The Heysen Trail 9. The Art of Up-sailing



 



My mouth opened to utter the words; "can I get a ride out of here with you guys?" but it just didn’t.  I can’t explain why - maybe I told myself I didn’t like to be a quitter - maybe I am ‘that’ guy that never asks for help and foolishly carries on, to his own detriment - maybe I didn't want to end up with my head severed by the blade-brothers and  grace someone's mantelpiece. I value my head you know!!

I limped on alone leaving the deer slayers at the river with  ‘see how we go’ as my motto. In my coffee break, up the side of that slippery slope, I had a look at some of the access roads to the track and saw many in this section. If I wanted to get out, more opportunities were ahead.

Again, the dolphins distracted me as I stood only 20 metres away. Can I blame them for my insane decision to carry on? What struck me was the playfulness of the pod. This wasn’t a quest for the survival of the fittest, but a joyful get-together. More like Mick Fanning and his mates hanging out in the surf - out of competition - without being chased by sharks. 
 

Waiting for the ultimate wave!!

The short beach finished before I could blink and another stretch of English countryside followed. With the ocean crashing on the rocks below the green hills, the track teetered on the edge giving me that height buzz. With a ‘don’t look down’, I tested the knee on these short hills. The offending body part swelling up nicely during a hard 6km slog in the soft sands of Tunkalilla Beach. In the past this beach had offal washing up on it from a whaling station in Encounter Bay, now shut down. Is it any wonder that the Aboriginals named this beach Tunkalilla - a word used to describe bad smells - the stench would have been prolific.
 

The smelly (Tunkalilla ) beach

The green grass attracting many roos and together with the sheep they lined the paddocks in front of a couple of farmhouses or were they holiday homes? Many scattered in panic as soon as I arrived.  A Pacific Gull flew away, lazily, gliding only inches above the ground (see opening photo). The rare hooded plovers fox-trotted down the shore line. Signs of their protected status and where to walk to avoid stepping on their offspring were everywhere. Sadly, I did not encounter any chicks. If I hadn't been so much discomfort, I would actually have enjoyed the hike here.
 

Only 70 hooded plovers left on the Fleurieu Peninsular

Where the beach stopped and the black rocks made passing impossible along the foreshore I had another one of those disbelief moments I have often described in previous blogs. My brain would not accept that this trail was turning left, up the steepest hill I have ever seen on any trail alongside a much unloved fence. I continued on in the same direction as if the hill didn't exist and had to turn back. I had convinced my neuropil, glial cells and capillaries that this was the way.




 The fenced, grassy bank to heaven

Follow the fence said a small but easily ignored sign at the base of the climb. It should have said ‘haul your arse up while holding on to the fence for dear life’  in neon lights to get my attention. With my heart pumping out of my ears soon after, I grabbed the wire and while it was cutting into the soft fleshy parts of my hand I heaved my body, burdensome bundle and dodgy knee upwards. In my mind I called it up-sailing.




The art of up-sailing

Somewhere along the climb I stood up and looked down at the distance I had covered. It would be so much easier to bum-slide my way back down adding to the massive brown stains already on my shorts. Escaping with the deer-hunters now sounding like a better option. I turned around, took one step, grabbed the fence and pulled, than took another step......


Grey Bits

Do you have your own story to tell? Become a guest blogger on the semi-grey nomad. I would love to hear from you at storiesfrommars@gmail.com

The Heysen Trail 8. The Ticket Out

 



 

I just couldn’t get up. I remained in the same half split position, man-flow yoga-style for several moments contemplating the feeling of shock oozing through my gut making me feel sick. With my brain now flicked to flight mode, the large obstacle on my back that was pinning me down came off in an instant. With a thud the pack fell backwards. Rolling to my side, with the sound of crackling ligaments, joints and bone realigning itself, I could now straighten the affected knee slowly.

Nagging voices from concerned friends haunted me. ‘Don’t overdo it!’, ‘ Give it time to heal!’ -  An ‘I told you so!’ moment dealt in one single, perfect blow.

I dragged the anchor down the hill while scooting like a dog with a bad gland problem for another 20 metres - my shorts now marked as if I had suffered a serious bout of incontinence.  I made it to the bench and had to take some deep breaths. ‘If I am going to have to quit this hike I better do it in style’ my mind said.  While seated, I managed to brew a reincarnating coffee (see opening photo) and fished out enough snacks in an attempt to push the fuel gauge to full. The knee now feeling tight from the swelling, I praised myself lucky I did not hear a snapping sound and prayed that my newly refurbished cruciate ligament was still connected.

When I was still in the middle of feeling sorry for myself, I suddenly spotted a large pod of at least fifteen dolphins. With my camera at the ready I limped to the edge of the cliff – a great distraction at a difficult time. After cruising towards me, they started surfing in the waves and I instantly thought I should be down there taking more photos.

The dark shadow of a dolphin riding a wave

I quickly packed up my billy and stove, and headed down the rest of the cursed hill. Halfway,  I said out loud “this hill is trying to kill me”. My balance was completely shot – all adrenaline was burnt up leaving me feeling  jittery and week – my cunning enemy of hiking pleasure tried to flip over my head into the deep a couple of times nearly dragging me with it. Somehow, I scrambled all the way down the hill.

There, in a bizarre twist, two young men were busy next to a small stream cleaning a deer's head with a large hunting knife. Apparently they had been watching me and could hear me falling about, yelling random distress calls to no one in particular, above their heads. Slightly embarrassed, but increasingly taken aback by the scene, I asked them what they were doing with the head of a, for me, gracious animal. They said they had found the decomposing deer down the track, had beheaded it and were cutting the foul-smelling flesh of the skull to be able to take it home. “Mate” one of them said with a surprising amount of  enthusiasm “this is the place to go hunting deer.”



A trophy for some!

These two blokes, even though brandishing a large blade and possessed with an abhorrent disrespect for animal corpses, were this desperate veggo’s ticket out. I stood there next to the dead deer's head, with my throbbing knee; gathering up the courage to ask for a ride out and put an end to this awesome experience that is the Heysen trail.

Go on Mars! Ask the question! Say it man!!

Say it….

  

 Grey Bits

 



I could be back in Adelaide in no time

 

The Heysen trail 7. Kermit Strikes Again

 

People fall off cliffs, break legs, die of thirst, suffer from hyperthermia,  get lost - never found, get bitten by snakes, get struck by lightning, have heart attacks, just to think of a few minor issues that could await the unsuspecting, meandering hiker.

There could be a snake in the grass anywhere!!!  

 

If I walk on the edge of a steep cliff I battle panic and weakness which usually bothers me more than most - when  I see a snake I stop in admiration of its agility and relish the increased beat of my heart  - if I am lost I try every trick I know, even retrace my steps to find a trail marker.

And!!! Like any hiking real-estate agent would agree; preparation, preparation, preparation......

But still, some things are out of your hands.......

A very organised campground

From Deep Creek Waterfall I ventured gently upwards through the green, gum-tree lined warren when, with a customary 'woohoo',  I arrived at the Tapanappa Campground which was perched high on top of a hill, overlooking the ocean and surrounding bush and farms.



Droplets visible from a napping position inside my skinny box



The rain was threatening while I set up camp on an unsanctioned sight, deep in a stand of short eucalyptus trees to protect the tent from the wind. When a small storm hit, I disappeared into my lime-green, narrow home and fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon.

A nana-nap at Tapanappa – try and say that fast.
 

Organised chaos while setting up

There were several other campers with kitchens, vehicles, chairs, thick mattresses, smoky fires, cars with radios and other luxury items around me - none of them being hikers with ginormous, protruding but removable hunch-backs like mine. All of them hiding and did not appear to be up for a conversation out in the cold. The views of the Tapanappa area were smashing; heightened by dark rainclouds speeding across the sky.



Evening walkers at Tapanappa after the storm had passed



In the morning I stood out on a grassy hill with my breakfast and camera to watch the sunrise. Morning mist covering the ocean while the sky slowly lit up from deep purple to orange and yellow.
 

Kangaroos were scrutinising my every move while chomping on their chewing gum. The dodgy knee, that had been operated on six months prior, was slightly swollen but ready to go for another day of 'balga-bashing'.

I packed up a soaking wet tent by improv method and went on my way under a clearing sky. I remembered how I used to dread it when my tent was wet. Now I just pack it away somewhere waterproof and set it back up at the end of the day? 

Two hours of hiking through amazing, open, ocean-side country, I arrived at a very steep, downward slope where a river had cut itself into the landscape. A cover of green grass and the now recognisable, but severely, mentally imprinted patches of the emerald stuff made me walk slowly and oh so carefully. Like walking on eggshells, I envisaged having a look at the splendid views while sipping on a cuppa.  

It was to be of no avail.

 

In an unpredictable, but spectacular moment, my left foot slipped on the surface of this iceberg. Having lost my good leg down the hill, my recovering right, buckled beneath me. My heavy pack dragging the top of my body violently backwards, with the knee pointing forward, my leg folded underneath me. I found myself looking down in horror! The leg was tucked under much further than the range of movement ever achieved in physio. A few involuntary expletives rolled out of my mouth. Seconds later a thought crashed its way through my mind ......



Close your ears Joey - that man is rude!

‘You have done it now Mars’.  

 

‘You are stuffed’.

 

The green slope with Kermit's trap

 

 Grey Bits

 

Just like a Bold and Beautiful episode, I am keeping you hanging  in suspense with a well-timed, but cruel break-away. What will happen next? Find out in my next blog.

 

Is it worth considering placing a link to an Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB) or satellite phone website right here?

Naaah!! - lets have a look at man-flow dude instead.

 



The position I found myself in, but then without hipster beard
Photo courtesy of manflowyoga

The Heysen Trail 6. Three Blondes and a Guru.

I said farewell to my stinky overnight companion ‘Cadaver Jack’ and amidst magpie calls, the sound of little wrens and more South Australian birds I had never heard before, I headed up the hill. For a couple of hundred metres I walked on a ridge resembling a broad firebreak with the bush on one side recently burnt. The views from there were stunning and my camera was working hard to keep up with all that melancholy a scorched forest evokes.

 

After a large descent through the blackened landscape, I came to the bottom of a fence. Anyone that has ever hiked knows that fences are not welcome on a trail. Any kind of man made barrier is constructed by guys on utes or motorbikes and if they are any good at their craft, dead straight up or down a hill. Walking alongside a fence is, until the end of time, a torturous affair especially without a switchback in sight. Old railway lines to walk on, 'yes'. Along fences, a definite 'no'.
 

The trail hard up against the fence

Most hikers must suffer from severe memory loss. How else did I find myself on the side of this fence pushing myself up the slope? Soon snippets of the Kokoda track and its unreasonable steep hills, patches of climbs on the Larapinta trail and that slippery gravel of the Bibbulmun track came flooding back as I wrestled with this mongrel. Remember? It hurts!!!
 

The same hikers pest appeared again without apparent reason. This time a fully equipped electric fence. What the costs of building and maintaining kilometres of Berlinesque ugliness must be is any ones guess. Without a single cow in sight I must ask, what are we trying to keep in? - or should the question be – what are we trying to keep out? Doesn’t  this make it all the more tempting to take a thrill-seeking  jump over the fence and find out what Waco, doom prepping, nudist colony is singing its chants behind this barricade? Has this farmer found more than one wife and is worshipped into guru status while casually being driven in yet another Mercedes? Would it be worth risking electrocuted hands and genitals to find out the answer?

I was more than relieved to see Trig Campsite appear on top of the hill, with the need for strong coffee and a muesli bar to get over it all. Only 5km and I am, excuse me, pooped.
 

Views over Deep Creek Conservation Park

The next 6km were unforgettable. The air was moist and redolent of musky earth. The track gradually wound itself down through the small gum trees so prevalent in this area. At times it opened up and the views over the forest-covered hills were magnificent.

The slope increased its downward angle and the sound of rushing water came closer with every step. Several man-made flights of stairs lead to a spur trail. Having turned off the trail, the noise of the rampant water now deafening and announcing a tall gushing waterfall - the highlight of this trail so far. 

The fall cascaded into black water, very much alike the tea-tree infused rivers of South Western Australia. Beige foam frothed up and clung to the shoreline of a picturesque flowing creek. My pack of pain came off in an instant and I found a rock to sit and stare at this steaming water feature and was lost in its beauty.

 

 

My peace was suddenly disturbed when from behind me, three stunning, athletic young ladies appeared from the forest. They quickly changed their sweaty t-shirts for dry ones to prevent getting cold, a very short 5 metres in front of me - the waterfall losing its appeal rapidly. I awkwardly looked at the pale bubbles at the side of the river and tried to ignore the ultimate lone male hikers mirage that was on full display in front of a gorgeous waterfall.

I told the girls that they were the first people I saw in a day and a half on the trail. They were a friendly bunch and the four of us chatted briefly. They took photos of each other posing in front of the fall and I offered to take a couple on their phones. Somehow, one of the girls ended up in the bottom corner of one of my shots, creating the opening photo in this blog. Soon they left me on my rock, with my waterfall where I smiled to myself thinking life was good.

 

 

Grey Bits

 

The above story is fully approved by my supporting partner Julie.

 

This stretch of the Heysen Trail is only 7km but, due to its undulating nature, it may take longer than normal to complete. Reading back over this blog it may appear that I am complaining about how hard it is to walk this trail but I was enjoying every minute of the challenge.

 

If you would like to explore Deep Creek, check out the following website www.environment.sa.gov.au/parks

 

 

 



Guardian of the melon



The Heysen Trail 5. Up Aaron Creek.

The choice I had made to come and hike in South Australia appears to be the right one. I strapped my monumental obelisk back on my back and continued the slug-fest with the rolling hills of the Heysen trail.

 

Sizable lumps to go up and down all day

 

Hiking is an intense and exhausting game, causing my mind to start fantasising, wandering off and even has been blatantly deceitful at times. However, seeing a fully landed spaceship appear caused me to rub my eyes in disbelieve and question my sanity for the second time in one day. No wait - it is true!! I have photographic, non-altered evidence.

 

Yeah, really!!!

If you were surprised in the first instance cop this. "I have seen the exact same space craft before." Dear reader, before you click out of my blog in disgust, let me explain! More than 40 years ago, real estate agents built a display 'spaceship' at the entrance of Willetton in Perth, Western Australia. It was part of an advertising campaign luring young families to build in the area. The ship mysteriously disappeared one day to make way for a doctor's surgery. What you and I would like to know is: 'who would have flown it here? Extra terrestrial's from outer Willetton?'

 

Pondering possible dangers of infiltrating cockroach like aliens "Men in Black" style, probing the surrounding wildlife, I crossed into the Deep Creek Conservation Park leaving the grassy hills behind to enter gum tree country. Like wrought rafters forming a sheltered dome to walk through, I carried on a winding trail which had started to climb. This was a magic little stretch of forest called Cobble Hill, where small rocks were protruding out of the ground the size of little cobbles, making it hard to stay balanced. After an hour ascending, some of these little rascals must have found their way into my pack because the weight seemed to unfairly increase with every step.

 

The rugged shores of the Fleurieu Peninsular

Bathing in a layer of sweat, I arrived fatigued at the Cobble Hill Campsite. Cold gusts of wind hammered the bare hill on which the tent pads were set out without much protection. Even though I wished for the long day to finish, I simply did not want to be spending a cold, sleepless night being blown apart in my tent.  Only one decision could be made - carry on!



The arrows to follow in South Australian red


A ‘real’ hiking hut was promised by my map only 2km down the track. All I had to do is cross Aaron Creek. 'How hard could it be?'

I had only ventured 100 metres from the campsite when a large roo appeared in the middle of the track. Sturdy, with ears pinned back, it continued chewing grass or chewing gum while reaching in his pouch for his 24 calibre gun, staring me down. Ok, I may be exaggerating a little here but it simply wouldn’t move. I consulted my ‘defense against rampant roos’ manual. Rule number one: avoid contact with hind legs at all cost. Rule two: no boxing. Rule three: do not provoke a glaring roo otherwise rule 1 and 2 will become a problem. Lucky for me there was enough room to tiptoe around the gunslinger.

Pffw*#eeww!!

Relieved that I had avoided a scrap with the Aussie icon, I had only walked another 50 metres when suddenly both my feet slipped from under me. With legs up in the air, I went for the biggest arse- plant ever, staining my shorts a suggestive colour brown for the rest of the hike - a continued reminder of this ham-fisted incident. When I looked down on the totally flat horizontal ground, I saw that a layer of slimy green substance covered the red compacted earth.

 

Aaah!

'That' green stuff!! A light bulb went off.

Kermit has struck !!! 

 

My mate Aaron from Perth would have been in stitches if he could have seen me on my way to Aaron Creek. 

With my ego at the mechanic for a quick fix, I crossed the tranquil stream several times through the tall, lush grass growing adjacent. A hidden but solid branch was waiting dormant to do as much damage to an unsuspected meandering shin as it could – my shin fully obliged. With blood trickling down my leg, I could imagine Aaron telling me I was a ‘bloody idiot’ in his disarming, but outraged way.
 

Very pretty - but a possible weed growing alongside the trail

A bench appeared like magic next to a small waterfall. I sat down and would have licked my wounds if I could bring myself to lift my leg up to my mouth. Choosing the first aid kit instead as a more hygienic way to treat the gash, I applied the aid to myself in the absence of a volunteer; in fact I hadn't seen anyone else on this trail yet. Again, I took a breather and reflected on mateship in all of its form – a good moment up Aarons Creek.

Still baffled by how much can happen in five hundred metres on a hiking trail, I climbed out of the valley and arrived at the Eagle Hole Campground. I was all alone in my comfy wind-free hikers hut, unless you count the decomposing kangaroo only thirty metres away. Dinner was a delight; pasta, pesto and ‘au de rue’ wafting around killing the parmesan smell and any lingering armpit whiff stone dead.
 

The Eagle Hole hut. No tent but a gasmask needed

At dawn I heard a loud rumble coming from the grassy slope beyond my dead Skippy. Around twenty of the alive versions raced down the slope at dusk and started grazing not far from my shelter. The birds were plentiful and in full song. The sun set and I just had enough time to wash myself before hitting the sleeping bag at a wicked 6.30pm, dog tired.  Other than a large branch falling down nearby, an owls 'oohoo' and the occasional inhale of rotting roo, nothing disturbed me that night.

Grey Bits

Day one of this enormous 1200km hike can be done as a 16km stretch with a 9am drop off at the Cape Jervis ferry terminal.


If you like to find out more about the spaceship find more information on the following website www.adelaiderememberwhen.com.au

Thank you David and Anne Lymn for the additional info.
 

Aliens in disguise

Guest Blogger David Ong. Just Tonking Along!!

 

Marathon running hurts, it hurts badly and hurts during and after the 42.2 km slog. It is a physical test of epic proportions as well as a smorgasbord of hitting walls, waging war against a mind in crisis and dealing with whatever tricks the grey bouncing cells will throw at the exhausted straggler. Most people only ever run one and for good reason. I am in awe of anyone that has ever hobbled to the finish line, gave up three quarters of the way in or experienced the unthinkable - cruise to victory.  Here is a raw report of a marathon attempt by friend and guest blogger David Ong.

So, everyone playing at home knows that this particular running nutter came back from NZ feeling a bit out of sorts. A month of eating out and sampling more than my fair share of NZ - specifically the delicious boutique beers - had me feeling like I had more love than when I left (especially so if love can be measured in kg). Though I'd been for a few runs while away, I certainly hadn't done the km I'd thought I might cover, and given some tensions on the work front, and having been away from the family for so long, my mental balance was well out of whack. As I didn't feel happy feeling like that, I decided to get things under control, so started work on building the kilometres and reducing the baggage.

My 30ish km in the first week back quickly expanded over the coming weeks - through the mid 40s and into the late 60s. At the same time I started extending the long runs - stretching out to a peak of 38ish towards the end of May. I was running the long ones on Saturday mornings, as the kids' sport meant that Sundays were out, but the early starts and glorious sunrises helped me think things through, focus on the good things, and realise that life really is what we make it.

At this stage I was feeling ready to commit to a long run, and after reading a bit of yibber-yabber on the (unofficial) parkrun FB page, I got excited after a few gin and tonics and signed up for the Perth Marathon.
 

The course of the Perth Marathon. Map courtesy of the WAMC

As per the last two marathons (my average has been one a year for the past couple of years), my race plan was simple - get to the end. However, having run a few times with Mr Scott Bunny and absorbing some of his experience and expertise in long runs, I had a bit of a look at the pace that I'd been holding over my longer runs and decided on a number - 5:30mins per km. This is about 10 seconds or so slower than my natural pace, and given the additional distance I was going to cover, seemed like a good number. Also, according to an online pace calculator, a 5:29 pace would see me at a 3:51 finish, almost 10 minutes shy of my last marathon finish time. What's more, the Perth course was flat, so I should be able to hold that pace, right?

The next few weeks were hard - knowing there was an 'end' in sight, and the reducing of distance for me meant that I was starting to struggle with keeping the motivation up. What was more worrying was that my right knee was staring to cause me grief (probably due to the speedy increase in distance covered - something I don't recommend). I guess as well I was just ready to finish with training and get my Saturday mornings back.

Looking at West Perth in the early morning. Photo courtesy of Taj Kempe

Though the running was going well, the rest of my planning was, erm, crap. A couple of days before the race, I realised that I was out of gels*, and as they were only available online, I wouldn't be able to get any before the weekend. As time was not on my side, I meandered down to the local bike shop and bought a bunch of over-priced Shotz gels, which I'd never tried, but were the only option available. For those who have done big events before, this was breaking Cardinal Rule #1 - don't try anything new on race day, but what could possibly go wrong? Surely in this case it was a guide, rather than a rule...

In addition to the nutritional challenge, I'd bought myself a new running watch, and though I had done a few runs with the new toy, I was in no way familiar with all the new (fancy) functions and display. I managed to exacerbate this by installing a new 'run face' on the watch just days before the marathon - this turned out to be a display chocked full of important and useful race information... that I just didn't need, couldn't read at a glance, nor make sense of with a fuzzy head.

Even with these challenges looming, I went into the day with some confidence, especially as Scott had told me a few days before that he was coming along for a lap, and would 'tag along' at my pace (I guess when you've done almost 20 marathons and ultras, you *can* come for 'a lap' without training - I'm certainly not there yet). What this meant for me was that I could rely in part on someone to keep me in check.

The race day started early - I'd woken up at 1:30am for a wee, then again for another at 3:30am before 'properly' getting up at 5:30am. The long-suffering and dear wife (Rebecca) was kind enough to play Uber, at an ungodly hour, for Mr Bunny and I and dropped us off at Burswood with half an hour to spare.

In between another couple of nervous wees (at this stage I wondered if I needed to see a Doctor), I was struck with how open and welcoming the running community can be. I was able to chat with a few other runners, and the fact that we all were running our own race, had our own goals and as we bumped into each other at the port-a-loos more than once, made me realise that we really were all in this together. Apart from the runners inching their way to the front of the line that is... but they're a different breed.

I had had half a plan to catch Melanie for a quick warm up km or two, but after having to wait in a snaking queue for a cubicle meant that when I called her, she was already at the start line, so I did a quick lap by myself to warm up (more good advice from Scott). After the warm up, I scurried over to the Start, as I could hear the announcement that the race was about to begin. As I made my way to the crowd, there seemed to be an extraordinary amount of people, and I had a moment of panic trying to work out how I'd find Scott amongst all this lycra. Luckily for me, Scott was wearing his lucky (bright red) hat which stood out in the crowd, so I wriggled my way through the crowd and was by his side just in time for the starting gun.

The first km went by in a rush, so much so that I only remembered part way through that I hadn't started the run timer on my watch! I had to smile as I realised that this would not affect the readings, which I couldn't decipher anyway, and the timing chip on my bib would tell 'true time' at the end anyway.

From the start Scott and I wormed our way through the crowd, which started to thin at around the fifth km, and with each time Scott reported our pace (too fast!), we popped a few seconds in the bank. A few of those seconds were spent at a wee stop at the Maylands Yacht Club (yup - still had more to give), but we took off again with a handful of seconds to spare. We had credit! Leading up to the stop, Scott had suggested I up the pace to get ahead of the clock if I needed to stop, so I shot off ahead. I had a huge grin as I heard a "Not *that* fast Dave!" ringing in my ears. Scott obviously hadn't realised how over-hydrated (and nervous) I was.

Coming back past the start/finish saw a rise in pace - we covered that section at a 4:32 pace, which tells you a lot about the excitement of running past a crowd, and the danger of the red mist coming down, something that I'm sure has led the odd runner astray. Leading up to the start/finish was when I thought it was time to fuel up, so I opened the first gel and had my first taste. 



Dave tonking along



It was much worse than I was prepared for.

Now, gels are normally sweet, but the foul treacle that they'd bagged in a plastic sock as 'energy' was awful. It was so thick that I felt that it was something that I needed to chew, while at the same time wanting to spit it out into the verge. The goo coated my mouth and throat and made breathing difficult, as every time I took a breath it was like inhaling a handful of pavlova crumbs. I'd never been so glad to run into a water station, which let me wash down the foul gunge that was coating the inside of my mouth. I knew though, that I needed the buzz that it would give, and without it I'd run out of energy post haste.

The next 15km was a settling in period, and though we were traveling at a 5:20s average, I was feeling good. It was early on in this stage - somewhere around Sir James Mitchell Park (km 17) that Scott announced that my natural pace was 5:17, which, if I had a mathematical bone in my body, and the brainpower to calculate, I would realise was faster than the planned 5:30. He told me that if I wanted to up the pace, I was welcome to, but counseled that though the faster pace would result in a faster time, it might also result in more pain at the end, and given the distance, would only result in a few minutes difference at the end. I totally agreed that the 5:30 plan was 'The Plan', and so we should stick to that, as it was silly to change tact mid race. Around 10 minutes later, I promptly forgot that decision as we settled back into 5:17s. Scott, being a much stronger runner, and possibly just slightly interested in seeing me cry, let me go on at this pace.

It wasn't much longer after this point that I choked down another gel, instantly regretting my lack of planning, and promising myself to be better organised next time.

We tonked along holding pace and passing the odd runner until the 32km marker came into sight. It was at this point that Scott announced that we would start catching and passing people in earnest. We'd not long gone past Didi and Renee, cheering from an interchange station. These two did wonders for my spirit by letting us know how good we looked, and that we were cruising along like we'd just started out. I think that was a 4:47km. It turns out that Scott was right, and from this point we slowly reeled in runners ahead of us. Whenever we passed someone who looked like they were suffering, Scott would say a word or two of encouragement, further cementing him as a 'Good Guy' in my books. When the odd runner would pass us, Scott would cheerily announce that they were part of a relay group, so were comparatively fresh. In this section of the race I'd started to puff hard, and Scott had already nagged me about my form a couple of times, so I was relegated to silent Dave - no talking, just running. Mentally I was feeling OK, though did have to rein in the pace on a couple of occasions, as I was starting to hurt.



Elizabeth Key. Photo courtesy of Taj Kempe

Anyone who has pushed themselves physically knows pain. In my case, I was feeling the lead in my legs increasing with each step, and a twinge in my second toe on my right foot getting increasingly annoying (I'll lose that nail, but promise to spare you the pictures). With only a few km to go, I was running out of energy, so gagged down another gel and prayed to the running gods that my timing was right, and that the water stop was just around the corner - it was! Thankfully for me, though there were other body parts that were complaining, my right knee was holding up just fine.

We soldiered on through km 36-38, and the scattered crowd and applause kept me smiling. I took great joy in someone else's 'Go Dave!!!' sign, especially as Scott had let the card holders know that a Dave was coming, and they bolstered me with a great cheer.

The last few km of the race were a solid mix of agony and impatience. I really just wanted this to end. The fartlek training I'd done (pain box building), seemed like a waste of time, and had I had more breath I would have yelled and cursed. As it was, and luckily for me, all I could manage was a sad mumble, but as Scott has great hearing, he would pick up on this and encourage me to push through for the last few metres every time he heard some pain leak out of the box. I was working overtime trying to keep focus on the good things in life; things that had made me smile recently, but they seemed to fade fast. Towards the end, Scott kept a well timed commentary on distance to the finish, counting down every hundred metres or so, which made the difference between me stopping for a walk and running through to the end.

Being the gentleman that Scott is, he let me pull ahead for the last few hundred metres, and gave me the lead to sprint through the finish. I was hardly able to believe my eyes as I rounded the corner and saw the race clock counting up to 3:49 - and it wasn't there yet! There was a photographer set up at the finish line, and though I'm interested to see if he took a shot of me, there's a kind of fear that I don't want to see what kind of face I was pulling.







Dave and Scott feeling the pinch at the finish line

 

And with that, the race was done.

Looking back, sprinting through the finish was easy. Pulling up before running into the volunteers handing out bling was less so (sorry ladies), and I'm very glad that our brains can't recall pain - just the vague acknowledgement of it. I finished the run with a big, sweaty hug and thanks to Scott, to whom I am indebted to for reminding me that pain is temporary, and the hard times will end. The mandatory post-race beers and catch up with other runners was, as always, great. Recalling kilometres with like- minded running nutters is a special thing, and I'm already looking forward to the next session.

How much effort went into this smile I wonder?

* I like the Hi5 gels, which are runny rather than goopy, so easier to get (and hold) down. In hindsight, I probably should have asked around if anyone knew of a local stock, but had resigned myself to disappointment, so in this instance created my own reality.

 

 

Grey Bits

 

Congrats to Dave and Scott for an amazing achievement!!!

If you, somehow, are now tempted to put yourself through the Perth Marathon, and in Dave's words, become a bit of a nutter here is the West Australian Marathon Club website with all dates and info. www.wamc.org.au
Maybe start off slow with a parkrun (5km). You can find out where the nearest parkrun is in Australia  at  www.parkrun.com.au

If you like my blog, please feel free to share it with others.

I found the photo which opens this blog at runmara2005blog.blogspot.com.au/2011/06/8th-perth-marathon-41254.

Do you want to become a guest blogger like Dave, write your own story and publish on my blog, I would love to hear from you?Email me at storiesfrommars@gmail.com

Dave and I met at a half marathon; after about 5km I caught up with him and were so busy chatting for the next 16km that we were both sprung by the sudden arrival of the finish line. We obviously had a lot in common.

Thanks Dave for the photographs and inspirational story.