I planned it - I've been thinking about it all weekend. This was the big Sunday run - finally make it to the Weir.
So, I carried a map and a compass (been practicing navigating, too), penknife (to cut my arm off when it got wedged under a giant sleeping wallaby), I took water, I took a headlamp, I took cash. All set.
Did I remember to put bandaids on my nipples for a 30km run? Did I put a dab of vaseline in my shorts? Did I put sunscreen on my legs? Did I check that the headlamp had fresh batteries? Did I check if the camelback was moments away from bursting? Did I take food with some salts content? Did I toss out the shoes that hurt two weeks ago?
Unfortunately not.
It all started so well - overcast day, temperature in the high 20's, feeling good. The first hour passed pretty easily, with a few nice long downhill sections on smooth open trails that allowed a bit of yippee speed. The rollers kept on, with some pretty tough broken sections up to the 1:20 mark.
Then my bum felt wet. Really wet.
The extent of wetness went well beyond an unfortunate accident, so I took off the camelback and had a few moments of savoring the last of the water as it trickled happily out the bottom. Seems it had taken it's last run with a capability for holding water. Let the nightmare begin....
The campsite water tank was empty. The only house en route was fortified and had a dog. The Camel ride place was locked up and had no external taps. The thought of turning back crossed my mind, but unfortunately only momentarily. I turned the camelback upside down to keep the last little bit of water safe, and kept on - I had to see the weir....
And there it was - peeking through the trees - just how far away could that be? I had one rule for this run - TURN AROUND AT 1:30:00. I made it to the weir at 1:42:00. It was nice, but it had no water (except for that massive dammed river supplying Perth's water). There was an ice cream truck, though. Alas, ice cream trucks sell ice cream. That's about it. Turn around, head back.
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| Mundaring Weir |
On the way back, the folly of my decisions started to show. My, those hills seemed large (note that Kalamunda is on the top of the escarpment and the Weir, by definition, is at the lowest point of the river valley, meaning that the return journey could be said to be "predominantly up"). At about this time, my shoe choice began crushing my little toe underfoot and a charming blister was clearly well underway. With the stops I'd had to check messages from IW (riding a 400km event this weekend) and figure out where I was, my shirt was drying out and was rubbing. Without extra water to keep it wet, it kept rubbing....
Strangely it hadn't rained during this run, so the campsite tank was still empty. The little sign was somehow alluring, though...
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| "sleep here" or "die here" |
The last bits were, as one might expect, pretty hellish. The stumbles kicked in and every rock and branch on the track became magnetically attracted to my big toes (remember that one I busted up only a few days ago?...). Just about everything hurt, and my brain was not into making the best decisions. Missing some markers led to a few long wrong turns, one of them on perhaps the most charming hill of the day and adding miles I didn't need. I discovered that cursing at rocks doesn't stop them jumping out. I scared some wallabies, though - little bastards didn't get help like they said they would....
Finally, the pub rolled into view, and I hobbled into the drive thru. No juice, no sports drinks, only water. In my thirst, I downed a litre of lovely cold water and then the cramps began. Every little bit of remnant electrolyte in my system was instantly diluted, and everything locked up. Ow ow ow.
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| dirt socks |
Total for the 35-odd km (including false trails) was 3:43:37. Ouch.
Try it again in a couple of weeks....
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