Phil Rosenstein – Coast to Kosciuszko 2007 Report

Posted on the Ultralist:

Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2008 20:26:47 -0500
From: Phil Rosenstein
Subject: Coast to Kosciuszko report

My long overdue race report on Coast to Kosciuszko. Think of it as the Australian Badwater. 150+ miles, all on roads, lowest point to highest p point, heat, and you must supply your own crew. The race was about a month ago.PS – I finished this race with a minor stress fracture in each foot. It happened to my right foot around mile 118 and my left foot around mile 135. I’m recovering slowly but intend to take whatever time necessary to recover fully.
PPS – if any American has any questions about running ultras in Australia let me know. If I can’t answer it, I know who can. Tremendous bunch of people – a very friendly, dedicated, small-but-growing community.

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Well, this is what is meant by “doing it tough”. I rarely felt good during the race. Most normal people will say “Duh, it’s a 246km race, you shouldn’t feel good!” But, ultrarunners know what I mean. The most confounding part was how so few of my usual solutions to problems worked this time. In the end, it really came down to just how much suffering a man can do. It’s a good thing “Suffering” is my middle name.

Coast to Kosciuszko is a 246km (155 miles) race along dirt roads and pavement from the lowest point in Australia (a beach in Eden) to the highest point (the top of Mt. Kosciuszko). There are no aid stations, just bring your own crew and supplies and they drive along. This all takes place about 6 hours south of Sydney.

I had to change my plane ticket home to the USA just to squeeze this race in. Rod the Hornet would be my one man crew as I gave my second crew member to another runner whose own one-man crew had dropped out two days before the race. Rod would be in for quite the experience during this race. Lots of hard work, precious little rest. At least he’d be recognized for it with a well-deserved award for volunteer of the year.

My muscles felt tight right from the start. I was blaming it on my first ever half-marathon the previous weekend. (I kind of skipped the shorter races and went straight to the longer ones!) It was run on concrete and I’m not used to anything harder than dirt, mud, snow and grass. Or, maybe it was from a long year of heavy racing. This would be my third 150 miler this year, to go with nine 100’s and a few shorter ones.

Going slow didn’t help me feel better, so I instead opened it up a bit and went significantly faster than normal for an ultra over the first 40k in an attempt to loosen the legs up. I can’t say it helped me any, but I did make some good time. Then, I spent the next 10-15k rehydrating and refuelling in preparation for the first big climb over Big Jack Mountain. And, I also whined a bit to anyone nearby. The climb was long and tiring, but I was moving very well and felt somewhat decent.

I celebrated getting to the top with some lunch. Mmmmm, Mashed Potatoes! Then, I spent most of the afternoon with my friends from Great North Walk, Tim & Whippet. I was looking forward to spending the next 175k with them once again as we swatted the flies away and moved along the beautiful fields. Unfortunately, they had to stop for blister treatment and dinner, so I continued on my own into the creeping fog. The fog came out of nowhere and was so thick you couldn’t see more than 3 meters in any direction. It was magical to be running in the middle of it.

Then, it all ended when I stopped for dinner. Maybe it was the rice I ate. Maybe it was how much I ate. It could have also been the hypertoxic doses of bug spray and painkillers I had been ingesting all day. It could have been after-effects of that horribly smelling dead wombat on the road 50k ago. All combined? Who knows. The important thing here is that NONE of my usual 5-6 anti-nausea tricks worked. I was forced to go to the last resort of “The Nuclear Option” (no food and no water for half an hour).

For the first time ever that didn’t work. I would be nauseous for the last 120k of the race. Not fun. From 120k to 180k, it was all about me treading along quite slowly and miserably. Rod would drive up 3k and run back to meet me and crack the whip/encourage me on the way to the car. At least he claimed it was 3k, though it seemed much further considering how slowly I was proceeding.

It was slow going and I was not happy. I was even less happy when Rod started to withhold the painkillers from me. This had all the makings of a death march right to the end – whether that was the finish line or the 48hour cutoff.

However, around noon on the second day another guardian angel came to help and his name was Horrie. Horrie’s runner had just dropped out of the race and he answered my and Rod’s prayers by joining our tired, sleep- deprived team. He fit right in. Now, while one crew member would drive the car and rest, the other could keep me going as a pacer.

As a result, I picked up the pace enough to make it look like I might actually finish the race without things getting worse. As the second night came, however, I started to fade. Partly from exhaustion and not eating enough, but mostly from the hallucinations. The problem I was having was the thousands and thousands of letters and symbols floating up out of the road and making it hard for me to see the actual road. Oddly enough these were the same types of visions I had during the last 150 mil e race I ran.

I struggled to make it to Charlotte’s Pass – the place where you take the final 9km trail up to the top of the mountain and then 9km back down to the finish line. As others were finishing, I was taking a 20 minute power nap to clear the hallucinations and gather my strength for our final assault (Horrie and Rod were by my side). I made it 6km up to a hut where we got another bite to eat while escaping the cold winds. From there it was just 3km up to the top.

That last section was the coldest, windiest trail I had been on since the top of Hope Pass in Leadville. At the top, we take our picture and then quickly get down as fast as we could. Things were going according to plan as we made great time down to the hut once again. We went right on by. I don’t remember much of reality after that hut.

The final 5km were a mix of vivid hallucinations and some dreams while I slept/walked down the trail. I do remember moving very slowly and having trouble with my balance while trying to step over and around all those hallucinations (boulders on the trail, holes in the ground, falling stars and floating wooden pirate ships). It got so bad, that I had to walk between Rod and Horrie to keep from falling over. I was then able to close my eyes and sleep a little while my legs kept moving forward and they steered me safely to the finish line.

This should have been my race. With my experience at this distance, my body in good shape, the inability to get lost and my own mobile aid station I should have done better. I was shooting for 36-39 hours. Getting off the mountain by dark, I had to settle for 46 hours. But, any race you finish is a good race. And, the course was sometimes beautiful (mostly the first day ). Besides, I was out there with like-minded runners and crews and race directors.

There is nowhere I’d rather be.

Phil Rosenstein

 

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