14
Dec
Archive for the ‘Colac’ Category
SMITH WINS IN STYLE; AND RECORDS TUMBLE AT COLAC
The Colac track in November was a delight one day and a beast the next. TONY RAFFERTY reports on the 1992 Australian Six Day Race
An old lady in a brown coat pushed an empty pram with a squeaky wheel along Murray Street in Colac. She crossed over Jesse Street and entered Memorial Square. A number of runners with furrowed brows and glazed eyes competing in the Australian Six Day Race ran towards her in single file. Unperturbed, the old lady kept on the inside lane and continued her journey past the leader board back on to the pavement and up to the supermarket. The athletes were forced to run wide and in a few moments of light relief, smiles replaced frowns.
Unlike last year’s six day quagmire the firm grassed track presented the competitors with thoughts of personal best performances. John Timms, always joyful and with a permanent grin set his goal at 1000kms! “I’m here to beat Bryan Smith,” he said. His unusual tactics were cause for mirth among some of his peers. Many times I had thought he had mistaken the race for a 10km contest. The back of his rain jacket ballooned in the breeze as he zipped past runner after runner at a blistering pace with the high knee lift of a sprinter and the stride of a marathon man. Then he doddled off the track laughing and spent long periods in the massage tent. He was 106kms behind Bryan Smith at the finish of the second day. He might as well have chased the wind up Murray Street.
Maurice Taylor is a quietly spoken man, a deep thinker. Spirited runs in the Westfield Sydney to Melbourne race established his reputation as one of the nation’s leading long distance runners. In 1989 his defined muscular torso, strong legs and extraordinary tenacity gained him second place behind Bryan Smith in the torturous race between the two capitals. A few hours into the night on the first day at Colac he laboured to a slow walk. I joined him. His face was thin, withered and the colour of recycled paper. His sunken eyes showed signs of distress. But an iron will bent on conquest nudged his body through 410 laps and 164kms before he realised the need for medical treatment. He went to the hospital and retired from the race with pneumonia.
Every day shop assistants from across the road sat under the shade of the elms, ate their lunch and watched the race. Passengers in tour buses gazed in wonder and school children leaned over the bunting in the picnic atmosphere and chanted: “We want Cliffy. We want Cliffy.” A big cheer went up when Cliff Young touched their outstretched arms as he ran past to record yet another lap.
A fat man in a white shirt and business suit stood alone between two trees. Every day with an upturned lip and a scowl he questioned my ability to finish the race. “You won’t make it through the night. Give it up old man,” he grunted. I smiled and said I would one day. And daily he fired me more negatives.
Every year since Colac staged the 1000 mile race in 1983 an elderly couple walk five kilometres hand in hand from their home to watch the race. They sit on the same bench near the leader board. And each year they hand me a basket of freshly picked fruit from their backyard orchard. Everytime before leaving and almost in harmony, they say: “See you next year Tony.” The Australian Six Day Race releases pent-up frustrations in some people and brings joy to many.
When Ian Javes carried boxes of drink and food from a vehicle to his caravan a few hours before the race started he looked trim, taut and very fit. Always a tough, determined competitor it seemed he would be a worthwhile challenger for a position in the top three. His running style is unusual. A swift arm action with each hand travelling from his waist to the opposite shoulder and at times as high as his forehead and with a low knee lift and a long stride he moves along at a fast pace. Sometimes his arms would drop straight and he would adopt a Cliff Young style shuffle. A neatly folded cloth hung from the side of his shorts.
Every blade of grass had disappeared from the inside lane at the finish of the first day. The ground was smooth and iron-hard. But newly-laid sections on each corner were spongy and stressed the legs and hips of the faster runners.
At 24 hours Javes left the track with severe muscular soreness in the thighs and after a massage he fought with every fibre to record a total of 207kms before retiring from the race. Further injury may have jeopardised a chance to compete at Gibson Ranch, California, a few weeks later.
Ron Hill suffered similar injuries to the thighs and calves and ma’dt_`. many visits to the massage tent.
The soft warm air on most nights and early mornings encouraged most of the runners to stay on the track after midnight. One night about 100 people stood in the bright lights near the leader board in quiet conversation when a group of hideous youths kicked the daylight out of a bolted trash can tJ the street only a few metres from the track. Then a beer bottle was smashed on top of a car. Seconds later two men wrestled and punched each other in the gutter. Somebody said that was were they belonged. Minutes later the squeal of spinning tyres and the roar of a motor engine took interest from the race. The exhibitionist behind the wheel spun the car in circles twice and with blue smoke spewing from the exhaust pipe, left at high speed through the red lights with a police car in pursuit.
Georgina McConnell skipped round the circuit determined to break records; Dawn Parish, happy and composed chased a goal of 600kms. Shawn Scanlon left for Sydney for personal reasons after 68kms.
When the rain came the hard surface turned into a sloppy sludge. Each foot strike caused a ripple in the mud like running on a water bed. Then it regressed to a quagmire like last year. Dave Taylor sustained a groin injury in a previous six day event and welcomed the softer conditions. But big blisters on the soles of both feet forced him to walk a lot. He kept some of our spirits high in the gloomy periods with his quirky locker-room humour.
On the first day Terry Cox ran 118kms. He didn’t reach three figures on any of the following four days. In the last 24 hours he ran like John Timms to total 142kms and claimed the $100 prize for the most laps on the final day. “It will help pay the electricity bill,” he said.
The graciously erect stoic with the Ned Kelly beard, Brickley Hepburn, chased his friendly Geelong rival, Peter Gray, for most of the race. His final tally was only 14kms short of Gray’s 770kms.
Scrummaging around a tent searching for a change of clothes; mixing your own drinks; cooking your own food; looking for a blister kit in the dead of night, gives one a poor chance of success in an ultra-marathon. For more than half the race, Joe Record, who had travelled from Perth, had no support crew. One time he opened a packet of cereal, poured milk, searched for a spoon, then stripped to the waist in the cool night air, stood in a full-size rubbish bin filled with cold water – and ate his breakfast. A sign on the front of his tent said THE REBEL. With the merits of diligence – consistent running, fast walks and just enough rest he gained second place, 70kms in front of a plucky Peter Gray_
Just like last year and the year before, Bryan Smith acquitted himself with style to gain a hat-trick. His distinctive fleet-footed gait moved him to 904kms. “My legs were good. The weather was kind and warm. But when the rain came I gave up all hope of attempting 1000kms,’ he said. “I’m sure Kouros’ record can be broken.” (That week at La Rochelle, France, Jean-Gilles Boussiquet broke Kouros’ world six day record by llkms to total 1034.2kms.)
A groin injury early in the race marred David Standeven’s chance of quality competition. “I came here a bit under-trained,” he said. Standeven winced, walked and hour after hour treaded slowly and softly like a stricken warrior. On day two he managed only 4.8kms. But he continued his drudge through the mire to place 12th. He showed examples of courage and perserverence. Earlier it seemed to be a hopeless plight. He said the track was slippery and dangerous.
Godfrey Pollard ran with strength in his first six day race and achieved his 500km goal. And just to make sure he ran another kilometre and a half.
I treated the race as the beginning of an intensive training program in preparation for a 1708km match race against Dave Taylor from Sydney to Melbourne and return. I felt as bleak as the weather on the last two days and fell 70kms short of my goal but I left the circuit fresh and free from injury after running 633kms.
A 3000km trek through the Kimberleys in western Australia stood Drew Kettle in good stead’ for-the Colac race. It seemed that the swagman never slept. He seldom left the track. He trundled along for six days singing Irish., Scottish and Australian songs and now and again, a poem. Aged 71 he ran 60lkms. The other sprightly chicken, Cliff Young, scored a credible 653kms and joked about his dentures plummeting centimetres deep in the mud last year.
With only hours to go John Timms delighted a small crowd when he ran fast down the straight, leapt in the air with his arms reaching for the sky like a soccer goalkepper, and clicked his heels like Fred Astaire. I asked him where his energy came from. He said: “Carbos mate, plenty of carbos.”
When Westfield withdrew sponsorship from the Sydney to Melbourne race the 1989 third place-getter, Kevin Mansell, grew despondent and did no training for months. At Colac, despite his overweight, condition and stomach troubles, with initiative and verve he got to fifth place.
Drew Kettle was half way through his recital of a self-written poem during the presentation ceremony in the scout hall when Terry Cox stepped foward making wide circles in the air with one arm like a television floor manager giving a wind-up signal. Kettle writes good poetry. It is nice to listen to; and ultra-running needs a little poetry now and again. Some people laughed and listened and others talked, rudely.
Colac’s mayor, councillor Robert Lo Ricco, presented the trophies and cheques. Peter Gray took third place and $1200. He said: “I’m disappointed I didn’t make 500 miles. The ground was too heavy. I had to keep putting ice on my shins.”
With calm authority and a quiet voice Joe Record approached the microphone wearing a black hat with a. feather. Record accepted the $2000 and in his customary manner gave his trophy to the man who helped him during the final stages of the race.
A loud cheer greeted Bryan Smith when he received $5000 for first place. He thanked his wife Jan and the lap counters. Enjoying a drink later he said it was time that a new track was laid.
Georgina McConnell rewrote the record book. In a jovial mood and enjoying the camaraderie she said that the rain ruined her attempts to an even better performance. “I had leg injuries on the second last day. But I broke four of my own records and set four new ones.”
“You are beautiful people,” said Ron Hill, referring to the hospitality of the race organisors and many helpers during the six days. “Unfortunate: it’s my last race.” A minute later Terry Cox announced his retirement.
Birds twittered in the elm trees the next day as the early morning light covered Memorial Square. The dew glistened on the grass and in the distance an old lady pushed a pram up Murray Street.
TONY RAFFERTY. JANUARY 1993.
