Rail Trail Run & Ride

Anzac Day is the time when I can wear replica medals of those given to my Pop, who was a member of the 7^th Field Ambulance which landed at Gallipoli in August 1915. He wrote home about being unscathed in a mortar attack, while mates on either side of him were killed. However, he was invalided home having been injured in a shrapnel blast. Declared medically unfit he was discharged on 6^th October, 1916. While that meant he was spared death or serious injury, many of his comrades paid the ultimate sacrifice both at Gallipoli and on the Western Front. However, the long term consequences of his time at Gallipoli, and the medical condition that led to his discharge, meant that life was not easy for either his wife or his family.

I also have the five medals belonging to my Dad who was a POW in Changi and on the Burma-Thai Railroad. As a result of his experiences he was pensioned off before he turned 60 with what we now call PTSD. It wasn’t easy for him when his best mate died on the railway—in fact he said that he was the one who should have died. Like Pop, Dad suffered life-long trauma from his war experience so that life wasn’t easy as we grew up.

My experiences are so different from theirs. I’m grateful that I have never had to go through what they and millions of others have had to, and what so many are going through even now in war-torn countries. However, over the years, I have been involved with people who have experienced the depth of depression; who have attempted suicide; and I have had to conduct funeral services for some who have taken their own lives as a result of depression—and it’s the families left behind who struggle with why they did it.

One of the side effects of being a minister is the enormous amount of stress I have faced in the difficult situations of dealing with people who have been going through grief. While I was fortunate to only have one child’s funeral to take, I have had so many funerals for people who have suffered with cancer and other incurable/debilitating illnesses that have claimed their lives. I don’t know if you can imagine what it is like to be sharing with a family at a funeral in the afternoon and then within a couple of hours to be sharing in a wedding rehearsal the night before the couple’s big day. To grieve with one family and then immediately rejoice with another is not necessarily an easy thing to do. And when I began to bury several members of one family I knew and loved within months of each other; and when great friends, younger than myself, were dying it took its toll and so I retired knowing that I was suffering from emotional burnout/exhaustion. That was almost 5 years ago now—and I still haven’t gotten over the affects of those 40 years before retirement and the almost 5 years since retirement of continuing to be with people in difficult situations.

On 30^th May I woke up one morning feeling, for no known reason, as flat as a tack. I could hardly get out of my own way. What lifted me that day was that I registered for the Rail Trail Run and Ride at Scottsdale in August. Because I needed to be in Hobart for the Sunday to take two services at the little church I am helping out I was only able to enter the 28 km run—I would have loved the challenge of the 56 km from Scottsdale to Billycock Hill and return but that would have put impossible time constraints upon us for the Sunday. As it turned out I would not have been able to physically prepare myself for that distance anyway.

Having upped my training with too much intensity I found myself with leg soreness—too much high intensity work and not enough long slow runs. I found myself picking up the pace on longer runs—on one 25 km run I set a course PB of over 12 minutes. In my competitiveness I want to keep setting PB’s before my age does start to weary me and slow me down. So this is a post of my preparation for the Scottsdale run.

In the same week that I ran that fast 25K I ran a slower 26.7K with a young lady for her 26^th birthday. What a great present for herself—but Val wouldn’t let me run 70K for my 70^th birthday later this year as it would get in the way of finishing my six months with the church in Hobart and having to be in WA the following Sunday to help a little isolated country church for five weeks.

And yet, for four weeks in a row at four different parkruns I set massive PB’s. I know that I have to slow down and not push myself too hard if I want to be ready for Scottsdale. By the beginning of June I was experiencing quite a bit of hip and back soreness. It didn’t help jarring myself on a RunClub outing when I couldn’t see in front of myself in the dark footpath down Nixon Street. At least it has meant some extra walking with the desire to run more slowly and with that extra walking the pain subsided.

By the following week I was struggling on my longer runs so much so that I seriously considered abandoning my plans for the Bruny Island ultra marathon. Fortunately, I shared my thoughts on a Facebook post and had so many encouraging replies from friends that I decided to re-evaluate that decision and go for it. But as I looked over my training plan I began to wonder whether it would be adequate to get me over the line. My plan was to try and have my longer, slower runs at around 6:10-6:15/k with only one fast run per week using a modified version of the 80/20 pattern and to have every fifth week as an easy week. My thinking was to try and use parkrun as my fast run but that would be well under the 20% of my total weekly distance. Towards the end of June I was scheduled for a half marathon distance run. So what happened? I ran my first sub 2 hour and I thought I was going slowly until I checked my time at the turn around point. Seeing how far I was in front I decided to see if I could break that barrier. At least I now know that I can.

At least I am continuing to enjoy running. On a couple of occasions I have run the Tasmanian Trail from Railton to Sheffield and return with friends and found that to be really helpful. What was great about the second of these runs is that we went past Sheffield until we had completed 15 kms and then turned back, meaning that I had run more than the Scottsdale Rail Trail Run and Ride. But my longer runs are usually solo because of the pace at which I am running them. That’s not as good as running with someone else but it is the way it is taking place at the moment.

At the end of July I planned to run three 10k laps around Devonport but stopped after the second as it was dark, windy and wet. The next morning I woke with a pain in the left knee, but I couldn’t remember having hurt it at all. Not thinking too much about it I set off the following Wednesday for RunClub but could only hobble down there and so didn’t run with the others. Now I was reduced to walking, and I began to wonder whether I would be able to compete at Scottsdale after all. I found I could power walk but not raise a jog. So all my preparation with longer runs was thrown out of the window. After a couple of weeks I did some extremely slow jogging while Val was taking photos and suffered no ill-effects. So it was walking interspersed with jogging until one afternoon when we went to Port Sorrel for a Freedom parkrun. In it I reverted to my default pace of around 5:40/k for a double run over the parkrun course.

The next afternoon I had a physio appointment and as I entered her room I explained that I could be there under false pretences. I explained everything I had been doing since my injury and she tested out my knee, finally declaring that there was no structural damage and that I could run the following Saturday as I had planned. I didn’t do much running at all in the days preceding Scottsdale as the settlement on our house in Glenorchy was for that Friday—not the following Friday as we had thought. There was a rushed trip to Hobart to help our daughter pack and move to her brother’s house in preparation for moving overseas for language study. That involved trips to the City Mission, the Tip Shop and the tip. As a result I developed hip soreness. Again I was having second thoughts about Bruny, for I just couldn’t see how I could get in the preparation I would need for it.

On the Friday we drove up to Scottsdale to the Bed & Breakfast we had booked. My plan was to take it easy and definitely start at the very back of the pack so as not to get caught up in the excitement and run too fast. I drove Val around to some of the early spots where she could photograph the 56k runners before going back to the Scottsdale Station to catch the bus to Billycock Hill, from where the 28k run commenced. My hips were still sore. Would they hold up? Thoughts flashed through my mind as to what would happen. At least the threatened rain hadn’t appeared and the sun was shining. What a great day for a run.

After the announcements I made my way to the tail of the field, fulfilling that commitment I had made to myself to start slowly. After a short distance I checked my pace and it was around 7.00/k, so I wasn’t taking off too fast and it was still well under the 4 hours I had thought I should aim for carrying my injuries. Settling into an easy pace beside Susan I began to pass other runners while the main bunch quickly disappeared around the bends and out of sight. Following the old rail line we had a short incline that was flanked by the damp trees and ferns. Pools of water were scattered along the track; mist was rising as the sun was filtering through the trees and the breath of other runners was condensing in the cold air. Such beauty. I looked at my Garmin after a couple of kms and let out a groan for I was running at sub 6.00/k! By now we had started to decline as the trail wound its way through the bush. “Oh, well, I’ll just keep going as best as I can and see how I pull up” had become my new guide. And so the kilometres passed beneath the feet. It was a great trail to run on—easy on the feet and not too hard on the old legs even though my hips were still causing me a bit of trouble.

After stopping a number of times for photos I lost sight of Susan but I was gaining on other runners. But every time I stopped for more photos they overtook me. And so it became a challenge for me to edge closer to them as best I could until I could leave them behind. I wasn’t tying anything too drastic to catch others—just slowly edging towards them, staying with them for a chat before slowly drawing away. I spent a fair bit of time with one fellow, who just happened to be the vice president of the Launceston and North East Railway Society, meaning we spent a lot of time chatting about their plans. As we closed in on Tonganah there was the strange sign that read “Steep Descent”—but it could not have been part of the original rail line. Old railway spikes and other assorted rusty bits of the old line were embedded in the trail was we continued on our merry way. Runners fell behind as I tried to stay in contact with this fellow and a couple of young women who had overtaken me when I stopped for photos of daffodils (I had to climb an embankment for them) at an old railway station site (now replaced with a modern shelter shed for the convenience of trail travellers).

Running through Tonganah we crossed the Tasman Highway and I was confronted with two obstacles. The first was that the track, for the next 7.5k to the finish, was a steady incline and I don’t run inclines very well. The second was that the surface of the trail was not firmly compacted gravel/dirt but larger stones that I could feel through my trail shoes. It was here that I thought road shoes would be a better option—indeed, if I run this section again it would be with road shoes for that extra cushioning. I could see runners in front of me and I tried to up my effort on this incline. To my amazement I ever so slowly began to reel them in. We passed old workshops and torn up railway lines lying beside the trail and then it was over the highway again. I kept an eye on the distance signs—and was excited to see how little there was left to complete.

When the remaining distance was down to a parkrun I knew my time had come. I could see five runners dotted along the trail in front of me. This was it. I was close to the end now. My knee was still in good condition with no soreness. The muscles around it and in the quads was another matter, but it was only a parkrun left so I decided to put in a last ditch effort to try and catch them. Am I competitive? Yes! But I was still enjoying the run and finding that it wasn’t too hard on the old legs. As I passed each one I slowed down to run a bit with them, trying to encourage them where I could. Running through a cutting the Yellow-tailed Black-cockatoos shrieked out their encouragement for me to not slacken—well, they did in my imagination though in reality they are just noisy blighters. My only concern with them was that they might drop a half eaten pine cone on my poor old head. Listening intently, could I hear someone racing up behind me? In my stubbornness I just could not let someone pass me at this point so I pushed on and, at a couple of convenient spots, turned around to check—but there was no one that close.

Over the final street and onto the grass I sprinted to the finish line as best I could, being encouraged by Susan who took a video of me (what a strange running style I have) and by Val who was yelling out “Come on, old man!” Well, that’s what it sounded like from a distance. Crossing the line to encouraging cheers and clapping I received a big bear hug from Gosso and congratulations from the other Devonport crew who were hanging around. And I completed the run in a time of 2:39:51, far faster than I had anticipated or even expected.

My next thought was for my friends still out on the trail. Wondering how they were faring I commenced my usual cool down, which means running others home. Bronty, a 56k runner, was fairly close so I ran alongside of him to the line. I tried to go back for Danika and Lisa but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. They were so sore that I could hardly raise a trot. So I stopped and had something to drink and nibble. When they finally entered the home straight I, sadly, couldn’t accompany them to the line as my legs had begun to stiffen up. That was a bit of a downer as I think the later runners should be applauded and encouraged and cheered on just as much as the leaders, for they, like the top runners, have put in a sterling effort which needs to be recognised. Too often there is hardly anyone left to cheer on the tailenders when they finish—it did help that Val took over 3,000 photos of people on the two longer runs and that she was staying till the sweeper crossed the line.