BAD JUJU, DIRT NAPS & A 200 MILER

Contributed by Kirsten Maplestone, AURA member (Aspendale, Vic)

IRRATIONAL SOUTH 200 MILER, MURRAY BRIDGE (SOUTH AUSTRALIA), 6-10 April 2022

Countless times I’ve trained for a 200 miler only to have COVID stop me from crossing the state lines. I just assumed it would never happen again, but next minute I was on my way to South Australia. Seeing old friends again was a great distraction of what was about to happen…it wasn’t until the race briefing that it hit me, this was going to hurt and the internal panic began. 

Twenty-nine runners fronted the start line at Murray Bridge (17 women and 12 men). I was soon left for dead, as usual. I had my fast walking swagger engaged sooner than I thought. Catching COVID in January ruined most of my training plans and mojo but I had nothing to lose but try to see how far I could go. I was catching people who were getting lost on course and it was happening early on. The Lavender Federation Trail was created by Terry Lavender – there are no beautiful fields of purple perfumed lavender as most people assume. This trail is extremely tricky to navigate, it had spur trails coming off the main track with no reflective signage. All you see is sign saying either ‘follow the fence’ where you’d hit many wide trees or fallen trunks having to give them a wide berth adding up extra steps, ‘follow the road’ where you have to leave the road to read the next tiny marker hidden somewhere, or ‘follow the track’ where there could be 20 sheep tracks coming off the same line all merging. Let’s not mention the 290 stiles we had to climb up and over. Most had electric barbed wire right up to your crotch with no protection – it certainly kept me alert. 

Anyhow, I literally survived by the love of other people and luck. The runners I met on course would always appear at the times I was in need. Rob was my first friend, and had great banter. We came across Farmer Phil at 40kms who welcomed us to his land and followed us along the fence line for a quick chat. He even put bottles of water out on a bench at the top of a hill. I thought this was the aid station but we had another kilometre to go. What a legend.

I went into this race with no crew or pacers but early on Tamas adopted me while waiting for his runner. A furry blanket and a seat for my feet was always on offer. He would fill my water bottles up while I grazed on what I could get my face on and then he would send back on course. I kept seeing him and it was detrimental to my experience. His love and enthusiasm at aid stations was so uplifting and gave me the push to keep going. The hot sticky days were energy sapping, he’d pop up and we’d follow his perky voice like a flock of exhausted sheep. 

On day one, I was told about the 1970s serial killer who dumped bodies in Truro. I had all these visions and felt bad juju by the time I got to Truro (153km). Anyhow, I got lost again. I was starting to panic – little did I know we had to cross the water back and forth a couple of times (Terry Lavender had stumped me again with his trail design). Anyhow I was saved by two head torches – it was Rob and the sweep. It was a long and draining leg, I’d used up a lot of energy and I started to see pigs dressed in Mexican outfits, parrots and a trucker hat shop. Rob’s voice would snap me out of it and I’d refocus my eyes but it was starting to concern me. Two days with no sleep and it was time for a nap.

I took 1.5 hours at Dutton (173km), a luxury I normally don’t have time for. We got up at 3.30am and Shaun was waiting for us with enthusiasm and promised we were leaving at the best time for views. The sunrise blew our minds. Four of us and the sweep took the namaste moment. Sometimes you’ve just got to stop and breathe. 

Through the next night we were taking dirt naps more often and getting slower and dealing with more pain. My feet were killing at this stage. Sammy and I were literally laughing at anything. I learn she teaches Cheer, so I started my own ‘Give me a K-I-R-K” with some fancy arm movements. We were funnier than the comedy festival (although I don’t think anyone would pay to watch our show). As we came into Waterloo (258km) I was in my usual panic and pity party. I felt like I wasn’t going to finish. I took a 20min nap and Sammy went on. It was a hot and draining 27km to the next aid station. I had a cry in the bush. Further on, a lady came rushing out of her house (which we rarely saw) to wish me all the best and that she’d been watching our trackers. That was all I needed to get a boost and snap into gear. How sweet that she would even think of little old me plodding along.

I got to Mintaro (285km) shattered. George, who had already finished the race and looked fresh as a daisy, came to visit me along with some pasta, YUM. He kept telling me I had 15 hours to do a marathon but it wasn’t computing in my head as achievable. I had a sack of fluid swishing around my right ankle at this stage and that’s all I was focused on but decided to just leave my shoes on and have nap. Sammy was waiting for me. She had hated that last section on her own so made sure everyone knew that I was NOT to leave without her. 

We both woke and went on our way laughing into the darkness. I’m sure everyone thought we’d lost the plot. Sammy didn’t even know trail shoes existed and had a $13 head torch from Kmart – I loved her style but there’s only one way to learn, by living. We smashed out the next leg. We had a few laughs with the last aid station vollies, another hour sleep (although my feet were so sore I couldn’t rest) and were off again…and soon lost again. By this stage we were both crying on Arnie the sweep and freaking out that we’d lost valuable time. The poor man was so patient with our breakdowns, farts and dirt naps. He just calmly smiled and played along with our drama