I Have Two Feet

I've been looking down at my feet a bit more than usual today. And instead of grumbling about numbness or muscles twitches, I'm feeling grateful that they're just there to grumble about.

I had a bone scan two days ago because there was still enough pain in my foot to question a stress fracture. The radiologist yesterday confirmed no stressie, so I was relieved. Today, I saw my sports doc for a detailed review of my injury.

She's good. Very good. And deals with Western Australian Institute of Sport athletes, so she's seen it all. She's not prone to drama. She's very practical, frank, and realistic.

So when she told me I was a very lucky girl and that she's seen anterior compartment syndrome result in amputation, I took notice. Forget fasciotomy, where they just relieve pressure with a few incisions that look gross. Amputation. From running.

There obviously seems to be a difference of opinion between the emerg doc I saw in Albany and my sports doc as to whether I should have continued running those last few hundred kms. In the end, I made it. I got the record and I get to keep both my shins and feet. And likely, any muscle/nerve damage should heal well by the new year.

I guess I felt a particular duty to post this, because since my event I've heard of 4 athletes who developed this condition during big events. They all healed and no one needed surgery. However, I don't want someone in the future to have read my story and think now that they should just push past this particular pain barrier.

At the time, I said I would only continue if there were no identifiable lifetime consequences, including surgery. And at the time, that's what I thought, with the information at hand. Knowing what I know now, I would have stopped on the South Coast Hwy. It wasn't worth the risk.

Play safe. It's a lifetime pursuit.

What Does a 1,000 km Recovery Look Like?

1. Nightmares. Day 12 of being off the track. I continue to have nightmares every night. I guess it's not really fair to say they're "nightmares." They're just annoying dreams where I am back on the track, completing some section slower or faster than the time I did in reality. There's almost never a problem or dilemma, it's just me on the track every night in my sleep. Rolf has been having the dreams, too - only his are where he's trying to get to me on the dirt roads, never knowing if they're going to be passable, gated, under construction, re-routed, or inundated. For excitement, his brain added Mexican banditos to his dream the other night.

2. Elevated Heart Rate. After any event, my resting HR is up from its usual happy place (sub-40 bpm) to somewhere around 52 bpm. It tends to come down in chunks at a time. A short ultra - I'm back to normal within a week. The Sri Chinmoy 24 hr event - it was 3 weeks before it completely reduced to baseline. So, with this event I expected an elevated HR for a good 3 weeks. Throughout the event it was 52-54 and my blood pressure was normal (BP tested in the hospital). Since the event, my HR has actually increased. That was fascinating. It went up to the high 50s and then around Day 7 post-event it peaked at a RHR of 69. That was a bit discomforting, actually, because it's just never that high. I decided to work from home a bit more and juggled my schedule a bit to try to reduce the amount of time I needed to be walking/moving/dealing with stressors. My muscles feel great, but especially for the first week, I was easily physically exhausted.

3. Tick Bite Reactions. These seem to have finally stopped itching three days ago. Fantastic, as the itching was really making it hard to get to sleep. That's over 3 weeks since the actual bites. Next time I wear my 95% DEET.

4. Muscle and Nerve Spasms. These are still keep me from getting to sleep for about an hour each night. When I lay down, my adductors, calves, and feet go into spasms. Some is just twitchy stuff and some is painful "nervy." Some of my toes feel numb to touch - if you've ever had frozen toes (skiing?), it's like that.

5. Sunburn. My molt is nearly complete. The left ear, left tricep, and tops of both hands have mostly finished peeling and the itch is mild today.

6. Weight. My metabolism was on overdrive so I've been eating more than usual and more than necessary. My brain just seems to be getting the message now that I'm not running and is slowing down its hunger demands. That's good because I've probably put on a kilo.

7. Anterior Compartment Syndrome. Since completing the event, I've now heard from two people who raced Tor des Geants (if you think what I did was insane, look at that one) and both developed the same thing. And reading Jen Pharr-Davis's blog of her AT record breaking hike this year, she also got it. The difference with me, though, was that I only got it in one shin. With hindsight, I realised I've had a lump come and go on occasion in that shin over the past few years. And the day before I started the event, my new massage therapist noted the fascial tightness there. Understandably, he didn't want to work it aggressively. But I had no idea the writing was on the wall with that little comment of his. The swelling has decreased considerably but there is still a small tender lump on the shin. And I have an uncomfortable pain on the lateral/bottom of my foot that makes me limp. This is the "ball bearing" feeling I felt when running some days. Now that the shin has gone down, this has "turned up" in volume. Today I added the radioactive "bone scan" to my list of tests. I heard whispers of "cuboid" and "metatarsal"...we'll find out tomorrow if the original scan actually missed a stressie!

In regards to my general health, however, I'm very well. I'm really pleased with how my nutrition was throughout the event. Despite the massive sleep dep and the fact that Rolf got sick on Day 3 and one of my pacers had a cold, I didn't get sick during or after. I kept up with my probiotics (yoghurt every morning) and Udo's Oil and Rolf bought me antioxidants on the road (blueberries, yum).

But with all this negativity I'm ranting on about (sorry, it's cathartic), could I possibly miss anything about the track/event? Yes, after 12 days I can now say I do. I miss the beauty and peace of being in the bush (without biting, burning, and buzzing things it would be all the more). I miss the simplicity of knowing every day what my job was. I miss the routine. I miss the quality time with Rolf.

P.S. For photos with this post, I decided to highlight my mates who came out and shared some of the journey, plugging their ears to my whinging and staying ever so calm, happy, and helpful. Thanks, guys.

My donation page for Inclusion WA is staying open another week...Thanks to everyone, we're at $4,200 and I hope to hit $5,000 before I call it a day. If I have a stressie, maybe it'll earn me some more points ;)

Bibbulmun Track Fastest Known Time: 15 days 9 hours 48 minutes

Type 1.5 fun Squared.

That's the best I can give it. 1.5 squared = Type 2.25 fun
My statistics reveal a total of 1,007 kms logged (Garmins tend to record slightly long), 18,900 metres of elevation gain, 19,100 metres of loss, and 213.75 hours of actual travelling time.

The stories from this record attempt have yet to end - we are both still having nightmares, my foot looks like an elephant's, and the car is still in Albany under repair. Yes, I think there will be a bit of a documentary made!

Here's a brief synopsis:

Day 1-2: Running 202 kms with 4,600 mtrs of elevation gain in unseasonably hot weather. Stopping at 30 minute intervals to soak my hat and shirt. Headlamp going out at 10.30 PM atop the summit of Mt Vincent. Ticks that were not deterred by DEET. Running with one or other eye closed, as there were invariably at least 10 flies stuck to my face (and corners of my eyes) at once.

Day 3: Pacer's dad ringing pacer to warn of torrential rain at Collie. That's okay, we're not going as far south as Collie today. Apparently torrential rain goes where it likes. Afternoon and evening spent in rain. Cured the fly problem. Tick bite reactions and numbing, stabbing pain in bottoms of feet allowed me 1 hr sleep that night.

Day 4: The running zombie after 10 hrs sleep in 4 days. Included a 45k solo stretch singing children's songs to keep myself awake and moving in rhythm. Saw no one, which was probably a good thing.

Day 5-6: Mates come out to pace with me around Collie/Balingup area. Left foot flares up badly, barely able to walk. Switch to sandals to try to deal with swelling and offer a gait change to legs. Pacers leave at end of weekend, looking like sad puppy dogs - their faces give away the sense of demise for the record attempt.

Day 7: Reach halfway point according to Bibbulmun Foundation - Donnelly River Village. Have small meltdown at having made it this far. Sun gives way to torrential rain again, which continues all night.

Day 8: Very hilly day. Right VMO now toast, as it is doing extra duty on the descents that the left shin cannot manage. Still powering uphills. A shot of frustrated anger at my slow pace in the late afternoon sees me power through a few hours, only to have shin flare up again at dark.

Day 9: Frustration that the track towns are often the hardest to negotiate through, due to a lack of waugals (markers) - this starts with negotiating Pemberton first thing (no locals on the street had any idea where the Bib track went, other than vague references toward the Gloucester Tree). Day ends with me navigating through Northcliffe, running around a picnic area, searching vainly for waugals. South of town, the track puts you into the ditch along the road, to stumble through overgrown, foot-grabbing weeds for 3 kms.

Day 10: Begin "seasonally inundated" section. Sitting on the ground in the late arvo, forcing myself to eat a Snickers bar. All food has become disgusting and must be negotiated down the gullet purely for the energy benefits. Staring at my shin and ankle, wondering if it's a stress fracture. Two kms ahead, find my second, larger pack hanging on a post. Note from Rolf, "Car and trailer bogged 2 kms back. Gone for help." I have my sleeping bag now and will camp at Mt Chance shelter without a mattress pad (read: 2 hrs sleep).

Day 11: Try various taping techniques on foot. More bogs. Wading with tadpoles over 500 mtr sections in knee deep water. Foot/ankle/shin pain disappears in the afternoon/evening and I wonder if I have solved the problem.

Day 12: Intermittent rain is enough to keep things annoying - jacket on/jacket off. Humid whenever the sun comes out. Shin gives out mid afternoon at nearly the exact moment that our jeep's starter motor gives out. Rolf left parking on hills in order to bump start vehicle. Drove into Denmark 40 mins away for the night, to recuperate in a motel and search vainly for mechanic and starter motor on a weekend in rural WA.

Day 13: Rose at 4.15 AM as usual. Got ready, but a test walk around car park quickly revealed a very angry shin. Day spent in Denmark and Albany hospitals for xrays and scans. Parking on hills. No stress fracture. Compartment syndrome. I need a break, but with "only" 175 k to go, I can try with anti-inflams. No long term damage expected if I choose to continue, so I make the call to try. Walk 11k that evening.

Day 14: Decent day, but make the call to stop just before summitting Mt. Hallowell, as I know it's a bouldery, technical climb that will be just that much slower in the dark when fatigued.

Day 15: Attempt to make final push to Albany. Nearly 100k, but Rolf and I willing and determined to take all night if need be. Frustratingly, I miss a hut in the morning and lose a few hours backtracking, as it is a hilly area. Shin suddenly blows up just before Shelley's Beach Rd. Cannot move at all for several minutes. Dusk, a chill sets in, space blanket comes out. Takes nearly 3 hrs to travel 5k off the hill.

Day 16: Coincidentally, a marathon in distance to get to the Southern Terminus. Able to jog in the arvo, but pay for it with shin flaring up in last km. In town, but unable to move, we pull out the chair and ice my shin, whilst media ring Rolf to ask where I am. Last km takes over 50 minutes.

Type 1.5 fun?

An ultra runner I know came up with a simple, very effective method of evaluating runs/races, based on a Fun Factor:

Type 1 fun - is fun during and after, good memories too

Type 2 - wasn't fun during, but was fun when you look back sometime down the road

Type 3 - was never fun, wasn't fun during, wasn't fun after

Looking at the Bibbulmun record attempt I start tomorrow at 5 AM, I think I will be looking for Type 1.5 fun.

The worst part today? Imagining the time the alarm will go off in the morning in order for me to be ready to go in Kalamunda for 5 AM!

Chiro? Check.

Massage? Check.

Bed on wheels? Check. This one was a stress for too long, until Australian Camper Trailers came to the rescue with a discounted offer on their superior off road trailer.

The Spot device should be up and running from Tuesday 1 November 5 AM (link on the right side of blog). Don't panic if you see weird things like drop-outs with sudden re-connections that look like I just flew cross-country. In trialling it last May I had a few such incidents.

My thoughts on last minute packing and emails? Type 3 fun.

Record Breaking on the Bibbulmun...Why?

A series of experiences in quick succession one day last week had me contemplating more about this Bibbulmun record attempt. So, why am I doing this? Because it's a challenge, yes, but sometimes the weight of the world bears down on me and I wonder what I can do to help. I get this feeling like I want to rush out into the street and take action. I walk a fine line between driving my passion and being driven by my passion.

I often ask myself how I can make a difference and bring some amount of joy to the world. Any amount, in any moment. Big or small. This time, it's big. Running for Inclusion WA is a chance to represent those such as my relative with Parkinson's and his carer, the children I've assessed with disabilities such as autism, spina bifida, or obsessive compulsive disorder, my running mates who struggle with depression or year-long injury....

I'm running for everyone reading this. Because you have surely all been personally affected somehow by disability in your lifetime - and the experience of sadness and loneliness that come from exclusion and isolation. We are doing this together. Send me messages, come out to the track, watch from the glow of your computer screen, make a donation. I won't get to Albany alone.

I'd like to add special thanks to Watermark Kilns and Nutkin Lodge this week. These are both brilliant regional companies, right on the track, who have been kind enough to offer us help in getting to Albany in record time. We'll be able to access luxuries like showers and laundry (unless we fall asleep too fast!)

Thanks to my brilliant physio, Ali, as usual, who also created the toenail theme for the event - 10 colours - one for each day on the track. And each day I'll paint my fingernails to go with the toes (I never paint my fingers). Rolf said he might even do it! I'll theme each day around that colour, which will give me something to "dissociate" with when it's tough (e.g., thinking of everything I know that's red, if it's red day).

And if you want to start something bold, find some paint or permanent markers and join me. I'm sure you can explain it to the guys at work ;)

Day 1:black (a serious colour for a serious day - get this day right to set myself up well; black also represents the absence of colour and there will be no colour on any of my other fingers)

Day 2: Orange Day 3: Green Day 4: Red Day 5: Blue Day 6: Yellow Day 7: Silver/grey Day 8: Purple Day 9: Brown (sandy day)

Day 10: White (the last day, the blending or absorption of all colour)

If I have to add on days...pink.

We don't want to go there, do we?!

Fear Won't Help

This morning I chased 3 guys around Wungong, plotting the Perth Trail Series course.

On a sure-to-be sunny Sunday this coming February, 100 or so runners are going to tackle 14 kms with 438 metres of elevation gain. No matter the individual goal, approaching the day with fear will not help. One should, it would seem, adopt a most positive outlook, visualising success.

And that's how I have to approach the 1,000 kms that lie ahead of me. I find myself not even wanting to write the words "Bibbulmun FKT attempt." As daunting as the task is, it cannot be approached as an attempt in my mind. It is a journey that will be completed. In under two weeks.

Challenging Impossibly Dark Swamps

A running acquaintance of mine sent me some info on a great day of documentaries coming up in Perth - still time to get the morning long run in on Sunday 6 November before heading down to see these three films:


I will have to try to catch them later, since I'll be at km 563 of my own challenge that afternoon - near the town of Pemberton on my way south.

This past weekend Rolf and I went out for our own mini-challenge: the 12 hr WARA "Dark Swamp" rogaine, advertised as containing two "nearly impenetrable swamps." I'm not sure I've met an Australian swamp yet and certainly part of me was quite keen. But Rolf didn't share this curiosity with me and I had to admit it didn't sound like the way to a high scoring finish.

Although my body felt 100% healed from Commonwealths three weeks previous and my resting HR was back below 40 bpm, I found much of the day a mental and physical struggle. My feet swelled up early and a few toes started hurting (however, no blisters or toenail damage in the end). I've had a cold since Commonwealths and my ears still plug up at times - a mild ear infection, perhaps - the feeling you get when water gets in your ears while swimming. Then Rolf got the cold but worse because he coughs most of the night, bonding us in sleep deprivation. And the night before the event, while camping on site, his Thermarest developed a leak. So he slept (aka coughed) on the gumnuts all night.

With this lead-in, we headed out into our hottest day of the spring/summer season - something like 27 degrees. Within minutes I was too hot in the unknown-name-brand pants I had chosen. I ended up with a nasty case of heat rash all over my legs, but particularly on the backs of my calves where the too-thick hardly-breathable pants doubled over with the excess material of the wide legged bottoms. I had snake gaiters over the pants - I always wear the gaiters, but I've never worn those pants for a 12 hr (and hot) event before. Very painful! And some bonus welts and small cuts from parrot-bush bashing all day.

All that for 25th place ;) We would've qualified as 3rd mixed vet team if Rolf was just a few weeks older.

I must admit, 6 hours into it I was thinking, "This hurts. And I am going to do this for 1000 kms on the Bib in two weeks time. I didn't need this reminder so close to the event. This was a bad idea." 10 PM (the end) couldn't come fast enough for me, which is not at all like I usually feel about rogaines. I was stiff, limping, stinky, whingy, and crusty with sweat.

But morning dawned with the birds calling, the sun shining, and I was back to being that lucky girl laying there in my tent enjoying a weekend in the bush. I had great recovery overnight, which was a positive boost for my Bib thinking.

I think the dark swamp I challenged this weekend was in my mind. I got a good lesson out of that which told me I'd better do some more mental preparation. This record attempt is going to be a labour of the mind and I'm going to need amazing strength in this area. The body is trained. Now I need to sharpen the mind.

Time to dust off my meditation cushion.