Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Week of Peaks

Having the Canterbury Plains and my immediate running training ground, and it is great to have a variety of intersecting courses and varying distances to get stuck into.  The flat is also great for interval and tempo training.  And when I am confined to the flat, I run as much as I can on grass verges, which fortunately at the moment are littered with fallen trees (courtesy of the recent destructive 'weather bomb'), which gives me plenty to keep me focused on footwork and to leap over.  However, my real love lies on the trails and in the mountains, and as I have entered a few races of the steeper persuasion, I have been taking every opportunity to get out and train on the terrain that I find the most rewarding and the most challenging

I had a crack at Mt Somers a couple of days after the weather bomb (why do I so often decide to head into the wild after an extreme weather event?), and everywhere I went the ground was strewn with trees.  This was my second time running at Mt Somers, but I entered the trails from the eastern side, and did a quick warm up run to the Sharplin Falls before heading onto the trails of the mountain itself.

Ridgeline Running at Mt Somers
The first section of the climb was hard, full of fallen trees and excruciatingly technical.  Tree roots grabbed and my legs and feet with every step, desperately trying to trip me up, and an array of uneven sized rocks littered any vaguely flat section, forcing me to concentrate very hard on where I was putting my feet.  I figured that I must be finding the run hard as I hadn't headed up hill for a wee while.  The sun dappled through the bush, the picturesque effect quite lost on me, as I struggled to pick the safest and most runnable path through the mountainside debris, squinting against the flickering light and dark of the sun through the trees.  As challenging as I found this part of the run, I really enjoy running on the challenging and the technical, the more I practice the more proficient I will become, and I might eventually be able to get up some speed.  All of this will help me for some of the more extreme trail runs that I plan to do in the future.

As the trail climber higher, the gradient became friendlier (alternating between hands and knees steep, and reasonably runnable) and the track a lot smoother.  The gain in altitude soon had me running above the tree line, the expanse of the Plains behind me, and the snow capped peak towering beside me.  As I had embarked on my Mt Somers mission quite late in the day, I set myself a time limit for climbing, so as to give myself plenty of time for the return journey, I definitely didn't want to have to negotiate the minefield of storm debris on the lower slopes in the dark (even with the head torch I had cleverly brought).

One of the things that I really love about the mountain trails that I have been enjoying recently, is that they tend to follow ridge lines, meaning that I get incredibly rewarding views as I amble along.  The sides of the ridge that I was following were not as steep as those on Mt Peel, so although I think I climbed to about the same height, I didn't feel quite so vulnerable, or that one miss placed step might send me toppling into an abyss.  I ran through the vibrant alpine landscape for a while, gaining as much height as I dared in my self imposed time limit, before heading back again.

I would love to have a go at running the full circuit around Mt Sommers (around marathon distance), and when the snow melts, it would be fantastic to try for the summit too.

A couple of days later, I was in Christchurch, so decided that it would be fun to have a dash over the bridle path.  I walked the bridle path a few years ago, and remembered finding it steep and hard, so it seemed like to perfect short, steep run.  The path is well graded on the city face, and I quickly gained height, calves burning while my legs warmed up.  Even running the path, it wasn't as steep or difficult as I remembered it, and I quickly reached the summit, before plunging down the other side to get in a second climb.  The Lyttleton side, I don't think is as steep, but has gained some new rock formations courtesy of the earthquake.  The return climb seemed easier, thanks to warmed up legs, and the view of the harbor and peninsula.  All in all, enjoyable and quick, and something that I shall endeavor to repeat whenever I have a spare minute in Christchurch.

Later in the week, we found ourselves taking a day trip into the McKenzie Country to Lake Pukaki and Lake Tekapo.  I have gotten into the habit of throwing some running gear into the car when I head out, so that if the opportunity to run somewhere new or exciting arises, I am ready.  Mt John was my run of choice for the day, and is a trail I fondly recall from childhood holidays.  The path to the summit is like a footpath, well groomed and spongy with pine needles, and climbs steadily through the pines, glimpses of turquoise lake visible below.

Above the treeline the trail becomes more like a sheep track, winding its way through tussock and rock to the summit, before taking a looping, shallow descent to the lake shore.  The scenery, even on a grey day like the one I had, is just stunning.  The vibrant lake, snowy mountains brooding under veils of rain, the parched, tussocky valley concealing so much complex life.  Drinking in that view, I felt as though I could have run there forever.  Back at lake level, the trail undulated towards the township, and my legs were feeling strong and energetic as I bounded towards the car.  I imagine that elite and accomplished mountain runners always feel as though their progress is effortless and elegant.  I am not sure that my progress ever appears this way, but it is nice to FEEL as though it does.

View from Mt John
Back with my better half, we headed again to the summit to round off the day with a hot chocolate and carrot cake at the idyllically appointed observatory cafe.  That cafe must be one of the most spectacular places in the world to be a barista.

In other news, I have entered some exciting looking races in the next wee while: The Crater Rim Run (Christchurch), The Pyramid Run (Twizel) and The Bell Hill Challenge (Mid Canterbury).  So I plan to get in as much hill and trail work as I can in the mean time.

Finally, I have been enjoying a new route near home, which is an easy 15km, (with some added storm-debris-hopping), that is reliably and gloriously muddy.  I was a couple of km from home the other day, when an enormous and terrifying hell-magpie took exception to me invading her territory, and starting dive-bombing my head kamikaze style.  Huddling on the ground with arms over my head, seemed only to enrage the bird, and amuse those driving past, so I sprinted for a while (arms still over my head - not an easy feat) to escape.  Subsequent forays into this area have resulted in similar attacks, but I have gained a little bravery, just putting my head down and running like hell till she leave me alone.  At least I am getting some compulsory speed work added into my regime.


Sunday, September 22, 2013

Cadbury Dunedin Marathon

Considering that I had comfortably managed a 50km ultra marathon the previous weekend, I was surprisingly nervous in the hours leading up to my first marathon.  My knee had been a bit twingy all week, and I had been debating running the full distance, or instead running the half, but I knew that if I didn’t at least give the 42km a shot, I would regret it.

The day of the race was bright and clear, and the drive down the peninsula next to the glassy harbour was picturesque.  The scenery, sunlight and the promise of excellent running conditions did little to quell the queasy nervous jig dancing its way through my digestive system.

The starting field of fit and lithe athletes milled about at the start, contorting themselves through various stretches and warm up routines.   My usual lack of pre-race organisation meant that I spent my pre-race time juggling gels, ipod, race number and camelback, desperately trying to get myself ready before the gun went off.

I opted for a singlet only to start in as the day was so warm, and was grateful later in the race, as the sun beat down.  I positioned myself close to the back of the pack, and we started out.  I found myself falling into step next to another runner, and we started conversing.  Topics ranged from previous race experience, to whether or not the conventions of modern medicine could be trusted.  Before I knew it my companion was espousing the benefits of “clean-living” tribes people, whose best and most life-giving practices (in the runners opinion) included frequent carnal interludes with young women.  This revelation was met with sly sideways glances in my direction.

This was a little awkward, but I laughed in what I hoped was a non-committal, and “let’s change the subject” kind of way.  Further on, the conversation steered again in the direction of the lascivious, my companion (who I here must mention was far richer in years than I), alluded again to the tribes people he so worshipped, describing in detail anatomy elevation of the aged - “I would love to still be able to get it up in my 90s”.

Shit.  I didn’t want to run my whole first marathon focusing on anything like this.  I wanted to run my own race, tune into my music, focus on pacing myself.  But the runner beside me, doggedly kept pace with me, and I in my naivety, didn’t want to be rude.

The final straw came, when the runner commented that I may end up pulling ahead, as they intended just to plod through the race.  Unthinkingly, and as this was my first marathon, I replied “you never know, you may end up out stripping me yet”.  Quick as a whip, the runner, in a lecherous tone of voice: “oooooh, wouldn’t that be nice, I would enjoy that”.

Enough was enough; I took the opportunity of the up-coming hill, to put some distance behind me.  I tore off.  The uphill run was good, and I was soon comfortably ahead.  But  for me that wasn’t enough.  I couldn’t risk being caught up later on when my tired mind might cope less reasonably with such propositions, and for the next hour I pelted along, passing runner after runner. 

I wish that I could have kept up such a pace, but at about the half way point I was starting to flag a bit, and as the course neared the harbour basin, a strong head wind built up, further sapping my energy.  I don’t know how much running the ultra the previous weekend affected my running during the marathon, but I guess it did a bit.  My joints were sore, and generally I was getting quite tired.

The course for the Dunedin Marathon is stunning, following my beloved harbour from the heads on the Peninsula around to Port Chalmers.  The sun shone down, and the water stretched away on my right.  The city, impossibly far away at the start, comes quickly into view, and then the course winds through the docks before joining the fantastic new harbour walk way for the last 9km to Port.

As the marathon course joined with the half marathon, I became surrounded by costumed walkers.  By this point I was really starting to hurt, so I spent the next 6km with the argument raging back and forth in my head about whether or not I should keep going – it certainly helped to pass the time.

It was hot on the harbour side walkway.  I threaded my way slowly through the throngs of runners, and wondered how my little sister was going with her first ever half marathon.    It was really good having Mum and Dad darting in and out around the course to offer words of encouragement and cheer me on.

With around 3km to go, I knew that I was going to finish, and I boosted along.  The course joined the road again, and the bumper to bumper traffic flowing back from the finish line, provided supportive whoops and toots for those of us still toiling away.  I sprung up the final hill at Roseneath (I love hills!), and pounded my way to the finish line.

I really appreciated how supportive spectators and other competitors were towards the marathoners.  Walkers were considerate, giving my right of way, and heaps of people offered words of encouragement and applause as I rounded the final corner to the finishing shoot.

Crossing the finish line was sweet, and I was thrilled to have made it in just under five hours – 4hrs 51min.  Running hard out of avoidance seemed to have really paid off! Another marathoner, that I had yoyo’d with during the run, but who had pulled ahead later in the race, came to congratulate me, which was really nice.  I also enjoyed catching up with some runners that I had known while I was growing up in Dunedin. 

My first official marathon was a really enjoyable challenge.  The overall achievement was a little overshadowed by the triumph of the previous weekend, and I definitely found pounding the pavement for so long punishing.  It was a privilege to share the event with my sister and friend Kristy, who both performed spectacularly in the half marathon.

For the next wee while I would like to focus more on mountain and trail running, especially for races, as I find the off road so very rewarding, and so much easier on my body.                                   

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

The Great Naseby Water Race

What an incredible event.  The Great Naseby Water Race is, hands down, the best, most enjoyable and friendliest race that I have run. 

I started out later than I had originally intended for Naseby after double and triple checking that I had everything I needed.  I was excited about heading ‘home’ to race in Otago, and looking forward to being reunited with the mountains and high country that I was lucky enough to grow up amongst. 


Sunset on the Kakanui Ranges
The sun was dipping low by the time I turned inland, and I was treated to an array of golden tussocked peaks, and peach coloured snow as the sun set.  Reaching Naseby, I was a bit worried to find that there had been a muck up with the reservation for my accommodation, and I was turned away from the place I had booked.  I headed to the camp ground, also fully booked, and was resigning myself to having to sleep in the car (freezing, and not ideal before my first ultra marathon). 

Thankfully the wonderful campground owner promptly telephoned other hotels in Naseby, and the wonderful people at the Royal Hotel were able to make room for me at the last minute.  I was thrilled.  The Royal Hotel is a delightful little historic pub and hotel dating back to 1865.  My room was super cosy, and I was in heaven when I discovered the electric blanket!


Royal Hotel, Naseby

After the prefect pre-race dinner of pasta (tomato, spinach and olive sauce – yum), I headed to the Naseby town hall to register for the race.  I was greeted by race coordinator Jamie, who amazingly, recognised me from Facebook, and warmly welcomed me to the event.  He reassured me that I would be able to cope with the distance despite not having raced an ultra or a marathon before, and told me about an incredible “hard as nails” lass who was racing the 100miler as her first ultra!  I got my number and was encouraged to visit the race at night, as the 100mile runners had already been underway for nearly eight hours.

I drove to the race venue, and stepped out into the freezing night, a million bright stars above and the glow of the start line/transition area in the distance.  At first I regretted not having my head torch, but wandering through the inky night felt magical.  I could hear frogs calling in the water ways, snatches of competitor conversation carrying through the crisp air, and the twinkling of head torches bobbing away in the distance.

The transition area was lined with tents, and filled with toastily wrapped-up support crew; many a down jacket and sleeping bag donned against the icy air.  Competitors passed through the glow, feet and blisters were tended to, steaming soup shared around, and fistfuls of lollies devoured, before the head lamps dwindled again into the distance.  Everyone was in high spirits, and the transition area had a festival atmosphere.  I headed back into the night, and enjoyed a cosy night and fantastic sleep. 

Race day dawned with a frost so thick, that my car doors wouldn’t open.   The sun was already bright and warm, and the conditions promised to be perfect for a day on the trails.  Down at race HQ expectant runners milled about waiting for the briefing and 9am start, while on the course itself, 80km, 100km and 100mile competitors charged determinedly past.  Everyone seemed to know each other: veteran competitors joked about previous events, support crews traded storied about braving the freezing night, and everyone was quick with a welcoming smile.

Perfect day for a trail run
After the briefing, we all lined up ready to head out.  There were several elite and accomplished runners that I recognised from national fame and previous events.  I think that one of the neat things about our sport, is that amateurs get to compete (or at least participate) in the same events at the elite, we get to run alongside (and be lapped by) our heroes and heroines.  It’s kind of like learning the violin by playing with the NZSO.

As we started out, the supremely fit dashed out into the distance, and I plodded away at the back of the pack, anxious not to head out too fast.  The course followed a wide gravel road over some gentle forest bordered hills.  The sun was still low, so I was running in the long cold shadow of the trees, the ground underfoot as hard as iron.  The road way curved around a lake before turning into single trail, skirting a second glassy lake, polished blue with the reflection of the sky.  Everything was dusted with a powdery frost, the air still, crisp and cool, perfect for running.  After a bit of a plunge up hill, the trail met up with the historic water race that gold miners had constructed over 150 years ago to carry water to Naseby.



A sharp descent and climb led the trail briefly away from the water race, before rejoining the gently winding water course.  The elevated track allowed fantastic views back over the Maniototo to the golden mountains in the distance.  After following the water race for a while, the course dipped back down hill through the race transition/HQ area, before rising again to meet the water race.  After following the water race, the trail turned inland and up a very steep little rise, before winding through forest with slightly more technical terrain underfoot.  After negotiating tree roots (and later in the day, mud), the course broke out into bright sunlight, and followed forestry roads rising over gentle hills.  At the top of the climb, bright clay cliffs framed snowy mountains, before the trail descended all the way back to the transition area and eventual finish line.


Clay Cliffs
The figure-8 course, measuring about 10km, was run the number of times required to make up the total distance (I ran it 5 times), and passed through the transition area twice per lap, allowing plenty of assistance and replenishment for those that needed it.

As my race progressed, the frost turned to mud.  I marvelled at the super long distance runners, wondering how the course would have been to negotiate in the pitch black of night.  I also thought about the hardy miners who had constructed the water race, taming the difficult wilderness in the hope of making their fortunes, braving the harsh conditions in quite a different and rather awe inspiring feat of endurance.

Inspirational quotes had been affixed to trees at various points around the course, making me smile.  In fact, I was loving the race so much, that I grinned like a bit of a twit the whole way around.  I ended up running the first two laps faster than I had planned, well under 7min/km the whole way, but the trail was perfect, so I couldn’t help myself.  The day heated up quite fast, and by the time I was into my third lap, I had shed my excess layers, and was starting to feel that I was being slowly poached in a marinade of sweat and merino.  By half way through lap four, I was starting to hurt: feet, knees and ankles taking a pounding.


Running past the clay cliffs - by lap four I was starting to feel it.
Each time I passed through the transition area I received heaps of support and encouragement from the crew.  It is really nice to hear that you are still “looking good” form-wise after 30 or 40km.  As I passed through to embark on my final lap, Jamie called out that I was doing well “it’s a doddle”.  My lower limbs didn’t really agree.  But overall my first ultra was going really well. 


Running through the festival-like race transition/HQ area - 5km left!
I kept my fuel up through every lap with gels and Mule Bars (which are so easy to eat and don’t upset my stomach).  I think that my fuelling during this race was really good and helped to keep me moving along at a reasonable pace. 

Emotions were running high during my final lap, I felt such an amazing sense of achievement, and success, knowing that for me, what I was about to achieve was really quite spectacular. As I the finish line came into view for the final time, I shed a tear or two of happiness, but by the time I reached the finish line my grin had returned.  I had done it.  I had managed to run 50km. And I still felt pretty good. And I finished in 6th place. Bloody Hell – not a bad way to top off my first year of running.


50km later: still running, still smiling
I really enjoyed the family oriented, laid back, and supportive atmosphere of this event.  It was heart warming and uplifting to see kids running final laps with their parents.  Family and friends walking with exhausted and grey faced 100milers.  Equally fatigued and injured runners, silently keeping vigil in pairs as they headed intrepidly towards the finish.  As fitter competitors passed me, they seemed to unfailingly offer words of encouragement, or check to see if I was ok.  No other event I have been to has come close to achieving the same fantastic atmosphere.


For me the number of runners on the trail was also a bonus.  There were enough people to feel that I was participating in an event, but everyone was well enough spread out, that I could run for long stretches on my own through the forest – something that I relished.

I would absolutely recommend this event to anyone considering an ultra.  It is very well organised, and a lot of fun.  I will absolutely be back next year (maybe even for the 100miler!? -That seems like about the right amount of scary), and probably every year forever.  An enormous thank you to the race organisers and competitors who made this race. And thank you to my family for supporting me and cheering me (crazily) along.  The Great Naseby Water Race is truly great.