We set off for the Yarra Valley with a simple race plan. Logically, this would involve running, cycling, and paddling the stunningly handsome 155km from Marysville to Docklands without coming apart at the seams, and perhaps nailing a coveted top 10 category placing.

In reality, there was much greater ambition simmering away on the 6.15am start line. Beat Crawf to T1. Hawk legend Shane Crawford had teamed up with former skipper Richie Vandenberg and elite runner Tim Clarke to form Team Eff, our sparkling product sponsor at the Very Funky Aquathon, with genuine podium aspirations. A good looking flock of predatory birds.

Tim now competes as an elite triathlete, with Richie gaining fame & fortune in the adventure race community, but Crawf (aside from running Adelaide to Melbourne) had possibly settled into comfortable family and media life. Or so I hoped.

Torrential overnight rain had drenched the Yarra Valley, and cold mountain air cascaded into Marysville for the dawn start. A wet and slippery 20km trail run set up an early advantage, with Crawf sure to struggle in these conditions without footy boots. Race on.

A formidable opening climb gave way to sliding descents. And so the pattern continued, up & down relentlessly, puddles and smooth clay presenting intermittent hazards. Brightly geared runners dispensed colourful Eff words in an otherwise grey green forest.

An anguished yelp suggested someone was down, but a quick check in the rear view mirror confirmed that it wasn’t Crawf with a ruptured ACL. Bummer.
On to the final climb. Where is he!

The final charge up to Dom Dom Saddle on Black Spur was a desperate and laboured 400m uphill mountain grind, confirming my long-held (Anaconda AR-based) belief that Race Director John Jacoby is a sick and evil man. But still no Crawf. And the banter of transition is close.

Emerging from the forest to a fleet of bikes and team athletes meant the race to T1 was done, but who was first in? From the crowd I heard Richie’s familiar voice and cheers from Karen and Patrick. “Nice work Wilgs! Crawf is about 4 steps BEHIND you!” Say no more.

And so the race continued. Ninety kilometres of breathtaking, rollercoasting, bike action finally gave way to flat land. By this stage Clarkey had probably reached Melbourne and settled behind a cold beer, and I didn’t care that I had whipped Crawf in the opening run leg. My legs were tired and sore.

Fourteen kilometres of Yarra trail running became a maddening slog on what would normally be a lightning fast riverside track. Passing fatigued and cramped runners was small pleasure but for being passed similarly by old people walking their dogs and small children on tricycles. I imagined Crawf laughing heartily in a Docklands café.

Finally, we spilt into the benign flow of the Yarra River, winding our way to the big smoke through flying fox colonies, happy couples in wooden boats, and smartly synchronised rowing teams. Dights Falls forced a quick portage and chance to refuel thoroughly one last time. A ham sandwich and good luck from Karen & Patrick was all it would take from here.

Passing under bridges and cars, the big shiny CBD slipped past. An incoming tide and freshening headwind were Mother Nature’s final efforts at stalling the inevitable outcome, but after ten hours racing and Crawf in the bag, it didn’t matter too much.

Until the final minutes. Docklands in sight. Family in sight. Beer and coffee and wine all within reach. And two bloody footbridges to limbo under. Time for another Eff word! You can guess the rest. Twice in the drink and capsize chaos as the tide threatened to send paddle and ski back to Marysville.

But that’s multi-sport for you. Just when you think you’ve done it all, your new friend Meg goes tootling by in her little boat then kicks your butt in a hobbling, cramped race to the finish line. Awesome!

Ten hours forty-eight minutes on the clock. Big hugs from Richie, and Karen, and Patrick, and friends, and random strangers doing all sorts of nice things for you. That’s what I’m talkin’ about!