Almanac Running: A Day at Kosci

 

I’d never been to Kosciuszko National Park until a week or so ago. Within the park is Australia’s highest peak Mt. Kosciuszko with an elevation of 2228m.

I was late to sign up to this event. It had sold out months ago. However, tickets can be bought at short notice when injury or life circumstances get in the way of pre-made plans. Aaron put up a FB notice in a group chat, I replied as being interested and before I knew it I had handed over a few hundred dollars in order to receive a transferred ticket that said I was registered for the Kosci 50 Trail Run in ten days’ time.

I had had a good year keeping in good enough shape to feel as though I could give the event a good crack. Going to Kosci was my main objective. I wanted to experience the landscape.

Kosci 50 is a 50km trail running race, one of four races in this UTMB event.

I jumped on board the shuttle bus at Jindabyne at 5:30am. The trip up to Perisher where the start line was took about 30 minutes…. a glorious sunrise beamed shards of bright orange light through the bus windows. The morning felt balmy, and my T-shirt appropriate at Jindabyne. At Perisher though, it was cooler at around 11 degrees. A layer was pulled from my running vest to keep me warm as I waited in a long line for an obligatory double shot half-full small latte…. At this stage the coffee queue held priority over the toilet queue, after all, one thing does lead to another… ah…so many things to juggle and prioritise before the race has even begun.

As 7am edged closer I made my way towards the start line. By this stage I had already run into a run friend or two with whom I could chat and dispel some nervous tension. Immersed in a group of 900 or so other runners I couldn’t quite tell if I was towards the front, the middle, or the back of the pack….it was too late to shuffle back.

The race had started.

As the sound of clacking cow bells and cheering supporters faded, the running pack took off in an outward and upward loop on a paved road through the Perisher village before winding back again. Leaving Perisher for the second time we hit upon the trail that would lead us out into the stunning alpine landscape.

I soaked up the atmosphere, dancing across a granite covered single trail dodging tree roots, unseen stone and rock whilst also trying to stay in a focused zone that would enable my body to remain in an upright position and my skin integrity intact.

The landscape was truly stunning. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the images I would see in my grandmothers Women’s Weekly magazine as a child. A regular feature in the front section was that of an Australian landscape portrait somewhere in our country. They were captivating photographs, often of places I knew nothing of. I felt connected to the present, but in a way, to the past too. Weird, the things you think of.

I love downhill running. This made up most of the first half of the run. However, I didn’t want to overheat so I had to keep pace and heart rate in check as much of the climbing is done in the last 10 km when the sun is at its peak and the shade is non-existent. The alpine plateau consisted of low-lying vegetation; a mix of bristly, tough looking plants spread between large moss covered boulders.

The soft undulations of the plain eventually began to drop and the trail then dipped into a valley. The narrow pathway weaved and wound its way down for about 16km. For much of this time I was clustered in a group of similarly paced runners. It’s not easy to overtake, or to be overtaken, and if a shoelace plays up, or you need to stop for whatever reason it can then take a while to jump back on the path.

As the first checkpoint at Bullocks Flat neared the trail flattened off and heated up. I had been out for two and half hours, climbed only 240m but had dropped around 800m over 17km. The day was warm, and another 1200 meters of climbing were yet to be conquered over the next 33km’s.

I used this and the next few checkpoints to cool down. Water from well-equipped water stations were poured over my body, saturating the buff and the visor, refilled the drinking flasks and sculling a cup or two of ginger beer or coke. Handfuls of watermelon and orange slices were taken too. Nothing beats watermelon out on a hot trail.

The next section of trail was technically flat. But it did wind a fair bit up and down alongside the Thredbo River. In this section a few runners were noticeably hot, unwell and or cramping. For me, one foot had early on felt like a blister was brewing, but with a change in the camber of the trail this sensation dissipated. However, a poorly trimmed toenail on the other foot did make its presence known.

The Thredbo River babbled along beside the runners, it’s sound, oh so inviting!

I have never felt cramping effects in the past, but as I left the last main aid station at Village Green at around midday, I felt a couple twinges in one calf. I kept it under control by walking for a while, chatting to other runners. The sun was well and truly up, I was about to sweat bucket loads more in the way of fluid and salt. There was little shade and an abundance of flies.

It felt like the first 35 km slipped by easily…easy doesn’t mean easy, no effort… simply, it means getting job done, keeping cool, keeping hydration and fuel up; keeping yourself in a position to cope during the more challenging stretches of trail that were to come.

What a name for a path… Dead Horse Gap. Maybe its name softened the blow that was this section. A good bit of Aussie humour and wonder as to its genesis replacing the need for a gel or two, perhaps. It was the most challenging section, but also in hindsight, my favourite bit. It was a long and relentless climb. Not super steep at all but a long gradual rise in which I moved in a slow and methodical manner. I don’t have and haven’t used poles. I spent time wondering if this would make the climb easier. Lots of runners passed me here, many with poles, many with youth.

But this was a beautiful section and the reward at the top came in the form of a wildflower field that stretched in all directions, stands of weathered ghost gums and again, huge granite boulders. Silvery greys and iridescent whites backgrounded yellow petals and limey grasses. The trail was wider here, runners had space, there was time to banter, and with little rivulets and streams nearby one could saturate their buff or hat with the cool mountain water.

I’d lost track of time, but undoubtedly this took a couple of hours to climb. The trail flattened out again and I felt relief. The elevation was at just over 2000m. The mountain views exhilarating. And on the flat I could again run, albeit move quicker than my walking pace run. It was an open landscape and the rock laden path flowed in a sublime manner for several kilometres down to Eagles Nest… a chair lift station in the winter. My cadence here was smooth and even and I caught a few runners ahead of me. It was 3:17pm.

At Eagles Nest I was in a great space knowing the end was only 4km down the road, although having read the pre-race brief, I knew it was to drop around 600 meters. This is a lot in a short distance, and I wasn’t sure how this section would look. In my mind I had envisaged an open fire trail or a steep ski slope or two perhaps.

The reality instead, was shabby and rickety sets of uneven stairs littered with loose, wobbly rock and smooth slippery exposed tree roots. I made as much use of the gifted pace that came with the pull of gravity as I could, but not enough to make it a quick 4km downhill bomb. Some common sense had prevailed in metering out caution in my footwork – as much and all as I was loving the alpine landscape, I had no desire to face plant it so close to the end.

Just after 4pm I could hear my name being announced. I had finally entered the finish line chute and only a short stretch of grass lay ahead. The legs turned over a bit quicker at the sound of the sideline cheering and the feeling of relief washed over me. With deliberate precision I stomped my right foot down onto the timing mat and high-fived someone with a microphone. It was 9 hours, 7 minutes and 20 seconds after the race had begun.

The sharp toenail on my left foot persisted in digging away, another two nails were surely blown, but I did not care. It was a small price to pay for a fabulous day out. The race was done.

It is a race after-all: – Place 707/949, Female 230/333, Age Cat 7/15. And there was a 13:30 hour cut off.

 

More from Kate Birrell can be read Here.

 

 

To return to the www.footyalmanac.com.au  home page click HERE

 

Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.

 

Do you enjoy the Almanac concept?
And want to ensure it continues in its current form, and better? To help keep things ticking over please consider making your own contribution.

 

Become an Almanac (annual) member – CLICK HERE