Walking the Plank?

I was browsing through my assortment of brekkie reading material (running mags, for the most part!) and came across an article on core training for runners. The argument was made that a lot of our common core exercises such as the plank or push-ups on a wobble board are probably doing nothing to help us improve performance.

Use a kettlebell & have abs like this? Oh, wait, first I need to shed the fat hiding my abs!

Well, this is interesting! If I don't have to do planks anymore, I'll be a happier girl! I read on.... studies have shown that core stability exercises given to active runners result in some improvements in muscle endurance (yes, I can hold the plank position longer), but no improvement to my running strength and power. Oh. That's deflating. It's not actually improving my performance. So why on earth am I doing it?

Why? Because I was told. Because we all "know" that you're supposed to do core exercises. So, can I really give them up?

Naturally, I needed to go to the source of some of the references to read the papers for myself. One of the first things I learned is that this notion of doing core stability exercises basically came from the rehab physio's bench. After an injury (or maybe even when coming back from an off season), developing some basic muscle endurance through the core may be "prescribed." Now it's just ended up prescribed to all of us. A bit like saying that because Billy's vision improved when he got glasses, we should all wear glasses. And never bother to check our vision again, but just keep wearing those same glasses forever.

Healthy, active runners are not the same as injured runners. Gee, that makes sense.

I checked out an interesting review by Willardson (2007; Core Stability Training for Healthy Athletes: A Different Paradigm for Fitness Professionals, Strength and Conditioning Journal, 29(6) 42-49). Improving strength and power comes from low intensity and high velocity movements of the muscles. When on a very unstable surface like a wobble board, there is a "stiffening strategy" that actually opposes the intended direction of movement. So you are just activating opposing muscles to the ones you're trying to power! Like putting the brakes on with the accelerator at the same time. This review of the literature included core exercises done with a lot of stability (e.g., a squat in a machine), with moderate instability (e.g., a squat with free weights), and with a lot of instability (e.g., a squat on a wobble-board).


When looking at the functional connectivity of the core (a huge group of muscles through the lumbar spine and pelvis, such as the internal obliques close in and the hip flexors like the psoas further out), these muscles work dynamically - never one in isolation. Which is why the case for using a wobble board instead of a static plank came up in the first place. But this literature I looked at is suggesting that we've gone from one ineffective thing (static planks) to another (throwing kettlebells around on wobble boards). As healthy runners, we might get better at our static planks or wobble-board kettlebells, but it's not helping our running performance.

But, before sending the kettlebell out to walk the plank... a theory was put out there in Willardson's review.... "ground-based free weight movements might be better for the development of core strength and power due to the force, velocity, and core stabilizing requirements that are similar to the demands of sports skills."

Our bodies move in three planes

The author of the running mag article I read that started this exploration provided a few examples of what he thought were appropriate exercises. One, for example, is along the lines of standing with one leg in front of the other, arms straight out and locked as if clutching an imaginary club, and swinging rapidly from side to side. That would seem to tick all the boxes...good ground stability, "free weight" movement (yes, you can do it with weight in hand), and velocity.

But still, we're runners, not baseball players, so is the core really an area that needs to be "powered up"? Will this kind of dynamic exercise improve my running performance? Given the limited time for training, am I better to be doing eccentric calf work and going for massage?

I'm not sure. Neither are the researchers, from what I read. But the core really is at the core...it's the dynamic connection between our arms/shoulders and our legs. When I lift a foot in running, the core and pelvis rotate in response and stabilise me so I don't tip over. When I land, the core helps absorb the energy and prepares for its release with the next step. There must, therefore, be some amount of strength and power in that area that is so central to the running machine. And I would think it even more critical when said running is done on unstable, twisty surfaces (technical trails) and/or at fast speeds. So I'm thinking I'll give up my static planks (which really were disappearing in favour of push-ups, anyway) and look at some of this dynamic movement stuff, keeping my feet firmly on the ground! But I might save money on the kettlebell and just use a bottle of beetroot juice ;)

With those thoughts in mind, I guess it was okay that I missed the planks this past week, but spent the time with the sports chiro and massage therapist. I had a few great results in training for Coast 2 Kosci. On Tuesday, I headed down to the track for the "long" events on offer. There was a mile event and a 10k. Well, on a track I prefer to say 10,000 metres. It sounds longer that way. Because it feels like it! Rather than run the 5k there and back, I opted to drive over and save my legs in attempting a PB.

The 2011 10k Masters State Champs, where I set my last PB. Really, it's me!

Going hard in the mile, I set an ambitious PB goal (6 minutes). I could tell in the first lap that it was not sustainable. But pushed on to see what would happen. I ended up 1 second behind my PB. Whilst I say, "That's okay, I'm not a sprinter" I know I'll keep pushing for something closer to 6 minutes!

Then, the 10k. The fellow next to me says how he took it easy in the mile in order to save himself for the 10k. Geez, that might have been a good idea.... I had my PB from the State Champs of 2011 written on my scrap of paper: 43.58. I set another ambitious goal: 42 minutes. That's 50 seconds per 200 metres for 25 laps. Straightforward.

Starting out, I tried to tuck in behind three blokes for protection from the wind. Laps one and two saw me lose 7 seconds right there, as their pace wasn't the pace I had to be doing. So I had to go out on my own. It took a few more laps, but then I got into my rhythm and just stuck to the plan. Even found a little energy to "kick" at the end (my version of a kick!), finishing in 42:12! A very big PB!

I love it when my world gets this simple.

Friday night saw me headed down to Nannup (I love Nannup, ever since the folk fest getaway weekend) for a 12 hour rogaine. I had managed to get a state champion rogainer to join me in a teaching session. The goal was to go "moderately hard." I feel like I've hit the limits of my navigation skills on rogaines and needed an expert to show me how to improve my map reading. So the rule was that I would get to stop us as needed to say "I don't get it - show me how this feature looks like this on the map."

We had a good start to our team - a serious navigator and a serious runner (the serious navigator also happens to be a pretty serious runner, too!). All we needed was a serious Muay Thai kickboxing expert (doesn't every team need one?). Fortunately, we found her! But the poor thing had never done "endurance" exercise like we ultra runners think of it. That is, she hadn't run/hiked more than 3 hours before. But she's a little powerhouse with a focus that would shatter glass. And she can fix a blister or change clothes faster than anyone I've seen, too!

Ready for the race briefing

So, with a plan to have a navigation lesson, whilst keeping a young rogaining novice alive, we set out at 10 AM Saturday with a hot day of bushwhacking ahead of us. And at 10 PM, after 51km, we finished as 1st place mixed team!

But after the track, a hill session, tempo work, and the 50k 12hr rogaine, it was all I could do to muster up a 6 minute pace for a 10k "recovery" run on Sunday! And hooray for the Monday rest day!

Simple Answers Wanted: Apply Within

Running is so complicated!

Is polenta high GI or low GI?

Do I drink exactly at my sweat rate per hour during an ultra? Or do I drink exactly "to thirst"?

Do I always eat 4 calories per kg of body weight during a race?

Are Hokas the shoes that will prevent running injuries? Or is it Inov-8s?

The longer I'm in this running gig, the more I'm learning that simple answers are rarely useful ones. But the desire of the black-and-white mindset! After all, many of us would say life is busy and complicated enough. If someone could give me the formula.... "Eat 140 cals/hr of Perpetuem, drink 524 ml/hr of water and wear x-talon 212s. Tape your left pinky toe with Rocktape, use an UltrAspire pack, drink 117 ml of Coke at the 57 km mark. Wear Compressport calf guards and yell "Yeee haw" at the start line. Then you'll win."

And never have nausea. And never be injured. And always want to run, every day, even the long, hard sessions, even after a really crap long day at work when it's 40 degrees and you have no one to run with.

On my Sunday run, I noticed my hands were swelling up a bit. This happens occasionally. When I race, I take off my rings, just in case. I was trying to remember...was that due to dehydration, overhydration, low electrolytes, too many electrolytes, a full moon??

Sunday's luscious but hot 4hr hill run - summer's coming!

Researching it to refresh my memory, I learned this: swollen hands are a reliable indicator of NOTHING.

However, two years ago, I took it as a reliable indicator of something. I just can't remember what. It would have been the first thing I googled.

Now, as a more discerning googler, I can find evidence arguing that swollen hands is caused by dehydration, overhydration, heat, and increased blood flow to the extremities. If I searched long enough, I'd probably also find it is caused by a full moon.

Having only reached page 29 of Tim Noakes' 400+ page "Waterlogged," I realise already that I started the book wanting to find "the answer" to hydration. He is, thus far, very verbosely setting the stage for his main argument - that runners should be drinking to thirst alone. They should not drink a prescribed amount or drink "before" they are thirsty, in order to ward off the dreaded monster of Dehydration.

I wonder how heavy the can is?

Though his initial arguments are sound to me, I am already thinking that the supposed answer in this book... Drink to Thirst... is too simple. I agree with the opening arguments - humans are incredibly well adapted biologically/physiologically to survive. Bipedalism is smart. By standing up, we expose 60% less surface area to the sun than 4-legged creatures.We don't have much hair (which would help protect against the sun's radiation), but that's more than offset by the fact that we have more sweat glands than any other mammal. We have biological controls like the hormone AVP/ADH that act to keep our sodium and fluid balances just right. Chemicals are released that tell the kidneys to retain or expel water. The brain will protect itself from death by slowing us down if we try to cook it by running ourselves into heatstroke. In fact, if we don't slow down enough, it will basically give us temporary paralysis to shut us down. Very smart brain, wants to survive.

So far, I'll give him two points:

(1) Humans are biologically adapted to survive. We have a physiology and hormones that promote our ability to cool ourselves during exercise and to maintain a balance of water and electrolytes to survive during endurance exercise (That said, we're also bloody inefficient, in that 75% of the energy produced by our muscles when we run is wasted as heat, not propulsion - we're like incandescent light bulbs!).


(2) The kidneys have a limited capacity to process/excrete fluid. The maximum is likely around 600 ml/hr in smaller athletes like me with an upper limit of less than 1000 ml/hr for the biggest of athletes. (Of course, some fluid is lost to evaporation/sweat, as well, but this intimates a maximum a person could drink before becoming overfull of fluids. And interestingly, one of the first signs of excess drinking in test subjects was diarrhoea).

But can everyone simply run with such a simple formula? Drink to thirst?

He's got 370 more pages to convince me. At the size of this book, I might become Booklogged before I get to the finish line.

Warp Speed

Einstein said we can't travel faster than the speed of light. And trying to travel anything close to those speeds is suicide, anyway...just ask any bug after its hit your windscreen.... Oh, no, you can't.

Complicated. Even with all those helpful arrows ;)

But I've been writing this blog post in one form or another for nearly two weeks and I'm sure I'm in a time-space discontinuum. As you approach light speed, everything around you is supposed to slow down. That's not the way my world looks!

Maybe it's warp speed. I've created my own gravitational field and am expanding space behind me whilst pulling the future in. All the while, effectively standing still, according to the Trekkies. Actually, that sounds not unlike a description of quicksand, too! I think I need a retreat (that's where I stop and the rest of the universe keeps going).

So...the major updates ...

I passed my citizenship test last week! Quick, who can identify the colours of the Torres Straight Islander flag, adopted nationally in 1995? Or what the colours mean?

The last step for citizenship is that I go down in 4 weeks to pledge my loyalty to Oz and Aussies and promise to obey the laws. I am allowed to bring a "holy book" to swear on, so I'm just deciding between AURA's September Ultramag and the Endurance Athlete's Guide to Success :)

A couple middle-aged springboks sighted on trail savannah

Other good news - I took my speedwork deprived Bib foot (along with rest of speedwork deprived body) down to the track. Downed my beetroot juice and some caffeine. Ran the 5k to get there at a bit of a "tempo" pace, being late (oops). Arrived as they were doing the 60 metre event (I skip that one). Hit the 3000 metre and set a 24 second PB! Rested for the 5 minutes it takes them to run the 400 metre event and then ran the 1500 race with a 12 second PB! Total surprise. (Though, in all honesty, I always felt my previous 3k PB was an underestimate of what I should be able to do). Ran the 5k home with my headlamp at LSD pace.

But the bad news. I set a push-up PW! Okay, not quite a worst, as I think I could only do 5 or 8 when I started back in 2011. But I've gone from a best of 29 at one go (nose to phone) down to 17! Not unexpected, having taken over a month off. Exercise is very fair that way - do the work, get the results. Back to work I go.

Sunday's 32k +1000mtr solo run after a 5k bitumen race (won $25!)

I haven't quite hammered out my Coast to Kosci training program yet, but I have done a few things. Booked accommodation. Booked myself into a 12hr rogaine at the end of October. Booked myself to go do the Stirling Ridge Top 46k Walk/Run/Scramble the following weekend. Printed off a photo collage of Ellie Greenwood, Julia Fatton, and Lizzy Hawker and put it front and centre on my desk. Seriously. Written on the sheet it says, "BE THIS GOOD."

The brain does not know the difference between reality and dream. I can, therefore, use that to my advantage ;) Fortunately, none of those ladies are entered in C2K, either. That might confuse things.

My final bit of big news. I ate an orange Hammer gel today. Trust me, I didn't want to. But I had a few "odd" flavours around and have been needing to use them up. But I've told myself a story that I only like chocolate and espresso. Well, I was wrong! The orange goes up there with my other favourites. Totally mild like the orange-vanilla Perpetuem. Nice. I wonder what other flavours are in the fuel bowl?!?

I'm off to bed so maybe I can actually read a few pages of Waterlogged before my batteries go flat. Then we can have a nice sciency blog post.

Home

Before the age of 18, I lived in no less than 7 places. Seven "homes." As an adult, I can immediately list off another 10 "homes."

One of my favourite homes for 8 years. A 16x20 foot shed on 8 acres.

In my 20s, conversations on the phone with my mum used to go something along the lines of

Mum: "When are you coming home?"
Me: "I am home."
Mum: "No you're not. Home is here." (i.e., wherever she was)
Me: "No it's not. Home is wherever I'm living at the moment."

Two and a half months ago, I left home in Perth and have travelled through 10 countries, including places with former homes and extended family homes in China (yes, I lived in China), Canada, England, and Switzerland. In two days I go home to Perth.

Perhaps if I'd lived my whole childhood under one roof I wouldn't have such a nomadic approach to home. But home for me is no less satisfying than anyone else's home; I'm pretty sure of that. Home is a place of refuge. It is the place to launch oneself from and the place to run back to when the world is that little bit too scary or exhausting. It's the place to charge the batteries and scheme the next adventure.

At home inside my first Aussie home

I have a little refuge in Perth. On Sunday, I'll be back under its roof, making a cuppa on the gas stove that likes to blow out when the wind blows down the chimney. I'll be wearing my down booties as I plod around the wooden floors, cursing the lack of central heating in Australian homes. And outside the crows will mock me with their song that sounds like a big belly laughing "Haw haw haw!"

I have a lot to look forward to. Two days after returning, I write the Australian citizenship test. I get to spend some time with children in my psych practice. On 11 October I'm giving a talk on trailrunning at Mainpeak. On the 29th, I'm speaking at a conference of Oracle users. In between, I'll enjoy some long runs on favourite trails with mates I haven't seen in a whole season. Perth Trail Series planning will continue and I'll be leading some trail running courses in November.

On 7 December, I hope to run 240km from a beach in NSW to the top of Australia's highest peak, Mount Kosciuszko, at 2,228 metres. It's the Coast to Kosci race and my application has been accepted :) What better way to celebrate a new citizenship?!

I'm toying with a 50km/6hour track race in late November (record attempt), but I think it's probably too close to the C2K.

The post-TransAlpine recovery.... I have been running since four days post-race. I'm running 5 days/week at an easy pace with my "long" run restricted to 1.5 hours. Even though the little niggles I had during the event are gone, I know there are tendons still under repair. There's no way the body can be at 100% yet. Even though I didn't race hard, it was 8 days straight over mountain passes with fast, hard descents. I'll stick with this "base" recovery plan for another 10 days or so, giving myself a full month post-race recovery. Then... I build! Let's see if the "Bib foot" will finally tolerate some speed work in November!

As for Rolf, it wasn't compartment syndrome..."just" very bad inflammation of the tibialis anterior and retinaculum (our diagnosis). He's started short runs again :)

How to Find Out if You Really Like Someone: the TransAlpine Experience

You could spend years getting to know someone, going out for coffee, a movie, meeting their family, talking about politics...OR you could just decide to run TransAlpine-Run together! In just 8 short days, you can find out more about yourself and another person than you could in years otherwise.

The route

Briefly, to get the best effect, you should:

(1) match one elite runner with one newbie runner - someone who has been running less than 3 years and has only completed one 46km race (and DNF'd another).

(2) agree to run together in an 8 day race through 3 countries and over 15,000 metres of elevation. And

(3) become sleep deprived as soon as possible due to 6 am wake-up calls, 8 am race starts, and 7-hour days of running, following by late afternoons spent in massage, finding hotels, taxis, shuttle-waits, showers, repacking bags, doing laundry, eating dinner, attending the race briefing, and collapsing around 10 pm for another restless night of non-sleep.

Start of a descent on day 1

I guess through it all, we discovered we really do like each other. And we found ways to cope with not just the mental but the physical adversity, as well. In a field of 299 teams, representing over 30 countries, we finished side-by-side (first of the teams from Oz) in an event that saw 126 teams DNF. Everyone, including the race organisers, admitted this was the toughest TransAlpine-Run ever.

Day 1 saw us tackle 50km from Germany into Austria. It wasn't a high alpine day, but there were two good climbs, including one up to nearly 1600 metres. The weather was cool and misty. There were no views from the summits and ridges, but I preferred that to running in heat. Aid stations tended to be between 8-14km and could take between 1 - 2.5 hours depending on terrain. They were stocked with salami, cheese, bread, tomatoes, and cucumbers (the veggies, it seemed, were mainly for getting salt in). I couldn't imagine eating all that fat in the meat and cheese whilst running hard! There was also oranges, watermelon, and banana, as well as High 5 energy bars and gels. 

Inov8 x-talons all the way! Perfect in all conditions for us

I stuck to my own Hammer Perpetuem solids as much as possible until they ran out. And bananas at aid stations. Rolf was fueling happily on the raspberry flavoured gels for the first two days. Until the nausea set in.

We encountered the first "congo line" of the race on Day 1, going up a long, slightly technical climb. Many people weren't comfortable in this terrain and were walking. Rolf wasn't a great hill climber yet and his British sensibilities made it difficult for him to ask to pass. So we lost a lot of time on the climbs and I became quite grumpy at having to walk so much. When the trail opened up on the descents, Rolf would shoot off ahead, passing heaps of runners and I would chase him. Rarely were we passed on a descent. Our shoes were like having gecko toes in the wet grass and mud and we knew to keep our feet under us for stability. Many others were wiping out and sliding down the hills - a lot of muddy bums!

Congo line day 2, Rolf with his ninja sticks

The most interesting things about Day 1 were running behind a waterfall and running past a lady herding cows. She called to them in a long, drawn-out sing-song voice as if calming a frightened toddler. Rolf said she was saying things like, "Good cows, just let the runners pass, cows. We're turning right, cows..."

The most ironic part of the day was when Rolf passed me on a descent yelling something about cappuccino pace. Since we had agreed to run macchiato pace, not cappuccino pace, I thought he was chiding me for going too slow. So I downed two caffeine pills and picked up the speed. At the end of the day, after Rolf heaved himself to the finish line, threatening to impale small animals with his poles out of pure anger-fatigue, he told me that I had pushed him too hard. So I asked about the cappuccino comment. He said that he had been talking about another team going cappuccino pace! Oops! We finished in 22nd of the 77 mixed teams, just 1hr 10 behind the top team.

Another misty day for Day 2 as we woke to face 35km and nearly 1800 metres of climbing. The first congo line queue was the worst ever and started within 2 km of the start. The trail became very steep and was wet. There were also stiles to cross fencelines, which slowed people more. The queuing on just this one climb probably cost us 20 minutes. But Rolf found himself unable to push from the start of a stage to get in front of the main pack before a single track section. His body disagrees with early mornings and he would feel tight in the muscles and nauseous if he pushed. So I spent another morning grumpy as I stood on hillside trails. Rolf complained that his shoulders and upper back kept cramping from carrying the poles all day, but every time I tried to take them on a descent or flat, he refused. Stubborn man left me feeling helpless whilst listening to his whinging!

Nearing the summit of Birnlucke 2665mtrs, highest point in race

The TransAlpine people do some exceptional organising. They transferred our luggage every day from hotel to hotel. Other than Day 1 when we started late waiting for the helicopter (which probably couldn't fly due to inclement weather), the race started promptly each morning. The race office at each finish line could tell us immediately where our hotel was and whether there was a shuttle or taxi to take us there if it was too far to walk. The trails were very well marked and the medics seemed to be everywhere in case of need.

But the one thing they did badly (besides choosing single track climbs too close to the start line, which I'll give them as pretty hard to fix) was in vegetarian food options. Basically, there just weren't any. Finish line food was usually something like meat soup or prosciutto and rolls. At the pasta party on Day 2, I was handed a plate of rice cooked in what I think was chicken broth with two pork cutlets stuck in the top. When I mumbled to myself and Rolf about the vegetarian option, the woman smiled, said, "Vegetarian! No problem!" and attempted to take the pork away. So that would mean a white rice dinner. I kept the pork and managed to get half of it down, by burying it in a white roll.

Rolf's achilles both flared up in the first two days and one knee became painful. He wasn't able to sleep, due to the chemical imbalances caused by racing and the general aches in his body. So he wakes on Day 3 in a pretty bad mood.

The pink pom pom boys were on nearly every summit

Day 3 is called the "king stage" or "royal stage" because it's 47km with over 2200 metres of climb. It takes us 7 1/4 hours and we finish as 28th mixed team. The best part of the day is the long descent off the ski hill at 2100 metres into the finish line, passing heaps of people again. Rolf is in his happy place on the descents. Then we find out that the pasta party is back up at the ski hut restaurant, so we get to take the cable car up and have a chance to enjoy the views and look down at the trails we had run down earlier that day. The food up there is the best - we have a choice of so many things and there are veggie options! I am a happy girl. Everyone digs into massive quantities of food. We have to get back down the hill to massage, which makes it impossible to get back up again in time for the race briefing - that bit was a little awkward. But Rolf checks the weather forecast on his phone and the race website for any news and we plan to get to the start in good time to find out about any last minute changes we need to know of.

All-in-all, although we are smashed, the "royal stage" didn't feel quite as bad as expected. We are also learning to deal with each other's strengths. I run ahead now in "congo line" sections to find a place with a gap. I can "surf" the gap, running ahead to the next pack, then stopping to wait for Rolf's "pack" to catch up. Then I run ahead again. I am stopping, yes, but when moving I am going my own pace up the hill instead of walking. I stay warmer this way and enjoy moving my own natural pace. On descents, I can't quite stay with Rolf without going "all out" so he takes the few seconds every once in a while when I get behind to eat, drink, or pee. In the coming days we become known as "mountain girl and downhill boy" for our style!

These congo lines are fine because the trail is wide enough for passing

The "royal stage" to me seemed to come on Day 4 - 43km with another 2000 metres of climb. Backing up with this after Day 3 makes it tougher, I think. We hear there may be 10 cm of snow at the summit. We're glad to know the course isn't altered and I wonder about UTMB, about to start not far away.

The day is predominantly climbing, so it's not a good day for Rolf's strengths. He's also had nausea for two straight days and we can't find the cause. He is able to drink isotonics at the aid station and slices of watermelon. But there's not a lot of calories in that, so he is often at walrus-fat-burning pace. At the top of the highest summit, Birnlucke, 2665 metres, he is dizzy and he agrees to eat Jelly Tots before we hit the descent. Ginger chews also go down all right. Though he feels like he worked hard all day, we finish in 38th position.

Finish line relaxation, with alkoholfrei beer

Our day ends badly, as we are staying 11km away in the next village, Sand in Taufers - the village that will be the finish line for Day 5. We rush to get on a shuttle bus without enough recovery fuel in and get dumped off the bus to walk through town dragging our bags, trying to find the hotel. There, despite having paid a deposit months ago and receiving several pre-arrival welcoming emails, we are told they don't have a reservation for us. They are surprised when we show them the emails we have from them on our phone. It takes an hour, standing there hungry, in our stinky clothes, but we finally get accommodation elsewhere for two nights. Now, we've missed our massages (paid for) and the last shuttle back to the village where the pasta party and briefing are. So Rolf googles the weather again and we order pizza in a restaurant.

Day 5 becomes my breaking point. I've been doing my best for 4 days to help Rolf cope with the toughest task of his life. I coordinate our packs and mandatory gear, write brief course notes for each day's stage, do our laundry in the hotel sinks, find out where our hotel and massages are each night, and carry as much of his gear as I can in my pack. Every day Rolf complains that he isn't good at suffering and doesn't see the point. He's right and I can't argue with the logic. I have to let him find his own way in this race - to see if he can find a reason for carrying on. I have no desire to push him to do a race he doesn't want to do. The point was to do something together. I also realise we are both getting colds and now I know the likely reason for his nausea - phlegm in his stomach and an elevated heart rate making work that much more difficult.

We started Day 6 at "Sand" in the back of the valley in the distance

This morning, we have to rise earlier in order to walk to another hotel for brekkie and then get on a shuttle at 6.35 am to the start line 11km away. Rolf is like an amoeba in the hotel room. He just stands in the middle of the room vacant at times. I have to prompt him to keep getting his things ready. We head out the door with about 15 minutes for brekkie. I say I need to jog over or there won't be enough time to eat. Rolf won't jog and won't answer when I ask whether he remembers the way. I go on ahead. At brekkie, he looks for coffee and I say he needs to ask the waitress. She passes within a metre of him and appears to make eye contact, but he doesn't call out. 

With 2 minutes to go, he spits the dummy. He wants to have a "civilised" breakfast with coffee. He wants us to stay there longer to get his coffee, then order a taxi for 30 euro to the race start. We don't even know if we will get a taxi within 15 minutes at 6.30 am. He's very angry that I don't approve of the idea.

Heaps of shrines along the trails

We walk out and the litany of troubles carries on towards the bus station....the mornings are too early, the body hurts too much, there is no time to poo, there was no coffee, he can't sleep, the nausea of the past two days is still there....

And so I quit. I turn around and say I'm done. I've done all I can to help us as a team to get to this point, but I can't do any more. I need more help. There's no point in dragging one of us along kicking and screaming. If Rolf doesn't want to do it, we stop. I say we'll go into a cafe, order coffee, and go back to bed. We'll go on vacation.

But he doesn't say yes. He wants to finish, he just doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to see beyond the sufferings. We get on the bus, drive 11km, and then run the "long way" 33km back to Sand in Taufers. 199 teams finish Day 5. That's 33% of teams out now. Many singles are allowed to carry on, unranked with the rest of us. We finish the day in 26th position.

Day 6 is a 39km day with ~2300 metres, over Kronplatz, at 2269 mtrs. Rolf has right shin pain on the descents, but doesn't say anything until day's end, not realising its significance. We make sure to tuck into bed early - being uber-organised and getting to bed by 9.30 really makes a difference. So does taking a painkiller at bedtime to dull the aches which prevent getting to sleep. Rolf has developed a taping technique for his achilles that seems to have fixed them and he's learned a better way to tackle ascents that takes the pressure off.

Day 7 - we have climbed from an aid station on the lake

Day 7, 42k over two summits. The right shin is bad, so Rolf runs hard on the left on the descents. The physio the night before told him she thought he might make it two more days. I got him in with her after I felt my own shin around Day 3 or 4 and told her my history of compartment syndrome - she dug right in with myofascial release and saved me. I also switched to using my Compressport long socks on her recommendation. They were great and that's what I used for the rest of the event, washing them at night every two days. 

We finish Day 7 in 22nd position again and 90th overall, our highest standing. Today we ran into the Dolomites, which are a UNESCO heritage site. They really are gorgeous. The trails were fantastic and there were no congo lines - the trails were wide enough near the start to allow everyone to spread out to run/walk their own pace. Hooray! Rolf has become a faster climber in the last two days, too. But his shins are very bad.

To the last summit on the last day in the Dolomites

The last day comes...stage 8. 33km with just one long slow climb of 1269 metres, followed by a descent to the finish line. Many teams are really supporting each other now with kind words and smiles. Though there's always some rivalry, I think, we are probably all at the point now where we want to see everyone else triumph. It's been a tough journey. Emotions are high at the start line as runners shake hands. We go up to Drei Zinnen Hutte (3 chimney hut) and the scenery is amazing. But Rolf sees only a metre in front of him, as his left shin is particularly swollen and angry. He runs when the pain allows, for brief moments. I keep track of time and ensure we have more in the bank for the descent, as I know that will be very bad. He holds hope that he'll find a way to run it and I keep silent. It won't help to bring down his spirits now.

The Drei Zinnen behind us on day 8

I have to stay behind him for a while on the descent, because the pain he's feeling is so visceral for me. It's the beginning of compartment syndrome. I know this pain and I know that now that he's so close to the finish line, he has to make his own choices. I certainly won't be pushing him to run through it. I choke back tears at times. We pass another bloke who has stopped dead on the trail with his partner, leaning on his poles, his foot in the air. I know that's compartment syndrome, too, and I'm sick for him. If Rolf has to stop, I will run a bloody 4 minute pace all the way to the finish line in honour of everyone who couldn't get there.

Despite the pain, Rolf manages a heartfelt "Good job" to every runner passing us on the descent - normally his passion and forte. He thanks each spectator who cheers us on with "Bravo" or "Hop hop" or "Allez." I tell Rolf we have 3 hours for the 11km descent. We might need it. We stop a few times for me to elevate his feet and do some lymphatic drainage massage. 

With 5km to go, Rolf asks to confirm that we can walk the rest of the way. I agree there's time, provided the shin doesn't blow entirely and require a total rest. We remember the time on the Bib Track where it took me 3 hours to go 5k. Rolf breaks into a run. The descending grade is mostly gentle now and he finds that the pain is no worse to run than walk. I can barely stay with him (of course, I'm carrying two sets of Icebreaker thermals, extra water, the gloves, and the Montane rain jackets - mandatory gear). I switch my watch to pace mode - 4:46 min/k. Bloody hell! The guy has 315km in his body and he's running a 4:46 pace with compartment syndrome!

Presentation of the hard-earned finisher shirts

We finish the day with an hour to spare from cut-off, in 45th position for the day, which drops us down to 28th for the event. That's okay. We finished, together. And we still like each other.

We spend much of the next two days in transit and I drive, which allows Rolf to put his foot up and do a lot of self-massage. All the way back to the family home in Switzerland, he's looking at the mountains and wondering what they'd be like to run. His spirit isn't broken at all.

During the Bibbulmun run, I named my Leki poles Nearer and Further. They never left my side. I asked Rolf what he was going to name his now, the Exped poles that never left his side, the ones he wouldn't let me carry once. His reply was quick: Dumb and Dumber.

Macchiato Pace

Inov-8s at 3,200 mtrs, enjoying the view of Eiger before the 8 day run!

Runners have lots of ways to describe their various paces...marathon pace, LSD pace, "5k" pace, threshold pace, fat burning pace, anaerobic pace...but I've got two more now. Cappuccino pace and macchiato pace.

When I was preparing for TNF100 in May, I divulged my race plan to someone, along with the plan for transitions at aid stations to be less than 2 minutes each. I was informed by this particular someone that she had spent 20 minutes the year before at CP4, over a 44 gallon fire drum in the dark, sipping cappuccino. That gave rise to a race done at "cappuccino pace."

Going into the TransAlpine Run with my partner Rolf, we talked consistently about running cappuccino pace. Rolf is new to ultra running. He literally started running when he met me 2.5 years ago. He has finished one official ultra race (46km). His greatest running achievement, he says, is getting a stress fracture of his sacrum (he knows of no one else who has achieved this!).

Altitude training: gondola up Mt Titlis then a run down

As I sat down yesterday to do some rough projections for each day of the event, I saw that most days looked to be 7 hours worth of running. I took this info to Rolf last night for discussion. Whilst trying to be prudent about not breaking his newbie ultra-running body, we also need to be mindful of how much time we spend on our feet each day. Time on the feet is time not lying down with them elevated! (And not time with beer and chocolate in hand for Rolf, too!).

So we decided we needed something slightly faster than cappuccino pace, but not expresso/body-breaking pace.

Macchiato pace. Something just in between. Lots of get-up-and-go, but with just a little cream on top ;)

Taper running - non impact, as long as you stay in the air ;)

If you're interested in following along (there are a few other Aussies and Canadians going, too), the site is here and come race day they should have a live link with updates throughout each day as we pass each checkpoint. There is no Mixed Masters category (darn!), so we're in the (open) Mixed, team #86. This year's event is the longest ever, at 320km in total and 15,000 mtrs. The days are:

Germany to Austria 49k +1663/-1667 mtrs
Austria 35k +1849/-1742 mtrs
Austria 47k +2258/-2147 mtrs
Austria to Italy 43k +1997/-1420 mtrs
Italy 33k +1821/-2403 mtrs (Rolf's downhill day?!?)
Italy 39k +2289/-1966 mtrs
Italy 42k +1950/-2000 mtrs
Italy 33k +1269/-1104 mtrs

Taper week gave a unique opportunity...tobogganing on the top of Mt Titlis!

Ghost Running the Ghost Run

Along the River Ourthe

Wednesday night was the last long run before TransAlps. Enroute from England to Switzerland, I searched for a place about halfway to stop for the night. Somewhere that might have good running, of course! What I came up with was La Roche-en-Ardenne, a village of less than 5,000, on the River Ourthe in the Ardennes forest.

I started a generic search for trail runs in the area, which yielded some info on a few trail races. I found a few ultras with 25k-30k options and wondered if I might find a gpx file online. After some useless searching through Google, I suddenly thought of Garmin Connect's public files. It was the first time I thought to use that tool - it was great! I secured the Trail des Fantomes 25k course. And by superb coincidence, the race had just happened on Sunday, so I was able to get the 2012 file. I figured the course would be newly cleared of any obstacles and I might even find a few markers along the way to help.

This is hill training, but not altitude training!

The race was billed as one of the toughest in Belgium with 2,250 mtr over 50k or 1,245 mtr over 25k. The 50k scores 1 point for UTMB.

With the ferry over the English Channel, drive, and time change of one hour, we arrived about 5 PM. The file I had was for someone who finished in 4h19m. Long story, but I somehow got it in my head that we could run this at an easy training pace in about 3hr (thinking incorrectly that the fastest 50k time was 3hr5!).

I really loved the course - and as it was just after the event, they obviously hadn't swept the course yet. The flour arrows were still there, so between those and the map on the Garmin, it was easy nav. Until it got dark, that is!


The course had everything. Wonderful smelling Himalayan balsam flowers to pretty up the fire trails and heaps of single track with lots of technical bits with rocks and roots. The course went up - very steeply most times - from the River Ourthe, then along the top for views of the surrounding forests and valleys and back down to the river again. Multiple times. Rollercoaster-like.

We went through an ancient Celtic archaeological site and past a few random pretty little cafes in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. There were short, steep scrambles and even a section with chain for climbing. We had a river crossing about halfway.

Not a bad climb in the dry, but in the wet....!

While the chosen name with its emphasis on ghosts (fantomes) was a bit of a mystery to me, there was certainly a ghostly feel to running the course just 3 days after hundreds of others. I thought of their adventures, the ones smashing out a great day and the ones having a bad day, those who were undoubtedly running further than ever in their lives, and those gunning for the cash prize at the front of the pack.

I was really glad for my last minute decision to throw my headlamp in the pack, considering our 5.38 PM start. It did look good for us to finish in the light, with 3hr5min on the clock and 3k to go, on open fire trail. It looked like we were headed in for a nice, fast 3k descent to the village. But then we hit a deep forested section on the south edge of town. It went from "dusk" to "dark" once in the trees. With several steep, switchbacking trails all in close proximity, it was hard for Garmin to tell me which one was ours - it's easy for Garmin to go out by 40 mtrs or more at times. We lost a few minutes to a wrong turn (but a nice viewpoint), then found the right trail down. I dug out the headlamp so I could enjoy the last and steep descent.

Then suddenly we were upon the river again. Naturally. If we'd crossed it once, we obviously were going to have to cross it again to get back into town. We came down right by a cable "tightrope-style" bridge (with two handhold cables) over the river. I didn't look closely, but Rolf said it was closed. Our thought was that the RD had everyone cross the river by cable. My track showed us needing to go north-west, but I couldn't be sure which side of the river we should be on...was there a bridge nearby that was used for the race? In the dark it was hard to get bearings on the "natural" way the racers would have gone and we couldn't make out any distant features like bridges.

We lost 20 minutes in this area, trying one option, then another, along the water's edge. When Rolf suggested we run further downstream, as we'd have to get to a car bridge eventually, I said I wanted to have one last look at the cable bridge thing. I was unfamiliar with these, only ever riding in a few cable cars in my life. I needed to confirm for myself there was no way to get across - to see how it was "closed." I didn't doubt that it was somehow closed but my brain was desperate to find an option and I needed to get all the "data" I could.

The first river crossing, while still light.

Sure enough, I saw a locked metal 'door' across the triangle of cables. But then standing there it struck me. I could see the water rippling. Rocks create ripples. It wasn't deep. I told Rolf I was going to try crossing, as with my headlamp, I could clearly see the depth of the water.

Well, THAT was embarrassing! We spent 20 minutes faffing about along the edge of the water, fighting with each other about nav, when all we needed to do (and surely all the competitors did) was run across, calf-deep!

Why? Because we both made a very rookie mistake. We got hungry before the finish and stopped eating. We both made that dreaded mistake: "It's only a few K now, I don't need to eat."

But, when suddenly things go wrong, as they sure can do, even 500 mtrs from the finish, being hypoglycaemic compromises decision-making. We both assumed that just because we saw a cables at the river, it must be deep and there must be no alternative. It was a good lesson going into TransAlps - we cannot risk playing a game of "only-a-few-K-to-go: don't-eat." When there are so many things you can't control in an ultra/trail run, you should most definitely control the ones you can!

3hr21 moving time; 3hr51 total time for our 28k run (start/finish at our hotel, a little further, plus faffing about). Finish times for the 25k were in fact 2hr31 to 6hr28. We're thinking of requesting 1/2 a point for UTMB ;-)