This is a journey that has taken over 2 years to finish. Or maybe truly start… I’m not sure yet.
In January 2020 I signed up for an event called Run Larapinta, a 4 day stage race that covers around 130km of of Larapinta Trail. Thanks to COVID lockdowns, a wonderful stress fracture and another lockdown, Run Larapinta was sadly slipping away.
Fast forward to November 2021, UTA entries open and thanks to a severe case of FOMO (its totally a thing) I bought myself a 100 ticket. Along with a deferred Tarawera Miler entry and with guaranteed entry to Six Foot thanks to previous race cancellations, I had my start to 2022 all sorted.
Once again, the wheels started to unravel. A mixture or continued border closures for NZ and the deluge of storms across NSW east saw races slip from our grasp once more. The trails of Six Foot track were literally washing away in landslides, Cox’s River (once a pleasant and refreshing waist deep wade from bank to bank) was now a raging torrent that was seeing men well over 6ft tall being washed downstream in a bold attempt to swim across. With less than two weeks until race day, Six Foot, too, was cancelled.
With a strong sense of de ja vu, eyes turned to UTA in May. The clock was counting down and the hill and stair repeats were counting up….but with the Blue Mountains National Park closed due to storm damage, we could only continue to train and hope for a break in the rain.
Then the unspeakable happened, on April 4th, just over a month before race day, a family of 5 caught in a landslide that cost 2 of them their lives whilst out bushwalking in the park. It was at this stage that, like many others, I was heartbroken for this family and knew that it wasn’t right that this race went ahead at this time.
I’ll speak openly about the internal conflict here. On one hand, I felt awful for this family, I couldn’t imagine the trauma and tragedy that they have endured. I can’t let myself go there if I’m honest, the idea of anything happening to my family is enough to bring me to tears. On the other hand, I have all this training in my legs that I want to use!
Enter stage left: West Macs Monster.
I had previously found WMM but had to put a pin in it as it was scheduled to run the weekend after UTA. After the landslide I sent an email to the guys at West Macs to find out when there entries closed. I will admit here I originally did ask them about doing the full 231km course - more on that later.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, UTA did indeed get postponed. It was time. This was my time, my adventure. Click, Register, Card Details, Check Out, Done. Flights, Accomodation, Holy Mother Forking Shirt Balls.
Now to tell the coach.
Training wise we didn’t need to change much (again, more on that later) as we were pretty much in peak week of training. One element I did try and change was to run ‘hot’ as much as I could. Despite the crap weather we were having, there were a few good days of clear sun so I rearranged my long runs to the middle of the day to get as much heat exposure as I could.
Fast forward the final few weeks, taper, pack, WTF is this actually happening? Thursday 19th May 2022. I am on my way!
On the way to the airport I felt a sense of an outer body experience. I think there’s still a sense of an impostor in there somewhere… this isn’t me, an actual runner, heading to the centre of Australia to run 128km through a desert mountain range with only 37 other people?! I’m not that person?!
On the plane, I met Reesha and Kylie, two other RMA from the Sunshine Coast and Surf Coast respectively. We chatted excitedly and nervously for a good chunk of the flight which I loved so much. I love hearing other people’s stories and learning about their journey to a start line. Kylie is besties with Rachel who is a Alice Springs local and Admin for RMA. As Alice Springs airport is preeettttttyyyyy small so I bumped into the two of them at the baggage claim and Rachel offered to drop me to my motel and kindly took my number to connect with me if I needed anything. You can see the connection these to have and it was a privilege to be around them this weekend.
That night I went to the Banff Mountain Film Festival with Kylie, Rachel and her family. A really cool short film festival on the people who take on the outdoors, mountain culture, obscure sports and the environment. This is where you will hear the term ‘Squirt Boating’ for the first time, but not the last. I will take a small amount of pleasure here by not explaining what Squirt Boating is, only to say, we laughed a LOT, google it, but don’t search for it in Urban Dictionary.
Friday 20th - Car Hire and my first experience of the Out Back. Driving out of Alice and into the West MacDonnell Ranges I had really only a couple of questions going through my head - I am finally here and dear god, is that what I am going to have to climb. Answer, yes, to both of those.
I had decided to drive out to Standley Chasm and Simpsons Gap as these were the two main spots I thought I would be either end of the night (oh, how wrong I was) and as easily drivable distances from Alice, they were excellent sightseeing spots that would blow my little mind hole wide open. They were both stunning, obviously. I could have stayed for hours, but the day had to continue.
Next stop was to visit a friend who I went to high school with, now living in Alice Springs. I should mention here I went to a very small British boarding school in the University town of Oxford; so to be over 15,000km away from where we last saw each other, 22 years later in a remote town of 32,000 people was almost too much for my tiny brain to fathom. It was amazing catching up with Emma, meeting her children and hearing her story. I could have stayed there all day… but the afternoon was ticking on, and I had a mandatory gear check and race briefing to attend.
I guess this is the part of the story where shit starts to get real. Hauling all my gear down to Alice Springs Desert Park with many other nervous faces.
After a brief panic over a whistle incident (thanks Rachel!) we were ready to settle in to the race briefing which was equal parts informative and terrifying. The general theme being, its a really long way, its really hard, there’s no one coming to help you. Oh, and don’t miss the bus, we aren’t waiting for you. Cheers guys.
We finished off the night with an amazing pre race dinner and then it was home to bed, alarms set, final goodbyes and good lucks to the family and now we were really in ‘it’s too late to back out now’ territory.
With a 9am start, and a 2hr bus trip to Ellery Creek, the alarm was early but not ridiculous. I slept ok-ish the night before, mainly dozing, which was fine, I’m pretty used to that feeling by now. No mucking about, up, food, dressed, cup of tea whilst I read the letters from Matt and the Boys (no time for tears!) and out the door. Dark, quiet, chilly, lonely walk through Alice Springs to the bus stop and the immediate feeling of relief knowing I hadn’t missed the bus when I saw the familiar nervous face of a fellow runner sat waiting in anticipation also.
Flash forward a couple of hours we arrive at Ellery Creek, cold early morning light, that blue-ish grey hue that is still waiting for the golden rays of sunshine to hit it.
Ellery Creek also sits on the 103km point of the 231km Sonder Monster course. Remember I said more on that later… well I will openly admit this was the moment seeing runners come in to this checkpoint that I was quietly elated that the West Macs team wouldn’t let me enter this distance. Runners pushing cut off with less that an hour to spare, and they still had at least one more night and two full days of moving ahead of them. Admiration doesn’t even come close.
At this point, like a the start of all races, lots of nervous chit chat, milling around, trying to find a purpose. Finally it’s time to head to the actual start line, right down at the water hole in a stunning gorge. Giant red cliffs tower either side, an early reminder of what is to come.
Spot trackers on, mandatory start line photos taken, and I don’t even remember the word Go being spoken, I just remember running. We were off. It had started. It’s just another run, surely. Nope.
I felt calm as soon as we started moving, it felt better to run, to use the nervous energy. Starting on the sand is always a great way to begin a race (she lied) but it wasn’t long before we turned off and hit the trail. The first section is a 30km single track that winds you through the open plains between the two mountain ranges. It’s fairly flat and very exposed. The trail itself is hard dirt and rocks, mostly quite runnable, but it’s still technical. This was a lesson in technical running from the get go that didn’t stop giving. You had to watch where you put your foot every single time. No exceptions. You look away, you stack it. Ouchies.
My first navigational error happened at 15km - with an unmanned emergency water stop in a dry creek bed, I missed the trail marker that was behind it indicating to simply cross the creek bed and continue over the bank on the other side. Instead I followed the creek bed for a couple of hundred metres, actually saw another trail marker (which in hindsight was just taking me to a camp site and dead end) and spent about 10 minutes looking for the trail, totally confused. Luckily our navigation app Guru Maps is pretty good and a back tracked to the water drum and got back on the way.
At 30km we reached Hugh Gorge, and with that, the first Aid Station. I was feeling really good but was out of water and Tailwind, so a good chance to fill up on everything, took a peanut butter honey sandwich to go and started on the 4km stumble, I mean run, picking our way through the gorge over the dry river bed of rocks, shale, soft sand and boulders. Am I selling this as pleasant? No? Good, that means it’s working. This über technical sections properly illustrates the overall theme of this run: Rocky and Slow.
It was this point where I met Dan. Well, actually no, I’d met him the night before at the Race Briefing… he was scrambling for a compass to get his mandatory gear signed off and I was waiting for a whistle, so we bonded over stupidity and panic. (I maintain my case that every Salomon hydration vest has had had whistle on it, so WHY did mine not have one??!) It was clearly the start of a beautiful friendship. As we picked our way through the gorge we started talking, all the usual trail chit chat, little did we know this would be the beginning of a 29 hour partnership that would mean the difference between a DNF and crossing the finish line.
After the Gorge, we started started the climbs… a small but steep little ‘hill’ to start, a decently steep decent, over another creek bed and then the climb up Razor Back Ridge.
This was the first eye opening moment that highlighted the insanity that is the Larapinta Trail was the lack of actual 'running' uphill. The ridiculous gradient combined with rock climbing, trying not to slip on loose rocks and once in a while maybe look up and admire the view. A common occurrence we would learn for the rest of the run.
The descent was just as technical and hard on the feet, then, another dry river bed that quickly turned in to a dry waterfall, meaning working our way downhill, steeply. Dropping down past boulders and picking our way past rocks bigger than cars, we were working our way down into another gorge continuing along the river bed. At this point it was starting to get dark as we pulled out of the river bed and the surrounding rocky mountains started glowing the hottest reds and oranges I have seen without an actual fire. As we bid farewell to the day and welcomed the night, the temperature was still pleasant and we settled in for the next 11 hours of darkness, led only by the small circle of light that picked up the varying sizes of rocks beneath our feet.
Birthday Waterhole Aid Station came maybe around 8pm, with a nice short stretch of runnable trail through grassy plains to lead us there. We were excited that this continued for a short stretch on the other side of the aid station (how good are 2-minute noodles?!) But quickly realised that this was really lulling us into a false sense of security for what was to come.
Up. A lot of Up.
Brinkley Bluff climbs over 500m in around 3.5km. The climb is, once again, stupidly technical (I think we used the phrase ‘sketchy AF’ 4000 times) and we repeatedly had to check the App to make sure we were actually on a trail. This was mountain climbing, not trail running. As we scaled the mountain in the dark, I was very grateful I couldn’t see down. The trails were literally on the edge of nothing, the light of my head torch went nowhere, it was lost in the darkness, nothing was below us. One slip, one wrong footing and that was the end of breathing in and out.
As we summited Brinkley’s at about 9.15pm we got our first bar of reception since leaving Alice Springs, quick phone calls to our loved ones and we were on our way. We thought we were headed downhill. Once more, we were incorrect.
We went a little bit down, and then up again, and then across a little, and then up again. Then down, then up again, and up a little more… you get the idea. After 7 million years we dropped down into Standley Chasm, our first of two major aid stations at 63km and 15hours of moving. It was cold now.
Full disclosure here… I was secretly hoping Dan was going to pull the pin so that I could too. By this point, I wasn’t physically tired or sore, I was emotionally spent. The speed (or lack of) in this event, the harshness and technicality of the terrain, the dark, the heights, it was all just so much for the brain process. I knew we had another climb of the same magnitude to come. The thought of facing it all again was almost too much to bare and I couldn’t have imagined doing it alone. If Dan and I hadn’t been together, I am not sure I would have left that aid station unless it was in a vehicle back to Alice Springs.
Luckily, my ego is pretty robust and can take a good pounding. Being adaptable is probably one of the biggest aspects of endurance running. You have to be able to problem solve, not attach to what you ‘thought’ the race was going to look like in your head and to accept the situation for what it is. You know it’s going to be hard, you know there will be dark patches. This was a dark patch. So we go to our tool belt. Warm food (vegetable risotto), check, change of clothes and add some warm layers, check, good old cup of tea, one sugar, doesn’t get better than that.
We saw the casualties of the first half of the race accumulating by the fire, those who maybe knew what was to come or those simply broken by what had been. We stayed away from the glorious heat beckoning from the fire, we knew it was too dangerous to get sucked into. We would never leave.
Off into the night (and new day - after midnight) and on to the next beast. It doesn’t start well with a treacherous rocky stair climb and descent, and back into a dry river bed (oh, good, more rocks!) that cascaded down into the dark cold night. Surprisingly we saw a face appear in front us, moving the wrong way back up the river bed. We had chatting to this girl briefly in the aid station and she left a few minutes ahead of us. She sounded slightly frantic as she explained she had just fallen asleep on the trail (I’m still not sure where exactly, there were boulders, there was no trail) she was in shorts still and it was freezing. She simply couldn’t face the next climb and what was still to come, she was turning back. We spent a few minutes with her to make sure she was ok, hit her SOS button on her tracker and let her make her way back to the warmth of the fire and the safety of the Aid Station Crew.
We pressed on. I feel like we moved through that river bed for hours, picking up the reflective trail markers every few hundred meters and eventually pulled out in to a cold grassy plain once more. There was nothing to see other than the silhouette of the black mountains surrounding us against the starry sky, but this was all we really needed to know to realise we were headed up once more.
Through these long tough hours of the night I thought about many things and people. My amazing friends, beautiful family, and courageous women I coach. Each one brought me strength. I had a mantra "I am capable, I am grateful, I am loved, I am strong, I am doing this". I practiced gratitude a lot. I discovered that I was even grateful for the people who don't like me, they give me the opportunity to see myself through the eyes of others.
The change in elevation comes as you take the Alternative High Route for about 4.5km up and across the Chewings Ranges. The familiar feeling of ‘never ending’ came flooding back as we scrambled up into the cold, black night, once again only lit by our head torches. The wind was picking up and as we climbed higher and higher on the edges of what I can only imagine is a cliff face, I knew two things, I had never been more grateful for anyone than I was for Dan in this moment and the lack of visibility was pretty much the only thing allowing my body to continue moving onward and upward. The very top of this ridge was where we got our first really uplifting sight…. In the distance, the far, far distance, was the glow of Alice Springs. It felt like a strange privilege to see this at night, knowing we were only really two of the small handfuls of people crazy enough to be on this mountain in the middle of the night seeing the warm glow of Alice on the horizon.
The way down was just as technical as the way up, of course. By this point, its the early hours of Sunday morning and I was acutely away of how easy it would be to loose concentration, slip and plummet to my death.
After another million years we got to the bottom and finally rejoined the main trail. By this time, there was only a couple of hours of the night left.
As we trekked into the dawn, a bright red glow that cut the horizon bled into orange and brought the world into view. Turning off this head torches after 11 hours was a relief, as was seeing the colour of the mountains around us. A quick stop for Dan to add another blister pack to the toes, I think he was starting to get tired and the wheels were starting to come off a little. At the next aid station we were greeted with cheese toasties, which were the most incredible things I’ve ever tasted. I’m not sure quite how they tasted so good, maybe its laced with the tears of those who had fallen from the race, maybe we were just that delirious, but god dammit they were good. It was finally warm enough to strip off the thermals and it quickly felt crazy that we even had to wear them as the day heated up.
At this point our conversation wizardry started to dry up. We talked about rocks a lot and determined that the purple ones that were triangle shaped were the most evil of all the rocks. That's pretty much the highlight of the next three hours.
With about 2km to go before entering Simpsons Gap (103km) things took a slight turn. I randomly asked Dan how he was doing (cos I’m nice) and he suddenly stopped and just replied with “I’m dizzy”. He stumbled, I held his arms to try and keep him propped up. I moved him to the little piece of shade we could find, just a small, sparse tree, and sat him down. I poured water from my pack over his head to try and cool him down, my mind started racing that we were still a good 20 mins from the aid station and I wasn’t sure how I would get him there if he didn’t improve enough to walk. I gave Dan my poles and put him in front of me. It took us a good 40 minutes to get to Simpsons Gap. Luckily the 65km runners had started passing us, so I asked one of them to alert the volunteers that we would need a medic to have a look at Dan when we got in.
What neither of us expected was Dan’s family being there. His partner Lucy, their 4 beautiful children, and his mum and dad! With about 200m to get to them, Dan couldn’t hold it in any more and the tears came. A mix of relief to see the people who he loved and loved him and not wanting them to see him in the condition he was in. It was this moment that changed my mindset about this event. When you see someone at their weakest, their lowest, their most vulnerable, you catch a glimpse of the real them, you can understand just how important something is to them.
The medics came to meet us and walk Dan into the aid station to get his assessed and treated. Again another moment of real honesty, I thought Dan was done. I thought either the medics would pull him or being around family would make it too hard to continue. I had my speech in my head ready for him “we’ve done amazing, you don’t need to be a hero, no race is worth getting hurt over” etc etc etc… After some electrolytes, coke, some shade and food, I asked Dan, “what do you want to do”. Response “Sophie, I really want to finish”.
Right then, decision made. We finish.
Dan’s mum came up to me to ask if he was going to be ok. I promised her, I would get him to the end, and I would not leave him. She cried. We hugged. I probably smelt.
As we left the aid station (again, changed, fed, watered) I did some race math (which in itself is hysterical as a dyslexic math-phobic human) and instructed Dan “we just have to average a 15 minute km and we’ll be done by nightfall. I’ll set the pace, you just have to keep up, cool?”
What changed for me here was my ‘why’. Up until this point, I really felt like my Why wasn’t good enough. I felt like it wasn’t enough to pull me through, but now my Why was for someone else. I knew Dan wanted to finish, I knew he needed me to get him to the end. This was my purpose now. I had to step up.
After we left Wallaby Gap we knew we had 2 or 3 more climbs ahead of us but “its nothing compared to what you’ve done” we were reassured. Dan and I came to the conclusion several times over that the elevation profile of this race was a big fat lie. There was still SO MUCH UP. And, oh look, more rocks!
As the sun started to dance on the horizon and that stunning golden light drenched the landscape we could see from the top of Euro Ridge that Alice was getting a lot closer now. This is another nail biting section of trail where you literally are walking on the edge of the cliff. My vertigo really kicked in here and I felt my stomach drop into my feet, I had to pull away from the edge and gather myself for a second. All I kept thinking was this ridge line is a third of the size of what we did, I couldn’t get my head around what Brinkley’s or Chewings would have been like in the day. We ran as much of this downhill as our bodies would let us, Dan through the worst of his heart exhaustion and now fully focused on the fact that we were finally in single digits! 9km to go!
The decent seemed to take forever (in full keeping with the theme of the weekend) and as we approached a railway line we saw our first real evidence of humanity. Neither of us really knew what the last few kms held, only that apparently there is an emergency aid station at the 5km mark and family could run with us in this last leg.
These last few kms are always the hardest, when you know you are so close, and every 100m takes forever. Finally, we crossed under a bridge and saw the aid station, Dan’s brother and partner who were joining us for the last 5k, that we were told was only about 4.5, that in reality was over 6.
As the day faded again, we trekked the final stretch with new voices to keep us company. For me it was really lovely getting to speak to Lucy, whom I had heard so much about over the last 28hours. The darkness inched us closer to the finish, and saw the leading female 231km runner steam past us looking incredible. We hit the road (ROAD!!!!) And made our way into the Telegraph station. We could see lights, people, hear music!! Where was the way in?? We yelled out to someone standing at the fence, how do we get in?? They signalled, it wasn’t helpful and we were yelling questions, but as we glanced over their shoulder we remarked how formal that setting looked, fine dining, white table clothes, umm.. we looked slightly under dressed. Oh wait, that was a wedding. Awkward. Keep running.
Around the back of the wedding reception (sorry!) - the finishers chute. OMG, we were done. We crossed the finish line. It was over! It was overwhelming, underwhelming, confusing and emotional all at once.
As RMA Rachel’s husbands company (Ekistica) was the main sponsor for the event, Lyndon was was also the MC. He’d threatened at the Pre-Race Dinner that he would announce me as the Squirt Boat Champion of Sydney. He did not disappoint.
We crossed the line in 34hrs 48mins with 131km and 4,435m of elevation on my watch.
Check out how awesome I looked at the end!
It was 4 hours over my original (very rough) goal, but I accomplished something so much more than a time goal. When I knew I would get Dan over the line, that meant more to me than anything with a number in it.
Fast forward through some mild hyperthermia, getting a lift back to my hotel with a race volunteer, a bloody good shower and falling asleep on the phone to Sarah, I’m back in Sydney. My welcome home was the best moment I’ve had in years. I’ve learnt so many things about myself and just like Mark, the Race Director promised, I have left a bit of my soul out on Larapinta.
This is long enough now, so if you've got this far, thank you for indulging me. There's a million more things I could say, so maybe there will be a part two "the fallout"....
Gear:
Watch: Coros Vertix
Shoes: Altra Lone Peaks
Pack: Salomon Women's Specific
Shorts & Tights: Lululemon Fast and Free
Socks: Injinji
Hat: Hoy Athletics
Fuel: Huma Gels & all the food
Tops: On Running
Thermals: Mac Pac
Poles: Black Diamond
Headtorch: Petzel & Black Diamond
Massive thanks to the whole West Macs Crew, all the volunteers, the staff at The Diplomat, Dan & his family, my family, Jenny, Sarah, Ash, Jenn, Barbs, Deb, Zoe, Priya, Cris, Hope & Michelle
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