GMT+10, Chasing the Pack, Blood in the Sand and Sleep Deprivation

I awake to a steady drizzle gently buffeting the windows, its 11:30AM in Seattle. The finish of a great night of training. Tasmania is on the other side of the planet, UTC/GMT +10hrs, 41,25' South Lat 147,07' East Long. This requires a creative approach to sleep management. 


To keep up day after day filming adventure racers in extreme environments requires a significant level of physical fitness, the ability to suffer in one place for hours, ready to respond to the shot at a moments notice, and the ability to stay up for sometimes, days at a time. 


The extreme athletes are at the top of their physical and mental game. Many of the teams made up of national and world class athletes. They have amazing metal fortitude. They are focused, dogged, determined and tend not to have the gift for gab.

Trying to get one of them to talk to you, to give you that engaging sound bite, takes the same level of perseverance for the camera man. You won't get it, the comment, the exchange of conversation, the raw reflection of their feelings, thoughts, fears, unless you follow them, move with them, dissolve into the environment around them. Great footage of racing is exciting, being accepted into the pack to witness the struggle unfolding in real time is intense and gripping. "Get me inside your head. Don't tell me, let me listen" I tell them. When they stop looking over at you with leery eyes, continue talking instead of stopping abrupt weighing their next statement, when the allow you to witness the hunt for the next team they will look to pass, the re-negotiation of team hierarchy, you know your going to get the shot. 


You can't just wake up, walk into the bush and get in their heads. You have to train to gain this position. I am not a world class, national class or even a locally celebrated athlete. I'm ornery, determined and have the unique ability to suffer well. My training has not focused on times, medals, mastering a specific skill, its compiled with distance and pain, lots of pain. 


2AM and I'm out the door, Monday, heading into the Washington State Cascade range. Chew up 3,400 vertical feet, I enjoy a sunrise moment at 6,000ft and back to work by 11AM. Saturday 5AM, 17 miles alone, wet, and back to the family. 

Thursday, water temperature 54 degrees, wind driven white caps pulling me up and dropping me down on a bungee cord, the subsurface beach speeding up at my face as the ocean pushes at my back. Jelly fish float by and Lingcod skitter away. A Dungeness crab stares up in disbelief. The first millimeters of my my skin frozen numb. 2miles, done. 

I will be on the far side of the planet. Awake when I should be asleep. At 7PM, Seattle, I am ready. It will be a 10 hour training tonight, ending at 5AM. I walk through downtown covering a mile or more of hills in my Bruno Magli's. A shoe specifically designed for this training evolution. Deciding on a happy hour location I request Blood in the Sand. As my liver consumes the cocktails, I felt it was only appropriate to order liver pate. The hours pass by drifting into the evening conversation. Transitioning, I meet friends to take me into the crux of my training, They help me push over the wasteland of 2AM. At 3AM I find myself alone, putting myself back to work, editing, writing. Sleep stares over my shoulder beginning to embrace me. Training is over. It's 5AM! I am exhausted. I did it! Internal Clock strategically adjusted to UCT/GMT +10hrs, Tasmania.