I recently toed the start line of the 102km Tarawera Ultra Marathon and I am not ashamed to say that my motivation was three pronged – to experience being ‘back in the action’, to see this beautiful New Zealand landscape, but also to prove a point to myself – I am an athlete!  
 
I am an athlete. 
 
This simple phrase is like a sensitive funny bone – I don’t bump it very often but when I do it tingles madly and damn well HURTS! 
 
‘It would be great to see you as an athlete again Hanny!’ 
 
And it was this comment uttered by a well-meaning individual that recently knocked this funny bone and set off a painful tingling. It sent shock-waves through my entire body, a searing discomfort that had me shaking out my limbs, and beginning to fidget, then sway, and then… enter a race!
 
Am I an athlete!
 
This was the thought that I carried with me as I left the start line and chased down the lead girls on the early single tracks and then wider forestry roads. I wasn’t necessarily hunting them, I was hunting my athleticism.
 
Let me now back-track to 3 years ago when I tried the ‘athlete retirement thing’. My Swan-Song was a long 100km race through Australia’s Blue Mountains, chasing down the younger whippet and now friend, Lucy Bartholomew. Throughout those ten hours I constantly heard my head saying, ‘It’s time for the athlete to retire’. In hindsight this thought stemmed from a long sporting career and then employment at the Australian Institute of Sport where I was surrounded by the constant drumming – ‘you must ensure you have a plan for after you retire from sport’. Yes, eventually we all need to move on, or grow up… don’t we?
 
In the three years post- ‘retirement’ I discovered that athletic retirement is damn hard to do and somewhat akin to cracking a macadamia nut with your bare hands. That is, it is pretty much impossible! Once you know that intoxicating feeling of holding onto a high-level of fitness that can carry you on any wild adventure; the grace of moving with ease over hills and trails; a brain flooded with endorphins and that motivating ‘what next?’ question; and then that blissful sleep that comes after a long day outdoors… yup, retirement seems like a really dumb concept! So, it was with this realization and alignment of values that my inner athlete quickly re-awakened and she has since lead me on some epically wild adventures! I can honestly say that what I have achieved in the last 3-years are by far and away my greatest athletic achievements, such as: running the very remote, technical Federation Peak; my 19-day, 720km and 45000m vertical solo traverse of the French Pyrenees Mountains; and my recent solo & fastest known 60km traverse of the Western Arthurs Mountains in South-West Tasmania. Yes, the athletic bug has gripped me more than ever and it has just felt so, so dammed good to feel on the top of my A-game again. 
 
And yet…
 
‘It would be great to see you as an athlete again Hanny!’ 
 
Tarawera 102km was not to be my day. I absolutely had the mindset and skills for performance, but I had failed to acknowledge the gradually building fatigue accumulated from the last 6-months of wild adventures. Further to this, my athleticism has morphed into something a little rougher and less-refined – perhaps more akin to shaggy, leaping sheepdog than to a racing whippet? At Tarawera I went out with the lean & mean leaders, and gave it my absolute best. Even when The Wall loomed I felt equipped with all the tools in my toolkit to leap gracefully over it – from a powerful mindset, to race strategy, to nutrition – but nothing could ultimately sharpen my heavy legs on this day and I caught my paws at many of the hurdles.
 
In every tough day there is always something to be gained. For me, the highlight of the day was definitely the bond of relationship that I found in other athletes on the trail, moving through a beautiful landscape, with our individual highs and lows. However, the greatest gift that received at Tarawera 102km, a perfect present on the eve of my 34thbirthday, was this - 
 
We are all athletes!
 
We do not need to reach a finish line, or the top of the mountain, or run with a race number pinned to our chests to allow our inner athlete to shine. Nope. Nup. Definitely not! If racing lights a fire in your belly then GO FOR IT! Charge your glass with electrolytes and let us toast your racing adventures! But if, like me, you feel curiosity beckoning you to a quieter trail, then let us celebrate this sense of adventure too!
 
Whether our journey leads us to a start line, or a finish line, or even a point in between where the body says, ‘not today!’… or whether our calling is to a remote mountain ridgeline or a local mission from our front door… Yes indeed, we are all athletes because we do the work to keep sharp, we gather evolving skills, and we know how to lean in when the going gets a little tougher. 
 
When I entered the Tarawera event I thought I needed to thrive to ease the discomfort in my funny bone, to prove to myself once and for all that I am an athlete. However, in ‘failure’ I have found even greater clarity than I could ever hope for – I am not just an athlete…
 
…I LOVE BEING AN ATHLETE! And a wild one at that!
 
Do you?
 

An unlikely story of strength and resilience
 
I am completely fascinated by the strength of our minds so over the last 12-months I have been studying advanced coaching techniques, such as Neurolinguistics Programming (how to reprogram our internal dialogue), hypnotic skills and visualization. This study has brought a huge year of growth and change, a welcome addition to my peak performance coaching.
 
The other major change that I have welcomed in the last 12-months is a home, a little wooden chalet on 4-acres on the slopes of Mt Wellington. The quaint property is littered with pademelons (small marsupials), wallabies, bird-life and even frogs on the nights when the rains finally fall. However, due to the dry conditions this summer the frogs have rarely sung and the mammal lawn mowers are finding their grass supply waning. To counter this, my husband and I have been throwing our veggie scraps out the back door. We also fill large metal bowls scattered around the lawn with water. Every night, our evening entertainment is to watch the nature channel’s chaos unfolding outside the loungeroom window – the pademelons’ mothers and babies lap at the water, the males assert their dominance and the birds swoop into the mix. Lord Packenham, our resident possum, might strut his stuff, and occasionally a rabbit might join the fun. 
 
My husband and I are slowly being welcomed. When we step outside our marsupial residents rarely flee in fright, but rather hop warily backwards to allow us to take center stage on our lawn. I love these little guys with all my heart and when a pademelon pauses his or her earnest foraging, sometimes our eyes lock. It is as if a love story is slowly unfolding. Each night as I turn for bed, thrust open the window and listen to the munching outside, I think I can sense them all saying, ‘Thank you for loving us’.
 
My alarm usually hollers around 5am. I instantly roll out from the bed’s strong grasp, pad downstairs and slip straight into my running attire which I always lay out the night before. I then tug my pajamas back over the top, a symbol of self-compassion whilst I boil the kettle, sip tea with a dash of homemade soymilk, munch a handful of organic dried fruit and gently limber up my muscles as I stare aimlessly across the paddocks. I try to always be gentle to myself in the morning, to start slowly and allow the heart, mind and body to speak their truths. When I am ready to step outside I will peel off my pajamas, quietly tip toe past the stairs to the bedroom where Graham is usually still sleeping, and slip out into the dawn. I love this moment of solitude, when I lace my shoes and feel the anticipation of the morning’s explorations ahead. 
 
Today’s session is a solid 21-minute uphill tempo. I am excited, knowing soon that my lungs will be drawing in the cool, dewy air whilst my legs will still yelp for more. The rhythm of the arms swinging back and forth, back and forth. The spine tall. Head held proud. Feet rising and falling. I believe running is art in movement.
 
Running hard uphill on an asphalt road is tough on the good days and even tougher on the days when your head isn’t completely in the game. I usually thrive as I leave the start point at the wafting, roast-barley-valley-ambience of the Cascade Brewery, heading uphill towards the junction of Huon Road & Strickland Avenue on Mt Wellington. This junction that marks the end of the hard run just so happens to be a mere 300m from my front door. However, not every day can be a celebration of mojo and flow state running, and today I found my legs cringing sharply with lactic acid. As a result, my confidence wavered then returned, wavered then returned, pulsing with my heart as it raced to keep up with the effort I strived for.
 
So, this morning I looked into my ‘toolkit’, a collection of tips, tricks and techniques which I have actively sought and collected over the last 15 years of my running & coaching career. I considered using ‘The Whip’, mentally whipping myself into action or the ‘Get Out Of Jail’ card and backed off the intensity. I thought about ‘The Ignore Button’ and disassociated from the discomfort by entering ‘My Bubble’, a space I reserve for digging deep and blocking out the searing squeals of my legs and lungs. But rather I chose one of my teacher’, techniques called ‘Picture the End’. So, whilst still running hard up the hill, I began to create a picture of the end of the tempo – to see the roads meeting, the bus stop number, the cars whizzing past, the child waiting for the school pickup. I added sounds, such as the birds’ chorus and the belching bus. I imagined the zingy feeling in my legs as I saw myself stretching past the bus stop that marked the finish and coming to a gentle walk. I almost felt the high five slaps I gave my running buddy as we celebrated our success.
 
Yes, this morning I was able to create a vivid image of the tempo’s ending. Even when I was still ¾ of the way up the hill, the image was so vivid that I could almost touch it, smell it, hear it, feel it! I grew in strength. Then I found myself imagining a rope tied around my waste and it winching me closer and closer to this finish line. I instantly felt my pace increasing and an extra spring in my step as I I lifted taller and prouder in my posture. Suddenly, and to my absolute surprise, I had an overwhelming image of our resident pademelons grasping onto that rope and pulling me closer and closer to the finish line! In my mind’s eye, they appeared to be expressing their gratitude by helping me reach the finish line of my tempo run!
 
Yes. That’s right. The pademelons gifted me a new Personal Best Time on my training run this morning!
 
You may think I am nuts. And maybe I am?!  But what I have learnt this year is that every tiny step you take towards being wilder will make you stronger. Being wilder is my term for the summation of all the small actions that you take to empower yourself, such as recycling your plastic, ruminating on your values, eating cleaner, turning off the lights, expressing your gratitude, using a Keep Cup, looking out for your neighbors, studying new skills, journaling, exercising consistently, and loving nature in all its beauty. Every step you take towards knowing yourself and being the best version of you brings you a greater sensation of strength which you can draw on when the going gets tough or you need to add fuel to your mojo – in running and in life.
 
So, can I dare you to ask yourself… ‘what am I doing today that can help me to feel prouder, lean in with more confidence and realise my greatest potential?
 
Be Wilder…
 
Look after the pademelons!

WHY?
Millions of our native animals have been killed or injured in the Australian wildfires that still ravage our National Parks, alpine country & communities. Like many others, I simply cannot sit back and watch. Whilst I wish I could do more, I believe that helping begins with a small step in any direction. So I choose to run for our wildlife.

WHAT?
ON SUNDAY 12TH JANUARY RUN FOR OUR WILDLIFE - All you need to do is go for a run. Grab your friends, join a local event, find a trail, or run along a winding road to somewhere beautiful. Please, please, please take yourself on a running mission and as you do, spare a thought for our wildlife & the volunteers striving to care for them! After your run, share your adventure with our entire running community using #runforwildlife#playwilder then donate funds to NSW Wildlife Information & Rescue. Collectively, can we raise over $10,000 for our native wildlife?

THE CAUSE:
I am running to raise money for NSW WILDLIFE INFORMATION RESCUE AND EDUCATION SERVICE INCORPORATED and your contribution will make an impact, whether you donate a lot or a little. Anything helps. Thank you for your support. I've included information about NSW WILDLIFE INFORMATION RESCUE AND EDUCATION SERVICE INCORPORATED below. 

WIRES (NSW Wildlife Information Rescue and Education Service) mission is to actively rehabilitate and preserve Australian wildlife and inspire others to do the same. WIRES has over 2500 volunteers and a Rescue Office that operates 365 days a year assisting the community to help native animals in distress. WIRES assists tens of thousands of animals every year and last financial year received over 95,000 requests for rescue assistance.

To donate please follow this link: https://www.facebook.com/donate/1011136092594348/2558544374406215/

Every cent counts and I am just SO grateful to every single individual willing to contribute. 

Dear Reader,
 
Thank you. Thank you for taking the time out from the hustle and bustle of this festive season to read this letter. Thank you for using this moment to reflect on a year unfolded and a year about to be created. Each one of us holds the seeds for change, growth and untapping our greatest potential. And if we are thriving, we can be the change that we wish to see in the world, the spark of inspiration for others. That is what I hope to bring to you today as I reflect on my own year and the 12 defining moments that encapsulate it.

...I think that so many of us don’t let go of our ‘shoulds’, and let go of our guilt, and let go of our fears and anxieties and our thoughts that we need to kind of live life by the text book, when sometimes the textbook just has a bloody error in it...
​I think that’s probably what I learned on this journey, that traversing these mountains kind of became traversing my own inner mountains and I reached the other side and I realised that I’m still the same Hanny. But I’d also found another side of Hanny... and that was pretty cool. I brought that person home, and I’m really proud of that person, and I love that person in my relationship and I love that person in my team at work. And I love that person when I’m just sitting quietly at home in my house and when I’m just rambling on a podcast with you. I’m not embarrassed to say that, and I don’t believe I have an ego in saying that, it’s just I’m cool with being me. So that’s the Pyrenees...
 - Hanny Allston (EP#48 The Pyrenees Traverse with Hanny Allston)

This is a transcript from Find Your Feet Podcast Episode #48: Running the French Pyrenees. This podcast was a quiet ramble with myself, reflecting on this huge adventure that unfolded in July 2019. I hope you have the opportunity to listen to this podcast too..

​The rain batters louder onto the sloping sheets of exposed tin above my head. Light glows faintly through narrow slits in the timber walls of this old cow shed, its exposed earthen floors emitting a musty dampness into the small room. We lie side-by-side like cucumbers under doonas and sleeping bags, cocooned, riding out the stormy night. Just outside the rickety door a cow begins to bellow, calling to her calf. Separated from its mother, the calf is also shut up for the night in nearby barn. The owners want the mother’s milk in the morning to make gloopy piles of cheese. I close my eyes, listening to the storm rage and echo through the valley, a drum beat to the higher pitches of cows, chickens, horses, goats and humans. As my eyes close I find myself expressing my gratitude for this opportunity to be here. Once again, I find amazement for the opportunity to run through this landscape, a place on beginning to hit the tourist map. As far as I am aware, we are the first trail runners to run across this mountainous region. - ‘Thank you for this night and to the trip now drawing to a close.’Then I sleep. ​