Another weekend, another adventure race… Well actually the
first race since our ill-fated Alpine Quest in the January furnace. Life got
busy. More busy than I thought possible. Full-time work + business + study.
I’ve never put training so far down my priority list. Commuting to the office
and trying to do some intervals on the way. Creeping home at night astounded at
how tired you can get from sitting on your arse all day. Working after work.
More study. I started to realise I didn’t even get into the forest during the
week and I needed this desperately. For my soul, not just my legs. Then
suddenly it was time to pack for the race. And another 6am flight. Argh.
This isn’t going to be about Geoquest. Well not mainly. It’s
about the meaning we, I, attach to these events. I’ve had some close friends –
mountain bikers and adventure racers – seek my counsel lately. They had the same
question – what’s it all about? Why do we do this? Why do we keep doing this? I
don’t know why they thought I had any answers. I’ve been asking myself the same
questions a lot lately. And not just about racing.
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| So clean and uninjured. |
One thing is certain – it’s not for the fame or money. As I
sat at my desk the day after the race, my body was littered with bruises and
cuts. The dark circles under my eyes suggested that an extra couple of hours
shut eye doesn’t make up for missing an entire night’s sleep. “You look tired!”
Yeah, 33 hours of racing will do that. Just touching things hurt from all the
splinters and thorns in my hands. Everything in Yamba was covered in thorns –
vines, palm trees, shrubs. I wore gloves the whole race but it didn’t seem to
matter.
“What did you get up to on the weekend?”
“Not much. Did a race”
“How far?”
“250km. 33 hours.”
Crickets.
I’ve stopped telling people now. My battle scars are
evidence of a secret life. There used to be some perverse pride in watching
them try to comprehend. But now it’s just frustration. When telling people you
ran 15kms to work it gets the same response as 250k. They wonder how I could do
these things. I wonder how they can’t. From what I can tell, any able-bodied
human can do these events – and they do. They’re not especially gifted. They
just want to challenge themselves to the extra-ordinary. And feel pain.
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| River crossing with bike. Best bit of the race happened straight after this. John back-stroking after returning the boat. It's a Scottish thing I think. |
That cleansing pain. The type that centres you and focuses
you on the task at hand like we’re rarely focused in this world of distraction.
When your body screams ‘pay attention’ and you can’t ignore it. There is always
pain somewhere – the burning calves on a steep hill, screaming abs while paddling,
the sensation as the skin on your scrotum is slowly rubbed raw because you
forgot lube (obviously this one wasn’t MY pain). There’s the ‘normal’ expected
pain. Then there’s the ‘what the hell is that?’ pain. Which, for me, was the tendons
in the front of my ankles filling with fluid and making every metre of the last
27 kilometre beach run pure agony.
Facing your fears. Coming off a night paddle and shivering
so much you can’t dress yourself for the bike leg to come. Being wet ALL. THE.
TIME. Afraid you’ll crack before the job is finished. But mainly the fear of
not being good enough – being the weak link. Gritting your teeth and facing the
fear. No high ropes for me this race. Just the pounding ocean. The big swell.
How big? So big that the organisers have to wait until the last hours before
the race to tell you if they’ll let you paddle in it (or, more accurately,
their insurance company will let you). The fear won with some with a team
forfeiting the paddle to run to the first transition. That’s where trust comes
in. Trust in your team mates. Gary wouldn’t let me die. Hopefully. He doesn’t
look worried so I’m sure the big waves are fine. But then Andy didn’t look
worried during that Geoquest ocean paddle in 2015 either. Afterwards he said
“yeah I was pretty worried…”
Bliss. The quiet of sunrise on the river. Carefully picking
our way through small creeks on to small rivers on to the mighty Clarence.
Driving past it so many times I’ve always wanted to be in it. And now we were.
Micro-sleeps. When half the team is having them on the paddle and the other
half of the team is feeling their double No Doze kick in. Sometimes the enemy
isn’t pain and the hardest parts of the race aren’t the most physical.
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| It rained. A lot. |
Monotony. Is it 38 hours a week at an unfulfilling job? Or
running in sand toward a headland that doesn’t look any closer than it did 2
hours ago. Which is the more pointless? Does the race monotony prepare you
better for life-monotony, or vice versa? Data-entry workers may make the best
adventure racers. There’s a school of thought that says adventure racing makes
you more resilient.
Resilience – the ability to tolerate discomfort. That certainly
is REQUIRED for racing. Can you learn it while racing? Does this have cross-over
benefits to ‘normal life’? In my experience, racing makes day to day existence
and routines seem infuriatingly mundane and pointless. The discomfort of a six
hour trek is understandable. The pain caused by clicking a mouse repetitively
is unfathomable because, on its own, it’s such an inconsequential
action. After each race associating with ‘normal people’ (who stand still on
escalators to avoid effort when the whole point is to get where you’re going
faster) more isolating. Like standing in a crowd of people with ear muffs on.
Understanding. Being with our own tribe. That’s why we race.
Because the only people who really understand you are the other crazy nut-jobs
on the beach thinking ‘this is going to be a long day…’. The ones who are
taking nervous pre-race poos in the park gardens because the organisers have
chosen a start line with a solitary toilet with zero understanding (or fucks
given) of the effect of adrenaline on the gastrointestinal tract. Your family, friends
and probably your partner have no idea what drives you to do these things. But
everyone else who’s paid crazy amounts of money to do the event is at least as
close to the truth as you are. Let’s face it, none of us REALLY know why we’re
doing it. It just feels…right. More right than many other things in life right now.
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| Waiting for gear, but we did get coffee. Not a bad spot to wait with 'my tribe'. |
And sometimes your work colleagues, who really have no clue,
ask you questions about how you train, what trails you explore and they write
that down. And the next weekend they go out and do something. Not 250 kms, but
something more than nothing. And that’s pretty cool.
RACE IN A NUTSHELL
The actual race in a nutshell – lots of running on beaches.
This shit has to be seriously curtailed because I think I’ve run the entirety
of the New South Wales coast now. Find some mountains please. Some good
mountain biking – no single track but enough technical, raw descending to be
fun. Rogaine was tops, even with all the spiky things. Great game of strategy –
take the long safe road or straight line through the bush? We did fairly well
here but lingered too long at the Tiger Adventure transition area eating snags
and sipping warm, sweet coffee. Comfort is a trap. Thumbs up to the sunrise
paddle but major flaws in the logistics plan for this race with teams waiting
up to 2 hours at TA for their gear. We ended up tied for 3rd after
the racing was too close to rely on vollies wrist watches for time deducted for
waiting for equipment.
GEAR TALK
I like to reflect on stuff that served me well (or not)
during each race. Injinji socks were great – no blisters or numb feet. They can
get a bit warm in races but are brilliant when stuff is wet and cold. My $50
pack I bought in 2015 finally died so I’ve invested in a new Salomon Skin Pro
15 (wildearth.com.au) and will review this after Hell’s Bells. Salomon S-Lab
SGs were very confident over the wet rocks. I wore the more flexible Inov8s in
the soft ground sections and the lugs were good but they are useless on rocks
and tree roots.
I second guessed my food and paid the price. Too much sweet,
processed garbage. I barely touched my Infinit because the weather was so cold I
wasn’t drinking much of anything. Must make more of an effort next time. Back to basics for solids with sandwiches and dried
fruit. Creamed rice and weetbix in a bag were solid, as always.
Truly horrendous conditions for the bikes. Ride Mechanic
Bike Mix showed its superiority in keeping the chain clean and turning. The Liv
Lust also has great clearance around the wheels (and RS1 fork) so they keep
turning when mud starts to accumulate. Keep this in mind before buying that
fancy Specialized. Just sayin…
Thanks to Flight Centre for getting my there and home.
