Bruny Island Ultra Marathon 2014
I
used to sleep better on Christmas Eve. In truth, an insomniac living next door
to an all-night rave had a better chance of a good night's sleep than me. I lay
awake for most of the night with troubling thoughts going through my head- like
I assume Will Hodgeman would, if he had a conscience. Would my ankles hold out?
Had my calf injury healed properly? Just how hard was the run going to be? Why
do people watch Big Brother and what was in the suitcase in Pulp Fiction? All
of these questions and others were circling quickly around in my head. I was
also pretty excited. This was going to be one of the biggest physical
challenges I had faced in my life, so it was hard to be too laisez faire about
things.
By 4:45 I gave up on sleeping and got up. I began grazing and walking around the house (autocorrect gave me the option of changing house to horses- wonder why) for the next hour or so, as I made sure everything was ready. I was still nervous. Actually nervous is underselling it a bit- the third little pig could have built a house with the materials I was depositing in my pants (do people still remember the phrase ‘shi##ing bricks’?) The more I looked at the course, the less doable it looked (the opposite of my wife) and I was by no means certain I could complete it. At the same time I was buzzing with excitement as we got into the car- you don’t get to challenge yourself like this very often.
The drive from Alonnah to Dennes point took about an hour. As the race has a staggered start, some runners were already on the road so we drove slowly. The starting point for the race was a charming little bay at the base of a long hill.
I took a quick detour to the toilets to get down to my race weight, made a quick video dedication, then I was ready to go.
It was wet and drizzly at the start line. I was informed the next group to start would leave in five minutes, so decided take the chance to tighten up my shoes a little. I was only half way through when the guy said, "30 seconds," so maybe I need a bit of work on tying shoelaces. There were three other people starting with me. Two people who were running in larger teams, plus my mate, GoGo Gavin, who was having a crack at the whole thing. We all started our own way, with one dude racing off ahead of us, and another runner taking a slower speed behind us, GoGo Gavin and I set off at an easy speed, knowing we had a lot of running ahead of us. As you might expect, the course took us immediately away from the calm waters of the bay, making its way uphill for nearly the next two kilometres. The bloke running ahead of us might have gone out a bit hard, as he slowed quickly and we soon overtook him.
We were lucky to have the Cookie Monster as our support driver. He had driven off in his soccer-mum car and was waiting at the six kilometre mark where he could get coffee. We jogged and chatted comfortably, resisting the urge to run faster. It was quiet, running along the winding dirt road through the bush. Occasionally a support vehicle for another team would drive past and then stop to wait for their runners, so we got used to the horns, whistles and cheers that broke up the quiet at 2km intervals.
The Cookie Monster was ready for us as we reached 6km, standing at the edge of the road holding out a drink bottle and some bananas. When I had envisaged these checkpoints earlier, we grabbed everything he had gracefully, without breaking stride. In reality it looked much more clumsy and awkward, but the general effect was achieved, nonetheless.
After about the first ten kilometres on dirt road, we hit sealed road that felt as smooth as my friend Sarah’s wing-chick strategies. It was also wider and straighter than we were used to. It was at this point that a strong-looking woman (wanted to use the term 'fit' but it seems that word has been corrupted by misogynist jerks) powered past us as if we were walking.
The regular stopping points for cars continued to tick by. Each time, we were greeted with some words of encouragement and claps. It wouldn't be Tasmania without seeing someone you know, but most of them were strangers who cheered you on with genuine enthusiasm. There was such a positive feeling around the event, with everyone smiling, laughing and talking happily. It was as if, just for a day, we had all forgotten that Tony Abbott was Prime Minister.
Beyond another hill, we met the Cookie Monster again, waiting at the 14k mark. Our efforts to collect everything in his hands whilst still running were no less graceful the second time but there were no points awarded for style anyway.
The road continued to get flatter, as it paralleled the scenic beauty of Great Bay on our right, teasing us with snatches of the full view before the surrounding countryside closed in again. The drizzle began to lift and the sun began to shimmer through the receding mists, which lifted our spirits further. The Cookie Monster was waiting again at the 20k mark, having retrieved more sustenance from the endless stores of the soccer-mum car.
The middle section of the run was nearly as flat as my wife's midriff (and as we hit the end of the sealed road it was even bumpy like her abs) and almost as pleasant to experience (actually not nearly as pleasant, but few things are- I’m going to get in trouble for that). The sea crowded in on both sides as we crossed the neck. To our right were the calm waters of protected bays, while on our left came the pounding roar of the surf straight from the Tasman Sea. The contrast reminded me of the Marriage Equality debate, with the calm, reasoned approach of those in favour and the booming hysterical approach of those against.
The neck was quite a long section (insert giraffe joke here) and we began to slow down as we got further through it. GoGo Gavin in particular was starting to tighten up through the quads. In fairness, the furthest he had run previously was 20k and we were already well past that point. We were hardly in a rush so we took it slow and enjoyed the scenery. We met the Cookie Monster again at the 32k mark, once we had returned to sealed road and the neck was behind us. As well as being the half way mark, this point also marked the end of flat sections of the run, with the first long hill leading into Alonnah looming above and beyond.
Despite being obvious from a long distance, the hill still hit with the same kind of shock the $7 GP co-payments proposal caused. A number of runners had to stop and walk (from an existential perspective, I'm not sure if that sentence is contradictory- are you still a runner when you cease to run? Not sure what Descartes would have said about this). GoGo Gavin started to fall behind quicker than children who aren't read to before school (seriously people- read to your children, the statistics are very clear). I experimented with dropping back to his speed, but he was down to almost a shuffle. With the second half of the race still to run it was too early for me to turn into Red Foo (every K I'm shufflin') so I reluctantly ran ahead.
The run through Alonnah was a change. The flat roads were replaced by an undulating, winding course through the homes and buildings of the scenic farming community. It kind of reminded me of running through The Shire (the movie one with Hobbits not the TV one with bogans), with rolling agricultural landscapes to either side and friendly faces watching on and calling encouragement.
The Cookie Monster was waiting again at the 38k mark. Appropriately he had cookies and another bottle of water for me as I passed. He then waited for GoGo Gavin before driving ahead to catch me around the 44k mark. I was glad to see him by now and took the time to change into a clean shirt and reapply sunscreen. I had been feeling pretty optimistic about this ultramarathon caper through the middle stages of the run, but was starting to lose some of this cheerfulness from this point in. The hills were becoming steeper and fatigue was starting to set into my legs. Having run a little further than a marathon and realising I still had 20k to go was a bit deflating- kind of like turning on the TV to watch a program at 8:30 only to find out some crap program like The Block or MKR is running 15 minutes late and having to watch that instead- actually that is still probably worse.
By 4:45 I gave up on sleeping and got up. I began grazing and walking around the house (autocorrect gave me the option of changing house to horses- wonder why) for the next hour or so, as I made sure everything was ready. I was still nervous. Actually nervous is underselling it a bit- the third little pig could have built a house with the materials I was depositing in my pants (do people still remember the phrase ‘shi##ing bricks’?) The more I looked at the course, the less doable it looked (the opposite of my wife) and I was by no means certain I could complete it. At the same time I was buzzing with excitement as we got into the car- you don’t get to challenge yourself like this very often.
The drive from Alonnah to Dennes point took about an hour. As the race has a staggered start, some runners were already on the road so we drove slowly. The starting point for the race was a charming little bay at the base of a long hill.
I took a quick detour to the toilets to get down to my race weight, made a quick video dedication, then I was ready to go.
It was wet and drizzly at the start line. I was informed the next group to start would leave in five minutes, so decided take the chance to tighten up my shoes a little. I was only half way through when the guy said, "30 seconds," so maybe I need a bit of work on tying shoelaces. There were three other people starting with me. Two people who were running in larger teams, plus my mate, GoGo Gavin, who was having a crack at the whole thing. We all started our own way, with one dude racing off ahead of us, and another runner taking a slower speed behind us, GoGo Gavin and I set off at an easy speed, knowing we had a lot of running ahead of us. As you might expect, the course took us immediately away from the calm waters of the bay, making its way uphill for nearly the next two kilometres. The bloke running ahead of us might have gone out a bit hard, as he slowed quickly and we soon overtook him.
We were lucky to have the Cookie Monster as our support driver. He had driven off in his soccer-mum car and was waiting at the six kilometre mark where he could get coffee. We jogged and chatted comfortably, resisting the urge to run faster. It was quiet, running along the winding dirt road through the bush. Occasionally a support vehicle for another team would drive past and then stop to wait for their runners, so we got used to the horns, whistles and cheers that broke up the quiet at 2km intervals.
The Cookie Monster was ready for us as we reached 6km, standing at the edge of the road holding out a drink bottle and some bananas. When I had envisaged these checkpoints earlier, we grabbed everything he had gracefully, without breaking stride. In reality it looked much more clumsy and awkward, but the general effect was achieved, nonetheless.
After about the first ten kilometres on dirt road, we hit sealed road that felt as smooth as my friend Sarah’s wing-chick strategies. It was also wider and straighter than we were used to. It was at this point that a strong-looking woman (wanted to use the term 'fit' but it seems that word has been corrupted by misogynist jerks) powered past us as if we were walking.
The regular stopping points for cars continued to tick by. Each time, we were greeted with some words of encouragement and claps. It wouldn't be Tasmania without seeing someone you know, but most of them were strangers who cheered you on with genuine enthusiasm. There was such a positive feeling around the event, with everyone smiling, laughing and talking happily. It was as if, just for a day, we had all forgotten that Tony Abbott was Prime Minister.
Beyond another hill, we met the Cookie Monster again, waiting at the 14k mark. Our efforts to collect everything in his hands whilst still running were no less graceful the second time but there were no points awarded for style anyway.
The road continued to get flatter, as it paralleled the scenic beauty of Great Bay on our right, teasing us with snatches of the full view before the surrounding countryside closed in again. The drizzle began to lift and the sun began to shimmer through the receding mists, which lifted our spirits further. The Cookie Monster was waiting again at the 20k mark, having retrieved more sustenance from the endless stores of the soccer-mum car.
The middle section of the run was nearly as flat as my wife's midriff (and as we hit the end of the sealed road it was even bumpy like her abs) and almost as pleasant to experience (actually not nearly as pleasant, but few things are- I’m going to get in trouble for that). The sea crowded in on both sides as we crossed the neck. To our right were the calm waters of protected bays, while on our left came the pounding roar of the surf straight from the Tasman Sea. The contrast reminded me of the Marriage Equality debate, with the calm, reasoned approach of those in favour and the booming hysterical approach of those against.
The neck was quite a long section (insert giraffe joke here) and we began to slow down as we got further through it. GoGo Gavin in particular was starting to tighten up through the quads. In fairness, the furthest he had run previously was 20k and we were already well past that point. We were hardly in a rush so we took it slow and enjoyed the scenery. We met the Cookie Monster again at the 32k mark, once we had returned to sealed road and the neck was behind us. As well as being the half way mark, this point also marked the end of flat sections of the run, with the first long hill leading into Alonnah looming above and beyond.
Despite being obvious from a long distance, the hill still hit with the same kind of shock the $7 GP co-payments proposal caused. A number of runners had to stop and walk (from an existential perspective, I'm not sure if that sentence is contradictory- are you still a runner when you cease to run? Not sure what Descartes would have said about this). GoGo Gavin started to fall behind quicker than children who aren't read to before school (seriously people- read to your children, the statistics are very clear). I experimented with dropping back to his speed, but he was down to almost a shuffle. With the second half of the race still to run it was too early for me to turn into Red Foo (every K I'm shufflin') so I reluctantly ran ahead.
The run through Alonnah was a change. The flat roads were replaced by an undulating, winding course through the homes and buildings of the scenic farming community. It kind of reminded me of running through The Shire (the movie one with Hobbits not the TV one with bogans), with rolling agricultural landscapes to either side and friendly faces watching on and calling encouragement.
The Cookie Monster was waiting again at the 38k mark. Appropriately he had cookies and another bottle of water for me as I passed. He then waited for GoGo Gavin before driving ahead to catch me around the 44k mark. I was glad to see him by now and took the time to change into a clean shirt and reapply sunscreen. I had been feeling pretty optimistic about this ultramarathon caper through the middle stages of the run, but was starting to lose some of this cheerfulness from this point in. The hills were becoming steeper and fatigue was starting to set into my legs. Having run a little further than a marathon and realising I still had 20k to go was a bit deflating- kind of like turning on the TV to watch a program at 8:30 only to find out some crap program like The Block or MKR is running 15 minutes late and having to watch that instead- actually that is still probably worse.
Everything after the 50k mark was really hard. The last section of the run was incredibly hilly, with the road rising more sharply than insurance premiums. As I battled my way to the top of each hill I would encourage myself that I was nearly at the top and that going down would make up for it. Unfortunately going down is not always better, as you have to use your tired muscles to stabilise and control your motion. This is surprisingly hard and painful when your quads are badly fatigued and especially when the hill drops like Tony Abbott's approval rating.
Between the existing fatigue and the new challenge of the hills, my quads and calves were struggling badly. Lifting them caused a sensation like having a spike driven into the top of the leg (for those of you into new-age voodoo such as acupuncture, that is not the type of spike I was referring to- think the sort of spikes you see in vampire movies and not the trashy new ones like Twilight). Each step was a rolling transition of pain from calf to quad, via a few other spots I didn’t realise you could even hurt.
With the constant striking against the hard road, my feet weren’t doing much better either. Not only were they swelling like a pregnant lady’s, they were also hotter than my friend Erica’'s Oktoberfest outfit (seriously people, male or female, if you know Erica, ask to see her in her costume- you’ll thank me later), so I was desperately looking forward to getting my shoes off and cooling my feet.
One of the worst hills was at around 56k, although I have to admit that by this point in journey my grasp of numbers and statistics was about as accurate as Peter Gutwein’s (although at least I genuinely don’t remember mine instead of what I suspect our treasurer does), but it was somewhere around there. Looking up from the bottom it just seemed to go on and on, like the cricket world cup although obviously not that boring. Somehow I made my way to the top of it still running, although I was overtaken by a 12-year-old doing so.
I saw the Cookie Monster again at the 58k mark. By now I could barely stomach more food, so just took another bottle of water. He gave me the amazing news that GoGo Gavin was still running/shuffling and that a team of our friends that had started after us was now looking after him, as we were too far apart. I’d like to think I could have drawn some inspiration from GoGo’s strength, but I was deep in the hurt locker by now and nothing was really making it feel much better. My main inspiration was a man who never gave up and I reminded myself through the pain that I had actually wanted this to be difficult- maybe not quite this difficult though- as it wouldn’t have been much of tribute if it was easy.
About 3k from the end, I turned a corner and could suddenly see the rest of the course stretching away from me. It would have made for a beautiful panorama if it wasn’t so daunting. The sight of the hill leading up to the lighthouse was as confronting as a breakfast interview with Karl Stefanovic (if that doesn’t sound tough, just ask our PM how hard they are) but I managed to keep myself going.
Suddenly there were cars and people everywhere for the last kilometre. It would have made forward progress difficult, but everyone was very aware of the level of discomfort solo runners were dealing with at this point and were quick to get out of my way. The final 300m climb followed a narrow walkway to the top of a hill and ended at the door to the lighthouse. There were many people walking up and down so the path was more crowded than a table at the Taste of Tasmania. In another of those moments that reminded me of the better side of human nature (not the band- notice the lack of capitals), everyone stepped to either side and formed a corridor for me, giving cheers, claps, high fives and pats on the back (no pats on the bum though so clearly no footballers or cricketers there, although this should also probably have been obvious from the respect and consideration being shown).
Holding back tears I ran to the top and over to touch the lighthouse. The run had left me physically and emotionally drained. I was struggling to breathe and was quite bruised in places (like Michael Hutchence post coitus). I had dedicated the run to my friend James, his incredible spirit and his ongoing legacy, but I had not realised just how strongly this would hit me when I finished. While Tony Abbott’s dedication of repealing the Carbon Tax to the women of Australia showed not all dedications have to be meaningful, my dedication had been different. After a few more moments I could hold back the tears for no longer. I staggered away towards the cliff where I was surrounded by an incredible panoramic view and let the emotions roll through me and cried to the blue ocean like a recently-single woman watching a Jennifer Anniston movie (or any guy that has to watch a Jennifer Aniston Movie does internally). The pride in accomplishing a difficult goal I had set for myself added to my emotional state and for a few minutes my composure was harder to find than Christopher Skase.
The Cookie Monster found me soon after and immediately supplied me with a jacket and a beer. We stayed beneath the lighthouse for a while, enjoying the scenery and watching people’s excitement as they finished. I tried to do some stretching, but my muscles were tighter than the Foreign Aid budget.
A short time later, the very earth itself seemed to shake as the mighty men of the 12th/40th Royal Tasmania Regiment approached the lighthouse (this could also have been the effect of six hours of dehydration and fatigue, but that seems less likely and certainly makes a worse story). ‘Sorry Miss’ Jackson powered to the top of the path and looked around for Dobby Hine. The two of them joined hands in a masculine way and sauntered towards the lighthouse. They then stopped and had a bit of a, “No you can finish holding the baton,” conversation before finishing the race, which showed just what nice boys they really were.
After chatting with the lads for a while, we made our way down the hill towards the cars. Still hampered by cramped muscles I was about as well-balanced as the Mercury’s reporting of the news, so I quickly dropped behind. At the bottom of the hill we met up with the third member of the army team, Team Commander Tom, who had parked the car. A little while later, The Big Doig (who was the final team member) jogged into view alongside no one else but GoGo Gavin! The team had caught up with him a little earlier and had detailed a runner and a car to stay with him as he made his way, painfully to the end. Even having heard he was coming, I still couldn’t quite believe my eyes when I saw him. Having started shuffling more than 30km earlier when his legs tightened up, I had assumed somewhere in the next four hours he would move to Red Foo’s more recent offering (described by some, quite fairly too, as possibly the worst song of all time) and say “Literally, I can’t,” but somehow he had just kept going.
I spoke with GoGo later and like me he was filled with an enormous sense of accomplishment, pride and emotion. At the same time we were also very humbled and grateful for the support we had received. Between the Cookie Monster driving our support vehicle, The Big Doig sorting us out with accommodation in Alonnah, the army boys leaving one of their team to finish the run with GoGo and the messages of support people sent us, you could say we received more leg-ups than Forestry Tasmania (although sadly not as much taxpayer money). We both agreed we would not have completed the run without the help and it was good to know that people were so ready to give it.
Between the existing fatigue and the new challenge of the hills, my quads and calves were struggling badly. Lifting them caused a sensation like having a spike driven into the top of the leg (for those of you into new-age voodoo such as acupuncture, that is not the type of spike I was referring to- think the sort of spikes you see in vampire movies and not the trashy new ones like Twilight). Each step was a rolling transition of pain from calf to quad, via a few other spots I didn’t realise you could even hurt.
With the constant striking against the hard road, my feet weren’t doing much better either. Not only were they swelling like a pregnant lady’s, they were also hotter than my friend Erica’'s Oktoberfest outfit (seriously people, male or female, if you know Erica, ask to see her in her costume- you’ll thank me later), so I was desperately looking forward to getting my shoes off and cooling my feet.
One of the worst hills was at around 56k, although I have to admit that by this point in journey my grasp of numbers and statistics was about as accurate as Peter Gutwein’s (although at least I genuinely don’t remember mine instead of what I suspect our treasurer does), but it was somewhere around there. Looking up from the bottom it just seemed to go on and on, like the cricket world cup although obviously not that boring. Somehow I made my way to the top of it still running, although I was overtaken by a 12-year-old doing so.
I saw the Cookie Monster again at the 58k mark. By now I could barely stomach more food, so just took another bottle of water. He gave me the amazing news that GoGo Gavin was still running/shuffling and that a team of our friends that had started after us was now looking after him, as we were too far apart. I’d like to think I could have drawn some inspiration from GoGo’s strength, but I was deep in the hurt locker by now and nothing was really making it feel much better. My main inspiration was a man who never gave up and I reminded myself through the pain that I had actually wanted this to be difficult- maybe not quite this difficult though- as it wouldn’t have been much of tribute if it was easy.
About 3k from the end, I turned a corner and could suddenly see the rest of the course stretching away from me. It would have made for a beautiful panorama if it wasn’t so daunting. The sight of the hill leading up to the lighthouse was as confronting as a breakfast interview with Karl Stefanovic (if that doesn’t sound tough, just ask our PM how hard they are) but I managed to keep myself going.
Suddenly there were cars and people everywhere for the last kilometre. It would have made forward progress difficult, but everyone was very aware of the level of discomfort solo runners were dealing with at this point and were quick to get out of my way. The final 300m climb followed a narrow walkway to the top of a hill and ended at the door to the lighthouse. There were many people walking up and down so the path was more crowded than a table at the Taste of Tasmania. In another of those moments that reminded me of the better side of human nature (not the band- notice the lack of capitals), everyone stepped to either side and formed a corridor for me, giving cheers, claps, high fives and pats on the back (no pats on the bum though so clearly no footballers or cricketers there, although this should also probably have been obvious from the respect and consideration being shown).
Holding back tears I ran to the top and over to touch the lighthouse. The run had left me physically and emotionally drained. I was struggling to breathe and was quite bruised in places (like Michael Hutchence post coitus). I had dedicated the run to my friend James, his incredible spirit and his ongoing legacy, but I had not realised just how strongly this would hit me when I finished. While Tony Abbott’s dedication of repealing the Carbon Tax to the women of Australia showed not all dedications have to be meaningful, my dedication had been different. After a few more moments I could hold back the tears for no longer. I staggered away towards the cliff where I was surrounded by an incredible panoramic view and let the emotions roll through me and cried to the blue ocean like a recently-single woman watching a Jennifer Anniston movie (or any guy that has to watch a Jennifer Aniston Movie does internally). The pride in accomplishing a difficult goal I had set for myself added to my emotional state and for a few minutes my composure was harder to find than Christopher Skase.
The Cookie Monster found me soon after and immediately supplied me with a jacket and a beer. We stayed beneath the lighthouse for a while, enjoying the scenery and watching people’s excitement as they finished. I tried to do some stretching, but my muscles were tighter than the Foreign Aid budget.
A short time later, the very earth itself seemed to shake as the mighty men of the 12th/40th Royal Tasmania Regiment approached the lighthouse (this could also have been the effect of six hours of dehydration and fatigue, but that seems less likely and certainly makes a worse story). ‘Sorry Miss’ Jackson powered to the top of the path and looked around for Dobby Hine. The two of them joined hands in a masculine way and sauntered towards the lighthouse. They then stopped and had a bit of a, “No you can finish holding the baton,” conversation before finishing the race, which showed just what nice boys they really were.
After chatting with the lads for a while, we made our way down the hill towards the cars. Still hampered by cramped muscles I was about as well-balanced as the Mercury’s reporting of the news, so I quickly dropped behind. At the bottom of the hill we met up with the third member of the army team, Team Commander Tom, who had parked the car. A little while later, The Big Doig (who was the final team member) jogged into view alongside no one else but GoGo Gavin! The team had caught up with him a little earlier and had detailed a runner and a car to stay with him as he made his way, painfully to the end. Even having heard he was coming, I still couldn’t quite believe my eyes when I saw him. Having started shuffling more than 30km earlier when his legs tightened up, I had assumed somewhere in the next four hours he would move to Red Foo’s more recent offering (described by some, quite fairly too, as possibly the worst song of all time) and say “Literally, I can’t,” but somehow he had just kept going.
I spoke with GoGo later and like me he was filled with an enormous sense of accomplishment, pride and emotion. At the same time we were also very humbled and grateful for the support we had received. Between the Cookie Monster driving our support vehicle, The Big Doig sorting us out with accommodation in Alonnah, the army boys leaving one of their team to finish the run with GoGo and the messages of support people sent us, you could say we received more leg-ups than Forestry Tasmania (although sadly not as much taxpayer money). We both agreed we would not have completed the run without the help and it was good to know that people were so ready to give it.