Lighthouses seem to be becoming a running theme of late – last month saw me running to Wilsons Promontory’s remote and spectacular light-station on the 60km Wilsons Prom 100 run.

Today’s 56km Two Bays Trail Run ultramarathon takes me across the Mornington Peninsula to its far-southern point, and the equally majestic Cape Schanck Lighthouse.

This is an ultramarathon I’ve always wanted to take part in.

Known for its Hawaiian theme, the race’s popularity alone speaks to the event’s seamless co-ordination and highly-regarded reputation, with total participants usually capped at 1,500.

2021 marks the 17th Annual but Eleventh Official Two Bays Trail Run, and it has grown to become one of Australia’s premier destination trail events.

Two Bays offers dual distance running – 28km one way, from Dromana on Port Phillip Bay to Cape Schanck, or 56km from Cape Schanck to Dromana return for ultra-runners.

I ran the 28km distance two years ago – and it hurt. That year, returning from the finish line via bus, it was inspiring to witness so many ultra-runners ringing the halfway bell before heading back for their return leg to the lighthouse.

Today, as I take the start line at Cape Schanck, filled with hope and the best preparation I could manage, everything seems calm. All that’s left to do is take a deep breath and try to relax.

The weather is partly cloudy, with and a forecast temperature of 21 degrees. Winds are south-westerly 25-35 kph, ideal for such a long run.

There’s nothing the Covid-19 pandemic hasn’t affected, and “wave starts” are now among health guidelines.

Every participant here would, like me, be grateful we’re permitted to take part in such events, given the constant cancellations and postponements that have become the norm due to Covid.

I’m in wave one, and we’re the first group to set off after the official countdown. This moment has been a long time coming for me personally, and I’ve positioned myself somewhat towards the front section of runners.

There are lots of runners here, and I know it’s a strong field as everyone presses forward in an organised fashion.

Moving quickly, a single file forms as the track narrows, and most fall into step with the steady pace. Happy with the consistency, I’m not pressing too hard today – no overtaking bursts unless absolutely required, I remind myself.

I’m unsure if I’ve completely healed after the punishment of the Wilsons Prom marathon only five weeks ago: I’ve trained consistently, rested, trained hard and quickly tapered – but has it been enough?

The line of runners are quiet, with only deep breathing breaking the silence as we are slowly separated by differing strides.

I have my pace set, the running is effortless, and pushing my heart rate down is my only focus. An element of adrenaline probably contributes.

The First Aid station breaks my concentration in a good way. “Go Random Stranger,” says a sign held by a cheering supporter, which forces my attention and a smile. Running isn’t meant to be so serious after all.

As the field of runners further separates, my pace has me closing in on a gentleman of my vintage running a consistent pace. I take the opportunity to pull aside him and initiate some chitchat. “Moving well mate, how you travelling?”

Turns out this is his second run at this distance, which was once his ultimate goal. Now, he says, Two Bays has become a training event for the UTA100 in NSW. It’s no small undertaking to compete in a 100km run.

The conversation is engaging, and my fellow-runner is generous with his tips, “don’t run on those rocks, you’ll do an ankle…” he warns as I traverse those same course rocks.

Just as I pass runners on the inclines, a lot of them came flying back as we progress downhill, and tracks gave way to civilisation and bitumen roads. Now the pace is quick, but consistent, and I’m better suited to find my groove.

The absolute highlight of this run is descending into the seaside town of Dromana, where the crowds have gathered – including my partner Heidi and our children Finlay, Kai and Arlo cheering me on. I see them first, then ring the famed halfway bell before a few “high fives” with the kids, and exit with a renewed strength.

It’s a steep rise from here up the 304-metre granite hill of Arthurs Seat, but with a rewarding view of Port Phillip Bay beyond – if only momentarily.

With the sky clearing and the sun making an appearance, it’s good to get back under the trail’s canopy of trees. Still moving well, I aim for consistency but settle for progress.

People still running in the opposite direction offer endless positivity, which I reciprocate. I’m not sure about them, but it energises my efforts.

Often I’m running alone, reading little posters left along the trail such as “enjoy the serenity” and “lookout for wiggly sticks” (snakes).

Returning to the section of the course that leads down to McLarens Dam, the track is wide and open. Sighting two runners ahead spurs me on to push forward harder.

The next leg winds back through suburban streets, and I find some consistency again, even managing to pass another runner. Then it’s back onto the trail at Greens Bush, surrounded by shady eucalypts.

The moment I complete the traditional marathon I pause and take my time – 3:57:10. It’s an achievement in itself, but today it signifies more – my body has held up against the rigours of such a distance, and I’m relatively pain free.

This spurs me on, and I take off with a spring in my step. After the race, the runner behind me at that point said: “you just took off after passing me and were flying.” And that’s exactly how I felt.

As I approach the last aid station at Boneo Road, I see a snake – and jump.

“Not a bad jump for someone who has just run 46km” quips a volunteer. “Didn’t we get you the last time?” The snake is a fake. You got me gents.

Another moment comes – the 50km mark at 4:41:30 … that’s my PB (personal best) for the distance, and now more than ever I’m determined to hang in there and run this race out.

Since the marathon mark, I’ve slowly passed six other runners. While passing others is not my focus, it’s a refreshing feeling after the opposite position I found myself in at Wilsons Promontory.

Pushing along the trail, it’s an almost magical moment when the waters of Bushrangers Bay come into view and you hear surf crashing on the shore.

I remember this section, and it means it won’t be long before the imposing Cape Schanck Lighthouse comes to view.

Situated just over 100kms south of Melbourne on the southernmost tip of the Mornington Peninsula, the lighthouse is perched on the eastern point of a triangle of lights that beam across Victoria’s busiest shipping lanes – Cape Otway and Cape Wickham on King Island make up the other points.

Construction of the 21-metre-tall limestone lighthouse began in 1857, making this one of the country’s oldest beacons.

At dusk, the enormous crystal lens at the tip of the lighthouse, shaped like a huge glass beehive, starts beaming, flashing 26 nautical miles out to sea.

Here, two years ago, I was eager to cross the finish line so my pain would end. Today, after two years of training, mountain climbing and running, it’s an enjoyable experience.

I’ve forgotten the 99 steps before the finish … it’s all coming back to me. But this time I bound up, sucking in all the oxygen my lungs will take.

Constant encouragement has been a cornerstone of this run, not only from fellow runners but also volunteers, spectators, walkers – and, of course, my family.

Rounding the last corner, I slow down to savour the moment, and throw up my arms as I step over the finish line.

Receiving my medal, I feel like that version of myself I set out to achieve, if only momentarily.

Memo:

I’m now 40-years-old and in my third year of training and competing for the 7×7 Challenge.

Lofty expectations are now somewhat in the past. If I haven’t matured, my body certainly has, with a healthy dose of punishment.

Any participation isn’t measured against winning, rather putting myself through the paces to see not only what is possible, but searching for my own optimal performance.

Through all the pain, injuries and accidents, I still find genuine excitement: for me, life lived uncomfortably also brings growth.

Experiencing suffering can define a sport – so it can be difficult, and also requires a little luck, to have an optimal run come race day.

And today’s been my day.

Due to Covid-19, major marathons aren’t back on the agenda. But when they are, I hope they again inspire many people – just like this race had me chasing my aspirations two years ago. Aspirations that led me to act.

Written post-race as I sit in an ice bath. – David