In the good old days when I was less fat I used to just sign up for every race I could, but these days I’m much more selective and criteria usually involve things like “where would I like to go to spend a few days?” and “what am I completely unprepared and under trained for?” and the Melrose Rock Running Festival fits both of those criteria perfectly so I sneak in with my last minute registration and… rooooooad trip!
I turn the three and half hour drive to Melrose into a 30 hour adventure that involves a shit load of rain, some consolation rainbows, and not nearly enough birds for my liking.
Massive shout out to The Awesomest, Northpoint Toyota and the sucker who ends up cleaning this beast.
I take pretty much every backroad I can find, get the work car suitably filthy because sucked in, and head towards Burra making a few stops along the way to see not very much. I’ve set the car up to sleep in the back but it’s fucking pissing down and fuck that, so as I approach town I call to book a room and ask how much it is so I can sleep in a proper bed and take a crap in a proper crapper. The lady says their rooms are “usually about $120” and I ask “but how much exactly?” which I think is hilarious and that makes one of us because there’s just silence on the other end so yeah, lead balloon, fart in an elevator. The room ends up being exactly $120 and much roomier than the back of the 4WD. Not to mention the crap convenience.
The next morning instead of going straight to Melrose I decide to take a 4WD track I did once before in my SUV and if that car can do it surely the 4WD I’m rolling in will piss it in except… ah… I did that in summer and it’s now winter, and holy. fucking. shit.
There’s not many worse things than getting 99/100ths through a 4WD track and THEN getting to the shit bit when it’s waaaaay too late to turn around go back so on you go and holy. fucking. shit. Turns out doing this particular track in summer is quite different to doing it in winter when it’s under fucking water.
Thankfully I make it through even if there’s now a fair bit of mud on the car and a fair bit of that other kind of mud in my pants, and now I just want to get to Melrose and am pretty dark when the last five minutes of the drive takes me about half an hour because they’re tearing up the road and how fucking bad are those portable traffic lights when you should be ripping through at 100kmh and instead sit there like an idiot for what seems like forever and you’re busting for a piss? That was a rhetorical question but in case you’re wondering, yeah, it’s pretty fucking bad.
Not entirely sure what I was supposed to do with this in my room?
I get into town, do the town tour (jokes, there isn’t one because there’s only three buildings – and a mountain – there), check in to my room complete with groovy bedspreads and quite a large mystery rock, pick up my race number and pass on the event dinner because the last thing I want to do is sit in a room filled with dirty trail runners who are probably all infected with Covid and why else would one race organiser say he’s going to be banning people from entering his races unless they’re vaccinated because we all know the place you’re most likely to catch it is outside in the fresh air with no one else around. And wait, wasn’t that same race director the one giving out finish line hugs when social distancing was apparently the right thing to do and what the fuck would I even know? That was also a rhetorical question but in case you’re wondering, yeah, not fucking much.
The great thing about this race is I get to start at 8:30 which is I reckon the absolute sweet spot for a race start time. It doesn’t require me to get up at stupid o’clock and it’s also not 1pm like the last one because that made literally no sense at all.
It’s only now I decide to check out the course elevation charts and I really am a fucking dickhead sometimes*. The 15km course I’ve signed up for basically goes all the way up Mt Remarkable and then all the way back down which means the first half is gonna be shit because I fucking hate going up hills, and the second half is also gonna be shit cause by then my legs will be toast and why did I not just go for a fucking drive instead?
As it turns out, despite the civilized start time I’m up at sparrow’s fart on race morning, because the local Riverdance Road Crew Team must be staying in the rooms next door and the rooms have floor boards and how does “shut the fuck up” sound?
I get ready, wander down to the start line, and it’s not long before we’re off and up the hill and there’s nothing worse than having all that nervous energy, finally taking off, then getting about 60metres in before you hit the first uphill bit and have to walk. Most people keep running though so pretty quickly I’m right at the back of the pack but I take consolation in the fact they’re all smart asses who’ll be fucked later and I’ll catch them… even though I never do.
Not only is the first half of the race uphill, it’s like I don’t even know what. But it’s rocky. Really rocky. More rocky than Sylvester Stallone who was Rocky. There’s a few bits that are a bit flatter and smoother so a couple of times I break into a trot for about 15 seconds then its back to walking and man is this gonna be a long fucking day. Mt Remarkable was definitely more like Mr Remarkably Fucking Rocky.
Early on there’s a narrow gate that I assume is designed to stop bikes and fat people getting through and while the few runners at the back with me all shimmy through just fine, I get wedged in half way through and luckily no one has to grease me up with butter to get me out or call the firies with the jaws of life and instead I just have to back up and climb over and that was seriously not cool but I’m blaming my hydration pack rather than all the pizza I’ve been eating.
Other than being ridiculously fucking slow, the first half of the race up to the summit is relatively uneventful, mostly because from a few kms in I barely see another single runner other than way off in the distance when I can see a bit of exposed trail. The trail itself is probably one of the best marked trails I’ve ever seen which is kind of hilarious considering 90% of it is a trail cut into the side of a mountain where your only other choice is to climb or jump, but in the absence of any other actual runners, it’s still nice to see those blue and white ribbons every 45cms along the way to remind me I’m in an actual race.
When I finally get to the summit, I am, as expected, completely fucking rooted so I stop for a bit of a chat at the drink station and wander off before something strange happens… the loop trail is now a descent back down – which isn’t the strange bit because it’s a mountain and we’re at the top and there’s really only one way to go – but I decide to run and I experience something I’ve not felt for years in a race and, could it be? I’m actually having fun. Sure the trail is still super technical, but if you have just the right combination of skill and stupidity, technical downhills can be pretty excellent fun. I only have one and half ankles with my second ankle mostly held together by tape, but I decide to chuck it in neutral and let gravity do its thing and fuck. yeah. I manage to not only catch up to but overtake at least 5 or 6 other runners and despite all of them probably thinking I’m a complete wanker for tearing down that rocky descent at that pace and expecting me to face plant, I don’t, until I do, and thank fuck it’s on a relatively smooth bit. I find out later a bunch of other runners did exactly the same thing in about the same place quite close to the end and isn’t that always the way… you get through all the tricky bits then stack it on the easy bit?
I can honestly, bleeding hand on heart say that descent was the most fun I’ve had in a race for at least five years. Probably not everyone’s cup of tea but I absolutely bloody loved it. I couldn’t tell you what position I finished in because I haven’t seen the results, but despite my late kamikaze surge, I’ll guess it was still right at the back of the pack and I don’t even care. Partly because I’m used to it by now and partly because yeeeeehaaaaa that was such great fun.
I get patched up by the first aid lady and later that night sit in the communal kitchen with one of the road workers watching the Showdown. He’s telling me how they’re working extra long hours to try and get the road ready for the team that are coming in to seal the road in a few days and I so want to make a joke and ask if it’s SEAL Team Six and what great work they did taking out Bin Laden when an even bigger fuckwit wanders in to join us. He’s a very well dressed gentleman and decides to watch the last quarter with us and when Roadwork Mate asks who he barracks for I say he’s clearly a Crows supporter because he’s got a bottle of red wine and even though I don’t say it, because he’s wearing a poxy check shirt and Ralph Lauren sweater vest. And yes I know that red should probably have been some shockingly chilled chardy but not every story is perfect. He says he is in fact a Crows supporter and Roadwork Mate says it’s also obvious he’s a Crows supporter because the red is in a bottle and not a cask or flagon and fucking nailed it.
Everything’s going smoothly until about 25 seconds in he asks what we think Taylor Walker said that was considered racist. Funnily enough Roadwork Mate and I have already discussed that subject at length when ol’ mate fuckhead contributes by saying “I reckon he just called him a <RACIST WORD> because he’s a <RACIST WORD>” and there’s no fucking way that just happened… except it did. I looked at him and said “ah, I’m pretty sure you can’t say that mate” and feel like I should have said more or possibly hit him with that rock from my room, but was mostly in shock and fuck, I guess sometimes you find racism where you least expect it, dressed in a fancy Ralph Lauren sweater vest. Fuckhead.
* quite often
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