Cadbury Marathon Hobart, January 2018

Summer is usually a quiet season for me; there are precious few races held in the heat, so it usually means a relative down-time and a rare chance to rest. The exception is Tasmania, the southern-most state of Australia, where the Cadbury Marathon (and associated shorter races) is held in Hobart in the middle of January. 

I ran the half there in 2015 and came away with a large haul of chocolate, and although I’m not sure if that was my only motivation for signing myself up for the marathon in 2018, sign us up I did. We all know how much I love a bit of running tourism, so there you go.

The Training

Right, well. My intentions for the early part of 2018 were initially to train exclusively for Tokyo marathon, which I’ll be running at the end of February. A January marathon could therefore really only be justified as a training run, which would usually mean running it all at an easy pace, or at best perhaps running up to half at goal marathon pace.

But it’s REALLY HARD to intentionally slow down during a marathon, or at least for me it is. And while I'm not as fast as I was, say, 4 years ago - I'm still in reasonably good shape to run a fast marathon. Looking through past years' results it was clear that a time below 3:10 would have sometimes even been enough to win - definitely to place - and a place means a box of chocolate, so running to place became my definite goal. If you need to understand better, here's a picture of what I got for placing in the half in 2015, and winning the Australian Masters half marathon title in the process:

<drool>

Hobart, race weekend

The advent in my life of Parkrun means I'm able to continue the tradition of running a 5K the day before a marathon! I’ve become something of a Parkrun tourist this summer and waste no time in locating one (the only one, in fact) in Hobart. It starts at the very civilised time of 9am so it’s no trouble to be out there in plenty of time, and while I'm standing around waiting I am quite amazed to see a person I recognise – it’s one of the British team of ultra runners I met in Fuxian Lake last September. What a bizarre place to meet again!

A cosmopolitan Hobart Parkrun, with Scotland........ then America........and a plain old Aussie bringing up the rear

We have a nice chat before the run starts and while she’s out of my league it seems she has been injured the past couple of months; still I’m unsurprised to see her streak past me shortly after the gun goes off. The course turns out to be devilishly hilly and it's an out-and-back which means I get to enjoy it twice - fabulous - and the result is probably a Parkrun PW (personal worst) but whatever. It's time to carb load and try to get off our feet, and we succeed moderately well for the rest of the day, although it's extremely boring. Then an early bedtime and the joys of another 4:30am alarm are upon us, and already it's time to head out to the chocolate factory for the race.

The weather is remarkably perfect for marathoning: about 12C/54F and lightly overcast with almost no wind at all. This is quite a departure from recent temperatures (it was 26C the day we arrived) but whatever, we'll take it! If I had more time to think about it I'd probably be complaining about the cold, but there's no time for that so we just suck it up and line up at the start. Here goes nothing.

Miles 1-5: 6:57, 6:37, 6:26, 6:33, 6:44 (pace in min/mile)

The gun goes off and there’s the usual civilised stampede over the timing mats; as in previous years the first few kilometres of the course wind through the streets adjacent to the chocolate factory, so I’m surprised to see that the traffic cones marking the course seem to indicate we should go straight on down the hill.  And in fact that’s exactly what the leaders – including Dion Finocchiaro, a very fast runner whom I’ve met a quite a few races in the past– do, before being hastily called back onto the correct path. Oops!

I’m not sure of my pace when the first split beeps and wow, it's WAY too slow and in fact there are FAR too many females ahead of me (at least 6, one of them my British friend Jo, of course) right now. The competitive part of my brain pouts and promptly stamps its foot on the accelerator, and before I really know what's happening, BOOM I'm gone.

By the time I’ve descended the hill and started to make my way out along the road towards Hobart I’ve caught all but 3 of the women ahead, which is gratifying. The leading woman is called Gemma and I’ve heard enough about her from various quarters that I know she’s way faster than me, then not far behind her is Jo, so the only way I’m definitely going to place (and win chocolate) today is if I can put the third one behind me now.

She has a long brown ponytail and is wearing a blue singlet, and wow, she looks lean and seriously fit. “Probably young too” says a voice in my head, helpfully. “Everyone is these days,” I snap back, and go to make my move to pass her anyway.

Trying hard to get into 3rd place

 

I'm rather surprised then, to find that as I surge past she accelerates and stays right with me. The mile split is now really way too fast (6:26 = 4:00min/km and is the right pace for a sub-2:50, which I certainly won't be running today) so I slow down and she opens a small gap on me. Wow, this isn't going to be as easy as I thought!

I've got an idea about 2:55 as a goal finishing time - faster than I was expecting to run, but whatever - and in most of the past 5 years this most definitely would have been fast enough to win. But today I'm in 4th and from what I know (or can surmise) about the women ahead of me, it may be the best I can hope for. This seems utterly unfair! But there's nothing to do about it other than settle in for the chase, so I stick to my pace and try not to think to much about the injustice of it all. La la la la laaaaaaa.

Miles 6-10: 6:37, 6:42, 6:46, 6:37, 6:38

I remember the course from 2015 when I ran the half, and this part is fairly boring really as we head along the highway and then out around some parkland by the river. We're heading towards a middling size bridge which we'll cross and then the turnaround will be not too far beyond that. I can still see Jo ahead in 2nd and Gemma about a minute ahead of her in the lead; both seem out of reach, and this person in the blue singlet just isn't slowing down, but I guess there's still quite a long way to go.

As we head up onto the bridge, to my surprise the overall leader is already on his way back from the turn. Wow, he's MILES ahead of the chase pack - which consists of Dion and a guy in a red singlet, both looking very relaxed - it looks like he might win easily. The bridge is rather unpleasantly uphill somehow, I don't quite remember this part from last time, but at least there's not a lot of wind at this stage. 

I hit the turn, the gradient turns downward at last and finally I am able to put in a bit of speed that sees me pull level with my blue-singleted nemesis again. "Right!" says my brain, "time to show her who's boss!" One of my favourite things to do in a race is to throw in a few bursts of speed - generally during the earlier parts, because in the final stages of a marathon, or even a half for that matter, it can be pretty tough to do anything more than just put one foot in front of the other and not fall over - and my legs feel good enough right now to do it, so here goes.

Once back on the bridge I start whizzing past but nope, she speeds up and stays right with me. I slow down very briefly then it's RoadRunner impersonation time again: I pump my arms and do the speed-shuffle with all of my might, but nope, again she accelerates and it's clear I'm not going to win this particular battle.

You've got to hand it to a worthy opponent like this - she's just not going to give up - so I burst out laughing and remark "Ok, let's slow down again, I won't mind!" She laughs too and pretty soon we've having a lovely mid-race chat. Her name is Mel and she's been injured for a really long time; this is her comeback race and - this always surprises the heck out of me - she knows who I am from reading this blog! Well, there goes the element of surprise, I guess.

The quest for chocolate continues

I enquire as casually as I can about her time goal and she replies "Sub-3", to which I can only answer "Wow" because we are quite a long way ahead of that right now. And showing no sign of slowing down either, but I feel fine so I guess we'll just keep running and see what happens.

Miles 11-15: 6:33, 6:50, 6:46, 6:40

Before too long I've told her how I met Jo in China (and that she took 2nd in the brutal 100K race that day, displaying truly formidable speed and endurance) and now I'm having a bit of a whinge about how unfair it is that we're running so fast yet coming 3rd/4th but Mel's not having a bar of it. "We'll just work together and maybe we'll both get chocolate" she tells me firmly - and perhaps Jo is just the tiniest bit closer to us than she was before? - so I nod my agreement and we press ahead.

Half split: 1:27:30 approx (on pace for 2:55)

I'm worried about having to run up the hill to the chocolate factory again but Mel is better-informed than me (did I mention that she's younger, too?) and says we'll be turning before the hill, which is a great relief. Here comes the leader again, still a reasonable way ahead, although Dion and his mate are closer than they were before. "Catch him!" I yell at Dion and laugh as we pass in opposite directions.

Dion (in black) and his chase pack, including Dane (red singlet)

I take care to note the time on my watch as Gemma and then Jo both pass us before we make the second U-turn ourselves, and it seems Gemma is about 4 and Jo about 2 minutes ahead of us at this point. Hmm, this could be about to get interesting. Joel appears and yells "3:15!" with a wave and a large grin; I have no clue what this might mean, is that how far we are behind the leaders or is it the time he thinks he's going to run? Or perhaps bingo numbers? Keno?

We debate this briefly before another shout comes from the side of the road, something about second place: a couple of minutes ago someone told us (wrongly) we're coming 2nd, so I snort and exclaim "No we are not!" but whoops, it's actually Mel's husband and he's letting us know that we're reeling in Jo at last. Wait, what? Really??

Sure enough, look at that: suddenly she's a lot closer as we head along the big road again for our second lap.  Obviously she's pretty much jogging now and a flash of worry goes through my head - hopefully her healing injury hasn't flared up again? Uh oh, this might be bad.

Miles 16-20: 6:36, 6:35, 6:39, 6:55, 6:49

But thankfully she seems okay and waves cheerily as we finally put on a burst of renewed speed to catch her during mile 16. I have absolutely no doubt that injury-free Jo would be miles ahead of us all at this point, but her injury misfortune has had a silver lining for Mel and myself: we've just moved into podium, and therefore chocolate, positions. Hooray!

Heading back out on the boring part of the second lap, this turn of events gives us a burst of speed, or at least we don't slow down much, not until we're on our way past the racecourse again and approaching the bridge.

Mile 19 in blue: the beginning of the end?

At this point I become aware of a strange discomfort under the ball of my left foot, and to my dismay realise that I seem to be developing a blister in that crucial spot, the part of my foot on which my whole gait relies for push-off. I guess I didn't pay enough attention to which socks I was putting on this morning and they are my cheap & nasty general training sort rather than the cushy, $25-a-pair kind that I packed and really should be wearing right now. Ugh.

It hurts with every step and I know that trying to alter my foot strike to protect it is just going to cause issues elsewhere, so really there's nothing to do but keep running. I wonder briefly about complaining about it to Mel, then decide that although I'm already pretty sure she is going to out-sprint me at the end of the race (and I'm fine with that, mainly because I still get chocolate for 3rd, but also because she's younger than me - like everyone - and fitter of course as well), I don't want to be seen to be making excuses. Suck it up, Princess, I tell myself, and just run.

Mile 20, the official point of a marathon where it gets serious, sees us cross the bridge again and I'm moderately annoyed to realise that there's now something of a cross-wind blowing, one that will be in our faces in the final miles on the way back to the finish line. Bugger! I'm almost allergic to headwinds after surviving NYC 2014 and Boston 2015, and Mel certainly isn't big enough to draft behind, although neither am I. We'll just have to cope with it and try to hold on. Dion and Dane rocket past on the other side of the road, in hot pursuit of the leader whose lead is now in fact a LOT smaller than it was. Go guys!

Miles 21-25: 6:44, 6:45, 6:49, 6:58, 6:59

The inevitable late-race slow-down seems to have arrived. All Mel wants to know is if we are still on pace for sub-3, and I'm certain that we are, with enough of a buffer that a few miles slower than sub-3 pace won't make any difference. There are lots of people coming the other way shouting encouragement at us now, which is awesome, and she's much better at responding to them that I am, which is an excellent spin-off too. Having company has been a life-saver for this race: I've run enough races utterly alone to know that it's neither fun nor easy.

So together Mel and I make our way back to the chocolate factory, secure in the knowledge that there's quite a lot of chocolate waiting for us when we finally get there, and trying our best to hold onto the pace despite the ongoing undulations that are now really REALLY making me want to slow down.

Late-race chicken-wing action from my left arm = I'm TIRED

Mile 26 and 0.1: 6:46, 6:36 pace to finish

Right as the final mile starts I hear loud footsteps pounding up behind me, along with breathing that sounds distinctly masculine - it's a bloke in a bright blue shirt. He moves ahead of us and, somewhat to my surprise, Mel moves with him.

I haven't put any thought into making a move to secure 2nd place as opposed to 3rd; I guess I've just assumed all along that she'd take 2nd and so now it barely crosses my mind to give chase. At the bottom of the dreaded hill that leads back up to the chocolate factory, a spectator is yelling at me "Catch her! She's not far ahead, catch her!" but my mind is entirely devoted to getting up this hill without losing too much time, and I really don't care that Mel and Blue Shirt guy have disappeared ahead of me around the bend.

Why is there always a photographer right at the top of that bloody hill? WHY?

Finally, thank god, the hill is over and there's just the finish chute to deal with. I'm trying to dredge up any speed I might have left but nope, I've got nothing - a good sign that I've given today's race all that I had to give.

Finish time: 2:57:20 (4:12 min/km, 6:44 min/mile)

Placement: 3rd female, 11th overall, 1st in AG (F45-49)

Mel has gotten me by around 15 seconds and she's stoked; we give each other a sweaty congratulatory hug and chat a bit to Gemma who has won with a handy 2:51. Dion and his red-singleted companion have caught the early leader, Sammy, as it turns out - and in an echo of my race with Mel, Dane (2:24:54) has gapped Dion (2:25:02) on the final hill to take the win by just 8 seconds. Amazing! 

It's chocolate all round when the presentations finally take place, and then off to the hotel for a much-needed shower and perhaps just a tiny bit of chocolate. Mmmm.

Not only am I older, I'm also shorter. Did I mention that?

Analysis

I could be disappointed with 2:57 - it's far from my own personal best and yet I felt that I gave the race the best effort I could - but on the other hand, chocolate. And Hobart isn't the easiest course so in any case there will hopefully be a training benefit looking forwards to Tokyo.

And when I looked at the Strava data, I realised that we actually ran a pretty solid race. The 5K splits tell the tale: we only lost just under 2 minutes in the final 12km of the race but were otherwise very consistently around 20:45 per 5km.

We end the day drinking beer in a pub with a random South African couple who have also run the marathon today; they're adamant that we must run Comrades someday (the legendary race that seems more like a religion, turning its participants into evangelical devotees the world over) and it's a lot of fun chatting about all the places we've run and all the races we have yet to do.

So even considering the less-than-stellar finish time, any race that leads to chocolate and new running friends is one to be celebrated, indeed!

Stromlo Lightning Strike 50K, November 2017

The story of Stromlo Running Festival has its roots in the devastating bushfires that struck Canberra back in 2003, claiming 4 lives, destroying over 500 homes and razing hundreds of acres of native forest. One of the people who lost their house and everything in it was Australia's fastest-ever marathon runner, Rob de Castella. In the 80s and 90s Deek and many of Australia's other top runners had done much of their training around Mount Stromlo ,and so in 2009 he was instrumental in the development of the new Stromlo Forest Park, which has become Australia's best off-road running and cycling venue.

So Deek remains an important part of the Stromlo Running Festival; you can read more about it here. My own connection to Stromlo began in 2015 when I signed up for the 50K but (for reasons I can no longer recall) was not able to actually run it. This year I seem to have developed a bit of an appetite for sadomasochistic running feats - see my post about the Fuxian Lake 50K as a reference - and so Stromlo made perfect sense. I signed myself up for the 30K because I knew the course would be super-hilly and honestly, I'm not THAT much of a masochist.


The Lead-Up

After China I ran Melbourne marathon and then attempted to take some downtime, which for me means running 70-80 miles per week (around 120km) without speedwork or particularly long runs. But since I was only planning to do the 30K option at Stromlo, I didn't bother with any sort of taper; 30K isn't even a particularly long long run when marathon training. In fact, the three weeks before looked more like a peak than a taper:

So it was off I went to Canberra without a second thought, really, for a nice long run and (just in the back of my mind, really) the idea that I might be able to place or even - dare I say it? - win. No big deal.


Stromlo 

We find our way to Stromlo Forest Park and only get lost once on the way (for Canberra this is a big achievement), and we've got the new tent that came with the new Jeep as well as all the sorts of things that make camping bearable: air mattresses, a machine to blow them up (no more hyperventilating), a big quilt and many pillows, plus comfy chairs on which to sit under the awning. It's only $10 to camp onsite the night before the race and it will save a lot of pre-dawn driving too.

Should camping be this comfortable?

In the process of picking up our bibs, however, an unexpected glitch appears - in the form of an extremely young, fit-looking female who is chatting with the race director. He's been told, by one of Australia's fastest distance runners in fact, that she's going to win tomorrow. Uh oh! I strike up a conversation with her as we check out the dinner options and yep, she's doing the 30K.

Suddenly I'm filled with an inexplicable desire to switch distances.

I'm not exactly trained for 50K, but on the other hand I'd rather do a longer run if I'm not going to win. 30km is not exactly long in terms of weekly long runs - although the elevation profile will more than make up for that - so a longer run would be preferable, and yeah, knowing that the best I can do is second place is definitely a factor in my decision.

Original course profile - we'll be doing the middle part twice - the hills are so big they have their own names

Joel is immediately on board with the decision to almost double the distance (now you know why I married him) and it seems we'll need to come back to effect the official transfer at 5am because the 50K starts at 6am. Another early morning, sigh, but at least we'll hopefully sleep well on our comfy air mattresses! Deek comes around for a chat (awesome) and we happily settle in early in anticipation of the big run ahead.


Race Day

The weather is significantly improved on last night's tempest and I head over to change our bibs and pick up a coffee just after 5am. The wind has dropped but there's still a bit of cloud cover - this will be useful later on if things start to warm up - and all in all, I'm sort of inappropriately excited to take on what is undoubtedly going to be a tough day's running. Perhaps there's a touch of denial there as well, who knows, but in any case we're feeling ready.

Milling around at the start we are a little concerned to note that we're almost the only runners NOT wearing complicated-looking hydration vests; this speaks volumes about our general lack of experience with this sort of mad trail ultrarunning. Joel informs me that we're supposed to be carrying a minimum of 600ml of fluid with us - this is per the race guidelines which I seem to have neglected to read - so we decide he'll refill and bring the Gatorade bottle he's holding.

There are *supposed* to be water tables at least every 5km so I'm sure I'll be ok, but extra water won't hurt either of us. Due to the late change I only have 4 gels with me - everyone around me has significantly more, of course - but whatever, I'll be fine! Denial: not just a river in Egypt, it's a lovely place to hang out before a murderously tough trail race.


Loop 1: 10K
50:16 - pace 8:05 min/mile, 5:01 min/km (hmm)

I look resigned, Kelly looks determined and Joel has disappeared altogether

Off we go, directly into the rising sun. The first loop takes us at first around the flat asphalt of the cycling track where we've all been camped overnight, before heading off onto the fire trails around the side of Mt Stromlo. It undulates quite a bit but all in all, I spend the first few miles thinking this isn't really too bad. In retrospect this is probably due to my legs being still fairly fresh - let's see how I feel about it all in a couple of hours, hmm?

The field has strung out fairly fast and I'm pretty certain I'm the female leader already. Joel and I are running comfortably together, occasionally chatting with other runners but mostly just pacing along together at a conversational pace. The second lap is going to have some unpleasantly large hills and due to the late course change we'll be doing them TWICE, so there's no need to exhaust ourselves now.

A few kms in there's a guy running close with us and so we strike up a conversation; it turns out he's planning to run Boston next year and so we of course have LOTS to say about that, being veteran participants and everything. The conversation is slightly interrupted by the onset of some rather nasty steep uphills - and the first water station, near the top of the hill - but as we turn left and head back down towards the start precinct, he catches us up again and we resume our reminiscences about Beantown.

Pace-wise we're ranging between 7:10 - 8:04 minutes per mile depending on the up/down, and that's perfectly fine by me. But by the time the end of the first loop is approaching it has become clear that it's longer than 10km; this does not bode well for the rest of the race, but perhaps it's Garmin error or something? The water stations have been, well, almost non-existent, so we stop right after the finish/start/end of lap archway to get a drink.

Joel is still carrying our water bottle and our Boston-bound friend (whose name it will turn out is Warwick) is still right with us as we set out on lap number 2, and as we exit the criterium track there's Kelly-Ann with her entourage, about 3 minutes behind. Here goes loop 2!


Loop 2: 10-30K
20km in 1:52:57 - 9:05 min/mile, 5:39 min/km (slowing down hmmm)

The first part of this loop is the same ground we've already covered and we plough onwards with Warwick towards the 5km water station, where this time we turn right instead off left and head off into the hills. The incline up to the water table was a little more unpleasant this time but overall, things aren't so bad for me right now. Joel, though, is moaning faintly about how he's feeling and at one point tells me he'll see me later before falling about 50m behind. Hmm - it's very early still in a looooong race - who knows what will happen? And I'd much rather have company that not, so I keep trundling along and am very pleased when he suddenly catches up again before too long.

At the half-marathon mark things still aren't too bad really - a few sharp hills so far but nothing prolonged - and we're still holding a pace around 8:00 min/mile (5:00 min/km). But mile 14 is a massive reality-check; Warwick has disappeared behind us and for the first time our mile split is over 9 minutes. "That had to be the Mother, right?" asks Joel - that's the name of the biggest hill we'll have to face today - but no, I'm pretty sure it's not. There's another water stop which is also offering lollies, Coke and sports drink, so we stop briefly to refill the water bottle and off we go again.

A long uphill begins at the start of mile 16, and it just keeps on going...and going. It's still not the Mother, though! When she finally does arrive during mile 17, the incline is enough to almost stop us dead in our tracks: ranging from 12-18%, it's a battle not to walk, because honestly it probably would not be much slower. The mile split beeps 10:41 (6:27 min/km) and I just want to laugh - that's probably the slowest mile I've "run" in my life! Joel is ahead but I catch him at the top; together again we struggle through the Kicker (ugh) and then the extremely welcome downhill that follows.

We're still alive! Major thumbs-up

There's one more significant uphill to conquer on our way back to the start but there are 10K runners all over the place and this keeps us moving nicely (pace back around 8:00/5:00) - we pass our friend Ewen, who bellows encouragement - until finally, FINALLY, we are closing on the 30K mark.

Except that we're now closer to 32km by my Garmin, and Joel's Garmin agrees. In fact, 20 miles (32km) has come and gone by the time we turn back into the cycling track and make our way once again to the water stop just past the finish line. Uh, I don't want to think about how far this 50K race might turn out to be in the end. It's looking more like 54km, which is just ridiculous! I'd rather believe that there will be some sort of miraculous short-cut that will bring us in right on 50km, so with this delusional thought off we go on lap 3. Wheee?


Loop 3: 30-50K
20km in 2:00:49 - 9:43 min/mile, 6:02 min/km 

The small undulations that seemed so insignificant on lap 1 are now serious obstacles. It's hard to think about the fact that we have to summit the Mother again this lap, and in fact I really would rather not think about anything just now. We trudge onwards to the first water stop and hang a right turn once more. This time it's my turn to whinge and fall behind - my legs are NOT HAPPY - but Joel (still carrying his magic water bottle) very kindly slows down and so pretty soon I'm able to toughen up and stick with him. Phew!

The thought of the massive hills still ahead is daunting and the only time our pace is faster than 8:00 min/km (in my mind this is the threshold between running and jogging, somehow) is when there's a considerable elevation loss going on. Every incline gets us around 9:00 or slower (5:35 min/km) and it's just a slog, period. Thankfully the sun has gone behind the clouds, but it's getting pretty warm - the Gatorade bottle is doing double duty as a source of water to dump on our heads - and I'm out of gels. Ugh, I might have to pick something up at the next aid station, if it ever comes along.

Finally we're approaching the one that we know heralds the start of the Mother; when we stop I take the opportunity to grab a cup of Coke and to my surprise it goes down very well!  I don't feel thirsty but the extra sugar will hopefully help me deal with what lies ahead, even if only from a mental perspective.

The second lap up the Mother (and that a-hole hill the Kicker) somehow isn't quite as bad as I was expecting: the two miles of torture record splits of 9:00 and 10:38, with no walking (ok maybe just a few paces) and only minimal profanity running through my head, along the lines of "Why the bleep am I doing this, again?" Finally we're done with the major hills and are heading steeply downwards; at this point with quads that feel like jelly, going down is just as dicey as going up and not a lot faster.

31 miles comes and goes, and we're not at the start/finish area, not even close. The much-desired shortcut has failed to materialise! My watch reads 4:20 and that's a personal worst for the distance, but what's really worst is that I'm still running. There are quite a lot of 30K runners on the course and as we pass I hear some of them moaning about the distance, too; it's clearly not a Garmin malfunction, the course really is significantly long. SIGH.

32 miles, then 33 and STILL we're not near the finish line. I'm starting to get really pissed off about this situation: I was mentally prepared to run 50 difficult kilometers but this extension was not in the contract! Even on the flat and downhill stretches it's a struggle to do more than shuffle/jog sullenly along. Joel is still running quite strongly in the final, mercifully flat mile (7:55 pace, which right now feels ridiculously fast) and I deeply resent having to keep up. "Can we please stop SPRINTING??" I snap, and he wisely has nothing to say in reply.

Me: <incoherent yelling>
Him: 😂

At last! We're on the criterium track and the finishing arch is in sight. There are a few people yelling my name - this will turn out to be runners I know from our post-Melbourne celebrations - but I'm too hosed to respond properly, I just want to stop running. Sorry!

YAY!!
photo credit: Cath Tompos

Finish time: 4:44:02 (9:08 min/mile or 5:40 min/km but for the actual distance, more like 8:23/5:12)

Placement: 1st woman, tied with Joel for 5th overall


The total distance run adds up to 33.8 miles or 54.5km, a error that is quite astonishing to contemplate. Fit fast young chick has indeed won the 30K and she's in the shower room complaining that it was more like 32km when I head in there to clean up: I'm caked in salt as well as a liberal helping of dust and dirt up both legs. Ok, so loop 1 was over by just under 1km and the loop 2 that we ran twice was probably over by about 1.5km. Amazing!

It's an exquisite relief to be finished, although my legs don't feel nearly as beaten-up as I would have expected - perhaps that's due to how much slower the pace was than in the other 50K races I've run before this. Back at the tent my companions are enjoying a beer, so I stagger around a bit gathering food and then it's time for the presentations; I've won both overall female and my age group!  Deek's on the microphone and he apologises for the length of the course, promising it will be fixed for next year - "Good," I tell him "because otherwise I don't think I'd like to come back!"

Analysis

So this was a personal worst by almost an hour (after Fuxian Lake's 3:55:04), although if you allow for the extra distance it was only 25 minutes slower, or thereabouts. The elevation profile is frankly hideous and explains the whole disaster - but further analysis over breakfast and on the ride home shows that we only lost around 8 minutes on the final loop, compared to our first trip up and over the Mother. Almost all the other runners lost a fair bit more; this is proof of our endurance and something to be pleased about for sure!

If this was an ECG I'd be applying the defibrillator paddles, stat

In retrospect this was a pretty fun thing to do, despite the over-the-top difficulty rating. The last-minute switch plus the extra distance made this my longest run ever, as well as my first major trail race, the camping was awesome...so perhaps I will be back next year after all.