Nooooooooovember

[Sweder]

We're puttin' the band back together man.
We're on a mission from Ghaad.

   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Cheers everyone - the race report is taking shape. Hopefully not too much longer now. Looks like we're going to need bigger accomodation next year - tremendously exciting!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Hope isn’t a strategy – El Gordo, RC Supremo.

Dairy farmers are interesting people. I know this because I chatted with one on the bus coming down the mountain after the race. If this one was a typical example, then I’d say dairy farmers are a tough breed. A greying, weather-beaten man of about my age, this had been his eleventh Point To Pinnacle race and this year he had finished in about the same time as myself. The chief point of difference from myself was that he’d torn his calf muscle at the 14km mark and rather than pull out he simply gritted his teeth and shuffled up the steepest part of the course to bloody well get his medal.

This perhaps wasn’t so surprising as it sounds – two years ago he’d been kicked in the head by one of his cows and suffered severe bruising to the brain. Left for dead after the resultant massive stroke in the cow yard he was lucky not to be trampled to death by his now slightly panicky cows. Eventually found and air-lifted to hospital in Hobart he spent the next few months recuperating and undergoing intensive physio to restore his mobility and mental faculties. Being able to see Mount Wellington from his hospital bed helped motivate him to a speedy recovery and just seven months after the accident he completed his tenth P2P. So a little thing like a torn calf muscle at the critical point of the race just before the steepest climb wasn’t going to deter him.

We were asking each other just what it was that kept bringing us back to this race when our bus pulled over to let an ambulance scream past with a race casualty. We took in this not entirely unusual aspect of the mountain race and each of us simply answered “insanity”. This was a flippant answer of course but we both understood that the real reason was complicated, multi-layered and difficult to articulate.

The best answer I can come up with after a lot of thought is that it’s like Rocky Balboa’s opportunity to fight Apollo Creed in the first Rocky film. Creed was the deserving and undefeated champion, and Rocky’s ambition was not to beat him, but to merely go the distance and earn his respect. The P2P is similar – you’ll never ‘beat’ the mountain, but by running the race you’ll earn kudos and respect unattainable elsewhere.

A couple of you have asked me when writing this race report to avoid stressing the difficulty of the run, lest they be dissuaded from making the trip down here next year. It’s tempting to do so, as I really would love to have you visit this magnificent part of the world and experience one the world’s great races. But that would be like luring you under false pretences, because there’s no getting around the fact that this is a half marathon run up a sodding great mountain from a balmy sea level start to a frozen, alpine finish line. The route is lined with ambulances, police vehicles and other sundry emergency services all being kept busy as 1900 walkers and runners come to terms with the brutal necessities of this race.

That said, we shouldn’t overstate the case here. The race is definitely within the scope of everyone who is a regular contributor and runner here at RC. However it’s perhaps true that you are unlikely, unless you routinely do tremendous amounts of tough hill work, to finish at your first attempt without resorting to walk breaks. Indeed, many runners are reduced to walking much of the last few kilometres and that’s not unexpected nor anything to be ashamed of, and a well-planned run/walk strategy (or even a walk/walk one) is in any case a sensible option.

But on to that race report…

Here be dragons...

I awoke at six, having slept well enough and was pleased to see the weather fine and mild. The forecast had steadily improved as we approached race day, and the weather man was now saying today would be fine and partly cloudy with no snow and only a chance of showers later in the day… in short, just about perfect for a run up the hill. So already I had two reasons to feel dangerously confident – a good night’s sleep and great weather neatly concealed the fact that I was still attempting to run up a bloody great mountain on too little training. For the moment though, I felt good. I should have known better.

Up quickly, I was alone with my thoughts in the kitchen of our rented house (actually a converted hot water supplies’ warehouse). Chris (MLCM Jr) had arisen at five for an early breakfast and gone back to bed for a little more kip. Jane (Mrs MLCM) who would be ferrying us to the start line, was not yet up and all was peaceful. I munched in solitude on my breakfast of porridge, toast with Vegemite and then a banana whilst checking out the latest news and views on the RC forums. Then it was time to check my gear again and pack my bag by which time the others had appeared. After a brief amount of idle, nervous chat Jane then drove us to the start line for our 8 a.m. kick-off in the car park of the Wrest Point casino down on the estuarine banks of the Derwent River.

With the race at capacity and the weather just about perfect (at least down here at sea level) the starting area was abuzz with happy, confident runners. This year there were just two of us representing RC – myself and Chris as a kind of RC ‘place holder’ before what is shaping up as next year’s northern hemisphere RC onslaught. Both of us were aiming for a PB, but also somewhat wary as neither of us had completed as much hill training as we had hoped, yet we were feeling good and in high spirits. We were later to discover that this mountain doesn’t think much of misplaced confidence. As EG has previously warned us, hope isn’t a strategy and our confidence would later be found out as un-earned.

For the moment however we were happy to have Jane take our photos at the race start with gently bobbing yachts behind us in their marina alongside the start line and the mountain looming in the far distance behind us. I chatted briefly with Terry, a former work colleague who was running the race again for the umpteenth time. We soaked in the atmosphere and listened to the MCs explain the race rules, tell us a brief history of the race and chat to the some of the leading contenders as they wandered through the 800 or so runners with their radio mic. One of the leading contenders was a top Japanese cross-country runner by the name of Yujiro Iida who had flown in from Japan less than an hour before! Whether his flight had been delayed or he really lived by the skin of his teeth is not known. Either way he was destined to finish 5th, so a very creditable, if not somewhat cavalier effort.

As planned, Chris and I lined up at the very back of the group. My strategy was straight-forward: take off at the back of the pack and stay there as long as possible, and try to maintain an even 7:00/km pace and walk through each of the drink stations for 30 – 60 seconds. However, I also knew this was not the kind of race that allowed such race tactics to be adhered to for long, and flexibility was paramount. But you have to start with something. Even allowing for my race plan to fall apart on the higher slopes, I was confident of a PB, but as I said, confidence in this race has to be hard-earned and I also knew my race training had been underdone.

Finally the starter counted down to zero and yelled “Go!”, which I still find rather quaint and we shuffled off across the start line. There were no timing mats at the start – the official results would be ‘gun time’ so I was careful to start my Garmin as we jogged across the line under the Garmin flags, Garmin being the major sponsor for the first time this year. Sadly however there would be no time bonuses for using the sponsor’s equipment.

The first kilometre of the race is a pleasant flat jog along the main road through the wealthy suburb of Sandy Bay, and Chris and I exchanged quips about our race tactics going so well (‘exactly to plan – right at the back of the pack’) and chatted genuinely about how even at this slow pace (6:30/km) it would be impossible to maintain this speed up on the slopes and that we really should slow down to the planned 7:00/km. That much was true. As incredible as it seemed, we knew that this ridiculously slow pace was indeed suicidal. It made much more sense to start at our intended race pace from the get-go, and yet the only people with us here at the back were the elderly ladies and the lard buckets (no disrespect intended – indeed they are worthy heroes in my eyes).

After just half a kilometre a gap of about ten metres had already opened up between we back markers and the main field. It was an odd sensation. On the treadmill it is incredibly simple to run very slowly – you set the machine and it controls your tempo. Out here on the road on race day it not only seems impossible, but for some reason it is impossible to stick to 7 min/km pacing. I never have managed to figure that one out. Whatever the reason, by the first kilometre (taking just 6:31), like it or not we had overtaken three elderly ladies and a rather large gentleman and had started to move up on the field. Chris was actually champing at the bit to get moving, but to his credit, and without a clear race plan of his own, he held back with me intent on remaining near the back until he was more certain about how he was faring.

The first short steep section near the two kilometre point saw us already beginning to steadily overtake those who had gone out too fast and were now reigning in their pace. From 2km the race settles into a steady climb and we fairly quickly found our rhythm and pace and settled in for the ride. As the climb gradually steepened, so our pace slowed… the first five kilometres went 6:31, 6:47, 6:50, 7:17 and 7:26. My plan for even 7 minute pacing was looking lost already, and we weren’t even on the mountain slopes yet, however I was happy with the way I was travelling and feeling in control and strong, although my pace wasn’t as even as intended.

Chris meanwhile was still itching to get going, but kept himself contained by stopping to take photos and then catching up with me again. After 5km we climbed steadily away from the city through eucalypt forest to the junction of Pinnacle Road at Ferntree. This second five kilometre stage is important for getting your ‘climbing legs’ into gear and for finding the correct rhythm and pace that will hopefully get you up the mountain road proper. This is a tough climb in its own right, but only half the pitch of what is to come, and to my mind it’s vitally important you get to the 10km mark feeling in good shape, otherwise the second half of the race will just destroy your resolve.

At the 8km point Chris stopped again for a toilet break. Here is also where we had momentary relief of a different sort, with a couple of hundred metres of almost flat road. I increased my pace here slightly and felt the lactic acid draining away – bliss! Pretty soon though we reached Pinnacle Road and began the ascent proper. My splits for 5 – 10km went: 7:13, 7:17, 7:35, 6:50 and 7:39. I’d reached 10km in 1h11:29, only about 90 seconds behind schedule, and I was feeling pretty good so I was happy with that. Chris was still looking like a crouching tiger, ready to pounce but waiting for the right moment. We plodded on, feeling good and now steadily overtaking numbers of walkers who had started an hour earlier than the runners.

The eucalypt rain forest through this section is dense and lush and just magnificent – a real pleasure to run through despite the increasing difficulty of the incline. Just short of 14km though we emerge from the dense, lower slopes forest and reach a sharp bend with a look-out just as the alpine terrain starts. It was here last year on the pre-race drive of the course with Sweder and Seafront Plodder that we discovered our car had a rapidly deflating tyre. The run now was becoming mighty tough and I wondered briefly if last year’s deflating tyre was some kind of weird prescient warning of what was to come for the unwary runner. I plodded on, but Chris stopped to take another photograph. My pace had now slowed to around 7:50/km, far slower than I had hoped, but the ascent was now so steep that any chance of increasing my speed was all but lost. I slowly jogged another 200 metres up the road to the main drinks and aid station at the 14km mark (‘the Springs’) where I accepted a cup of Gatorade from an incredibly young and eager volunteer (about 4 y.o.!) and took a much-needed walk break. The Gatorade felt awful in my stomach and I wished I taken water instead. I threw most of it away and shrugged my way back into a modest jog.

I’d expected Chris to catch me again by this point but there was no sign of him and I wondered if he had perhaps stopped to stretch for a bit at The Springs. He’d also had some blister issues so perhaps he’d stopped for repairs at the first-aid station. Either way there was no sign of him so I struggled ahead on my own.

Kilometre number fifteen took a looong 8:16 and now I was staring ahead at a road that was scary in its pitch (approaching 10%) and seemingly endless in its length. It’s here that it stretches up and away across the face of the mountain before turning on itself for the final push to the summit. It’s incredibly steep and unrelenting, and is also increasingly exposed to the elements. The temperature falls noticeably and the air thins, making it doubly, triply tough. The good runners were all now way ahead of me so back here it was pretty much a field of walkers. It’s both physically and mentally very, very demanding. This is also where the mountain starts to kick your backside very hard indeed if you haven’t paid your dues in terms of strict and rigid physical preparation. And this is exactly where I came unravelled last year and now again this year. I don’t remember precisely the thoughts that went through my head, nor the exact spot where it happened, but somewhere between the 15th and 16th kilometres I simply found the pitch too steep and my legs too weak to deal with it. Aerobically I felt strong, but the strength to tackle the incline was simply no longer there.

My hastily re-arranged race strategy then was to walk to The Chalet, a small stone structure and aid station at the 1,000m above sea level point around the 17km point. A small demon on one shoulder was telling me that I would be sufficiently revived to run to the finish from there, whilst another demon on the other shoulder was saying that in fact it only got steeper from there on and I was dreaming if I thought it was going to be any easier. Both demons cackled mercilessly and I strode on, occasionally breaking into a jog as a (very) few other tormented runners ran past me. By this stage however, no-one was having a good time of it. The only other runners back this far in the field were feeling as drained as myself, so we struggled on as best we could, but there was no doubting it – the demons had us, and were having a field day of cackling at our expense.

Of Chris there was no sign, which surprised me, but then, maybe not. Motorcycle police were cruising up and down the road by this stage, quizzing everyone who looked lost or fatigued. Ambulances also came up and down the mountain in varying degrees of urgency, and Emergency Services volunteers began losing patience with us as they yelled at us to keep clear of the buses now annoyingly taking those supremely fit runners who had already finished back down to the warm clime and refreshments at sea level. The road here is very narrow and the 45 buses required to return runners and walkers to the start were beginning to squeeze past us back down the road - it was almost exquisite agony and the laughter of demons was clear and audible.

The only saving grace for me was seeing the varying degrees of anguish and courage among the other runners. Some were bent double at the side of the road. Others were crying, while still others gamely carried on chatting to each other as if sitting in a park on a sunny summer’s afternoon. The blood and sweat dripping down their legs told another story.

I didn’t know it then, but part of the reason Chris hadn’t reappeared was that he had also hit the wall. Not only that but he had sprinted a little to catch a runner he thought was in trouble, only to be told that no, he ‘always ran like that’, only to then collapse on the road a few metres further on.

If I’m painting a gruesome picture of anguish and mayhem on the road to Perdition, then I’m really only doing so to make my own short-comings seem less preposterous. The truth is that once again, same as last year, the mountain easily found the lack of depth in my training and preparedness for what is, after all, becoming increasingly billed as one of the toughest half-marathons on the planet.

Whilst there certainly were casualties and suffering among the participants, the degree of pride and satisfaction among the vast majority who did complete the course more than compensated for what could be seen as a harsh punishment for those who failed.
Chris and I both did, of course, eventually reach the end. I even managed a slim personal best time, and whilst it fell way short of what I had hoped, it was a fair result for the training I had put in. If the mountain were a school master it doubtless would have written on my report card, ‘MLCM continues to improve, but falls well short of his capabilities. Must try harder next year.’ And fair enough. Harsh words, but true.

A pleasant surprise at the end of the event was to see large crowds of cheering already-finished runners at the summit. The weather was relatively mild and so people donned jackets, gloves and beanies and stuck around to cheer on the late finishers. The previous two times I’d run this race the weather was so appalling we had no option but to jump straight onto a bus and immediately return down the mountain - hanging about at the finish line had simply not been an option. This year however, it was genuinely uplifting to see crowds of people urging us on, and to actually hear a race announcer calling our names out as we crossed the finish line.

My GPS time was 2:51:11, a mere 1 minute 40 seconds better than my previous best from last year. Official time is gun time only, so I’m taking my watch time as being more accurate. Neither is particularly flattering, and while I’m happy to have bettered my time, I was expecting to do much better than that. Again, despite this being my third attempt, I had failed to fully respect the difficulty of the climb.

Chris eventually crossed the line in 3:03, having burned out badly and learning a lesson about the mountain. For once the benefit of youth wasn’t quite the magic elixir it had been in the past. Youth is still clearly no substitute for training in a tough race.

So what will I do differently for next year? Two things, principally. First and most important, there has to be far more training on those difficult 10% slopes. These are the killers. The problem isn’t just that it is a very tough incline, but that the worst of it comes at a point in the race when you’re already fatigued by the climb, and you’re facing the twin demons of worsening conditions and weakening resolve. Second, far more training at the lesser slopes in order to get to the half-way point in the race in good time and in good condition. In short, far more hill training is needed. Duh.

What about for those of you interested in coming next year but worried about how hard this race is going to be? Well I’d say two things: firstly, don’t be too concerned about how tough it is. You can enter as a walker or prepare a race/walk strategy as a runner. Either way you will get to the top in good order and still receive the same nice, shiny medal as those heroic runners who can run the whole thing. The ones who really suffer are the bunnies such as myself who think we can set a time and achieve it without actually putting in the full gamut of training required to reach a set time goal. Not wise at your first attempt.

Secondly, I’d say to you as I said to Sweder and SP last year – if I thought the only reason for travelling to this part of the world was to take part in a race such as this, then I’d advise against it. But Australia generally, and Tasmania particularly, is unlike anywhere else on the planet and a wonderful place to visit. Don’t worry that the race might spoil your holiday, because it won’t. Even if you entered as a runner and ended up walking the whole thing, you have plenty of time to finish and on paved roads it really isn’t that hard.

No, the tough part isn’t the mountain. You can’t really fight a mountain. You can only fight your own lack of training and damn near kill yourself trying to beat an unrealistic time goal. Go with the flow however and you’ll have an enjoyable time and still receive that coveted and rare medal.

I was going to go on to tell you about the post-race rehydration and the stupendous feeling of achievement that overwhelms you once you’ve had your shower, a few cleansing ales at the Shipwright’s Arms Hotel and a feed of the superb local Tasmanian scallops which this year are in plentiful supply and absolutely superb quality. But I’m already up to nearly 4,000 words and I need to get this posted before everyone forgets the race even happened.

I might write a little more when I get to the next phase of posting some photos. Soon, I promise!

21.4km 2h51:11 @ ave 6% gradient.
YTD: 1,287.7km

[glaconman]

Thanks for the report MLCMM. A great effort.

Sounds like you're developing a great fondness for this race. Certainly the kind of race to focus the mind, take seriously and plenty to talk about afterwards.

Well done to you and Chris.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Will read it tonight ...just have to choose the beer.

[Sweder]

Good news! Will read tonight with my hot chocolate.
Love a big RC report

[Seafront Plodder]

Superb effort mate, great report too - brings a lot of memories back.

Still got it in you to outlast Jnr I note.

I don't know who here suggested that you might tone down the difficulty, but do think you were right to ignore them. It is a beast of a climb, and what makes these P2P reports so vivid is how you dealt with the never-ending incline and associated change in elements.

I was fortunate to see a fair bit of Tassie last year, and even if there were no P2P, would heartily recommend a visit.

[Antonio247]

Congratulations, MLCMM and Chris.

Very beautiful report. I've being imagining myself climbing it as well.

Looking forward to being in the southern hemisphere next year. I'll have to train hills a lot.

[suzieq]

Well done MLCMM! And Chris! I'm glad you didn't tone it down; it is a tough race and knowing what to expect will help us to prepare (!!?). I have to admit it does scare me though. I don't know how one prepares mentally for something like that, as it sounds like that might be equally as tough as the physical part.

Congratulations - you definitely earned those beers after the race.

[El Gordo]

Wow. Outstanding report, MLCMM: well done. You may not have been happy about your race pacing, but the writing is beautifully measured and a joy to read.

Great effort in the race too, though I'm not convinced it can be that bad. I mean, if SP managed to get a P2P medal, it must be a doddle.

[marathondan]

Wow indeed. A truly epic adventure. And a tremendous performance, given your less-than-ideal preparation. A very different kind of leg-hammering from, say, a road marathon. How's the recovery going?

[Sweder]

Tremendous stuff, MLCM3*, invoking crystal clear memories of heartache and pain from last year. I echo your call to those headed south next winter; prepare for hills. I know what it is to try to run that bastard on undercooked legs. The pain is intense, the feeling of inadequacy far worse.

Yet I also know what an achievement it is to slay that mountain dragon. Many fall on the slopes of Mount Doom. You both fought your demons and claimed the summit. That's a win in my book.

*Mid Life Crisis Mountain Marathon Man

[Sweder]

I read it again today. Not really sure if I want to do it again now ...


... just kidding.
I'm a proper masochist.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Thanks for the report MLCMM. A great effort.

Sounds like you're developing a great fondness for this race. Certainly the kind of race to focus the mind, take seriously and plenty to talk about afterwards.

Well done to you and Chris.

Cheers, g'man. It's a great race and yep, it certainly does focus the mind, and double yep, you do have to take it seriously, but boy, as you said, it does give you plenty to discuss afterwards!

Already looking forward to next year's race.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Will read it tonight ...just have to choose the beer.

mmmm...beer...nearly did for me this trip. see pics below!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Superb effort mate, great report too - brings a lot of memories back.

Still got it in you to outlast Jnr I note.

I don't know who here suggested that you might tone down the difficulty, but do think you were right to ignore them. It is a beast of a climb, and what makes these P2P reports so vivid is how you dealt with the never-ending incline and associated change in elements.

I was fortunate to see a fair bit of Tassie last year, and even if there were no P2P, would heartily recommend a visit.

Beating the lad was nice, all the more so because it was such a surprise. Doubtless he will have his revenge however.

It was a great trip last year, and next year will be a hoot ... is there no chance of a return trip with Mrs SP??

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Congratulations, MLCMM and Chris.

Very beautiful report. I've being imagining myself climbing it as well.

Looking forward to being in the southern hemisphere next year. I'll have to train hills a lot.

Gracias, Antonio. Mrs MLCM (Jane) and I are both very excited to be hosting you here next year - it's going to be a great time!

Your running of late is going to be a fabulous base for a fantastic year of running ahead - just keep it going through the northern summer and you'll be in fine form for the P2P!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Well done MLCMM! And Chris! I'm glad you didn't tone it down; it is a tough race and knowing what to expect will help us to prepare (!!?). I have to admit it does scare me though. I don't know how one prepares mentally for something like that, as it sounds like that might be equally as tough as the physical part.

Congratulations - you definitely earned those beers after the race.

Thanks Suzie... don't let the race scare you, as it's certainly well within your scope, especially with a well-planned race/walk strategy, and you'll be among a great group of friends for plenty of moral support.

We can't wait to see you down here!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Wow. Outstanding report, MLCMM: well done. You may not have been happy about your race pacing, but the writing is beautifully measured and a joy to read.

Great effort in the race too, though I'm not convinced it can be that bad. I mean, if SP managed to get a P2P medal, it must be a doddle.

Thanks mate, much appreciated.

And you know, it's an interesting point about SP and the race - I seriously don't think you should let SP be one up on you. You need that P2P medal too!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

... I echo your call to those headed south next winter; prepare for hills. I know what it is to try to run that bastard on undercooked legs. The pain is intense, the feeling of inadequacy far worse.

The thing about this race is that you know damn well that tough as it is, the bloody thing can be run. Three times I've finished the thing, and three times I've been left knowing I can do much better still.

Next year!