DON’T FIGHT THE TRAIL, TAKE WHAT IT GIVES YOU

0-5km Go! Immediately Jamis streaks off, bounding away and striding with confidence. Something only a runner can admire. Every step he took, he would bounce back and make an incremental distance between himself and the rest of the pack. It wasn’t until later on I read he held a four-fifteen pace for the initial ten kilometres. I knew my plan well. I am happy to sit back, find my groove and become a scientist with my nutrition and hydration. Two things happen next. I didn’t see Jamis for another seventy-four and I sat in second place for the next ninety.

5-10km Twenty-five minutes done. I smile, thinking back to the first of the longer training runs I’ve done. Joe would always use the expression.

For me, long runs always consume many hours of my weekend, running on flat surfaces. Even better, to really find out what running is about. Try doing it for hours on end running in circles on a track!

I was now in Phase 1 of the run. Ensuring I consume enough calories and water the best I can. In meticulous fashion I had a detailed plan. Everything is calculated. All I need to is trust the plan. Trust the process.

A young lad from Canberra pulled up alongside me, Justin. I always love meeting new people during events. Hearing their story, their journey and sometimes their ‘why’. We chatted for a short time, before he pulled back and followed my tail. And just like Jamis, we didn’t meet again for sometime. Until Sunday’s award ceremony… His wife Jodi, would assist me at CP2 & CP3. She was there to assist her husband, but could see I was struggling and came to aid. What a legend!

10-15km Enter. Wanderrabah beach… Feeling unsure how this would go, I decided to acknowledge last year’s attempt, and place it in storage. In my mental garage. Top shelf, galvanized box, coded lock. I embraced that this will suck and I can’t do much about it. I slow my pace once I hit the hard sand and gaze right, towards the ocean. The timing couldn’t be any more perfect. A pod of dolphins would follow me north for a large section of beach. The sand is a like a soft highway. Flat, baron and beautifully carved from the ocean.

“Nibble & sip. Nibble & sip. Nibble & sip.“

15-20km Somewhere on the Central Coast. Along the roads and boundaries of suburbs, the world carries on. Cars crawl past, planes fly overhead and people wander about their normal lives. How can it be that people just pass by, unaware of the greatness that surrounds them? I imagine a satellite image of our race popping up on people’s screens following their mother, father, family member or friend trek across various terrains.

I zoom out, and the area displayed of the course shows some beaches, cliffs, campsites, lakes and ocean. Somewhere right now a family is on their first camping trip, teaching their children how to fish. A wife sits on the beach, questioning where did it all go wrong. Two people find each other after years of being alone.

It’s time to let stride. My feet hit tarmac for the first time since the one-hundred metre stretch from the start.I let loose, opening my hips and kicking my heels, powering down the road at. The westerly winds began to rage, as if Earth was telling my to conserve my energy. I knew CP1 wasn’t far away. I had time there to drop my heart rate. I mean three minutes should be enough right?

20-25km Half Mara. Professor. Contender.

Friends and families line the street. The cheers begin to flow as I reel into CP1. It’s amazing what smiles from strangers can do to your mood.

The goal is simple. In & out. Every second counts. If a picture was taken whilst I was refueling, you may think I have some sort of addiction with these powders and tablets surrounding me. Conscious of time, I stash the main ziplock in the left of my vest, two plain white wraps in the right and lock in my flasks.

“To give anything less than your best, is to sacrifice the gift.” Steve Prefontaine

I disappear into the bush, leafless tongue orchids brush past my calves. Mind focused, I repeatedly profess. “I am a contender.”

25-30km I’d never really been a runner, but at age 30 once I laced up those running shoes and began exploring trails for the first time. There was a sense of pace, a sense of connection, a sense of oneness.

“Running is freedom. Running is the ultimate primal act.“

We truly are born to run. Yet, it will humble us to our core. To just be alone, at one with your breath and sun warming my shoulders. An indescribable feeling of joy, where everything is right with the world.

This point in the race is the best I have felt. Feeling the flow and rhythm of my mind and body. Until. Pop! The lid from my flask flies off. I lose most of it across my torso and on the forest floor. I knew this would mean I’d be empty now, well before CP2.

Life is full of one-second decisions. A single second can make all the difference in our lives. Although, this is far from life and death. The decisions we make each and every day compound. It’s simple, I turn around and refill losing 12 minutes of time. Or, I acknowledge what happened, suck it up and keep moving forward. One-second decision made.

30-35km The single track turns to fire trail, lined with Paperbarks. Loud thumps are fast approaching as stones cascade onto the trails edge. A South African fellow, Jeandre catches my tail. We exchange small words when he responds. “Don’t worry son, I’m part of a team.”

Honestly. A sense of relief floods my head. Jeandre and his team also use these races for team bonding. The entire weekend is organised to bring them closer and really know each other to the core, before they can compete with one another. We met again at the finish line, where he ends up running legs two and four. Not bad!

Chug, chug, chug.

“Don’t fight the trail. Take what it gives you.”

40-45km The marathon. Born from legend in ancient Greece. An Athenian courier ‘Pheidippides’, who in 490BC ran from the site of battle in Marathon to Athens. Before collapsing and dyeing promptly after arrival. His distance travelled. Exactly 42.195km. Now, globally over one million people run them each year. Dedicating months of sacrifice to its cause.

As my watch ticks over, I briefly think. “Wow, another marra…” For some reason the sense of accomplishment dwindles when there is another fifty-eight kilometres of ground to cover. Immediately I become distracted by the welcomed descending hills, rolling into Seal Rocks.

The lights dim and my mind goes quite. When my body begins to tire and my legs start to weigh me down. I imagine a class of water sitting upon my crown. Running, not spilling a drop. In these moments, I can tell you where my foot lands on each step. The angle at which my arm is swinging. The precise placement of each finger. My attention constantly brought back to my breathe. Flow state. The point where a runner is in full control.

45-50km It really does take a community for every athlete to make the starting line. Cultivating community is embedded in our ancestral DNA. However, somewhere along our timeline, we’ve detached from the benefits and the beauty that can be experienced by a more collective, communal way of approaching our daily lives.

Approaching half way, travelling North-West on Yagon Road, the final hill into Seals is before me. To my right, a father and daughter washing their car on the street, stop and question “Are you running that race?” “Yep, one hundred K! I’m almost halfway home.” His voice becomes accurate and assertive in manner. “The other fella just came through here. Go and get him.”

I pull into CP2, grab my bag and begin to restock my kit whilst another vollie begins to fill my flasks. Once full, I catch one last glimpse of the ocean before rolling out. The cheers and well-wishes fill my soul, until one spectator bellows. “He’s only twenty minutes ahead!”

It really does take a village.

50-55km Pacing back home, the course would run us via the southern side of the lighthouse and spit me out onto a small remote beach. The first section of sand running in around thirty-five clicks.

A short climb would lead me back onto the track, where I am met by the WP2 crew. I knew I had roughly twenty-two k’s before CP3. I question which way do I run ay the ‘Y’ junction. Both vollies send my right. “That’s the way the other two blokes went.”

Wrapping my bottle in my buff I can see a Ford Ranger driving down the trail with intent. The door swings open. “Stop!” This is where you’re supposed to be running – pointing left.

As the story unfolds, HQ knew about the wrong turn and sent him down immediately to re-direct everyone. As I was leaving, I questioned. “Is there anyway we can reach the others to notify them?” I was met with a short abrupt reply. “It’s pretty self-explanatory. The markers are there.”

They weren’t.

55-60km It just ticked past twelve-thirty. Knowing I held the lead, the race now holds a whole different purpose. So, I whipped out my phone, and began desperately refreshing the live tracker. Hoping for a glimmer of reception and the browser to load. Looking at me, you’d assume I was fourteen again, messaging my first crush.

Finally it loads. Jamis and Team Meerkat appear to be still following the same route and have not turned back. The news doesn’t change much, other than placing me at ease knowing he wouldn’t be hunting me down the trail. On reflection, I now wish he was. It would’ve been great to push each other right to finish!

“Nothing is ever static. Every breathe. Every thought, word, choice, decision, interaction is a vote of confidence for the person you aspire to be.” Rich Roll

65-70km Time to get back to work. Time to get back to the mental lab. Back to being a scientist. I’m two-thirds in and am now arguably, at the most important phase of the race, the premiership quarter.

In the majority of my junior years, I played AFL. We formed a formidable team, full of many youngsters who would later, go on and join academies across the country. We filled a strong line-up each year, making the Grand Final six consecutive years on the trot. Winning five. When the halftime whistle would blow, we would sit in the dugout whilst Mal, our head coach would vocalise his thoughts. Every year he would state:

“You’re about to enter the premiership quarter. Premierships are won and premierships lost in the third quarter!”

70-75km Back on a single track another junction fast approached. I knew going straight was the correct decision. However, sitting in the shade under a pack of gum sharing their lunch with each other. A small group of ladies, decked in hiking kit and bags almost twice as big as them. Some adventure they must be on I think to myself. I quickly stop and clarify if they have seen other runners pass by. The seventy-five course follows the same route from here. It may be naïve to rely on the work of strangers and not check the course map. For some reason, they appeared to be trustworthy folk.

Crunch & sip. Crunch & sip.

With my legs really beginning to feel heavy, I knew it was time. A couple of Panadol Extra follow down my next sip. Here we go. Pushing towards seventy-five, I could feel the caffeine release and get to work shifting my pace upwards of forty-five seconds per kilometre. Coach describes this phase as the hippie phase. Riding the caffeine’s energy and rolling across the landscape.

My phone now has reception as it’s violent vibrations distract my thoughts. Yolly and Mum are sending word that I’m closing in on top spot. In true hippie mode, I don’t respond and appreciate where I am. Trotting alongside a rainforest, Vetiver Grass so thick, I could no longer see my feet. Relying only on sense. Trusting my instincts and foot placement.

A narrow opening appeared and amongst the commotion of flora, I think I see a face turning around to watch me. The closer I get, it seems to disappear. I must be dreaming. Surely?

75-80km Spat out, feet hitting the tarmac. One, two. One, two. One, two. I knew I was on for ten clicks of road. The point where I could really pick up the pace and drive forward.

Around the bend, I see Jamis. Hair flowing in the wind. We’re soon shoulder to shoulder and spilling his thoughts on where it went wrong. He appears deflated, collapsed and I knew his head was gone.

Difficult sport this ultra running. You may spend hundreds of hours bashing track, witnessing your athletic peak. Create a faultless race plan, meticulously and carefully designed with its intricacies. Sometimes, it’s just not your day.

I don’t know at what point competitors become comrades, but for me it happened at the point I caught Jamis, our race leader. It never changes my will to win, but how much I wanted him to also succeed.

“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start.“

We continued charging towards CP3. My timer buzzed for a walk break. He may have thought I was crazy for stopping now. I had my race plan and I was making damn sure I stuck to it. The distance between us expanded and before I knew it, Jamis was out of sight once more.

80-85km When the mind is controlled and spirit aligned with purpose, the body is capable of so much more than we realise. Pulling out of CP3, I once again admired the help of strangers to shove my torn up body back onto the road.

Our default as humans is to immediately construct negatives. We are very good at remembering them too, our subconscious has a distinctive talent using this as a tool to avoid danger. If three good things and three bad things happen to us on the same day. We are more likely to remember the latter. Our brain makes it easy for us to build up a negative perception of something, whether it’s an event, ourselves or something important in life. I realised that I would always get riddled with pre-race anxiety. A good anxiety, because I care so much about each race and more importantly, the result.

During my long runs in the last block of training leading up to this. I would always listen to the ‘Mindset for Runners’ podcast with Rob Mason. A veteran, leader and highly accomplished Australian ultra runner. He describes using positive self-talk and mantras as a key component to his success. Spinning any negative thoughts into positive ones.

“Geez, I’m sore.” Into. “I can’t believe I’ve already ran 80km!”

“I’m not going to win today.” Into. “I am a contender!”

Cruising south on Mungo Brush Road I quietly start whispering. “I am clutch. I am a contender. I’m unbelievable. Mr. Consistent showing up again.” Slowly the words started to become louder and louder. Until eventually I was screaming them across the road. Any camper in a 2k radius would’ve heard. Oncoming cars past me by, looking from their windows at the maniac, running on the side of the road, howling affirmations into the wind.

Was I nuts? Probably. Would I do it again? Absolutely!

85-90km “Movement. The innate ability we all have, to tap into hidden reservoirs of potential.”

Water Point 3 is around three-hundred metres ahead. Immediately I’m met with flashbacks from last year’s race. Although I only ran the twenty-five course, these dunes were some of the hardest running I have ever done.

I know that I am much fitter and conditioned this time round. Running on sand requires certain skill to maximise power output.

When running on sand, I want the largest surface area possible in order to avoid slipping backwards. I need to dig deeper into the sand. Instead of trying to land on my toes, a mid-foot strike is key to increase the surface area so you don’t sink in the sand.

The dunes are so steep, it’s going to be all about getting my knees really high and having a strong drive down through my core and through the front of my quad.

I learn pretty quickly to read the sand itself – it’s not all the same as there is some slightly better packed areas to tread on than others. It really helps when someone has been on the areas already because once they’ve run up it they create steps you can use.

90-95km At 88km, I can see Jamis ahead. Taking more walk breaks than he probably would’ve liked. We pair up again and I offer some caffeine strips to push him home. I tell him we’re going to run the rest of it together.

“The prize never goes to the fastest guy, but the one who slows down the least.”

The tide is rising quickly and the swell is up, dispersing each wave across majority of the wet sand. Running on the soft flats, will slow you right down and dodging the water just adds another complexity to the final stage of the race.

Jamis begins to fade behind me and after ninety-four kilometres of running, I take the lead.

“Pursue what’s in your heart, and the universe will conspire to support you.”

95-100km Night draws swiftly. A quick change of gear is required. With one-thousand lumens lighting my path, only a parkrun separates me from victory. A mad sprint up the dunes, follow the track and I am there.

The only thing I knew with clarity was that a voice deep in my heart continued to chant, Keep going. You’re almost home.

Belting through the trail, my hip flexors are roaring at me to stop and calves are jacked from the sand. I begin to hear the distant cowbells chime. A fitting spectacle as they herd the runners towards the finish line. Dave’s voice is echoing across the valley.

Push. Push. Push.

The rest of the run is a blur. Scattered memories from the encapsulating emotion. I wrap my arm around my family. This is as much for them as it is me.

You did it, mate. I’m proud of you.

Relentless consistency and discipline got me here.

Gratitude and appreciation will keep me going.

In order for this entry to exist there had to be a race. Thank you to Rich and Karina Old and the Fully Rad Adventures team for organising and navigating a smooth event.

The spectacular photography of Ben Cirulis summarises the event to perfection.

To the community of athletes, volunteers and crew. Your kindness and humanity is what truly drives the ultrarunning world. It is utterly life-affirming.

To my loving and supportive family, who continue to provide me with the power to chase my dreams.

Photography – Ben Cirulis/Supplied.