Improving Your Downhills: Five Little Things They Never Mention

There have been some awesome write-ups on how to improve your downhill techniques, written by better downhill runners than me, including this recent one by Joe Uhan. It's common to read things about quick feet and maintaining a forward lean to let gravity help.

Recently, whilst solo running in a lovely Swiss forest, on a downhill rep session of my own, I was all focus. It was a focus on the big things, just like the articles always say - leaning just the right amount, using quick light steps, looking ahead to pick my line.... My face was tight, brows furrowed. But I didn't realise that part UNTIL... another runner approached me coming uphill. I automatically smiled. To be polite, of course.

Selfie confirms it - I'm smiling!

And my smile changed everything. I realised that with my uber-focus on the big details, I certainly wasn't having fun. I immediately started pretending I had a mate with me and we were on any one of a million training runs, having a blast. I pretended I was really awesome at downhill running and really loved it (those are relative statements with more or less veracity depending on the day.) I "yippeed" and "yahood" in my head. I kept smiling. I pretended I was in a race and there were cameras around every corner, ready to capture me not looking stressed!

I got to the bottom of the hill faster than the last two reps and feeling much more relaxed about the whole thing. "Fake it til you make it" had provided me yet another life example!

On the way back up the hill for rep #4, I thought, "What other little things do I do that might help someone who is struggling with downhill skill improvement?" It wasn't hard to think of four more things I do to set myself up for success. So, here they are.... Start with these 5 little things and use them along with all the big things you get from the other posts on downhill technique. These aren't tips for the pros. These are tips for people who aren't comfortable with descents, who find themselves approaching a descent nervously, who lean back and brake.

1. As above, SMILE. Yippee and Yahoo. Pretend you're with a friend, you're being filmed, whatever it takes to help you smile. Smiling relaxes your face more than frowning or furrowing your brows and sends signals to your brain that everything's good in the world. It will change your mental attitude and your body will follow.

2. Before you start your descent/downhill rep, TIGHTEN YOUR LACES. It's worth the 15 seconds. Wobbly feet moving around in your shoes won't improve your confidence. Consider using a lace lock, if you don't (don't tighten as hard as the bloke in that video, though, that's silly and will hurt over time, especially if you have a lot of uphill later.)

3. Before you start your descent, TIGHTEN YOUR PACK. Cinch up the straps so it doesn't bounce around - that throws off your balance. AND REMOVE ANY EXCESS AIR in your hydration pack bladder. Not only is the "mixing margaritas" noise annoying, the moving water/air mixture will also throw off your balance. Tip your pack upside down (putting the air at the top, where the tube now is). Suck through the bite valve until you get past the water in the tube to the air. Keep sucking all the air out until you have water again. Turn your pack back up. Now the air is gone forever! (Unless you have a leaking bite valve that lets air back through.)

4. TAKE THE SWITCHBACKS, not the direct line. If there's a choice, where someone has short-cutted a direct line along a switchback, stick with the switchback. It's much easier on your body to keep a flowing movement on a gentler grade. I've run many times with others in mountains where they chose the direct line down, feeling it should be faster, but the extra braking required to negotiate a steeper decline negated any "win" in time.

One deserves to enjoy a great descent after the climb to get there!

5. DO REPEATS to build confidence. Go back to the same hill and do it again and again - something in the range of a 3 minute descent is good (thus, maybe 6 minutes to climb). Three minutes is a fairly long time to stay focussed, but not so long your brain will overload and fry! :) Getting some of the rocks and roots and holes memorized on a descent will allow you to start taking it a bit faster, instilling confidence. Do at least 3 reps of the same hill, power walking back up at a pretty easy pace, so you aren't starting your down all puffed out.

See you at the bottom!

The Ultra Titanic Mountain Binge Week

Yesterday I posted my photos of the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB) 4 day running camp. I hadn't written "Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc" anywhere. Just "UTMB." My mum was unaware of my upcoming race. UTMB is a 170km + 10,000m anti-clockwise loop trail race around Mont Blanc/Monte Bianco, from France to Italy to Switzerland and back to France. It starts Friday night August 28th.

The UTMB race roughly follows the "TMB" hiking route

So my mum looked at my photos and asked, "Why did you do this Ultra Titanic Mountain Binge over 4 days?" And I thought that was just a perfect summary of my last 8 days of training!

The camp was run by a French company and most documentation was in French, though they did provide things to me in English, including a description of the course/camp itself and what was included. They promised I would be given a "reconnaissance of the UTMB route, physical preparation and nutrition advice, recommendations regarding material and equipment, mental training, technique coaching, race management, talks by trail runners about their experiences, etc." I figure I'm fairly advanced in most of the general nutrition and mental stuff, but I was looking forward to any tips I could glean, particularly from someone with specific UTMB experience. Turned out that although the guide was a very good runner, he has never done UTMB. And his English was not fluent to allow for complex conversations. But I did get one tip on tweaking my pole-technique, by listening carefully to the French, and that was worth a lot!

Morning clouds burning off. Mountains playing peekaboo.

There were 6 French blokes on the course (at least three from Paris and one from Toulouse) plus the guide. Most are planning to do UTMB, but a few have other race plans somewhat similar and thought the camp would be good training. They had great attitudes and were good people to spend 4 days with (as generally all trail runners seem to be). I certainly missed a lot of the conversation, due to the speed and complexity of their French compared to mine, but overall I'm very happy in my own head, so didn't mind that I wasn't in on all the laughs. Mountains and rivers and clouds make great conversational partners for me :)

Our days looked something like this:

5.50 am: wake up
6 am: breakfast in rifugio/refuge/hutte
6.30 - 7 am: finish dressing, packing, lubing bits and pieces (my Montane merino tech-t became my shirt of choice for multi-day running, due to its no-stink properties...wish the blokes had some merino wool!)
7 am - 6 pm: run. This typically included a one hour lunch stop, which I was not in favour of. It's too long. One is just encouraged to sit around eating too much, which makes it harder to get up and run again...invariably up another mountain. The guys also had a lot of sit-down stops and walk breaks - again more than I would have liked, but I'm in the freak category, I know.
6 pm - 7 pm: check in to refuge, queue for showers, unpack

Happy with the gear! (And another mountain climb, yippee!)

7 pm - 8 pm: mass dinner in dining area of refuge (as a preferred gluten-free, sugar-free, vego type, I had brought some emergency food with me, which I was very glad for! I also brought chia seeds to try to keep up some anti-inflammatory omega fatty acids and poured olive oil on my salads. Glad to be "home" now to my Udo's Oil!)
8 - 9 pm: espresso for me (most blokes were off to bed right after dinner). Then foam rolling, tennis ball rolling, and a quick charge to Garmin and phone if I could find a socket.
9 pm'ish: bed, avec earplugs (dormitory living)

By the end of day 3, the mileage and elevation were accumulating rapidly because I was sheepdogging the whole time (running to junctions/summits, then back to the back of the pack). I saw that I was headed for over 200km and over 12,000m gain in 4 days. I had to listen very carefully to my body for any sign that "training" had become "breaking." I developed a nasty knot in one calf on day 4, but I could massage it out and run easily for another hour until it would tighten again. I think a few years ago I would have had no idea to try massaging it out and would have just assumed I had to keep running (limping) with the knot...which could have easily become a tear, I bet.

Day 4, approaching the top of the final climb, Mont Blanc comes into view

In terms of the UTMB route itself, the "toughest" parts will be different for many, but I expect the 5 passes between La Balme and Courmayeur (roughly 40k point to 80k point) represent one of the toughest. This will all be in the dark for me and I'm happy enough with that, as there are plenty of more beautiful parts of the course to enjoy after Courmayeur :) There are a few very nasty steep descents, which I'm glad to know about, as they can be soul-destroying (due to their brutal nature on toenails and quads). I'm glad to have a sense of the terrain and the placement of aid stations. I also got a good sense of my pace up particular climbs. I ran 3 of the 4 days with poles (putting them away on day 4, just to slow myself down). My pole technique really improved after the guide's tip (should have had that for the dolomites VK!).

So, after 212km + 13,000m for the week, I was theoretically off to binge on another massif along the Swiss-Italian border - Monte Rosa. I had signed up for a 50km + 4000m "training race" with an Italian mate. However, at the time I signed up, I misread the UTMB training camp info and thought it ended Monday (it ended Tuesday night). That gave me just 3 days to recover before a very steep, technical race. And I hadn't realised I'd have done all the extra sheepdogging miles. It seemed I had now done all the training I needed in regards to fuel, poles, weather, and muscle-building during the UTMB camp. I couldn't find a smart reason to run the Monte Rosa Walser 50k.

Gabiet 'hotel', day before Monte Rosa race. Couldn't see 100mtr on race day!

The day before Monte Rosa Ultra was beautiful and we did some hiking up over 3,000m to join the local ibex with the views to the amazing glaciated peak at over 4,600m. I saw some of the race course trails. Steep, narrow, and rocky. The weather was forecast to include heavy rain and 12 degrees all day. I mentally confirmed that running the race in treacherous conditions was a risk I didn't need to take. However, I now had a reason to at least toe the start line - wet weather gear testing! My Italian mate had piked, given the bad weather. But it was just what I needed! (And truth be told, I was tired of training every day in the European heatwave this year.)

Thus, at 5.50 am, I stood at the start line in the dawn light, fully clad in my new Raidlight Extreme rain gear (sadly, Montane gear just isn't to be found in local shops) and very expensive Mammut waterproof overmitts (essentially a thin waterproof outer mitt to go over normal gloves). I certainly got a few looks from other runners! My Italian mate, who decided to pike on the all-day run in the rain, also gave me the look. When I said I was UTMB gear testing, he said, "Okay, but the gloves...really, they are too much!" I disagreed :)

Uber light and I can run in it. "Waterproof" only goes so far, though!

As planned, I ran at easy pace for the first 23km + 2300m of the race. There wasn't a mountain view to be had. It was all clouds and mist and rain, but it was gorgeous. We crossed rivers and my x-talons enjoyed the muddy sections. I got to figure out how waterproof my new gear is, how hot vs breathable it is, how to best layer underneath it, how my pack moves more readily with a slippery jacket on, and so much more.

When I arrived at the 23k aid station, I handed in my bib, thanked the vollies working in the rain, and decided to run the 13km downhill on the small mountain road to my hotel. From my hotel room window later, I could watch everyone coming in to the finish, including all those I had played leap-frog with all morning (I'd typically pass uphill and then some blokes would pass me again on the descents - I wouldn't play the slip-on-your-butt game like them, as it wasn't my A race.)

Shame I couldn't see the whole course, but greedy-greedy never gets!

From the safety and comfort of my hotel room window ledge, I played the "shoulda/coulda/woulda" game. It appeared to be a less competitive race for the females this year and it seemed that I "coulda" finished in 3rd place at my training pace. My ego liked that. Dangerous and annoying thing, that ego. The other thing that coulda happened was a slip in the mud due to fatigued legs, followed by a tendon tear. Pick a tendon, any tendon. I'm sure I have plenty of tired ones right now. And I'm about to add more speedwork. Get ready, tendons! :)

The Metaphysics of VK's and Grand Pianos

Last weekend I fulfilled a little dream. I ran a European International Skyrunning Federation (ISF) "vertical kilometre" (VK) event. The basic criteria for an ISF VK is that the route must gain 1000 metres over "variable terrain with a substantial incline, not exceeding five kilometres in length." I chose my race mostly on convenience - the timing meant that I was in Europe, near enough to the Italian dolomites, that I could do the Dolomites Vertical Kilometer. This race gives hill-loving athletes their +1000m in just 2.4 kilometres!

View from hotel room to the peak I'll run.

Other than my track sessions with the WA Masters group, I've never done a race as a "training race" or "B race/C race"* before. My goals were:

(1) experience a European VK
(2) get a solid, hard uphill training session in for UTMB, which is my A goal race later in August
(2a) find out (hopefully) my legs are super strong and I'm still able to run mountains for the rest of the weekend
(3) test drive and practice with my new Leki Trailstick poles

I'm happy to report that all goals were achieved.

The event itself was a little disorganised before the start. They moved the race briefing, which was already hard to find if you weren't a local. There was a handwritten note on the door of the building directing us to go to "Belvedere" instead. No map. Great...now just to find out what and where "Belvedere" was and get there within 5 minutes! The initial Google search via our phones on international roaming found a place 55 minutes away. A little more searching and we found a closer one :)

Briefing done, we found where to get my bib and then found dinner. That night, I found something else. I found myself getting nervous and agitated. It was the pressure to perform. And yet I had no performance goals for myself, other than to find out if my legs post-race were as rock solid as I hoped they would be. But I felt the pressure of the invisible audience, expecting me to smash it up. I knew I was going to smash it up, but it was going to be the version of smashing-it-up that comes from a 46 year old woman in peak mileage, doing 150 k's of mountain running per week.

Race morning dawned and I enjoyed a more relaxed feeling that comes with doing a "C race" (a new thing for me!) and with a very civilised 9.50 am start (VK'ers go in waves of 20 people every 4-5 minutes). But I had to arrive by 9 am to get my finish line bag to the helicopter. Yes, indeed, there was a giant bag being filled with runners' bags, which was carried up dangling from a helicopter to the summit at about 2500m.

I stood around watching and waiting and the more I stood, the more I felt the pangs of nerves again. Even though I had the compression gear, fancy poles, and distinct lack of body fat like all the others around me, I felt out of place. I felt like those newbie trail runners at Perth Trail Series events who would contact me when I was RD and say, "I'm just a regular runner. Can I do your events? Are they just for elites and other really fast people? If I do your event, will I be last?" And then they would rock up - and almost surely wouldn't be last - but would stand there feeling all the internal jitters as their eyes fixated on all the fit, lycra'd, hydration-packed "athletes" around them.

Standing at the VK, I felt all this. All this rubbish nonsense in my head. All over a silly little 2.5km run up a mountain on a beautiful summer day.

The cool start chute, organisers calling each starter.

They called my name and number (in Italian) and I ran through the start chute, over the cool little ramp that makes you feel like an F1 racing car! That was awesome and everyone should get to do that sometime. I made little rumbling idling and revving noises in my head :) Vroom Vroom!

Some modern dance music came on loud before they counted us down. It was perfect. I closed my eyes and did a little dance to the beat. I remembered myself. I'm just a little girl who loves running.

And so I ran (and power hiked, yes, it's steep!) to the top of that mountain. And then did something else I've never done. I toasted my "win" against the voices in my head with a bit of prosecco at the top. (I've never seen prosecco at the finish line of a race - distinctly Italian and apropos, it seemed.)

I watched other runners come in for about 30 minutes, then ran the 2k to the cable car, which was taking us to the foot of the mountain (it's forbidden to run down the route, even if you were silly enough to want to run something that steep down.)

Timing chip returned, we had lunch and Rolf and I headed off to Marmolada, the queen of the dolomites, just around the corner. I enjoyed a 5k + 700m hike/climb up to her glacier, the only glacier in the dolomites.

The following day, I backed up with a 22k + 2200m run in the dolomites, fastpacking with 8kg on my back, to stay in a rifugio for the night. The next morning, after a brekkie of muesli, yoghurt and chia (yes, I carried my own chia up the mountain; it was lighter than the bottle of Udo's Oil!), we ran out to the car, 8k away. The legs were finally getting tired :)

The smile was genuine. Hard work, but I was loving it!

And so, how did I do in the VK, many will want to know. All goals achieved, as above.

My placing? About mid-pack. For those of you shocked, let's bring the giant grand piano of reality crashing down onto the scene.

My VO2max is over the 90th percentile, I know that much. But that's based on sex and age. I'm not in my 20s. Age is against me in a sprint. The Dolomite VK results don't take age into consideration or provide DOB's or ages beside names. I saw two women I would have guessed as old or older than me. Pretty much everyone seemed 15-20 years my junior. But that could have been selective attention on my part :)

In another context, let's say I could run a 3hr12 marathon on a very good day. Just a guess, but a maths-based one. If I ran a marathon in Western Australia, I might win it. Depends who comes out, but it's at least possible. Top 3 even more likely. However, if I took my same great race to the Boston Marathon, my 3:12 would have netted me 493rd position amongst women this year. 493rd.

Be your best. And keep dodging grand pianos :)

*A race/B race/C race definitions: These are my own interpretations.... An A race is your major goal event that might require several months of preparation. The B race would be one aligned with the A race goal and thus supports it. The B race would likely have a performance-related goal (e.g., run a half marathon at your marathon pace, if you were preparing for your first marathon). The C race would probably also be aligned with the A race...but at least shouldn't be counter to it! There isn't really a performance goal, but there's some other goal for doing the event (e.g., test fueling/gear).

Ups and Downs

There have been a few ups and downs in my world since my last post - already a whirlwind 6 weeks ago!

A monkey. And the shadow of the volcano over Bali, created by the sunrise

Keeping with my penchant for silly post-race recovery adventures (read "recovery" with a healthy dose of scepticism), I headed off the day after the Kep Ultra for 5 days in Indonesia. And thus it was, two nights after the race, I found myself pulling an all-nighter in Bali. Whilst there are many Aussies who can claim to have done all-nighters on Bali, fewer claim theirs as an all night hike up a live volcano to witness sunrise at the summit. Gunung (Mt) Agung at ~3000 metres is Bali's highest point. Whilst I thought the all-night approach was more about the sunrise and beating the heat, I found out that the clouds tend to come in before noon each day, obscuring views for those who might prefer to keep to their diurnal habits. Our nocturnal adventure was a very fortunate one, as the rain gave way to clear skies and a full moon meant we climbed without using our headlamps. Truly magical. As were the pancakes made by our (mandatory) guide at the summit!

Hot pancakes at 3000 metres! It's like a Euro rifugio without the hut :)

After the mental "up" of the Kep Ultra and the physical "up" of the volcano climb, the subsequent "down" was physically if not mentally rather taxing! The next couple days were spent with more normal active recovery gentle walks, including as few wince-inducing stairs as possible :)

The Kep recovery phase came to an end two weeks after the event and was marked by a 25k trail run. I heard the trumpets sound and the town crier call, "Let the training games begin anew!"

So the following week was marked with the "up" of increasing mileage along with the "down" of intermittent fasting to shed 2kg of fat. I created my own form of torture via a few solo slogging fat-burning long runs.

Four days down in WA's Stirling Range did wonders for getting my weight back to where I wanted it. Three days spent adventuring and eating well (and sleeping cold?? Shivering increases metabolism, after all!) were magic for my body and soul. Taking two mates in tow on day 1, we tackled the (normally 3 day) Ridge Top Walk (5 min video link). This approximately 23km traverse (+6km access via fire trail) goes up and down over the main range from Bluff Knoll (aka Mt James) to Ellen Peak and provides about 2800-3000 metres of climbing. I'd done the traverse once before with others who knew the route. That time, I'd completed the full 46k loop. For this adventure, given it was winter (less daylight) and having no one with me who had done the route before, I decided to focus only on the traverse. The loop isn't really sexy, anyway. It's bitumen road and fire trail.

Early in the day - the majority of peaks behind me still to do.

My thought was to recce the route for setting an FKT post on the proboard site that others could then use for their own personal challenge. But after seeing the current state of the "trail," I said, "FKT? NOT ME!" It was so overgrown for about half of it that it reminded me of those times rogaining where I've chosen a really crap route to find a control and had to claw, stumble, and crawl my way through razor-sharp Aussie bush. I banged my right shin so many times on small, immovable thick bush/shrubs that I finished with a swollen ankle I couldn't bend without pain. Someone can FKT it, but at this point, it won't be me. I'll stick with "enjoying" the challenge of trying to navigate the traverse in daylight hours. Winter also provided an extra challenge in the form of wet rock, reeds, and clay, but also meant the daytime temperatures were more mild and hydration needs weren't as demanding (I still carried 4.5 litres, but came home with 1.5). High quality rain pants (mine were Patagonia) were a blessing, given all the wet and sharp bushes. The Montane rain/wind jacket was also requisite, given very strong winds that had me doubting we could do the cliff-edge climbing sections safely later in the day. I was being literally blown over at times in the open sections.

From 5 am to 6.30 pm, we traversed the range, starting and finishing in the dark, but managing to do all the tricky summit stuff in daylight. I wouldn't want to try to navigate up there in the dark! The following day, with the help of my full compression socks worn overnight, I was able to do my Bluff Knoll hill repeats. And the day after, I took myself on a 5 hour firetrail adventure (banging my poor shin again on a trippy-stick and setting back my ankle recovery, argh).

Thus ended a 150k + 5200m training week over 29-30 hours of training time.

And then I launched straight into the next week, taking on some new "ups" in the form of a steeplechase track race! It wasn't pretty, but it was fun! And challenging. I highly recommend it. I jumped the hurdles like logs on a trail, one hand on the "log." And whilst I didn't get quite as soaked as the girl in this photo, I was soaked to my waist from the five "river crossings" I had to do over the 2k event. The end of the week saw me leading a trail technique course for the Perth Trail Series and then doing a marvellous 70km/8.5 hour point-to-point run on the Bibbulmun Track. The next morning I was off to Switzerland!

So up in the air I went and down I landed in Zurich, followed by a train to my base in Aarau. It's low-lying, so it takes a bit of extra focus to get the elevation I want out of some runs. To emulate the UTMB course, I need +600m over each 10k. One of my key sessions included a 30k on the slopes of Mt Titlis, where I easily (well, not so easily, but let's say readily) bagged +2000m in the first 18k! And got a little time in at elevation, too, reaching 2500 metres above sea level. Another key session included 3 x 2k hard descents (bomb proofing the quads and tib ants). Switzerland's heat wave is not making it pleasant, but I'm trying to remember to be grateful for this running opportunity. Sweat-in-the-eyes and all :)

On the slopes of Titlis. Finger points to Jochpass, where I was 2hrs before

I expect all these training ups and downs have my max heart rate (HR) back down, too. I threw my heart rate monitor on for several runs in June and was surprised to see my max HR a full 10 points higher than is theoretically possible (based on previous VO2max testing). In fact, I ran a 1500m race at 104% of my max HR :) I was excited to think I was defying age and getting younger, but quickly came to the understanding that detraining after the Kep Ultra resulted in blood plasma changes that meant my heart had to pump more blood per minute to get the requisite oxygen to the muscles. Now that I'm fit again, I expect less pumps needed by the ol' ticker to get the same amount of oxygen circulating. What hit home here was that given the 3-7% shifts in max HR that can occur with training/detraining, one must be wary of using percentage of max HR for training zones. Anyway, I left the HR monitor in Perth. It's easier ;)

Kep Ultra 75k: A Dance With Exertion

The Kep Ultra wasn't in my racing diary until about 10 days before the event. My plan after World 24hr was a month of recovery and then rebuilding. But after only running 100k in the mid-April event, I had fresher legs than expected and that bad taste in my mouth that a bad race can leave. It was a quick re-writing of a program to prep for the event!

Fortunately, I was privileged to be able to enter the popular sold-out race, having been a previous 100k event winner. I chose the 75k because I haven't run that option before. I like to do different races - though only 7km of the course is actually different to the 100k course, it would certainly be done at a speedier pace. So that's different, too ;)

Ice possible in Perth?!? Silly car.

It was a great feeling to be excited about and looking forward to an event. I hadn't had that feeling in a while. Though I try to keep those feelings tempered, as too much excitement can mess with my head.

I wrote my splits and nutrition plan gave it to Rolf, my crew. I wrote my affirmations down on paper and read them and thought of them regularly. I painted my toes. I wanted to write my "daring" time goal on them, but debated. Even though no one could see my toes, it would be there. Should I just write something more guaranteed? More safe? I paused with the permanent marker for a few moments. I thought perhaps of writing nothing and just leaving the "DARE" on the left foot. But it's not really daring to not follow through with that right foot, is it? So on it went, "6.30." A stretch, according to the number crunching science I'd done, but one that I could still aim for.

My personal dare. A 6hr30 finish. That would take 43 minutes off the CR.

7 am start. Such a fresh morning that Rolf's vehicle gave him a helpful "ice possible" warning (in Perth, seriously? That car doesn't know where it is!). I headed off with the front of the pack at near a 4.30 pace. As we settled into the first 600 metres and the group spread out further, I counted the blokes making a gap ahead. 12. I wondered how many I'd catch after Wooroloo (43k). In the next km, two more blokes came past. 14. One of the 75k girls ran near me to the first aid station, Clackline, at 19k. We were a close group of about 4 coming in.

Rolf the one-man pit crew was ready. I dropped my pack and gloves and threw on the one he handed me. I called out, "In and out!" to the aid station vollies and was gone. I was on my split time and running solidly but still easy enough (no high heart rate allowed this early in the dance).

It's 24km to the next aid station, Wooroloo. 2 hours. Thus, I had to carry more water, which I instantly felt on my back. I dug into the joy that is a peeled pear, before getting back to the long-burning fuel of Hammer Perpetuem. Rolf was able to pop in along the trail at a few points to take photos, which he couldn't do at aid stations, as they're too quick and all hands are needed to negotiate caps, packs, and such :)

I hit Wooroloo on target. Always hoping I might get to bank a minute (just one measly minute) that could be a cushion near the finish, that minute couldn't be found. I'd wrung out tight splits! Any harder and I'd blow myself up.

Wooroloo was another non-stop transition. 1 hour 41 planned to the next checkpoint, Mt Helena. But the increasing heat of the day meant I needed the same amount of water as last time. There's a long insidious climb from Wooroloo for 6km. In 2012, that's where I passed 3 runners who'd gone out too hard. I caught a few around this area, but they pretty much stayed with me the rest of the race. There were many well-paced people out there.

Until Wooroloo, I really enjoyed the scenery and terrain. Though a fairly flat race (600m in 76k), the low hills still eat you up because you're trying to run fast. After Wooroloo, the track widens and straightens for much of the next 19km to Mt Helena. It's a mentally tough section for me. Having Rolf appear to take photos made it easier to find joy :) The pace and heat made for a delicate focus on my nutrition, as the edge of nausea tried to toe its way in to my party.

All the aid stations were abuzz with spectators and crews. The cheering and encouragement was fantastic. I ran through Mt Helena 4 minutes off pace. Crap. I did my usual, "In and out!" call and one of the aid station crew chased me down because he needed to check a piece of mandatory gear - my mobile phone. I slowed, pulled it out, and held it up. I didn't even register until several hours after finishing and a girl told me it was the funniest sight - a bloke in a huge sombrero sprinting after me down the trail. I hadn't even really noted the sombrero until she said it!

Honky nuts and pea gravel. The unique WA trails.

I knew there was a 3k slight uphill grind in loose pea gravel out of Helena. And it was a grind, yes! It was warm and my legs were cooked. My quads were ready to be done and exerting on the uphill brought my heart rate up quickly. In those 3k, my pace fell 30 seconds off the plan for this 7k section. I wasn't going to make up for all that with the 4k little descent. But I did claw back enough to make it only a 17 second per k net deficit. But now I was 2 more minutes off projections. I had 34 minutes to run 7k of slightly downhill weaving trail. Not gonna happen. But what COULD I do?

Push. Experience from track running with Masters Athletics has really helped me learn how much I can push and how early. I pushed as hard as I could, running that delicate dance of exertion to avoid nausea or bonking. I had to keep the fuel going in, but not too much. I didn't bother looking at my pace for 3k. I knew I was doing my best. Then I looked. 5.14 pace. I was clawing some back! Push. More. Dance with exertion.

1k to go and I ran into a group of 8 out for a relaxing walk on the single track. "Excuse me, racer! Excuse me, sorry, racer!" I darted back and forth like a moth on a light. The last 500 metre climb came and I switched my Garmin to overall time. I watched 6.30.00 tick over. Okay, fine, but what COULD I do?

She wants me to stand still for my medal. I want to not puke.

According to my watch (still waiting for official time), 6.31.22. A 5.05 pace for the last 7k. I also finished 5th overall, as it turns out I had passed several guys at Wooroloo and Mt Helena aid stations without knowing.

Now, known for some crazy recoveries, I'm about to board a plane (short flight) to Indonesia to climb a 3,100 metre volcano. I've been in compression this whole time :) Poles are packed!

Dare

Finally, I have some "daring" adventures in the works. It's taken some soul-searching. Interestingly, the answers often come to me on solo runs, halfway up a brutal climb. Does oxygen deprivation contribute to transcendence? ;)

Mt Solitary, NSW, AUS in the background - a good climb for soul-searching

It's been many months without much in the way of running goals. It was a feeling I wasn't used to. The challenges just kept coming; ever since May 2010 when I started to set myself some daring goals. I might just add "daring for me", though that should be assumed, since this particular blog is mostly all about me ;)

It was a rewarding four years. A good mix of exciting, exhausting, scary, and fun. That's what daring is about. Challenging expectations. Exploring. Defying fear. Questioning reality.

To help other runners with their own "dares," I started a trail running business, Perth Trail Series, in early 2012. Last month, looking to fill the void of daring I was facing, I decided I had to sell PTS to my brilliant assistant. This opened the door to freedom and flexibility in my calendar. I just had to figure out some new dares. We all know (well, if you read my last post you know) that the 2015 World 24hr Championships did not fill my criteria for daring. At this point in my life, eeking out a few more kilometres in a 24 hour race does not create sufficient personal exploration and challenge. Maybe it will again someday.

My upcoming daring adventures might break records, they might not. They might only break a record in my brain - some artificial limiting fear, a "win" in overcoming logistical challenges, weather challenges, distance challenges, training challenges, or the challenge to live more simply and surrounded by nature more often. Here's where I'm headed:

Kep Ultra: 31 May 2015; Western Australia; 76km + 600m

Stirling Range Ridge Top Walk (RTW) loop: June 2015; Western Australia; 46km (+ ~2,000m)

Dolomites Sky Race Vertical Kilometre: 17 July 2015; Canazei, Italy; 2.5km + 1,000m

UTMB training camp (running the race course as a recce over 4 days): 24-28 July 2015

Monte Rosa Walser Trail: 1 August 2015; Gressoney-Saint-Jean, Italy; 50km + 4,000m

Rifugio Guide del Cervino altitude acclimatisation: 24-27 August 2015; Swiss-Italy border; elevation 3480m

Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB): 28 August 2015; Chamonix, France; 170km + 10,000m

Canyon de Chelly Ultra: 10 October 2015; Arizona, USA; 55km + 365m

Point to Pinnacle: 15 November 2015: Tasmania, Australia; 21.4km + 1,270m

Yukon Arctic Ultra: 4-12 February 2016; Yukon Territory, Canada; 300 miles pulling a sled. Rolf says this is the sled-dog race where I'm the dog. This race has been on my radar since 2007. In 2013 I wrote off the idea, but the idea won't wear off me!

Bibbulmun self-supported FKT attempt: April-May 2016?

Rim2Rim2Rim Grand Canyon: April-May 2016?

Patagonia fast-packing: April-May 2016?

Teaching myself to build a pole barn on my land, circa 2001

It's your turn. I won't dare you. Dare yourself. Do something audacious. In your own way. You define it and make your dream come true.

Fate vs Destiny

Chance has little effect upon the wise man, for his greatest and highest interests are directed by reason throughout the course of life - Greek philosopher Epicurus ~300 BCE

Yesterday morning, the day of my eye/nose surgery, a timely blog post appeared in my email inbox. Penned by Karl Hoagland, it was on the topic of fate vs destiny, particularly in relation to ultras. He tried to describe a subtle difference between the two, saying fate is:

...what happens to you. It's the cards you are dealt and the path that circumstances, family expectations and peer pressure send you on. Fate is the route that is well traveled, grooved and most of all - seems safest. But the reality is that the safe path is the most dangerous of all, because it can keep you from living your life to its fullest and happiest potential. Making difficult decisions and choosing the difficult path always entails risk, hard work, embarrassment and pain.... Listen to your gut and your heart when facing the big decisions, and choose your destiny.

The trouble with the article is that he didn't clarify to me how one can choose their destiny (but not their fate), when the definitions of both offer the other as a synonym. Though in common usage, destiny is more often used in a forward-looking context - it's more often used to indicate a future event. A positive future event. Whilst destiny can be interpreted in a "fatalistic" way, that's more so the case for fate. Fate pretty much says what's arisen was predetermined and is thus out of our control. When something bad happens, we tend to say it was "fate." When something good happens, we're more likely to say it was our "destiny." Perhaps this gives us an easy way to cope with the bad things in life ("Well, it wasn't my fault, there was nothing I could do, it was fate.") Yet, we can take all the credit for the good things in life ("It was my destiny to land that job" - implying some kind of inherent giftedness.)

So, going by Karl's article, watery eyes was my fate. It was something that just happened, getting worse and worse over the past two years. It's impacted my running, such that in cool and/or windy weather, tears stream down my face. My eyes get sore from the constant wiping with a cloth and I can't run with any kind of speed and confidence on trails when it happens. Even on cool mornings whilst indoors, my eyes can rain for hours. Blurry vision makes it hard to read the computer screen.

Thirteen months ago I had my first eye surgery - a less invasive (but still under general anaesthetic) attempt to fix my problem. It was five days before the Coburg 6 hr race. It didn't work and we were back to the drawing board. Trying to time such things to work with my training and international travel added to the challenge of making successful eye surgery my "destiny" over a watery eye "fate."

Although I wanted the surgery before World 24hr Championships last month in Italy, I was concerned about it being too close to the race...AND they wanted me to go off my Udo's Oil! (a blood thinner). That wasn't gonna happen in peak training.

UTMB, the one race I'm signed up for this year. Oddly, only my 2nd 100 Miler!

My race calendar currently has a lot of space in it. I'm looking to fill it, but may need a month to see how this surgery pans out. I now have holes drilled through bone to connect my tear ducts to my nose. Bigger gutters! Here's hoping! If nothing else, I will find a new career as a professional mourner or develop my party tricks.

And whilst on the topic of fate vs destiny.... It's time to talk about Worlds. Heavy sigh.

I found Karl's article timely considering my World 24hr flop. I'd like to say "disaster", but I'm trying to stop catastrophising :) given that it's "only a race." It's just that this race included an investment I calculated at 30 hr/wk for training time. Concordantly, I decreased work. Thousands of dollars not earned and thousands of dollars spent on the travel. Favours requested of mates and my partner, all to help me achieve my goal. But there's the rub.

The rub was that the 2015 World 24hr race was not my goal (my "destiny"), but my fate. By virtue of running 238.261km last year, I earned myself a spot on the Australian women's team. And everyone expected me to go. Circumstances, expectations, and pressure. I told everyone I didn't want to go. For eight months I told everyone. Expectations and pressure continued. I waited for the mojo to come. It didn't come easily. But if I was going to go, I was going to do everything in my power to make it worth my while. I researched more 1%'ers to use in training and recovery and wrote myself a minimum 240km plan (an achievable, not pie-in-the-sky plan). There would be a small PB and depending on which ladies toed the line, just possibly a medal. Admittedly, the medal didn't provide me much of a carrot, as most people thought it would. (If medals motivated me, I'd be picking lots of small, obscure races where I could almost guarantee a win.)

Arrival in Torino was good. In my view, the course was an excellent 2km loop (excellent as world champ events go). I was sleeping well (crap bed, but I padded it to mat the springs sticking out). I adjusted time zones quickly. Resting heart rate (HR) was down. I was foam rolling and doing my pre-event runs as normal.

Race day. 10am start. All good. Awesome spring weather. A touch hot mid-afternoon - around 20C - but given I'd just come from summer and many were coming from winter, I figured I had an advantage. A sponge station was available.

My first oddity was 2hrs in. I had a feeling of plugged ears and was running along trying to pop them. I thought, "How odd. We're only at 300m." About 4 hours in, the next odd thing happened, which I didn't associate with the first. I felt a dry, burning, scratchy throat that made me want to nose breathe. It's something I often feel after 20 or more hours or running whilst mouth breathing - not 4 hours. Overall, I still had a jig in my step and did a happy dance for Rolf as I passed the crew area for fuel. After scaring us with terrible tacky music (We Are the Champions, Eye of the Tiger) at the parade, they had quite agreeable modern music going when I ran though the stadium every 11 minutes or so.

Around 7 hours I started to feel a general malaise that I couldn't put my finger on. Rolf recorded a sad face in my program. HR didn't feel high. Nothing "pained" me. I wondered vaguely if it could be heat, so tried sponging more.

Then the lymph nodes in my throat swelled up. It became very hard to swallow. My breathing became laboured in a strange way. It felt like I couldn't get a deep breath. Like I was breathing only into my neck, but the breath wasn't going right down into my lungs. Is that how asthmatics feel? I was at 76km, just above my target for the 240k plan. But I felt like I was starting to work too hard to keep it - too hard for this early in the race - with restricted breath and throat restriction and difficulty swallowing. The shallow breathing must have been reducing oxygen to my muscles, hence the feeling I was working harder.

Much as I dislike taking pills, and felt it unlikely to work in this case, I tried paracetemol for the throat at 7.5hrs. It was a big event with a lot put in by so many people. And a great course in great weather with my best crew! The pills took the worst of the throat pain/swallowing problem for an hour or so. That's it. Then it was back.

At 9 hours, I saw the writing on the wall. At 9hr30, I came in shaking my head in the negative. I felt the great sobs of disappointment rise and I found a nice corner tent wall to have a semi-private moment with. After a talk to the team manager, he asked me if I could still run, but a lesser distance than planned.

At 9.5 hours, I had 101.7km (still just above my 240k pace plan). If I could run 120km in the next 14 hours, just hold a 6 min/k now and drop to a 7 min/k later, the Aussie women's team might still earn a team medal (combined total of three women). I agreed to go back out and try a couple laps with one of the other girls. I couldn't stay with her. She kept dropping me. Two laps (4k) later, at 105.650km, I called it again.

My mystery virus with its swollen glands, sore throat, short breath, and headaches, lasted over a week. Rolf had it, too, only with worse headaches and a sort of vertigo at times. When I second-guess whether I could have run more/better and gave up too soon, I remember the "easy" run I tried to do with mates two days later, where they dropped me running a 6.30min/k pace mainly because I couldn't breathe. Walking up a hill with my mother-in-law, I was more out of breath than her (no offence, as she's a fit swimmer, but hills are my thing!)

But the physical illness turned out to be nothing compared to my "mental" one. In going to World 24s, I had let fate dictate my choice and when the consequences were tough, it hit hard. Coping with the disappointment, both personal and to the team, has been painful. I've had competitions go wrong before. Commonwealth 24hr 2011 I had to stop with what turned out to be anaemia. Lost Soul 100k 2014 I got a cold after international travel. But I coped with those and I think it was because they were targets I had wanted. They were my dreams. I could dust myself off and look at how to fulfil that dream again - or in another way. This time, I had tried to fulfil others' dreams and when it failed, I didn't know how to dust myself off and find another way. I can't see it from their eyes because I'm not them.

I've always said that as long as you can take away some learnings, you've made something positive of an ultra gone wrong. I have three. One is that I have more 1%'ers for training and recovery, including Hammer Race Caps Supreme. Two is that with my dodgy immune system, I will have to start wearing a mask on planes, I expect. Three is that I need to have the courage to make the "destiny" choices. Not everyone will agree or understand. But ultimately, I'm the one living with the consequences. I have to choose my own personal journey. I still hope to inspire others to create, fulfil, and live their own dreams, but it has to be in my own way. I can't inspire from a place that isn't authentic.

I let myself go down the path of World 24 2015, seeing it as the path of least resistance. It turned out to be the opposite!

Fate or destiny, I don't know that I'm much of a believer in either, really. I think I'm more epicurean. In the traditional Greek philosophical sense, not the new-age "gourmand" misinterpretation of the term. The past is a combination of atoms, whether those belonging to beings or weather patterns or rock formations, that interact to create a "now." Then, as I think Epicurus would say, we need to apply our reason to "now" to help engineer the future flow of atoms in a way we'd like. At least some of them :)

Happy atomising!