Six Inch Trail Marathon 2017 - No country for old men

In many ways, the Six Inch trail marathon has defined my time as Bipolar in Transition. It was the event that mentally broke me in 2014, leading me to diagnosis and treatment for BP2 disorder. It has been the yardstick by which I measure my achievements (to the point of beating myself up when I don't get to those levels). And it introduced me to the wonderful world of the WA trail running community, many of whom I now call friends. This year I was always going to come back.

For training, I tried to concentrate on quality over quantity. In 2014, I had pounded and pounded the kms to accumulate a good base, but hadn't spent a lot of time on trails and lost my focus any time I had to walk. This time, no run had been greater than 30km in length. The kicker was that all of my long runs had a fair bit of elevation, trying to equal or exceed the total elevation (approx 950m) of the 6" course. Runs in the Porongorup and Stirling Ranges, returns to Bald Head and even the Albany Trail run were great hit outs and helped me hone a good hike strategy. I knew I would be about 400km on volume from 2014, the consequences of lost enthusiasm for running and a knee injury that has dogged me from the start of the year. More importantly, I went to the event with no time goals. No expectations to obsess over. I just wanted to enjoy myself. A sound theory...

Summit of Bluff Knoll looking East on my last "big" training run - 22.4km/1263m

The week leading up to the race was hideous. Personally and professionally I was a mess. I had let a number of things pile up, culminating with breaking down in tears in the work car park on the Friday. The drive to Perth wasn't pleasant, but I made it in one piece. That evening I caught up with my wonderful friends Jeremy and Kelly at TRC to collect my race pack, and went for a birthday picnic in the park for Sim. Socialising when scraping around at rock bottom is a considerable effort, so sorry guys if I was a bit prickly. Saturday revolved around parkrun (my first at Whifords Nodes) and then chasing last minute bits and pieces and something to strap my feet for the race. I had developed a hot spot on the ball of my right foot on my run the previous Sunday, and I knew from experience that it would blister badly if I ignored it. In the end I grabbed some padding from the chemists and modified it to suit. The other leg would be rock-taped to combat some Achilles tendinitis that I WAS trying to ignore. Sitting in my best friends bathroom singing to myself while shaving a leg brought me to giggles. In the end I was strapped up and ready to go. Some pizza and pasta bake for dinner and then what seemed to be endless faffing about getting all of the gear ready to race, for fear of my scattered mind forgetting something crucial. I took my meds (sans melatonin) and tried to snatch a couple of hours sleep.

What seemed like only seconds later, we were again moping around getting ourselves together - breakfast, grab the bottles out of the fridge, coffee, get everything in the car... geez it's only 3am what the hell are we thinking? Soon though we are off with everything. I put on some quiet tunes and doze while Jeremy drives. It's snotting down with rain. Now, I run in Albany. It's often cold and wet down here. But it's bloody summer, this isn't supposed to be happening. Event Director Dave Kennedy has been forecasting rain for the best part of four years. I could picture him rubbing his hands with glee. We get to the North Dandelup hall and get checked off. There's Ben, and Michelle, and a couple of the quick guys I follow on Strava. It's bloody miserable weather now. Back in the car and off to the base of Goldmine Hill to start. I toy with getting my jacket out to wear, but suddenly the rain clears.

"I'll just run in the arm sleeves I think", so I'm then left trying to stuff my jacket back in my pack as I'm walking to the line. I can feel myself starting to get edgy... I tell myself again (and again) that I'm here for fun. It's not important. But it's a hard feeling to shake. In the throng I lose Jeremy at the start line. We had joked before the race that I would dog him and not be seen again, with me insisting that I wouldn't. But he was gone, and the race was on. I wouldn't see him again until the Escalator, with a volley of good natured abuse thrown in. 

Where for art thou Jeremy?

I walk/hiked/trotted up Goldmine.  People scurried past, or sometimes I scurried past them. The gravel road was becoming sloppy with all of the traffic, so I weaved in and out trying to get a dryish line. I was in no hurry, so I had a chat with those I knew while moving forward. I was also determined to run my own race, to not get sucked in to keeping pace with anyone. So if they wanted to get on and go then they were on their own. I settle at a good pace of  around 6:30/km and bed in for the long haul. The sleeves last less than 5k before I'm ripping them off and stuffing them in the pack. It's certainly not as cold as I thought it was, and I'm warm and comfortable at this pace. I pass my Albany running buddy Ian, who was making an early pit stop. He's soon done and we're running together like it's one of our training runs. Much to the annoyance of those around us, we're chattering on like parrots discussing almost everything. I can see a few people put the music on. Oh well...

Whittaker's Rd  - approx 5k in. Credit: Paparazzi on the Run.

With the forecast of cool to wet weather, I had decided to forgo the bladder in the pack for two soft flasks of Trail Brew, changed out at Aid 1 for another pair. I had hydrated well Saturday and on the trip down, so if I needed extra fluids (and I knew I probably wouldn't) the Aid stations are well stocked and I would just grab an extra bottle as required. Supplementing the Brew I would take on a couple of Clif bars, with the plan being one before Aid 1, and a second at or around Aid 2. So when I felt a bit peckish and the tummy start to gurgle, I hunted around for Clif #1. Um... where is it? It seems that while messing about getting things out of the car at the start line, the bar has escaped. Well, poo. I'm confident that the Brew will see me through to Aid 1 as the bar was just something solid to hold everything down, but it's annoying and given everything that has gone on in the last week I'm feeling fragile. Cue mental pity party, and while sulking I have one rather embarrassing moment - trying to pass someone on the single trail, I catch my foot and fall in slow motion, ending up on my hand and knees in front of them. No blood, no foul. I dust myself off and hope they can't notice how sheepish I feel.  The legs and km's keep ticking over though, hiking the steeper parts of the course and scooting along downhill. I may have even given the occasional "WHOOP WHOOP!". More people put on music...

"GET OFF MY LAWN!!"

Aid 1 comes up quicker than I realise, roughly 23km in 2 and half hours. That's a pace I can play at all day. Further lifting my spirits is knowing that Aid 1 is well known as the "party" station, crewed by fellow trail loons. 2015 had seen them take the Aid concept to the point of being dressed in nurses outfits (Not scrubs!!). This year it was a "retirement village" for trail runners. Knowing those involved I'm not surprised, but I notice one or two new folk looking slightly perplexed when "Nana" Shirley greets them at the station, Frank stands alongside with his zimmer frame as they are rummaging through their drop bag or Grandpa Glen pokes them with his cane. I'm straight in for a hug, then go hunting for my drop bag. True to form, I've not put a large enough label on, so it's been put in the pile of randoms. Never mind. Finish off the last of the Brew in the softies, new ones in, grab that elusive Clif Bar, a hug for Cassie then off we go again. I trotted off up the road, then realise the small pebbles in my shoes are actually REALLY ANNOYING!!! I stop, empty the shoes and then decide I may as well eat that bar after all. I can still hear the shenanigans from Aid 1 as I walked off chuckling. 

Common reaction from runners experiencing Aid 1 for the first time

In 2014 I had been undone with the run between Aid 1 to Aid 2. I still can't put my finger on why - possibly the combination of running alone with a head full of negativity and unfamiliarity with trail running as a whole. This time around I had no issues. Having dropped Ian prior to Aid 1, I was happy to have some alone time. I trotted over North Spur Road, and came to the Conveyor and radio tower climb which would take us to the highest part of the course. I settled in for a bit of hiking, again telling myself it was my race and not to get sucked in to running anyone else's. Pretty soon I was up and over.

Getting air post Conveyor Hill climb, approx 27km. Credit: Paparazzi on the Run

Time for a quick systems check:

• legs - check
• feet - check
• head - check
• shoes - check
• pack - check

That done, I soon pick the pace up again. Not even a brief shower of rain as I turn on to Scarpe Rd dropped my spirits. Back on to the Munda biddi trail and I found myself running with a lovely lady who seems to have done this all before. I decide not to upset her by opening my mouth too much. I moved past and come to a crossing with some power lines. Funny, I don't remember these power lines from 2014. But then again I was mentally in a bad place at that time so there could have been a mural of unicorns somewhere and I wouldn't have noticed it. The Munda Biddi signs say to go right, but there's three guys off in the distance who have gone straight. Herp derp, let's follow them. I'm barely 10m down the trail when I hear the same lovely lady behind me screaming "TURN!! TURN HERE!! YOU'VE GOT TO TURN!!!"  I quickly turn and see the name on the bib - Belle Kennedy. Ah, that would be Dave's wife then. Well I know who I'm listening to. Off we go again and 30km's clicks over. I'm now on my longest run in over 12 months. We also dive on to some more single trail that is about 90% thistles. Lucky your wife is within earshot David or there would be some naughty words being used to describe you. 

Again, I'm caught by surprise at how quickly the turn to the Aid 2 out and back arrives, and by how fresh I feel. I know the Escalator is a challenge, but nothing out of the ordinary to what I've taken on during my training runs. So I put the head down, put the legs in to low gear and push on up the climb. Hitting the base of the Escalator allows me to take a good couple of breaths and drop the heart rate down a bit before crawling my way up to the top. Aid 2 is manned by more friends, and I'm especially pleased to greet Renae (who I haven't seen since high school over 20 years ago) with a giant hug. Wait a minute, are they Zooper Doopers you have there?!!? Oh lawdy...

I power down some Red Bull, a flat coke, some jelly babies and grab a purple Zooper before heading for home. I check the watch: I'm leaving with 4:15 on the clock. I do some mental arithmetic and come to the conclusion that I can go sub 5:30 with change. So off I go. I shoot down the Escalator like the downhill bully I am, scattering the slower 3" half runners. "You look like you know what you're doing" one says. "No, I'm just crazy" I reply in my head. It's here I come across Jeremy. 
"I'll RUN WITH YOU HE SAID!! I WON'T DOG YOU HE SAID" is his sarcastic greeting. Yeah, sorry buddy. We embrace, and I'm off again. I call on an almost forgotten ability to bury myself, find a solid stride and just go. I have 11k of pain ahead, and the sooner I get it done the better. My splits start to have 5's at the front instead of 6's. I'm in a zone. But this doesn't take from my ability to talk to everyone as I power on. I even pause to photobomb a 3"er's selfie at the powerlines prior to entering the Marrinup maze. In the distance are two girls who I had been running with prior to Aid 1. I soon catch up and start urging them to start ticking off small goals as we near the finish. "C'monCatch those runners in front", "Head down over this rise" and so on. I'm not sure how I've gotten this far without being told to shut up (or worse). They start to flag, I've still go a bit in the tank. But not much. The last 8km is uphill and I'm starting to feel it with my hips starting to ache. I know it's only a matter of time before they get to full blown cramp. With less that 2km to go, it hits. I slow to a walk, but decide that if I'm going to go out, I'm going with a bang. I turn the legs over again, and thankfully they play the game. 

Out of the maze we appear, turn left at the road and bite down over the last little rise before crossing the road and over the line.

The watch says 5:25:56. It's done. 

I feel better than I did after 2014. Not physically (if you saw me after the event, I had to first go downhill to travel uphill), but mentally on top of it all. *Fist Pump*

Now, the lessons learned.

1. Volume + elevation + time on trails = good. I'm not going to sacrifice one for the other, especially when it comes to trail runs. 
2. No pressure. Setting unrealistic goals on myself is more than likely going to end with me falling to pieces mid-race when things get a little tough.
3. Enjoy the ride. 

So what's next. At this stage, nothing. I have some loose ideas: I want to try a 50mi event, which will most likely be WTF in September. A friend has also expressed an interest in doing the Stirling Range Ridge walk some time this year. It's won't be a FKT attempt, we'll leave that to the experts. But we will be running it. There are also a couple of 50k's that have my interest, but for now - stand by to stand by. Many thanks to Altra for the shoes and ongoing support, and Trail Brew for the hydration good gear. Couldn't have done it without you.

B.