Frankston to Portsea 55km Run 55km/34 miles
6th April 2008
| 1. | Antony Rickards | 3:30:49 [Course Record] |
| 2. | David Eadie | 3:53:54 |
| 3. | Mike Wheatley | 4:07:24 |
| 4. | Mal Grimmett | 4:25:52 |
| 5. | Scott Orchard | 4:28:26 |
| 6. | Tory Trewhitt | 4:31:07 |
| 7. | Drew Arthurson | 4:31:49 |
| 8. | Kelly Duhig | 4:51:13 |
| 9. | Lachlan Fraser | 4:51:14 |
| 10. | Peter Appelman | 4:52:20 |
| 11. | Robert Boyce | 4:54:47 |
| 12. | Chavaporn Theppadungporn | 4:58:17 |
| 13. | Maureen Wilson [F] | 4:58:33 |
| 14. | Stephen van der Tang | 5:06:15 |
| 15. | Kevin Smart | 5:06:50 |
| 16. | John Dobson | 5:25:04 |
| 17. | Christian Johnson | 5:27:09 |
| 18. | Sharon Scholz [F] | 5:27:32 |
| 19. | George Thomas | 5:31:23 |
| 20. | Melinda Christensen [F] | 5:36:24 |
| 21. | David Spencer | 5:39:07 |
| 22. | Matt McNamara | 5:41:01 |
| 22. | Geoff Carroll | 5:41:01 |
| 24. | Jane Adlam [F] | 5:42:09 |
| 25. | Paul Ban | 5:42:32 |
| 26. | Michelle Thompson [F] | 5:53:55 |
| 27. | Phil Crawford | 5:54:09 |
| 28. | David Stevens | 5:56:45 |
| 29. | Sue Smart [F] | 6:03:00 |
| 30. | Meredith Hill [F] | 6:04:31 |
| 31. | Michelle King [F] | 6:04:49 |
| 32. | Andy Spalding | 6:32:25 |
| 33. | Brian Glover | 6:47:32 |
| 34. | Stella Ashton [F] | 6:54:56 |
| 35. | Peter Gray | 8:34:45 |
Scott Cunningham DNF 50km
Michelle Blake [F] DNF 50km
Joseph Thompson DNF 45km
Andrew Herman DNF 42km 4:59:09
Nita-Kay Le May [F] DNF 42km 6:15:00
Peter Bignell DNF 40km
Megan Szirom [F] DNF 35km
Rob Saunders DNF 25km
Penny Meeking [F] DNF 25km
Leesa Huguenin [F] DNF 22km
Report by Kevin Cassidy, Race Director
The pungent aromatic assault emitting from the Carrum sewer farm was difficult to ignore in the morning darkness on route to Frankston. Twirling the radio dial, I stumbled across that ridiculous “Buy, Swap and Sell” program. This is where complete morons try to offload their junk to other brain dead morons. Bent up laughing at an old biddy enthusing about a second hand pair of shoelaces for 85 cents, I turned my car into our “official” meeting point in the car park behind the infamous Kittens strip club. Already, those wishing to avail themselves of the early start option were milling about in preparation. With Kittens having just closed for the night, we had the joyous company of several alcohol fuelled patrons. You’d make a lengthy journey indeed to see a sleazier more lecherous gaggle of losers.
Having sent our four early starters on their way at varying intervals, I sat at my little card table in a rather flabbergasted state of mind as people arrived from all directions filling the car park and surrounds quicker than cricket players send lurid text messages.
By the time we had everything sorted, the field had reached an unprecedented 45 starters, indicative of the ultra world’s explosion in interest. Amongst the field were visitors from the USA and UK and one from Tasmania. One notable absentee was the incomparable Max Gibbs who had forsaken his 11th run here in favour of the Australian Ironman in Port Macquarie. A number of years ago, Max innocently paid his five dollar entry fee with a few gold coins. Now we all love Max for the fact that he prints the excellent certificates for this event, however, I grasped the opportunity [not letting the truth ruin a good story!!] to bag him mercilessly in print claiming with much exaggeration that he had handed me a bag full of five cent coins. His revenge has been to pay in that very manner ever since. Thinking his absence this year would allow me a reprieve, imagine my astonishment when Maureen Wilson laughingly plonked a bag of silver coins in front of me smugly declaring “That’s from Max Gibbs”.
Numerous new faces, a large female contingent and several regulars crowded onto the footpath beside the Davey Street pedestrian lights and the largest ever charge down the peninsula was underway with a succession of crew vehicles in tow. With ferocious storms having desecrated Melbourne a few days prior, debris on the course was a genuine concern. A fear, however, that never eventuated.
Having packed up my table and with 20 minutes on the race clock, I was keen to link up with proceedings down the highway. Getting breath tested by the highway patrol was the last thing I expected as I drove out of the car park but to quote the tattoo on a notorious footballer’s stomach, “Such is Life”.
The large field had spread expansively over the first five kilometres. Antony Rickards, who boasts a 2:21 marathon and is still improving, had shot off like a rocket with Drew Arthurson in second. David Eadie and Scott Orchard ran together in third place with four time winner, Mike Wheatley in the unfamiliar position of fifth.
Amongst the women, national class race walker, Megan Szirom was flying like a startled gazelle and duelling with the accomplished Mal Grimmett. Further back through the field, most were finding their rhythm and settling into the pace that would convey them to Portsea.
Passing through 20 kilometres, David Eadie had caught Antony Rickards to share the lead as they ran through Moats Corner where a local resident in brightly coloured gum boots appeared oblivious to our water restrictions as he furiously washed his broom with a large hose that had water flooding most of the roadway in the most wasteful of fashions. Scott and Drew remained close in third and fourth with the master of pace, Mike Wheatley, closing in. Further back, Robert Boyce, Michelle Thompson, Tory Trewitt and Maureen Wilson were just a few of those in the main pack proceeding well. Soon after, Andy Spalding and the group of women I’d cheekily named “The Mothers Club” came smiling by in high spirits as they careered along at a decent old clip towards the halfway point in Dromana where the course links up with the Port Phillip Bay shoreline. The most pertinent observation at this point was the spirit of mutual co operation that exists amongst the ultra community. Many crews were not only looking after their own runners, but doing anything required to see that every competitor was kept well fed and watered. It’s difficult to remember everyone but particular mention should be made of the sterling support offered by David and Berny Hughes, Pisamai Boyce and Justin Scholz. At their own expense, these selfless individuals had stocked their vehicles with a variety of energy inducing goodies and acted commendably as mobile aid stations for whoever wished to avail themselves to the treats on offer.
Bringing up the rear of the field was the bubbly Stella Ashton enjoying the day, I didn’t actually realise she was at the rear as I wandered further back down the course leaping out of my car with my camera at the ready and offering water to a rather bemused young girl jogging along the road. With an instinct that all was not as it seemed, I asked if she was in the race.
“No, I always run along here on a Sunday” she mumbled in a confused tone of voice.
Realising my utter stupidity, I apologised profusely for my interruption, promising not to inconvenience her again. A pert but unconvincing smile was her only reaction.
With most of the field having gone through half way, some mental arithmetic had me realising that Antony was well in advance of record pace and if I didn’t hightail it down to Portsea, I’d miss his finish, an unforgivable and deplorable situation should it occur. Further, I still had to make the purchase of 45 blocks of the traditional Cadbury chocolate for each finisher, an episode that took on a hefty degree of panic with time now being of the essence.
I urgently sped down the highway passing runners, quickly throwing a drink in the direction of Mal Grimmett, before arriving in a cloud of dust at the front door of the Rye Safeway. I leapt from the car, shirt fronted an amply proportioned slow moving individual attempting to exit the main door and urgently threw numerous armfuls of chocolate into the basket. Barging past a group of teenagers to avail the checkout ahead of them, they gave me the most bemused of expressions, suggesting perhaps that they thought I had some serious addiction. The check out girl was remarkably efficient despite her revolting array of body piercings, however I could’ve happily shot the craggy faced and somewhat plumpish women in the next isle who wanted to bail me up with photos of her newly born grand child!! Obviously, the addition to her family was a joyous occasion. But why, God help me, she expected me to match her enthusiasm for the little tyke beggars belief.
Quickly running back through the car park and affording a cursory glance at a shabbily dressed and heavily tattooed man inquiring if I could “lend him a smoke”, I “road raged” my way through the otherwise sleepy beachside towns of Blairgowrie and Sorrento acutely aware of the very real probability that a speed camera operator may be mailing me a less than cheery letter in the near future. At the 50 kilometre mark, I’d accounted for all competitors including David Eadie who had, by this time, dropped off Antony’s unrelenting pace. I was genuinely in panic mode with Antony still out of sight. Imagine my untold relief when I finally found him formidably bounding over the undulations into Portsea still some two kilometres from the finish. Breathing a massive sigh, I mentioned that a new course record was looking good. “He’s gunna smash it”, boomed his bike riding associates as Antony himself gave a knowing and contented smile.
Hastily setting up the finish at the gates to Portsea’s Point Nepean National Park, Antony hammered up the final ascent to smash the 18 year old course record by a whopping 12 minutes. Looking relaxed, he jogged off down the road for a cool down run! Next up on Antony’s agenda is the Great Ocean Road Marathon. Surely, he wouldn’t be looking at anything less than first place
Reminiscent of the charge of the light brigade, the flood of runners started arriving amongst the surrounds of Victoria’s most desirable and expensive real estate. The accomplished David Eadie was next with an admirable sub four hour performance relegating Mike Wheatley to third. Mike’s previous four runs here have all produced wins. Although missing a PB, Mal Grimmett came through the field to mow down the tiring Scott Orchard and Drew Arthurson while Tory Trewhitt was delighted with his form leading up to the Comrades marathon. Crews congregating at the finish were treated to the spectacle of Kelly Duhig’s ferocious final 200 metres in which he managed to pip Lachlan Fraser by a margin smaller than Brendan Nelson’s approval rating.
In rapid succession, the bulk of the field rolled in. Peter Appelman, Robert Boyce, Chavaporn Theppadungporn and Maureen Wilson all snuck under five hours. Maureen snared the women’s prize with Megan Szirom having called it a day back in Rosebud. Kevin Smart and Stephen van der Tang crossed the line in sight of each other by which stage several finishers were relaxing and enthusing over their PB’s, of which there were many in the marvellous conditions. Others were comparing their Garmins. Call me a tiresome old fogey, but I find it arduous coping with these new fangled what-cha-ma-call-its.
The procession continued in the five hour bracket with thirteen runners reaching Portsea along with the early starting Peter Gray and Brian Glover in highly respectable showings. Amongst these were second and third women, Sharon Scholz and Melinda Christensen, along with Matt McNamara and Geoff Carroll who ran the entire distance together decked out in their distinctive and eye catching “Six Foot Track” attire.
Hectic was a description that barely afforded justice to the finish area as six hours ticked over. Soon after, we were welcoming Michelle King and Meredith Hill as news of the various DNF’s filtered through. Andrew Herman was looking for a marathon time to qualify for the Comrades Marathon and stopped upon achieving his goal while our American visitor’s ambitions were also attained at the marathon point in Rye. Nita-Kay Le May has knocked out 50 marathons in 50 US states and was now collecting an Aussie version of the same. This was her Victorian marathon with Canberra scheduled for the following week.
A slow trickle of runners and crews began leaving with two competitors yet to make an appearance. Andy Spalding arrived to the raucous cheers of a sizable and enthusiastic band of female fans. Evidently, Andy had pulled off something special but it was only upon inquiry that I was able to elicit the complete and inspiring Andy Spalding story. After lap band surgery in August 2005, Andy dropped a staggering 53 kilograms in weight and now works as a personal trainer. His satisfied feeling of accomplishment was impossible to hide as he beamed proudly.
Pumping her fists in the air, Stella Ashton’s finish in a tad under seven hours was an episode all on its own. Like Andy, she had undergone a massive weight loss totalling 55 kilograms. Add to that her vision impairment, and you soon get a comprehension of her dramatic life changing journey. Further still was her achilles tendon injury that grew to a greater magnitude than “Jana’s knee”. Stella was bubbling with a bucket load of euphoria as she crossed the line to the applause of her crew [David and Berny Hughes].
“Now I’m an Ultrarunner” she blurted with more excitement than a five year old on Christmas morning.
Stella and David were never going to threaten the leaders but you’d negotiate the length and breadth of Australia to find bigger winners. Literally, both are half the people they used to be!
Alone now as the last of our runners departed, I was listlessly enjoying the peaceful and solitary ambience as I packed up when a Volvo with Queensland number plates [a very scary double if ever there’s one!] sidled up beside me.
“Scuse me mate, are you wiff da protest?”, Inquired the wild haired driver in reference to the very public quest to stop the dredging in the bay that was underway a short distance off the Portsea beach.
“No”, I snapped in a tone that I very much hoped would extinguish any chance of further conversation.
“You’se dunno where it is, do ya?” He continued.
“No”, I again insisted emphatically as he departed dejectedly to my immense relief.
A somewhat odd looking life form that resembled a genetic experiment gone horribly wrong, he really did give me a mighty case of the spooks with his unusual crinkly squint. I can put it no other way.
Pointing the car in the direction of home, I picked up on a football broadcast where some AFL players had generously taken time out from their busy schedules of urinating in public and drunkenly beating up night club patrons to participate in a football game. A few more twirls of the dial and I was blissfully listening to a David Bowie feature for the remainder of the drive.
The 37th Percy Cerutty Frankston to Portsea event is scheduled for April 5th, 2009.