2013 Point To Pinnacle Race Report

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

2013 Point To Pinnacle – A Drama in Four Acts

Act 1 – A Gentle Climb to the Portal of Hell

Around eight hundred willing supplicants were in the hands of the demon. Friendly-looking, he was yet the keeper of the keys to the laundry chute to hell. As might be expected from a Hadean laundry chute however, this one went up: relentlessly, mercilessly, cruelly.

At the shout of “Go!” we were off; nervous yet smiling and chatting excitedly about the adventure ahead. Many of us had been there before and were only too aware of the pain and anguish artfully designed as “adventure” before us. We knew. We knew all too damn well. And yet we were there because we chose to be. We had even paid cold hard cash to be there. Crazy talk. Totally crazy, man.

The weather, it has to be said, was unusually good. Warm, even. As we ran along Sandy Bay Road, lulled into a false sense of … what, exactly? I don’t know, it hardly matters. Ran we did, separating into large, and then small groups as the beast divided us according to her diabolical plan.

To cope with the agonies of our quest, I had devised a cunning plan. With too little training, and knowing I was going to have to walk sections of this race, I had fallen into cahoots with Suzie (also among the starters) and drawn up a water-tight, fool-proof, undeniably superior 10:1 run/walk ratio. Ha ha! This was going to be good!

Ha ha. Yes. Ha ha. Why do I hear the sound of cackling from underfoot?

On we trudged. Feeling good, but with an awful sense of foreboding. Sweder had disappeared somewhere up the road, well ahead. Suzie was occasionally still in view, but definitely well in front of myself and looking the goods. Ha ha. Where was that cackling coming from?

Act 2 – As A General Rule, Don't Solve Puzzles That Open A Portal To Hell

We reached the 9.5km point where we turned onto the mountain road proper after about three hours … or more truthfully, about seventy minutes (it just seemed longer). To this point the climb had been a relatively sedate 5% or so. I felt tired, but strong. The walk breaks were keeping me in good form and on time for a PB. But the cackling of maniacal laughter had now been joined by the sombre peeling of alarm bells. I caught and passed the last of the walkers who started an hour earlier than the runners. Many of them applauded and/or shouted out encouragement as I ran past. This added a satanic element of pressure that I hadn’t allowed for. To stop running in order to take a scheduled walk break when being applauded by people you pass is not good form, and it messes with your head.

I then caught and passed Suzie as we began the serious climb.

The puzzle that was to open the portal was that I still felt good. My legs felt strong, my mental game solidly in place. The weather, quite warm earlier was cooling a little and conditions were great. The cackling of Old Nick however had quietened to a worrying, maliciously silent observation of our struggles. For some odd reason, awful Batman jokes went through my head, and as the road steepened this was now beginning to hurt. And yet, checking the old Garmin, I was still on target for a fast race.

And so the puzzle was revealed:

Q: What is Satan’s candy?
A: Foolish runners thinking of a PB on the P2P.

Dark malicious clouds began to form above my head…

[To Be Continued]

[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!

[marathondan]

Tremendous report MLCMM, good to hear your particular angle on this diabolical torture and your thought-provoking reflections. And congratulations again on what seemed like an unlikely PB. When an angle grinder features in your race preparations, you know that you're no longer going with Plan A .

[Sweder]

Love, love, loved it! The demonic aspects cannot be over-stated. Your report has minded me to revisit Missourgsky's meisterwerk as imagined by Disney. I reckon we came damned close to waking him up last Sunday.

[Antonio247]

Congratulations, MLCMM, on your PB and beautiful report. It must have been hard to feel so well and then have that terrible pain in your calves. However, you managed to go on and even get a PB.

The more I read about this race, the more I'd like to take part in it. I must be a masochist.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Cheers folks; it's now seven days since the P2P. Sweder and Suzie have left us and a long week of work lies ahead. Today was therefore my last chance to get another long run in before long days of work force any runs to be necessarily short.

I took off early at about 06:15 to beat the heat and chose my regular Lane Cove National Park route. I was feeling surprisingly fatigued, and regular swarms of lycra-clad laughing cyclists on their humming machines, whilst not exactly annoying, were a distraction from the peace of the park. Arriving at the far end of the park I saw the source of this unusually high level of cycling activity - a large group had gathered, clearly suggesting this was a major club meeting and they were gathered there in their dozens like some velocipedic form of Leigh-Mallory's Big Wing.

Instead of the usual retracing of my steps, I crossed the weir and ran up the eastern side of Lane Cove River, where cyclists fear to um, treadle. Here the road becomes a muddy, undulating, root-strewn bush track with far fewer pedestrians and no cyclists. I ran about half its length before turning off and climbing three kilometres back to the Pacific Highway and thence to home, although not before tripping on something and nearly straining my right plantar and something in my back. After a few moments of cautious walking I started running again and it came good. I need to do more of this off-road work to get my confidence and "trail legs" in good order.

I returned home in a lousy time, feeling knackered and sore. But it was a good 17km covered and went some way to maintaining some P2P fitness. What for, I'm not sure yet, but I'll be disappointed if I don't cover at least one marathon and perhaps a half or two next year. And if nothing else, I do want to maintain a decent level of running fitness.

17.0km, 1h56m
YTD: 1,039 km

And some P2P photos...


1. At the runners' start: Sweder, Suzie, MLCMM


2. Leaving Hobart, with the mountain in front of us, and surrounded by a bevy of attractive young female runners ... who said this race was hard??


3. About to cross the finish line. Not feeling as good as the smile suggests.


4. Happy finishers: MLCMM, Stephen, Suzie, Sweder, with extra race number 247 for absent friends Antonio and Andy.


5. True colours - Guinness-clad finishers with their medals.


6. Post-race recovery run with Suzie, Seven Mile Beach.

[Sweder]

Good work mate. Just back from a 14k clifftop run with Le Soft Al in 26 degree heat. Rough going, but much needed after last night's dalliance with Boags and a variety of fine Hunter Valley wines.

Once again, a thousand thanks to the Himmelhock-Muttons for superb hosting, guiding and culinary prowess. Much appreciated. A top week of running, exploring and dining, not to mention the intro to 42 Degrees South and Zeppelin Shiraz. On, on!

[marathondan]

What for, I'm not sure yet, but I'll be disappointed if I don't cover at least one marathon and perhaps a half or two next year. And if nothing else, I do want to maintain a decent level of running fitness.

Hurrah!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I've been buying too many bananas and over-charging my Garmin, so already it seems I've been suffering from a lack of race goals. Therefore, I've chosen to set my sights on the 2014 Canberra Marathon next April, a little over 130 days away.

Of course my mind has therefore turned to the question of training plans, and straight away this brings my attention to several things El Gordo has said on the subject of training over the years:

• "Planning is no substitute for activity"
  
• "Hope is not a strategy", and my favourite:
  
• "Fear of failure leads to paralysis."
  

The last one is particularly relevant to me as failure irrationally becomes my focus after even just one bad or missed run, making it that much harder to get back on the horse. So, we'll have none of that, this time.

Like the Young Ones students and their pre-semester planning (followed by a complete lack of attendance at college) I am very good at drawing up carefully-detailed training schedules and totally failing to stick to them. So, none of that either.

And I have a few other definite ideas as well:

• Run only every second day; never on consecutive days (to avoid injuries);
  
• Enter the 16-week training period already comfortably running about 50km/week;
  
• Focus on the long runs - one a week with no shirking;
  
• Maintain good core strength;
  
• Mid-week runs should be a mix of tempo and intervals, but with the emphasis being on doing the distance;
  
• Be serious about it all, but don't beat myself up about it.
  

It almost sounds as if I'm setting myself up for failure, but realistically I know there will be some setbacks - of course there always are in any course of action lasting five months. But I also know that I've successfully negotiated such setbacks during my last two marathon campaigns, and being a fully paid-up member of the "Curve Balls and Speed Bumps Club" I know I can still succeed. I look at it this way (if I may channel Obama on this):

Q: Can we run a marathon after averaging only 30km per week in training?
A: Yes we can!

Q: Can we run a marathon after only two long runs of over 30km?
A: Yes we can!

Q: Can we run a marathon even after illness knocks out an entire three weeks of our training plan?
A: Yes we can!

Pathetic, really, isn't it? I'm not sure sometimes why anybody actually voted for Barrack. Oh well, never mind.

So here we go - I have three weeks to feel comfortable running 50km per week before the real training commences. I say "real" training, but really the focus will be on consistency and distance. Pace and form are going to have to look after themselves, as I'm sure they will.

Distance covered and no injuries, that's the key.

Q: Can we do this?


Thanks, 'bama - you're my hero.

[marathondan]

Again I say: Hurrah!

I second pretty much everything you say above. I think we should take note of the two recent P2P PBs on what would probably be considered "poor to bad" preparation, and completion of the Berlin marathon on what by historical standards could be rated "abysmal to non-existent" training levels. So I'm beginning to see training targets as aspirational rater than essential. On the other hand, a marathon (at least for us mortals) is not just about those few hours on the day. It's a third of a year committed to a goal, and part of the experience is getting in as many of those miles as you can. (You could almost say it's a marathon, not a sprint.) So I hope you're able to get a decent percentage on the inevitable spreadsheet.

I wonder if "no injuries" can really be a strategy, though? Obviously you're planning to minimise the chances of something going ping, but it can happen at any time (like before I've even started, in my current case), and you will need to be prepared with the self-beating-up deflectors if it does. But you know that already.

Anyway, looks like it's shaping up to be a good season round here:

Molyeman 23rd Feb
Brighton mara 6th Apr
Canberra mara 13th Apr

Will Santa be bringing you a new tready?

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Will Santa be bringing you a new tready?

I don't think so, Dan. The motor, deck and belt are still all fine (touch wood), and with my modifications I can still use it on the flat or at the P2P elevation. I get plenty of hills on my long slow routes, so really I won't need to use the treadie for anything other than flat intervals or tempo runs.

Santa might like to bring me a box of gels, a jar of vaseline and some ibuprofen, perhaps. I expect I shall be needing them.

[suzieq]

Good for you MLCMM on making the commitment to run Canberra. It's so easy to take things easy if there's nothing to train for. You've taken care of that quite handily. Enjoy the training and keep us posted.

[Sweder]

Agree with the general 'don't beat yourself up' tone of your inaugural address, mate.
Mercifully, Dan, the Moyleman test run is now in March (original date was in half term when the lead bike is away).

Long runs, long runs and, er, long runs are where it's at.
I keep hearing this, year in, year out. Don't shirk the long runs, 'time on your feet'.
Looking back last week with Graham and Suzie on the halcyon days of TOM and The Stinger, thy key to success was those brutal sunday slogs through wind and rain. I would whimper like a beaten step-child about 'twenty's plenty'. 'Nonsense' Chris would say. 'Suck it up, big fella. You'll thank me in the long run'.
There's wisdom.

Camilla gave me the other useful piece of advice just this year.
'No junk miles'. Don't knock out five lack-lustre mid-week miles. Rather, go for three but make the middle mile hill reps or sprints. Ad value to your sessions. Save the easy mileage for the long runs, push hard on the mid-week sessions.

I'll be back in the saddle in just over a week.
Lots to be done.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I discovered to my delight that back issues of the excellent magazine Running Times are available online free (also as a smart phone app) and have been ploughing through them during my daily train commute for words of wisdom. As far as training for the marathon goes, they may as well have just quoted Sweder as above, because the guts of it seems to be "long runs are the key, but also make sure the mid-week runs count". And yep, 20 milers are not enough. Those extra 3 miles are important!

In both of my marathons I ran only a couple of 36km long runs prior to race day, and felt this was insufficient. Now I know it. It is however a huge time commitment, so we'll see how it goes. I'll be training through our summer of course, so very long runs require very early starts (before dawn) - if that sounds like an excuse, it isn't intended to be. Injury, illness, work and family commitments all have a way of eating into a schedule, so we'll begin with best intentions and take it as it comes.

Speaking of injury and making those mid-week runs count ...

Erm, I seem to have strained my Achilles. Just slightly, you understand, but sore it is. I pulled up a tad sore after yesterday's run and it's still a little sore this morning, so I have no choice but to rest it for a day or two and then take it very easy. It's disappointing because I've been injury-free for so long, and I wasn't even pushing the pace particularly hard. I had just read in one of those back issues of Running Times about the need for a complete break of three weeks after a hard race. Perhaps I should have taken heed. I won't be taking three weeks off if I can help it, but perhaps I will ease back and keep the mileage down until the New Year.

We'll see, we'll see ... everything's a compromise.

Two runs then this week, with my scheduled long slowie tomorrow perhaps postponed for a week.

7.7km, 45:00
7.4km, 41:30

YTD:1,053.8km

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Quick update: the Achilles is fine, but my calf is now sore from having walked a little differently (to protect the Achilles). A day or two of cross-training instead of running will see me right, I'm certain. Normal running will resume shortly.

[marathondan]

Good news on the tendon - do take it easy. Mine seems more chronic, currently sitting with an ice poultice on it, having watched an injury video on RW. My training start will be delayed - hopefully that's all.

As regards the super long runs, I beg to differ in my experience. I've always based my training on Hal Higdon's beginner routine, which has the longest two outings at 19 and 20 miles. Then again, the time predictors suggest that I'm not releasing my full potential over 26.2 miles. And let's face it, I haven't always focused on speed in my marathons.

[Sweder]

As regards the super long runs, I beg to differ in my experience. I've always based my training on Hal Higdon's beginner routine, which has the longest two outings at 19 and 20 miles.

As Hal would say, we're all different. Speaking to runners I see consistently breaking barriers and clocking PBs, whilst some never go over 20 - and all tell you you don't need to cover the full distance in training - most hit 22 or 23 miles about a month/ three weeks out from a marathon. I think for an off-road marathon, where the equivalent effort on the 'flat' would take you well over 26.2, that extra mileage is essential.

Looking back, Paris (road, flat) and Steyning (mud, hills) stand out as 'well executed' races. Whilst I matched my best time in Brighton last year, I crawled home. In Paris I flew over those last few miles, finished on a high and even ran to the pub later. The Stinger was a much tougher race to complete. My training for both included hitting 20 miles and beyond on a regular basis, so it seems that works well for me, on either surface.

It's not an exact science. Logic suggests that, whilst the extra climbs and effort offroad equate to more distance, softer terrain means less assault on the knees, hips and back. My body is usually far more traumatised in the hours, days and weeks after a road run then the equivalent hilly, off-road distance, suggesting these races are my future. My legs are still shredded from P2P.

This all seems a bit rich coming from a person who last trained 'properly' for a race years ago. I'm trying to recall what races were like when I got out there and hit the targets on a regular basis. What works for you is right, for you. Finding that magic formula is the fun part.