Coast to Kosci 2025

This has taken me a little while to write, given that C2K was over a month ago now. I think I just needed a little more time to not just process the event, but also to have a break from all things running and let my mind just wander around for a while.

This is the type of race that simply cannot happen without a good crew who works together. This year I had a slightly bigger crew, including some good mates from Ultra Mediocre Runners of Canberra. The crew consisted of:

• Tron
• Undertaker
• Bushy
• Muscles

A massive thank you to each of you!

All the photos have been taken by various members of the crew.

The Leadup

It's rare that anyone's training leadup is perfect, and everyone has stories of their own difficulties and challenges during training. I prefer not to bang on about my own challenges unless it comes up in conversation.

Having said that: Long story short, the few months prior to C2k were full-on. On top of the usual stressors of general life and work stress, there was also the search for a house, buying a house and then moving into said house 2 weeks before C2K, all whilst sick with some kind of chest infection.

In mid-October, Ultra Mediocre Runners of Canberra put on our BRuTUS event, and the organisation and setup for that was perhaps a little more stressful than I anticipated, but at the time I figured that's fine as stress is stress and it's good training.

Then I got sick, immediately after BRuTUS (so immediately that I was almost useless for the final packup). It got me good. I was off work for basically three weeks, two weeks later after first getting sick we moved and I was still cooked. That weekend after coughing horrendously I had a pain in my right ribs. Thinking it was probably just a muscle strain from moving, I went for a run on Saturday and that made it a whole lot worse

Over the next few weeks training was pretty much using cycling on the indoor bike trainer, and going for some walks in an attempt to stay sane, but I just felt like I wasn't getting any better.

Ultimately in the week leading up I decided that I would start the race. I thought everything should be manageable enough to get through to the finish, but I would take it easy and acknowledge that there is a very real possibility I may need to withdraw from the race at some point.

Thursday

Thursday before the start of the race we head down to Eden, via Jindabyne. Undertaker comes and picks us up in the car that will be the support vehicle, and after packing the car we head down to Jindabyne to meet the rest of the crew.

After a good lunch at the Banjo Patterson Inn, where I indulged in a beer (I don't normally before a race but I figured it can't make me much worse at this point). We all then piled into one car, and headed out towards the coast.

Driving backwards on the course to get to Eden only increased the stoke! Plus, it gave the crew a chance to see the course.

We arrived in Eden, and settled into the accomodation, then wandered over to the check in and registration. We didn't want to go down right as rego opened, but it turns out I was one of the last ones to check in, so I probably missed chatting to a few people!

We went through the check-in process, got photos, and then wandered back to the accomodation for some food and sleep.

Friday

My alarm went off at about 0330, and all I could think about was how this is the most comfortable bed I've ever been in and I just want to keep sleeping. But I got up, and the pain in my rib was my number one worry whilst I was going through the usual process of getting ready. Things seemed to be about as good as I could hope for short of a miracle: I was still very congested and occasionally coughing, and my rib was sore, but better than it had been previously and certainly manageable.

I was going to start the race and hope that the rib didn't flare up. At this point, I figured I could deal with the congestion as it was mostly in my head rather than my chest.

In the darkness of pre-dawn we walked down to the start line on the beach from the accomodation, and we were treated to the start of a glorious sunrise.

The energy on the beach is one of excitement mixed with nervousness, with people ranging from their first time on the beach up to people with more than 10 years experience at running the event. This is a good chance to see people that I missed at rego.

Closer to the start time we take in a moving smoking ceremony, offering welcome and protection as we move across the country.

After a few photos and without too much fanfare, we lined up in front of the banner and then started moving towards the mountains

As soon as we started running I was quietly optimistic about the pain in my side. In the weeks leading up to C2K I had a really painful jarring sensation basically with every footstep once I started running, although it had been slowly improving. Although I was certainly aware of it, it wasn't actually bothering me and this would remain the case for most of the day.

The first few hours are always full of conversations with everyone cruising along, full of energy, and having a bit of a chat. This is the time to learn stories about how different people got here, their reasons for doing it, and what their hopes for the finish are.

It starts off with a steep climb away from the highway followed by a few kilometres of fire trail, which is about the most "trail" section on the course. At about 3km in, where we rejoin the road there is the only aid station in the entire race offering lollies and water.

Surely it's a bit of a joke (a very funny one) that on a 240km course there is only one aid station, which is 3km into the course. Obviously I have to grab a couple of snakes and make it worth their while.

We make our way towards Towamba. It's a glorious morning; the weather is beautiful with a bit of cloud cover and just a touch of coolness in the air.

In this section I share some miles with Mark Avery. Our paths have previously crossed but we've never actually run together, and Jen as we roll over the undulating road away from the coast.

Crew vehicles start to trickle past, mostly yelling and ringing cowbells as they go past.

The run into Towamba is very overwhelming. You crest a slight rise and turn a slight corner, and then all you can see is an ocean of high-viz vests and cars. Everyone is there having a good time and cheering you into the checkpoint

Trying to pick out your crew can be difficult! Luckily, the crew is easy to spot in their bright pink Ultra Mediocre attire and pink hi-viz vests. For me this is one of the quickest stops. I take off my vest that I use for the first 24km section, put sunscreen on, and grab flasks of gel and water for the next leg and then keep on rolling while the crew finish off their breakfast.

The next leg is a beautiful run through the valley past the river. I find myself running and chatting with a few folks for a while, but enjoying the smooth gravel roads running alongside the Towamba River. The weather is still perfect but it certainly feels a little warm, and when the sun comes out I'm starting to feel the bite of the sun a little bit. It can't be that warm though, because a lot of the crews are still in their puffer jackets and jumpers, a contrast that we chat about as we run.

At one point I'm coming up to the crew, and I can see a paddock full of cows going absolutely mental. A local drives past and says something about the cows that I didn't catch, but I did catch the followup of "they're friendly too!". My crew are egging the cows on, and I myself might have had a bit of a chat (though I'm not particularly good at speaking cow).

A little bit further down the road one of the crews drives past and says something along the lines of "Mate, your crew are a bunch of weirdos, they were singing at the cows."

Personally I think it would be rude to not sing at the cows...

Before I know it we're rolling into Rocky Hall. This is always a good chance to use the toilet as good toilets can be hard to find on the course. On return to the car I have a weird kind of interview that I couldn't quite tell if it was a real or fake interview, but it turned out to be a real interview. At least I got to say "No shorts, no mercy!" to the audience.

After smashing some food and re-applying sunscreen, it's just a few short kilometres before we hit the climb of Big Jack Mountain, a mandatory pacer section.

It's here that Bushy jumps out to pace and get ourselves up Big Jack Mountain. We walk a bit (I probably started off pushing a bit too hard on the uphill), run some of the flatter sections, generally gasbag about how the day is going. Meanwhile, Bushy serenades passing crews and any runners we see with a rendition of Ja Ja Ding Dong. I'm not sure if they're intimidated or encouraged by Bushy's excellent singing. Perhaps a combination of both.

Partway through the climb I realise my planning was sub-optimal and I didn't quite have enough water for the climb. Bushy kindly lends me some of his, and I mentally chalk this up as a learning point for the next time that I'm out here.

We crest the top of Big Jack Mountain, and that's another milestone out of the way. I drink deeply from a lemonade but the crew don't let me hang around for long and kick me back out on the trail. I run down the section to the road, and can hear the approaching cowbells behind me.

I say to the race director Mickey at the corner "bloody obnoxious aren't they!". Of course I wouldn't want it any other way!

Turning onto the road into Cathcart I decide to walk some of the slight inclines to bring my heart rate down as it's been sky high the entire morning, presumably because I've still been sick. On the final little run into town I'm feeling really quite nauseous and definitely going into a low point, although it certainly feels like a more severe low to what I've previously experienced. Even the nausea feels different to what I've felt on other runs and races.

At the Cathcart checkpoint I sit on the back of the car, but turn down pretty much everything the crew are offering me.

I decide to walk up to the toilets given they're the last half-decent toilet for nearly 80km. I probably spent a bit too long in there, and Undertaker was on the verge of checking if I'd drowned, but spending the time where necessary is okay as I keep reminding myself that I'm still sick and it's okay to take it a bit easy.

It's time to start chipping away at the next section. I want to love this little 10 or 11 kilometre section between Cathcart and the Monaro Highway, but it seems that this point is always a bit of a low point for me. Something to work on for the next time...

At the turnoff I see race directors Greg and Mickey at the corner fixing a directional sign that the wind had turned around, and make the hilarious joke about how I'm glad they moved the sign or I would've ended up in Bombala. Mickey tells me a story about how they had a Frenchman who ended up a few kilometres in that direction one year!

The next mental milestone is crossing the Monaro highway (preferably without dying), and just before we do so I eat a few more Pringles and Cheesels delivered by the crew. I'm starting to feel a little bit better, and perking up again!

After crossing the highway I decide to walk some of the next bit, which is a slight uphill. I was just thinking about starting to jog some of the uphill, but just then Julie in a race officials vehicle pull up next to me and I decide I'm better off having a bit of a chat and walking for a bit. I certainly enjoy chatting to the officials along the way, and it's a good way to break things up and take it easy for a moment.

Now I was feeling much better again, and moving pretty well. I'm surprising myself in this segment with how much I'm running, which is great! At some point I overtake Ryan, which might have been while he was sitting down at one of his crew stops.

I also go past Andy just after the creek crossing. Although it's super early in the race I always get a bit of a mental boost to overtake someone. Other times it's nice to hang with them for a bit and chat.

Not long after the creek crossing (with the shiny new bridge!), I'm walking up the hill and I see Muscles dancing and waving on the road ahead, then I see a spot of pink on the hill off in the distance. "That must be bushy, I think". Sure enough, as I go up the hill I see the rest of the crew, and Bushy hooting and hollering off in the distance on the hill.

He's got some awesome photos from up there.

Feeling energised by the crew I keep on plodding. It's not far from here to the 100km "dead tree" which we're going to stop at for a couple of photos, and then from there it's only a short run to the Gunningrach road checkpoint at about 106km

I come around the corner and see the pink at the tree. It's a slight uphill trend here, and I want to walk, but being in full view of the crew I feel compelled to run.

We stop briefly for a group photo and then I keep on going. Apparently there was a dead wombat off the side of the road, which I'm glad I didn't get a whiff of...

I'm feeling pretty good here, taking it easy in the cooler wind. Occasionally coughing a bit though as the temperature drops. I'm looking forward to hitting the checkpoint and cracking on with counting down the kilometres to Dalgety.

Checkpoint 4, at the intersection of Gunningrah Road and the Snowy River Way is a huge milestone for me, not just because it's over 100km into the course, but it signifies a change into predominantly bitumen road. It's also the start of the longest leg, and mentally it's the start of the journey to the next major milestone: Dalgety. There are many mental games in a race this long.

I usually plan this to be a longer stop. As we will soon be heading into the night time it's a good tine to get things sorted and change into a long sleeve shirt. The high-viz has to go on and at this point I usually change shoes as well, if only because the current pair of shoes at this point have usually done over 100km.

The crew were amazing and it was like an F1 pit stop. I sat down in the delightful chair, ate some pudding and drank some ginger beer while the crew helped me change shoes, I decided to put a long sleeve shirt on because the wind was quite cool.

I was so excited when the high viz they put on me was a pink one!

Perhaps a sign of things to come, I make a comment that although I'm feeling okay, I am feeling way more fatigued than this stage last year. In fact I'm feeling just a deep, all-consuming fatigue. But for now I know I'll be good to keep going and get this thing done.

The crew kick me out of the checkpoint and I start running down the road. I love getting to this section as you get a nice bit of downhill for a while and scenery is gorgeous in the golden evening light.

Not 200m out of the checkpoint, I sidestep a puddle of vomit on the road. "I guess someone had a bit too much to eat in the checkpoint". A further 2km down the road, I nearly step in another puddle and I think to myself "well I guess I could be feeling worse..."

Continuing down the road and crossing the bridge that signifies the end of this bit of downhill, and just after that I pass Shaggy, who I'd been slowly gaining on. The next section is a slight uphill before the climb to the wind turbines and I was feeling pretty strong now, still running on the uphill bits that I definitely would've been walking last year.

Things were looking good, until they very suddenly were not.

The road ramps up a bit just before a set of roadworks, and I decide to walk. Then suddenly I'm feeling very nauseous and just... sick. It's difficult to put into words what I mean here, but I just felt wrong. I see the crew and let them know that I'm suddenly not feeling good, and don't take anything other than water.

They later tell me that I was looking incredibly pale at this point and you can see the concern in their faces.

I figure that this should just be another temporary thing - it happened back near Cathcart - and start the climb up to the wind turbines telling myself I'll just take it easy. This is going okay, until about halfway up the hill I suddenly become conscious that I feel like I can't take a deep enough breath.

My breathing seems to be really shallow and it feels like I'm not getting enough air in. I try a couple of times to take a deep breath which doesn't really work, and then I finally take a deep breath and that triggers a coughing fit. I stop and cough quite a bit (which hurts my rib), and then the coughing stops.

I take about three steps and then throw up all over the road, several times.

That's interesting, I've never spewed during a run before, so that's a new one but I had been feeling nauseous. The good news is I feel slightly less nauseous, but it still feels like I can't get my breathing under control. I start to have thoughts about how this probably isn't sensible, maybe it wasn't sensible to even start the race, and asking myself if it's sensible to keep on going.

As I'm continuing to walk up the hill one of the officials drive past, and ask if I'm okay. I tell them what's happened figuring there's no reason to be anything but honest. I'm a little bit wobbly here, as I talk to them I drift towards the car and then drift back to the edge of the road. They seem quite concerned and ask how far up my crew is. "Should only be a few kilometres", I say.

I crest the top of the hill and am coughing a bit more, with the colder air, though I'm trying to suppress it. I see a crew vehicle coming the other way, and then realise it's my crew vehicle. The officials suggested that they should probably come back for me.

We stop into a little parking area near the wind turbine and I sit down to chat with the crew. If I'm completely honest I don't remember much of this chat. I start to get cold quickly and put a jacket on. I'm feeling just so, so tired and just... depleted. We agree that they'll drive ahead back to where they were previously and I'll try to run.

I start moving and try to run a bit. My abdomen hurts a lot, probably from the vomiting. That will pass, but the bigger problem is I still can't get my breathing under control, and I'm coughing periodically.

This seems like a silly thing to be doing.

So I sit in the car with the crew again. Once again I don't remember a huge amount about this conversation.

Ultimately, as a team, we make the decision to withdraw.

The decision has me feeling a mix of relief and disappointment, as well as feeling that I'm letting down the team. I think at this stage I know it's the right decision. We officially withdraw and then start our way back to Dalgety, fully intending to stop at the hall for some of the well-renowned soup.

The consolation to myself in hindsight is that at no point did I think that "this is hard and I should stop", but the thoughts were all around "this isn't sensible for my longterm health", and that I don't like that it's related to my lungs.

As we progress along the course we start to see the front runners strung out in front of us, moving at impressive paces as night descends. We park up at Dalgety and hear that Matt Pilley is currently in the checkpoint! I thought it would be cool to watch Matt head out over the Dalgety Bridge.

Unfortunately I felt myself start to feel really unwell again... I asked if we had any more lemonade, craving sugar, but then it became apparent that I wasn't going to stay standing and I had to sit down. Moving over towards the hall I then had to find a spot out the front to throw up a few more times.

Probably a good sign that something is wrong and that withdrawing was the right choice.

After that though we sit in the hall having the amazing soup and watching folks come in and out of the checkpoint, while Bushy heads out dressed as a unicorn to ask runners if they have seen any weird hallucinations...

We head back to Jindabyne for a few beers, to chat about the day we just had, and then sleep.

Saturday

The next day, we all enjoy a bit of a sleep in. My legs are basically feeling the best they ever have after 120-odd kilometres, so that's something nice to take away at least.

We head out to the Jindabyne checkpoint, mainly to see Pam come through but in the process get to see quite a few other folks progressively getting through the checkpoint, and move onto one of the most difficult but rewarding sections of the course. After a delicious lunch prepared by Muscles and Bushy back at the accomodation, we then head up to Charlotte Pass to have a sticky beak and watch folks go in and out of the checkpoint out there.

It's still quite snowy up there, which makes for some beautiful scenery to admire. I must admit at this point I definitely feel like I'm missing out by having withdrawn early in the race, although I know it was absolutely the right decision.

While we're there we see emergency services turn up to rescue some bloke (unrelated to the race). That's certainly a lesson not to head out into the mountains (which are covered in snow) during a storm in shorts, thongs, and no idea where you're going!

At least the Search and Rescue teams got to pull out their cool toys!

It's getting towards the end of the day, so it's time to head back down the mountain, and head to the pub for a few drinks and a feed whilst sharing stories!

Sunday

On Sunday we head to the breakfast and the presentations.

The presentations are always special, and although I'm disappointed at not being one of the finishers it's so great to see everyone else celebrated for their achievements. Each individual finisher is given the same amount of time and attention, no matter how fast or slow they completed the course.

This really demonstrates the values of Coast to Kosci.

Not only did we get to celebrate everyone's finish, but there were some special achievements as well, including Pam Muston completing her 10th Coast to Kosci, and Jane Trumper awarded with a permanent bib number.

Reflections

I saw the doctor afterwards, who declared I have both a sinus infection and a chest infection. It's also likely that I may have had a fractured rib as well. All those things considered, I'm actually reasonably impressed that I made it as far as I did.

One of the biggest things on my mind was that I was letting the crew down, but I'm glad we got to have a really great first day, and then we still got to enjoy the Saturday and Sunday but just probably in a slightly different way to what we planned. Ultimately, it was still a great weekend away!

For some time I thought I would be someone who would practically need an injury before deciding to withdraw from a run, but longevity is quite important to me and I want to be able to do these kinds of adventures for a very long time. That means sometimes making a smart decision that favour overall long term health over a short term result.

Plus, it now means I've recovered a lot faster to be able to get back out running and put in to practice a lot of the lessons learned during the race.

Once again a huge thank you to my crew. I had an absolutely amazing time, even the parts where I wasn't feeling so great. A thank you as well to the organisers, volunteers, supporters and other people in the race. It really is a special experience.