Editors note: Today we have a guest post by Sam “Ziggy” Webb about his experience running the GPT100, it a goes hand in hand with the previous post about my experience. I hope you enjoy Ziggy’s entertaining side of the story. There’s a few videos throughout the post, toggle the sound on to hear the dialogue.

I enjoy writing but in recent to mid term years have not done it enough and have procrastinated the whole ordeal. My GPT100 experience was not benign , and I was keen to recount it in more words than Strava allows, but I read Joe’s documentation and thought, well we basically both had the same story, just phase shifted slightly in time and distance. Reading his post, our journey was almost identical. I suppose we ran the same track starting at the same time. What would I add? But the challenge had been made and words must be spelt and smeared across the pixels.

I am Ziggy and I am what can solidly be classified as an amateur trail runner. I am part of the important cohort that makes up the pack of people that finish a good distance behind the winner. My ITRA rating classifies me as “advanced”. Advanced in what? Wisdom, years, gumption levels? I like to imagine people see my name on an entry list and think, cool, there’s someone who is decent speed but I should be able to reliably beat. This brings all the more satisfaction to scalping them later on. People who run at this  pace are the ones that make the podium finishes feel a sense of achievement.

Signing up to GPT

Early in 2025 I hiked the Te Araroa (TA) up the South Island New Zealand. I had started this thru hike two days after Cradle Mt Race in which I performed well, and brought along with me some prodigious blisters and abused knees. The hike took me a bit under two and half months and covered a few kilometers of vert.

On my second day, I met a girl from Alaska called Natalie and we trekked  the long Oreti Beach Section together, myself barefoot, and discussed life et al. We are at different stages in our journey. I am young and finding myself. Natalie is much younger and already has a self. I described her as veracious in my diary. Interestingly, we sometimes go deep into chats with near strangers and I have a looseness to my expressions and can discuss anything in these moments. With people I know well there is not so much to say. We talked about Ultrarunning a lot as it was a shared interest and at some stage the discussion of future and next goals popped up, and I may have mentioned a 100 miler race someday. I had no heart set on it though. I hadn’t run so far before, and I was not at all afraid of one and it was not some pertinent, mountainous goal to me. Just a step up in distance. There is no doubt, and has not been, that I could finish one. I believe myself to be like a modern Shackleton, avowed to endurance. The evidence for this is scarce. I did not see Natalie again until the very last day of the TA.

I have an email from Singletrack, dated the 7th February, with an invite to GPT 100 with discount. I must have got this on the knee deep hike through the Longwoods mud and read it when I got reception again in Otatau. I sat on this email and returned into the bush tramping towards Te Anua. I did not return to reception until the 12th.. I cannot recall any specific decision being made along that journey. But I signed up. It was February 12th. 

The next day I ran the Kepler track, around 70km, and then shortly after I had loaded my bag and was slogging it out back country the section from Te Anua to Queenstown, along which I detoured via the Routeburn track. I actually met Karel Sabbe at the beginning of this leg during his successful TA fastest known time  attempt. I was immensely pleased to see Karel and his pacers battling head high tussock grass near the Mataroa River, winding through swampy underfoot. People advocate for detouring on a nearby gravel road. I hadn’t and Karel hadn’t and if either of us had taken the easy route I never would have met him. 

It is ridiculous but this small thing gave me a lot of respect for the man. He wasn’t cutting corners. Maybe my hiking the TA whilst Karel was running had some influence on the decision and dedication afforded to the GPT, as I spoke to him briefly of how in the GPT Stage Race last year we watched the Barkley Marathons documentary on him the night before. On how it fired us up. On how he had motivated us. Perhaps he did this for me the whole year. 

Training Strategy

During my post TA bus ride from Picton to Christchurch and flights back to Aus I read much of Jason Koops book, Training Essentials for Ultrarunning. In 2022, I entered the Kunyani Mt Run Vertical Kilometer race. I had started consistently running the year before after doing Triple Tops and Tassie Trail Race and had read Training for Uphill  Uphill Athletes. My training approach had shifted slightly in these couple of years – well it had really begun – prior I would just go for runs, as the body and time availed. Always at what now would be a tempo-threshold effort, as fast as I could go for 30-50 minutes.  Now after being converted by Uphill Athlete I was running slow, sometimes unnaturally slow, and nose breathing. I don’t like to admit to nose breathing and normally keep this fact to myself. It disgusts some people.

I never ended up running the VK race as I got a last minute (literally two days and much of the country away) free ticket for the ultra. That was my first ultra. I prevailed. Ever since I had still mostly followed the Uphill Athlete approach, lots of zone 2, long slow runs with occasional intensity, when training seriously maybe two sessions per week, and not clearly delineating training blocks.

Koop swipes away the placemats, refuses to wash his dishes and swivels the dining table around. He advocates for separate training blocks. I won’t go into detail, however I had listened to a batch of his podcasts whilst hiking the TA through March 2025 and his skeptical- almost cynical approach – to training appealed to me, as it did to Joey. Koop ripped into the Uphill Athlete indirectly, into holding opinions that were not backed by hard or at least somewhat un-flacid evidence. I was already thinking to perhaps adapt his training methodology, and it turns out so was Joey, so we ended up with similar training plans. Joey  and Juzzy had organised a group syndicate as none of us had coaches this year. I tagged in.

2025- Year of GPT100 Training 

I had lost a portion of fitness whilst hiking from February to mid April but got a few solid months of running in the first half of 2025 before I did my achilles. The physio titled it “ Return of The Post-Tib?”, alluding to the injury I got in the TA that almost sidelined me. 

I was told to increase my cadence, do some specific exercise and was banned from vert. Banned from vert. This was bad. I also started work in the Philippines so a few things were happening. And then I got sick for a couple weeks. Training was stunted and for the first time I got concerned.. The race was approaching, only a few months away. I was floundering in the midst of what I deemed the most important part of training, I never doubted the ability to finish but more the ability to perform well. Every week in the Syndicate we would post our stats and compliance and I was getting trampled. One week I got like five hours, 50km and maybe 800m of vert, which was like a third of the other guys. I was incredibly reluctant to have any rest days, even knowing at the very time that they were imperative. I failed Koop here, and gained good appreciation for Joe’s discipline. The syndicate did help and when I expressed my apprehensions they were squashed quickly. Comparison is the thief of ignorance but comparison looks both ways. I could compare against some other entrants on strava and feel at least I was doing  more training than them.

Much like my potted citrus trees who lose their leaves every few months, I kept on. I got a solid ten or so week stint in before the end and the rehab went well enough. I completely threw out any specific block training for the last six weeks or so and just focussed on getting vertical meters and hours and throwing adhoc intensity in to keep the system primed.

Race Lead up

We all got phantom sickness in the taper period. This was expected, but my phantom had physiological fingers. This body was laboured by fatigue and was sleeping poorly. Returning from a work stint in Queenstown, I went for a 10km jog with a  few tempo intervals and my heart nearly blew up. It was getting mid-high 170s which I normally couldn’t normally achieve unless doing VO2max.

Whilst not obviously sick I did not feel a flash coming into the big event. Juzzy had a  proper head cold the day before and told us that he was light headed when he went for a shakeout jog. I wish he never mentioned this. I struggled to sleep in the weeks and then days leading up to the race, except the immediate night before where I finally spat it and took a moderate dose of phenergan. I slept fantastically.

Race Day

Start – Mt Zero to halls Gap

If you wish to gain the podium you must have your mind set to this from the start. So much in life is about positioning, everything is a matter of posturing. We hobble along on a knife blade that defines all beyond its curled edges. To one side there is success and the other failure. You fall off either side. You know of what I speak.  Pat Drum had explained in their Gariweld podcast how he had hiked up the initial barerock hill in 2024 and past many people soon and later thereafter. It seemed the prudent thing to do. I agreed. Mayhap the slant of the text here is obvious as to what actually happened.

We milled around at the starting area and I was tossing up a strategy still. 

I said to Joey, 

“I think it has to be done”. 

He laughed. 

We both knew what it meant. Ben Burgess had done it the year before and had performed amazingly later on. I would copy his strategy. I hustled to the front of the starting pack, placing myself next to Caleb Olsen. He let me feel his patented shirt thing. It was less like typical foam than I thought, more like 3D spacer mesh. Interesting. The count down began and people eyed their watches, ready to press the start button. Three, two, one.

We gave a hoot, myself an echoing booming challenge, a discordant garble of a warcry, slapping my hands against my thighs and slathering at the mouth and spitting out foam and eyes rolling in their hallowed sockets, a man disjointed from the epics of history by modern convenience, a barbarian sworn to dismember the penitent souls that mass around any challenge that is set forth to them like silent fluttering flies furling across a burnt and bent candle. Amidst cursed promises we set off. I almost trampled some salt bush thing with my elbows flaring out, asserting and dominating the pack. I left Caleb behind, and it turns out I left everyone behind. That is all that needs to be said. Let me elaborate further.

The pace was fairly fast but not a sprint, and I expected others to do the same. Nobody did. Here was Ziggy, out in front and powering up the hill like he was completing a three minute VO2 max interval. I saw Tim and Merran cheering, probably for Juzzy but I took it and Colin from Singletrack with a splitting cherubic grin roared my name and then just ahead on the same side of the gauntlet Tony Nunn yelled out “Go Ziggy!”. At this stage, mere minutes in, I was leading the race. The drone footage barely captures me.

I felt incredibly shit. The fact that so many people were filming meant I could not quit. The hill did stretch on. My quads were pumped and I was faint, perhaps the hangover from antihistamines. I stopped near the top of the hill and looked around with my hands, on my knees heaving breaths. I realised I was maybe 40m ahead of Caleb and George. I took a video then walked and around 20- 30 people began to pass me, and one of these was Pat who had hiked up the hill as recommended. I was too afraid to look at my watch. I was sure my heartrate must be in the 170s.

The race settled in, but my head remained a balloon of helium. Or perhaps more like hydrogen, as it was apt to blow up. I very rarely feel faint. I don’t seem to get sea sickness nor car sickness and have a mild tolerance against altitude sickness in the 14,000 feet range, but here my vision was actually hazed. I had translucent white squares over the centre of my field of view and I was running my mind through the scenario of passing out. It was like I was only half there and was viewing myself as an ailing third person character, a protagonist with his fatigue bar depleted. Miranda had run the 50km the day before and said at the start some girl had got half way up the Flat Rock hill before folding over, breaking down in tears and wailing. A guy had stopped to help him and the last Miranda saw she was shoving salt tablets down her throat. This was literally the start of the race. It was pretty hilarious and I thought similarly about my scenario. How stupid would it be if I fainted a kilometer into a hundred mile race? 

I became a member of a good pack with people that I had expected to be of similar pace to. The perceived effort was high for the pace. I tried nose breathing for a bit but it was at the uncomfortable threshold of losing it so I was high zone two.  My heartrate took 7-8km to settle from the starting sprint. So there you go. I chatted a fair bit to boost morale, particularly to a guy who it turns out had hearing issues, so he didn’t catch a lot of what I was saying.

Arriving at Roses Gap aid station slightly ahead of schedule in 1:53, I had just before started feeling pretty tops. I had jogged in with Bridie and Lou Clifton and a few others. The aid station was cramped and narrow and hectic. Miranda was nowhere to be seen. Sue and Tony and Lauren helped me fill the waters but I wanted to wait for Miranda to check off my list of goods needed and grab my poles and I didn’t want anything from the aid station itself. 

She took a  while to come. Joe Dorph asked if I was alright, I was standing around almost amicably. I kept saying I was waiting five minutes for my support, and finally Miranda arrived but then she was trying to get a car park and figure out what gear to bring over, and I was agitated, so it was a hurried affair. I spent a lot longer here than I had planned – over ten minutes – and heard the announcer say that the top 30 had now come in what felt like minutes ago. The race was trending much faster than envisioned. Rationally I knew that ten minutes didn’t matter that much, and I attempted to keep stoic, but the stress and annoyance would dig into the mind and my self regret at losing my cool bode against me on the climb up Mt Difficult. I was worried about Miranda’s ability to be timely to aid stations, I was worried for her that she would now be worried about missing me at a more crucial aid station, I was worried I had put her in her own spiral, I was annoyed I had lost the pack of people I had been running with. 

The next leg has a reputation which on this day it failed to meet. The traverse from Mt Difficult to the south is exposed and stretches cruelly out, a sprawling cambered ridge of rock and stunted trees stripped of any empathy that scrapes away man’s ability to run, with puckered sediments and ridges that promise an end that is not delivered, a manifest of torment brought about by geological sundering. In 2024 during the 50km stage race it was a hazing ground, a slog, a crawl across baking stones, attacked by withering heat, moisture leached into shimmering air, and it was where we ran out of water. But today I felt fair and nothing stood out. The Grampians this early in November was filled with wildflowers, it was not a parched and desiccated panorama, the beast was lumbering. My agitation waned. It wasn’t even that much of a slog. Steady pace, mostly alone. I stopped at the view point to fill up my flasks from my bladder, have a gel and a rice ball and some snacks. This was all just a big day mission. Mt Difficult road was reached in about 5 hours. I had overtaken eight people since leaving Roses Gap.

Running along the Honeycomb I attempted some mindfulness and was noticing how light headed I still was. I also had slight nausea. I have never really been sick before on a run and don’t get nausea. At Gone Nuts in 2024 I partially gagged and vomited on a raspberry Hammer gel but forced myself to swallow it then I ran the last 10km without stopping. That’s about my experiences with running nausea. Normally my intestines just turn to water and it is the lower half that gives grief.

The jog into Halls Gap was alright, legs were alright, it was all alright. I arrived before my seven hour goal in 6:43 but felt like I hadn’t gained much by going slower. This was similar to Cradle Mt Run in 2024 where I paced myself but still found the thwarted speed draining. I had thought if I went slower it would be much easier for this first 50km. Just as I entered the main road I passed Lou Clifton leaving and then Pat Drum. I gave a big high five to the latter. There’s a character that will make more appearances in this saga.

Bruce Miller was there volunteering at an aid station and whilst he did not call me a hero this day he was yet to know the battles I would fight ahead. Tim B gave me a shoulder massage whilst I shovelled down some hot chips from Dave and Miranda sorted my food. My nutrition was going OK in terms of drink mixes but I wasn’t eating the date balls as much as I should. Enquiring about Joey and Justin, Miranda said they were well ahead of their goals, but I think Dave mentioned Joey looked pretty rinsed coming in. I shrugged at this, I figured he could look rinsed and still smash a solid pace. 

The Ripening – Halls Gap to Burrough Huts

I left Hall’s Gap after seven minutes with some extra mandatory gear. Initially I felt vibrant climbing up but lost energy rapidly and the walking became laboured. At the Pinnacle summit I chatted to a volunteer and then I sat on a rock. The weather flipping erratically between sunny then showering, and another caught up and ran past. I filmed a video to share with the support group. Bonked. It turns out Joey was also struggling at the same time, just half an hour ahead.

At Mt Rosea carpark I had a sit down and expressed my woes to Miranda. She was unphased, and reminded me I was actually ahead of my 28 hour goal pace. She hypothesised I was dehydrated and made me have like six salt tablets. I hadn’t urinated in like four hours which is unusual, so I tended to agree with being a bit dry. I think I probably didn’t need the salt tablets. Anyhow, I set off and struggled slowly up Rosea. It’s a technical ascent and I could see someone way out in distance and thought it was Pat but I was well alone this whole way. Running down to Burrough huts I worried about the need for a toilet stop and was still dragging the mild nausea.

At Burrough Huts things eventuated. Last year a lot of people pulled the pin here. I knew it would be a long stop. When I got in Pat Drum was standing around and Phil Gisbers was joining him, Nicole Paton had just left. I had maintained a steady pace.

Nutrition consumption had been lacking a lot so I scoffed as much as I could stomach here, including half a potato I would then carry for the rest of the race and drank a heap of coconut water. A shoe change, some gear reshuffling, ditched my sunglasses. I had planned to brush my teeth for the night and started doing this and thought about spitting out into the campfire, but it was unlit and made up with wood for the night. My memory is infallible. I can still see the small square split timber, yellow and stacked orderly. I thought, well, I don’t want to disgust the spectators by spitting on an orderly clean fire, so went to the portaloo to discharge. The lid was down and when I went to lift it I somehow lifted the whole toilet up. In front of me was a vat of blue liquid interspersed with floating feces and soiled toilet paper, and a pungent odour availed itself. I quickly spat out and ducked out of the portallo. Wow that was sickly, I thought and suddenly I gagged and vomited a bit into my closed mouth. I rushed back into the portaloo and gave a few triumphant kangaroo grunts as I lost all my guts there. With watering eyes I returned outside and Miranda was perhaps somewhat shocked but she shrugged it off. 

“Do you want to brush your teeth again?” she asked. 

The thought of bicarbonate flavoured toothpaste almost got me to vomit again. 

No way. 

I drank a bit of water and poddled off. I had a mountain to climb.

The Crescendo – Burrough huts to Jimmys Creek

The climb up Mt William was slow and steady, to the east the sun put forward its last endeavour across the lake outside Halls Gap. It was a deceitful show of muted oranges and pinks, the pastel sandstone crags appeared to have been buffered down, the granularity, the abrasion dulled by shuffling feet and they went from crisp to then cloudlike, the very air full of promises to peace and tranquility. I went back and forth with a few girls from the relay. Then the cloud crept in, a cancerous thing, and the wind started up, gusting here and there with tease. In the previous year I had bonked hard near Redman’s bluff and this played out in my mind, but I have very little appetite for drink mix or gels, and none for solids. But I didn’t bonk. I just kept going, slowly. I passed Pat with Phil, Pat was struggling. There is nothing much more to say.

At the Mt William aid station at around 10pm the aid guy made me a cheese toastie. I ate it and the bread was like cardboard. What a disgusting sandwich. Sorry mate. Maybe it was my nausea. I forced myself to chew half of it, mouth working sideways like a camel’s and kept going and threw the other half in the bushes somewhere for a wallaby to eat. Bread is good for their jaws. 

The wind had become a thing of frustration and was now spraying wet cloud across everything. At the turn off from the road I donned my jacket and gloves as it was getting cold. It was well dark now and the pace slowed considerably as the trail was hard to follow with the post fire desolation the path was lined by tapered blackened stalks that quivered in the gale.

Coming down from Mt William the rain had started seriously and I encountered a person laying on the path. It looked like they had taken a fall. I thought it was Nicole Paton but it turned out to be Bridie. She was laying there, exposed to the southerlies with a space blanket half wrapped half around one arm whilst the rest of it was flapping and slapping around in the air.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“I’m trying to call my coach.” A pause. “I’m so cold” Her phone was clenched in her hands. We were almost yelling over the wind.

I was completely baffled. What advice could a coach give here? The wind was roaring constantly. I remembered Bridie had been running in a singlet at the start of the race. I had some of my own advice to give personally.

“You have to keep going.” I knew the area reasonably well, we were right where the track steeply descends to the notch before Major Mitchell Plateau. There were big gum trees down there and I figured it would be more sheltered than where she was, which must have been just about the most exposed place to lay down. “Get down to the saddle at least.”

She agreed. At least she had given up trying to phone a coach. Another guy had arrived and was helping her up. I stayed long enough to see her on her feet.

I was shivering too, my gloves had wetted through. “I have to keep going, I’ll freeze myself.” I declared. They probably didn’t hear me. I continued on. Bridie made it to the saddle and apparently stayed there for a few hours, people ended up hugging her to keep her warm. Pat and some others gave her extra space blankets. If I had stayed with her I probably would have secured a free entry to the Vietnam Mountain Marathon. But I probably would have become a statistic myself, given how things unfolded. I was in no position to help.

The climb up towards Major Mitchell Plateau was shortly after and I’ll tell you what, I was drained. It was almost midnight and the chill had consumed everything. They had forecast a -7 degree windchill and I had scoffed at that. Well who’s to laugh now. I stopped to shove in a caffeine gel and this was my undoing. I swallowed half of it and instantly was set into an affair of retching on the rocky steps. Vomited again and again and drank some water and shuddered feeling grit on my palms and decided there was nothing but to do but push on and so I snuffled my way uphill with the tips of my poles scraping on rocky slabs and knowing that ahead was worsening weather with ears hearing the wind whipping over the plateau and knowing the increasing exposure a daunting thing.

The next section was something else. I would try and sip water, then shortly after vomit and moan violently and then pull myself up and plod on. The wind seemed to be unable to decide between striking directly in the face or in the side. After each vomit I have maybe ten minutes of adrenaline and could move well. Things got worse, I found myself on my hands and knees calling out the good lord’s name thinking, wow, I don’t have any bile left. Pat and Phil and another guy came across me here, three lights amongst the vapours, and asked if I was alright. I tried to explain the situation between retching guffaws. They invited me to tag along and I said I was going very slow. 

“That’s alright we are just cruising”.

So I tagged along for a bit, but dropped off after maybe ten minutes. The lack of water was beginning to make itself evident. I was light headed again, but now my coordination was going to the dogs. The weather was gusty, cloud whipping past and the terrain underfoot a lot of rounded, basketball to gym ball sized rocks. We were hopping between rocks surrounded by depthless puddles, so balance was imperative. I kept thinking I could miss a rock and slide sideways and break an ankle easily. I was surprised nobody did. But the wooziness also combined with my sleepiness. I couldn’t tolerate the taste of caffeine and my eyes were starting to close during the march. Each time I would shake my head and peel my eyes open. Breathing was reduced to a ragged rasp, I found that making it into a gasping death rattle seemed to help. I was shivering constantly, and annoyed by the amount of energy shivering would be wasting. My torch would reflect off distant markers and I kept thinking people were looking back from way ahead. Probably half the markers had blown off the shrubs and were sometimes strewn meters from the actual path. Navigation was tricky and I had to stop and backtrack a few times. I thought it was snowing and realised tiny white petals from the alpine flowers were dancing around me, vortexing in the wind. Some got into my eyes. I thought, quite hilariously, how I did not want to tell volunteers at the aid station later on about this as I imagined they may hold me back and try to flush my eyes. It wouldn’t be the nausea that undid me, just shit in my eyes. I probably had mild hypothermia at this stage. Surprisingly I went back and forth with a few runners in this section. Ruth and her pacer passed me at one point and she asked me, “You alright buddy.” .

I don’t think she had the time nor the affinity for a true answer. She looked bubbly, I couldn’t believe her pep, and I was in no state for chit chat. She went on, “It’s only a few kilometres to the next aid station isn’t it?”

I knew it was far more than a  few kilometers and I said it was a bit off. She ran on. Then I caught up to Pat and Phil again and Phil told me we only had maybe five kilometers to go and I told him how I was just going to get there and call it, and he said, “Nah, you’ll get there, have a rest, some food, and be good.” 

I did not believe him on either front, and it was more like 10km to the aid station. 

Still I could run, just slowly. I was most worried about my dehydration and fuel; I had gone backwards in terms of net nutrition since Burrough huts, having regurgitated everything up a few times over. I couldn’t drink water. Surely I would properly bonk at some stage? Only a few kilometers to Jimmy creek, where I can finally pull the pin. I reminisced at some stage about other dire situations I had been in. In 2023 I hiked the East Coast Trail in Newfoundland in Canada. I got gastro or something and it struck suddenly when I was camped on a narrow perched spit of land flanked by bluffs holding themselves above the broiling Atlantic below. It was a dry camp. That night I vomited and shat constantly. I went through three pairs of underwear and I ran out of water. The next day I got up, packed the tent and shuffled on, I stopped at a creek and washed my clothes and sipped water and made a weak coffee. The day after I hiked on. I ate nothing but a few peanuts and biscuits and tiny bits of cous cous with more peanuts and drank weak black coffee each day. I would keep on. One night I was curled up in my tent moaning and clutching my stomach amidst cramps and heartburn where I had fire ants crawling down to my insides and I thought, if I could, I would admit myself to hospital right now. So I had known worse. But still I was ready to call it.

I hobbled into Jimmy Creek aid station at 03:30am. Up until Mt William I was actually still ahead at 28 hour pace but I had dropped an hour and half in the last section versus my goals. At this point pace meant nothing. It had taken me almost five hours and I had barely made a dent on my drink flasks. Ego was assimilated.

Miranda approached me and asked if I wanted to go in the car. No response was needed – I was walking towards it already and I opened the door and sat inside as she shuffled things out of the way. I was wrecked but thankful that she had the car running and hot and had anticipated my humble needs. I was shaking in sporadic convulsions and Miranda swaddled me in puffer jackets. My space blanket came out and that went on too. She adopted a clinical approach, explaining the steps and process of what we would do, running through my recovery plan. She got some beef noodles, I couldn’t eat the noodles but she poured the broth into the Blundstone thermos and I sipped at that and nibbled a few pringles against my own protests. I swallowed some panadol – I did two of the bloody things. She never once entertained or suggested conceding. It was all about getting ready for the next leg. I would nod off against her shoulder and half sleep and wake up and shiver some more. I spent 58 minutes in the car before I looked at my watch. This brought me out of my trance. I gotta get ready to go. It took 15-30 minutes to achieve this. Miranda assisted with a full clothes change – socks, shoes, undies, gloves, a fresh rain jacket even. I swallowed a No-doze caffeine pill. My first time ever. She made me wear four top layers before proceeding. Two hiking poles were held in my rictus grip. A mechanism that was made to march.

You know what? Somehow whilst I was sitting in the car I gained positions, as people were dropping.

Redemption – Jimmy’s Creek Onwards

I set off and hiked uphill. It was about 5am. The white phallic flowers of the blackboys were luminescent. They looked like track markers, the guides that airport ground staff wave around, and they beckoned me forward. One was curled around to the shape of a paperclip. I thought briefly of Clippy, my old assistant from Microsoft Word 2000. What could he offer me now?

Predawn crept in. Eating was immensely difficult but I found that I could take a bite of a pringle and sit it in my mouth and mix it with drink mix to a slurry that could be swallowed. Plain water was unpalatable. But I felt awake and refreshed and stumped away. I hiked.

I met a guy on the scree slope halfway to Yarram gap and we stopped to ditch the warm gear together. He told me his nickname, which was a pretty typical Aussie name, and I forgot it promptly. We talked about the night. He was also in disbelief. Nobody seemed to have come through unscarred. I pushed on. I started jogging too, and overtook a few people. In the daylight it was astounding to see the regrowth from the forest. Across the valley the peaks warmed their faces to the first light. It was a new day.

At Yarram gap aid station the two volunteers were busy helping another wounded soul. I was now entertaining the dread of stage race runners catching me and the staff were talking of preparing for their arrival. I only spent a few minutes here, filling water and eating a Snickers bar and I left. I caught up to some youngish guy soon after. He was hilarious. He was groaning when I initially got him. “Man, I feel terrible, my belly,” he whispered . 

I passed him but we stuck together for a while. He seemed to be in a completely bewildered state.“ I have no idea what’s going on.” He would say. Then he would follow it up with something like, “ Man, I don’t know where it goes”, referring to the track, and so on. I was leading the way, he was looking around with wide eyes and clutching his tummy. He was on a trip darker than mine. Perhaps he should also write a blog. But he kept going too.

It was daylight and I wanted my sunglasses, and was thinking some home made chocolate and miso cookies I had forgotten to now would be good. I messaged Miranda for these at the next aid station.  Miranda replied back saying I was moving well. I was trudging consistently, but felt slow and I said as much. She said I was only a few kilometers behind Joey and Tim B. This I could not believe. Joe had been 45 minutes or so ahead at Burrough huts and I had then spent a further hour and a half shivering in a car. No way was I near him. I put it down to a short appearing distance on the map being a long time in the actual terrain.

Running into the Griffin Fireline I passed a Samuel, then caught another Samuel. I had been the third placed Smauel to this stage. I laughed, thinking I had once entertained the idea of a podium finish and there were enough people with my name in front alone to almost knock me off the podium.

Miranda jogged with me for about a kilometer into the aid station and she was astounded at my fortitude and how I had bounced back. She has known me for over a decade yet still she underestimates my raw power. I pole ran all the way in. “You’re moving so well.” she would say. Here I was met by Lauren and Tony and Sue and Tim B. Joey was not to be seen. He had also become one of the forsaken, and was in the medical tent. Sue said his core temperature was down to 35c.

I quickly went to portaloo and got all my goods together. I ate some cookie, laughed about the half a potato I had been carrying in my belt since Burrough Huts. I was pretty positive at this stage. Guts were roiled but otherwise I was fine. Could keep going all day. Tim was ready to rumble, he had flowers in his hair like he had come straight from California. I ducked into the medical tent and Joey had become an old man, it was like he had gone senile and forgotten he was in the race. He seemed almost happy and placid and had reconciled with his lot and was there nestled on the stretcher beneath blankets. One of the scalped. I clapped him on the shoulder and proclaimed, striding back and forward, my intentions to continue the good fight. He voiced no objection. Maybe he waved his hand limply, “You can take my pacers, I have no need for them now.” I might be imagining that part.

My new goal was to finish before dark, but I made headway with Tim. We hiked the hills and ran a fair bit. In fact we sent it down into Cassidy’s Gap. We had a brief stop here and I ate a small snickers and Dave stepped in as second pacer. My goal was now 35 hours, then my goal was 34 hours, then 33 hours. I could run flats briefly and could still cream downhills. Uphills – I was a codger. I would vent out and my HR was like 126bpm and I would be bent over, legs half up a step and breathing like I had emphysema. Then I would keep going.

Just after Signal Peak I closed in on a vulnerable target. Who was it, but Pat Drum again! He now had Katja as a pacer and he was amazed I had bounced back. He had seen me as the withered, depleted, shuffling wraith only hours ago. Pat was struggling in terms of pace but was pretty upbeat still, and so we said our good lucks and I trumped on. 

The last aid station was a formality. Miranda had got the aid thing down pact now. We were efficient. It was mostly just Dave loading up on pacer Gels. An extra two hours I could keep going without anything, I thought, what difference to the last twelve hours?

When the occasion calls I am a strong finisher, I am not fast but can keep gruelling at a steady pace and nib away at people in front. Previously I had said to Joey that for the run into Dunkirk (Dunkeld), I would channel the kick of Beatrice Chebet or maybe Hocker.. 

It was great to see Joey up and about and not distraught over becoming a race statistic, he had accepted the outcome with grace. No excuses, and he had done an amazing job to push on from Jimmy Creek. Ultimately, I thought, it came down to timing and luck. I just so happened to have got so cooked before the Jimmy Creek aid station that I was forced to spend the time there to recoup. His lowest point set in afterwards, and he had no access to support from his crew until it was too late. Just luck really. I would later offer him my finisher’s belt buckle for a reasonable price and am still awaiting a serious deal. We caught up with Juzzy the next day who had also had a race that wasn’t what he wanted, but he had finished the last couple legs strong. I think we ran fairly similar last ~60k  splits, just he didn’t sit in a car for a bit over an hour and was faster in the front half.

Conclusion

My big learning is that I can keep going for a long time with low nutrition. I don’t need 60g of carbs an hour to plod, maybe to perform well I do, but to plod it is not necessary. I haven’t calculated hard but I was definitely doing 30g or less per hour the whole Saturday. I consumed at most three energy gels the entire race. 

It sounds like a typical speech but I literally would not have finished if not for Miranda. I had no desire to finish coming into Jimmy Creek. I had already accepted that it was done. I was worried I was seriously ill. Runner’s nausea is one thing but vomiting up bile and being unable to hydrate is more than I expected.. If I kept going would I bonk so hard I would keel over and need medical aid? Plus I was cold. I had plenty of time to think about it and I hadn’t felt that cold since I once jumped into Lake Pedder on a February night in 2017. The actual temperature and wind chill wasn’t that bad but it was just the length of exposure.

In terms of pacing, my goal had been 30 hours and I finished in 32 and a half. I don’t really care that much being a first timer it was all about finishing, which I had stopped even caring about too. Next time I race a miler I should probably do what I originally planned and go slow for the first part. I just need to go slow enough to actually benefit from going slow so you can claim it back at the end. The awkward pace I sometimes get into is a grey zone, it is fast enough to fatigue but not fast enough to make good time. Finishing strong is always satisfying. I don’t have many regrets, maybe eating those salt tablets at Rosea Carpark, but I was already a bit nauseous. There is no counterfactual to the sprint at the start, I may have had the best race ever and gone sub 28 hours if I hiked or I could have later fallen over and lost my snake bandage and spilt my rice balls. It would have been nice to not have the mystery condition in taper period and leading into the race, but in fact I am probably happier to have a run in a race coming in decidedly non-fantastic, and achieved such lows as to satisfy my self confidence and ego. The amount of training volume and approach seems fine, My legs never gave out. I never experienced nausea in training and so my food strategy was never tested like it became in the race. The Saturday night I finished I came down with a  fever and had a head cold for a few weeks following, I am still unable to shake it to this day.  

People ask if I will ever return to the GPT. I find myself looking past them, eyes distant. If I had a rocking chair I would choose this moment to draw from a cup of tea or toke on a cigarette and stare into the void some more whilst creaking back and forth, as if thy very answer was articulated in the rhythmic squeaks of the chair. Here a silence grows, it wraps itself around the scenario. The answer should not be forthcoming quickly, but I find the response comes easy.

Sam “Ziggy” Webb: A pseudo enthusiast who has taken up trail running in recent years and enjoys the description section of strava activities.

Strava

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