Training for the Grampians Peaks 100 Miler has been my primary running goal for the past 20 or so months.  It all started with a message from Joseph Nunn on 26 March 2023. We’d just finished running kunanyi Mountain Run and somewhere in the post-race slump, strewn out on a bean bag in the sun, he started telling me about a miler on the mainland. The vibe is that it’s basically all single track, a point to point run that follows an entire mountain range somewhere out in Western Vic. Stats-wise it’s double the vert we’d just completed and well over twice the distance. That night we debrief kMR over messenger and he signs off for the night with a link. 

Over the next few months, we chat about “The Miler”. I tell Joe I’m interested but I don’t qualify, having never completed a 100km race. At this point I’m still pretty new to ultrarunning having bushwalked a lot but only getting into running during Covid.  I try to imagine running Cradle Mountain Run, my longest event so far, then turning at the finish line and trying to summon enough in my legs to run back to the start, adding in a couple of mountains along the way to get some more vert. I struggle to imagine the distance or the stats, it just seems crazy. On the other hand, I’ve started watching the course recce video a couple of times a week. I watch Joe Dorph, Maj and Steve scouting out the course, running past Taipan Wall in the sunrise then following along sections of a pretty epic track. The trail follows rock slabs with vistas out to distant ranges. I see waterfalls and cliffs and sections of ridgeline running. There are shots of Steve arriving at the finish with his split head bandaged up. So, I can tell this is the kind of race I’d be into and I start to wonder what it would take to be able to complete the distance. 

At some point during these videos and conversations with Joe the race gets firmly implanted into that part of my mind that likes to dwell on the next upcoming challenge. I find myself imagining the course and I’m texting Joe to see how seriously he is thinking about entering. It seems that we are on the same page.  What gets me across the line is another message from Joe, giving details of a training camp that’s free if we sign up for the race. Entries close soon. I’m still unsure if I’ll be allowed to enter. I decide to leave it up to fate. If the race director makes an exception based on my performances at kMR and Cradle Mountain Run this year, I’ll sign up. If I don’t qualify then I’ll consider the stage race. I bite the bullet and email Joe Dorph, the race director. 

Joe Dorph says yes. 

Joe Nunn says he’s signing up.

I register.

GPT Training 2023

The next 6 months are an Oreo-fuelled, meme-inspired mix of training, planning and speculating. Joe and I attend the training camp and are hooked. The trail is all I was looking forward to. I love technical running over rock slabs, with some fast flowy sections and epic views. We meet a bunch of folks with the same intention of returning in November to run, all with their own stories and goals for the race.  Joe and I organised our own training camp 2.0 a few months later and I spent an extra week of annual leave camping in the back of a car exploring Gariwerd/the Grampians area. I run the remaining sections and realise how much of a monster the Mt William section truly is. Together with Joe and several friends from the first camp we traverse most of the course again over 3 days.  Some of these sections are far more technical and intimidating than the ones we covered at the first camp. As this will be the inaugural event, we all speculate about when we should expect to be where. We know we’ll be heading up William in the dead of night but where we’ll see the sunrise is up for debate. We keep track of our splits and hunt down those from the FKT and the course recce video. I settle on a sub-30-hour goal but consider 28- and 26-hour goals as well. We return from Camp 2.0 with only four short months until the race.

Joe and Justin at their training camp

Back home these months were spent writing spreadsheets, testing out nutrition strategies and researching gear. We run laps of our local trails trialling pastries, gels, shoes and head torches from the back of our cars. The runs get longer in the leadup to the race but my training ebbs and flows with some good, some average, and some pretty poor weeks. I spend a lot of time watching videos like “What I wish I had known before my First Miler” and fall asleep listening to “Training Essentials for Ultrarunning” by Jason Koop on Audible. Before I know it my girlfriend Sam and I are rolling into Halls Gap with a carload of Oreos, Picnics, Coke and many more pairs of running shoes than I need.  My parents, Joe and his parents, Ziggy, Dan, Lauren and Jemma are all arriving the next day. The crew is forming. 

Justin and Sam in Halls Gap preparing for the race

Last Year’s Race

I could write a whole post on the first GPT but to save time I’ll refer you to Joe’s write-up. He and I ran the first half about the same, with our own ups and downs and interweaving paths into the morning of the second day. By the time Joe and Ziggy ran past me on the descent into Jimmy Creek our races split for good. Joey was still moving well but I was cooked, having essentially run my last and moving solidly into walk territory.

2023 GPT100 Startline

The momentary joy of seeing them fly by was quickly quenched by realising I couldn’t keep up with them and how little push I had left.  My quads were shot. I was lowering myself down steps and any time I tried to run I could not muster much more than a few steps at a time. My nutrition strategy had gone out the window. I was not getting much in at all. The times I spent at aid stations steadily increased. From watching YouTube videos I had caught the idea that if you get stuck in an ultra, hang in there, give it some time, and things might just turn around. So I kept on, moving as well as I could, while being overtaken by others, watching my time goals slipping out of reach, and dragging myself into Griffin Fireline Aid Station along an easy runnable downhill. I was jittery from too much caffeine and finally realised I had been waiting for things to pick up for more than 50 kms. 

At this point I admitted to myself that something needed to change. I took off my shoes and crawled into my uncle’s tent in the rain. 45 minutes of sleep, Voltaren cream from Phil, Patched feet from Sam and then I was back on my way to Dunkeld. 

Atop Mt Abrupt, photo taken by Simon

I managed a few surges along the way and surprised a pair of milers who thought I’d tapped out at Griffin. The end of the race was primarily a zombie march to the finish, with some hugs from Sam and my parents at each aid station giving welcome relief. Simon, who I had watched run the whole track on YouTube kept me company down a couple of the final descents. I motivated myself from Griffin to Dunkeld by telling myself that this was a great training run for GPT100 2024. 

I finished the race well behind my goal of 30 hours and far short of my secret dream goal.

At the finish line Joe Dorph handed me a buckle and I told him that I’ll be back next year. 

The Plan

In the weeks after GPT100 2023 I often reflected on the race. I was happy to have completed a miler and could see that I had a decent time for a tricky course in challenging weather but it felt unresolved. GPT100 was the first event I put on my calendar for 2024. I was glad I pushed through to the end but disappointed that I had not executed my plan. I decided that this was worth dedicated training for the next 12 months. I set the following plan:

1. Get a coach
2. Get consistent  
3. Get experience 

1. Get a coach: Just before GPT100 2023 I changed my job. I had spent on average, two weeks per month walking the Overland Track and now with a desk-based job I was in a better position to follow a more rigid training schedule. I approached Ben Duffus from Mile27 coaching  and signed up for a year.
   • Working with Ben quickly opened my eyes to training principles I was familiar with but had never really put into practice. He identified a lack of high intensity work and eased me into adding in these workouts. I had focussed  on  building volume and keeping all my runs at the same intensity. Mixing in harder sessions while keeping me in check on the easy runs was a big step up in my training.
2. Get consistent: Ben also helped me work on consistency with my training. Up to GPT100 2023, there were some good blocks but also significant quiet periods, often for recovery after pushing too hard. In 2024 with a focus on building base fitness, I started running 6 days per week then added in strength work and indoor cycling. I believe that the consistency of training was the most important part of my regime. 
3. Get experience: I decided to keep the same race roster as the previous year, Cradle Mountain Run and kMR early on, and I added in the Brisbane Trail Ultra – Miler as the mid-year race. This was primarily to get more experience at another miler. I performed better than I was expecting at CMR, kMR and BTU this year, which were all good signs that the training was working. Despite having Covid two weeks before BTU with a pretty shocking taper I managed to get within 3.5 minutes of my 24-hour goal which felt like a win. While less technical than the GPT it had the same vert and distance. It was great to have finished a miler feeling spent but still moving consistently at the end. Both myself and Sam (now acting as my crew-chief) took a lot of learnings away from the race and we treated this as a good base for GPT.

Finish of BTU100 miler (BTU Strava Link)

GPT 2024 – Redemption

It didn’t feel long between the two GPTs. Throughout the year of races and training blocks, coming back to GPT for redemption was the main focus. For most of the year, training  was a daily grind, but I felt reasonably good in the final training block leading up to the event. With just a few hiccups, my weekly distance Strava graph showed a steady ramp. Before I knew it Joe, Ziggy, Sam, my parents and I were sitting in an Airbnb in Halls Gap surrounded by Oreos and bottles of flattened Coke watching Barkley Marathon documentaries on YouTube, one of my pre-race traditions. I had been toying with potential splits for a 30-hour goal, but once the forecast became clearer I decided to throw that out the window. The plan that I talked through with my crew the day before the race was pretty simple:

Respect the heat – Accept it will be slow during the day. Don’t skimp on liquids for the sake of being light. Aim to be efficient at night and make up time then. 

Respect the Monster– Borough Huts to Jimmy Creek. Aim to get to this point feeling ready. If it’s slow before this that’s OK, it’ll all come out in the wash. Aim to start the climb feeling good and survive the descent able to keep running beyond Jimmy Creek.

Jimmy Creek To Dunkeld – Just get it done. If things go well, I’ll find motivation in rewriting the run from last year. If things go pear-shaped again …  take notes for GPT 2025. 

Joe, Ziggy and Justin during a shakeout run

Mt Zero to Halls Gap

Last year we drove down Mt Zero Road with poor visibility due to torrential rain, this year it was dust thrown up from the cars ahead.  Getting out of the air-conditioned car, breathing in hot, dry, dusty air, it felt a little scary. The day before we saw Joe and Ziggy at GAR Trailhead and the Halls Gap finish line. This turned out to be invaluable recon. Hearing that the race would be in the mid-30s, and seeing the effects on the runners firsthand, are quite different. We had seen runners already dealing with the heat at 9am as they came through GAR Aid station, loaded with ice and sprayed with water before heading on. Having seen Joe cooked as he came into Halls Gap despite carrying extra water had put fear into me and it’s this image of him from yesterday that I focus on avoiding as I step up to the start line. 

Joe cooked after 50km in the heat

Being from Tassie I’m well aware that this is the worst possible forecast I could walk into, so I figure that whatever other people are doing to cool and hydrate I should probably be doing more. I could see from the 50km and stage races yesterday that ice bandanas melted pretty quickly and no matter how much water they had taken they wished they had taken more.  With this in mind I decided to up the ante and add in as much ice as I could – in the pockets of my shorts, the back of my vest and a sleeve from old leggings that I’d made at BTU as a makeshift ice bandana. It’s not pretty but holds about 5 times more ice than my T8 one. I started the race with a mostly frozen, mostly full 2L bladder and 3 flasks, expecting to need about 1.5L water per hour. 

In my analysis of the 2023 race, I determined that I simply went out way too hard. I got caught up running with Joe and Grant and pushed beyond a sensible effort for a race of this distance. This year my intention was to slow myself down and take at least 30 minutes extra to reach Halls Gap.  My strategy was to convince myself that this was just the warmup for the race and to keep things easier than I wanted to. I decided to record videos of myself chatting about the race to slow down. Even so, I constantly fought the urge to speed up. I took it somewhat easier than last year but was only five minutes slower into GAR. Last year, I took a comically quick sub-1 minute turnaround. This year, loading up with more ice, water, and flattened Coke, took a good 5 minutes.

Ice goiter number #2

The priority here was to load up with everything possible to get to Mt Difficult aid station. This is the longest single section and a hard one to be tackling in the hottest part of the day. Heading up sections of rock slabs, I can feel the heat radiating from the rocks, grateful for my neck bandana I am affectionately referring to as the ice goiter.  Number 2 for the day. I pass some hikers who seem rather baffled that we are out here running on a day like this. 

Eventually I catch-up to Jez who I’d been watching on Strava stack up some serious km’s in the leadup to this event. He asks me how far the next station is.  By my watch we’re still at least 5kms I tell him. He’s pretty much out of water at this point and feeling the heat. I stick with him for a few minutes, chatting and checking in until we come across crews carrying in water from the Mt Difficult Aid station. People had run out of water through this section yesterday, so they had some supplies brought in by foot . After seeing Jez with the water crew, I keep heading through towards the Aid Station. 

There are a few patches where I’m tempted to move quicker when I see folks ahead of me on the track but I remind myself of the plan to get into Halls Gap later than last year and to not rush. Mt Difficult Aid station is a reasonably quick turnaround with the assistance of the support staff and I load up with Ice Goiter number 3. The next section is one of my highlights of the race. After the slog along the ridge into Mt Difficult Aid station, I am able to cool off and I feel good heading along the lookout to Wartook. With a banging playlist curated by Sammy G, I end up moving along pretty well. Reaching the start of the descent and tagging along behind Sange for a bit I have settled into the race. I remember getting carried away on the descents last year, especially when Joe caught me, so I am conscious of saving my legs on every descent. When I hear someone charging down behind me, and realise it is Lucy Bartholomew, I move aside to avoid getting caught up in anything too quick.  

I have a moment of frustration when I look at the time and realise I’m well ahead of my planned arrival into Halls Gap at around 7pm. The memories remain of blown-up quads last year and I worry that I’ve come in too quickly. I made up 6 minutes from last year’s split despite feeling I was taking things a lot easier. I plan to have an extra break and reset at the aid station, as I am ahead of my schedule.

Coming into Halls Gap

I run past the Air-BNB we’re staying at and through the town. I see some kids in the pool and think about how good it would be to jump in. Heading across the street I see Ziggy and Joe ready for a high five and I come in to cheers, feeling a boost from the crowd. I give a quick report to my crew here and try to get in some real food, a Turkish Delight and some Pringles. I get a pat on the back from Brodie Nankervis who tells me I’m looking better than the time he saw me last year.  He and the Esk Valley Orienteering Relay Team had lamented as I struggled out of a chair to get one foot in front of the other at Jimmy Creek Aid station. I tell him and my crew I’m worried I’ve started too fast again. They all tell me I’m looking OK and just to focus on the stage ahead. I change some gear but leave the big change into night gear for Mt Rosea.

Halls Gap To Mt William

Heading out I’m feeling good and manage to jog well past the campsites and into the Pinnacle climb. I’m aware that last year this was the section where things started falling apart, when cramping in my legs started and my stomach began to turn. This year, in comparison, I overtake George Murray and Sange on the climb. George is refuelling on a bench and Sange seems to be taking it easy, possibly due to the heat. Shortly after that I notice something dark and floppy attached to my ankle and try to shake it off. It is the inner sole of my shoe that has worked its way completely out. I stop to fix it. Sange passes me and that’s the last I see of him until the Instagram posts of him on Mt Abrupt post-cancellation. 

The plan I set with my crew was to not talk about race position or time goals until after Jimmy Creek, if at all. But I’ve already heard a few snippets of conversation along the way. The commentator at Halls Gap referred to changing positions, and seeing George, Sange and Lucy suggests I’m further up than I thought heading into Halls Gap. While part of me is excited to be up there with members of the panel at the briefing the night before, the bigger part of me takes this as an indication that I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be and this all fuels the fear that I’ve gone out too hard yet again. 

Mt Rosea carpark arrival

On the descent from the Pinnacle to Mt Rosea Carpark my stomach feels bad and I slow myself down. I had started pretty aggressively with a nutrition plan based on Coke fortified with my own gel mix. I slowed down on this but the Turkish Delight and Pringles may have set off bloating and stomach-ache. I spend some time in the Portaloo at Mt Rosea with no luck and end up chatting with the medics for 5 or so minutes. In the end I spent a total of 13 minutes here processing the situation, preparing for the night and waiting until I feel ready to get moving again. Part of me feels frustrated taking extra time and watching George and Lucy come in and out, but I accept that this is the situation I am in. 

Eventually with blessings of medics and family I head off into the climb loaded with liquids and aiming to keep sipping as much as I can. The headtorch comes on as I climb Mt Rosea and things seem fine on the climb but on the final descent into Borough Huts I’m struggling to move well and each step is causing pain. I test things on any easy ups and find that the pain seems to ease. It’s most likely a combination of dehydration and fatigue. Throughout both day and night I’m religiously sipping away on water to ensure that I’m peeing pretty clear but it was always going to be an uphill battle to stay hydrated in those conditions. 

I’m also aware of how much extra weight I’m carrying and how different this feels. In all my months of training, I only ran with a bladder on my back for about 10 hours, preferring to carry multiple flasks. I’ve never carried extra weight around my neck as I am with the ice. I chat about this with my crew and the medics at Borough Huts, wondering if this is destabilising my core muscles. We change shoes and go for all flasks, 4 in the front of the vest and 2 in my T8 shorts to see if the difference in weight distribution makes anything better.

Burrough Huts aid station stop

I head out into the section that I’ve named “The Monster” feeling good in the legs and accepting that my stomach does not feel great. I eat a brioche bun and keep the Coke mix from the last section and head off into the night. 

The climb goes well and it’s totally different to last year. It feels strange to still have ice around my neck and to be actively cooling myself in the thick of the night. I go back and forth with one of the relay runners once we hit the rock scramble along the ridgeline and I tell him about last year’s conditions. The whiteout mist, the rain, the thunderstorms passing through, a volunteer medic camped out under a rock as we pass by. This year things are warm but more relaxed. The medic lets me know that I’m moving well. I don’t feel 100%, and the swap of shoes hasn’t left my feet feeling any better so I plan to change back into the same style of shoe that I started out with. Despite that, it is here that I notice the bigger differences from the year before. Last year, my legs cramped each time I lifted them to knee height. This year I move consistently through the rocky scrambles. I tick off landmarks as I go. The point I couldn’t climb last year. The point Luke Barratt overtook me. The cairn of Redman’s Bluff. The two rocks where I broke my running pole on Camp 2.0. The water tank by the road. Duwul campground. Then the ‘100m to Aid station’ sign. 

Mt William

Last year I walked into Mt William Aid station feeling like my nervous system was on the edge of shutdown. In the fog, I hadn’t been able to see more than a few meters ahead. I’d tried holding the head torch, but I was so reliant on my poles I’d had to wear it again. The slippery conditions over jagged terrain with jelly legs left me spent. This year heading into Mt William aid station I was close to an hour ahead. I was not aware of that. I knew I was moving better than last time but I don’t have a clear sense of the splits. I tried the Portaloo again here but my guts still don’t ease up. Up to this point I’ve been essentially on a liquid diet. I am convinced to try some noodles. They end up going down well and I eat more than I thought I would. I change my shoes here as the last pair didn’t work well and had grit, digging into my feet. The tighter fit of the TNF Enduris feels more comfortable.

Noodles at Mt William

I head out for the last climb up Mt William. Just before the peak the track leaves the road and hits a long descent. I turn back to see two headlights on my tail. I’m hesitant about how well I’ll manage the rocky descent so I let them pass, sticking close until the runner stops, I suspect due to cramping, and I move ahead. This moment hits home as I was in the opposite position last year being the one overtaken due to cramps on this descent. Throughout this section I keep seeing those headlights close on my heels and it motivates me to keep moving. 

Climbing up the 655 steps segment I manage to bash my head on an overhanging rock and swear loudly into the night. I sit for a minute rubbing my head before finishing the climb and breaking out onto the plateau.  I tackle the Major Mitchell Plateau feeling remarkably good. This more alpine section reminds me of my favourite parts back home. There are some easier gradients and pleasant rock hopping that I’m surprised to be moving through well. The noodles have done wonders for my stomach and I’m feeling better than I had during the previous 8 hours. I approach the descent into Jimmy Creek at 3:26am noting that this is where I first noticed the sunrise last year. 

I’m moving well on the descent. Apart from a couple of twinges I’ve not had the severe cramping that plagued me last year. I run down the steps and onto the white gravel into Jimmy Creek. This is another highlight of my race. At the Durd Durd campsite I look back to see the headtorches still behind me and push more. I make a bit of a gap and continue into Jimmy Creek on a high. 

I run into the aid station to find I’ve beaten my crew and instantly feel a bit guilty. I know how seriously they’ve been taking their support duties and I’m worried that they’ll feel like they’ve let me down. I get underway with the assistance of the aid station crew, refilling my flasks and restocking the ice sleeve and getting down more noodles. As I’m scoffing down noodles I see headlights along the road and Mum, Dad and Sam jump out of the car barely waiting for the car to stop moving. I’m ready to go but we run through our checklist. I won’t see my crew at the next two aid stations so I ensure I’m ready, not just for the next hour or two of darkness, but for the rising heat as well. The forecast for Saturday was over 30 degrees by 10am. I take my sun hut, swap back into a white shirt and load up on ice yet again. We’re now on Ice Goiter number 8. I head off towards Yarram Gap Road. 

The sun rises gradually and the heat quickly returns. The ice is still working well and although I’m fatiguing I keep my focus on two things: 

1. Hydration – Keep sipping the fluids until I need to pee, keep an eye on the colour and 
2. Limit the amount of time I’m hiking. As soon as it’s relatively flat or downhill, get back to a jog. From training runs I know this section is deceptively hard. It’s short but has some rocky stretches that take their toll. I settle into these goals and reflect on the strategy I used at BTU which was to hike when I needed but when the time comes to run again, count out loud 1.2.3 run. 

I go through Yarram Gap Aid Station with a bit of a sit down and chat with the aid station volunteers. I top up on liquids and ice then move on. They let me know that I’m the third male which I quickly try to ignore, preferring not to feel the pressure of placings at this point. I get in some more food and head towards Griffin Fireline feeling firmly in the “just get it done” mindset. Here, the terrain undulates and every climb feels like the last before the descent to flatter country. There are more climbs than I recall from last year and I’m starting to battle with the idea of the day getting steadily warmer. 

My legs are feeling heavier but I am still running well into Griffin Fireline. Last year with my watch screen set to map it felt like hours expecting the purple line of Griffin Fireline. This year I turn to map mode and it’s only a few minutes of watching the map before I run in. 

Griffin To Cassidy’s Gap

Running into Griffin Fireline is a new experience. The vibe is different. Maj is giving me a pep talk and I realise that I am currently in the top 5. Luke Barratt has his camera out and is interviewing me in and out of the aid station. I do the gear check and get assistance with ice and the liquids from my drop bag. With this attention and the cameras rolling I make a fast turnaround and head off feeling like Jim Walmsley out of Champex-Lac aid station. 

Between Griffin and Cassidy’s Gap Aid Station I’m ticking off landmarks as I go, finding it hard to comprehend how much quicker these points are reached in comparison to last year. I’m thinking about the various times I had done this section in my training runs and camps and finally start planning splits for the rest of the race and possible goals for the finish. As I close in on the final 20+ kms I’m focussing on the final stretch of the race. My plan is to get into the aid station and load up another sleeve of ice before the last major climb. The track from here is much more runnable than the previous 70 km so I’m feeling better. I walk up some gradual uphills that I would have preferred to run but I’m finding that as the ice melts it is harder to push. 

At the section of firetrail before Djardji-Djawara campground I am running through my plans for the aid station turnaround: Swap into my last pair of shoes, ice reload, prep for the last two pushes. Then I notice Sam’s white bucket hat ahead. At first I think she’s come to cheer me into the aid station, but it’s a bit too far for that and she is looking uneasy. She breaks the news that the race is finishing early. She says she doesn’t know the full story. She tells me to just go for it. I have a minute’s running to process the information before getting into Cassidy’s. I hadn’t registered any notifications on my phone but I pull it out as I run the last bit and see the words SINGLETRACK and CANCELLATION in all caps. I figure it’s true.

Finishing at Cassidy’s Gap

Post Race

I run into Cassidy’s Gap aid station and am met with a bunch of sympathetic faces. I sit down and consider the news. I get a couple of hugs. It takes a few minutes for it all to sink in. We sit around for a few minutes and I chat with Ben and Lucy who were ahead of me. Sange moved on before the cancellation and someone took off after him to track him down. I take off my shoes and vest and nestle my battered feet into the gravel. 

Eventually I take one last look out towards Signal Peak and we make the call to head to Dunkeld and take a shower at the finish line. It’s 12 hours earlier than this time last year at this point. We get some hot chips and make our way back through town. We drive into Halls Gap and find it pretty dead. After heading back to our accommodation, Mum and Dad drive into Stawell to pick up KFC as a treat. That evening we speculate about the cancellation and what happened in the lead up to the decision being made. 

At Dunkeld finish, arrived by car

At this point everything is a bit uncertain, and results are logged at where trackers were returned.  I knew I had been coming 4th in the general Miler category and 3rd male but I wasn’t sure how the final rankings would be determined. I flick through my Strava post and see the red line traced over the range from Mt Zero finishing just short of Dunkeld. My first thought was that I had failed at something I’d spent more than a year working on. In the end my time in Cassidy’s Gap was 23:13:44. I calculated that if I had managed the same splits as last year for the last two sections I would have finished in under 29 hours. But based on the way I was moving at the time the race was stopped I believe I would have come in somewhere around the 26-27-hour mark. I had toyed with a stretch goal of a 10-hour PB which meant 2.5 hours from Cassidy’s to Dunkeld. I don’t know if I would have made that but I had been holding something in reserve with the intention of finishing well. We’ll never know for sure. 

The next day Sam and I wander around Halls Gap for a few hours and chat and debrief with runners and support crews. We hear stories from the aid stations and the true severity of yesterday’s situation starts to become clearer. I’m feeling a bit restless and unresolved about not finishing. I consider finishing the race from Cassidy’s Gap to the end. I pack my gear and squeeze my blackened and blistered toes into a pair of shoes but testing the conditions outside realise it’s not smart and that recovery is the better option. 

My support crew of Mum, Dad and Sam head into town to debrief the race over a parmi at Rock, Paper, Scissors. We are joined by Joe and Ziggy who both finished the Stage Race with strong final legs and we walk down to the wrap-up ceremony. It’s clear there are many mixed feelings but Joe Dorph talks us through the decision making and it puts us at ease. It’s clear he’s feeling for the runners who have had their journeys cut short but it’s also clear why the decision had to be made. He tells us it was an easy decision to make but a hard one to accept. When I get called up to the podium it’s all a bit surreal. The organisers honour the work everyone has put in and are presenting buckles to everyone pulled from the race. We go up one by one. 

Joe Dorph hands me my second GPT100 buckle and I tell him I’ll be back next year.