in the atmosphere of the numerous support crews attending to, or waiting for, their runners.

I didn't pause for too long, however, and soon I was off on the relatively short section between Aire River and the next aid station at Johanna Beach. On paper, this was 13km of an easy, mostly coastal, route with only around 320m of ascent/descent.  On the trail, however, it was a different story. The first 4km were a dream, but after that, the trail was a series of what seemed like very steep descents (often with rocky steps) and nasty little pinches.

Near the end of the easy bit on the way to Johanna 

I was pretty banged up when I hit the beautiful Johanna Beach and I soaked in the glorious day with the waves rolling in on my left. Soaked it in for about 30 seconds, before realising there was no getting away from the soft sand and I had a 2km slog to the aid station at the end of the beach. At one point I got a bit too close to the tide and a wave came in a lot faster and further than I was expecting - spinning me like a top and setting off a cramp in my hamstring. I'm sure the guy I had passed a few hundred metres before had a chuckle at that.

Johanna Beach

I left the aid station in good spirits, having spent a few minutes longer there than planned, but that's what I felt like I needed at the time. I was mindful of the fact that everyone I had spoken to who had run GOW before had a variation on the theme of "the race really starts at Johanna." The next 20km packed in a lot of ascent/descent before an unmanned water drop at 75km and a further 5km to the last aid station of the day, the Gables at 80km.

Leaving Johanna aid station 

Milanesia Beach

The first 5km after the aid station climbs inland around 300m and I remember feeling really good, running most of it. In fact, I recall thinking to myself "this 55-75km section is a piece of cake" (or something like that, anyway). There's a really fast, fun descent to Milanesia Beach and at this point, if it's possible to strut during an ultra, I was doing it. My inner voice had adopted a mocking tone - "the section after Johanna is, like, soooo hilly. Yeah, right."

And then, the hills.

It was like one of those scenes from the old Batman television series with Adam West (Millennials: you might need to search for this on YouTube to understand this.)  300m climb at 20% - Bang! Sharp 200m descent. Whack! Immediately into a 200m climb at 20%! Pow!

Repeat for 10km.

Stairs near Ryan's Den on the horror 65-75km section

Like a punch drunk villain, I emerged from the House of Pain at Moonlight Head, where a friend of mine was spectating with a mate of his. They told me I was looking strong. "Grfyt", was my eloquent response.

Still, the unmanned drums of sweet, sweet, water were only 400m away. Since Milanesia Beach, I'd become sick of the liquid-based fuel I was using pretty much exclusively for this run. And that meant I hadn't been drinking as much as I wanted, which also meant I was not getting as many calories in as I had planned.

The night before, Andy had asked that we keep our consumption from this unmanned water drop to around 500ml, since he wanted to ensure there was enough for everyone and, anyway, the final aid station was only 5km away. It took every fibre of my being not to open the tap and sit under it with my mouth open. But instead, I filled one of my bottles and headed to the Gables.

Selected wildlife

Awesome photo of Nigel and the bovine spectator by Cassandra Gash

The section I had just finished between 65-75km was that part of an ultra where the demons made their appearance. The ones that tell you to pull out of the race at the next aid station, or interrogate you incessantly, asking why you would pay someone so you can put yourself through this. I'd got a bit cocky, particularly after that first climb from Johanna, and forgot that there's a world of difference between getting to 60km and getting to 100km.

But I'd been able to banish those demons by slowing down and focusing solely on forward momentum. I was in the red zone, but I had no reason to push it to breaking point. However, for all of my "I'm just here to enjoy the trail" pre-race rhetoric, I was also conscious that I was making decent progress and hadn't been passed by anyone on the course who I hadn't taken back (save for the fast runners who were in front of me on the start line and stayed out in front). There I was, in that compete v. cruise grey area that I wanted to be in.

The 5km to the Gables aid station was a hoot. Mostly downhill or flat, and with the promise of some food, more fresh water and a friendly face just around the corner. It's an inland section, so no stunning coastal views, but a very nice section of trail all the same.

"He was swearing a lot more at the Gables", Paul later told my wife. Yes, that 25km Johanna-Gables leg really took it out of me. I had a good chat with Paul, ate a Clif Bar and some orange segments and sat down for a few minutes. I really can't explain how grateful I am for Paul's presence on that day. To an outside observer, the importance of crew members may be hard to understand, especially on a course like GOW, where there are only three aid stations between the start and finish for them to offer support. But as a runner, they can be the reason for pushing onwards towards an aid station, or the difference between leaving an aid station on the trail or in a car. Paul had everything I needed and gave up his entire day to make sure of it.

I probably lingered a bit too long at The Gables, because I was a bit stiff when I left. And a little unfocused, too, going off course for a few hundred metres before realising my error when the trail I was on ended at the top of a cliff. This annoyed me more than it should have, but soon I was back on course and on my way to the finish line.

At 81km, my watch battery died. Having started running in the "If it's not on Strava, it didn't happen" generation, I started recording my run on my phone. With my phone tucked away in a pocket in my running pack, I no longer had the instant gratification of knowing how fast I was running, or how far to the finish. In fact, however, this soon became liberating. I knew I was on track to break 13 hours and now it was just a matter of running for a couple of hours at a comfortable pace.

On the last leg

The last 20km is almost exclusively along the coast. The sun was getting lower, but in no danger of setting before I finished. Instead, it just added something else to the memories from the day - shadows growing slightly longer and colours changing hue. With maybe 11km to go, a group of campers drinking beers gave me a rousing reception and it put the biggest smile on my face. Although, to be honest, the thought of joining them for a cold one did cross my mind.

Then I saw a sign which said the 12 Apostles were 7km away. 7km! That's less than a lunchtime run. The only landmark between here and the finish line I knew of was the Gibson Steps, which was around 1km before the finish, so that became my next focus, now less than 6km from where I was.

I loved those 6km. I took out my phone and confirmed that I was well under 13 hour pace, probably closer to 12.5 hours. The ocean was glinting in the late afternoon sunlight and the finish line was beckoning. Although I was still (mostly) running, I'd decided that I would walk the better part of the final kilometre, to give me time to soak it all in and reflect on the day that I'd had. It really couldn't have gone better and I wanted to remember as much of it as possible.

Just before the 12 Apostles visitor centre, where the finish line is located, the needle swung back to the 'competitive' side of the spectrum. "Since the first 10 metres of the race, nobody has been able to get past you and stay there.", said the voice. "You're not getting passed now, in the shadows of the finish line, because you're walking!"

So I started running, or, to be more precise, shuffling. At the entry to the visitor centre, there was a sign that advised runners to slow down. I laughed - that sign really wasn't applicable to me (or most runners, I suppose), at that point.

The emotions as I entered the finish chute and crossed the line are indescribable. Suffice to say, it was a completely different experience to my first 100km race. No more or less satisfying, but just… different. I had a great chat with 4th place getter and ultra running legend Dan Beard, who had finished about an hour and half ahead of me. I had finished in 13th place, in just under 12 hours and 25 minutes.

(Some of) the better reasons for toeing the line

I stayed at the finish line for about an hour and a half, enjoying the atmosphere, cheering the finishing runners and eating everything in sight. I collected my silver (sub 13 hour) belt buckle from Andy, who I chatted to briefly and thanked repeatedly. With so many races on the trail running calendar, some events can get lost in the noise, but this one should be on every ultra runner's list of must-do races.

As circumstances had it, Paul drove me back to Melbourne that night. I got into bed about 19 hours after ripping a hole in my short’s waistband with a steak knife in Apollo Bay that morning. I woke up the next morning in my own bed, had breakfast with my wife and kids and said "That won't be the last one."

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Event website: https://sites.google.com/site/gow100s/home

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/1230505844

Puffing Billy's Great Train Race 2016

Thirteen-point-five kilometres.

Two hundred and fifty metres of elevation gain.

These are not words that usually strike fear in the heart of ultra runners. I've been on "recovery" runs longer than 13.5K, with twice the amount of elevation. So why did I have pre-race jitters in my legs and stomach?

Because, thirteen-point-five kilometres with two hundred and fifty meters of elevation gain is a bastard of a distance when you're racing it, that's why. And I was about to re-discover this all over again, having not fronted up to Puffing Billy's Great Train Race since squaring the ledger at 1-1 with the train back in 2012.

In beating the train in 2012, I managed 56 minutes dead, back when the course was 13km. It had since been extended by around 500m, apparently for safety purposes (although the particular part of the course they have cut out seems fine to me). Given there was an extra 0.5km, I was hoping to finish around the same time, i.e. 56 minutes. For that to happen, I'd need to run just under 4:10/km on average, although with the nature of the course, there would have to be a few sub-4 minute kms thrown in there on the downhills.

A good contingent of Dandenongs Trail Runners had made their way to the start line in Belgrave. In the four person 'DTR Rockets' team I was a part of, we had Jonathan Coles, Davern White and Lauren Starr (Coles White Starr - sounds like some private label supermarket brand). Jonathan was with me in the first seeded group, with Davern and Lauren joining the other DTRs in the second group.*

The DTR crew

(L-R: Cassandra, Christian, Cameron, Jonathan, me, Lauren)  

As Jonathan and I lined up nervously near the start line, we observed that the train driver seemed to have his game face on. And he was disconcertingly young - not an old jovial fellow with a big belly and bigger beard (so in other words, he wasn't Santa Claus). If push came to shove, we thought, this driver would have no hesitation doing both. We'd find out just how prophetic that observation would be in a little more than 56 minutes' time.

After the customary rendition of Advance Australia Fair by Mike Brady (no, not that one), we were off, with the first 1.2km a downhill dash to the foot of the first hill. This first climb goes for about 1.7km at 4% and I felt pretty good, averaging 4:10/km on the climb and getting through the first rail crossing ahead of the train. About a kilometre into the following descent, I passed 4km in 15:30 - 35 seconds ahead of my planned split. Hmmm, had I gone out too hard?

There's more descending between the 4km and 5km marker, before the biggest hill on the course, which starts soon after 5km. The hill, the second part of Selby-Aura Road and Menzies Road, is 2.25km at 5% average gradient, but there are sections that are probably 10% or more. I was pushing pretty hard on this hill and passed a number of people, but I was about 5 seconds per kilometre slower than I'd planned, so I was hoping this wasn't the beginning of the end. Just before the Menzies Road section, I went through the second rail crossing and asked a volunteer if we were still ahead of the train. Yes, by about three minutes, came the reply.

The climb dispensed with, there was then a sharp descent (400m @ 12%) to the third rail crossing. Through that, and then a small rise and descent, bringing you to the start of the final climb (it feels weird calling these 'climbs' after what we tackle on the trails, but bear with me, here). Somewhere in that section, I passed my 8km split about 45 seconds ahead of plan. But I was starting to pay for it with my legs feeling heavier and heavier.

The last climb is the most gentle - 1.7km at 3%, but again, there are some steeper sections in it. Near the end of it, at 10km, is the final rail crossing. About 300m before the crossing, a sound entered my consciousness and it took me a while to realise it was a steam engine. That didn't sound like three minutes any more! I focused on the crossing and looked for signs that the volunteers were going to stop the runners. They weren't.... yet. My pace, which had been a steady 4:30/km on this climb, shot up to 3:55/km and I got through the crossing and soon after that, the end of the climb.

That little 300m interval before the crossing felt like it maxed out my legs. As I started the 3km descent to the finish line, there were people passing me and I couldn't respond. I wasn't even looking at my watch any more - splits be damned - I was just focused on running as fast as I could to beat that infernal machine into Emerald Lakeside Park. I could hear its whistle and its engine and you could sense the mild panic starting to spread amongst the runners nearby. I got some sort of rhythm back, though, and as I passed the 12km marker, all I was thinking was "1500m to go - you can do this!".

You enter Lakeside Park at 12.5km with a steep descent. I flew past a few people on the downhill (thankyou, trail running) and cursed the extra distance added to the race. Pushing very hard, it wasn't until I had about 500m to go that I allowed myself to admit that I'd be beating the train. There's a final, very short, sharp rise to the finish line and I passed at least three people struggling up it, but by that stage, I don't think individual places were important - we only cared about beating one specific competitor.

I crossed the line in 55:04, in 142nd place (of 2,742 runners). A PB by one minute, on a course that measured 540m longer than the last time I raced it. To put it in perspective, I later used my GPS data to estimate that I would have run approximately 53:10 on the old course. I always thought a 53:xx time was beyond me. Today, I got lucky, with some good conditions and an injury and illness-free preparation.

About a minute later, I saw the train driver run past the finish line and then I noticed Jonathan, who was out of breath. He explained that the driver pipped him by about 20 metres, after unleashing a devastating sprint on fresh legs in the closing stages. It was still a two minute PB for Jonathan, but his disappointment was palpable after coming so close.** We then saw Davern come in and all three of us were ushered away from the finish area which was getting pretty congested. It started to rain and we headed off to find our bags and warm clothing. A few minutes later, Lauren completed the DTR Rockets' race and we later found out we finished in the top 10 teams (10th of 49). What a performance!

I had entertained the notion of running back to Belgrave after the race, but even before the rain got heavier and the temperature dropped a few degrees, I decided there was no way I was in shape to do that. I had nothing left to give and was just looking forward to putting my feet up and getting a coffee (or three) into me. Lauren and I joined fellow DTR Cassandra and a friend of hers on the first train back, as the inclement weather set in. To say I'd made the right call not to run back is a massive understatement.

So, after the 2016 edition of the Great Train Race, the score reads: Cimdins 2 - 1 Puffing Billy. One part of me would like to retire in front and this year's result gives me a chance to do that. On the other hand, I've got many years of running ahead of me and pulling the pin in my 30s seems a little silly, all for the sake of preserving a lead over a train that could beat me hands down if the driver really wanted to.

The other thing that can't be underestimated when it comes to this event is its point of difference with almost all other races. I will never win a race, unless the field is incredibly thin. In the Great Train Race, however, I'm not really racing the other runners - I'm racing the train. And that's a contest I can win, given the right circumstances. It's hard to explain, but that makes a big difference to me. I feel something that I don't feel when I'm just racing against other runners. And on the two occasions I've crossed the line before the train driver, the sense of satisfaction is enormous. In fact, I'd go so far as to say my 2016 Great Train Race is the high water mark of my short running career.

Wouldn't I want to feel that buzz again? Let's see what the future brings.

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Postscript: it is now a bit more than a week  since I took on the train and this race has left me battered and bruised like no other race of its distance. I have pulled up better from 50km ultras. I arguably pulled up better from the 100km Surf Coast Century. Being in a close race with the train is relentless - when you get to the top of the hills, you just run harder down them to extend your lead or to make up lost time. I guess that's why it's so damned satisfying.

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* Davern did well just to make the start line. A tree across the Metro train tracks just outside Ringwood had Davern and many other runners scrambling for taxis early on Sunday morning. 

** According to the official times of each runner, Jonathan finished with a faster time than the train driver. Maybe he was delirious when he approached the finish line... 

Movescount file: http://www.movescount.com/moves/move103436620

...sometimes, the bear eats you

We found the humour eventually. It was inevitable, really, once discussion turned to U.S. politics. In particular, the race for the 2016 Republican nomination (I mean, really...). I won't go into the details, but there we were, reprising Monty Python's The Four Yorkeshiremen routine, somewhere close to the 50km Boneo Road aid station.

Things were not going well. We'd resigned ourselves to missing the 8 hour finish line cut-off, which if anything, had improved our outlook on the rest of the day. If I had to guess how hot it was, I'd say it was about 80 degrees (Celsius). At least, that's what it felt like at the time.

Back when we started the 56km Two Bays Trail Run, seven hours ago, we had planned to be finished by now.* And the first 27km had led us to believe that everything was on track. As the 2km downhill stretch of bitumen leading to the halfway point wore on, however, that plan went out the window. At some point close to half way, the ultra demons started to prey on the body and mind of my running partner and fellow Dandenongs Trail Runner, Chris.

Dandenongs and Lysterfield Trail Runners unite before the start

When we reached the turnaround point, Chris was like a changed man. Maybe I should have noticed some earlier warning signs, backed off the pace and pulled the pin on the 7 hour goal. Or maybe it just hit all at once. This latter scenario was, and probably still is, Chris's official version of events. But Chris is so polite he'd never tell me if I pushed him too hard, to soon. It's a pointless debate anyway - the fact was, I knew then that we were in for a long second 28km.

Like some cosmic riddle, the climb up the bitumen hill at the start of the return leg from Dromana to Cape Schanck didn't seem anywhere near as long as the descent did. But once we entered the National Park and hit the steeper part of the climb up Arthurs Seat, it was Game Over. Chris was struggling to put one foot in front of the other, the steps built into the trail not helping things.

The heat was starting to bite and talk turned to just getting to the next aid station to guzzle some water. When we finally reached it (the small but very cheerful aid station in the Rosebud street section), the volunteers were, as always, eager to help and ask how things were going. We walked into the aid station and walked out of it - running was now something we rarely contemplated.

The type of unconventional assistance offered at Two Bays aid stations

(Photo credit: Adrian Foster)

It was only another 2.5km to the next major aid station, at Browns Road. We continued to yo-yo with some other runners (we're still runners, even if we were walking), as each individual had their bad and good (or at least, not-so-bad) moments. Cresting another hill, we arrived at the aid station.

It could have gone either way. Chris was sitting down on the ground, sharing a few quiet words with yet another wonderful volunteer. At this moment, Chris seemed to me like Schrödinger's cat - both "alive" (still in the race) and "dead" (withdrawn). We just had to wait until someone opened the box.

Berating himself with a quick "Come on, Chris", he got off the ground, thanked the vollies and headed towards the trail. He was alive! A little further on, he told me he'd re-assess at the next aid station. Well that, I told him, was Boneo Road - about 11km from here and 5km from the finish. And there was no way he was pulling out with 5km to go.

So we walked, rested and even ran a little. We discussed nerdy topics like escalator throughput and cricket prediction algorithms. We were slowly ticking off the kilometres, but I don't remember obsessing over it - we both knew we wouldn't be recording an official time today. It was just about finishing.

Evidence that we did run a little

(Photo credit: Phil Larkins. [How good is it!?])

And then, we arrived at the Boneo Road aid station. Or, "paradise", as I like to think of it. A young lad poured some ice down the back of my singlet. One girl poured some iced water over my head, whilst another was jumping up and down, dancing, singing and chanting encouragement. "How do they keep this up?", I thought, gratefully. In fact, these kids seemed to defy the law of conservation of energy - they lost none, yet transferred enormous amounts of it to the runners.** From out of nowhere, a Zooper Dooper was thrust into my hands by some benevolent apparition.

Chris was receiving the same treatment as me and I paused to reflect on the exceptional commitment every volunteer made today to make this run as easy as possible. I mentioned later to Chris how in awe I was of them and he agreed that they once again delivered in spectacular fashion. They deserve all the thanks they get, and more.

The finish line was 5.3km away and we set off to find it. With somewhere between 1-2km to go, 8 hours ticked by. I didn't even notice. We were going to finish and that's all that mattered.

About 500m (?) before the finish line, we were greeted by our personal supporter base - Les, Cheryl, Shawn and Jonathan, who represented the Dandenongs Trail Runners with pride that day. As they accompanied us to the finish line, I joked to myself that it would suck to be DQ'd for employing pacers, but something told me we'd be ok. Just before the eyes of the Two Bays world at the finish line could settle on us, Chris and I broke into a devastating sprint finish to the line and crossed it together arm-in-arm.

Together again. One team.
(From L:R, Jonathan, me, Shawn, Les, Cheryl, Chris)

I'm not sure how many people ended with a DNF against their name that day, but I'm tipping it was much higher than usual. That Chris wasn't one of them is a testament to his determination and strength. Aside from that, he's also a bloody good person.

There's really not that much more to say, so I think I'll leave it there. Chris has already summed up his day here, with far more economy, wit and style than me.

On a final note, an alternative title for this post was "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." That just about sums up my 2016 Two Bays Trail Run.

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* We had started with another friend, also named Chris (the guy in the photo with me at the start line, in the LTR top). At around 13km he was looking good and forged ahead with a mate of his. In a perfect ending, Chris ended up crossing the line in 6:59:38, a mere 21 seconds up his sleeve in his quest for a sub-7 hour finish.

** Ok, that's two physics-related examples I've used, which is very dangerous considering I am not a physicist. There's little doubt I've misused these examples, but please don't feel the need to point out any errors in the comments.

Movescount file: http://www.movescount.com/moves/move89921979

Roller Coaster Run 2015 race report

"Nick, you're aware this is a race, right? Do you want me to go up there and bring you back a pastry or something?"

"Yeah, that would be lovely... Oh alright Rohan, I guess I should get moving."

And so I set off on my second loop of the course, feeling good but not really knowing what was going to be in store for me.

Wait, let me back up a little bit.

The Roller Coaster Run is the brainchild of Michael Clarke and Rohan Day, the same organisers of one of Australia's biggest (by number of competitors) trail runs - the Two Bays Trail Run. Held in the Dandenong Ranges to the east of Melbourne, it comprises a 22km loop which can either be traversed once or twice, with the second loop in reverse for the first time this year.

Oh, and there's about 1,000m of elevation gain per loop.

All quiet at the start/finish area before dawn

(Photo credit: Erwin Jansen, dandyrunner.com)

I signed up for the two loop 'ultra', figuring it would be a good lead up race three weeks out from the 75km Buffalo Stampede Ultra SkyMarathon. This was not only due to the suitable course, but the also the brilliant atmosphere that makes Rohan Day's events so special. I had run the one loop and two loop races before and volunteered last year, so this was the fourth consecutive year I was fronting up to Mt. Dandenong.

Of course, being a member of the Dandenongs Trail Runners, I had also run these trails on countless occasions, so I knew exactly what I was in for. Hills, and lots of 'em.

After catching up with my fellow DTRs before the race, and kind of interrupting the pre-race briefing to take a group photo (sorry Clarkey, it wasn't my decision!), I'd set off at an easy pace, with a goal of a 3hr first loop and a negative split.

DTR on home turf

(Photo credit: Cameron Baillie)

'Easy' in this context meant walking any of the serious hills and cruising the flats and downhills. I was joined by DTR member Peter Southton, who was hoping to complete the first loop in around 2:45-3:00 and then do whatever it took to get to the line.

 Peter and I on the first loop, on Kyeema Track (top, around 2km) and Bradley Track (bottom, around 8km)

(Photo credits: Erwin Jansen, dandyrunner.com)

I really enjoyed having Peter as company and we both had some good banter with other runners, several of whom were commenting on my use of running/hiking sticks on the steeper climbs and descents. I've been using them for a couple of months now, practising for Buffalo where I hope they will really come in handy.

Practising with the sticks up Dodds Track (6km)

(Photo credit: Cameron Baillie)

I had some time checks written down, but it soon became apparent that despite taking it easy, we were going to get to the half way point much faster than three hours. A five minute advantage at the bottom of the punishing Dodds Track climb (5.3km) became a 10 minute advantage at the bottom of the steep Ridge Track (11km) descent, which became a 15 minute advantage at the base of Link Track (17km), which marks the start of the last 5km uphill grind to the line. But there was no apparent reason to slow down, so we kept the same pace until we'd reached the half way point in 2:41. 

It was after having my second cup of Coke and just generally taking it easy, that Rohan reminded me that I wasn't out there for a Saturday stroll. So, Peter and I got going again.

Right from the start of the second loop, I knew I was having a good day. I flew down the steep descent at the start of the loop, enjoying my new-found confidence on the downhills. There was one very slippery descent on Trig Track to go until we got to the Kalorama aid station and the sticks were definitely my friend there, helping to stabilise me as I scythed my way through the poor souls dragging themselves up it, two steps forward, slipping half a step back. I hung back a bit at the bottom and waited for Peter and we both started passing people on the way down the mountain.

Approaching Kalorama aid station (24km) on the second loop

(Photo credit: Cameron Baillie)

[I'd just like to pause here and thank DTR member Cameron Baillie, for giving up his Saturday morning to come out and give us his support and take many great photos, some of which I've posted here.] 

At the base of Link Track (~27km), Peter told me to push on if I wanted to. I thanked him for his company and said I was feeling good so would forge on and see him at the finish line. There began two hours of trail running which I will never forget. 

My strategy to go out easy was starting to pay dividends. As each kilometre went by, I seemed to pass a couple of people who were beginning to find the going pretty tough. I was managing sub- 5min/km on the flatter parts of the course (yes, there are some!) and even when I was walking up the harder hills, I was doing it much quicker than the other people out on course. I get an enormous psychological benefit if I'm the one doing the passing, rather than being passed, in the second half of an ultra, so I was really pleased with how I was going.  

As I hit the southern most part of the course and approached the climb up Ridge Track, a volunteer told me I was looking fresh. This was close to four hours after I started and hearing that made me feel even better. I passed another person going up the steep pinch up Ridge Track, three more on the undulating Banksia, two more on the short Bradley uphill, five more up the School Track grind. As I was descending Range Rd, trail running good-guy Jon Lim (volunteering on the day) said to me "You look like you just started running!"

I have never felt that good so far into a run. Me and my sticks garnered some more comments on the technical descent on Dodds Track, but this time, they were asking me to hand them over! From the base of Dodds Track, the next 3km is a climb up Channel 10 and Zig Zag tracks. It was on Channel 10 that I caught DTR-founder and running legend Peter Mitchell. Peter had dried blood and dirt caked onto his leg from a nasty fall at the 7km mark and after he shared a few encouraging words with me (as always), I decided that the lure of a negative split was too much, so I pressed on towards Zig Zag.

Life's good just before hitting Channel 10 Track (39km)

(Photo credit: Erwin Jansen, dandyrunner.com)

I wasn't looking forward to Zig Zag (860m at 17% average gradient), but it was much easier than I thought it would be, passing another 5 people and getting the (by now) common "you make it look easy with those sticks" comment. At the bottom of the final pinch to Sky High I found Rohan, Clarkey and Tony Langelaan (a better runner than I'll ever be, who always volunteers at this event). I turned the corner and started running up the hill and got a "He's still running!" from Rohan. When I shouted out that a negative split was on, I got a cheer, followed by a quick "That means you didn't work hard enough on the first loop!" from Mr. Race Director.

On my way up, I passed the last of the one loop runners, who I recognised from earlier in the race on Edgar track. I gave her a quick word of encouragement and pushed on towards the line, crossing in 5:06, for a 15 minute negative split. I'd passed 46 people on the second lap without being passed once, which after my disastrous pacing effort at Two Bays was just what I needed before Buffalo. The next hour or so was spent catching up with family and friends, and seeing my first lap running partner Peter cross the line in sub- 6 hours - this from a man who told me he just wanted to beat the 7 hour cut-off. DTR members had again covered themselves in glory, with victories, podiums, PBs and other assorted triumphs.

 The finish line in all its glory

(Photo credit: Erwin Jansen, dandyrunner.com)

And so it was over for another year. This event has really grown on me and the addition of the reversed second loop has just added to its appeal. Of course, when you've got organisers like Rohan Day, Michael Clarke and Kate Ablett, backed up by the best volunteers in the business (and they were sensational, as ever), it's always going to be a special day. On a running front, I've done everything I can to get me prepared for the Buffalo Stampede. Let's hope it's enough.

Suunto Movescount file: http://www.movescount.com/moves/move56565424

Post script: having re-read my piece, I've realised I could be accused of giving myself a smug pat on the back. In response, I would say: (1) this is one of the few races that went even better than I'd planned, so yeah, I'm pretty happy, (2) there were still 38 people who finished faster than me, so I have no delusions about my ability and (3) it's more than likely that Buffalo will knock me down a peg or two! 

Two Bays 2015: A Lexical Odyssey

This weekend I lined up in my favourite race on the calendar: the Two Bays Trail Run. I had registered for my second attempt at the ultra distance - a 56km run from Cape Schanck to Dromana and back, situated on Victoria's Mornington Peninsula. What follows are some cobbled-together thoughts of how it went.

Aid stations. In fact, all volunteers, be they manning aid stations, offering directions, or helping at the start/finish areas. The vibe at the aid stations and the enthusiasm shown by the volunteers are key factors in what makes this event so special. A special thank you to fellow Dandenongs Trail Runner Les Corson, for his help at the 50km aid station.

Boardies. You don't often associate board shorts, Hawaiian shirts and floral leis with running. But in this race, those things get you a priority start! My $10 'race boardies' from Kmart worked a treat.

Cramp. Last year, I cramped 700m before the finish line, both quads seizing up completely and losing me several minutes. This year, some calf tightness in the last couple of kms seemed to be the worst of it, until, 200m from the finish line, PING! Thankfully it only cost me a few seconds (and one place) this time. I do wonder, though, whether it's now a mental thing, rather than a physical one...

Dandenongs Trail Runners. The DTR crew were out in force this weekend, across both the 28km and 56km distances. I won't single out particular individuals, because that would do an injustice to the ones I didn't mention, who all (I'm sure) achieved goals, overcame difficulties, pushed through pain, etc. I'm privileged to be part of that group.

Emotions. Ultra running really does bring them all out. Elation ("I'm flying!"), Despair ("I'm wasted"). Optimism ("Bring on the hills!"), Pessimism ("I can't get up this"). Camaraderie ("You're doing great, keep it up!"), Competitiveness ("I'll pass you back, you swine!"). What a great sport.

Facebook. Rohan Day (race director) was probably the first RD in the trail/ultra running community to recognise the importance of social media. The Facebook community surrounding his runs is phenomenal and is another major factor in the popularity of this event.

Greens Bush. This was the section of the course that was my salvation (see Q and R for more info on that). Once I hit Greens Bush at about the 40km mark, everything started to work again and I started to enjoy myself. Finally passing some other runners did wonders for my confidence, too.

Feeling good (finally) in Greens Bush

Hills. I thought this is where I would have my edge over most of the middle of the pack runners. Instead, after going out too hard, both of my ascents of Arthurs Seat were actually slower than last year. Even some of the more gentle hills on the return leg were slowing me to a walk. Oh well, there's only one way to get better at running hills, they say... Better get myself back to the Dandenongs.

Injuries. Unfortunately, many of my fellow DTRs were sidelined due to injury. That several of them turned up to cheer on those of us who were running is a testament to the group's esprit de corps.

Jump. This photo of DTR regular and all-round good guy Luke Johnston was too good not to include. Thanks to Luke for letting me include this!

Might as well... Jump!

KPI. My main 'Key Performance Indicator' for the last few ultras has been to improve my position in the second half of the race. At the half way point of this race, I was pretty sure I'd fail on that front. But I actually managed to make up 15 places between Dromana and Cape Schanck. There you go.

Laughter. Yes, there was even laughter. When I dragged myself up a pinch towards the end of Greens Bush (~48km-ish?) to be confronted by a photographer, I mustered enough energy to blurt out "I'm not running for you!". The picture captures the moment pretty well.

I run for no one

Medal. If there's a better race medallion out there, I want to see it.

The Two Bays medal - just perfect for a post-race beverage (Photo credit: David Adams) 

Next year? As much as this is my favourite race, and the one that first exposed me to the joys of trail running, it happens to coincide with the time-honoured Bogong to Hotham ultra. Chances are next year I'll miss Two Bays for the first time in five years and test my strength in the Victorian Alps, but we'll see.

Organisation. I've written about the volunteers and Facebook, but really, the success of this event is down to Rohan Day, Kate (Mama Two Bays) Ablett and Michael (Clarkey) Clarke. They leave no stone unturned, no 't' not crossed, no 'i' not dotted. They listen to their participants, they innovate, they build not just an event, but a community. And they deserve all the plaudits they receive.

Personal best. With a finishing time of 5:48, I knocked 20 minutes off last year's time and went sub- 6 hours in the process. It's a good thing I didn't...

...Quit. Yep, at the halfway point, I came pretty close to unpinning my race number and throwing in the towel. I'd gone out too hard and paid for it on the ascent/descent of Arthurs Seat and here I was, having to face that hill again, straight away, with another 20km+ to go after (if) I managed that. A big factor in my continuing was seeing DTR legend Vanessa Bolton at the turn around point (Vanessa was sweeping the course). Vanessa's exceptional performance at the Alpine Challenge miler in December 2014, where she was out on course for 40hrs+ gave me the inspiration I needed to tackle another measly 28km. Thankyou Vanessa!

Race plan. So, what got me in that situation in the first place? Well, after some confidence building training runs, I decided a week before the race that that's how I'd treat it - as a race. This is instead of a training run for Buffalo, which had been the plan all along. So I went out strong, and by the time I hit the Browns Road aid station (18km), I was 15 minutes up on my time from last year. Just 3km later at McLarens Dam, with the first major climb staring me in the face, I knew I had erred. From there until the 40km mark, I struggled mentally and physically. I was spent, I was frustrated, I was being overtaken. But then, well, see 'G', 'K' and 'P', above for the rest.

Stairs. There's nothing like being faced with stairs the day after an ultra. I might have climbed Arthurs Seat twice during the run, but being confronted with one flight of internal stairs at the office the next day is enough to make one's legs tremble.

Tailwind. I had again used Tailwind Nutrition (mixed with water) as my fuel source, after a successful outing at the Marysville 50. The 2.5 litres I mixed up lasted me pretty much until the 50km aid station, when my bottles ran dry (thanks for the refill, Les!) and I had my first gel in months. I'd forgotten how bad they tasted. For anyone who wants a carb-based fuel for long runs, I'd recommend giving Tailwind a try. I'll even give you some of mine.

Undulating. The word 'undulating' takes on a whole new meaning in the last 16km of this race. It sounds so forgiving on the Two Bays website: "The middle of the track passes through mostly undulating Track through national park and forest." And yeah, I remember it being pretty nice during the two 28km runs I completed in 2012 and 2013. But in the 56km, those 'undulations' play with your mind and suddenly, you're thinking the profile of this section must look something like this:

What Greens Bush to Cape Schanck looks like to an ultra participant

Views. One of the (few) good things about my miserable 20-40km section was my attitude that it was ok to stop and take in the scenery. It really is a gorgeous course, with beautiful views. This isn't the best of them, but hey, it's the only one that got caught on camera.

Striding out strong, early in the race

Weather. If you listened to various reports in the week leading up to the race, Victoria was going to be swamped by a biblical-scale weather event. Well, come the morning of the race, it was a relatively benign 18 degrees, albeit with a rather high degree of humidity. Towards the end of the race it got pretty warm, but only 24 degrees or so, which you can't complain about in the middle of summer. I did feel for the guy I passed at the 54km mark who was wearing full length Skins...

EXcel. (What do you want? It's 'X' for crying out loud.) Those who know me well are aware of my penchant for spreadsheets and analysing data. So it is perhaps unsurprising that I've dumped my data from the 2014 and 2015 Two Bays runs into Excel and produced a couple of charts. The first shows how many seconds faster (below the x-axis) or slower (above the x-axis) I was in each km this year, compared to 2014. See what I mean about going out too hard and paying for it on Arthurs Seat? The second one shows why this happened, and indicates the dangers of running to a particular pace and not thinking to check your heart rate.

Yo-yo. What my race resembled. This is the first time this has happened to me in a long distance event. I've usually felt good the whole way, or started bad and ended well, or started well and ended badly. I've never actually had a race where I went through a really bad patch and come out on the other side feeling good. And on reflection, I'm quite glad it turned out that way, because I'm sure those demons will surface at some point during the Buffalo Stampede.

Zeno's paradox. The ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea argued that motion was an illusion, made impossible by the fact that, in order to move one unit of length, you first had to move half a unit of that length. But before moving half a unit, you had to move a quarter of the unit, and before that, an eighth of a unit, and so on ad infinitum. What the hell does this have to do with long distance running? Well, the next time someone, a non-runner, hears about your exploits and says "I don't know how you can run that far!", think about what Zeno might have said. "Well", you might say, "First, I tried running half that distance. And before that, I tried running a quarter of that distance, and before that...". Who knows, maybe you'll be the inspiration that has someone toeing the line at Dromana or Cape Schanck a few years from now.

*All race photos by Supersport Images.