Waking to the pouring rain, it seemed the weather forecasts had been correct. Bugger. I quickly got myself organised. Oats. Coffee. Get Dressed. Hair. Fill bottles.
Meanwhile, my wonderful one woman support crew, Kirsten, was stirring in the next room. We left to walk to the start, gentle rain falling, it was going to be wet. It was already wet underfoot, with more rain and possible thunderstorms predicted. I silently thanked my past self for heading out in not great conditions time and again over the past few months. Repeating in my head over and over “You know your gear, you know how to use it, trust your instincts”.
We got to the start area, with a few minutes to the start – perfect timing – I got my starting portrait taken and revelled in the fact that while I was nervous I wasn’t panicking and felt relatively calm. Nothing I can do except go try, the least amount of pressure and fear I’ve ever felt on the start line possibly ever. I was seriously just happy to be there and to be looking forward to a really long run. It has been 4.5yrs since my last run at the 100 mile distance, thanks to a combination of the pandemic and injury.
With minor fan fair, the race director did a count down from 5 and we were off as the rain started to fall heavier. Seemed fitting. Down the road and onto the single trail of the Packhorse Track. I settled in, reminding myself that I always feel sick and my heart is always racing at this point. Falling into a rhythm, I hiked a few of the longer ups, making sure to stick to my own plan and not that of those around me. Watching the guy in front of me almost roll his ankle twice and then another runner fall made me nervous, it was so slippery on the rocks underfoot and we were moving decently well, it wasn’t long until I caught myself mid ankle roll as well. Shaking it off while checking in – it was all good, it hurt momentarily but seemed ok. Just keep moving.
In what seemed like forever and also a single moment (time is wonky in ultras) we were back at tarmac and starting the trail to Spion Kopje. Out came my poles. What a muddy mess! Parks Victoria had obviously been working in the area and we were greeted with ankle deep, clay mud that saw people sliding down at a rate of knots. This was a little disappointing, it had been great, runnable firetrail when I ran it in 2017 and I was looking forwarding to being able to comfortably run it this time. Instead, I picked my way down on the edge of the bush where I ended up laughing at myself and my competitors as we slipped and slid down. Some people grumbled and were upset and angry, but I was getting an adventure and I reminded myself I was here for FUN and to be honest, this was hilarious!
I was sticking with my nutrition and eating and drinking well, the little buzz on my wrist every 30min was no cause to pause, take the gel, sip the bottle, have a bite. I watched my fellow adventurers, were they eating? What shoes were those? Cool pack! Meanwhile the bush was waking up around us. I took it all in, it had been a long time since I had been in the Aussie bush at dawn and it was wonderful.
As we descended into the valley, making our way to our first river crossing, a runner I had traded comments with off and on over the past hour or so asked how I intended to get across the river? I looked puzzled and replied “Well, I’m going to wade through it. You?” He proceeded to tell me he intended to jump across. I exclaimed good luck and that I looked forward to seeing that. With the rain and knowing it was a decent crossing I very much doubted that was even a possibility.
At the crossing my thoughts were confirmed. A few metres across and easily knee deep, he had no hope. I watched half my competitors stop to adjust things, change gear etc, at least no one was taking off their shoes this time! Those of us that didn’t stop charged through and then began the first climb up to Warby Corner.
As soon as the climb started my fears about my ability to climb during the race began to ring true. I had been having issues with heavy calves and fatigue on climbs for the past few weeks and it seemed that was still going to be an issue for me today. In addition to my calves and the fatigue in my legs, I also felt really out of breath. I took a moment and pushed that aside, telling myself “Just keep moving”. People started to overtake me, but I kept a few in my sights. Just keep moving. Some thoughts to the effect of “I should be faster than this considering the amount of climbing I’ve been doing” were creeping in, but I reminded myself it was early, I’m here for the long game and to not panic yet. Coming out of the bush line and now alone, I was greeted to fog and wind. Trying to run through the low heath was painful and tedious. The path was hard to see and was not well used, the small shrubs growing onto the path and the hardy branches were rough on my shins and ankles. I was just thankful it was cold and that would hopefully reduce the chance of snakes. As we got closer to Warby the path opened up and I was able to run. My hands were freezing in the wind and I needed to stop to put my gloves on. I wondered it I was being overly cautious, but the guy behind me ran past, saw what I was doing and decided it was a good idea too, so I took comfort in that. Trying to see through the fog and wind, knowing I should just about be at the checkpoint, it wasn’t until I was practically on top of it that I saw the fluoro yellow tent that was the Warby Corner checkpoint.
Lifting my jacket to show my bib and walk past the timing pad, I grabbed my drop bag with the aim to be as efficient as possible. With the wind still whipping at everything I grabbed out what I would need for the loop back to this aid station, dumped my rubbish and refilled one of my bottles, all while bantering with the aid volunteers who offered me a chair in the tent with another runner. Too early for that.
Returning my drop bag, I let them know I was leaving and jogged off into the fog and wind. Making sure to eat as I left, I came across another runner, Dendi, we exchanged a few words and I ran off into the mist. As we came up to Ropers Hut I passed another male runner. We chatted briefly and I stopped to tie my shoe as he continued ahead. I heard the familiar call of a magpie and next thing I knew it was swooping me. I laughed, throwing some choice words and waving my poles at it, thinking “well, this is a true Aussie experience now!” The cloud seemed to break a little and as we descended into the valley the fog dissipated, I was enjoying the downhill and was boosted as I overtook several of the runners who had overtaken me on the climbs, at least I could make up some time this way. At the bottom of the descent I could hear the river before I saw it. It was higher than the last time I had been here, but this crossing had a chain for extra comfort. An Alpine Way through hiker had just come across and exclaimed how awesome it was to finally see a woman in the race. Knowing that there were at least 2 more women ahead of me, one being an elite runner, I knew she must of missed them, but just smiled and told her there were two more strong women right behind me. It was nice to walk across the river, my feet were wet anyway and the fast flowing water was cool and beautiful. The climb back up started immediately. My legs still weren’t in the game on the climbs, but I was resigned to that now, just keep moving and try to push a little. As we broke towards the top of the climb the two other women caught me. The sun was coming out and I decided to stop and take off my rain jacket as it was suddenly quite steamy. This was pretty optimistic of me, but one of the other runners, Steph, stopped beside me and did the same. This is when we first discovered the leeches. I found one on my shoe, as did Steph and after removing them we moved on. Steph ran behind me for a bit and she made up leech songs (millions of leeches, leeches for me) and I proclaimed “Parkour!” every time we had to manoeuvre over a tree across the path, it was a form of amusement at least! At some point Steph overtook me and I was alone again. The runner I had seen at Ropers joined me and informed me I had a leech on the back of my leg, he tried to remove it with his pole but it was stuck well on. Having encountered leeches many times in the past I had no qualms about pulling it off, but to be fair the leech was probably about to drop, it had had a damn good feed! Blood trickled down my leg from the bite, I figured it would wash away with the rain and river to come.
Wandering into Cleve Cole Hut I felt a sense of relief, I knew we were close to the Bogong Summit now which meant I then got to traverse and descend again. Walking up the steps I saw Steph on her way out and as I walked through the door I heard my name “Jo Bailey! What are you doing here? Haven’t you done this race before?” I did a double take, startled by the fact that someone knew me. Sitting at the table marking off names was Andrew, the man who had sized me up for my first set of poles back in Qld many years ago. I smiled and we chatted. I was distracted and needed to get going, but seeing someone I knew was such a boost! I smiled out of the checkpoint and a few hundred metres from the hut, when a patch of blue sky revealed itself, I pulled out my phone for the first time and took a pic.
Another female runner, who I think was in competing the 100k, came up beside me and we chatted a little. On the climb up to Bogong Summit she predictably pulled away from me but as we began to get clagged in again and the temperature dropped, she slowed and was obviously trying to reach something in her pack. I came and helped her find her missing gloves – that’s how cold it was getting. I can’t remember when it was I put my jacket back on, but by the time we reached the summit the visibility was low – no views today!
It was cold and wet and the jacket was definitely on! I lost the other runner as we traversed to Quartz Ridge, and running on the more technical track I began to catch up to other runners. This was a great source of amusement to me because within the group of people I know locally in Wanaka, I consider myself one of the least technical runners. The sun was out as we traversed the open ridgeline and I paused to take another photo, promising myself that this was the last.
The sky then let us know that the sunshine would be short lived as the wind picked up and the loud boom of thunder rolled through the sky. I assume it was around this point, as a group of four of us ran across the ridge and into the trees, that the race sent a warning message to runners. I don’t know if I didn’t hear it over the now pelting rain, wind and hail or if we had no service at that point. Taking the descent as quickly as possible, I was now alone again having left the others behind. Arriving at the junction at the bottom, I pulled out my map to double check I took the right direction (Alpine Challenge is a largely unmarked course) and headed along the firetrail.
Being non-muddy firetrail I was able to click off some some decently paced kilometres before crossing the river and heading back up. In stark contrast to 6 years ago when I passed runners struggling with heat stroke and sitting in the shade, this year I was completely alone and it was cold, so cold. Despite climbing and working hard, my hands were freezing and I was starting to shiver. When I was out of the wind on one of the switchbacks I stopped and pulled out my midlayer to put on under my jacket and noticed I had another fat leech in the same place on the other leg. He was so full he came off with a swift bump from my pole. At least I was symmetrical!
The climb, traverse, climb, traverse back up to Warby seemed to take an age. The sun was out again though, which was welcome, although the track was mostly one long wet puddle, with the ground either side mostly no better. I could see another runner a ways ahead and made it my focus to at least not lose any ground on them. As I came into Warby I grabbed my drop bag and went through the rubbish-replenish routine. I looked at my dry clothes (base layer, socks, buff) and decided against a change there in the tent. I was just over the 60km mark and I was starting to feel it, but I knew I would see my crew at the next aid station which would be a boost. Now that I had phone service, I sent a message to my crew person, Kirsten whilst stuffing pancakes in my mouth and hiking up the track, telling her where I was, along with the same message to some other people who are important to me in my running life. Packing the phone quickly away again, so as not to get distracted, I started to jog. I was trying to figure out if I was ahead or behind of 2017 or my goals for this race, but my head couldn’t figure it out. Trying to remember sections and time of day was just a mind game so I took it all in, just focusing on keeping moving and watching the light change on the clouds. The aid station had been moved from previous years and seemed so much further away than I could remember. I was reduced to doing pole intervals at one point as my first full wave of fatigue hit. I was holding off on using caffeine until later in the night, knowing sleep was usually a bit of a fight, so I ate some more sugary shit and told myself I’d see Kirsten soon and that would be a boost.
As I made it to the hut which was the checkpoint and climbed the stairs, Kirsten greeted me, all business. What did I need to do? Pack off, she removed all the sticky rubbish as I struggled to undress beside the fire. I was offered a chair in front of it but declined, I didn’t want to get comfy and waste time. Changing my top layers, I left my favourite midlayer (the Rab Xenair Alpine Light for those gear nerds) with Kirsten, to dry out for the coming early hours. Swapping into dry upper layers was amazing. I realised I had neglected to add a buff to my dry clothing pile, so my super crew gave up theirs for me to wear, always going the extra mile. The aid station staff also insisted that I took care of the horror show that was the back of my legs. I insisted it made me look super badass having rivers of dried blood staining my calves, but complied as best I could. Whilst I packed my nutrition into my pack for the next stage, Kirsten packed up and trekked to the car up ahead, we were also allowed support there and I was craving fizzy water, which she had in the car.
Walking up to the car park I figured I was a little ahead of 2017, it was still light, although I would switch my headlamp on as soon as I got to the trail opposite the road. With a quick drink, a hug and some reassurance I set off across the plains into an awful wind. The path was again just a stream and I ran as much as possible. As it quickly grew dark I took note of the pole numbers, they seemed so high, knowing that my next checkpoint was Pole333 and I was in the high 600’s. Ahead I could see a headlamp and I tried hard to catch up to it. Just after we made the turn across the aqueduct, I drew even with Dendi, exchanging some brief words I overtook and sauntered ahead. We yo-yoed back and forth between me still struggling to climb well, the technical trail, him fiddling with his nutrition and me needing to take a toilet break. Eventually Dendi moved ahead, just as we crested the minor climb to Pole333, it was a relief to finally see the flashing light and the volunteer, although the wind was now howling and the fog starting to move in.
After a brief word with the aid station crew about the direction to head in and how we would see each other sometime tomorrow, I left the checkpoint to follow Dendi’s light ahead of me in the distance. The gentle slope up and over to the descent to Swindlers Spur was slow going. The trail and surrounding ground were again more like one big puddle. I spent my time watching the light ahead of me move away and then come closer, in between trying to negotiate the path of least resistance, least water logging and least mud, often trying to rock hop sections only to find the rocks were submerged well under crystal clear alpine water that didn’t seem to reflect my light. As we began to descend I looked up to spy the poles that marked the path through the growing fog and noticed there was no longer a light ahead of me. As I cast my own headtorch around, I noticed Dendi off to my left, well off the path and seemingly going further away. Stopping to check my own position, I was sure I was in the right place, working towards what I was sure was an Alpine Way pole. I kept an eye on the light which had now paused. Hoping he was correcting I watched as he continued on. I’ll admit I thought of saying nothing, figuring he would realise, but knowing how easy it is to get turned around in the dark and fog and that there was a descent close by I started calling out and flashing my headlamp to get his attention. Once I saw he was course correcting, I started slowly walking ahead until I was sure he had made it to the path. As he caught up we entered the snow gums which added another layer of confusion to the navigation. We lost the path a few times and helped each other to continue on, finally we made it to the defined path and were able to chat without the need for navigational diligence. Running easy down the stairs, I enjoyed the company although I knew I wouldn’t keep up on the climb. At some point about half way down the spur I stepped down from one step to another and instead of ground, my left foot landed on a large loose rock. I rolled my ankle and stopped sharply taking in breath. That really hurt. I took a few steps, and the pain told me I wouldn’t walk this one off easily. I told Dendi good luck, but I needed a break from running so he should go, which he did. Feeling frustrated I hiked for a time, and once my ankle started to hurt less I jogged as much as possible. The fog was now thickening and the climb up to Hotham began. Still very slow and being careful with how I placed my foot, I noticed it seemed ok in some spots but on certain angles pain from my ankle shot up my leg. I figured if we taped it at Hotham I would be ok, so I concentrated on moving forward. I was still eating well, although my electrolyte was making me feel nauseous, so I switched to water and ate some crackers instead of gels and sugars for the next hour, to give my stomach a break. Tiredness was starting to creep in, being past midnight and having been up since 3am the day before. I stopped at some point and sat down for a moment, then rose and powered up the final rise to the ski field. Here the visibility was reduced to less than a metre and the wind was howling. I lost a lot of time just finding the right path, having to constantly check my map and finally resigning myself to turning on the navigation on my watch to help. It did help at times, but at mostly it just added more confusion. As the climb got steeper I knew I was getting close but couldn’t see any lights to indicate the checkpoint or Hotham itself, all I saw was fog reflecting my head torch right back at me. Finally, spray painted arrows appeared on the ground, then traffic cones and a flashing light, I didn’t actually see the checkpoint, which was well lit, until I was basically in front of it. The relief, knowing I could get out of the wind, get warm, get dry clothes and shoes, some hot food and a hug, was huge.
Kirsten was inside waiting and immediately went to work, taking my pack, commenting on how much I was eating and how much rubbish I had, asking what I wanted to eat, did I want to get changed etc. I took off my shoes and added some leeches to the checkpoint and after a few bites of cheesy mash I went and got completely changed – underwear, layers, socks, everything – and then brushed my teeth. Returning I sat and ate while Kirsten started taping my ankle, it was already bruising and puffy, but the taping felt better immediately. Enjoying the company, I ate and then as the door opened to reveal Steph arriving, Kirsten told me it was time to go and get moving. I got myself together, feeling a little rushed but I knew I had spent enough time at the aid station. The wind was hammering outside – not exactly inviting! Kirsten stepped out with me as I confirmed with the volunteer as to where to go – they had changed the course slightly but I did vaguely remember the way once I crossed the road. As Kirsten closed the door she looked at me very seriously and said something about how I was the first woman at this point and I needed to keep moving. My response was a very loud “Fuck off! Really?”. Knowing well seasoned elite Gill Fowler was in the miler I found that very hard to believe, “What?!”. Apparently the conditions had caused a massive dropout rate, but I needed to go, NOW. Off I went, into the fog and the wind, somewhat bewildered. Really? I decided to just push Kirsten’s update aside and focus on the task at hand, which took all my brain power. I knew that once I hit the road I had to boost up to the ridge and then traverse right to find the trail. I could not find the path to head up, so decided to just make my own way through the heath to the top. I held the checkpoint volunteers promise – that the wind would drop on the other side – very close to my heart, hoping against hope he was right. Finally finding the trail, the fog still hampered my progress, I was moving, albeit slowly, and the wind seemed to be lessening. When I hit the road again it took me a minute to find the reentry to the trail but soon enough I was there, the fog drifted away and the wind dropped and I was suddenly presented with a picture perfect golden moon and clouds above stark white snow gums.
Jogging painfully slowly and constantly checking paths I made my way to the Bon Accord Descent. I had gotten lost here and taken a wrong turn when I had raced in 2017 and I was determined not to make the same mistake. When I finally moved off the rocky exposed trail to a much steeper forest, I knew I was on the right path.
Having done this section both in a haze of tiredness at daybreak during the miler in 2017 and in late afternoon in with the legs to run the entire descent during the 100k in 2019, this was dark and slow, I lamented not being able to run as much as I wanted. I was starting to misstep through tiredness and my ankle would sharply remind me not to do that. Eventually I decided I needed to succumb before I hurt myself and set about finding a spot on the trail which looked free enough from spiders and ants and flat enough to lie down for a few minutes. I lay down, pack still on, put my timer on and rested my head on my arms. About 8min later I was standing, I ate some chocolate and started jogging down again, not fast but definitely moving better and feeling refreshed. As the track started to become a little less steep I noticed the sky was lightening ever so slowly. I knew I was ahead of my previous miler time now because the sun was well and truly up by this point in 2017. The run down to Washington Creek Bridge took forever. Each time I expected to see it, it wasn’t there. I was trying to run everything flat, but anything even slightly technical and downhill made my ankle scream. Finally, I hit the bridge and I paused to take a pic to send Kirsten. As I crossed over the bridge I heard a voice: “Well you sure are hard to catch!” Turning, I expected to see Steph, but I didn’t know this person. She introduced herself as Britta, the miler sweep. I may have had a minor panic at this point, I was sure I was ahead of cutoffs and there were others behind me, why was the sweep here? The panic must have shown on my face as Britta explained everyone else had dropped and yes, I had plenty of time. Britta was also excited to be at this point so early in the day, as she was usually having to follow the last runner through here several hours later.
Unsure of how I felt about the having the sweep for company, she reassured me she would hang back and let me do my thing but would occasionally run with me to check in. As we made our way to Harrietville the trail was much more runnable, although I wasn’t able to run for long periods. I was running until my ankle would say stop and then hiking as fast as possible. Between the visibility issues and steep descent of the night and my ankle I knew I was bleeding time. The road suddenly appeared ahead and I knew the next crew point was close, my brain started going over what I needed to do. Did I want to change any clothing or shoes? Not really. The taping seemed to be holding as best it could. So it would be food, water, dump my rubbish and refuel. The checkpoint had probably been a party at some point, but at 7:30am on a sunday after a long night it was pretty subdued. Kirsten took my pack while Britta chatted to the aid station volunteer. I ate some soup from the aid station and some of a dehydrated chocolate pudding meal I had in my drop bag. I think I also had a coffee but to be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur. The next section was weighing on me. The climb that starts when you leave Harrietville (120km) is the biggest climb of the course, but not the last. It is also where everything fell apart the last time I did the miler and I truly believe I only managed to dodge cutoffs that time because of my pacer, Jacqui.
I had just got a message from my coach to say to eat and get out of there, so we started pushing to go. I voiced my concern over cutoffs and all three women jumped in with support that I was ok, I had time. Paul (the RD) was then talking on the radio to the volunteer and agreed I had time, he reiterated the times I needed to be where, finishing with “If she could be finished by 8pm that would be appreciated” – nothing like a deadline to push for. I got mighty teary at this point. As Matty had said in his message, this was the point of no return. We were headed into remote trails again, with no real extraction point until Pole333, some 25km and two climbs away. Kirsten gave me a big hug and gently reminded me that I do hard things and that I love this. I can’t remember what she yelled out to me as I hiked off along the footpath but I know it made me smile and turn, giving her the middle finger and yelling “I love you” to her.
Starting the climb to Feathertop was pure mind games. I knew my climbing had been subpar all weekend and now I was beyond tired. My body seemed to have worked out how to hike without hurting my ankle, so that was a bonus. Coming up to the trail head I saw a mother kangaroo and her baby in the paddock, mentally adding that to the list of Aussie experiences from the run. The climb was a grind, although I was sure I was moving better than the last time I did the miler. My mind wandered as I climbed but I was shaken from its daydreaming by a familiar bird on the path. It took me a moment to realise that I wasn’t dreaming and that it was indeed a female lyrebird right in front of me. The Australian lyrebird is my spirit bird and to see one now was crazy. I had the biggest smile as she scooted into the forest and I hiked on. The tiredness was definitely starting to permeate into every fibre of my being and Britta soon caught up with me when I stood, my head resting on my poles, trying to move the brain fog that was descending. Once she knew I was ok, she dropped back as I headed onwards. Then the craziest moment happened, coming round the bend to find two(!!!) more lyrebirds. These two were nowhere near as skittish and I was able to pass within a metre of one of them whilst the other darted across directly in from of me. Telling myself it was a really good omen; I got a little boost to hike some more. The fog of tiredness was still there, and I decided I really needed to have a nap. I waited until Britta caught up to me to tell her what I was doing, so she didn’t panic or wake me, and once again searching for a decent spot, lay down for a 10min dirt nap. Waking up I wasn’t as refreshed as the previous nap, but I took in a caffeine gel and continued on. I knew that once we hit the hut it wasn’t far until the turnoff for Feathertop summit. I continually scanned ahead, looking for the tell tale break in the trees. With the hut eventually ticked off, I made my way towards Feathertop. The weather on the climb so far had been mild, I was in a fleece and baselayer, with the forest breaking any wind and the sun intermittently poking through the clouds. As we turned off the main trail to the summit we were once again in fog and wind, a theme for every summit of the run. There seemed to be more false summits than I remembered and I was dreading coming back down the rocky technical path with my ankle being not right. At what was a very disappointing summit of fog, wind and cold, I turned determined to get off there as quickly as possible. Once again in the trees the fog dissipated. I took a quick toilet break and ate some food, readying myself for the descent on Diamantina Spur. As I made my way out along the Spur, Britta seemed to be with me more often than not, but she was just quietly moving, letting me do my thing, sometimes I wouldn’t hear her for an age and then she would just be there. At the tip of the spur the sun came out and we were treated to views. I looked across the valley, to where Pole333 would be hidden behind the snow gums and the overwhelm hit me. This was my one and only true low point in the whole run. I sat on a rock looking across what seemed an impossible valley and sobbed. I was tired to my core and I knew I had to drop all the way to the base of the valley in front of me and then climb all the way back up. It was such a long way. I did the math in my head. I figured I had about 25-30km to go. I could do that. As we descended I heard Britta on the radio, letting SAR know we were heading into the valley and wouldn’t have reception, point of no return.
The descent off Diamantina still scares me, when I ran the 100km here I was actually running and slipped ending off the trail, bruised and battered. There was no speed today and I marvelled that I had run this goat track at all. The drops made my ankle scream if I wasn’t careful, but I was becoming impatient. My brain can’t really recall much from this part, except there was sunshine and I was watching for snakes in between cursing my ankle and wondering what the hell I was doing. When I finally hit the firetrail my brain switched back on, I had taken a wrong turn both previous times somewhere up ahead and I needed to concentrate. The sun was now out and I was down to a t-shirt, I had officially experienced ALL the weather in this race now. The next few hours are a blur as I made the climb back to Pole333. No wrong turns was a win. I remember crossing the river at Blairs Hut into the campground, which had a group staying in it, and sitting under a tree to organise my nutrition for the next section. I was still taking in calories which was good. I also remember stopping in a glade at some point to lie on the grass for a moment, but not to sleep. The climb took hours and all I wanted was to see the pole line to know we were getting close. Eventually it came. We passed some hikers, Britta was following close behind, and when I was asked where I had come from today I smiled and answered that “that is a very good question”. I had come from Harrietville, but before that Hotham. I kept moving, not wanting to stop or prolong this more than needed, leaving Britta to explain to them as they looked on incredulous. Me thinking yep, it’s pretty ridiculous really.
At some point Britta warned me that the checkpoint at Pole333 had been packed up, the wind had been bad and they had moved to the next checkpoint, Pretty Valley. I was a little grumpy at the news, although it didn’t take much at this point to be fair. Back on the plains the trail was once again more of a wet bog and trying to keep my feet dry was such a joke that I just sloshed through the water, only trying to avoid the muddy sections. We reached the pole and I made sure the timing panel captured me. I pulled out my phone and messaged my support group to tell them, which in hindsight was completely redundant given the timing panel, but my brain wasn’t really high functioning. Cursing my now complete inability to run without shooting pains up to my knee, it was all about the hike, but even that was tough on the rocky path. My water was running low and when Britta’s radio crackled and we were told SAR were leaving the Pretty Valley checkpoint I panicked and asked her to check there would be water. She reassured me there would, but checked for me anyway. She was right, but we also received the response that if I could finish by 8pm so we could all have pizza that would be good. No pressure!
Seeing Pretty Valley in the distance couldn’t come fast enough, but really it was the dirt road I was looking forward to. I knew I would be able to move much faster with my ankle on that than I could on the current path of uneven rocks and pebbles. Kirsten was waiting again, as my super crew, took my pack and removed anything non-essential so I was left with basic mandatory gear and nutrition. I removed my naked belt from my hips, glad to be rid of it and gave Kirsten a hug muttering “it’s such a long way” as I burst into tears. I then left as tears rolled down my cheeks to the dirt, determined to stick around a 10min/km pace for the remainder. Maybe I could finish by 8pm as requested.
I was again frustrated by my ankle. I was hiking really well but I knew if not for my ankle, I could have jogged this section, but each time I tried the pain stopped me and in the end I gave up trying. Running was done for today. Keeping my eyes on Mt McKay, knowing that was the last climb, I watched as the sun began to slowly move toward the horizon. Britta caught me just before we turned to head up to the top and we discussed how good it would be to finish without having to pull out headlamps again – a first for Britta as the sweep.
At the top of Mt McKay, after making sure I had again pinged the timing plate, I took in the views and the light, then set off back down. Just get down here, across “The Desert”, along the road, down the ski field, to the finish. It was 7pm, maybe I could finish at 8? As we moved toward the junction to cross to “The Desert” we were greeted by some lunatic yelling at cheering. It was Paul the RD and the head of SAR. After a brief chat where Paul informed me I was “the fastest, slowest runner ever” I kept moving, while Britta and the two men packed up the water point and the surrounding signage. About halfway through the trail traverse to the next road point I had to stop and take off my shoe, I was sure I had a pebble under my foot, it turned out my skin was so crinkled from being wet for 36+ hours it was causing the sensation, I’d just have to put up with it. Keeping my 10minute-ish pace I made it to the road where Paul and the SAR guy were waiting. More cheers but I refused to stop. Paul giving me updates on distance ahead was both a blessing and a curse, 3km still seemed a long way. Britta caught me and we talked about skiing and backcountry ski touring for a bit which I admit seemed hilarious to me on so many levels at that point. As I made the final turn to the finish, down the steep grassy ski slope I watched my clock, I would be a few minutes past 8 but that was ok. Here Britta left me to collect her pink flags. Figuring I would be met by Paul, Kirsten and maybe one or two volunteers I was astounded to see a decent group of people cheering me in. Slightly embarrassed but oh so happy. Finishing a few hours slower than I had hoped, but still my fastest miler and first and only woman to finish.
After a quick chat to a few of the other miler finishers and Steph, who it turns out pulled out at Mt Hotham, I went and got my ‘after’ photo taken before being whisked back to the unit, hawaiian pizza on my lap and medal around my neck.
I’ll admit I wasn’t sure how to take the 1st placing. I still feel a little unsure when people ask, as to what to say. 5 women started the 100mile race, 27 people in total. I was the only woman to finish, out of the 11 finishers, but also the slowest person by 90minutes. It really was a race of who can tough it out through the brutal conditions.
It’s interesting that, more than my placing, it’s the fact that I actually enjoyed the majority of my time out there, that I am proud of. The memories I will hold close are the running down the technical trails overtaking other runners with a smile, clinging to the chain crossing the river, making up songs about leeches and yelling “Parkour!”, laughing at my silly thoughts of zombies on Bon Accord in the full moon light, of seeing three lyrebirds. The biggest thing I take away though is the wonderful feeling of being a part of a tribe thanks to other runners, the volunteers, the race director Paul, the sweep Britta, my by-phone support group and my dear friend and solo support crew, Kirsten.
As always and forever it is about the people, the people, the people.
Funny how a sport where you spend so much time alone can make you feel so much a part of something.
Thanks to:
IPPNZ and MT Outdoors for their continued support
My hubby and kids for their encouragement, support and understanding of me doing these crazy adventures
Kirsten, you are an amazing friend, thankyou for being my support person when I run but also for life in general
Running coach Matty, from DBA Runners, for getting me to the start line feeling prepared
Mindset coach and S&C coach, Steve from Athletic Mindset, for helping me find the joy and reduce my self sabotage
Ian, Jane and Tilly, for you support and love and for sharing the journey
Paul from Running Wild Events, I have done Alpine Challenge three times and I love the event. The support from yourself and the volunteers is next level. It is the epitome of an epic grassroots feel event. Thank you for all that you, the volunteers and SAR do for the trailrunning community.
Gear
Topo Athletic Terraventures (First 100km) and Pursuits (Last 60km)
Injinji UltraRun Mini Crew Socks
Rab Talus 3/4 tights, Sonic Tee (run shirt), Xenair Alpine Light (midlayer), Latok Alpine GTX (waterproof), 5 Panel Cap
Marmot 1/2 zip fleece (midlayer)
Macpac Geothermals L/S (baselayer)
Black Diamond Womens Distance22
Fenix HM65R-T headtorch
Ay-up Run headtorch
Leki MicroTrail Pro poles
Nutrition
Pure Electrolyte (Raspberry), Gels (Orange, Mango), Gels+caffeine (Cola, Espresso)
Maurten Hydrogels (plain)
Snickers, Mars bars, Caramello, M&M’s, Jelly Beans
LCM’s, Salted Caramel Bumper Sticks
Real Meals (Cheesy Mash, Chocolate Cake Pudding)
Vegimite Sandwich, Mini Pancakes, Cheese Cracker Chips, Salt Crisps
Aid Station Oranges, Soup, Coffee
Basically you are either climbing or descending. There really isn’t much that you can call flat.
runjojo 