Two and a bit days flogging myself in the mountains (
sans alcohol too!) has given me a real boost just when I was beginning to wane in enthusiasm. Getting off the treadmill and hitting some real hills, rather than the programmed variety has been just what I needed, in more ways than one.
To be honest, it might not have happened had I not told all and sundry that I was going to do it. To get to my spot in the mountains for the weekend required a three and a half hour drive, followed by a two and half hours flogging up a steep, tricky climb up to a remote plateau with a 22 kg backpack; and this after a full day's work at the end of a busy week... so to say I was looking forward to it is not 100% accurate. I
was looking forward to the weekend, but this mad Friday evening dash was enough to put me off altogether, except that I had announced to the world that it was definitely going to happen...
Anyway, the photos will tell a better story than I, but bugger it, I'll try and stick it into words anyway... [clears throat ... realises that is silly and cracks knuckles instead]
Righto.
Most of us understand that feeling when you're on the precipice of doing something that you really feel is probably a really bad idea, and no-one is actually stopping you, but you're going to do it anyway. A feeling of
dread that you alone are totally responsible for. That's how I felt as I crumpled under the weight of my pack in fading light on a remote and deserted dirt road, facing the prospect of two and a half hours knee-crushing, back-breaking climb up to a mountain-ringed alpine plateau called the Walls of Jerusalem - the only national park in Tasmania with no road access. I had been up here only once before - some twenty years ago - and the memory of the severity of the inital climb was not lost to time.
The whole idea of this trip was to get some serious strength and endurance training in place prior to my race in three weeks time, so now was not the time to back down, so up I went. And whilst it certainly wasn't easy, being closer to
hellish than
comfortable, I got up without major incident in time to set up my base camp before it was completely dark. And was rewarded with that special feeling you get when you've done something tough that you really didn't want to do. And so I celebrated with a ... coffee :mad:
Next morning dawned crystal clear, cool and calm - perfect weather, and with mercifully no ill effects from the previous evening's uphill battle, I headed off early for a long day hot-footing it up and down mountains, concentrating on maintaining a solid pace and testing my endurance, and also testing out my dodgy left knee on the steep descents, which was probably my greatest concern.
Suffice to say that I was
really pleased with my efforts, covering around 17 - 20km, including a
lot of steep ascending and descending, but I did learn a couple of things the hard way: one was that at altitude, one gets sunburnt far more easily and severely than at sea-level
and the other was that dehydration is not so easy to avoid as one may think. I drank about 4 litres of water during the day and still found myself dehydrated - not dangerously so, but enough to have received a
tut tut of disapproval from my doctor had he been there
(that would be some house call)!
However all my good work was nearly undone by the appearance of a superhero. At first I thought it might have been a minor deity, but other witnesses to this vision seemed to confirm that it was basically an ipod-wearing humanoid with walking poles. I was powering up a mountain called Mt.Jerusalem - my third peak for the day - when I heard a noise behind me, and turned just in time to see a young, tall guy with two of those wretchedly trendy carbon-fibre walking poles and an iPod zoom past me at a speed I could scarcely believe. I was only about 10 minutes from the summit at this point, and scrambled after this vision as quickly as I could - I was determined to collar this guy at the summit and find out what sort of professional athlete he was, for he had better be one or I was going to kill him in a jealous rage. However, when I got to the top, he had quite literally vanished into the utter, trackless wilderness down the other side of the mountain - where I hoped rather ungraciously that he would fall down a wombat hole and be eaten by Tasmanian devils (I did see him again the following day, so fear not gentle reader, he did survive).
Fifteen minutes later, a group of four others arrived at the summit, and by comparing notes about times we started and where and when we had seen this guy, we calculated that he had completed the climb in around 20 minutes, whereas I was (initally) proud to have done it in 55.
This kind of superhero does serious injury to one's confidence
However, a lot of serious thinking about this during the descent just brought me back to the conclusion that I'm in it for the fun and for the perspective on life that it gives. The fact that I'm not the plastic tip on the end of that other guy's bootlace is really of no consequence.
By the day's end I was happily contemplating a very successful day and the progress I have made, rather than futile comparisons with elusive fitness gods.
The following morning I awoke to cold, drizzly conditions, and the prospect of another long day, followed by the return to the car and the long drive back home. Given the conditions I was of a mind to pack up there and then and call it quits, but as conditions weren't exactly appalling, I decided to go for a bit of trot and just see how things played out.
Well you know how it is - sometimes you kind of just get carried away. I was, among other things, curious to see where Mr. Superhero had vanished too yesterday. I got right off the established tracks and went bush, scrambling through creeks and rock hopping around the back of Mt. Jerusalem and then scrub bashing up to the top for a second time, but by a much more difficult route. By lunch time the drizzle had become steady rain, and as saturation levels were pretty much complete, I stayed out in it for most of the day, finally heading back to base and striking a very wet camp about 4:45 pm. The descent to the car was extremely unpleasant - cold, wet, very slippery and tremendously jarring on the knees. There was little point stopping - it was that wet that as soon as I came to a halt, an army of leeches would come looping across from all directions - those little blighters can smell you from several metres away. The sight of my car has rarely been so welcome
After all that exertion, I had been concerned about the drive home - a long, boring drive in a state of semi-exhaustion is never a good idea. However two things kept me awake and safe: for some cruel reason, the heater in my car failed completely, meaning no warmth or dryness to induce any sleepiness until I got home :mad: Also, the drive beautifully coincided with the Australia -v- West Indies ICC Champions Trophy final, so it was in fact a great end to a beaut weekend
The upshot of all that is I am now very happy with my strength and endurance, and not unhappy that my knees held up pretty well to what was a stern test for them. And everything else was bloody brilliant - no cramps, strains or any kind of niggle really. And my recovery times have also improved out of sight. I covered about 45 tough kilometres over the weekend, and awoke this morning (Monday) quite refreshed and feeling ready to tackle it all over again.
So I'm very confident now of completing the distance and the climbing of the race reasonably comfortably. Next area to work on though is speed, for I am not exactly a greyhound and would like to improve my pace over the next couple of weeks.
The other positive aspect of the weekend was that it again put work (as in paid employment) into proper perspective. Paid slavery serves its purpose, but it isn't
the answer. But all RCers of course know what
is.
Bring on dem hills
November - Crunch Month
however, I'm not too concerned as I feel fabulously OK, physically anyhow.