2013 Point To Pinnacle Race Report

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Act 3: One Gu Gel Short of Hell

14km.

Two thirds of the way through. This should be the point at which you’re beginning to think “OK, I really am going to finish this.” For a normal half marathon this might indeed be the case. The P2P? No. Way.

Really, NO.

Let me tell you about the 14km mark of the P2P. To this point you’ve climbed steadily, leaving the shores of the Derwent River, rising through the suburbs and into the eucalypt forests on the foothills of Mount Wellington. At 9.5km you turn onto the pinnacle road, the pitch steadily steepening as you ascend through incredibly beautiful rainforest, the pain in your legs and the burning in your lungs mostly hidden for the moment beneath the delight of the surroundings.

And then you hit the major turn at 14km. Here you can – if you are doing the tourist thing – stop and admire the view over Hobart and the Derwent estuary, and south toward Bruny Island and the Southern Ocean beyond, nothing between you and Antarctica.

But then you turn right and begin the worst part of the race: four and a half merciless kilometres of 9% gradient. It’s not just the steepness of the climb. It’s much more than that. You’re tired. It’s exposed up here. You can see the finish line just up above, yet you have to run away from the finish line before turning back and climbing even more. Worse still, the better runners have already finished the race and are on their way down, some of them even eschewing the buses to run the 21.4km back into town. Then there are the demons – the tormenting memories of P2Ps past, where you’ve come a cropper in this very section. It all comes flooding back. And it taunts you. Man, does it play on your mind!

However, this is my fourth P2P. My fourth! Surely that gives me some kind of advantage in tackling this brute of a climb? I’ve been there before – I must know what I’m doing by now??

Well, to be honest, I was feeling surprisingly good at this point, at least better than in previous years. I managed the first climb to the major aid station at The Springs at 14.5km with comparative ease. I continued on through 15th and 16th kilometres with barely a blip. Hard yes certainly, but manageable. I even began to allow myself a tiny feeling of confidence.

Big mistake!

Around 16.5km I had stopped for my requisite one minute walk. I then launched into a jog and immediately the calf muscles of both legs began to quake with cramp. Alarmed, I slowed to a gentle plod, but the cramps continued. I stopped and stretched, then walked for another minute and a half. Cautiously, with the sounds of paranormal jeering haranguing my ears I eased into an easy trot. The calf muscles twitched, eased and then seemed to be OK. I ingested another Gu gel and waited … hoping desperately for it to work some magic.

And then it happened. Something I’ve not experienced before and definitely not what I was hoping for – I eased into a jog and immediately experienced dual quad cramp. Both sets of quads went into spasm and set me back to a painful shuffling walk. Calfs and quads were now conspiring against me, even though I felt pretty good otherwise. I looked around for support but the walkers and runners around me were dealing with torments of their own, made only worse by the buses now regularly ferrying the faster, successful and grinning runners back down to warmth and sustenance at race headquarters at the casino in Sandy Bay. Bastards!

I stopped completely and considered my situation. I had to stretch – had to get rid of this quivering, straining, persistent cramping in my legs. Have you ever tried to do a quad stretch on the side of a mountain after 17km of hard running? I have. It is not to be recommended. I did what I could, but it felt … nay, it was … wholly inadequate.

I plodded on as best I could. Occasionally on the less steep stretches I would venture to a jog. Very occasionally I felt strong enough to run one or two hundred metres at a decent pace, but by now it was getting ugly. Still, aerobically I felt quite good. If my legs would only play their part I could still do this thing in a decent time.

Finally, thankfully, the long uphill stretch to Big Bend at the 18km point came into view. The last leg lay ahead!

Act 4 – When Going Through Hell, Keep On Going!

The last 3.4km of the P2P are the best and the worst. The best because the end is now in sight. And the worst because it is exposed, cold, painful and very, very steep.

To be honest, I only got through this section by playing tag with the other runners. Those of us still alive at this point were reduced to painful, slow and seemingly pointless bursts of jogging, followed by inevitable lengthy spells of walking. A large man I called “red shirt guy” seemed to take my passing him very personally and forced himself back into a run each time I overtook him. We overtook each other frequently as we struggled toward the finish. He looked progressively closer to death each time he passed me, and when I overtook him again as he inevitably slowed to a walk a few metres up the road, it was with calfs and quads screaming in increasingly painful spasms.

Finally, with about four hundred metres to go I caught up with him for what I was sure would be the last time. Barely able to lift his feet, with shoulders hunched and head hung low he seemed about ready to throw in the towel even with the finishing line almost in sight. I was walking, but still rapidly catching him. As I passed him by, quickening into a final run for the line, I felt sorry for him and patted him on the shoulder saying “Come on Red Guy, we’re nearly there” … to my utter astonishment he didn’t acknowledge me with an exhausted grunt or a sideways glance, but erupted into a sprint and raced away to the finish line as if possessed. Deflated, I dejectedly walked the next hundred metres before finding the strength for one final run to the line.

Sweder of course was already there, taking my photo and yelling words of encouragement. Complete strangers were applauding and slapping our backs as we climbed the last, painful metres to the finish line. I crossed, stopped my watch and noted with complete indifference that by some miracle I had eclipsed my previous best by nearly three minutes. It would be some time before I felt elated about this – for now I was aware only that I had survived, but my head was in a space I wasn’t familiar with; one of delayed reward perhaps. I knew I was going to eventually be chuffed with the effort, and I was grateful, but at that moment I was only really aware of the need to keep moving to avoid cramping again; to get down the finish chute, collect my medal and to let the magnitude of the moment reveal itself at the right time and in the right way.

A race marshal handed me a P2P Finishers towel – a nice touch on a cold mountain top. I mopped the sweat from my face and head and wrapped it around my shoulders for warmth. It felt good!

As I headed down the chute, MLCMM son #2 Stephen was coming the other way – having finished his walk and having collected his medal he was chatting happily to a fellow finisher. I called his name and we high-fived, exhausted but happy.

I collected my medal, a bottle of water and bag of sugary treats before returning to the finish line where Sweder, Stephen and I awaited Suzie. We didn’t have to wait long – looking fresh and fantastic she trotted happily over the line. Hugs and smiles all round, we found a friend of mine Dan, who took photos of us all before we finally succumbed to tiredness and piled aboard a bus for the trip back down the mountain, pain and fatigue temporarily forgotten and the mountain forgiven.

Epilogue: To Hell And Back - A Survivor's Guide.

That evening, sipping Guinness and eating the fabulous local scallops at the New Sydney Hotel, in between earnest discussions with fellow runners and the questions of inquisitive non-runners, I pondered what had been so different this year. It was true that the weather had been splendid. It was also true that the run/walk method had shown its strengths and a few weaknesses but generally proven itself a worthy system, particularly suited perhaps to a tough mountain race such as this. But it was also true that the mountain again had proven itself King. We might have succeeded in a small way. Yes, the four of us had made it up the mountain. Yes, we had bright shiny medals to hang on our walls and to show our friends and relatives. Yes, we had all achieved PBs (if you count Suzie’s first time P2P as a PB). And yet somehow it was obvious that the mountain was still top of the heap. No-one felt completely satisfied that we had done our best. Yet we also knew that no matter how well we trained, and no matter how well we raced on the day, we could never be entirely satisfied. The mountain was always going to “win”.

But no matter. When you take on a challenge like this, it isn’t about the race. It isn’t the time you post or the people you meet or the conditions on the day. And it isn’t actually even about the demons you confront on the climb up the slope.

It’s actually about something far more significant than that. And I’m afraid if you want to understand what it is, you’re just going to have to run that race yourself, because I for one can’t articulate it. I just know that I’m sure glad I ran it.

Really, it’s a life changer. I think that’s all there is to it. Carpe diem and all that ... you can't just sit about!