Every extreme endurance event has its characters – the annual Sydney to Melbourne Ultramarathon was no exception. Graham ‘Mountain Man’ Kerruish was never going to win the race in the classic sense of the term – but to an ultramarathoner, finishing is winning, the sequence you cross the finish line doesn’t matter because each has given their all to accomplish that. ‘Mountain Man’, who completed 312 marathons and 70 ultramarathons around the world, also conquered the Bicentennial Westfield Sydney to Melbourne Ultramarathon in 1988. This is his story . . .
by Graeme Kerruish
1016 kilometres is a long way to drive. To run this distance seems impossible but 23 runners out of a field of Australian and overseas runners totalling 43, finished the gruelling Sydney to Melbourne Run.
I had the dubious honour of finishing 23rd, but finishing the event is every runner’s dream and quest.
The Westfield Run this year was over a period of 81/2 days, with cut off points on a time basis being set at Goulburn, Canberra, Cooma, Bombala, Orbost, Bairnsdale, Traralgon, Pakenham and Doncaster. Constant heat was a disturbing factor this year with temperatures fluctuating between 28 and 32 during the cloudless days for the whole run. One had to pity the overseas runners who had come from freezing temperatures and struck an Australian heatwave.
The sendoff at Westfield was spectacular as usual and at 11.00 am on Thursday 17th March, 42 pairs of determined feet struck out for Melbourne. The Greek Streak, Yiannis Kouros was off a 12 hour handicap, and would leave at 11pm that night.
This first 24 hours in a run of this magnitude is a settling down period. Many runners, including myself, have not gone beyond 24 hours in a race before, and no-man’s land on the second day is something we have to face.
The cut-off point at Goulburn is 28 hours, and I am very pleased when I reach the town at 10.07am, just five hours ahead of cut-off time, and 180km down the track. All is going well, and after a freshen-up at Goulburn I head off towards Canberra.
Around Lake George, Yiannis passes me and gives me a personalised T-shirt. The shirt has a picture of Yiannis on it and is monogrammed “Yiannis Kouros – The Ultra Marathon Star”. We all know how great Yiannis is, but his greatest glory is yet to come a she passes every runner in the event and finishes the run in relative ease.
A few blisters have now developed on my feet, but after attention by Kieran Fallon, the race doctor, we press on.
My aim is to run the Goulburn/Canberra section without sleep, but in the early hours of Saturday morning I call for a one hour rest, some 25 kms, this side of Canberra. The sleep is magic and I am soon back on the road and pass through the Canberra cut-off some 6 hours in the plus.
The run to Cooma saps both my and the other runner’s strength as temperatures rise on the Saturday to 32 degrees. Most runners during the heat of the day, back off the pace, snatching a rest in the middle of the day and picking up the pace when the sun goes down. My run to Cooma is without incident. I am surprised that I feel so well. My crew are absolutely fantastic attending to all my needs. John Fletcher, my team manager, has moulded the crew into a workable machine very early. I am personally indebted to John and each member of the team for their valuable time and for putting up with me.
My mate, Ken Ingerlsole who was to be part of the team for the full trip is to leave us at Nimmitabel around 12 noon to return to Sydney owing to work commitments, and as I am coming into Nimmitabel, a runner loams up behind me and says, “I’m on your crew“. Taken by surprise, I gruffly retort, “Does Fletch know?”. Yes my manager knows and Sydney Strider’s Brian Colwell, ex-Graham Firkin ( who has had to pull out of the run with a torn calf-muscle) joins our team. Brian’s first job is to wash my clothes – a tough assignment within half an hour of joining the team.
On the way to Bombala, we meet up with Cliff Young and his wife Mary, and later on in the afternoon, Charlie Lynn, Race Director, runs with me for a short distance and I state to Charlie that “I am going to make it to Melbourne”.
At this stage, I do not know what lies ahead of me. Now looking back, I just made Melbourne with possibly only a breath to spare. I arrived in Bombala around 1.00am on the Monday morning, still ahead of the cut-off time, but in a very exhausted state. The last 5km into Bombala was sheer torture, and I feel the distance is well in excess of 5km. My crew bunk me down with a good feed of carbos in preparation for hitting the trail around 3.00am. John Fletcher during my slumber time, bumped into the local constable at Bombala by the name of Lloyd Williams, a Western District jogger and harrier (a long way from home) and he provides us with the road conditions to the Victorian border. I question Lloyd on that last 5km into Bombala. He assures me the distance is accurate. I am amazed.
From Bombala to the state border (half way into the run) is mostly dirt road very scenic and dusty and we are glad to pass back onto the tarred road again and head towards Cann River. At Cann River, we have now joined the Princess highway and ahead lies possibly the toughest segment of the run – over the snowy Mountains to Orbost. I run continuously through the night. Perhaps this is better I can’t see the hills , and finally arrive at Orbost at 11.00am on Tuesday, some 5 hours ahea dof the cut -off.
Not long out of Orbost, the rot starts to set in. My feet by now are badly blistered and my crew had done a marvellous job getting me this far by patching up blister on top of blister. I am extremely fatigued and suffering from shin splint in my left leg and my hamstrings are tightening up. (I always made the joke that I didn’t know I had hamstrings, but I sure do now!) Both my legs are swollen, and around 7.00pm, I am reduced to a walk. Some 20klms out of Lakes Entrance, help out of the darkness emerges in the presence of Mark Gladwell’s and Kevin Mansell’s trainer, Bill Carlson, who advises me to take 4 hours rest at Lakes entrance and then hit the trail again. “I can’t afford 4 hours rest”, I retort. “Take 4 or the race is over”, is Bill’s reply. I don’t have a plan or any answers to my problems so we pu tour marker down and head into Lakes Entrance. I am a crippled , pitiful wreck and my faithful crew carry my twisted bent-up body into a quadriplegic shower at a Lakes entrance caravan park. I am at my lowest point since starting the run, and my crew sense that this may be the end of the line. A big carbo tea before going down and again upon rising 4 hours alter and my crew take me back to the marker. My body is deposited on the road. It is now up to me. I realise that the moment of truth has arrived, and around 2am on the Wednesday, I slowly start to push my reluctant body towards Bairnsdale, cut off time 11.00am. Within 10 min I am moving freely but painfully. Every hour, my crew are strapping cold packs to my ankles to reduce the swelling and to ease the pain of the shin splints. Since starting off at 2am, I have now become anti-social. I do not want any crew member to talk or be with me. Water comes every 10 minutes, food every 20 minutes, ice pack changes every hour. I am possessed with only one thought. I am going to make Melbourne and I do not want anybody near me. I have to make it myself. I apologise to my crew gruffly. They sense this inner battle going on and leave me alone. That day, I run continuously for 18 hours. I follow the white line on the side of the road. Flats, up and down hills all blend into one. I make the cut off at Bairnsdale with time to spare, and am back in the race again. Thanks Bill for saving me.
Every kilometre is now tough. My crew patch up my feet – they are a mess. Ice packs are changed on my legs every hour. I flog my crew relentlessly and around 8pm on the Wednesday, we pull into Sale and bed down for a couple of hours at a motel graciously supplied by Hawker De Havilland, my major sponsor. It is a most welcomed civilised stop and at 10pm, we are on the track again after my crew have loaded me up to the hilt with carbos. We press on during the night and at 8am, Thursday 24th, we reach Traralgon some 3 hours ahead of cut -off. I am once again exhausted. My feet are numb with pain, but we have now travelled 875km and we are not giving in. Traralgon to Pakenham is our next goal and we almost lose it . We have 19 hours and 105km to run. Under ordinary circumstances, this would present no problem, but I am almost done. During the run to Pakenham , Ron grant meets up with me and gives me great encouragement and support. Thankyou Ron. Late Thursday night, I catch up with Terry Cox, Salvation Army Officer. He is doing it tough. We run together for some time, working off each other – two exhausted runners propping each other up. One of my crew members, Steve Grant runs up to me and says “Ok, let’s go!” I am exhausted, and snap back, “For Christ’s sake, piss off Steve!” Suddenly I realise, I am running with a religious man and I apologise quickly to Terry. He forgives – he is to exhausted to waste breath arguing. Terry, a short time later, calls for a short break with a sore heel. His manager objects but Terry insists. I pull away. I do not see him again. He pulls out with exhaustion at 943km. , 73km short of his Everest. I am doing it very tough. The cut off looks in doubt, when over the CB radio comes welcome news – the Pakenham cut off has been extended 3 hours to 10.00am Friday. Five runners were battling to make Pakenham during the night. Only two survived. I had been saved a second time.
At Pakenham, my crew lowered my wrecked body down on a bed. It was very hot. I couldn’t sleep. I looked out the windows and door. It resembled a carnival atmosphere. Crews were lazing in the sun, totally exhausted. Some of my crew wandered around in the hot sun, talking with other crews and propping each other up. Then it dawned on me. This was the final assault on Melbourne! Our Everest was within striking distance. We could not give up now. I would crawl to Melbourne if I had to. It didn’t quite get to that.
We had some 56kms to get to Doncaster. John Fletcher worked out our time with half an hour to spare. I had to average 5.1kms per hour. It was very hot. By now, my arms, hands and legs were very swollen and my feet…well that’s better left unsaid. Wet towels were draped over me. I drank every 10 minutes; ice cubes were placed in my hat. But around 3pm along Dandenong Road, heat exhaustion and fatigue forced me to my knees. My manager quickly grasped the situation, packed me in ice, and summoned a local doctor, through my good friend John Shepperd. The local doctor wanted to hospitalise me. “No way”, I said, “Wait until Doncaster” Race Doctor, Kieran Fallon, physios, Chris Perry, Margaret Stewart and Eleanor Adams ( who had already finished the run and was still able to help me), packed me in more ice when they arrived on the scene and then set about on the monumental task of repairing my feet, They worked for 2 and a half hours on my feet and at around 6.30pm I eased my remade swollen feet into my biggest pair of shoes and set off in the cool of the night on the last 39kms, assault to Doncaster. I had been saved third time. Thanks Chris, Margaret, Eleanor and Kieran!
The mental game was now on in earnest. Friday night shoppers yelled encouragement; horns of cars tooted as we passed on into the night. My manager keeps me fed on luxuries – donuts, apple pies, cakes etc were used as bait to keep me moving.
Sydney Striders and Western District runners emerge from the night to urge me on. One lady, Wanda Foley from Western District Joggers and Harriers has waited to accompany me through the busy streets of Melbourne. Wanda Foley, along with Frank Pearson, my physio, became my guardians to Doncaster. They are true blue Westies and stick with me along with the rest of my faithful crew to the end. Other Westies, Keith O’Connell and Mark Foley join us and chant “Mountain Man in Melbourne”. My adrenaline pumps again and the chant continues till the finish line.
After crossing through the Finish Line, a magic feeling of unsurpassed elation overcomes me. I have made it! No. WE have made it. I am assisted to a chair and allowed to sit down. There is no pressure on me to get up. What a marvellous relief! Charlie Lynn, Race Director, places a beer in my hand and a pizza on my lap.
Many thanks to the 50 odd loyal supporters and Westfield personnel, who wait for me and my crew to come in. Thanks again to Bill Carlson. To Kieran Fallon and his faithful physio, thanks for help on the run and post care. Thanks to all my sponsors and especially Hawker De Havilland, my major sponsor. My crew still continue to talk to me and befriend me. This is most important to me. I have conquered Melbourne, but my crew are the champions.
Thanks Westfield for a great event. I said before and during the run “One shot only at this Run, win or lose”. Only days after the run, as I licked my wound a feeling came over me. It wasn’t that bad, in fact enjoyable. I know I could do better next time – quicker and with less pain ( This part I like).
Yes Westfield I am ready to do battle again. Ultra Marathoners just won’t lie down and can’t be trusted when they say “Never Again”.
Click here to view Mountain Man’s remarkable marathong and ultramathon achievements
