'06 Review

*Warning - long and personal post alert*

I don't really expect anyone to read this but I wanted to record how I was feeling at this stage of my life and though this is a public forum it is really the only spot I record things - so looks like this is it.

As anyone who knows me would know -  I rarely stray from superficial banter and almost never into the way I "feel" and this post is less about running and more about me allowing myself to do the grieving I never did when Dad died.

I also am never sure if I run to exercise or whether I run to exorcise so it also seems appropriate to tie this story in with my running highs and lows - I'll also touch on family, work and my kung fu as my life is generally a complex balancing act - never more so than this year.

2006 started with my surprise assault on the Coastal Classic 12 Hour - I'd played my cards really close to my chest on this one and only a few people knew I was going to have a crack.

It was a fantastic night and while I didn't hit the ton I secretly wanted I was extremely satisfied to finish with 93.4kms and uninjured.

Training for Six Foot and I was on fire (for me) - one memorable run was from the Deviation to the top of Mini Mini and return where I managed to run all of Blacks Range - in that same week I set my PB weekly training mileage and also climbed over a vertical mile on my runs - I was becoming confident of a 5.30 to 5.45 finish.

Then the Evil Twins (my calves) Ugly Step Sister came to visit - my right ITB went ballistic and whilst it started in the knee the real hot spot was the mid point between hip and knee and that dragged my quad into the whole kerfuffle. At times I could barely walk let alone run - stairs filled me with fear and with a couple of days to go it looked like I might be a DNS.

Intensive work by Easy Tiger and my chiropractor St Andrew improved me no end but I was still unable to run pain free or without limping on Six Foot Eve - what to do?

Many moons ago when I learned to parachute (on the old style chutes) my instructor used to say that when things turned to crap there was only one thing you could do - "feet and knees together and accept the landing" ie it is going to hurt but there is nothing you can do about it except be as prepared as you can and accept whatever happens - nice analogy for life huh? - It was to be my mantra for the race.

When I awoke on race day I wasn't exactly pain free when I went for a little trot but I could run without limping (which I couldn't the previous evening) - so good enough for a start and let's see what happens - I would always rather be a DNF than a DNS (in everything I do) :-)

Well I blogged that story so I won't go into it but I made it through in a net time of 6.02 - not what I was hoping for a couple of weeks out - but in Six Foot a finish, is a finish, is a finish - so I was happy with that.

Two weeks later I set my recent 5k PB of 22.50 - timing is everything.....

April saw me embark on the Great Heart Rate Experiment with a view to continuing on my nacent ultra career with my sights set firmly on the Poor Mans Comrades (aka PMC - 96kms Sydney to Gosford) - I was doing bucketloads of flat easy k's and riding the bike a bit too..

About this time my Dad's battle of well over a decade with cancer began to enter into the end game stage and my back decided to chuck its hand in too (stress?) - I had a massive dose of Crook Back Syndrome.

Through the end of April and into May the days were long as I juggled work, hospital visits, chiropractor appointments, teaching kung fu and being a taxi for Mum. I also had been tasked with leading the takeover another organisation at work which added to the general busyness.

I started eating lots of junk food - mostly out of convenience but also if I'm truthful for comfort. I do not take solace in sweets or sugary food - my soft spot is fatty foods - deep fried fish, chippies, dim dims - that sort of thing - I started to put on weight.....

By the end of May Dad was in a palliative care unit but he was determined he wanted to come home and he signed himself out (he was a tough old bugger and his mental faculties were still well and truly with him to the end).

Mum couldn't cope alone and so on the first Thursday of June I pretty much moved in with them. It was hopeless. Forget that Mum couldn't cope - I couldn't cope either - the community nurses were doing their darndest to convince Dad to go back to palliative care but he wouldn't budge - he wanted to die at home - can't blame him for that - he'd lived there for 43 of his 55 years married to Mum and though he would never admit it - I think deep down what he really wanted was to have Mum close all the time - they have always been and remained very much in love.

By Saturday night he had deteriorated to the point where I had to physically lift him and carry him to the loo and return - despite the morphine he was in enormous pain and getting him to the loo and back was taking an hour and a half.

On Sunday morning he was in so much pain he couldn't sit up to take his tablets. Every time I would try to lift him he would gasp in horrendous throws of pain and in the end I left him supine.

I went for a walk up the backyard - when I came back to Mum I told her I'd made a decision - Dad was to go back to hospital and that was that - by that stage my sister had also arrived to help out and she concurred - the three of us kind of sat around the kitchen till I said "so I suppose we should break the news to Dad and make a phone call huh"? My sis to her credit said she would - but I couldn't let her do that and I also knew Dad was more likely to accept it coming from me - so I took a very long walk down a very short hall way.

"Hey Fred I'm going to call an ambulance to take you back to hospital alright mate"? He said he understood but the look in his eyes said "you're betraying me - how could you"? - I made the call - I felt like the worlds biggest prick - I still do - that call condemned him to die alone in a hospital bed - QED - prick!

I immediately did what all cowards do - I ran - I ran before the ambulance even arrived - I ran clear across town to the Great Nosh - my mind was in turmoil - I stopped on the side of the M5 and I howled like I haven't since I was a kid - great heaving sobs - it was primal - I didn't recognise the noises I was generating - they were coming from deep inside me.

The company and comeraderie of other runners at the Nosh was a soothing balm and a wonderful distraction - the only drama (which I kept to myself) was I rolled my ankle really badly at about the 7k mark and it was an injury that would dog me for months. But as I was driven back to the start in company with good friends I felt like I could face the world again and what was coming.

The following Monday my boss threw me an unexpected curve ball by announcing a restructure that would see me with more operational areas in my portfolio - great....

Ai, ai, ai, that week was a frenzy of activity and I was also scheduled to see the Halfpenny in Bathurst that weekend. I spoke to the doctor and whilst she acknowledged that Dad was close to passing she didn't think it would be just yet.

On my last visit to Dad on the Friday night I told him he'd been the best Dad a kid could have wanted - he responded with "have I son"? - "yeah Pop ya have mate" - he nodded and asked me to "wet his whistle" (Dad-speak for give him a drink) and he faded off to sleep and I left - that was the last time I ever saw my Dad.

At Bathurst at around 9.30PM on Saturday night I got the call from Mrs 2P - Dad was gone - in a way it was good that I was with the Halfpenny because I could show her I was OK. She wasn't sure how to react (she was only 14 then) and I arranged to drop her back to her Mum - I then worked until about 2.30AM on work stuff (I had a laptop with me) to clear the decks before heading homeand to Mum on Sunday morning.

Only those who have been through it know what comes next and I can't begin to describe it or be coherent about the following week - life goes by like a kaleidoscope of images and events and of course I did the boy thing of supressing all my emotions and kept putting in at least part days at work.

I'm proud that I did a good job on the Eulogy at the funeral on the following Thursday - I know self praise is no recommendation - but I really nailed it - I had 'em laughing and remembering all that was good (and there was plenty) about Dad. The support of my whole family especially Mrs 2P and the Halfpenny needs to be acknowledged here - they were my rock and the reason I could keep it all glued together.

The next day (Friday) after work I sat mooching around home lamenting that to add insult to injury I was going to miss PMC the next day - when at 8PM I suddenly stood up from the lounge and said in a loud voice "fuck it - I'm doing it" - Mrs 2P reponded with a "good for you - Fred would have wanted you to".

A quick trip to Coles and a mad scrabble to download maps and I was set - I almost missed the start because I slept in after not getting to bed till about 3.00AM - I just made it in time for a photo and we were off.

Running across The Bridge I was certain Dad was there for a moment and with the sun coming up over the harbour it was a very, very, special moment that has burned itself into my memory forever. I can see and feel it now.

I never intended to finish - just see how far I got (apart from anything else my ankle was still giving me gyp from the Nosh) and it was immensely satisfying to be able to run 62k unassisted and then catch a train home - it was a tired but contented 2P that sat in the winter sun on the platform at Brooklyn Station waiting for the train to come - munching on my salt and vinegar crisps and letting the stress and strain of the last little while drain from my body and soul. FWIW I never considered this a DNF because I never intended to finish.

I flew to New Zealand for work early the next morning into the coldest weather they have had for forty years - I managed to get two runs in around the foreshore of Lake Rotorua before I caught the worlds worst chest cold.

When I got back from New Zealand work was nuts and the boss was also off for six weeks so that was me - acting king of the world for a while. It was a fantastic but taxing experience as it was actually a long enough time period that I actually had to do the job - not the titular role you normally get when acting up - but considering I also had to do my day job and that I couldn't quite flick the flu and that my ankle still hurt there was no time or energy for running - though I did keep up my kung fu commitments (mostly).

I got fat.

I started running again in late September but I continued to put on weight - by the 4/10 I was 101.6kg - up from around 92kg when I ran the Nosh in early June which was up from 88kg when I ran Six Foot in March.

The hardest run I've ever done was the Striders 10k at Homebush in October - I huffed and puffed my way around the first lap like an out of shape labrador - the second lap was just pain.

At the end it was a mixture of happiness to be amongst people I knew well (mostly from their blogs) and humiliated by my woeful performance and I resolved to put in whatever it took to get back to where I was.

Well the story of my training is in my blog but the bit I didn't write much about was my diet - low carb - usually less than 20 grams of carb per day - which is a tough regimen - particularly in the lead up to Christmas.

Highlights of my training since then have been my trail runs up at Gwandy, the Blue Mountains, Quarry Road and the Otford to Bundeena Fatass which was a great day out.

Bottom line is I have achieved what I set out to do - before heading up the coast for holidays I weighed in at 87.5kg and my nearly 15 minute PB at Quarry Road and subsequent recovery was extremely satisfying.

I don't think my leg speed is quite back to where it was just yet - but my endurance and hill capability are definitely in better shape than they were at this time last year (though probably not quite as good as in Feb this year).

Soooo I guess I will just have to see where I can take it from here - I'm looking forward to losing a couple of more kg before resuming a more sustainable (and enjoyable) diet soon and really having a full on tilt at Six Foot in '07.

I really loved my Dad - he was truly one of lifes gentlemen - he never swore, he rarely drank and he didn't have an enemy in the world - he was a generous man who willingly helped many people. He was a tireless worker and the strongest man I have ever known. He encouraged me and backed me in all of my endeavours no matter how zany, dangerous or foolhardy - he never once told me "you can't" and I never learned that I couldn't.

He was the greatest role model I could have had - thanks Pop.