EDITOR’S COLUMN

KATE DZIENIS, EDITOR

IMAGE: SEAN BEALE

Being vulnerable isn’t easy, but that’s what I’m going to do. Heading out for a single run over the past two years has had its fair share of challenges, I’ll be the first to admit. From the global pandemic to having my second much-anticipated child, lacing up my runners and walking out the door hasn’t exactly been a priority. It’s been a tiresome 24 months, but finally in 2022 things are starting to fall into place and a sense of balance is slowly returning to what my new normal is.

When I think about returning back to my peak fitness level and finding inspiration within myself, I can’t help but recount my most favourite event that I’d ever raced in, back in 2017 – the 6 Inch Trail Ultra, which provided 47km of blissful terrain along the historic Munda Biddi Trail from North Dandalup in Western Australia’s south west to the town of Dwellingup. I’d been training for almost half a year to get ready for it. In my head, all I wanted to do was complete an ultra – forget marathon distance on the road, that was never an attractive option for me. It was all about 6 Inch for six solid months.

The furthest I’d ever done up until that point was 25km.

It’s probably here I should let you know I’ve never been a good runner. Parkruns were always about 36 to 38 minutes for me, and I could never break a 7.30 pace comfortably. With that in mind, my focus in 2017 was to just aim for ‘time on feet’, and incorporate hill training (my relationship with inclines is on a hate-hate basis, and going uphill is a total weakness). And I did it – I did everything my coach at the time told me to do, and I drove the two hour drive to North Dandalup just after midnight to see a very early start to the race.

Checking in, the nerves had begun to stir in my gut; and to make things worse, the day was predicted to be full of rain, cold chill and storms. Most of the time, 6 Inch had always been held on what appeared to be Perth’s hottest day of the year but by some miraculous change of heart by the weather gods, it was the complete opposite – and I’d stupidly put my bladder in the freezer the day before. So whilst all 299 of us stood under space blankets and trees in the freezing cold and rain to see a 430am start, I moronically had a frozen bag of water pushed up against my back giving me what seemed like frostbite along my spine, if that’s even possible.

Despite that, I was prepared.

The whistle blew and off we ran, up Goldmine Hill for 1.5kms at 10% AVG and 1.5km gradual. There was a lot of cursing under my breath for the most part, and by the time I got up to the top for a relatively flat bit, I was pretty much trying my hardest not to be last – so pushed myself to ensure there were at least two or three people behind me.

The first aid station was at 23kms, with a cut-off of 4 hours, and I’d made it just in time. The volunteers had turned the station into a retirement village, with an abundance of running friends dressing up as old grannies and grumpy grandads, playing golf whilst targeting runners and racing us to our drop bags with their steel A frames.

Business UNFINISHED

At this point, I got a great laugh while refuelling, but not wanting to drag my feet any longer, headed off.

The 6 Inch Ultra was the first race I’d ever done solo. Everything I’d ever participated in was with a friend who would pace me the whole way and encourage me, keep me company and push me through. This was a different story. This was me, all on my own, in the bush, getting saturated with what seemed like shards of rain, and really having to concentrate to make sure I was following markers. It was exhilarating, it was empowering, and it was audacious – I felt superhuman.

And despite those feelings of triumph that I was out there on my own, I remember continuously looking at my watch, counting in my head if I would make it to the next aid station in time or not. At 31km my legs began to really feel the burn, and I whipped out my poles for a bit of help.

I got to a fork in the road where volunteers were waiting with two off-road vehicles. The course indicated for me to go right, and I was heading for the infamous Escalator – a 200m to 300m very steep and sharply rutted climb that essentially could break me. The aid station was at the top, and then runners were to run back down, go back towards that fork in the road, and head to the ‘left’ marker.

The only problem was that when I saw the volunteers, and was told I didn’t make cut-off for the Escalator’s aid station, I burst into tears. A super kind female volunteer ran with me to the bottom of the Escalator to see if I wanted to do it anyway, but by the time we got there another group of runners were coming past saying the aid station had all but packed away.

I was gutted. My first DNF. And I never even made ultra.

For a good three days after 6 Inch, I grieved my lack of success. I was overcome with the very fact that despite training as hard as I did, I was still not fast or fit enough. And what made it harder for me was the fact that at my peak, there was a lot of ‘how in the world can I get better’ if I was already ‘better’ than I had been in a long time?

Putting together my stories list for this edition of Trail Run Magazine, conducting reviews on products and events, interviewing extraordinary humans for articles and finding the best possible adventure photography ever, I’m so incredibly invigorated to be the runner I once was. I’m reminded of those times I thoroughly enjoyed training and putting together a plan for a trail race, and when I look back at my biggest achievements in racing, my ‘failure’ at 6 Inch takes the cake.

I may have DNF’d, I may have gone through a barrage of emotions, I may never have experienced the Escalator, and I may not have received a medal...but those 38km that I did get through were the most wellearned kilometres I’d ever done. 6 Inch and I have unfinished business. Perhaps this is the year I conquer it.