I just signed up for the North Face 100

What’s 100km long, gnarly as all hell and will most probably beat the living crap out of you if you dare to challenge it?

If you answered an extremely long Anaconda who is majorly pissed because you just stole its eggs and pooped in its nest, I will accept that as a valid answer. However, why anyone would steal Anaconda eggs, or poop in its nest is beyond me. I’d be getting in touch with Guiness World Records first of all. Actually now I think about it, that answer isn’t going to fly anymore you egg-stealing, nest pooping freak.

I’m sure there are other equally stupid and suitable answers but if you answered The North Face 100 ultramarathon race, you are most definitely correct.

Today I signed up for a new challenge, one I’ve wanted to get involved in but the timing was never right…the North Face 100. The TNF100 is a 100km ultramarathon that snakes a trail up and down the massive gorges, valleys and ridges of the Blue Mountains, just west of Sydney. It is run by under 1000 runners on a Saturday each May (it actually goes until 11am on Sunday, as some people don’t finish it in 24 hours-yep it’s a big one). Next year, I will be one of those roughly 1000.

To say I’m pumped is an understatement. To say I’m absolutely packing it, is pretty close to the mark too. It’s not the only the fact it’s 100km that overwhelms me, among numerous other things, it’s the elevation. Over 4500 metres in elevation over the course, meaning finishers will have run an accumulative incline of over half the height of Mount Everest, with not a smelly Sherpa in sight.

I know a handful of people that have done TNF100 (and some that have been extremely competitive) and it certainly has interested me. It was always on my bucket list, but I never seriously set my sights on it for myself or gave it much serious thought. Never more serious than a Kardashian marriage anyway. But now, I’ve decided next year is THE year. With our Perth to Sydney bike ride plan scratched, I needed something to fill the void, and although there may be a different charity adventure with the boys a-brewing, I’m excited for the TNF100 to be a part of that hole-filling.

To regard it as simply 2.5 marathons is as foolish as a donkey who has just bought volcano insurance and doesn’t do it justice or give it the respect it deserves. Unlike a marathon on the smooth road, the TNF100 is on rough trails, and also has stairs and rocks and creeks to contend with, and even a ladder section or two down rocky cliff faces, if I’m not mistaken. With features such as the Giant Stairway (the 900 steep stairs right by the 3 Sisters), Tarros Ladders, Kedumba Valley, the Golden Stairs (which sound at least a little fancier), and Megalong Valley (which sounds, well mega-long), it’s bound to be hell on the quads (and hammies, and calves!). And that dreaded elevation I mentioned before. The elites finish this race in under 11 hours. (Last year eleven runners went sub 11hrs, with the winner finishing in a crazy 9hrs16mins (that’s even quicker than watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy!) The average competitor might finish in 14-24 hours. The cut off time is 28 hours, which would mean you would have been running/walking/crawling from 7am Saturday to 11am Sunday. And I guess that’s nothing to scoff at-nearly half the competitors DNF (Do Not Finish) or DNS (Did Not Start). Whether the main cause of DNSers is because they chickened out is not known, but I’m going to assume that’s the case.

It’s early days, but my goals are as follows:

A goal: Sub 17 hours (Midnight finish)

B goal: Sub 20 hours (3am finish)

C goal: Simply finish it

Setting an A, B and C goal is the way to go…A goal being the one that you’re aiming for if everything goes your way, get good weather conditions, no injuries in training, no mishaps on the course, everything goes perfectly perfect etc. B goal being one you’re one you are realistically gunning for, and are stoked at achieving, even if the planets didn’t align. C goal being a bit of a back up goal, and one you’d “be happy with” at the end of the day. This reduces the pressure a little, so you don’t end up hurling objects and screaming and breaking tennis racquets like John McEnroe if you miss out on your main goal.

The winner of the North Face 100 gets (among other things) a sweet engraved Gold Belt Buckle. Any runner finishing in under 14 hours gets a coveted Silver Belt Buckle. Finish under 20 hours and you get a Bronze Belt Buckle. Finish in over 20 hours and all you get is a pat on the back, so you better hope your pants will hold themselves up. I’m not a big fan of wearing pants but my goal is to get that Bronze Belt Buckle, even if only to collect dust!

To be honest, if you don’t mind staying awake for over 24 hours and you walked the entire thing, you would most likely complete it within the cut-off time. I think the fact some people over exert themselves and push too hard for a particular time goal is the reason a lot of people DNF. Unfortunately, being someone who doesn’t like to leave a lot in the tank after an event (although something that I’m often guilty of) I am not going to practise what I preach, and I can foresee myself either finishing in under 17 hours, or being forced to drop out entirely, more likely than finishing in a safe walking pace of 24-28 hours total.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, and have 5 months to get training starting TODAY! Well as I look outside there is a foot of snow on the ground…and it’s minus 6 degrees…AND there are three games of American football on today…so today is not looking like a good training day. Perhaps I’ll have to wait until I’m back in Australia in six weeks. Until then I might watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy twice in a row to work out my pacing, and download pump up songs such as “Eye of the Tiger”…gotta start somewhere.

PUMPED!!!!!!

 

As long as my liver is still good for me to ruin that with post-race beers...sounds good to me!

 

Welcome to the jungle

 

Artsy fartsy

 

If I go missing on race day-I will be down here somewhere

 

 

Falling over like a boss

I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve fallen over multiple times while running. Yes it sounds ridiculous, but just like the chances of Lady Gaga’s next single sucking, it’s bound to happen. How many times do you see a baby take their first steps, only to collapse into a hilarious crumpling mess? How many times do you see a fat kid waddle over to the playground, only to trip in hysterical fashion, going head over turkey? Heaps!

The fact they are kids and I’m not doesn’t matter, the fact is, if you do something enough times, things are bound to happen to you. If you enter the lottery each week for your entire life, aside from the fact you’ve mindlessly wasted so much your hard earned cash, you have more chance to win it than the person who buys a ticket just once in their life. If you spend an hour a day staring at the ocean, you have more chance seeing a whale than the next person who just glances at it (let’s not get technical with whale migration seasons here). Hell, I’d go as far as saying that if Lady Gaga keeps releasing songs, eventually (key word being eventually) instead of being cheesy repetitive dribble, she might actually fluke one that is able to be listened to without wanting to stab yourself in the ears. In my case, the fact is, if you spend enough time running, you are bound to fall over here and there occasionally.

Off the top of my head I can count four occasions. The first, being the near death experience of being eaten by furious red ants near Yarrawarrah, which I posted about previously.

The third time, was during a freezing cold February day in Dublin, Ontario, when the ice on the road was thick and the snowy conditions that day made it worse. As I was running, I peered through the snow thick snow hitting me in the face and made out the headlights of an oncoming car approaching. I attempted to cross to the other side of the road, only to sprawl clumsily flat out on my stomach, belly sliding for a good distance before coming to a less than elegant halt in the slush. Making matters worse was the fact the oncoming car A) saw this embarrassment take place, B) didn’t stop or slow down to check on me and C) sprayed a heap more icy water in my direction as I lay there feeling cold, wet and sorry for myself. Did they think I was just making a snow angel in the middle of the road? Jerk. Was probably Lady Gaga driving that car.

The fourth time was just the other week, when I discovered some nice trails running through a conservation area not far from home. This new trail cut through a grassy area beside a cornfield. Finding it impossible to watch my every step as my feet hit the long green grass I looked up to get my bearings. My hit-and-hope method, was more hit than hope, and stepping into a nearly knee-deep Groundhog hole, I was quickly turned upside and rattled, on my stomach sprawled out. At least it wasn’t snowing this time.

The second time turned into more of a story. It was a Sunday in September 2011 leading up to the Sydney Marathon. It was a couple of weeks away and I knew I needed to get one more long run in at race pace, and then I could taper my mileage until the event. I planned to do a 32-34km out-and-back run down the Old Princes Hwy south of Sydney. Now the Princes Hwy is a major highway running down the coast from Sydney to Melbourne (and further onto Port Augusta, South Australia for the record), however the OLD Princes Hwy is just as it sounds. Old. It has lost most of its use, as the newer road is faster, straighter, and bypasses a lot of things the older version doesn’t. With a few exceptions, the only reason people would need to drive on it, is for a scenic drive, or if they are lost.

Anyway, enough of the highway history lesson. I was enjoying my run along the relatively quiet, narrow and winding Old Princes Hwy and keeping the pace I was aiming for. Things were going great guns. Until I was nearing the 16km turn around point when all of sudden a little bump in the gravel threw me off balance and I went hurtling forward towards the ground. I put my hands out in front of me and the sharp gravel pieces did their worst. Even throwing my hands out was not enough to save the harsh meeting between the ground and my face. Yep…I faceplanted.

I sat up, inspecting my palms and noticing the dark blood already pooling in them while the gravel-ranging in size from a grain of sand to a small sharp marble-littered my hands and forearms. I touched my cheek…bleeding too. “What a knob” I thought, quite correctly.

I sat there for a little longer, wondering how best to handle the situation. No phone, no transport. Guess I just have to suck it up and run the 16km home. As I dusted myself off and starting limping in the direction I had come from, the blood starting circulating a little faster and in turn, my hands started bleeding more. I tried to stop it by pressing my palms against my shirt, turning it from a nice white colour to deep red where my mitts where. It slowed the flow temporarily, and as I kept running, I kept my hands on my stomach, which made me look like a chuckling Santa clutching my belly. Well, a skinnier version of Santa, and without his costume on. And without reindeers (otherwise I’d just ride home on them). Come to think about it, I didn’t look much like Santa at all, but my hands were on my belly nonetheless. To be honest the last thing I felt like doing while my palms and face was throbbing was running another 16kms home after just doing that.

The normally low traffic on the road was even lower being a Sunday, with cars driving past at a rate of about 1 per 5-10 minutes. When I finally heard a car coming from behind me I wondered if this was my ticket out of this horrid run. Continuing to jog slowly, I stuck my thumb out as a hitch hiker would, put on a hopeful smile and twisted my head a little, to see if the car was interested in picking me up.

The wind in my hair from the car as it passed me suggested otherwise. A few minutes later I heard another car and tried the same method to no avail. Same with the third attempt.

I thought about this failing strategy, and realised how stupid it was. Of course they don’t want to pick a runner up-they’ll be thinking “just keep going you lazy slob, you are meant to be running, man up you baby-you’re not going to get any fitter if I pick you up”.

Hmmm. I had to change plans. I know! When I hear a car, I’ll stop running, turn around, and look like an actual hitchhiker-that should work! So that’s what I did. First attempt-unsuccessful. Second attempt-unsuccessful. What the hell? It was at this point I had a good hard look at myself (both physically and proverbially) and realised the copious amount of blood on my shirt, arms, hands and I presumed, my face. I looked like I had just murdered a kangaroo and eaten it’s flesh and drank it’s blood. If drivers were unsure about picking up a hitchhiking runner, they sure as hell weren’t going to pick up one covered in blood.

I put my head back down, and continued running home, knowing the only way I was getting there was on my own two feet. Until, finally, luck was on my side in the most remarkable way. Up ahead of me I noticed a car, but not any old car-it was my Dad’s car.

My luck was finally about to change. I’ll get Dad to drop me home-sweet! As the big fella drove towards me, I waved my hands in the air, flagging him down. And then, my confidence turned to heartbreak…he gave me a wave as if to say “G’day mate” and kept going on his way. I turned and watched as his car disappeared south into the distance.

“Are you serious?” I thought to myself. Apparently so.

The good news was that my luck was about to change, just a little later than I expected. And that came in the form of the field my Dad was driving towards happened to be closed. Which meant that within ten minutes Dad was heading back toward my direction, and this time he actually stopped.

“What happened to you?!” he said, as he noticed the blood all over my clothes, arms and face.

My reply was about as extended as I could make it considering I was so over the past two hour run “Stacked it. Tried to get you to stop before, cheers for that.”

“Oh I thought you were just waving, I didn’t see the blood”.

I didn’t really mind about too much else at that point, I was just happy to be in a vehicle heading home as my hands were still throbbing in pain, and I was keen to start digging the gravel out of them. We drove up the road and I was home 10 minutes later. Ironically, all of this happened on Father’s Day.

So there you have the four times I’ve hit the deck while running. And considering I’m not planning on stopping running anytime soon, I’m sure I’ll have more to come. In fact, I can almost guarantee the next one will be before Lady Gaga finally releases a decent song.

 

The aftermath of the faceplant...and I wondered why no one would pick me up!

 

I know how ya feel buddy

 

Steven Bradbury and his Olympic Gold medal thinks people falling over is awesome

 

 

Feeling like a fish of water

Last weekend I watched a sweet two hour highlights package of this year’s Ironman World Championships, which are held on Hawaii’s big island each year.

Unless you are lucky enough to be Robert Downey Junior, to be deemed an “Ironman”, you must complete an Ironman distance triathlon, consisting of a 3.8km swim, 160km ride and 42.2km run in that order, in the 17 hour cut off time. Watching these elite triathletes swim, bike and run around Kona all day once again made me realise how much I want to achieve this feat before I die, and got me pumped.

With that being said, I’m very easily influenced though. I also saw an ad for the McRib being back for a limited time, and within 48 hours I found myself ordering one from the drive thru (that's no joke!), despite not having McDonalds for well over half a year. Ok so that was a flash in the pan, and I could have done without the McRib, but the Ironman thing is a goal I’ve always kept at the back of my mind, never really acting on it (I’ve been told it’s a little harder than eating a McRib though). I’m not exactly planning on acting on it anytime soon, but it got me thinking about just how little experience I have swimming (and cycling to a lesser extent) and maybe I should vary my training a little bit. I mean, if you were to throw me on the starting line of an Ironman triathlon, first of all, I’d thank you kindly for paying my ~$800 entry fee, but I’d also start thinking of what I’d be capable of...

42.2km run…My strongest suit-I’ve run plenty of these, both in training and in actual races, and although my legs would be totally wrecked after hours of swimming and biking, I’d be confident I could do this.

180km ride…like Oprah with salads, I’m not massive on cycling, and only put in a few token rides a year. The longest ride I’ve done is around the 100km mark, which isn’t very impressive at all (well maybe to Oprah, speaking of her), but no matter how long it took, I’m confident I could get through 180km of cycling.

3.8km swim…nope. If I was standing at the side of a lake or an ocean and you told me to swim 3.8kms, I would politely tell you where to go. I’m just not sure I would be able to sustain a continuous swim over that distance, and if I could, I'd be close to that 17 hour mark on the swim alone!

Sure I can swim-I’m a competent swimmer and love a good dip in the pool or to go for a surf. But endurance swimming is not my thing. Hell the last time I swam in the lanes properly more than two years ago (probably the last time I had a real “I want to be a triathlete” urge), I could barely string together 100 metres without needing a breather.

So, after pushing out a 26km and a 28km run within four days of each other this week, this morning I thought I’d ease up on the running for a couple of extra days and take a turn in 25 metre lap pool at the local YMCA.

Just like a few years ago, I didn’t string more than 100 metres together without pausing for bit, and ironically felt like a fish out of water for the whole time. In between rubbing my stinging, goggle-less chlorine-filled eyes and getting chatted up by a male lifesaver mid-swim, I managed to stay in the pool and get through 30 laps, or 750 metres total. Nothing impressive (and even less impressive considering how long it took). Not exactly an Ironman effort (ok, far far far from an Ironman effort), but you gotta start somewhere right? And considering there are plenty of shorter distance triathlons waiting to be struggled through, I think it’s time to promote the triathlon thoughts from the back of my mind to a little further forward, and at the very least, set my sights on a sprint  distance or Olympic distance triathlon next year.

 

I'm guessing this is about how adorable experienced I looked while in the pool this morning

Of highways and wearing pants

Running on the shoulder of a busy highway is kind of like wearing pants.

Sometimes you are obliged to do it, even though the alternative seems so much better. I try to avoid both at any cost if possible. Instead of having “no pants Fridays” like a lot of workplaces do these days (or was that casual Fridays? I can’t remember, I only lasted til Friday at my last job for some reason) I have been unsuccessfully trying to incorporate no pants month into my apartment. Not only because my girlfriend is a smoke show, but because then it’d be like Friday every single day of the month!

This morning I nearly had to bite the bullet and just do it (run on the highway that is, I haven’t worn pants since I got home). Last night I decided I would make todays run from Goderich to Clinton, and snagged a lift as Michelle drove to work this morning. Along the highway, the two towns are about 19kms away. That’s a decent run in itself, but choosing the direct route I was not only afraid of getting hit by a truck full of pigs or cement or something I was also afraid of falling asleep due to monotony (which is not a good thing to do in zero degree temperatures on the side of a boring highway).

I’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with highways, ever since spending days and days on the never-ending Hume Highway (the dirty dirty Hume if you will). Sometimes there’s great views, or a reason to run along a highway from time to time for sure, but with a countless line of cars whizzing by your ear as you try and have a nice run is a buzzkill, and I try to avoid them at all costs. I’d rather be out in the bush, or along the beach, or rural roads, with as little distraction as possible-running is meant to be fun after all. I’m a fan of the saying “it’s my way or the highway”, not because I’m some stubborn bad-ass or anything (well I’m that too), just because highways suck!

I found an alternative, if only I was willing to up my run distance from 19km to 28km. Deal! Instead of following the direct and busy highway heading southeast the whole time, I could stay on the back roads. In these rural farmland parts of south western Ontario, the vast majority of roads are in a grid, either heading north-south, or east-west (more or less). The roads intersect each other at exactly every 1.25 miles. When referring to where someone lives, let’s say, Billy, it’s normal for you to hear “Billy’s house is on the next mile-and-a-quarter”. Or “go for two mile-and-a-quarters and turn left and you’ll get to Billys”. Normal that is, unless Billy doesn’t actually live there…then you’ve been led on a wild goose chase and your friends are jerks for giving you false information. It works out nicely doing the maths, because 1.25 miles is bang on 2kms, so doing a loop of a country block will net you an 8km run. Going an extra mile-and-a-quarter up before looping, will be a 12km run. Nice for maths, but not nice for mental stimulation.

Anyway, the main highway from Goderich to Clinton is one of those few roads that buck the trend and slices its own unique diagonal path right through the boring grid of rural roads. This meant that if I was to avoid the highway, yet travel in its south-easterly direction, my path would be south for 1.25 miles, then east for 1.25 miles, then south for 1.25 miles, then east for 1.25 miles, etc etc. all the way home, which in itself is a little bit boring…but at least I was less likely to end up as roadkill, and if I was it would be from a tractor or Combine, rather than a truck, which would be a cooler engraving on my epitaph.

While in the freezing cold at 8am this morning, I might have temporarily thought differently, but now, sitting in the comfort of my pantless home, it was definitely worth adding 9km to my morning run.

 

 

My run this morning, showing the lengths I'll go to avoid the highway

Not sure what the 1% of highways I like is yet, but I'm a benefit-of-the-doubt kinda guy

 

Directions I wrote out for the run in case I got lost...probably could have done without them and just got clued on to the pattern

The grid-like roads of Huron County. What does this mean for runners? BOOORRRRIINNNGG!!!

 

Back home to pantsless Tuesday!!!

 

Alpacas rollerskating through "real winter"

I’ve never DNFed in a race. DNF stands for Did Not Finish (not Dinosaur Nose Flipped, which would be sweet. For the record, I’ve never Dinosaur Nose Flipped in race either). The fact that I haven’t done too many races, I’m not overly injury-prone and they haven’t been super long anyway (longest ones have been marathons) probably have something to do with that.

Yesterday morning I nearly DNFed a training run. In fact I nearly DNSed it (Did Not Start-I’m not sure that’s an official acronym but I’ll go with that anyway).

I made myself get up early to drive Michelle to work which is 20 minutes away in Goderich. There are some nice trails around there-many which I haven’t explored-and thought I’d make use of them before the “real winter” begins. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard a Canadian say something along the lines of “ah this December snow is nothing eh, wait until February eh, that’s when it’s actually winter eh”.  I’d have at least two dollars. Ok, it’s not that much, BUT if you take out the exaggerated amount of “ehs” in the sentence, I’d be filthy rich. Call me crazy, but when it’s below zero, the leaves have long since fallen from the trees and there is snow covering houses, fields, and everything else…that IS winter.

So there I was, driving through Goderich to get to a nice trail north of town. When I pulled up at the ice-covered entrance, the gates were officially closed for the season, but I could still run the trails if I wished. Still dressed in my non-running clothes, I stepped out of the car to inspect the trail. Actually “stepped” isn’t the appropriate word, “glided” probably would be. And not in the Blades of Glory ice skating graceful meaning, but in an awkward, new-born-alpaca-trying-to-take-it’s-first-steps-with-rollerskates-attached-to-its-feet clumsy kind of way. Unfortunately the trail was much the same, and I decided that since it wasn’t forecast to snow for the next week or so I’d come back to this one in a few days, hoping some of the ice and snow had melted by then.

I knew I had to run, but also knew there were going to be worse winter days than this or “real winter” as I’d learned to call it, when I’d really have to resort to the dreaded treadmill, but I couldn’t bring myself to that today when there was still blue sky around. I drove to a different trail in town, a shorter one by the river that is more of a groomed walking path rather than single-track trail through the woods, in the hope that it wasn’t so icy. No luck-it was just as bad, as I found out when I exited the car in the same clumsy rollerskating alpaca fashion as the first time.

After a few minutes sitting in the car thinking about all the pros and cons of actually running, I turned on the ignition and headed home. I think every runner/cyclist/swimmer etc has those days when they could think of every possible excuse not to get on the trail/bike/pool and has talked themselves out of it. Two sayings that always come back to me in these times are “you never regret the run you do, but you regret the one’s you don’t do” and “ ‘I regret that run’-said no-one ever”. I think they are absolutely true. Unless of course you break an ankle while out for a run, or get run over by an ice-cream truck, or attacked by a grizzly bear, or...

Ok so there are some regrettable scenarios, but for 99.99% of runs, no matter how cold, no matter how tired you are, or how much you’re hurting at that particular point in time, you are going to look back on that run and be glad/proud/relieved you did it. I never look back on training weeks and think “gee I really regret going for that run I was dreading”, but I sometimes find myself looking over shorter training weeks thinking “why didn’t I just man up and go for a damn run? Now that short week looks weak!” And then I would probably think about how many words in the English language have the same sound but different spelling (like read and read-so stupid). But I digress…

It was this mindframe that finally got me to pull the car over about 10km from home in a relatively ice-free car park off the highway, change into my layers of running gear and get out of the car. It was cold, it was still kind of icy and it wasn’t immediately “fun”, but I was running. By the time I reached the highway (which is terrible for running on in winter conditions) I turned around and headed back toward the car, making it a super short 4km run and made it back to my starting point  less than 20 minutes later. I had literally spent nearly three times as long driving around, thinking about it, googling pictures of alpacas with rollerskates and getting changed than I did actually running, but in the end, I went for a run, and immediately once I stepped back into the car I was glad I did. Sure I could have done repeats of that 4km stretch to make it a longer run, but I was claiming just getting out and getting moving as a victory. I didn’t DNS-which is the main thing. Looking at it now, it was a measly little run, hardly worth the drive, it was cold, and it wasn’t exactly overly fun, but I know I’ll look back on this training week and think about just how ball-bustingly cold it was and how glad I am that I got out there and did 4km on that Thursday, rather than 0km. In fact, that’s what I think now, at 24 hours later. Do I regret being a big baby about the weather or complaining about the less than ideal (but still very runnable) conditions? Kind of, but not really! But that’s beside the point. Do I regret going for that run? Not at all.

The trail I turned my back on...ice + melting snow + cold = ideal conditions for making a tit out of myself

Among all the pointless crap on the internet, unfortunately a hilarious picture of an alpaca on rollerskates is not one of them. Fortunately, I got my alpaca fix with an even more hilarious photo of an alpaca riding a surfboard. Hahaha AN ALPACA RIDING A SURFBOARD!! Golden.

There was a picture of an elephant on rollerskates (which is pretty neat), but he actually looks way more in control and steady than I was hopping out of the car onto ice.

 

Found a nice stretch of quiet road with no snow/ice/slush to run on. :)

 

 

 

Winter = Running like a mouse

Yesterday was the first snow of the season here in Clinton, Ontario. And Mother Nature decided not to ease us into this by just dropping a few little snowflakes on the ground, but rather to bring the house and dump an ungodly amount on day 1.

Being an Australian who rarely sees the stuff, it’s still kind of a novelty. Now instead of the usual distractions available to me (TV, internet, food) while I’m meant to be studying, there was a new one on the list-staring out the window. It’s like I’m a kid in the 1930’s-I find myself just staring out the window, watching the white stuff fall from the sky and accumulate on the ground. I don’t know what that has to do with a kid in the 1930’s…probably nothing…but regardless, I am sure kids have been doing it for centuries (well at least as far back as we invented windows to stare out of).

The worst part about all of this was that I’d scheduled a run in for yesterday. The fact Canadian winters are 5000% colder than Australian winters, I decided that slipping around on freshly fallen snow and freezing my tits off for an hour was pretty undesirable. More undesirable than a boring treadmill run at the gym? Yep. That’s what it had come to…for once, I was itching to run on a treadmill.

Treadmill running to me is still running, but something’s not right. It’s like a Diet Coke version of running. There are no trails to discover, no trees to run under, no poop to step in, no anything. It’s the same thing over and over and over again. Ok so maybe no poop to step in is a good thing, but I’d rather run that risk running over various poop-covered terrain than running in a tedious poop-free indoor environment.

I slipped, slided and nearly crashed the car in the snow drove myself to the gym and instead of finding myself feeling slightly out of place in the weights area with the boys, I found myself still feeling slightly out of place going there solely for the treadmill with the girls.

As I started pounding the pavement (rubber?) I stared directly in front of me. Not at an ever changing environment with trees, or fields, or animals, but at the same thing. Out the window that separates the gym from the hockey rink at the YMCA. Every few minutes another parent would drop their kid off to hockey training and look through the window to see a sexy sweaty man (me) boring myself slowly to death on this treadmill. I can only imagine the looks I was getting, were the same looks mice get as one wanders the pet store and sees them running fruitlessly on their little mouse wheel. The difference was no one was making fun of my tail I had access to many other avenues of enjoyment (TV, internet) whereas the mice in the pet store, the mouse wheel is the top of the entertainment food chain. I guess I was starting to feel better about myself after all.

Anyway after what I guessed was 10kms on the treadmill (it was measured in miles, so my calculation of 6.2 miles was bang on-thank you nerdy genes!) I stepped away and left the gym. On my way out I said to the girl at the desk “well I guess I’ll see you next time it snows”. Her reply was disheartening…”We’ll see you tomorrow then”. Mother Nature 1, Nick 0.

 

I should probably get talking to the gym manager about perhaps changing this one to a regular treadmill

 

Or you are a turtle without a watch

 

 

Perhaps the most awesome use of treadmills ever. Note: You get strange looks when you attempt to recreate this at the gym by yourself.

 

Chicken v Egg

Got a kick out of this picture on a Monday morning...

Marathon Bucket List

While watching some coverage of the New York City Marathon this past Sunday, I got thinking about a few things:

-Firstly, the fact that I was taking two hours out of my regular Sunday routine of watching nine straight hours of American football to watch a running event instead (with just seven hours of football watched) somehow made my sedentary Sunday feel much healthier and fitter from the comfort of my couch.

-Secondly, Africans dudes run fast.

-Thirdly, I got thinking about the marathons I’d most want to run if given the chance.

So thought I’d jot it down…this is a list of marathon distance (42.195kms) races only. There are plenty of Ultramarathons that I’d love to do (or planning to do), but that’s a different thing altogether.

1.Boston Marathon.

Visiting Boston for my second time in March this year, I had more of a chance just to “hang out” and enjoy this awesome city rather than sightsee. One of the coolest ways I took it all in was by going for a run, and of course, made sure that I traced some of the iconic course, even crossing the thick painted finish line on Boylston St and passing the Public Library towards the usual finishing area of Copley Square trying to imagine what it would feel like to complete it. Little did I know that exactly one month to the day after that very morning at exact spot I was running past, the already media heavy Boston Marathon would become worldwide news with the tragic bombings from those coward brothers. A lot of Americans will want to do this race for patriotic reasons now, but for me, nothing’s changed-I’d still just like to do it as it’s the most prestigious one in the sport. That’s if I ever committed myself to being able to run a qualifying marathon time (3:05:00 which is waaaaaaay out of my fitness level at this stage and more than I’m capable of right now).

2. New York City Marathon,

Another prestigious one on everyone’s list. It’d be neat to run along the traffic free streets through all five boroughs of New York City, which are usually packed every other day of the year. And no one would yell “Hey I’m walkin here!” in a grubby New York accent as you ran by.

3.  Midnight Sun Marathon, Tromsø, Norway.

This one has been on my list since I learned about it a couple of years ago. In one of the most northern towns of Norway, Tromsø, is north of the artic circle, meaning the town has days in summer with a continuous 24 hours of sunlight. You start running the race at midnight, and why not since it’s always light? And presumably all competitors are attractive Swedish girls. Sounds awesome! The only reason I could think of not to put this on the list was the fact I couldn’t work out how to type the letter “ø” for the word Tromsø in Micrøsøft Wørd. But nøw I knøw hø tø dø that, I’m gøing to use it a løt!

4. Everest Marathon, Nepal

The word’s highest marathon, with the start line over 5000 metres elevation and going mostly downhill from there. To acclimatise the runners have to take a 26 day holiday in Nepal (aw poor diddums), including a 15 trek to the start line near Everest Base Camp…right up my alley and more bang for ya buck with this entry fee!

 

5. Great Wall Marathon, China

Another two in one deal-as the Great Wall of China would be interesting to see. But with 5,164 big stone steps to overcome along the course, a PB would be out the window.

6. Athens Classic Marathon, Greece

Zipping around Greece where the history of the marathon all began would be sweet. If only they gave you bonus points for wearing a toga, I’d be all over that. Then finish the race with a kebab….mmmm…kebab

 

7.  Berlin Marathon, Germany

Apart from the fact Berlin is a pretty sweet place, this flat course is regarded as the fastest marathon course in the world, and most of the world records have been broken here over the past few years. Which sounds to me like it’s more than reasonable to think I could shave a good hour and a half off my PB and be a contender!

 

8. Australian Outback Marathon, Yulata, NT

Running round in the red dirt with Uluru as the backdrop. With a good chance of seeing some cool outback stuff or at least Ernie Dingo doing a Northern Territory Tourism promo shoot. Sounds good to me!

9. Capetown Marathon, South Africa

Not a particularly well renowned marathon or anything but after spending three weeks in this freaking awesome city in 2010 I’d just want to get back there and explore it by foot

10. Gold Coast Marathon, QLD

Out of all races on this list, let’s be honest, if any of them are going to happen for me, odds are it will be this one. A fast, flat course from what everyone says, and the Gold Coast would be a sweet place to celebrate afterwards.

 

 

The time when I ran across an entire country

Yep it might sound like a big claim, but it is true…I actually did this. “Champion effort!” you might think… “What a hero!” one might cry… “You are extremely handsome and good looking!” another might add. Well, they are all very true and very nice things to say, but I might explain myself before we start declaring it something it is not. In fact, I’ll start with a short list of what it wasn’t so we don’t get ahead of ourselves…it wasn’t any of the big ones:

Russia (upwards of 12,000kms
Canada (over 6,000kms)
Australia (4,000kms)

To be honest, it wasn’t your average sized country:

Colombia (1,900kms)
Spain (1,300kms)
France (1,100kms)

It wasn’t even what you’d call a small one:

Belgium (350kms)
Fiji (200kms)
Luxembourg (80kms)

In fact, out of a list of the 249 countries and dependencies on the planet, the vast, wide, never ending land I was about to cross, comes in at number 248 on the list…

MONACO! A whopping 4kms from end to end

And for all of those people who think I set the bar low, I did not stoop the level of doing the very last one on the list right? That would be the miniscule Vatican City. Although a mere two weeks after visiting Monaco I would in fact jog around the circumference of that one for good measure, but that’s not the point.

While backpacking across Europe in 2012, I was camped out in Nice, in the south of France for a few days. As timing would have it, I arrived the week when both the Cannes Film Festival and the prestigious F1 Monaco Grand Prix were on nearby. After exploring Cannes for celebrities with minor success on the Wednesday, (if seeing Cuba Gooding Jr hop into his fully-sick-bro-souped-up-fancy-car and rip around the streets like he’s the best thing since sliced bread counts) I knew I had to check out Monaco. And considering all of Nice, Monaco and surrounding areas were completely booked out over the weekend due to the race on Sunday, I decided I’d try and buy scalped tickets to the practice session on the Thursday. Upon entering Monaco by bus, I set off for the race area and secured my tickets for later that afternoon from a large German man named Torstein who was selling all sorts of things as discreetly as a large German man can. I handed over my 40 Euros and goal one was accomplished. Goal two was a little different to what most people had probably planned for themselves in Monaco that week. I’d packed my running gear for the day, and done a after a little Google Maps researching, knew how to get to the most western border of Monaco. It was roughly 1 kilometre away, so I started to trot it out (a warm up if you will). Once I found the sign notifying me I’d reached France, I turned around and took my first steps back into Monaco and didn’t look back (except when I was crossing the road-I’m all up on my road safety skills).

Now from my Map Researching skills (which are nearly as tight as my road safety skills-I’m a real catch) I thought I could more or less follow the main road, and my measly 4km journey would be leisurely jogged while taking in the sights and completed in about 20 minutes or so. During any other week it probably could have been. The fact that a large majority of roads were closed due to the Grand Prix been on, there were more barricades, road blocks, scaffolding, security officials and crowds than you could poke a stick at. And as a general rule, I don’t poke sticks at security guards, so that wouldn’t have helped me anyway. So detour after detour I would be diverted off the road, and down one hundred odd steep winding steps, dodging crowds, then once on the lower road a little further along I’d be diverted back UP some more steps (back up to the road I was originally on). For anyone that’s been to Monaco, they’ll agree it’s got a lot of elevation for a small chunk of land-and I was feeling it firsthand.

I even got to one point where an official instructed me in broken English, that I could either turn around, or go into the train station. Like a boss, into the train station I went, looked for Exit/Sortie signs, and found that I’d need to catch the lift several floors up to get back up on the escarpment. The feeling that I was “out on a run” was quickly dissipating, considering I was sharing a lift with eight other people while elevator music is playing over the PA for a couple of minutes…it certainly wasn’t your typical “run”.

Darting out of the lift I continued along the main road, at this point away from the main hoopla but still close enough to hear the near-deafening sound of the lower tier race cars zoom around the Grand Prix track nearby over the sound of my Ipod headphones.

Half an hour later or so (I guess all the detours, lifts and crowds slowed me down) I found myself next to a sign similar to the one I had started out at, stating that I had officially reached France, and in turn, run from west to east across the entire length of Monaco.

I’ve read reports of people running across countries, continents and even world runs. The feeling of elation they get at the end must be one of an indescribable nature. That invincible, I-can-do-anything feeling that just makes all the hard work worth it. My feeling, on the other hand, was pretty describable…summed up it would be “I just feel like a hotdog and beer and want to watch the Grand Prix”. Pretty underwhelming. But then again, I’d only run a paltry 4kms in the same amount of time as you could watched an episode of the Simpsons and had barely worked up a sweat. Guess that’s what you get when you pick the second smallest country in the world to run across! To say it was a “challenge” would be a big stretch, considering all the other runs I’ve done, but being a Map-nerd, it was pretty fun and a strange little anomaly.

But that underwhelming sense stuck in my gut got a little shot of confidence when I realised I was stuck standing on the eastern border of Monaco, and considering most things-including the race track-were on the west side, I had to run back. I would run the entire length of a country twice in one day! Guinness world records here we come! So off I trotted back to where I began, checking out the sights of the massive cruise ships in the bay and some of the richest property in the world as I went. Interestingly, I didn’t pass the train station or the lift on the way back, and seemed to take an entirely different route, which was nice, but made me wonder how I could get lost in the second smallest country in the world. Shortly afterwards I arrived back at the race area, but decided to keep going the extra 1km or so to the western border to make it official…I’d just run across Monaco twice. 

Feeling better that my initial 4km run had turned into about a 10km run, I got changed out my running gear, headed to the race area in time to grab a beer and a baguette (it wasn’t the hot dog I longed for but was the best I could do in these parts) and see the start of the Monaco Grand Prix practice round, and was blown away at the sheer power, speed and sound of these mechanical beasts. Seeing Mark Webber taking the corners like the pro he is was infinitely better than seeing Cuba Gooding Jr’s pride and his terrible pimp mobile...just like Mark would kick Cuba’s arse in a race, I felt like I kicked Monaco’s arse that day too.

 

Gotta love a good map. Race area was near La Condamine

The start of the epic, epic 30 minute journey

 

Standard snap overlooking Monte Carlo

 

 

 

Me demonstrating the length of Monaco with my arm span. Double the length of my arms and you are close

 

 

A little further away from the crowds, looking over the Mediterranean

 

 

 

When I shouted "Go Webber!" he must have heard me...he would win the main race on Sunday three days later. Onya mate!

 

Just as impressive as the cars were, the boats opposite the track were too. Clearly only for disgustingly rich people-especially the one with it's own freakin helipad. 

 

 

 

The time I ended up naked on the side of the road while out for a run

I’m sorry for the visuals so early on. I know the side of the road isn’t always the most eye-catching or pleasant thing to visualise but, to share the story properly all details must be shared.

I’ll set the scene…picture a typical Sydney stinking hot and dry Sunday in mid-January with the temperatures well into the 30s. Most people would be happy going to the beach, or watching the cricket inside their air-conditioned house. Although I spent a lot of time at work, as it was BridgeClimb’s peak season, our Melbourne to Sydney Run concept was about two months old, and I was increasing training, month by month. In my days off between work and general summer shenanigans I managed over 250kms in training in January.

Perhaps one of more peculiar of those kilometres was about to take place on this day though.

I had planned a 30km run from Heathcote to Cronulla and back to Sutherland. I threw a $10 note in my pocket in case of emergency (emergency being code word for food, and food being code word for Maccas), put my earphones in my ears, grabbed a water bottle for the road and headed out.

All was going well, and after 7kms, getting past Engadine, instead of running on the shoulder of the Princes Hwy, I had the slightly nicer option of stepping up off the road and following a neat little dirt trail, flanked by gum trees on either side, but still only a few metres off the road, running parallel to it for about a kilometre. Any excuse to get an extra few metres gap between myself and from the cars zipping by at 90kph sounded like the safer choice, or so I thought…

With a new visual stimulus in the form of the gum trees, I didn’t happen to notice that a little further down this narrow track there would be a thick Orb Weaved spider’s web stretching from tree to tree right across the track, about five feet in the air. Needless to say, within seconds of crashing through the web, strands covering my face, neck and chest, I began flailing, grabbing at my face with my free hand trying my best to get the sticky web off me while continuing to run. Looking down to inspect my shirt, I noticed the spider on my chest, who seemed to be making its way up to my neck. The flailing quickly turned to swatting, which turned into pure panic and with my focus having to be split between staying upright on my ever-running feet or flicking this big spider as far as possible, I guess the fact that I absolutely wiped out and ended up lying on my back in the dirt (with the spider now nowhere to be seen) means that I chose the latter. That was the safer choice, or so I thought…

I’ve taken a tumble a few times during my running days. And as old clumsy Grandpa style as that sentence sounds, I guess the more you run, the more chance you have of falling, and although I’ll generally be up on my feet within a matter of 10 seconds or so, you’re a bit rattled, you want to dust yourself off and check that everything is alright before getting up. That was the safer choice, or so I thought…

As I lay there, within about two seconds my body told my brain that the ground beneath me wasn’t flat, and that I was lying on a distinct and rather large mound. Within about five seconds, my body told my brain that my skin was tingling. Within about 8 seconds, as I lifted my neck and checked myself out, my eyes told my brain “ummm…body is a freaking moron, we’re lying on an ant hill and that tingling sensation is us being covered in hundreds of red ants!!!!”

“SSSSSS**********@@@@@@@TTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!”

As I freaked out and jumped quickly to my feet, the ants freaked out and just starting biting at whatever this fleshy thing was they were now aboard (I can’t actually confirm if the ants were in fact “freaking out” as their facial expressions are so tiny and I couldn’t tell, and I had other important things to worry about…maybe they were just having a bad day or were hungry? I haven’t consulted National Geographic on this but I’m guessing them freaking out is the most logical explanation).

The pain from each bite was INTENSE! And the worst part was they were biting me EVERYWHERE! It was unlike any other hurt I’ve experienced before. REM thought they had it right when they sung “Everybody Hurts”. No. That’s not true. It should have been called “You haven’t felt hurt until you have hundreds of red ants covering your body biting the crap out of you”. A catchier title, and more scientifically accurate.

I didn’t know whether to run, to stand still or to jump up and down like a maniac. And to be honest, with my brain going at 100mph I wouldn’t be able to recall just which one I did. Although looking back at the comical GPS data (below) you can be the judge yourself.

In any case, simply flicking the ants wasn’t working-they wouldn’t budge-their vice-like pincers were so big and had such a good grip flicking them just seemed to enrage them more. I had to literally squeeze them one by one to eradicate each one. Seeing that I was losing this battle, I decided the best way to get rid of a good number of these six legged demons was to whip my shirt off. Without hesitation I threw it as far as I could. I continued bouncing around in pain, battling away, just a few metres from the road, now shirtless. Before too long I had most of my arms and upper body cleared. The battle was swinging in my favour until all of a sudden and with the worst bite of all, the immediate thought in my brain was “HOLY HELL THAT ONE BIT MY NUT!”

The profanities yelled that day were countless, but at this stage, none of that really mattered. All that really mattered was that my privates were becoming a red ant buffet and that is what I would happily classify as “not cool”. Just as my shirt had been whipped away, off came my running shorts. The fact that the shorts have built-in underwear meant that I was now completely butt naked (minus the running shoes) jumping up and down, trying to kill each of these little critters. As cars whizzed by, I’m sure that the majority of them kept their eyes on the road and had a normal, pleasant day without seeing any strangers in the nude in their peripheral vision by the gum tress. Unfortunately I know for a fact that at least two people didn’t have their eyes on the road when a series of gleeful honks came my way as they passed my sorry naked butt.

After five minutes of pure mayhem, once I had rid myself of every single last one of those damn red ants, I had to wander over to my shorts, and decided before putting them back on to inspect each and every square inch of the fabric, so I didn’t get any nasty surprises when I put them back on. I’m not sure which would have been stranger sight to a passing car- seeing a naked man jumping up and down as if he is doing a tribal dance, or seeing a naked man lifting and inspecting running shorts so closely like he was some Neanderthal who had never seen clothes before.

After inspecting my shirt, and pulling countless ants from it, I put that back on safely, and then had to find my Ipod which had been flicked away in the trauma, and my water bottle which was a good ten metres down the track. My emergency ten dollars was nowhere to found and I deemed it a causality. The next person to find that 10 bucks will have no idea how it escaped my possession, and I doubt they will want to.

I continued the run, stepping down off the track and back onto the road. Cars flying by me at 90 kph seemed like a better alternative to what had just happened. That was the safer choice, and this time I knew it.

That night was spent Googling remedies for ant bite pain, as my lower back in particular was peppered in bites and when turning up for work the following day, I had to be put on “light duties” for two days because I couldn’t wear my climb belt! I guess the ants and spider combo won this round!

I guess the moral to the story is “don’t jump to conclusions about naked men jumping up and down like a constipated gorilla on the side of the road”. A good life motto for anyone, and would be even catchier as an REM song title.

 

The GPS data showing me "freaking out" rather than running in a straight line. Bloody ants

 

Pretty evident to tell where I fell victim to the oldest trick in the book-the ol' "spider web/ant mound" one-two punch.

 

 

Orb Weavers-not so bad when they are on you. Definitely bad when they are on you

 If still saying no to animal cruelty when one of these are biting you in the nads, you need to give your head a shake