UTA 100
I’ve gotten a lot better at sleeping before races. After things fell apart for me at the Gold Coast Marathon last year and from a bit of disappointment I realised that it was no big deal, I’ve generally stopped worrying about what might go wrong in the lead up to the race and generally sleep quite peacefully.
But this time was different. I was both excited and nervous about UTA, because I really didn’t know what was going to happen. Putting myself to the test in the mountains also has a personal significance to me and tucked away in my vest was a little memento of one great friend who never came back from his challenge in the mountains, so I knew it was going to be a pretty emotional day. As a result, I was far too wired to sleep the night before and was up early, eager to get to the start line.
At 6:27, wave 2 took off through the start gate and making our way up the gentle inclined road. I immediately regretted starting at the back of the wave, as I never have the self-control to start a race as slow as I should, but it wasn't long until I had the chance to get on the outside to overtake a few people until I was running at a speed I was happier with.
After about 2k of mostly gentle climbing, we turned around a witch’s hat and retraced our steps back down the hill. I wasn’t sure I would get a better chance to stride out than this so I let myself pick up speed. We passed the start line and continued further along the road, getting a shout out from Big Kev, Mumma Bear and Courto as I went.
At nearly 5km, we cut off the road and began a sharp descent into the valley below. After more stairs than I could count, we more or less levelled out on a narrow track that cuts its way through low green trees that crowded around us like neo-Nazis around Fraser Anning.
It was a real privilege to be part of the incredible landscape. The rocky cliffs above me shone red-gold in the morning sun, while far below, the floor of the valley disappeared in a sea of thick mist with the cliffs across the valley rising back out of the cloud like islands.
But this time was different. I was both excited and nervous about UTA, because I really didn’t know what was going to happen. Putting myself to the test in the mountains also has a personal significance to me and tucked away in my vest was a little memento of one great friend who never came back from his challenge in the mountains, so I knew it was going to be a pretty emotional day. As a result, I was far too wired to sleep the night before and was up early, eager to get to the start line.
At 6:27, wave 2 took off through the start gate and making our way up the gentle inclined road. I immediately regretted starting at the back of the wave, as I never have the self-control to start a race as slow as I should, but it wasn't long until I had the chance to get on the outside to overtake a few people until I was running at a speed I was happier with.
After about 2k of mostly gentle climbing, we turned around a witch’s hat and retraced our steps back down the hill. I wasn’t sure I would get a better chance to stride out than this so I let myself pick up speed. We passed the start line and continued further along the road, getting a shout out from Big Kev, Mumma Bear and Courto as I went.
At nearly 5km, we cut off the road and began a sharp descent into the valley below. After more stairs than I could count, we more or less levelled out on a narrow track that cuts its way through low green trees that crowded around us like neo-Nazis around Fraser Anning.
It was a real privilege to be part of the incredible landscape. The rocky cliffs above me shone red-gold in the morning sun, while far below, the floor of the valley disappeared in a sea of thick mist with the cliffs across the valley rising back out of the cloud like islands.
This became pretty slow going. Logs and boulders were scattered at irregular intervals along the track forcing us to slow down to cross them. Overtaking was pretty hard in the tight confines so my group formed up into a conga line behind a few people going a little slower. Eventually the chance to pass came and I was able to speed up a little. After a few kilometres the first real climb began as the path inched its way back up the side of the cliff by means of a series of uneven staircases.
The comparison was stark (can I still use that word without people thinking I ‘m talking about Game of Thrones?) when we popped out of the mountain track and onto a smooth fire trail that continued to rise for another kilometre or so until we reached the first checkpoint. I tried to fill my water bottles, but fumbled like Theresa May handling Brexit. Eventually the job was done (unlike Theresa May handling Brexit) so I grabbed a few pieces of fruit and continued on.
I was chomping away on my savoys and pretzels (as you can see I’m pretty high tech when it comes to race nutrition) as the wide trail undulated along a steep ridgeline. To either side I could regularly see the hillside dropping away to the low-lying misty clouds far below. It was magnificent scenery. The sky was clear of clouds and the morning sun washed me with a gentle warmth as I ran.
I ran for many kilometres along this glorious ridge, loving every minute. Occasionally the track would pitch uphill steeply for a short while and I would quickly slow to a walk, before returning to a run as soon as it flattened out. When I ran Gone Nuts last year, I discovered that descent is not a skill I am blessed with and especially late in the race I find downhill sections really hard, so I had made the decision to try to make the early downhill less wearing on my legs this time round. Instead of going slower, this actually meant relaxing my brakes and letting myself go a little quicker, exerting less force to control my direction and momentum (some people call this going full Chris Dalton). As a result, I managed a few pretty quick kilometres along this section.
The comparison was stark (can I still use that word without people thinking I ‘m talking about Game of Thrones?) when we popped out of the mountain track and onto a smooth fire trail that continued to rise for another kilometre or so until we reached the first checkpoint. I tried to fill my water bottles, but fumbled like Theresa May handling Brexit. Eventually the job was done (unlike Theresa May handling Brexit) so I grabbed a few pieces of fruit and continued on.
I was chomping away on my savoys and pretzels (as you can see I’m pretty high tech when it comes to race nutrition) as the wide trail undulated along a steep ridgeline. To either side I could regularly see the hillside dropping away to the low-lying misty clouds far below. It was magnificent scenery. The sky was clear of clouds and the morning sun washed me with a gentle warmth as I ran.
I ran for many kilometres along this glorious ridge, loving every minute. Occasionally the track would pitch uphill steeply for a short while and I would quickly slow to a walk, before returning to a run as soon as it flattened out. When I ran Gone Nuts last year, I discovered that descent is not a skill I am blessed with and especially late in the race I find downhill sections really hard, so I had made the decision to try to make the early downhill less wearing on my legs this time round. Instead of going slower, this actually meant relaxing my brakes and letting myself go a little quicker, exerting less force to control my direction and momentum (some people call this going full Chris Dalton). As a result, I managed a few pretty quick kilometres along this section.
At around 20km I got a shock when I recognised a couple of friends running up ahead. Lewinsky and Bananaman had started in wave 1, but were clearly holding a bit back for later in the race. I gradually trotted up behind them until I caught up.
I was really enjoying running at this point. My body felt great, the scenery was breathtaking and now I had the added bonus of great company. I chattered away with the inane positivity of a breakfast radio host whilst we ran, and the distance seemed to disappear without me noticing.
We left the fire trail for a bit and the ground became rocky and uneven as we approached the Tarros Ladders, which were bolted into a steep section of rock. The way this had been described I had expected us to be scaling down an exposed cliff, but the reality was far less scary (although I was still appreciative of the protective ropes around us as we descended.
The winding single track continued up and down a couple of decent hills, but eventually we came back out onto a fire trail which we followed to the next checkpoint. I cruised happily into Checkpoint 2 and suddenly realised I had miscalculated worse than the ALP on the same day. I had actually assumed I would access my first drop bag (the one I had painstakingly written “Checkpoint 3” all over) at this stage and had deliberately eaten most of my biscuits and salt tablets with this in mind. But not being able to access a drop bag was hardly a problem as there was plenty of food around. I refilled my water bottles and powered through a heap of fruit, before restocking my food bags with salty chips and hot cross buns.
Soon enough the three of us were off again, running through green fields that rose slowly towards the sudden climb of Ironpot Mountain. We dropped to a pretty slow walk as we made our way up the steep dirt path. My calves and quads began protesting fairly early, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other, all the while chatting with Lewinsky and Bananaman.
The sound of rhythm sticks and a digeridoo echoed through the trees as we crested the hill and made our way across the ridge. In little time we came to an open section where a couple of guys were playing on a rocky outcrop just off the trail.
Hitting the far edge of the ridge, we turned back the way we had come for a few hundred metres, before beginning a steep slippery descent down the side of the ridge. Not wanting to fall on Bananaman, I gave him a few metres distance before I began. The twisting path was as slippery as a Josh Fraudenberg’s promises, but I managed to keep my feet and eventually got to the bottom, where the course flattened through some green farmland.
Lewinsky has less calves than a vegan farm, so the steep hills had taken a lot out of him. As a result, he had dropped back a bit going over the ridge and I was just running with Bananaman now. An evil little voice of doubt began to chirp up in the back of my mind, telling me that I had run the first part of the race too fast and I was going to suffer for it later. In my head, this voice sounded like Alan Jones, so I knew its words were both false and malignant, but it kept repeating itself with such confidence it was hard to disregard entirely.
But I knew I couldn’t go back and restart the race any more than butt-hurt fans can have season 8 of Game of Thrones rewritten. All I could do was stay strong, be diligent with my nutrition/hydration and face each challenge that came up in the back half of the race as best I could.
We crossed a creek and followed it around to a dirt road which began pretty flat but slowly got steeper and eventually became another long climb that made running out of the question. Bananaman and I finally got to the top of the hill and soon reached Checkpoint 3, which meant we had completed 46km. After having to show a couple of bits of equipment (minds out of the gutter- that equipment stayed in my pants) at the gear check table I ran into the checkpoint, which was absolutely pumping with music and energy.
I was really enjoying running at this point. My body felt great, the scenery was breathtaking and now I had the added bonus of great company. I chattered away with the inane positivity of a breakfast radio host whilst we ran, and the distance seemed to disappear without me noticing.
We left the fire trail for a bit and the ground became rocky and uneven as we approached the Tarros Ladders, which were bolted into a steep section of rock. The way this had been described I had expected us to be scaling down an exposed cliff, but the reality was far less scary (although I was still appreciative of the protective ropes around us as we descended.
The winding single track continued up and down a couple of decent hills, but eventually we came back out onto a fire trail which we followed to the next checkpoint. I cruised happily into Checkpoint 2 and suddenly realised I had miscalculated worse than the ALP on the same day. I had actually assumed I would access my first drop bag (the one I had painstakingly written “Checkpoint 3” all over) at this stage and had deliberately eaten most of my biscuits and salt tablets with this in mind. But not being able to access a drop bag was hardly a problem as there was plenty of food around. I refilled my water bottles and powered through a heap of fruit, before restocking my food bags with salty chips and hot cross buns.
Soon enough the three of us were off again, running through green fields that rose slowly towards the sudden climb of Ironpot Mountain. We dropped to a pretty slow walk as we made our way up the steep dirt path. My calves and quads began protesting fairly early, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other, all the while chatting with Lewinsky and Bananaman.
The sound of rhythm sticks and a digeridoo echoed through the trees as we crested the hill and made our way across the ridge. In little time we came to an open section where a couple of guys were playing on a rocky outcrop just off the trail.
Hitting the far edge of the ridge, we turned back the way we had come for a few hundred metres, before beginning a steep slippery descent down the side of the ridge. Not wanting to fall on Bananaman, I gave him a few metres distance before I began. The twisting path was as slippery as a Josh Fraudenberg’s promises, but I managed to keep my feet and eventually got to the bottom, where the course flattened through some green farmland.
Lewinsky has less calves than a vegan farm, so the steep hills had taken a lot out of him. As a result, he had dropped back a bit going over the ridge and I was just running with Bananaman now. An evil little voice of doubt began to chirp up in the back of my mind, telling me that I had run the first part of the race too fast and I was going to suffer for it later. In my head, this voice sounded like Alan Jones, so I knew its words were both false and malignant, but it kept repeating itself with such confidence it was hard to disregard entirely.
But I knew I couldn’t go back and restart the race any more than butt-hurt fans can have season 8 of Game of Thrones rewritten. All I could do was stay strong, be diligent with my nutrition/hydration and face each challenge that came up in the back half of the race as best I could.
We crossed a creek and followed it around to a dirt road which began pretty flat but slowly got steeper and eventually became another long climb that made running out of the question. Bananaman and I finally got to the top of the hill and soon reached Checkpoint 3, which meant we had completed 46km. After having to show a couple of bits of equipment (minds out of the gutter- that equipment stayed in my pants) at the gear check table I ran into the checkpoint, which was absolutely pumping with music and energy.
Volunteers were enthusiastically giving away water like Barnaby Joyce to a cotton farmer and I was also able to restock my own supplies from my drop bag, grabbing a banana, lollies, pretzels and biscuits (what can I say, I like to eat when I’m running). I normally find powerade a bit strong to drink much of, but I finished a full bottle in seconds, so obviously I was a little thirsty too. The last thing I did before setting off was grab out the vaseline and apply a bit more onto all the chafing areas. I was momentarily apprehensive about sticking my hands down my pants right in front of all the spectators, but there wasn’t exactly an alternative so on it went.
By the time I was ready to leave the checkpoint, Lewinsky had caught up so the three of us left together, following a narrow path that soon connected to a long dirt road. I had pushed the voice of doubt away by now and was excited that I would soon be able to tackle one of the biggest climbs of the race.
I motored gently along the dirt road and after a few kilometres it gradually became a little steeper as we approached Nellie’s Glen. The road ended and I followed a rainforest path higher along the side of the hill. It was getting close to midday so now was a good time to be out of the sun, with ferns and trees providing plenty of shade and quiet as I climbed higher. Eventually the forest path changed to an epic series of slippery, uneven wooden steps that rose climbed and climbed and climbed.
But all I could do was keep going- slowly. Eventually I came to the top, where I was guided onto a narrow forest trail. I had nearly fallen a few times already, catching my foot on a root or stone but up until now I had managed to catch my balance each time. This changed as I was getting towards the end of this trail, when a stick rolled under my foot and I fell face forward, landing heavily on my hands in the gravelly path.
Luckily, aside from some minor cuts and scratches there was no harm done, so picked myself up and kept running. The narrow track opened out into sealed roads as I made my way through a quiet suburban setting before being directed inside a giant sports hall, which was Checkpoint 4.
Once again, the volunteers were amazing- they really couldn’t have done more for me. I drank another powerade and reloaded my vest with food for the next section, as well as taking a moment to appreciate the atmosphere- with a healthy sized crowd giving heaps of encouragement. The amazing Jess was there as always, with a smile and some words of support and much as I would have liked to hang out for a while, I still had half a race to run and there is no point doing half a job (just look at the NBN), so it was soon time to get going.
I was soon back off the streets running through a gentle meadow. Having already fallen once, you might think I would learn from the mistake but it is surprisingly easy to keep making the same mistakes (just ask One Notion voters), so it wasn’t long before my next fall. This time I didn’t even get my hands out to stop me as I was fumbling with some food so I literally landed on my face. Luckily I picked the perfect spot to try such a manoeuvre, as the soft grassy ground absorbed my fall.
Moaning like a rich retiree at the thought of losing their franking credits, I picked myself up, retrieving the corn thin I had dropped nearby, and kept on going. In little time we were back near the start line and running around a series of beautiful cliff top paths. At this time of day there were plenty of people out taking in the view, but they were usually quick to make some room for me to go past.
The descent from the cliffs was by way of a vertiginous series of stair cases, which dropped sharply like trust in the banking industry after the royal commission, but did allow us to enjoy some more spectacular views of the green valley far below. After dropping a few hundred metres in a matter of minutes, we hit a winding track through the forest.
This was another beautiful section, with a thick green canopy overhead, numerous waterfalls and lush foliage on either side. But it was also a little tricky, with regular changes of direction and elevation making it difficult to maintain a rhythm. For a short period we were running past 50km runners who were nearly at the end of their race, and I was stoked to see my friend Pete run past looking really strong.
By the time I was ready to leave the checkpoint, Lewinsky had caught up so the three of us left together, following a narrow path that soon connected to a long dirt road. I had pushed the voice of doubt away by now and was excited that I would soon be able to tackle one of the biggest climbs of the race.
I motored gently along the dirt road and after a few kilometres it gradually became a little steeper as we approached Nellie’s Glen. The road ended and I followed a rainforest path higher along the side of the hill. It was getting close to midday so now was a good time to be out of the sun, with ferns and trees providing plenty of shade and quiet as I climbed higher. Eventually the forest path changed to an epic series of slippery, uneven wooden steps that rose climbed and climbed and climbed.
But all I could do was keep going- slowly. Eventually I came to the top, where I was guided onto a narrow forest trail. I had nearly fallen a few times already, catching my foot on a root or stone but up until now I had managed to catch my balance each time. This changed as I was getting towards the end of this trail, when a stick rolled under my foot and I fell face forward, landing heavily on my hands in the gravelly path.
Luckily, aside from some minor cuts and scratches there was no harm done, so picked myself up and kept running. The narrow track opened out into sealed roads as I made my way through a quiet suburban setting before being directed inside a giant sports hall, which was Checkpoint 4.
Once again, the volunteers were amazing- they really couldn’t have done more for me. I drank another powerade and reloaded my vest with food for the next section, as well as taking a moment to appreciate the atmosphere- with a healthy sized crowd giving heaps of encouragement. The amazing Jess was there as always, with a smile and some words of support and much as I would have liked to hang out for a while, I still had half a race to run and there is no point doing half a job (just look at the NBN), so it was soon time to get going.
I was soon back off the streets running through a gentle meadow. Having already fallen once, you might think I would learn from the mistake but it is surprisingly easy to keep making the same mistakes (just ask One Notion voters), so it wasn’t long before my next fall. This time I didn’t even get my hands out to stop me as I was fumbling with some food so I literally landed on my face. Luckily I picked the perfect spot to try such a manoeuvre, as the soft grassy ground absorbed my fall.
Moaning like a rich retiree at the thought of losing their franking credits, I picked myself up, retrieving the corn thin I had dropped nearby, and kept on going. In little time we were back near the start line and running around a series of beautiful cliff top paths. At this time of day there were plenty of people out taking in the view, but they were usually quick to make some room for me to go past.
The descent from the cliffs was by way of a vertiginous series of stair cases, which dropped sharply like trust in the banking industry after the royal commission, but did allow us to enjoy some more spectacular views of the green valley far below. After dropping a few hundred metres in a matter of minutes, we hit a winding track through the forest.
This was another beautiful section, with a thick green canopy overhead, numerous waterfalls and lush foliage on either side. But it was also a little tricky, with regular changes of direction and elevation making it difficult to maintain a rhythm. For a short period we were running past 50km runners who were nearly at the end of their race, and I was stoked to see my friend Pete run past looking really strong.
It was soon time to do some more climbing, so the course cut sharply uphill with another ton of stairs, before falling into a pattern of small rises and falls as we continued near the top of the cliffs. It was stunning scenery, but the difficulty of this section of the race caught me a little by surprise. There had been a lot of talk about how hard the final section after Checkpoint 5 was, but little about this leg, so I was mentally a little unprepared for the challenge. It was definitely the most technical, with heaps of little staircases and uneven paths.
Up until now most of the course had been alive with the sound and activity of other runners and spectators, but I ran large periods of this section on my own. Without the encouragement of others, I was reduced to channelling Angus Taylor and encouraging myself. “Fantastic, Well done Dave,” I said to myself, borrowing his words of self-praise whilst simultaneously hoping the self-serving cretin was losing his seat as I ran. Not finding Mr Taylor a great example of courage or integrity, I looked for other sources of courage and found it easily, reliving memories of James and Matt, two friends I have had to farewell before their time.
I also took inspiration from my friends who were out here running the same track as me. I thought of Bananaman and the example he sets by always looking for greater challenges. Then I thought of Gabby and how much she would be loving the incredible scenery, no matter how much she was hurting. More than anyone though, I was inspired by Courtney, who I knew would attack every challenge in this race with positivity and courage. These three became exemplars of what I needed to do- embrace the challenge, enjoy the event and don’t give in to fear or negativity.
Eventually I got onto a short section of sealed road that took me to the Fairmont for a water resupply station. I gladly accepted the help of the volunteers, who refuelled my water and gave me a refreshing spray with a hose while I was there.
After leaving the Fairmont it was back onto more twisting paths and little staircases for most of the next five kilometres. I fell again after tripping on a root, but was lucky enough to get my hands under me this time. I apologised to the nearby golfers for my inadvertent shouted curse and jogged on. I suspect I could have gone a little harder in this section but I was deliberately staying in a pretty conservative (the only time I think being conservative is good) effort level and saving some strength for the final leg.
As I mentioned earlier, I had been worried that my early pace would catch up to me later in the race and I would tank like Melbourne Footy Club in 2009, but as more and more kilometres ticked by I was starting to believe this might not happen. I had also worried that blisters would be a real problem by this point, but my feet were largely okay, with just some bruising at the end of the toes from all the downhill running.
Up until now most of the course had been alive with the sound and activity of other runners and spectators, but I ran large periods of this section on my own. Without the encouragement of others, I was reduced to channelling Angus Taylor and encouraging myself. “Fantastic, Well done Dave,” I said to myself, borrowing his words of self-praise whilst simultaneously hoping the self-serving cretin was losing his seat as I ran. Not finding Mr Taylor a great example of courage or integrity, I looked for other sources of courage and found it easily, reliving memories of James and Matt, two friends I have had to farewell before their time.
I also took inspiration from my friends who were out here running the same track as me. I thought of Bananaman and the example he sets by always looking for greater challenges. Then I thought of Gabby and how much she would be loving the incredible scenery, no matter how much she was hurting. More than anyone though, I was inspired by Courtney, who I knew would attack every challenge in this race with positivity and courage. These three became exemplars of what I needed to do- embrace the challenge, enjoy the event and don’t give in to fear or negativity.
Eventually I got onto a short section of sealed road that took me to the Fairmont for a water resupply station. I gladly accepted the help of the volunteers, who refuelled my water and gave me a refreshing spray with a hose while I was there.
After leaving the Fairmont it was back onto more twisting paths and little staircases for most of the next five kilometres. I fell again after tripping on a root, but was lucky enough to get my hands under me this time. I apologised to the nearby golfers for my inadvertent shouted curse and jogged on. I suspect I could have gone a little harder in this section but I was deliberately staying in a pretty conservative (the only time I think being conservative is good) effort level and saving some strength for the final leg.
As I mentioned earlier, I had been worried that my early pace would catch up to me later in the race and I would tank like Melbourne Footy Club in 2009, but as more and more kilometres ticked by I was starting to believe this might not happen. I had also worried that blisters would be a real problem by this point, but my feet were largely okay, with just some bruising at the end of the toes from all the downhill running.
The track popped up over the edge of a cliff and finally I got to run on a dirt track for a while. It was nice to relax and let myself stride out again, but I obviously relaxed too much as I tripped and spudded in yet again. After so many falls in the dust, my blue shirt was greyer than the legality of offshore detention, but I tried to brush myself off a little as I continued along the dirt track that eventually met sealed road which I followed down to Checkpoint 5.
I was feeling tired, but far from finished as I jogged into the checkpoint and tucked into some fruit. I decided I could definitely use a bit more of a boost in the last section. I looked around the checkpoint, just in case Steven Dank or any of the Essendon medical staff were in the crowd, but not seeing any, I made do with grabbing a couple of caffeinated gels from my drop bag.
I took off out of the checkpoint and after a little rise, the road dropped sharply down into a long descent that stretched for nearly eight kilometres. I had identified this section pre-race as a section I didn’t want to be too slow on, so I let myself accelerate into quicker pace, but still trying to limit the impact on my toes.
From about half way down the hill I began passing 50km runners who had been out all day. I felt massive respect for every one of them, as it had already been a long day and with 20km still to go, they obviously had a long night ahead of them too. After about 45 minutes I hit the bottom of the hill and the road began climb up the next hill. In little time I reached the final water resupply point at 91.2 kilometres.
I stopped just long enough to refill my bottles with assistance from another wonderful volunteer and then I was off, eager to challenge myself on the famous final climb up Furber Stairs (or as I had renamed them in my head, FUBAR Stairs).
Darkness fell as quickly as Australia’s international reputation under Tony Abbott, so I grabbed out my head torch (mentally thanking Mick for lending it to me) and turned it on. The road continued for another few kilometres of uphill walking and downhill jogging, before the course took me back into the twisted single track of the forest. Down here it was already pitch black, save for the lights of head torches ahead of me.
I dropped my speed, figuring there was no sense risking a broken ankle a few kilometres from the end, but was still moving a fair bit quicker than the walkers ahead of me. I was really struck by how readily and politely people stepped aside to let runners past though.
With little by way of landmarks, it was a little hard to get an idea of how far or long the run through the dark forest went for. But eventually I came to the Furber Stairs and began the final climb. I didn’t want to take it too easy so I pushed a little at the start and my calves were soon hinting that they would rather be on the flat, whilst my quads were outright threatening to cramp. With little understanding of how far I had to go, I backed off a little but kept moving.
I was feeling tired, but far from finished as I jogged into the checkpoint and tucked into some fruit. I decided I could definitely use a bit more of a boost in the last section. I looked around the checkpoint, just in case Steven Dank or any of the Essendon medical staff were in the crowd, but not seeing any, I made do with grabbing a couple of caffeinated gels from my drop bag.
I took off out of the checkpoint and after a little rise, the road dropped sharply down into a long descent that stretched for nearly eight kilometres. I had identified this section pre-race as a section I didn’t want to be too slow on, so I let myself accelerate into quicker pace, but still trying to limit the impact on my toes.
From about half way down the hill I began passing 50km runners who had been out all day. I felt massive respect for every one of them, as it had already been a long day and with 20km still to go, they obviously had a long night ahead of them too. After about 45 minutes I hit the bottom of the hill and the road began climb up the next hill. In little time I reached the final water resupply point at 91.2 kilometres.
I stopped just long enough to refill my bottles with assistance from another wonderful volunteer and then I was off, eager to challenge myself on the famous final climb up Furber Stairs (or as I had renamed them in my head, FUBAR Stairs).
Darkness fell as quickly as Australia’s international reputation under Tony Abbott, so I grabbed out my head torch (mentally thanking Mick for lending it to me) and turned it on. The road continued for another few kilometres of uphill walking and downhill jogging, before the course took me back into the twisted single track of the forest. Down here it was already pitch black, save for the lights of head torches ahead of me.
I dropped my speed, figuring there was no sense risking a broken ankle a few kilometres from the end, but was still moving a fair bit quicker than the walkers ahead of me. I was really struck by how readily and politely people stepped aside to let runners past though.
With little by way of landmarks, it was a little hard to get an idea of how far or long the run through the dark forest went for. But eventually I came to the Furber Stairs and began the final climb. I didn’t want to take it too easy so I pushed a little at the start and my calves were soon hinting that they would rather be on the flat, whilst my quads were outright threatening to cramp. With little understanding of how far I had to go, I backed off a little but kept moving.
I was actually surprised by how quickly the stairs were over. I ran over a short ramp towards the sounds and light of the finishers’ chute. Di was my first friend in the crowd to give me a shout out, so I gave her a big high five- and promptly tripped on a couple of steps I hadn’t seen. For the fifth time, I picked myself up off the ground and ran into the final chute.
The cheering and energy was unbelievable. I saw half a dozen friends in the crowd and I felt their excitement as I ran over the finish line. I was momentarily overcome by emotion and disorientated as I stopped beyond the finish gates. Elaine reached over the barriers and gave me a big hug, while I sobbed a little incoherently. Once I had regained my composure, I FaceTimed my wife back at home, only to nearly start crying all over again.
A short time later, I had collected my finisher’s bag and was rugged up some warm clothes, swapping stories with my friends about their experiences in the 50km event. With more friends coming in throughout the night (full results here) we spent a lot of time near that finish line and had a fantastic night (and morning).
UTA was a pretty amazing experience. The competitors and volunteers were absolutely awesome and the terrain was both majestic and at times brutal, but also very runnable in many sections. I was asked how it compared to my experience of an ironman and despite the similarities, the two were difficult to compare for me. Two years ago, Port Macquarie ironman felt like the hardest thing I would ever do. But surviving that experience gave me the strength to tackle UTA with greater ease and confidence. Comparing the two, I would say the physical demands of UTA are certainly more demanding, but it feels less like timed activity so it is easier to pace yourself and manage your energy levels. Whether it was harder or not, I absolutely loved the event and had the most amazing day. Hopefully I’ll be back for another crack soon.
The cheering and energy was unbelievable. I saw half a dozen friends in the crowd and I felt their excitement as I ran over the finish line. I was momentarily overcome by emotion and disorientated as I stopped beyond the finish gates. Elaine reached over the barriers and gave me a big hug, while I sobbed a little incoherently. Once I had regained my composure, I FaceTimed my wife back at home, only to nearly start crying all over again.
A short time later, I had collected my finisher’s bag and was rugged up some warm clothes, swapping stories with my friends about their experiences in the 50km event. With more friends coming in throughout the night (full results here) we spent a lot of time near that finish line and had a fantastic night (and morning).
UTA was a pretty amazing experience. The competitors and volunteers were absolutely awesome and the terrain was both majestic and at times brutal, but also very runnable in many sections. I was asked how it compared to my experience of an ironman and despite the similarities, the two were difficult to compare for me. Two years ago, Port Macquarie ironman felt like the hardest thing I would ever do. But surviving that experience gave me the strength to tackle UTA with greater ease and confidence. Comparing the two, I would say the physical demands of UTA are certainly more demanding, but it feels less like timed activity so it is easier to pace yourself and manage your energy levels. Whether it was harder or not, I absolutely loved the event and had the most amazing day. Hopefully I’ll be back for another crack soon.