Gone Nuts Trail Run, 2018
The drive from Wynyard to Stanley seemed to go for a long time- not an auspicious sign considering I was about to run that and more.
All of the good jokes (and many not so good ones) have probably already been made about the name of the Gone Nuts so let’s just say I was feeling the nerves and wondering the wisdom of my choice of action. A year ago, I think I would have been a lot more scared at this point, but we can learn a lot about ourselves in 12 months and I have found a way to approach challenges with greater calmness and confidence. Even so, I had to admit that this was very challenging choice for my first trail run and having managed little training in the lead up, I was about as well-prepared as Ricky Muir was for Federal politics.
It was around 545 when we arrived at the start line. That meant I just had time to cram a last bit of banana bread in my mouth during the final briefing and get a few last minute words of advice from Trent.
Then we were off. From the beach, the rocky edifice we had to climb first was just visible in the moonlight, but there was little sign of how we would go up it. The race began with less urgency than any other race I have been part of. With little fuss, the gathered mass of runners elongated into a tapering column as we shuffled off up the first narrow rise.
All of the good jokes (and many not so good ones) have probably already been made about the name of the Gone Nuts so let’s just say I was feeling the nerves and wondering the wisdom of my choice of action. A year ago, I think I would have been a lot more scared at this point, but we can learn a lot about ourselves in 12 months and I have found a way to approach challenges with greater calmness and confidence. Even so, I had to admit that this was very challenging choice for my first trail run and having managed little training in the lead up, I was about as well-prepared as Ricky Muir was for Federal politics.
It was around 545 when we arrived at the start line. That meant I just had time to cram a last bit of banana bread in my mouth during the final briefing and get a few last minute words of advice from Trent.
Then we were off. From the beach, the rocky edifice we had to climb first was just visible in the moonlight, but there was little sign of how we would go up it. The race began with less urgency than any other race I have been part of. With little fuss, the gathered mass of runners elongated into a tapering column as we shuffled off up the first narrow rise.
The Nut itself was very steep. Maybe you could run to the top without stopping but no one wanted to find out how much energy it would take out of them so we walked.
Even that was tiring and I was sweating like Cardinal Pell by the time I got to the top and began the easy lap around the top. After the arduous ascent, this was a welcome change and my breathing was quickly back to normal. The full moon gave me all the light I needed so I had tucked my headlight away in a pocket of my vest and was enjoying the gentle breeze on my bare head.
After a full circuit, we were back to the steep path we had used to come up. It turns out I can run downhill about as well as Derek Zoolander can turn left, so I carefully shuffled my way to the bottom as a number of more enthusiastic runners flew past me.
The predawn darkness was fading as we jogged through the quiet streets of Stanley and I had already begun an internal conversation that would go on all day: “Am I going too fast or too slow?” This early in the race it was hard to know so the best I could do was try to keep a steady rhythm and keep my breathing and pulse rate down.
Even that was tiring and I was sweating like Cardinal Pell by the time I got to the top and began the easy lap around the top. After the arduous ascent, this was a welcome change and my breathing was quickly back to normal. The full moon gave me all the light I needed so I had tucked my headlight away in a pocket of my vest and was enjoying the gentle breeze on my bare head.
After a full circuit, we were back to the steep path we had used to come up. It turns out I can run downhill about as well as Derek Zoolander can turn left, so I carefully shuffled my way to the bottom as a number of more enthusiastic runners flew past me.
The predawn darkness was fading as we jogged through the quiet streets of Stanley and I had already begun an internal conversation that would go on all day: “Am I going too fast or too slow?” This early in the race it was hard to know so the best I could do was try to keep a steady rhythm and keep my breathing and pulse rate down.
Once we had exited the town, we followed a track beside the beach for a while. I had got separated from Trent already, but there were a few runners not far ahead and I could hear more behind. The runners ahead of me turned left, running out onto the beach and I followed dutifully. Running along the beach in the half light of early dawn was gorgeous, but it got harder in places when the sand went from hard to very soft with little warning.
I got talking to a guy called Sam as we ran together for a while. I started pumping him for information when I found out he had run the race the year before. Then when he modestly admitted he had actually come third, I re-evaluated my current speed and dropped off him like Hollywood distancing itself from Harvey Weinstein.
The beach curved back around to the right, through a particularly soft and marshy stretch. It was then that we realised we had taken an unnecessary detour as other runners were coming a much more direct and firmer course. I figured we had probably only cost ourselves a few minutes and a bit of extra energy and there was no point getting stressed about it anyway, so we just kept running.
I got talking to a guy called Sam as we ran together for a while. I started pumping him for information when I found out he had run the race the year before. Then when he modestly admitted he had actually come third, I re-evaluated my current speed and dropped off him like Hollywood distancing itself from Harvey Weinstein.
The beach curved back around to the right, through a particularly soft and marshy stretch. It was then that we realised we had taken an unnecessary detour as other runners were coming a much more direct and firmer course. I figured we had probably only cost ourselves a few minutes and a bit of extra energy and there was no point getting stressed about it anyway, so we just kept running.
I already had wet feet after my detour through mud, but after another kilometre or so we turned and headed out across the main water crossing. Being low tide, much of this section was mud and shallow puddles, but there was still a short deeper crossing that was unavoidable.
Being quite tall, I had been told the water would be below my knees, but I distinctly remember the water reaching my testicles (and no, while many men like to make the boast I’m not actually claiming any unusual proportions to my anatomy). We waded through the cool water for less than 50 metres. It was kind of refreshing, but I was pretty worried about the likelihood of blisters from running the next 11km with wed muddy feet.
We were out of the water and running again, sinking deep into the soft sand with every step. After floundering hopelessly trying to find a section of firm sand I found it a little easier when I tried running in the already compacted footsteps of the lead runners. We rounded another point and the sand hardened as the beach stretched out for miles in front of us.
This was a really nice section of the run. The sun was rising over the ocean and my body was feeling really strong. The sand beneath my feet hard and even so I didn’t have to watch my footing and could fully enjoy the scenery. At this point, I had made another running buddy and was jogging along chatting with Mr Darcy who also had a bit more experience in trail racing and had plenty of helpful advice for me.
Being quite tall, I had been told the water would be below my knees, but I distinctly remember the water reaching my testicles (and no, while many men like to make the boast I’m not actually claiming any unusual proportions to my anatomy). We waded through the cool water for less than 50 metres. It was kind of refreshing, but I was pretty worried about the likelihood of blisters from running the next 11km with wed muddy feet.
We were out of the water and running again, sinking deep into the soft sand with every step. After floundering hopelessly trying to find a section of firm sand I found it a little easier when I tried running in the already compacted footsteps of the lead runners. We rounded another point and the sand hardened as the beach stretched out for miles in front of us.
This was a really nice section of the run. The sun was rising over the ocean and my body was feeling really strong. The sand beneath my feet hard and even so I didn’t have to watch my footing and could fully enjoy the scenery. At this point, I had made another running buddy and was jogging along chatting with Mr Darcy who also had a bit more experience in trail racing and had plenty of helpful advice for me.
Eventually the hard sand of the beach came to an end and our footing became a little more unstable as we navigated, rocks, sand and mud following the river inland for a kilometre or so. We ducked low as we crossed under a road bridge, coming up on the other side to find a checkpoint with food and water.
Feeling great, I grabbed a bag of watermelon and kept going, crossing the river via the bridge and turning onto an easy track the other side. The next seven or eight kilometres alternated between fairly easy bush tracks and wider dirt roads.
I was in really good spirits as I approached the first transition stage of Mawbanna. The final stretch of this leg was along a train line so I had to watch my steps pretty carefully to make sure I didn’t miss a sleeper and trip.
My dad and step mum were waiting in transition with a change of clothes, a cool towel and all manner of food and drink. After the river crossing, my legs were covered in so much dirt and mud, you would have been excused for thinking I had to run past Michaelia Cash on the course, so I dropped into a camping chair and ripped off my shoes and socks.
Feeling great, I grabbed a bag of watermelon and kept going, crossing the river via the bridge and turning onto an easy track the other side. The next seven or eight kilometres alternated between fairly easy bush tracks and wider dirt roads.
I was in really good spirits as I approached the first transition stage of Mawbanna. The final stretch of this leg was along a train line so I had to watch my steps pretty carefully to make sure I didn’t miss a sleeper and trip.
My dad and step mum were waiting in transition with a change of clothes, a cool towel and all manner of food and drink. After the river crossing, my legs were covered in so much dirt and mud, you would have been excused for thinking I had to run past Michaelia Cash on the course, so I dropped into a camping chair and ripped off my shoes and socks.
With newly-dried feet and a clean pair of shoes and socks, I took a few moments to enjoy the transition section, eating, drinking and chatting with volunteers and my support team. But all too soon I ran out of excuses and was back on the easy track that paralleled the railway line for a while.
Mr Darcy proved to have the charm and manners of anyone by the same name in a Jane Austin novel so I was really enjoying his company as we toiled away through the winding forest trails. After another 7 or 8km we eventually got separated as we had slightly different race plans. In the silence of the trails, I continued on, following a winding course that changed direction so often it could have been set using Malcolm Turnbull’s moral compass.
By now I was walking a lot of the hills. Not out of necessity, but in order to conserve strength for the latter half of the race. This was a totally new experience in a race for me and took a bit of getting used to, but it was certainly working and I was feeling fresh and increasingly confident that I would actually complete the race (at 5am this had seemed no more certain than the job security of a member of Donald Trump's staff).
Mr Darcy proved to have the charm and manners of anyone by the same name in a Jane Austin novel so I was really enjoying his company as we toiled away through the winding forest trails. After another 7 or 8km we eventually got separated as we had slightly different race plans. In the silence of the trails, I continued on, following a winding course that changed direction so often it could have been set using Malcolm Turnbull’s moral compass.
By now I was walking a lot of the hills. Not out of necessity, but in order to conserve strength for the latter half of the race. This was a totally new experience in a race for me and took a bit of getting used to, but it was certainly working and I was feeling fresh and increasingly confident that I would actually complete the race (at 5am this had seemed no more certain than the job security of a member of Donald Trump's staff).
After a particularly long climb I found myself at one end of a narrow ridgeline with steep valleys dropping away to either side. It was a truly majestic landscape, but the beauty of the moment was somewhat dampened by an imposing hill that seemed to rise almost vertically at the other end of the ridge. It occurred to me that it was possible I may not have to climb it, but I wasn’t hopeful. Sure enough, as I got closer I could see a black speck moving slowly up the hill, confirming my suspicions.
It was a seriously hard climb. The gravelly track didn’t give the best purchase and I dodged a spray of small rocks dislodged by the person ahead of me slipping. Despite the difficulty of the terrain it was hard to hate the experience. The beauty of the surrounding landscape didn’t allow it and I turned frequently to look around and enjoy it.
My quads were heavy by the time I finally got to the top, so after jogging another few hundred metres, finding I wasn’t actually at the top after all wasn’t my favourite moment. Thankfully, the second climb was significantly shorter than the first but still pretty steep.
But if I thought the climb would be the hardest bit, I was wrong. The descent on the other side made Barnaby Joyce's fall from grace look like a gentle glide. After the initially perilous section, the next few kilometres were a fairly easy mix of downhill and flat until I came out onto a sealed road which I followed for a few kilometres until I reached the 51km transition point.
It was a seriously hard climb. The gravelly track didn’t give the best purchase and I dodged a spray of small rocks dislodged by the person ahead of me slipping. Despite the difficulty of the terrain it was hard to hate the experience. The beauty of the surrounding landscape didn’t allow it and I turned frequently to look around and enjoy it.
My quads were heavy by the time I finally got to the top, so after jogging another few hundred metres, finding I wasn’t actually at the top after all wasn’t my favourite moment. Thankfully, the second climb was significantly shorter than the first but still pretty steep.
But if I thought the climb would be the hardest bit, I was wrong. The descent on the other side made Barnaby Joyce's fall from grace look like a gentle glide. After the initially perilous section, the next few kilometres were a fairly easy mix of downhill and flat until I came out onto a sealed road which I followed for a few kilometres until I reached the 51km transition point.
I may not be Vanilla Ice, but this seemed a pretty good place to stop, collaborate and listen to my support crew whilst taking on more food, drink and sunscreen, so I spent a fair bit of time in this transition. I have to give another special shout out to my amazing support team. Louanne and Charles couldn't have done more for me, even though their job was changing more often than Vikki Campion's. Eventually I threw on a clean shirt and trotted out onto the course, cheerfully chomping on an icy pole Louanne had found for me.
There was little wind and the sun was strong as I jogged slowly along the road to the coast. Big Shaq had promised me that it could never happen, but I was actually starting to get pretty hot. I reminded myself that every kilometre on the road was one less in harder terrain, but in truth I was almost relieved when I turned off the road and began making my way up the steep narrow tracks that zigzagged their way up the hills of Rocky Cape.
This feeling wouldn’t last, but at least for the first climb I was overcome by the sheer beauty of the land. As I hiked upwards, the steep grassy hill dropped away beneath me, ending where a line of white surf struck the red rocks of the beach far below. Beyond that, the dark waters of Bass Strait seemed to stretch forever.
There was little wind and the sun was strong as I jogged slowly along the road to the coast. Big Shaq had promised me that it could never happen, but I was actually starting to get pretty hot. I reminded myself that every kilometre on the road was one less in harder terrain, but in truth I was almost relieved when I turned off the road and began making my way up the steep narrow tracks that zigzagged their way up the hills of Rocky Cape.
This feeling wouldn’t last, but at least for the first climb I was overcome by the sheer beauty of the land. As I hiked upwards, the steep grassy hill dropped away beneath me, ending where a line of white surf struck the red rocks of the beach far below. Beyond that, the dark waters of Bass Strait seemed to stretch forever.
Unfortunately, the longer I spent on these hills, the less awe-inspiring the scenery became. Considering how comfortable I had felt at half way, I had entertained faint hopes of running the second half of the race in a similar amount of time, I wasn’t far into this leg before I gave that hope up as easily as a filing cabinet full of top secret documents.
I actually wasn’t hating the hard walks to the top of each hill, but I was finding it really hard to take advantage of the downhill sections. As I the best of times I don’t descend well, but added to that, the track itself was extremely narrow and uneven, so instead of loping quickly and easily over the flatter sections and downhill I was still picking my way through as carefully as a major corporation through our taxation legislation.
My body had been feeling good, but this changed very suddenly at around 60km. Aside from the suddenly heavier legs, I began to be hit by sudden sharp abdominal pains and hints of dizziness. At first I wondered whether I had been exposed to Novichok nerve agent, but since I hadn't seen anyone for the last hour, I decided it was more likely dehydration.
I actually wasn’t hating the hard walks to the top of each hill, but I was finding it really hard to take advantage of the downhill sections. As I the best of times I don’t descend well, but added to that, the track itself was extremely narrow and uneven, so instead of loping quickly and easily over the flatter sections and downhill I was still picking my way through as carefully as a major corporation through our taxation legislation.
My body had been feeling good, but this changed very suddenly at around 60km. Aside from the suddenly heavier legs, I began to be hit by sudden sharp abdominal pains and hints of dizziness. At first I wondered whether I had been exposed to Novichok nerve agent, but since I hadn't seen anyone for the last hour, I decided it was more likely dehydration.
After something like eight kilometres of challenging hills, the track broadened and rolled gently down towards a pristine white sand beach. Although visually stunning, the fine soft sand of high tide was a pretty tough way to start a stretch of several beaches and rocky headlands.
Finally I stepped onto the pebbled shore of Sister’s Beach and saw the welcome sight of the resupply tent at the checkpoint. After spending longer than I expected getting here, I spent plenty of time at this check point, not only refilling my water bottles, but also downing a number of cups of water.
After another stretch along the beach, we were able to get off the sand and run on road for a few kilometres. It was a bit of a relief to run on some firm footing for a while, so obviously the roads would soon enough come to an end at a particularly steep and high climb.
By now, I was being affected by dehydration a bit and I felt my rebellious legs threaten to cramp as I worked my way up. I was carrying a fair bit of food that I would have liked to eat, but my stomach was rejecting things as readily as the Australian senate.
Finally I stepped onto the pebbled shore of Sister’s Beach and saw the welcome sight of the resupply tent at the checkpoint. After spending longer than I expected getting here, I spent plenty of time at this check point, not only refilling my water bottles, but also downing a number of cups of water.
After another stretch along the beach, we were able to get off the sand and run on road for a few kilometres. It was a bit of a relief to run on some firm footing for a while, so obviously the roads would soon enough come to an end at a particularly steep and high climb.
By now, I was being affected by dehydration a bit and I felt my rebellious legs threaten to cramp as I worked my way up. I was carrying a fair bit of food that I would have liked to eat, but my stomach was rejecting things as readily as the Australian senate.
I had spent a lot more time running this leg than I had hoped and started to find it quite mentally tough. I felt heavy and clumsy on the technical terrain and had difficulty running with much fluency. “Guess it proves I’m a road runner,” I said to myself, deciding even dodging Wile E Coyote’s traps would be preferable to more of this terrain. I could feel time blowing out further and further with every climb and descent, as I made my through a series of short beaches, until I finally came out at the third transition area at Boat Harbour.
I was wary of sitting down here, not sure that my legs would stay loose enough to run afterwards, but I absolutely had to get my shoes off and do a bit of maintenance on my feet, so after a few stretches I carefully lowered myself into my chair and ripped off my shoes. I did the best I could to cover the blisters and bruising on my feet but I didn’t try to kid myself that the last 25km would be comfortable.
My wonderful support team had managed to source me another couple of icy poles, which were a huge boost to my morale and after standing tentatively I was glad to find I could still move okay. I refilled my water and grabbed an extra bottle to take in my hand, then I was off for the final leg.
Moving as awkwardly as Arjit Pai in his net neutrality video, I set off along the beach. My feet were screaming in protest at me, but just like in any workplace, the most noise doesn’t always come from the area that needs the most attention, so I did a pretty careful audit of how my body was travelling. I was pleasantly surprised that aside from my feet and ankles, the rest of me didn’t feel too bad.
I was wary of sitting down here, not sure that my legs would stay loose enough to run afterwards, but I absolutely had to get my shoes off and do a bit of maintenance on my feet, so after a few stretches I carefully lowered myself into my chair and ripped off my shoes. I did the best I could to cover the blisters and bruising on my feet but I didn’t try to kid myself that the last 25km would be comfortable.
My wonderful support team had managed to source me another couple of icy poles, which were a huge boost to my morale and after standing tentatively I was glad to find I could still move okay. I refilled my water and grabbed an extra bottle to take in my hand, then I was off for the final leg.
Moving as awkwardly as Arjit Pai in his net neutrality video, I set off along the beach. My feet were screaming in protest at me, but just like in any workplace, the most noise doesn’t always come from the area that needs the most attention, so I did a pretty careful audit of how my body was travelling. I was pleasantly surprised that aside from my feet and ankles, the rest of me didn’t feel too bad.
By now I knew I would finish and it was highly likely that I would do so before it got dark, which had been one of my goals, but I knew there was still plenty of work ahead of me. Soon, I turned following a loose track uphill once more. The next five kilometres or so seemed to follow a Sisyphus-like pattern (except I wasn’t pushing a boulder) of working hard to get to the top of a hill and as soon as I reached the top, shuffling down the other side ready to climb up the next. While the terrain was neither as steep nor as technical as that of the third leg, I was deep into survival mode by now and found it hard to generate a lot of speed, even on some of the smoother downhill sections.
Despite my tiredness, I got a huge burst of energy and morale when I worked my way to the top of another hill and saw my friends, Elaine and Simon, who had run the 25km earlier in the day. Elaine joined me as we followed a rare piece of road towards Table Cape, while Simon drove ahead of us. We chatted happily as we ran and the next couple of kilometres disappeared far more easily. Soon enough I was turning back off the road and back onto the tracks. I waved goodbye to Elaine and Simon and ran on.
The track snaked its way across the side off the hill, though thick vegetation that provided shade from the sun. Eventually I came out at the base of a long climb up to the edge of Table Cape itself. After a hard slog to the top, we were met by a couple of locals who were waiting with beautiful cold water. It wasn’t far from here to the Table Cape Lighthouse and after another short scrambling climb I crested the rise and could see it a few hundred metres away.
I jogged in wearily, feeling at once very close and a long way away from my end goal. My dad and step mum were waiting once more, as were Simon and Elaine so I took a moment to soak up the support and company before setting off for the last section.
Despite my tiredness, I got a huge burst of energy and morale when I worked my way to the top of another hill and saw my friends, Elaine and Simon, who had run the 25km earlier in the day. Elaine joined me as we followed a rare piece of road towards Table Cape, while Simon drove ahead of us. We chatted happily as we ran and the next couple of kilometres disappeared far more easily. Soon enough I was turning back off the road and back onto the tracks. I waved goodbye to Elaine and Simon and ran on.
The track snaked its way across the side off the hill, though thick vegetation that provided shade from the sun. Eventually I came out at the base of a long climb up to the edge of Table Cape itself. After a hard slog to the top, we were met by a couple of locals who were waiting with beautiful cold water. It wasn’t far from here to the Table Cape Lighthouse and after another short scrambling climb I crested the rise and could see it a few hundred metres away.
I jogged in wearily, feeling at once very close and a long way away from my end goal. My dad and step mum were waiting once more, as were Simon and Elaine so I took a moment to soak up the support and company before setting off for the last section.
The inspirational Elaine joined me once more for the first couple of kilometres after the lighthouse. She waved goodbye to me as I turned off the main roads and began to make my way through an undulating series of uneven paddocks. I was weary by now- both mentally and physically- but my legs were still working pretty well, although I was nervous about the possibility of cramps with every fence I had to climb over.
I had been told by a few people that it would be pretty much all downhill from the lighthouse, but there proved to be a lot more little climbs than I had expected. Eventually, after teasing me a few times before abruptly turning back up the hill, I got down to the flat streets of Wynyard itself. As I ran along the riverside track my spirits rose one more, as I realised the last few kilometres of the course were likely to be flat and easy. Buoyed by my change in scenery, I thought it might be a good idea to raise my speed and finish a bit stronger.
It was not a good idea.
For a few hundred metres I felt I was gliding over the road, but in little time I was struck by a sense of full-body tiredness and the knowledge that the last three kilometres were just going to be a grind. I crossed the main street and followed a looping track that eventually brought me back to the road, which I crossed once more and began the final kilometre to the end.
I could see the finish line from over 100 metres and as I approached I could soon hear Mumma Bear shouting at me and see the smiling faces of my support team. I crossed over the line with a smile and was quickly surrounded by family and friends. The run had been even harder than I had expected, but I had made it.
Running for over 12 hours may sound as repetitive as a DJ Khaled song (notice how half of his lyrics seem to just be him shouting his name), but this race had been anything but boring. As always a massive thankyou to all the volunteers and organisers, all the friendly runners I met along the run especially my wonderful support team who did an amazing job.
I had been told by a few people that it would be pretty much all downhill from the lighthouse, but there proved to be a lot more little climbs than I had expected. Eventually, after teasing me a few times before abruptly turning back up the hill, I got down to the flat streets of Wynyard itself. As I ran along the riverside track my spirits rose one more, as I realised the last few kilometres of the course were likely to be flat and easy. Buoyed by my change in scenery, I thought it might be a good idea to raise my speed and finish a bit stronger.
It was not a good idea.
For a few hundred metres I felt I was gliding over the road, but in little time I was struck by a sense of full-body tiredness and the knowledge that the last three kilometres were just going to be a grind. I crossed the main street and followed a looping track that eventually brought me back to the road, which I crossed once more and began the final kilometre to the end.
I could see the finish line from over 100 metres and as I approached I could soon hear Mumma Bear shouting at me and see the smiling faces of my support team. I crossed over the line with a smile and was quickly surrounded by family and friends. The run had been even harder than I had expected, but I had made it.
Running for over 12 hours may sound as repetitive as a DJ Khaled song (notice how half of his lyrics seem to just be him shouting his name), but this race had been anything but boring. As always a massive thankyou to all the volunteers and organisers, all the friendly runners I met along the run especially my wonderful support team who did an amazing job.