It’s funny how you get attached to races.

I’ve always said that I run trail races to see places I would never see otherwise. To see remote waterfalls, mountains and views in a supported and safe way.

But there are some races and places that steal your heart and you have to go back year after year. Surf Coast Trail Marathon is one of those races for me.

Yesterday I ran my fifth Surf Coast Trail marathon and I’ve volunteered three other years. Out of the 10 races, I’ve only missed the first one and 2018 when it clashed with a family holiday to the Gold Coast (there was no race in 2020 for obvious reasons).

It’s probably the race I’ve attended the most since starting running.

It’s not a difficult task to pinpoint why.

Yes the course is beautiful and if you get lucky with the tides and sand conditions on the beach you can run it pretty well.

Yes it’s local so I don’t have to drive for hours and get up at sparrows fart o’clock to get there.

Yes it always fits into the calendar well (unless you are running Gold Coast marathon which I was for quite a few years).

But mostly it’s the people.

As a runner you are pretty much guaranteed a fantastic experience. Whilst they can’t control the weather or the tides, or the attitudes of the half marathon runners who run into the back of the marathon field, the things they can control are amazing.

Tour de Trails are the premier trail running company in Victoria without a doubt, and I think it’s because they care.

From the aid stations, the start and finish lines and the course markings, no one does it like Chris and his team.

Even as a volunteer, you are spoilt. Over the years, I’ve received hats, cafe lunches and free entries to other races for giving up my time.

Having their races on my calendar each year is a no brainer, other race organisers in Victoria should take note.

2024 was no different.

(All my previous recaps are here, 2019, 2021, 2022)

I went into this race with an actual goal as 2024 has been the year of “try”, try to go faster.

I was kinda nervous because I set my PB at this race on what I had described as a “unicorn day”, the sort of magical day that is a rare jewel. I wasn’t sure any amount of speed training was going to beat it.

As a relative local, I’ve done a fair bit of training on the course. As I crossed the finish line this year (spoiler alert), I received a lot of local legend strava emails.

I’d put in a fair bit of work on the sand and on the rolling hills, especially between Torquay and Point Addis and Anglesea and Aireys Inlet. But with about 10k of sand running, you never really know what you are going to get.

Thankfully this year the tide was out (some years have seen King tides and waist deep swells) and most of the sand was hard and compact.

As my ‘A’ race is Taupo in October, this race was more of a training stimulus than anything else, which meant only a limited taper for me. Nothing crazy, just a drop off in volume and intensity in the week leading up. I wanted to be able to start training again this week without any interruptions.

I packed my stuff the night before, organised my nutrition and nutrition plan and tried to go to bed early.

It’s probably too much information, but I think as women it’s something we need to talk about more often. Race day was also going to be day 3 of my period and yes, I was slightly concerned. So I also packed additional “just in case” items like extra zip lock bags, wipes, toilet paper and tampons. Luckily the course is on a public trail that is very popular with tourists, so there are multiple toilets along the route in addition to anything provided by the race.

I had my usual pre-race/long run breakfast and headed out the door.

When we arrived at the Salty Dog Cafe in Torquay to pick up our bibs, the wind was fresh. Really fresh. I regretted not bringing my gloves (they were still in the car) and a heavier long sleeve. I didn’t think I had time to go back to the car to get them before the pre-race briefing at 8:15am so I just sucked it up and froze and hoped it wasn’t going to be that cold for the entire day.

The race kicked off right on time at 8:30 am and we ran the out and back section along the beach at Torquay as the sun rose. The wind was freezing and I was sure one of my nostrils froze over. I was careful not to go too fast as the sand was hard packed and runnable. I knew to get a PB and beat that unicorn, I need to average less than 6:30 min/km to get around 4 hours and 30 minutes. My unicorn day PB was 4:55 and change. There was absolutely no need to bust my balls (or in my case, my very upset ovaries) trying to run 5 min kilometres in the first 5k.

But I kinda did anyway.

The first section is flat and fast along the beach and then on the concrete path along the Torquay Esplanade.

The start of a race is always a bit crazy and hard to keep your focus on your own race and pace. That’s one of the reasons I actually really like the beach start. If people want to sprint the first few k’s they can without sitting right up people’s butts and going into the bush to pass on single track. It gives dudes the chance to get the dickhead out of their system early without annoying everyone else too much!

I just tried to keep focused, keep on shuffling at my pace and not worry about what everyone else was doing. I knew these trails. I knew what I could run, what I should run and what I should stop and walk.

I ran with the same bunch of blokes and one legend of a lady for the majority of the race. Not going to lie, the two dudes were driving me mental. One because he ran right in the middle of the track and wouldn’t let anyone pass him and the other who would sit right up my butt when there was plenty of space to go around.

Public service announcement to men on behalf of all women. We don’t like it when men stand so close behind us that we can hear you breathing. You know that viral tik Tok thing about the majority of women preferring to encounter a bear in the woods rather than a man, yeah, we don’t like it. It sets off a biological safety warning that frankly, I am in the middle of trying to run a PB, the last thing I need is my inner safety system going off because a man doesn’t know how to social distance, despite the fact that we have just had a global pandemic and ‘social distancing’ became public discourse. Just don’t do it, if you want to pass, say so, if you don’t then sit at least 3 metres behind me, if I stop suddenly, you shouldn’t smash into the back of me!

The entire race went pretty smoothly. I had a clif Blok every time my watch told me too, every 15 minutes. If I was walking up a hill or stairs, I shoved the rock hard jelly beans I had in my pack into my mouth.

I drank a lot more than I expected, probably almost 3 litres, which for me is a lot, especially in the colder conditions. It meant I stopped at the aid stations more, I filled up at three different spots, but also meant I wasn’t epically dehydrated with a head ache later in the day.

I had a really low moment at around 27k. Nothing major, just the usual, “I can’t be fucked with this”, but I told myself to “just keep running, just keep running” and managed to push through. My new heart rate monitor was chafing. I tried adding paw paw a few times but in the end just took it off and threw it in the back of my pack.

I wondered how the bloke with no shirt and no shoes was going with his chafing.

Luckily this year, the long beach section at Urquhart’s beach was in the best condition I think I have ever seen it, on race day or any other day I’ve trained on it. The tide was out, the sand was hard, all you had to do was get over the mental hurdle of the 4 kilometre stretch of sand in front of you. But once you got to the end, it was only 5k to the lighthouse and from there, less than 2k to the finish.

It was on the top of the bluff after the Urquhart’s beach section that I broke my pack. The elastic cable that strings across the front to hold the whole thing together just snapped. Leaving my water bottles and pockets full of lollies flapping in the breeze like the unrestrained breasts of a well endowed lady running across the sand.

You may laugh, but running without a bra is no laughing matter!

I tried re-arranging the straps, deloading the pockets, played MacGuiver with the safety pins from my bib, but nothing seemed to help.

I felt like Kilian when he dislocated his shoulder at Hard Rock, running one handed as I held my pack together with one arm and powered along the trail with the other.

I was stoked to see the lighthouse. I looked down at my watch and saw 4:28, hmm, this PB is going to be close, I might not make it.

I kept going at what felt like lightning pace but according to Strava was “only” 6:20 min/km.

I could see the finish. “Lets go mate, it’s just there” I said as I passed people walking along the path by the road, “it’s literally just there”. I couldn’t tell you how many people I passed in those last few kilometres but there was a few.

I blame the light house. For some reason, despite knowing it’s not, your brain thinks it’s the finish line. You spend so long running along the coast waiting to see that light house that when you get to it, you are devastated to know that it’s not the finish line, that’s another 2k down the road. It breaks hearts and dissolves souls.

I finished in 4:47:51.

The unicorn year, 4:55:25.

A PR of 7 minutes and 34 seconds.

I’ll take it.

That’ll do pig.