by Andy Milroy

FOR THE RECORD HE’S A RUNNING NOMAD
After the Australian Six Day Race in Colac TONY RAFFERTY invited Joe Record home. The meeting inspired TONY to write this conversation piece.
Cliff Young is no mug, the Colac race is dull as ditchwater and the ultra-marathon has reached the end of an historic cycle. So said Joe Record when he visited me after winning the Australian Six Day Race last November. For just a moment I wondered if it were him as he drove up the driveway: he failed to contact me after a similar arrangement a year before. Then a letter arrived:
“My mates kept me in the pub for almost three days … I fell asleep on four chairs and emerged unscathed two hours before the plane quit Melbourne.”
Joe Record was born in Northalerton, near Darlington, Yorkshire. He was an English and physical education teacher. These days he is a self-educated student of philosophy, psychology and medicine. His eclectic reading interests include the works of Huxley.
“I went overboard on Huxley in my early 20s. I often go back to his stuff. I read widely. I’ve got a large selection of books like you have,” he said.
It seems we have more in common than books and running: we pause in the hallway on the way to the study and discuss my abstract paintings inspired over many years by experiences on ultra-marathons. It seems he felt the need to express his thoughts and feelings on canvas in a similar way.
“I’ve done 20 works and sold one for $500,” he said in a soft-spoken voice. “They’re just abstract expressionist things.”
He described an experience during a Geraldton to Perth race that
motivated him to express on canvas the sensation of his body awareness:
“It was misty – car headlights behind us. I was spun out from the physiological affects of constant endeavour. There were huge trees hung up there in the darkness and mist. They seemed like sculptures out of some German art museum … And the weirdest looking plants on the side of the road.”‘
He said he dabbed on the canvas big blotches of colour and stuck in pieces of mirror.
“I called it ‘Not Another Alien Abduction’, he said with a wry smile.
“You like art and reading, what are your tastes in music,” I asked.
“I find it harder to listen to classical music these days. I’ve a lot of time for Bach’s cello suites. I have the taste for avante-garde serious music. I like John Cage.”
Aged 17, Joe Record long-jumped 18ft 6ins and at 20 years ran 100yds in 10.8 seconds. At a muscular 77 kilograms he bench pressed 200lbs and squatted 300lbs.
“When I played rugby I was built like a brick-built shithouse,” he said. In East Sussex in the late 60s he lived for a year in a field. “I was on a brown rice diet. I felt very light. Very energetic.” Most days he ran six kilometres on bare feet on a golf course. He lived in an old army tent.
“I lived a fairly generalised psychedelic type of lifestyle. The weather was magic. Thick frost. A sleeping bag. A couple of oil drums. A door on the top for a table.”
To earn money as a casual worker he pruned apple trees and picked potatoes.

He wandered the hills of Scotland and survived on muesli and rice. His rudimentary life continued in Land’s End:
“Then I did long, severe depletion runs and carbo-loaded. I went from list 7lbs to 12st 4lbs in two days.”
He smoked tobacco for eight years and gave up the habit in 1973. He arrived in Perth, Australia, in 1974.
“I got a job as a deckhand on a cray boat, then with a road gang on a railroad. I bought a car and travelled for a year. I ran everywhere but there were no competitions.”
A photograph on my bookshelf of Percy Cerutty distracted him. We talked about the coach and his interest in art and music and his controversial training methods. And I reminisced about some of my times with him when we first met in 1969.
In 1983 Record stayed with Cliff Young at his Beech Forest home. They trained together for the first Sydney to Melbourne race. Sponsorship was arranged with Colac Mazda. They agreed to split the $10,000 first prize if they placed first and second.
“What are your lasting thoughts of that famous race,” I asked.
“I drove across the Nullarbor in this really shonky car. I took my time. Cliff was a very easy bloke to live with. Just no hassle. I worked out a schedule for us. We did 20 miles (daily) the first week, 30 miles (daily) the next and then 50 miles (daily) – 30 in the morning and then 20 later in the day.”
“How did Cliff handle your intensive training program?”
“He quickly assimulated the training. But he wasn’t a mug. He realised that going up the hills was hard work so quite slyly he said, ‘You go ahead’. He kept his own pace. I knew what a strong runner he was.”
A year earlier Young had broken Record’s Australian 100 mile time
in Sydney, but Joe was confident he would be first across the finish line in the Sydney to Melbourne event.
“It was a remarkable race,” he said. “A big drag at the start listening to the dignitaries speak. You remenber. It was quite frustrating. I got guts-ache.”
ThQusands of spectators lined the road in bright sunshine. Cliff Young and Joe Record sprinted off with a small group of fast runners. A bunch of us kept at a moderate pace behind them for the first half hour until John Hughes, George Perdon and Siggy Bauer stepped up the pace.
“Late at night Siggy caught me,” Joe said with a nostalgic zest. “He was going fast. Clackity clack – clackity clack. I ran him down later.”
His eyes peered toward the window in a mystic gaze.
“It was a beautiful enchanting run. Cattle strewn across the road_ I ran with them. I felt like I was going back in time. I got Cliffy in Albury. Then shin splints scotched it. I ran too hard down the hills. Later he got 18k in front. He was going like the clappers.
“I had an awful time from Wodonga to Wangaratta. A totally hellish run. Then I’d a big duel with George Perdon. I think it lasted 40k. I couldn’t let him go. It gave me the shits. I’d come up an`d-f—— sprint. He’d come up. And I’d go again. Then I couldn’t even walk down the hills and I said ’stuff it’. I didn’t want to arrive as the walking dead. I stopped. I had granny’s ankles.”
(About 20,000 people greeted Cliff Young when he crossed the finish line at Doncaster. He was followed by George Perdon, Siggy Bauer, John Hughes, myself and Bob Bruner. The rest failed to finish.)
I spoke to Joe Record for the first time early in January 1981 when he telephoned me from Perth. We talked about the need to get a six day track race started in Australia. Two weeks later in a letter he suggested that as the race progressed other forms of entertainment should take place “…trampolines, clowns, activities for people to play and learn.

“Good food at non rip-off prices. Fireworks, kites. Le Grand Festival Des Sports – where?
“Acrobats, tumblers, people on stilts, fire-eaters, weight-lifting, Life Be In It … 20 nutters gradually mutating. To entertain and delight. To turn on and involve – provide learning situations.”
In October 1983 Record won ‘Les 6 Jours.-De La Rochelle’ championship. At that time his 867 kilometres was the second highest total in modern times. I asked him to recall memories of that event.
“I was full of bite and spite when I got to La Rochelle. This was the time I thought, to sink (Ramon) Zabalo. I said to Colin Dixon, ‘I’ll go out hard in advance. You come up, snatch him from behind and we’ll have a dogfight on the last day.”
And that’s how it eventuated. Record took the lead early on the first day and covered 201 kilometres in the first 24 hours. Then severe leg and lower back pain forced him off the track.
“It hurt so much I couldn’t run. I moaned and moaned. I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I piled it on again and got 221 mile (355k) in 48 hours.” At the end of the third day he totalled 512 kilometres.
Joe ran his hands through his shoulder-length hair and recalled that evening:
“A huge bright light shone in the centre. The group did Stone’s numbers. It was like being in a cave on the dawn of history. I was jumping, running and screaming round the track.” His face beamed. “The runners couldn’t stand it. But I loved it. It was a low mileage day I think.”
“Describe day six when thousands of people packed the stadium.”
“Somebody woke me up and said that Zabalo was only four laps behind. We challenged and duelled. We were maxing out – going harder and harder and harder. Neck to neck. I wouldn’t let him go by me. I wound it up a little more. And it went on and on. Then Zabalo left the track. But guess what? It wasn’t four laps.” He laughed heartily. “I was four kilometres ahead.”
At the end of the race the French crowd chanted “Joe-ee, Joe-ee” and stamped their feet. The whole stadium vibrated.
“I could have stood for mayor that day.”
For more than an hour he was jostled by autograph hunters. Then a man abused him.
“I’d had enough. It was time to go and I hadn’t signed his piece of paper. He screamed at me and I screamed at him. Then I said ‘f— it’ and went to my billet at the side of the track. I got Siggy to sign my name for the fans. He thought it was great fun.”
“Joe, the six day race at Colac has appeared on the calendar every year except one since 1984,” I said.

“The high standard of the mid 80s, when the high ranked runners competed, has dropped. What are your views on this event?”
“Colac must up their game. The race has gone down the drain the last three or four years. No women competitors this year. There’s a neat interest in Drew (Kettle) and Cliff (Young). Two in their 70s. A unique feature. Two competitors walked most of the race. Why were they there? I’m elitist about these races. The best should compete.”
“When it rained in previous years the grass track turned into a quagmire. What’s your answer to this problem?”
“We need something independent of the weather. Drew has an idea of cinders and sawdust packed down. They made excellent tr.acks out of that material in the 1880s.”
He said that the ideal would be a two metre wide bitumen path coloured green.
“It would be a permanent track for public use and it would blend in to the surrounding environment.”
Record believes that the Colac Six Day Race Committee has had 10 years to stage the best event of its kind in the world and has failed.
I said that they were the only group in the world to stage a regular six day event during the decade.
“They have six days to turn it on and all we get is the same old bloody bullshit,” he said. “I’m very uncharitable towards them … they have never got passed Wellington boot throwing competitions and that crap. And to run well for a few days and then to face a quagmire is just unfair. You need to psyche up – have a bash. A bit of a thrill. It’s an ordeal.”
“How can they attract the crowds again?”
“Build up the prize money to lure the top runners. Have youngsters handle the music. Different selections. Have it as an art festival at the same time. Aboriginal drawings, didgeridoo playing, drumming. They could have anything-they want. They need to be inspired: what about bodybuilding competitions, hairdressings shows, chess, table tennis, ‘western Districts weight-lifting contests. That would be magic.”
“What does the future hold for the ultra-marathon.”
“I think we have come to the end of an historical cycle where we’ve recapitulated the 1880s. It seems to be getting down to an ebb. On the other hand the 100k seems to be picking up. The problem is the sport has never been marketed properly.
“It isn’t innately attractive but it is complex. The physiology cosplex. The emotional range is complex.”
“What sports are attractive to you.”
“Only highboard diving and gymnastics are innately interesting. But dlecent treatment on television opens up the scale of complexity. As soon as you’re an enthusiast you donate meaning to it.”
“What is Joe Record’s general advice to runners hoping to compete is ultra-marathons.”
“Get a good marathon base. Do 50k, 50 mile. Get a good sustained speed over a 100k and go for a 24 hour,” he said. “Be adventurous. gave a go. It’s all in ratio to what your basic speed is. Don’t be scared of the distance.”
Success in ultra-marathons is partially an inborn ability to metabolise fats. Some people have readier acess to the enzymes that burn fatty acids he said.
He believes that the mental aspect is over-rated.
“The whole thing is so hard I don’t think you have any resolve in advance. Maybe it’s a different quality of mind that does it,” he said. The mental attitude is more like a slow-burning thing – like peat fires IR Ireland. They persist.
“Ultra-distance is applied physiology and experimental psychosis. And it’s how well you run when you f——well can’t. Even Kouros has patches .”
There’s a time to stop after you’ve bashed your head against the mall but if you knock out a few bricks – it’s feasible, he said.
“After the first two days of pain I remember why I don’t want to run but I always enjoy the rest of the race,” he said.
In a gruelling sport where prize money is low and most times non-existent
does Record afford to travel widely and compete in many races?
“I don’t have a lot of bills to pay that’s how I get by being a bum. Woch of my time is spent sitting around with a flagon of sherry and having a few laughs,” he told Malcolm Moran of the New York Times in July 1984. ‘men he needs the money there are always houses to paint he said.
In his company I always expect the unexpected. In a whim he will surprise and even shock you. One time when I took him to dinner he ate two entrees, two main courses and’one serve of sweets. Then with a bottle der his arm he visited every table and offered each person a glass of Iris sherry. The waiter at first a little edgy soon relaxed and had a smile for the rest of the evening, the diners were entertained and the owner gratefully received our cheque.

A mutual friend, Eva Zselenyi, said he accepts his sherry poured to the brim in a beer glass.
Joe Record is a man wild and kind, outspoken and creative; a nomad who attracts people from every sidewalk. He leaves a profound impression; he looms and booms and beams; he entertains and delights.
Two hours after an Australian Six Day Race he danced the night away in a Colac restaurant. People laughed, cheered and thumped their tables as Joe leaped, stretched and spun to to beat of the Rolling Stones and the Beatles.
When he stepped into his van I suggested he visit ‘Vincent’, an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria of Van Gogh’s paintings. “Yes I will,” he said.
He switched on the engine and he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.
TONY RAFFERTY. FEBRUARY 1994.

The 1993 London to Brighton Road Race
(by Kevin Tiller)
Me and my lovely wife, Dawn, were planning a trip to the UK to visit relatives and friends – our first trip back since coming out to Oz almost 4 years ago. We picked September for no particular reason and booked our plane tickets. I then thought that as we were over there we might as well look for a race to run. I’d vaguely remembered the London to Brighton being on at vaguely that time of year. Some investigations turned up with the date of 3rd October. Our tickets out were for the 2nd but this was easily changed till the 4th. “Contacts” managed to get an entry form to me, which was sent back to the UK before the deadline and I was in !
1993 saw me running just about as much distance as I my body could stand, whilst still keeping some speed work in there. I ran 6 standard marathons or ultras in the months preceding the race as well as short stuff including a 10Km pb of 36:06, a 1:21 half marathon and a 2:49 marathon in late August just before my departure. I was well impressed with this form and knew that I was in shit-hot shape. My training of at least 100Km a week, but most often 120-130 Km with a high of about 160Km since the previous December had paid off handsomely.
After my 2:49 I caught a bad cold, moved house and went to UK and spent 4 weeks dashing up and down the country with heaps of late nights. My steady routine had been decimated and in the 4 weeks prior to the race I ran about 5 or 6 times, mostly with my coming-backfrom-injured wife. My longest run was for 2 hours the Monday before the race !
The morning of the race dawned dark and cold (as it was England). I picked up my race number and bought a T-shirt in a small backstreet around the corner from Big Ben. I had a poo in a corner of a car park (that’s for Dale Thompson but the rest of you won’t be interested). Most of the runners looked like 50 or 60 year old poms who wouldn’t even make a standard 42Km marathon, let alone double that. Walked. around the corner and up the road a bit. At 6:59am some mounties stopped the traffic and close to 150 runners jumped the barricades and prepared for the off.
We started on the 7:00am chimes from Big Ben and I had trouble running slowly (as usual) – I ran with the lead group through the first few miles before easing off slightly to make 10 miles (16Km), around Croydon, in 11th place in 1:07:47. I was running with a few fast South Africans and a couple of Botswanans. They had flew in on the Friday to run on the Sunday and fly home again on the Monday ! Alf Field, President of the Striders appeared briefly by the roadside to take a photo and then buggered off quickly. (Was I hallucinating ?). I continued, anyway, and slowed down a bit and made 20 miles (32Km) at Redhill in 17th place in 2:23:44.
By now the sun was up. I’d been in England 4 weeks and it had literally rained every day but one. Today was a stinker. Just my luck. My support crew would have been a big disaster, had not my wife
been there and knew exactly how to look after me. My father drove and thought initially all he had to do was drive to Brighton to pick me up. I said that he had to stop and give me drink and bananas and cheer me on. He thought every 10 miles would be OK until I said that every 2 was more to the point ! My mother-in-law came along to watch this peculiar form of self-destruction occur before her eyes and as it turned out she probably came away the most satisfied…

I estimate the marathon mark flashed by in about 3hrs 10mins, and 30 miles in 3:48:06. I had now slipped back to 25th place. There was a reason for this – my legs had seized up and I could barely stand up let alone run. My Dad shouted out “Hey Key, have you passed anyone yet ? They all seem to be going past you !”. I answered truthfully “Yep, there was a Botswanan lying back there on the kerb. He’s a goner”. Anyway, it turned out he was the only one I passed all day. All the old codgers came past just like there was no tomorrow.
It felt lonely out there, but I could always see a few other runners ahead and there were more than enough running by, and they were a friendly bunch although no-one got much more than a grunt from me. The support vehicles yelled out their support as we leap-frogged each other. Hell, it was actually quite a nice day and we went through quite a few sleepy English villages. Although the roads weren’t closed to traffic, cars were never a problem.
Being a Strider, I continued to try my hardest and slog it out but I must confess to gross failure – I walked before I’d even dropped dead, just around the 40 mile mark in 5:29:40, a distant 34th which was a long- way from the front of the pack by now. This bodily breakdown was probably due to my enthusiastic starting pace and I was now running exactly how Dawn had predicted about 15 miles back ! I scanned every horizon for each and every 5 mile mark. Five miles is a long way to run for a cup of water and a slice of orange but at least I could convince myself I was that bit closer to THE END.
The last half of the course is surprisingly hilly. Even the race director had said “hilly” knowing he could not get away with that old trick-word “undulating”. The worst was yet to come, the 50 mile mark being on top of a hill, the highest point in the race. It was called Ditchling Beacon (part of the poorly-named South Downs). We’d been warned of this prior to the start, for it was a mother and it went up, uP and UP ! There were quite a few supporters here, as the view was good, and you could be guaranteed to see some real basket-cases coming up the road. I made the top in 7:27:45 for 41st spot and was told the other classic lie which I didn’t ever believe, not even for one minute : “It’s all downhill from here, mate”. I looked up, said nothing and shuffled off. Down the road I nearly wept. “If that’s true then why can’t I see the sea yet ? Why is there another valley and WHY DOES THIS ROAD GO OVER THAT F’ING HILL OVER THERE !!!”
Years and years of Sunday morning 30Ks came into their own as by now my brain was so fried by the sun and the rest of my body was so wretched and torn that I did the only thing I knew how: I huffed and I puffed and I shuffled and staggered all the way to the top of the next hill. From here, I could see the sea and it was a lovely blue and I could see the road and it was down all the way and I shuffled as fast as my little legs could damn well carry me.
I screeched down the road into Brighton and headed towards the sea as if nothing could stop me; everyone yelling out “Good on Ya”, “Come on Aussie” and then I turned the corner to hear “Kevin Tiller.. Sydney Striders” and then I stopped and I didn’t even care about the time anymore or my position because it was all over and I had finished. I could stop running. I couldn’t sit down because my legs were all done in but at least I could stop.

Male Results

1. Stephen Moore 6.07.22

2. Russel Crawford 6.11.49

3. Stewart Peacock 6.17.39

Female Results:
1.    Carolyn Hunter-Rowe Pudsey AC (UK)    6:34:10
2.    Hilary Walker    Serpentine RC (UK)    7:23:36
3.    Patricia Bonner    Finch Coasters (UK)    10:04:53 (u n of f icial)
Notes:
1.    Total race distance is 55 miles (88Km).
2.    Carolyn Hunter-Rowe had recently won the World 100Km championship in Belguim and Hilary Walker had just set the course record of running from Lhasa to Kathmandu (approx 14 days). I was well impressed by this.
3.    Hilary hosted an overseas runners’ get-together the Friday evening before the race at her house just a stone’s throw from Harrods. South Africans outnumbered all other nationalities put together.
4.    The official time limit is 9hrs 30mins but you can unofficially finish after this as long as you don’t complain if you get run over. You can’t complain if this happens before 9hrs 30mins either. Official finishers in 1993 numbered 79.
5.    Entry forms are available from John Legge, 21 Station Road, Digswell, Welwyn, Herts, AL6 ODU, England. Telephone (043) 871 6508.
Race date is 1st Sunday in October (approx), closing date is likely to be around 1st week of September and it costs £15.

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