2011 Point To Pinnacle Race Report – The Tale of Brokeback Mountain.
I wish I knew how to quit you. - Jack Twist, “Brokeback Mountain”
The physiotherapist gave me a quizzical look and wondered out loud how I was going to actually lie down on his bench. I could stand – in some discomfort – and with some effort I could on occasion just about get in and out of a firm chair, but laying down was difficult in the extreme and getting up again nearly impossible without a lot of assistance.
I had in desperation thrown myself at the mercy of the physio because I had sprained a disk in my lower back in the last few days before the big race. From being in perhaps the best running form of my life I was suddenly reduced to a cripple incapable of reaching down for his own running shoes, let alone putting them on and running out the door and up a bloody mountain. If I was any less mobile at that moment I would be in danger of being pressed into service as a novelty moaning hat stand.
When I happened to mention that in two days hence I was to run the Point To Pinnacle, instead of the expected laughter or rolling of eyes and tut-tut-tutting, my physio du jour Robbie took on a purposeful look, cracked his knuckles (metaphorically at least) and set to work. It turns out he is an ultra marathoner and former professional footballer and therefore understood my predicament perfectly. And whilst he didn’t guarantee I would finish the race, he did promise to give me a sporting chance of at least getting to the start line.
Suffice to say Robbie is indeed a miracle worker, and after an hours session with him a tremendous improvement was already under way. The RC legends Sweder and Seafront Plodder were in town and had already arrived at Chez MLCM and looked greatly relieved the next day when I was indeed able to board the plane to Hobart, which 24 hours earlier had been in some doubt. I shan’t go into boring detail about my recovery – but frequent stretching, the application of drugs, hot packs and ice did wonders and by the morning of the race I was feeling confident and ready to confront what was going to be undoubtedly a very, very tough event.
Pre-race day – Biggles Flies South
And so to Hobart. We flew down there on Saturday morning, the day before the race. The trip down is a story in itself, but Sweder has already done an excellent job of explaining that one so I won’t repeat it here. Six of us flew together on a not-as-early-as-scheduled Deathstar flight, and Stephen (MLCM Jr No. 2) flew in a few hours later from Adelaide. We were then a party of seven: three runners (Sweder, Chris and moi), two walkers (Seafront Plodder and Stephen) and two support crew (Jane and Tash).
In the afternoon we drove the course to get a look at the monster. Interestingly, Sweder didn’t want to see the course before the race, preferring not to dwell on the difficulties ahead. I could understand this to an extent but being such a gruelling race I thought it was an enemy you really shouldn’t battle in ignorance. It was also good weather that afternoon, and it might be the only chance we had of taking in the magnificent views should things deteriorate on race day … which indeed they did! I have walked up and down and over this mountain many, many times (there being a myriad of walking trails) and driven the race route road to the pinnacle a squillion times before. I’ve also completed the race once before (as a walker), and yet driving the route I was still surprised at how tough the bugger seemed to be. Just utter, utter, utterly relentless uphill. This was definitely going to be hard.
Shock and awe tactics over with, we returned to our rented accommodation and carbo-feasted on lamb, pasta and salad, prepared by our angelic attendants Jane and Tash. I’ve never really been one to suffer from pre-race nerves, but there was a strange feeling over our camp that evening as we sat in the shadow of the monster we had to battle the following day. Our rented house in West Hobart sat in the mountain’s foothills, and from our kitchen/dining/living area where we congregated we could see the peak glaring at us. This fight was definitely going to be on the mountain’s terms, and each of us was going to have a very personal struggle with the beast.
There was very little talk of race tactics that evening – each one of us had some idea of what we wanted to do, but there was a clear and over-riding understanding that no amount of planning would prepare you for the actual day. We would just have to see what the bastard threw at us. There was nothing more we could do now... we were as ready as we could be and it was too late to do anything more.
Next an early night was in order. But few of us slept well – restlessness, expected and unexpected trips to the toilet, uncomfortable beds, too hot, too cold – we seemed to suffer it all and no one claimed to have had a decent night’s kip. I had gone to bed wondering how my back would hold out, hoping the weather would be kind and thinking how great it was to be part of such a cool team as this little group was proving to be. It wasn’t a great nights sleep, and I was up early, but already the adrenaline was kicking in and I kind of knew that lack of sleep was going to be the least of my problems…
The day eventually dawned looking bright and cheery. Sunny, not cold and probably ideal running conditions. Even so, I was careful to load a rain jacket into my running belt/bum bag and had plenty of warm gear for the gear bus that I could retrieve at the summit. When I mentioned I had forgotten to bring a beanie, Jane lent me hers. As it looked such a nice day, I nearly handed it back thinking it wouldn’t be needed, but she insisted, so I packed it into the gear bag anyway. That beanie would later prove to be a God-send.
The Race – Suffering On The Mountain, or: Here Be Dragons!
The morning weather looked superb. My breakfast of toast and honey followed by a banana went down well and the mood of the team was generally buoyant. Jane left with the walkers at 06:15 to shuttle them to their earlier start while Sweder set to preparing his special race day concoction of chia goo plus a water, vinegar and salt drink which he assured us he would actually consume during the race. How he did this without actually immediately regurgitating it I can’t imagine.
Before we knew it, another hour was gone and we runners were being driven to the race start by Jane. There we quickly found the gear bus, dumped our bags and began trying to look a little like some of the lithe athletes around us. They were a fit looking lot, without doubt. I spied a former work mate of mine, normally a fantastically fit runner and many-times finisher of the Point To Pinnacle. This however was his first come-back race after prostate cancer and he was looking a little uncertain. We had a bit of a chat (which put my own concerns about my back into perspective!) before I returned to the others in time for the start. And what a start! Under clear blue, sunny skies and ideal running conditions we took off from the casino car park and up the flat Sandy Bay Road for 2km to the first hill. The plan was simple – start at the back, go out slow and then ease down even slower... but of course as usual we took off too fast! Travelling at the very back of the pack we were putting in 6 min kilometres when I was thinking 7:30 would be a better option. One of the few tactical things I knew for sure about this race was that if we didn’t get to the 10km point in tip top condition, the last slog up the mountain was going to be a killer.
We ran together for the first few km’s and even managed to slow it down to a reasonable pace, but it wasn’t too long before Sweder started to pull ahead as I had fully expected. At about the same time Chris started drifting off behind me and I was left to concentrate on my own game. I slowed down somewhat and was OK but not hysterically happy with the way I was travelling. My back and legs felt good, but I was struggling with my breathing more than I thought I should be. It was a hard climb, and yet I had trained well for this first 10km which I should have been able to cover really quite easily. For some reason however, it was beginning to really test me.
I reached the 10km point where we turned on to the mountain road proper in 69 minutes, which was about spot on the pace I had expected. However I was certainly not in the “tip top” condition I had trained for and expected. I was travelling reasonably OK though so just put my head down and kept going. From 10 to 14 kilometres I slowed somewhat as the pitch steepened but I was hanging in there – in fact I started to feel very strong for a while.
Something happened though at the 14km point, (“The Springs”) which was the major drinks point and first aid station. By then it had clouded over and looked somewhat threatening. Certainly it was cooler and a degree of menace was looming over the pinnacle which looked close enough to touch, and yet we still had the toughest part of the race to go – a long uphill stretch across the face of the mountain away from the pinnacle before the road looped back on itself and returned toward the peak. All of it now a hard, steep, unforgiving grind.
Soon I was really struggling, and around 15km I discovered I was running so slowly that it was genuinely faster for me to walk. So that is what I did. I decided to walk and recover for a while, but in truth, I only occasionally managed to break back into a jog, and then for barely any length of time.
Around the 18km mark I had the previously mentioned encounter with The Devil incarnate – a walker wearing the number 666. And that is when the weather really started to cave in. At first it was just a bit of drizzly rain, but it quickly began deteriorating. The wind picked up and any benefit I gained from walking rather than running was lost as the wet and the cold began the suffering proper.
Around 19km I came to the “Big Bend” where the road doubles back and heads across the top of the mountain to the finish line. This is a doubly nasty part of the course where you feel you’ve broken the back of the race yet the last 2km are incredibly steep and exposed. The weather was worsening rapidly, and what had by now become a full blown blizzard made this a walking nightmare. Although I was carrying a rain jacket in my bum bag, I simply couldn’t get it out because my fingers were swollen and totally numb with the cold. I decided to simply plough on even harder, hoping the fast pace (albeit a walk) would hold off the impending hypothermia which was by then a genuine worry for me. I was totally drenched, and while that wouldn’t normally be a problem on a run, the intense cold, made far colder by a fierce wind was making the matter somewhat serious.
At the 20km mark Chris caught me. It was odd because at that moment I had been concerned about him, as I knew he was running in a singlet with no rain jacket. The thought was crossing my mind that a dutiful father would forget about his own race aspirations and turn back to check his son was OK when in one of those odd moments of synchronicity he tapped me on the shoulder! The big grin on his face told me he was doing OK – he was clearly travelling far better than myself and offered to walk with me to the finish, but I waved him on saying I was sure I could get to the end OK.
And that’s what I did. Chris ran on at an astonishing pace considering what we had been through on the climb and the weather we were now being subjected to.
When the finish line timing mats finally appeared through the maelstrom it was to be honest, with more a sense of relief than any kind of elation that I trudged wearily across them. I stabbed at my Garmin with icy, frozen fingers to stop the beast and then contemplated the ten metre chute leading to the observation shed where we were to collect our medals and briefly find some respite from the storm. I became annoyed as the two people in front of me were barely crawling forward and thus holding up the queue of finishers all desperate to get out of the weather. However they were really suffering so I waited as patiently as I could and eventually we found ourselves inside the little shelter where we were handed medals, certificates and (bliss!) a bag of lollies which I wolfed down.
Leaving the shelter and heading to the gear bus to collect my bag the storm was at its fiercest and I could barely stand, the wind was that strong. Once on the gear bus I found my bag and quickly started putting on warm layers. The thick woollen beanie that Mrs MLCM had given me earlier and which I nearly handed back was the first thing on and I really do believe that prevented what could have been a worrying case of hypothermia. I was that cold and numb and not entirely with it mentally that I hadn’t even noticed Chris was just a few seats behind me. I was just getting off the gear bus when he yelled out, and together we then found a little renewed strength to battle through the elements to find a bus returning down the mountain. It was then we heard that the course had been officially closed due to the extreme weather and anyone not yet finished was being collected by the returning buses, so we were extremely fortunate to have finished just a little before the course was closed.
Post Race Re-hydration, or: Don’t Stop Now, We’ve Only Just Begun
Travelling back down the mountain things quickly warmed up and by the time we were deposited back at the casino start/finish line it was warm and sunny, and we took a few minutes to sit on the grass in the sun and dry off before joining the throngs inside for the free meal and beer on offer plus the prize presentations.
Stomachs filled, duty done and reunited with our team mates we retired to Running Commentary’s Southern Hemisphere Headquarters for showers, debrief and general gloating, back-slapping and to continue the re-hydration process. And then it was off to the pub for the post-race celebrations in earnest. So earnest in fact that they lasted for over a week, but that’s a story for another day, maybe.
A week and a bit later and I’m now back at work but still in that slightly buzzy post-race zone. There’s already talk afoot among RC pundits about a return bout in 2013. I have to confess it’s enticing. Although I’m happy to have gotten through the race at all given the state of my back, it does grate slightly that my training went so well only to be let down by injury right at the end. Instead of the expected sub 2:30, I finished in 2:52 ... so ... perhaps a return visit would be in order? I have raced the P2P twice now and had blizzard conditions in both. Surely I can’t be that unlucky three times in succession?
Time will tell.
But our team all triumphed in their own way. Sweder as expected put in a great race. Seafront Plodder and Stephen did their walks at a good clip and finished strong. Chris paced himself brilliantly and finished perhaps the strongest of all of us. And I was just happy to finish at all.
Official times:
Sweder 2:34:11
Chris 2:48:59
MLCM 2:52:51
Seafront Plodder 3:44:03
Stephen 3:50:35
Photos
1. The Walkers: Stephen and Seafront Plodder
2. The Runners: MLC Man, Sweder, Chris
3. The RC shirts!
4. Runners milling at the start, the beast in the background.
5. Sweder, Chris and MLCM at about 3km.
6. Five happy finishers.
Go!vember
