GROWING OLD DISGRACEFULLY!!
Written for our Club magazine when Brian attempted an Ironman for his 50^th birthday….(1995)

The Challenge
I’ve been coming to Lake Gillawarna for 12 years now. I can’t believe how old and haggard some of the fine, fit looking runners of 1983 look nowadays (Peter Brennan is an exception - he looked haggard even back then). Anyway, I’m in my 50th year (the ‘year of jubilee’ in the Bible - when you’re supposed to be released). My wife turned 50 while traipsing around poverty stricken villages in Zimbabwe and Mozambique, that are part of our Church’s missions ministry. How do you top that?

Well, for many years, after doing a few ultras on minimum training, I’ve wanted to have a go at a triathlon - I didn’t really have much idea about what was involved, but reckoned if I was to do something a bit different for my 50th birthday, a full length ultra triathlon should be different enough!

This means preparation for a 3.8km swim, to start with. I must be mad!. I can still remember, as a 15 year old, at our High School swimming carnival, the burning shame of still being half way up the pool while everyone else was already out of the pool (the bronx cheers still ring in my ears). Although I’ve surfed regularly, I’d never swum in a 50m pool in the 35 years since that humiliating moment.

Then a 180km bike ride. No worries. My weekly total of 60km on my trusty $270 bike should give me a decent start. A 42km marathon? Done that 45 times before - so that’s got to be the easy bit (at least, that’s what the Lake’s Ironman Advisory Resident [LIAR], Bob Davidson, told me). "You’ll murder it, Brian. 11 hours is in your sights", he said one Saturday morning. I should’ve woken up right then - the look was too sincere (and the way he rolled on the ground clutching his sides, after I walked off, should’ve clued me up). Then I read, in Footprints, Paul Eisenhuth’s thrilling account of trashing his bike at Forster. That did it! 50th birthday - look out!

The Training
Forster was out - my responsibilities as a minister make it very difficult to put in hours of hard training over February to April. Then I found out about the Victorian Strongman in late January at Torquay. Suited me fine. So for 10 weeks, after 10 years of athletic sloth and bludging (Westies’ influence naturally), I got off my bum and started training hard. The uppermost question in my mind was, "which part of my anatomy is going to go on strike and break down first?" Over the next 10 weeks I pumped Davo most weeks for tips (like, "Hey, Bob, what’s a transition? Tell me again the best way to ease the cramp in your backside and feet after 150km on the bike. How do you pee without getting off the bike?, etc, etc".) My theory grew enormously, while my waistline began to shrink!

          The Swim
I can now confidently ‘come out’ and state that I hate swimming. After the comradeship of running and cycling, swimming is for psychopathic, masochistic, recluses. - unless you enjoy being hypnotised by a black line. But, the years of aerobic conditioning, ie. running, meant that in 6 weeks I had no trouble doing the 3.8km distance - it’s just offputting when the tortoises mock you as they speed past. Best experience - borrowing Jeff MacElroy’s wetsuit and discovering how much easier it is to ROW rather than swim 3.8km! Funniest experience - there’s nothing funny about swimming! Worst training experience - getting caught halfway across Lake Munmorah in a ferocious storm, complete with one metre chop and lightning strikes. 2km out, nowhere to hide, and (having failed physics in Year 10) not knowing if lightning strikes electrify a whole lake when they hit the water and you die....

         The Ride
Riding is great! As a Christian, you deepen your prayer life ("Help me, Lord; that truck / Gemini / Celica is about to kill me"!). I found out, after 24 continuous years of running, that I ride a bike really well for my age. I actually looked forward to the 180km rides (after the Lake on Saturdays). Clocked up 320km some weeks - injury free. Best experience - pit stops at Macca’s on the M4 at 60km & 120km - what energy you can get from chicken burgers, coffee and apple pies. Funniest experience - Watching the reaction of poseur cyclists when we passed them on our non hi-tech machines, in our non-European Aussie t-shirts. Worst training experience - discovering I had no back brake just as I launched myself down Catherine Hill near Mittagong! No time for "Our Father who art in heaven" - just, "Jesus, help me, Lord, now!"

          The Run
Col Francis (another Westies ultra ‘mule’) and I continued to do our 20km Monday night run over the Prospect quarry, dam, lookout, and fire trails. Nothing out of the ordinary routine. Except it seemed a tad harder after swimming 2km, and riding 90km, before we started.... Best experience - finding how much easier it is to run when you’re 6 kilos lighter! Funniest experience - trying to coax your running muscles into life, after your blood has refused to go lower than your knees on the bike. Worst experience - disaster struck in the form of a new pair of shoes (I’m suing Bob from the Runners Shop). They crippled me for 4 weeks in which I couldn’t run at all., after inflaming my right Achilles tendon.

THE BIG DAY
We stayed at my wife’s family’s farm not far from Torquay (near Fawlty Towers - herds of wildebeests swept majestically past the window). The bed was a shocker. Both of us had backache after four nights. Endless rehearsing Bob’s tips on preparation; checking the bike; hydrating; driving over the bike course - being shocked at the 200 vertical metre hill climbs! Strike! The M4 wasn’t like this! I’d never been this nervous before an event in 20 years. 

They’re making a video for Sky Channel. Who’s this crazy minister doing his first-ever triathlon over the full course at 50?!? So it’s off to the interview room. Can we do another interview after the race? Sure! I don’t realise I’ll be lying paralysed on the massage table while they gleefully film my death throes.

            The Swim
No one told us that it’s still dark at 6am in Victoria! And that there would be a lumpy one metre swell. We couldn’t even see the marker buoys! So the organisers parked a car on a distant headland, with its headlights on, and told us to swim towards it, until we reached the turnaround buoys! What on earth ever made me attempt this, I ask myself. Bob Davo’s advice is a great help - don’t bust your gut to save 5 minutes in the swim leg, 1hr/24 later I emerge feeling strong, 11 minutes ahead of my hoped-for time.            

          The Ride
Haven’t a clue about transitions, but manage to get through. Then it’s off to the Western Districts of Victoria! Hills and all! By half way, I’m starting to pass some flashy bikes - I’m eating and drinking all the way. Then disaster strikes.... my back goes into searing agony, as a knot of muscle goes into spasm. A combination of the crook soft bed, and insufficient stretching (so the sports clinic later tells me) mean I spend the last 90km alternating between bending over the bars, sitting upright, standing on the pedals, and continually moving around to minimize the pain. But I still keep passing some other very tired looking competitors, who have done the hills even harder than I have. My old bike holds up well. The fierce coastal wind slows everyone down the last 15km. I’m off the bike in 6 hours 8 minutes. I am trying to put on my Westies’ running gear, but my back refuses to bend at all. I’ve probably been slowed 10-15 mins on the bike by the spasms (some of my friends reckoned you have to be spastic to even try this, and I’m starting to agree with them). But I’m into the run in 7/43, looking at around 12hrs. After all, running is what I've done most and best. Heck, I even went under 3 hours a few times in the 80's!….

            The, er,  Run
2km down the coastal road, my back seizes up in total spasm. The jolting impact is too much... What am I going to do? Pull out? Westies don’t quit while there’s life in them, and they’re sober! A look at the watch, a few calculations, and I reckon I can still racewalk the 40km before the cut off time.... So down the road I set off, arms swinging, back screaming, and being passed by everyone. "Stay focused", they urge. Focused?? There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. It’s my back that needs a transplant. I didn’t know how much the time drags when you have to walk 40km,.... Continual encouragement from other competitors passing me really helps. They are almost joyful to see someone suffering more than they are. They think I’m knackered, but I’m actually feeling quite fresh and strong. - it’s just the constant pain that’s making me beg for mercy... Davo’s advice to stay well hydrated is having an unexpected effect - I’m having to stop every 2kms for a pee. I tell a passing official I’ve piddled more than any dog in Torquay today. As the km’s tick over at 6.5km per hour (blistering speed), and the day draws to a close, I can finally see the finish line. This marathon has taken me 6hrs 40min! 2/10 slower than my previous PW! But I don’t care - it only matters to be a finisher. The Bible talks a lot about finishing what you start, and it’s all taken on extra meaning over the last 14 hours 22 minutes. I’m surprised to find I’m not last. Ron, a friendly guy I’d met from Mildura, is closing on me in the dark, so I wait for him just before the line for a minute, and we cross together, arms raised. The Press make us repeat the finish. Then it’s off to the (ha ha) recovery tent (another name for ‘morgue’).

Lying there with a physio trying to bring down a lump of knotted muscle next to my spine, I think of the delirious statements I’ve shouted to God since the back spasms started. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter so much. The video man sits there with his lights blazing, and neither of us wounded backmarkers give a hoot. If I could just stop shaking for a moment, I’d get off this table, find some gear, and go home...

THE AFTERMATH
More pain for a coupla days. Call Davo - accuse him of lying to me about how easy it’s going to be. Head home to Sydney and the Lake. My wife has been quite sacrificial these 12 weeks. Now’s the time to make it up to her in some small way, so we take the slow road around the Coast home. She drives.... I sit paralysed in the passenger seat.

When the video arrived, it showed a fit, relaxed "man of the cloth" being interviewed. At the end of it, a mere 24 hours later, it showed a haggard, old, grey bearded wreck lying prostrate on the massage table….. Good grief! It's the same guy!

OK! One final comparison for all you running nuts who have more sense than me, and don’t try a full ultra triathlon on your first (or any) attempt. Was it the hardest day-long event I’ve tried? I honestly have to say, "no." Billy’s 80km torture test over the National Park’s roads, trails, beaches, and hills was, in my opinion, tougher. At least in the triathlon, you get a variation that seems to ease the muscle tiredness that racks you near the end of the Bundeena Ultra. And next year? Not Victoria - too hilly, too blowy in the last bike bit and run, and (in January) potentially too hot. Forster? As the ad used to say, "Where the heck is Forster!?" I’m waiting for the Gold Coast to steal it off them!

Who knows what you can try for at 60?!?!

Heart attacks, mission trips, and faith in God

from our 2004 Zimbabwe trip letter - Last weekend our church had our annual camp at the foot of the Blue Mountains with Jim and Jackie Bowler, Lifeline friends from Manchester, UK.  Unfortunately, my enjoyment of it was limited to the spiritual and fellowship aspects, as physically, I was not in good shape.  The beginnings of a severe bronchial asthma attack were brewing and I suffered badly both nights up there. We were up at our family’s holiday cottage at Budgewoi where we have taken Jim and Jackie for two days r ‘n’ r after their wonderful ministry to us before they headed home to Manchester (via Perth), when a build up of bronchial asthma hit me like I have never had before in my life (I am not asthmatic by background), and I had to drive to the emergency ward at Wyong Hospital at midnight for help.

They tested me for various things (X-rays, blood tests, ECG, etc).  An ECG graph done at 3am registered a heart attack after I was settled in for the night on the leads – plugged up all over!  The 6am ECG test clearly showed major aberrations to my heart condition.  Even I could see what they were saying.  When I told the doctor I was due to fly out to Zimbabwe in 48 hours, he rolled his eyes and said, “I hope your travel insurance is paid up, mate, coz you’re not going anywhere…  And if you did fly, the air pressure change at altitude would whack your heart."   So, I was off by ambulance to Gosford ICU the next day for more tests by the coronary specialist, and some serious discussion about what was really wrong.

On the funny side – getting bawled out by the grumpy senior cardiac ward nurse because I was wandering around (with leads hanging off me like a choko vine) looking for a phone to call Elizabeth and a dunny to visit; she was shouting “get back in bed!  You’ve had a heart attack!”  I was the only happy patient in a very depressing ward…  And kept doing my stretches beside the bed when they weren’t looking...

Finally, the specialist admitted my blood tests showed no signs whatsoever of a heart attack (Including a “silent one” which the Wyong doctor had indicated might had happened) – the enzyme count was perfect.  So, it looks like the original alarm was from a heart strain because of the lack of oxygen, and coughing like a chronic smoker in the death rattles set it off.  But it was a temporary aberration rather than a real attack.  They wanted to keep me in for another night for observation, but without my mentioning I planned to be on plane in less than 24 hours time, they agreed to let me go home and call on my own family doctor.

“Strangely”, my own GP was not on deck that evening when we got home and I had to see a new Chinese doctor to fill a prescription to take to Zimbabwe.  It turned out that he was a born-again believer who has only been in the area a few weeks.  His parting words were, “I will pray for you in Zimbabwe”.  Still, I am going to get a full stress test by my local GP when I get home in early July.  Just to check if it “was a warning shot across my bow” as one doctor put it.  I do have faith in God’s goodness, but I am also a pragmatist and believe sound information is very important in decision-making.  On the positive side though, I felt to trust the Lord, not fight anything, and make the most of the rest.  Turned out I hadn’t realised how tired I was – slept 13 hours straight the night spent in the Cardiac ward.  I felt much fresher going to Africa.

We call this kind of thing a “Zimbabwean health problem”, which is known to occur when you go to minister in places that bring you into encounters with witchcraft. We have experienced this phenomenon before several times, and now make sure we have a very ordered prayer-support team behind us. But this was earlier than usual, and more serious. However, after a full stress test upon our return, at a specialist hospital clinic three months later, the cardiac specialist told Brian he was his first patient ever who was able to run the machine up to its maximum level (six)! They turned it off while he was still running through its final uphill stress level! That’s called ‘all-clear’…