If you’ve not had chance to donate yet, just text ‘TOMD50 £5‘ to 70070 to give £5* to Oxfam for my Virgin London Marathon effort
(*Change £ value to give more/less)
Text 70070 to donate
Thank you to you lovely folk who’ve donated so far – we’re almost there!
Read my full London Marathon race report here, and see what I went through to raise money for Oxfam!
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It was pretty quiet as I walked up to the tube station at 7.30 on Sunday morning. The air was chilly, but — after a week of rain being forecast — the sky was clear.
Two stops along the tube line, a girl with a red marathon kit-bag boarded the train and I started to wake up and realise that today was the day.
The further along the line we went, the more kit-bag-carrying people boarded, and the louder the buzz became. We reached Embankment station, and scores of people alighted and headed towards Charing Cross station to stand in their first queue of many queues for the day, and I revelled in the absolute British-ness of the whole situation.
A guy in front of me walked along holding his son and daughter’s hands – his t-shirt read ‘Running for ‘Kids with Cancer’. It wouldn’t be the last time of the day that I choked up, and a tear trickled down my cheek. And that was one of the astounding things about the day – the sheer number of vests with dedications to charities and to other people. And it dawned on me, that the London Marathon is really so much more than a run.
You can donate to my charity, Oxfam, here
From Charing Cross, it was standing room only on the Greenwich-bound train, and at Greenwich station, in full London sunshine, there it was: the snake of people making their way to the start line. Suddenly I felt very excited!
About 37,000 people were to start the race, and as I wandered among them on the way to the start area, I was impressed by how calm and patient everyone was. The booming voice across the PA said “I’ve never seen such huge queues for the toilets before in my life!” Just what you want to hear at the start of a 26.2 mile race!
Time ticked on, relieved runners deposited their kit bags onto the army of trucks, and we all moved over to the start area. The sea of colours of charity vests and costumes was truly amazing. And then it was time. We shuffled forwards for a few minutes, then walked, and as we approached the red arch, we started to jog – I’d started the London Marathon!
People lined the streets from the beginning, and every little piece of applause was music to the ears. The atmosphere was like the biggest carnival I’d ever seen. Families stood outside their houses handing out sliced oranges, and lines of kids offered sweets for the journey. Equally encouraging were the smiles as others held out their hands for ‘high-fives’, the crowds who stood and cheered for the whole day, and the people who played in bands or set up PA systems outside their houses and pubs to cheer on the runners.
I heard music, and broke out into involuntary dancing, throwing my hands in the air and finding an extra bounce in my step with every beat – the adrenalin pushed me along like never before.
People held banners, flags, and signs. My favourite supporter sign was an A4 printed piece of paper with a silhouette of a runner that read ‘Run, complete stranger, Run’. It made me smile. And it made me realise that the London Marathon is a massive show of community and positive energy. And it’s also the world’s largest fundraiser to boot.
At one stage, a troupe of girls in pink danced to ‘the locomotion’ and gave me as much of a buzz as the pipe band or the jazz orchestra. The steel drums made me just as happy as the sunshiny day, and the Oxfam cheer squads all around the course were good for a well-needed boost of energy!
You can donate to my charity, Oxfam, here
I emerged from an unrecognisable backstreet, and suddenly found myself running through the iconic city, over Tower Bridge and past the Cutty Sark. Canary Wharf was an absolute din of cheering and applause, but I managed to spot my mum, sister and cousins in among it all and received an even bigger boost of faith and adrenaline.
By half way, I was ecstatic and buoyed by music, but by mile 17 I was finding it tough going. My quads were feeling sore and bruised, and I wanted to stop. But I knew I couldn’t let myself – there were just too many people shouting ‘go on, Tom!’ It’s good having a common name, too. I think I ran for a few miles with others called Tom, as there were shouts of ‘go on Tom!’ from the opposite side of the road as well as the side of the course I was running on.
The miles somehow seemed to disappear though, and before I knew it we were running along embankment, then past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, and there, as I rounded one of the last bends onto Birdcage Walk was my little niece and nephew and the rest of my family. I don’t know how they managed to get there and cheer me on, but I love them for it!
From there, around the last little bit outside Buckingham Palace, was the ‘385 yards to go’ sign, and the last sprint up to the finish.
I was truly elated as I finished. The whole day was amazing, and running through so many icons was an experience I can’t imagine being able to beat. But most breathtaking of all were the crowds though: the roars, the cheers, the music!
It was all of these things that made me run my heart out. From mile 1, I was going to stop and nip to the loo, but I just thought I’d keep on going for a while. Every toilet I passed had queues, then I found one that didn’t but figured I’d run half of it so I may as well keep going. And keep going I did. I didn’t stop at a drinks station or a footpath, and apart from giving my mum and sister a quick hug when they cheered me on from the sidelines, I ran the whole track.
And I ran it for a cause, for one of the best causes I know: Oxfam. The London Marathon is apparently the world’s biggest fundraising event, and I’m amazingly proud to contribute to it.
Being part of it has been incredible, and I’d recommend it to anyone. I managed it in 4 hr 8 min, which all things considered, I was pretty pleased with.
If you didn’t get chance to run it this year and feel like contributing, how about donating to my appeal?
I ran for Oxfam, who help the world’s poorest people to lift themselves out of poverty, and provide emergency assistance when it’s required. You can read more about Oxfam’s work here.
Thank you for all for sharing my amazing journey, and a massive thanks to all the Oxfam runners and event crew for making the day so wonderful. And a special thanks to Meg and to my friends and family for their wonderful support throughout the training and the run.
You can donate to my charity, Oxfam, here
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26.2 miles | 4:08:19 | 36,000 runners |1 amazing day
Today my legs are sore. Yesterday my body was buzzing.
Throughout London, the atmosphere was like a carnival.
Running through the backstreets was incredible: past the families who handed out oranges, the kids who offered sweets for the journey or held out their hands for the high-fives on the way past, the crowds who stood and cheered for the whole day, and the people who played in bands, or set up PA systems outside their houses and pubs to cheer on the runners.
Running through the iconic city, over Tower Bridge, past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, and finishing outside Buckingham Palace on the Mall was breathtaking. The most breathtaking part was the crowds though, the roars, the cheers, the music!
Crossing Tower Bridge
My favourite supporter sign was an A4 printed piece of paper with a silhouette of a runner that read ‘Run, complete stranger, Run’. It made me smile. And it made me realise that the London Marathon is so much more than a run — it’s also a massive show of community and positive energy and the world’s largest fundraiser to boot.
Being part of it has been incredible, and I’d recommend it to anyone. I managed it in 4 hr 8 min, which all things considered, I was pretty pleased with.
If you didn’t get chance to run it this year and feel like contributing, how about donating to my appeal? I ran for Oxfam, who help the world’s poorest people to lift themselves out of poverty, and provide emergency assistance when it’s required. You can read more about Oxfam’s work here.
I’ve now published a full race report here, if you’d like to read more.
Thank you for all for sharing my amazing journey!
Tom
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This year I’m overly glad to have reached the tapering stage. I’m sure I’ve not ‘peaked’ as well as in previous years, but no matter – I’ve done as much as I’m going to have chance to do, and I’m reasonably pleased given it’s been such a hectic year.
Although the running’s nearly over, my fundraising‘s only about half-way there! This means I still have the same amount to raise again, so just a friendly reminder, you still have time to donate.
Last weekend, I replaced the runs with some decent (~2hr) walks in the glorious English countryside. After 9 years away from Britain it really is wonderful to be back among spring and the flowering hedgerows of whitethorn, the violas, primulas and primroses in the field edges, and the skylarks and field-fares above. And it’s also glorious to find a pub at the end of the walk serving delicious ales (oh, the ongoing failings of my carb-load strategies!).
It’s hard to train without a formal program or a strict running group, but together Meg and I have really managed to put in some miles, and kept (mostly) on track. And the training has certainly benefited from us being in Britain: from a running perspective it’s been perfect – soft ground, and on the whole, pretty mild weather. I’ve only needed serious waterproofs a handful of times, and the cooler climes have really allowed my running to take off a bit after the limits imposed by the Brisbane humidity.
Don’t get me wrong, I do certainly miss Brisbane and the West End river loop before work in the blistering hot sunshine. But, the return to a different West End loop (ie the West End of London) has been pretty special.
And it’s pretty special to be able to raise money for Oxfam again. Last year was Trailwalker Australia, and this year’s task (raise more money, and do it alone) has been tricky, but I’m getting there.
Oxfam do some great work. I support them because they’re secular, they have low admin costs, they’re accountable, and they have a wonderful philosophy to help people to help themselves out of poverty.
In Queensland, I was the State Chair of the Queensland Committee of Oxfam Australia, and I was proud to be involved – I’m hoping that by raising a few quid while I’m here I’ll be able to keep up my links to the wonderful charity, as well as celebrating my home land.
Thanks to all of you who’ve donated thus far…you all give me the motivation to carry on.
Find out more about Oxfam’s work, or donate to my marathon efforts (if lots of people give just £5 or £10, it adds up to a lot of money that can help a lot of people!).
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Not the usual running post, but one insight into why I do it:
Safe water.
We take it for granted – but in some communities, simple access to clean water can change lives. Alice Keji lives in a rural community in South Sudan. During dry seasons in the past, she would have to walk miles to get water for cooking, drinking and bathing her children. Oxfam has now drilled a borehole nearby, which means the community has easy access to clean water to use for drinking and washing – water that they can use without the fear of getting ill.
Your sponsorship money is making this type of work possible – work that is changing the lives of people like Alice and her family, for the better.
You can donate to support my fundraising efforts and help their work.
Thank you
Tom
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13.6 miles | 2,348 ft of ascent | 2:30 h
Three pints of malty ale, and a wee dram of whiskey aren’t the perfect carb-load strategy for a cliff-top half-marathon, but it was a late-starting race (10.30 am) so it seemed like a good idea at the time. My pre-race night’s sleep was also interrupted by a rather rude cold and blocked sinuses. The excuses are flowing.
Looking fresh at the start
The race was hard. Glorious, but hard.
If you were ever going to take a trip to the south coast of England to see the chalky cliffs and admire the South Downs, Saturday was the day to do it. The cliffs were bright and white-washed, the sea was calm, and the blue sky was huge with wall-to-wall sunshine and not a cloud in a sight.
About 400 people lined up to start the Coastal Trail Series (CTS) half-marathon, with the elites leaving first, and the rest of us hanging around until they were out of sight (no point demoralising yourself at the beginning!).
The runners gather (Photo courtesy Cam Kratzing)
As we crossed the start line, the birds sang cheerfully in the trees beside us, the sun warmed our backs, and the trail was lovely, green and springy. After about 500 metres, we headed up the first gravelled hill and through a farm gate out into the sprawling fields of soft green-grass running track that stretched out for miles ahead. A line of runners snaked like ants through the fields and along the tops of the cliffs into the distance. Seagulls circled overhead, and the sheep looked calm.
Runners set off along the trail (Photo courtesy Cam Kratzing)
At that moment, all seemed right with the world.
And then I focused back on the running.
Did I mention that the race was hard? It was hard. The hills weren’t too bad on their own, but there were just so many of them! And they were relentless from start to finish. Going uphill, totally out of breath is tricky, so usually the downhill provides some kind of light relief. But as I ran down the biggest, steepest hill, arms out like aeroplane wings by my side, I felt myself going far too fast, and suddenly realising there was no way I could stop even if I wanted to! I tried traversing the hill, weaving side to side to slow myself down a bit, and images of me hitting a rabbit burrow and bowling over head-first down the hill clutching my ankle flashed through my mind. My shins started stinging, and my toes pressed against the front of my dilapidated trainers.
The cliffs of Beachy Head (Photo courtesy Cam Kratzing)
Usually I love running downhill. Today, even this was proving far too difficult. That combined with a headache from my cold, and the sweat running down my face from the heat, did make me wonder what exactly I was supposed to be enjoying about this race. At one point around 17 km, I almost decided enough was enough and gave up. But of course, I couldn’t — I’d already run most of the race. So I put one foot in front of another (often walking uphill at that stage), and kept on going until that magical moment …
Trail running at its very best! (Photo courtesy Colin Kratzing)
Finishing any race is a relief, but finishing one that feels so challenging is wonderful. There were a few ‘false finish’ moments as we came around corners and saw the finish line, only to be diverted away from the line and out along another track. But when it was time for the real finish, the last kilometre was amazing. I sprinted and bounded over those little grassy hills, jumped around a few slightly slower finishers, and pelted towards the line, crossing it with the bubbling kind of cheerfulness reserved for kids on Christmas Eve.
Just finished (Photo courtesy Colin Kratzing)
As well as being a great relief, it was really wonderful to have completed my first proper British trail race.
I’ll definitely be up for more runs in the UK this year. But next time, I’ll probably change the carb-load strategy for something more traditional!
All of these runs are part of my training program for the Virgin London Marathon, which I’m running for Oxfam. If you’d like to support my efforts (and more importantly, Oxfam’s work), please consider donating here.
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34 km, 3 hr 20 min
This week marks the crescendo of my marathon training. Dutifully, I refrained from the pints (mostly) in the week, we went to bed nice and early on Friday, and set our alarm for 6 am on Saturday. It was pretty grey, and the sun struggled to get out of bed just as much as I did. But I ate my banana, drank my coffee, pulled on my old ASICS, and we set off reluctantly into the morning.
But once outside, there it was, laid out in front of us: 34 km of beautiful running tracks. England supplied the weather (grey skies, drizzly rain), Richmond Park supplied the scenery (hills, trails, trees) and wildlife (parrots, red deer, woodpeckers), and Oxfam supplied the motivation (feel free to donate to my marathon effort!). It may have been a little chilly and wet, but at least it wasn’t the 34 degrees and 98% humidity that Brisbane usually serves up at this time of the year, so one must be thankful for small mercies.
The trails of Richmond Park
And we are thankful because the tracks around here are amazing. The best bit is being able to go for a long run, most of it off road, through the trees, with a few hills thrown in, less than 5 miles from London’s city centre.
We ran the first 5 km or so along the Thames Path, then through Sheen and into Richmond Park. Last week, which felt like a very long run, we’d done just one lap of the park (about 12 km, and 23 km from door to door). This week we’d set ourselves the target of two laps to get the miles up. I must say that I felt pretty tired during the first lap, but by the time I’d started the second I was feeling better again – it’s amazing really, no matter what the distance of the run, I struggle the most with the first half, and anything after that feels much easier.
The last hill descent through the park was magnificent – I felt strong, and as I pounded down the hill, arms out, I felt as if I were flying. And I remembered why I love off road running so much. Richmond Park may not exactly be rugged terrain, but for a gentle trail run in the centre of London, you can’t beat it. (Heck, with the number of four-wheel-drives around that place you could be in the mountains!)
We had a slow run back from Richmond Park in the rain (raining much harder at that stage), and stopped off for a wonderful breakfast in a little cafe in Barnes. Poached eggs and spinach muffins have never tasted so good!
And now all I have to do is run a few more miles, raise a few more pounds, and call it a marathon.
You can help me raise a few more pounds for Oxfam, by donating to my marathon campaign.
If you want a much more poetic version of this post, check out Meg’s post on her Megpeggsie blog
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“Organisers are excited about their new race favourite, Tom Dixon, who has taken the world of athletics by storm”
“Thomas Dixon considered race favourite“
Obviously a bit of fun. But don’t forget, I’m running for a serious cause, Oxfam. Help me to help them work towards a just world without poverty by sponsoring my marathon effort.
In training!
Thank you!
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You may wonder what Dr Beeching (the guy responsible for killing the British Railway Industry in the 1960s) has to do with trailrunning. And the answer, actually, is quite a lot. As I ran along the disused railway line in Rugby last week, I thought long and hard about what he’d done. And granted, what he did was kill a huge part of British heritage, but it has now been turned into something beneficial for everyone – creating a unique network of trails across the British Isles was a tiny silver lining to a big, black cloud. And last week, I reaped the benefits, and had one of the most refreshing runs in a while along the old railway line in Rugby, England.
Britain in winter in the rain is not everyone’s favourite place to run, and I have to say I wasn’t convinced it would be mine either (I earnt my running stripes in sub-tropical Brisbane; my usual hobby in Britain involved many more pints than runs!).
An English Rail Track (this one's in Wetherby, but very similar to the Rugby trail)
On that Tuesday morning, I lay in bed for an hour snoozing my alarm and listening to the rain beat down on the skylight in the picth blackness before I managed to drag my sorry backside out of bed. I kept trying to think of excuses: ‘I forgot my raincoat, so I can’t possibly go running’, or ‘maybe I can go tomorrow, it won’t hurt just to miss one run, will it?’ But, if I used excuses like that in a country like this, I wouldn’t get out much!
When I finally did get out (wrapped up in waterproofs) I suprised myself by loving running in the cold dawn as freezing rain pelted me in the face. Getting wet, muddy and uncomfortable could have made me miserable. But, instead, jumping over the puddles (and landing in them often) just reminded me how wonderful it felt to be a child again, unleashed, without a care – I put my head down, picked my feet up, and ran, gliding over water, and exchanging glances with the hardcore dog-walkers and their dogs, also out braving the elements. Thinking back, I never saw a despondent dog – they all just loved it, and bounded along in the same, uncaring, happy, and free way. Not many things in life free us from the daily grind and the pressures of work and money. But running in the rain takes away every single care you have (apart from getting out of the freezing rain!).
So, Dr Beeching (you bastard!), for what you did to the railways, I hate you. But for opening up mile upon mile of walking trails across the English countryside, I (along with the runners, cyclists and dog-walkers) must feel slightly glad. Maybe I’ll just have to start looking at running a lot more of these wonderful trails.
—
Note: I must credit Mike Carter‘s inspirational book ‘One man and his bike‘ for the Dr Beeching ideas…Mike cycled the trails, I run them. I’m sure he won’t mind!
Mike Carter -- one man and his bike!
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More (real) posts to come soon. But for now, I just wanted to post to say I’ve finally got my London Marathon sponsorship page up and running.
So, if you’re feeling like being generous and helping to empower some of the world’s poorest people, please visit my fundraising page: www.virginmoneygiving.com/tomdixon
I’m running the marathon for Oxfam, because I think they’re an amazing, secular charity who do the best, most efficient work possible with the smallest of administrative costs. If you’d like to know more about why I support Oxfam, check out some of their work, or drop me an email.
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It’s great alliteration, but they’re also incredible trails, too. The towpaths of the Thames (London) have remained hidden from me for thirty-plus years. But now I’ve discovered them, I want to explore them all! Which is lucky, as I have the London Marathon to negotiate in a little over three months, and lots of training to do in the meantime – more to come on that, later.
Hammersmith Bridge and the towpaths of the Thames
This morning’s run took us over Hammersmith Bridge, west towards Barnes, and back over the Barnes Bridge, and along the north side of the river. I added in another couple of laps of the Hammersmith Bridge because it was such a beautiful, frosty, crisp winter’s morning in Britain – and I’ve now begun to realise how much I’ve missed those mornings in my nine years away.
After a period of hard runs following the Lamington Classic (Brisbane, Australia), the last four weeks in the UK have rekindled my love of running. It may be something to do with the fact that running in the heat is like resistance training, and now I feel released and able to run again. Or maybe it’s just that English real-ale is good for running?
Before we arrived in the UK, I wasn’t sure how I’d go in the cold. But now I have my long-sleeved running attire, complete with gloves and leggings, I’m set to tackle anything. The ground this morning was hard and frozen, and the frost on the hedges glinted in the sunlight of the breaking dawn. It’s another one of those moments when you realise how good running is for your soul.
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If you’ve ever wanted to know how a wolf feels bounding through the woods, the thrill of the chase, the scent of the misty rains and the sounds of the birds echoing through an empty forest, do a trail run. And do a trail run through a forest in the mountains. In fact, do the Lamington Classic, as we did this weekend. It’s no wonder that places fills immediately that registration’s opened, and it’s no wonder that so many people come back year after year to contest the wonder that is the oldest trail run in Australia.
The Lamington Classic is a 43-km trail race run over two days, along the Border Track in Lamington National Park in Queensland, Australia. The track runs out from the Green Mountains section of the park, along a ridge that runs down to the NSW border, and back in to Binna Burra on the other side of the ridge. On the Saturday, competitors run from O’Reilly’s Guesthouse in the Green Mountains section to Binna Burra, and on Sunday do the return course. The trails are generally quite decent, but there are a few tricky sections of slippery rocks, creek crossings and root-ridden paths thrown in.
This year, the 43rd running of the race, the Saturday field opened with an enlarged field of 75 contenders. The October sun shone, and the rainforest was alive with blue sky and perfect temperatures. The ground underfoot was firm, with a decent leaf-litter cover. It doesn’t get better than that.
The race started with ‘ready, steady, go!’, rather than any dramatic bang, but that’s the way these things work. The first 10 runners off the mark sprinted off looking like they were about to tackle a short run on the flat, and their finish times weren’t far off that.
Trail runners will know the sense of satisfaction you get from tackling terrain that most others will never see or experience, let alone run across. And maybe that’s still the allure. It’s not really a spectator sport, which is probably one of the reasons it’s stayed on the fringe – who’s going to trek a few miles into a forest just to watch a few people run past? The few who do hang around at the finish-line are partners or kids of the lucky runners whose partners and kids are able to make it along.
I last ran the classic in 2008, and this year was as spectacular as I remembered (if not a little harder than I’d remembered). The mottled light shone through the upper canopy, and highlighted the palms and cycads along the track. However, mottled light on an uneven floor — though beautiful —creates an interesting challenge for the brain, namely where to put your feet. I managed not to lose my footing too dramatically. The pain is now gone, but at the time, the pain of trying to drag my sorry arse up the track was killing me. I couldn’t get the air into my lungs quickly enough. (I’m one of those runners who claims that I can do flats and downhills, but not uphills. But that’s sort of a cop-out way, really, of saying that you’re just not fit enough! And I’m certainly not fit enough to run up that many hills, one after the other, and then repeat it the next day!).
The first section on day one is around 5 or 6 km uphill. It’s not that steep, but it is relentless. Then a couple of downs, then some more uphill, just to add to the pain. But once you get back to the downhill sections again, that’s when you start to feel alive. Not just alive, but like a superhuman – a wolf, bounding through the forest, your feet gliding over the terrain. You begin to applaud your own prowess and celebrate how fit and agile you are.
Until you hit reality with a bump, and rocks start replacing that smooth, wonderful track, and you start rolling your ankle on tree roots and boulders. Then the magic goes again for a while, and the reality of the hard trail starts again. After a few near trips and close-call slides, you suddenly realise you’re about half-way. The terrain is hard, your legs ache, your ankles begin to feel slightly swollen. Thoughts of quitting the run flash through your mind, but you’re quickly reminded that the only way out of here is on foot. And I mean on your own feet. Then you realise there’s little point in walking it, so you may as well get this over with. Which hurts, all over again!
Getting through the mid-section was tough – the trails grow narrower and the boulders larger. I managed it the way I manage so many sections: letting go, disengaging the brain, and just going for it. I passed a few runners on the way down who were all happy to step aside and let you pass. And for me it’s that attitude that makes trail running so special. Everyone’s there to take part, but everyone’s there to make sure everyone else enjoys the run too. Glimpsing the views over the valley through the cloud was amazing, and helps push towards the final third. I got lost in the run, letting the beauty of it all wash over me, and before I’d realised it I was only about 7 km from Binna Burra. The tracks became better again as we neared our destination, and a few kilometres of downhill helped me to cruise in toward the finish line. Or – since we had to repeat it all again tomorrow – the half-way mark.
On the Sunday morning, we just had time for real coffee, and then set off at 7:55 am to get the final stage over with. The first 2 or 3 km were extra hard, and there really were moments when I just felt like turning around and going back. The gentle uphill section seemed to go on and on, and started to feel less gentle. But then, from the side of the trail, out jumped a wallaby, bounding up through the forest. It inspired me, and I got into it, and kept putting one foot in front of the other – I even caught a few people up, and passed them. I stuck behind one runner for about 5 km, unable to catch her, but just enough to let her go for a while, and catch her on another section. Running with others always provides a distraction from the distance, and so with knees aching, and ankles feeling like they were about to roll for the last time, I realised I was just a couple of kilometres from the finish. After more leafy trails, we arrived back at the bitumen that forms the last 700 metres of the track, and I rounded a couple of corners and finally saw the finish line. For the last kilometre I was quite content to let the guy behind me through. He left after me anyway, so there was no real race on. Yet when I saw the finish line (which I thought would never arrive) I just had to let go and sprint my little legs out. Although I have no idea how I managed it!
Was I pleased with my run? Considering the training I’d put in, I felt I was entitled to be disappointed – my time was about 15 mins overall slower than in 2008, but considering the punishment I’d put my body through over the last few years since running it previously, I probably did OK, and finished about mid-field. The lead guys and girls, however, were more than impressive, with Braden Currie coming very close to the course record at 1:24:32 (on the first day), and 6 others finishing in less than 1:50:00, which I’d be over the moon with on the flat! 69 people finished Saturday’s race, with 52 returning to compete again on Sunday. I must also make special mention of Simon Byrne from Byron Bay – though not the quickest run of the day, it was certainly the longest as he got lost on the return leg, and added a huge loop onto an already long run! Big congratulations to Simon, the winners, and everyone else who ran and was involved and made it an incredible weekend. For the full set of results, visit TRAQ’s results page.
The Trail Running Association of Queensland (TRAQ) do an amazing job at organising trail runs in the south-east year after year.
We’d had a semi-decent sleep in the bunkhouse (although I think providing a sleeping place for reprobate kids was more on the design-plan than providing soft and lovely accommodation for runners at a bargain-basement price). But, there’s no way one could complain, and it did its job well. The logistics of the race is crazy – imagine 100 people all running in different directions with tents, sleeping bags, children and partners who all needed to be in different places at different times, and you have a fair idea. From one of the bunkhouses, one runner was clearly heard trying to explain to his bunk-mate (for 25 minutes!) how his car would be in the right place after the run, ‘so, if we start at O’Reilly’s, and the car’s at Binna Burra…’ You get the idea. Anyway, the organising team did a fabulous job, and they are to be applauded. Not all of the sleeping arrangements were perfect, but they all worked. And these guys organise it out of the goodness of wanting the event to run. I really think the heroes of the trail running world are the guys who never get to run in the races because they’re too busy organising them!
To Bruce, Greg, and everyone else at TRAQ involved, we salute you all.
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It’s been a long lead-up (over a year actually, if you count the one I planned to do — but didn’t do — last year!), but it’s nearly here. We seem to have done a lot of road-running considering we’re leading into one of the most amazing trail runs in south east Queensland. But maybe that’ll be the secret that gets us over the line this year?!
The Lamington Classic is one of the oldest trail runs in Australia, and its 43 km course run over two days is quite a unique combination of scenery, stamina, and wonder.
Assuming the training paid off, I’ll follow up with a race report next week. If you’re interested, check out the race reports from previous years.
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Occasionally people ask ‘why go trail running?’. Saturday’s run carried me over some of the most beautiful ground imaginable: North Stradbroke Island.
Through the forest
From the house at Amity, a short run through the forest leads along a good trail down to the beach. Just before you get to the beach, there are several tracks that cut into the bush behind the dunes. And, although some are 4WD trails, they’re hardly used so it’s just you and the fryer birds for most of the time.
Trails down to the beach
The routes cut through melaleuca (tea tree) swamps, and stands of banksia, casuarina, and different types of gum. The trails are sand, but for the most part it’s hard-packed, and not too much effort, and if you ever start to feel tired, the crashing of the ocean only a few metres away re-invigorates your running sense.
I only ran a short run, but it was all my body needed as part of my recovery-phase after trailwalker. After a few kilometres, I cut back down to the beach, and along the hard-packed low-tide running track beside the ocean.
Running on sand may be slightly harder on the muscles than bitumen, but it’s so much easier on the soul – if anyone ever asks ‘why go trail running’ again, just smile in the knowledge that you know something they don’t.
'Leave only footprints...'
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We’d like to thank all of our generous supporters and donors, and the whole Trailwalker team for an amazing event. Together we’ve raised nearly $1 million…and it’ll only take a few more donations to get there.
We’d also like to acknowledge Barry Russell, and take team Rather Be Rogaining’s words to do so:
Rather Be Rogaining wish to pay our respects to Barry Russell, who sadly passed away on Friday evening. It must have been completely unexpected because he had visited and left a checkpoint soon beforehand, without any sign of health problems. It was shocking for all those directly involved, and deeply saddening for his team mates and the many other volunteers and staff who had known him for years. He was definitely doing what he loved, and would have wanted everyone to continue.
Oxfam Australia Executive Director Andrew Hewett said:
“Barry was a much-loved member of the Oxfam family. He was a long-serving regular volunteer in Oxfam’s Melbourne office. Trailwalker was a particular passion of Barry’s. He participated in five events, thus earning the mantle of being a Trailwalker legend.”
“Barry’s Trailwalker team The Hoplites has raised nearly $60 000 for Oxfam Australia’s work. He will be sadly missed and Oxfam Australia’s sympathies go to Barry’s family and many friends.”
Find out about the difference you make
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Oh, what have we signed up for!
But doing it, actually doing it, was hard. Apparently at 70 km I turned around and said ‘what we are doing is not normal’. I don’t really remember saying it, but I guess it’s true.
I won’t talk here about the three hours of sleep we had the night before, or the 3 am alarm of the morning of the event. I won’t talk about the long and winding bus journey to the summit of Mt Glorious at 5.30 am. And I won’t talk about every painstaking step, or every niggling ache. But I will mention a couple of my personal highlights and stand-out moments.
Southeast Queensland put on a spectacular show, with a perfect, clear winter’s morning. The sun rose and broke the chill.. We drank coffee and ate pastry squares, and then it was time to go – the moment we’d been waiting for for about nine months.
Ready for the off
We started off, walked down the bitumen, and entered the trails, descending into the wonderful rainforest section of Brisbane Forest Park. A couple of teams ran off into the distance and we set out to enjoy our leisurely 100 km.
And we're off
Into the forest
After some great trails, and breathtaking views over the forest, Checkpoint 1 came sooner than we expected – we checked out about an hour ahead of schedule. Then followed a big descent, and a similar ascent, back up to Checkpoint 2 where I had the best peanut butter and Vegemite sandwiches I’d ever tasted! Everyone’s feet were holding up well, though the thought of another 72.5 km was pretty daunting. But, the profile didn’t look too bad (so long as you didn’t look too hard!), and we set off again.
Three Jacks and a Jill at the top of the hill
The sun shone enough to warm, but not enough to burn. The green forest stretched out for miles in every direction, the sound of bellbirds echoed through the trees, and we couldn’t imagine a more wonderful time to do the walk.
We thought it would be flat as we approached Lake Manchester. A walk around a lake – I mean why wouldn’t it be flat? Anyway, it wasn’t. The hills looked smaller on the map. I think because the others around looked so big!
Me at Lake Manchester
And then came the wondrous Checkpoint 3 at Lake Manchester, and the first support-crew stop, where Dez’s wife, Andria, and son Nicholas, met us with food, drinks, and a welcome smile. We ate a hearty meal of curry, quinoa, cake and flapjack, all washed down with hot tea. We had blisters lanced and feet patched up by the amazing volunteers at the first aid tent. We watched the sun set, and we set out once more, this time into the night and onto the hardest section of the trail.
A very welcome CP3
There are huge sections of the course that I cannot remember. What I do remember, and what will stick in my head forever, is walking up what seemed like one of the longest hills I’ve ever encountered, and looking up at the moon and singing ‘moonlight shadow’ at the top of my voice. The rest of my team had powered on ahead. I know my limits, and I knew if I pushed on and tried to keep up I’d burn myself out too early. So I settled into my rhythm, I marvelled at the beauty of the wind bending the trees over, the moon shining down on me, and sang my little heart out. And do you know what? It worked, and I made it. So I owe Mr Mike Oldfield a debt of gratitude for getting me through that section.
Out of the darkness came light - CP4
While slogging up yet another hill in the penultimate section, I considered whether I’d make it. I had to stop and ask myself if I could. A couple of times I found myself having to sit down – I had to tell my team mates to go on and I’d catch them up. I just couldn’t keep going, and was starting to wonder whether I could see a way to the finish. But I got up again, and I walked. And then I thought about why we were doing it. Why we were putting ourselves through such a gruelling challenge.
I took my thoughts back to the people who walk for miles each day to fetch water. The others who have to leave their homes and walk for days on end to seek refuge in other lands. And I just got on with it. I put one foot in front of the other one, thankful that I was still doing this out of choice.
Later on that night we were very fortunate to have two more supported stops by crew-extrodinaire, Jim Heaslop, who’d not only brought sleeping bags and hot water bottles, salty treats, flapjacks, and energy gels, but also a plunger and real coffee. I have never tasted food and coffee so good, and I’ve never been so pleased to see a chair in my life as I was at Checkpoint 5.
A familiar view
As the sun rose on another day we struggled up and down yet more hills, and met Jim again for a breakfast stop at Checkpoint 6. The hardest thing in the world was to get out of the chair and back onto the trails. We were all getting a little delirious at this stage, and just so desperately wanted to finish. Since making up time earlier in the night, we were now about 2.5 hr behind our target time due to the ferocity of the hills at the back of Enogerra Reservoir, and crossing Mt Cootha.
The final trek across Mt Cootha to the finish line was crazy, and we questioned, several times, why they had to make it so hard – why they had put so many steep climbs between 92 and 100 km. Our legs were dead, our morale was fading. But there was no way on earth that anyone considered stopping at this stage. So we kept going exactly as we had started off, putting one foot in front of the other.
More hills
We descended Mt Cootha, linked arms, and proudly crossed the finish line – together. We were slightly over our target time of 24 hr, but then we hadn’t expected the trails to be so hard. But we finished together, and at time of writing have smashed our $3000 fundraising target.
A truly incredible feeling
It seems incredible – we actually did it! After nine months of planning, and quite a few months of training, we’re at the point that we’ve dreamed of for so long: sitting on the couch drinking tea, and knowing we’re allowed a break for a few days to recover.
We’d like to say thank you to all of the wonderful Trailwalker team and volunteers who sat out in the freezing cold all night to make sure the walk went ahead. We couldn’t have done it without our support crews either, they really do make the difference between finishing or not. So thanks to Jim, Andria and Nicholas – you were wonderful, and we’ve never been so glad to see people in our lives!
And last, and by no means least, thank you to all of our sponsors and donors – you got us through this too: knowing that we have raised several thousand dollars to help some of the world’s poorest people makes this more worthwhile than anything else.
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My alarm’s set for 3am, my bag’s still not packed. But it’s all good!
Yikes. How did that happen? We’ve been waiting for this event for about a year or more. And it’s going ahead. And it’s nearly now. Thanks to all of you who’ve donated thus far (you know who you are) – we’ve almost reached our target, but we’re still $600 down on where we’d like to be.
The more we raise, the more inclined we are to drag our sorry-selves through the 17th creek crossing on a freezing cold (hey, it may be Qld, but it’s up high!) winter’s night. So go on, slip us a quid or two.
And don’t forget to keep an eye on the website for live updates from the trail.
A Jack and a Jill about to go up a hill
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I’m useless at packing. I hate it. And I always pack far too much!
I’m trying to work out what to remember, but I know I’m bound to forget whatever it is that I’ll need at the most awkward moment. So I’ve laid my gear all out on my bed. Is that really what’ll get me through this?
Packing!
Two more sleeps to go. I won’t write that the forecast is fine for the next few days for fear that I jinx it. I’ll just say that I’d be happy with the cold, crisp, cloudless days to continue. Yay for Brisbane in winter!
If you’re planning on spending Friday in the warm comfort of home, spare a thought for us. But spare more thoughts for who we’re doing this for, and consider donating to our cause. Once again we’re heading out into the hills to walk for fun (of sorts) – and yet again there will be millions of men, women, and children around the world making journeys that they wish they didn’t have to – to find water, to find work, to escape.
We promise that your donations will help make many people’s lives to be much better: your money will go towards saving lives around the globe; it’ll go towards improving human rights; it’ll go towards preventing diseases; in short, it’ll help us work towards a just world without poverty.
Thank you
Meg, Tom, James and Des
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In 2 days, 12 hours and a few minutes we’ll be at the top of Mt Glorious. If the Bureau are right, it’ll be about 6 degrees centigrade, and a clear sky. It’ll be cold. And we’ll be facing 100km of hills. And hopefully we’ll get to the other end within 24 hours.
Our support crew is pumped and ready to go. We’re about there with the planning, I just bought a survival-blanket, and I’m about to go and eat a huge bowl of pasta.
We’ve trained: we’ve done a few walks, many more shorter runs, and we’ve all been keeping our morale up. And we’ll soon find out if it was enough!
Wish us luck, and thank you all so much for your messages of support and donations thus far.
If you’ve not already had a chance to do please, please consider chucking a few dollars into our kitty – we’d love to hit the $3000 mark before we set off to keep our spirits up knowing that we’ve done the best that we could.
During the event we’ll be posting live tweet updates to this website (where signal allows). So if you want to see how we’re going, log on to the site or follow us on twitter directly and find out!
Will those shoes still be that shiny in 100 kms?
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46 km, Brisbane Forest Park. 2000 m ascent. Night walk.
We're there (somewhere behind the light!)
It rained. Boy did it rain.
Last Saturday we set out on our longest training walk yet, and decided to make it a night walk. We set out from The Gap and walked to Mt Nebo and back again, via the trails (South Boundary Road) — most of which are on the Trailwalker circuit. The night was looking OK, and we were counting ourselves lucky that it was warm.
Forty-five minutes into our walk, we donned our rain jackets. We didn’t take them off until 8.5 hours later when we got back in the car.
Walking uphill can be tricky. It can be fun. It was an adventure — we were like the Famous Five: we got to stay up all night, strap torches to our heads, and set out with sandwiches in our knapsacks. And we hadn’t even told our mums what time we’d be home!
Saturday was the night we tested a few things. We tested our head torches; we tested how well we walked together; we tested whether, in fact, we even liked night walking; and we tested our waterproofs. Did I mention that it rained? Well it did. Hard. The whole time.
Did I mention that it was wet?
In many ways (mostly with hindsight!) it was good that it rained, and it was good that it was that tough. If it had’ve been a dry and starry night, and the real event turns out to be wet, we’d have received a nasty shock. At least now we’ve seen the worst. I hope. We couldn’t get wetter, so at least we know how that feels! And in ways, I think Saturday night was harder, because we were totally unsupported. There was no one on the trails to meet us, no one to give us hot tea, and it was all at night. The longest unsupported section of Trailwalker is 41 km, and it’ll be in the daytime (it’s at the start).
But the rain also brought something else: it gave us a wild forest, with no one else in it. It gave us a barn owl that swooped past silently, into the mist. It gave us a little brown snake that looked cold and lost as it crossed our path at 2 am. It gave us the turquoise-and-purple spiders’ eyes that glinted in our torchlight, peppering the track.
I grew a little tired at one stage and couldn’t keep pace with the others. My legs hurt, and I was running out of will to continue so quickly. So I dropped back, into the darkness, into the magic. I left my torch switched off, and the forest came alive around me. In fact, it came too much alive at one stage. Suddenly, all my Wolf-Creek moments came out to haunt me, and I imagined dogs in the undergrowth, or bodies in the mist. But luckily I wasn’t attacked by beasts, or savaged by zombies — or even cane toads. Just pleasantly lost in my own little misty-forest world.
Back in the real world, there’s only a certain amount of wet you can be, isn’t there? And once you reach saturation from sweat inside your jacket, and rain on every bit not covered by your jacket, it’s about there. Even gators and boots can’t stop that amount of water (I was wearing boots, and the other three wore trainers).
Rest stop!
The footwear debate continues. My boots gave me blisters, mainly from squelching my feet in water for six hours. And a couple of the others got blisters from their trainers. Personally, I’m not very good at thinking where I’m putting my feet — I tend to get lost in things like spiders’ eyes and looking for sugar gliders. So boots are an obvious choice for me. Even when I’m running, I struggle to focus without drifting into a dream world of wondering who’d been through the forest before us, what it would have looked like ten thousand years ago when the true people of these lands lived among the hills. Maybe it’s a childhood thing that’s never left me; maybe it’s a place we should all strive to reach more often. But whatever the reason, it’s a good defence against boredom — especially four hours into a nine-hour walk, when you know there’s a hell of a long way to go, and you’re running out of energy to get there.
I walked and pondered why I was putting myself through so much pain and discomfort. And I made myself remember — I thought about the people who do these types of walk daily to fetch water for their kids. I thought about the people who flee brutal regimes, and have nowhere to walk to — they’re just walking to escape. But we are lucky to be doing it out of choice, out of freedom, and I’d like to think out of solidarity with those who have no choice.
So, yes, it was hard. But not half as hard as much of the world has it. Help us to help them by donating to Oxfam on our behalf. They’re working towards a just world without poverty. And if together we can raise enough money to help one family to get water, if we can help one person escape the brutality, then surely a little short-term discomfort is worth it.
Help us out, and donate to our cause
Night-time supplies
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