BEHIND-THE-SCENES OF THE ADELAIDE 6/12/24

Contributed by Dawn Parks, Race Director/AURA Member

ADELAIDE 6/12/24 HOUR FESTIVAL, ADELAIDE (SA), 2-3 July 2022

Doubt.

If there was one thing I was feeling in the days and months since the announcement that I was going to take over the Adelaide 24 Hour Festival, it was doubt. 

I don’t lack confidence. The opposite, in fact. I can’t tell you how many things I’ve been confident I’d achieve in life – confident that I’d achieve it due to sheer stubborn will. I graduated from one of the top universities of my country while working an average of overtime every week. I made a life for myself in five separate countries – few of which spoke English – before deciding to immigrate to Australia with absolutely no connections to the country. I’d completed a 100km that I upgraded to on the day having never run more than 50km before in my life (and only once). Confidence and sheer had gotten me through five 100kms and two 24 hour events – especially, two 24 hour events at the Adelaide 24 Hour Festival.

Lacking confidence wasn’t something I was used to. But that was as a runner. This was as an organiser.

Oh, I knew how to organise. I had been event hosting for nearly four years on courses that ranged from 1km to 60km. I knew all the tedious behind-the-scenes aspects that most runners wouldn’t even consider. Not just the permit applications, portaloos, medals, bibs and timing, but the snacks, toilet paper, soap, heating/cooling, vollie schedule, and so on. Sure, a 24 Hour Festival which would technically last 28 hours, as the 24 hour runners start 4 hours after the 6/12 hour runners – entailed a bit more than a 60km run, but not a huge amount more.  It wasn’t the planning I was concerned about. I knew I could handle that part. It was convincing others I could handle it. How was I ever going to convince people I could handle the challenge of taking on this momentous event?

It would help a bit that I’ve run in it before, I rationalised. And that I’ve hosted events, including a 6/12 hour. But, how many people would think that I can carry on Ben Hockings’s legacy – and how could I convince them?

The first snag hit before I even publicly took the reins. I was keeping the changeover quiet until the right moment hit, but I had attempted to reserve the right date.

Let me back up and explain. I live in South Australia. The race directors in South Australia are quite cooperative with each other. Around June of the year prior, we share our proposed schedules with each other to avoid conflicts. We generally take a simple rule – first come, first serve. If someone claims a particular date, the rest of us try to work around it. We have so many events on that we can’t reserve a whole weekend for a one-day event, but we respect the claimed dates whenever possible and even try to avoid putting similar events near each other.

Since I ‘claimed’ the event date, I thought it would be safe. I listed it as ‘Unnamed Event’ on the race director schedule, but it was there – for the Sunday on the weekend the event traditionally took place.

Sunday. Not Saturday.

So, it shouldn’t have surprised me when another race director announced a new event on the Saturday I had slated (but not claimed) for the event. An ultra. Drawing from the same crowd. I can’t blame that race director. The failure was mine – I didn’t state I needed the whole weekend nor did I express it was an ultra. Since I inferred permits and logistics had already been worked out for the other event, I moved my date. There was a lot of consideration as to a good new date (or, at least, ‘least bad’ new date), but I ultimately kept it simple – move it up 1 week. The only thing it’d go against then was the Gold Coast marathon.

And, it turned out, the Australian 24 Hour Invitational. Oops.

Snag #2 was hit months later, when it looked like we were barely going to have any volunteers. Myself and my standard assistant race director could handle the length of the event on our own…but how could we bring an event atmosphere with only two people?
Snag #3 was hit closer to the event, when it became obvious it would be one of the lesser-attended Adelaide 24 Hour Festivals in recent years. The event would only have a total of 40, with 11 in the full 24 hour. That’d be great for podiums, but what about event atmosphere?

The solution: Motivational signs along the track. Music. Food. And beg up some vollies! Closer to the date, we had 3 people (myself included) rostered on for the full 28 hours, and several more on shorter shifts.

Snag #4: Food. Oh, we had food planned. Plenty of it. As one of the most ‘eat-y’ runners you will ever find, I ensure all of my events are well-stocked. I basically stock as if 20 new runners will sign up on the day and that all runners had an appetite equal to the Cookie Monster on adrenaline.

But, the problem with food is it goes bad. You can’t start cooking 1-2 weeks before and then just pull everything out on the day. No, you have to cook the day before. The day that’s usually scheduled for errands and handling last minute problems.

Snag #5: A last minute problem. The electricity went out in my apartment the night before the race. They called it a scheduled blackout and we were told about it weeks ago. Unfortunately, my schedule included things like ‘print and laminate all signs, certificates, and lists’ and ‘use the wifi to send multiple messages.’ These had to be rescheduled for the next day. Which was also the day I had to pick up bibs, set up bunting around the course, put out motivational signs, pack the van and cook/bake.

The cooking happened in the morning. Twenty-five litres of vegetable soup – to be added to the 25 litres of other-vegetable soup and 15 litres of chili soup. And the 15 litres of mac & cheese. And the three bags of pasta ‘just in case’. A variety of tea and coffee was chosen and packed – everything from ‘skinny cappuccino’ flavoured sachets to full-bodied coffee bags. They were put in the same bag as the bread, cheese, peanut butter, Nutella, vegemite, knives and cutting board.

The cooking ended at 3. It was time to pick up the bibs and prep the course – bunt off the corners to make the course the precise distance; rope off the areas for the aid station, timing equipment, first aid, and toilets; and put up the motivational signs. Followed by another grocery store visit.

The baking started at 8pm. A triple batch of brownies. A triple batch of banana bread. A triple batch of red velvet. A double batch of chocolate chip cookies. A single batch of burnt carrot cake. At midnight, I was texting my assistant race director to check a few things. He was still responding. I started packing the car with the new food items. At 2am, I nearly finished packing the van. My assistant race director was still responding.

We were scheduled to get there at 3am and then stay for 30 hours, plus pack down. Unpacked the vehicles, set up, prepped. Put a cot in the corner, next to the heater, for any struggling runner or volunteer. Greeted the vollies. Set up lights, the heater, the makeshift stoves. Organised supplies into sections. Had everything ready for the first runners. Gave the briefing at 5:45 on the dot, right on schedule. Had Ben Hockings, the previous director, come by to give a few words. Presented him with a shirt. Let the runners off. Started putting food and drinks out. Put up informational signs in the marque. Turned the runners around, blasting ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ for 15 minutes so everyone could hear the line ‘turn around, bright eyes.’ Switched the display monitor from one side of the timing mat to the other. Noted we were now three hours into the race, one hour until the 24 Hour began. Chatted to the vollies. Made sure they all knew the depths of my heartfelt thanks. Grabbed the race briefing. Gave the 24 Hour runners their briefing. Let them off. Saw to it that the sandwiches started being made. Handed over the laminated signs so runners could easily identify the types of sandwiches. Marvelled at how I was still awake, over 30 hours since I last slept. Tried ordering the assistant race director to nap. Failed. Smiled every time I heard a vollie ask a passing runner what they needed or cheered them on. Watched the runners. They all seemed well. Took out the numbered bags, to be handed out on the final lap. Handed them out. Nearly six hours down. Answered a question about if a 12 hour runner could downgrade to six hours. Encouraged a runner to keep at it, she should be able to make a marathon distance, just keep going. Was grateful to see a volunteer was already at the turnaround, ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ about to blare. Grabbed the air horn, counted down the time. Pressed a button to emit a sound loud enough to wake Dracula. Did Dracula even sleep? Hm. Loud enough to wake some mythical sleeping creature.

Six hours finished. Thanked the AIMs measurer for coming by just to measure the drop bags. Continued to cheer on the 12/24 hour runners. Switched the display monitor to the other side. Watched as sandwiches continued to get refilled. Received a chocolate bar from one of the runners, as a present of gratitude for continuing the event as there were fears it would die when Ben Hockings retired. Waited for the measurements to be final. Answered a question about what we were waiting for. Got the measurements. Gathered everyone to the podiums. Announced the final distances and placements, as well as the course records. Was grateful a volunteer – a former legend who, up until this year, had run every incantation of the 6/12/24 – handed out the medals. Forgot to display the humongous perpetual trophy in my nervousness. Oops.

Don’t know why I was nervous. It wasn’t my first rodeo or podium ceremony. But hosting a well-known event unnerved me a bit. Genuinely congratulated the 6 hour runners a final time. Watched a bit sadly as they climbed into their cars. Returned to the aid station. Checked the snacks. All were well-filled. Checked the toilets. No clogs, toilet paper well-stocked. Eight and a half hours down. Hesitantly accepted it was a good time to test the cot. I didn’t want to, but I knew it was important to be at my most cheerful when it was time for the 24 hour runners to be alone. They needed support and enthusiasm during the long night, not a race director who was struggling. I closed my eyes as I attempted to drift.

“Let’s get out the bread to make more cheese sandwiches,” I overheard Nicola, one volunteer, say, “They’re running low. And, Kym, can you fill prep the bags for the 12 hour runners?”.

“There’s skinny cappuccino, salted caramel latte, strong espresso, and coffee bags,” I heard Rob, the assistant race director explain to a crew member who wanted something warm to keep him up. “We also have caffeinated tea.” I could hear the event was being taken care of, without my overseeing. I felt confident enough to drift into sleep, though I was still semi-consciously keeping tabs on everything that was going on around me – so much so that I responded the moment doughnuts arrived.

I was up a couple of hours later. There was more encouragement to the runners and thank yous to the departing volunteers. I found I didn’t need to look at the display monitor for I didn’t care how far each runner had gone. I just wanted to encourage each of them to do their best, whatever that meant. Soon, it was time for the next air horn blast. The count down, the button press of the air horn, the greeting the returning AIMs measurer, the blaring of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ as the 24 Hour runners were directed to turn around. It was all the same as before, but more comfortable. The podium ceremony went smoother. Kym, the legend who had attended each rendition of the Festival, took on more of a role and outlined some history of the event. Medals and certificates were handed out; the perpetual trophy was well displayed.

12 hours finished, 16 hours to go. The night passed slowly. There were enough volunteers to keep the spirits up and we all understood the main objective. The time to be aggressive about support had come. We made sure every runner (and crew) was cheerfully shouted to. Darcy, a 13-year-old volunteer, became nearly the star of the show. Clearly nocturnal in nature, she was jumping around, reheating pots before they could cool, asking runners what type of soup they wanted or if it was tea they would prefer. Susan, the first aider, made sure every runner was eating, drinking, and wee’ing with regularity. Yes, she would ask them about wee’ing.

For a few seemingly endless hours, our lead runner stopped singing and dancing. He still moved with far more ease than anyone running for 24 hours had a right to move with, but his perpetual energy lowered nearly to the point of an average person’s. When the sun started to come up, I grabbed my phone and started to do a reverse lap, trying to capture each runner on a short live video so those following from home could see the progress. I kept at this for a while, managing to capture two laps. I even had a chance to chat to some of the crews. It soon became time to hand out the final bags. The final countdown occurred, the airhorn was blasted, and the distance to each runner’s bag was measured. The final podium ceremony commenced with speeches, well-wishes, certificates, medals, and the perpetual trophy. Far more chatting occurred after the 24 Hour ended than the 6 or 12.

Packing up took long – hours long, But, when it was done, I was finally able to crawl into bed and smile. I hadn’t just hosted my first 24 Hour; I had smashed it.

I had done a job worthy of my predecessor.

“Build it and they will come”, is a famous movie line. But it’s also true about ultras. Put on an event, host it well, and runners will come.

As tired as I was, I couldn’t wait until next year, to once again support runners through the unique challenge of a timed ultra, to help them achieve whatever goals they set.

Photograph – Supplied.