The Circumnavigation of Mt Somers

Sunday morning dawned grey and close, only the foothills visible under a dense blanket of cloud.  I had decided that I was going to run regardless of the weather (but dependant on wind conditions being calm enough that I not get blown off the mountain).  I had been keen to have a crack at the entire Mt Somers circuit since the last time I had run at Staverly, but this was to be the first time in a while that I would be running in grey weather, so I was excited and nervous about what the day would bring.

I have taken to filling out intentions forms when I go out into the mountains.  The form I use is online at Adventure Smart is quick and easy to fill out with route and ETA information, and the website automatically emails copies to your “trusted contact”, who can monitor your return and duly notify the authorities if you don’t return when expected.  I think that it is important to be smart when I am venturing into areas where I am vulnerable to the conditions or the terrain, and the intentions form provides a little peace of mind to everyone.

The peak of Mt Somers was hidden from view, but the cloud base seemed reasonably high when I left the car park at the Sharplin Falls access point of the track, so I figured that I might have some good views as I ascended.  The first part of the climb (that I had struggled with most recently) seemed infinitely more runable that it had on the previous occasion.  I attributed this easy-ish start to the cooler weather and the enormous breakfast I had consumed before setting out.

Before I reached the top of Staverly Hill the cloud started to close in, the view below growing more indistinct as I gained height.  It wasn’t long before I was running along the ridgeline, the burnt oranges and yellows of alpine plants at my feet, drifting white all around me.  The air was comfortably cool for climbing, but all the foliage was wet, and my arms were soon saturated from brushing past moisture laden leaves.

I soon reached the track turn-off for the summit, and followed the ridge a little while longer before plunging back into bush.  The track became increasingly wet and swampy as I progressed, and for long stretches I was running through ankle deep water.  The track traversed the mountainside; the bush opening out from time to time to reveal giant land slips which disappeared from the track edge into gully’s obscured by cloud.  Signs on the track warned of Avalanche Flow Zones, and advised against stopping.  Although no snow was visible, I kept a nervous eye over my shoulder as I crossed the wide and open stream beds that I assumed any avalanche activity might follow.

The river-like nature of the track made foot placement unpredictable, most of the time I was just splashing through surface water, but occasionally a foot would plunge unexpectedly into thick mud, eventually covering both legs to the knee.  On more than one occasion, my ankles found bruising and grazing objects concealed in the murk, this was run shaping up to be quite a challenging adventure.

As the track began to descend the bush changed again, dense foliage opening out into what felt like more ancient forest.  A brilliant green moss carpeted the ground, appearing to glow in the eerie, misty, cloud-filtered light.  The descent steepened, and the trail became more of a water fall, the footwork joyously technical as I negotiated a myriad of sharp rocks and slippery tree roots. 

The trail regularly dipped down to stream crossings, and I did my best to navigate my way through variously swift and lazy water flows, the soggy nature of my foot wear negating any real need to further avoid stepping in water. 

Shortly the forest opened out onto what I imagined was the true South Face of Mt Somers: a long sloping expanse of alpine landscape stretching far down to the plains below.  The cloud lifted enough for me to make out the farm land on the lower slopes, and afforded me great views of the slope I was running across.  All manner of sharp edged plants clawed at my legs and obscured the track.  I was pleased to note that said sharp plants were cutting my shins to shreds (although that description may have invoked a little dramatic licence), but I was definitely cut enough to be bleeding.   I always feel that any activity that draws blood during a run, somehow further legitimises the ruggedness of the achievement.

The very tidy Aclands Shelter appeared, and I spent a few seconds looking around it before continuing on my way.  The track persisted in being very wet, and I wondered if the mountainsides of Mt Somers consisted entirely of swamp.  After a while (and many more stream crossings), the track turned inland again and started to climb.  The landscape became more tussocky, and cloudy, and vision was restricted to within a few metres in any direction.  The track traversed billowing hills between the streams, and as the cloud shifted around me I caught glimpses of the trail behind me, some of which looked quite steep.  I pressed on into the cloud.

Running through such dense cloud in an unfamiliar landscape is quite unsettling.  I had little concept of my progress, and felt rather alone and isolated in my little world of tussock and cloud.  Needless to say, it was quite a relief whenever I came upon track signage (which was seldom), and the track information at the Rhyolite Ridge intersection was extremely welcome, although a little disheartening as it predicted that Woolshed Creek Hut was still some distance away.  I ate some muesli bars to bolster my spirits and ran on.

After some more climbing, the cloud curtain drew aside long enough for me to make out Woolshed Creek Hut in the distance.  It didn’t really look that far away.  The track started climbing again, which seemed odd, as the hut looked quite a way below me.  The ground changed again, tussocks supplanted by an alien, rocky moonscape.  I found myself surrounded by steep cliffs and bluffs, a seemingly impassable maze landscape.  The track continued to climb.  Enormous rock formations and caves greeted me as I toiled upwards.  I scurried under a ledge (tonnes of rock suspended above my head always makes me nervous), and discovered the Bus Stop sign that had been hilariously attached to the rock race.

 I seemed to have reached the top of the climb, and traversed a couple of impossibly narrow ridges, before scrambling past a river of rock polished smooth by the water flowing over it.  Everywhere I looked rugged cliffs menaced, sheer and impassable.  I was impressed and pleased that some intrepid soul had managed to forge a track through this wilderness, because if was painfully beautiful.

The hut once again came into view, much closer this time, and I sped over the shifting redish stones, desperately trying to keep one eye on the ground and one eye on the track markers.  I lost the trail only once.

Just before reaching the hut, a very narrow swing bridge appeared, traversing what from a distance, looked like quite a deep gully.  Nearing the edge, did little to make the bridge look less like a tightrope laced across a canyon.  I don’t normally have a problem with swing bridges, although they are pretty weird to run across, but this one was dwarfed by its landscape, and looked flimsy enough to make me seriously consider climbing down to the stream below, and splashing through instead.  I bravely crossed the bridge, images of the famous bridge collapse scene from Indiana Jones filling my head the whole way.  A short run (and further stream crossing) brought me to Woolshed Creek Hut.

Quite a narrow bridge - HAPPY FACE!

Woolshed Creek hut is nestled in a valley of bleached tussock, and surrounded by rolling hills, and rocky cliffs.  A cloudy stream winds its way across the valley floor.  The whole scene reminded me very much of Central Otago, and the hut looked sparkly and new.  I took the opportunity to fill my hydration bladder, and empty my human one.  Three other trampers were enjoying lunch and the view from inside the hut.  We exchanged progress, and they seemed confused that I had made such good time.  I had covered the South Face track in less than four hours, but the trampers were determined that I couldn’t possibly have managed that.  But I did.

The track climbed steadily out of the valley (and included some more river crossings).  I figured that I still had about three hours of running to go.  I passed signposts pointing out caves and other interesting geological features, but I pressed on vowing to return for further exploration in the future.  Enormous rocks and volcanic-looking rock falls littered the narrowing valley, and I had soon climbed out of its shelter and back into cloud, and for the first time, wind.  I was getting really cold, so stopped to layer up, putting on everything I had bought with me (extra thermal layers and a wind/waterproof jacket).  I was feeling pretty isolated, a bit tired, and a little sorry for myself.  The unreasonable part of my brain suggested lying down and resting for a while, but the still dominant and slightly more sensible part of me over-ruled, insisting that I press on.  I ate three more muesli bars, and started to feel better.

The track continued to climb for a while, but the dense fog meant that I had no concept of altitude or landscape, although I sensed that I was quite high.  After following a ridgeline, the trail began quite a serious descent, and I spent several sections sliding down on my bum (which I always figure is better than falling head-long on my face!).  Despite being quite slippery and just a little treacherous, I was quite enjoying the run through this section.  Having no concept of my progress, and not being able to see what lay ahead was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

Impressive rock flows carved by water

Seemingly out of now where, the sharpest and blackest looking cliff-peaks suddenly loomed out of the fog, slowly resolving into a precarious edifice under which the trail was forcing me to run.  I sped up.  I reasoned that such impressive rock formations were deserving of the Pinnacles title, meaning that I must not be too far from the Pinnacles Hut.  Sure enough, after a brief descent into bush (and probably about three more stream crossings), the smell of wood smoke preceded the hut itself.

Pinnacles Hut looked cosy, rustic and was framed by bush.  Several trampers were taking refuge from the wind and rain, and I chatted to a few before heading on.  A little further down the track I met a couple more trampers sweating their way upwards.  They enquired about my progress, asking if I had run the whole circuit, I answered that I had, and said “nearly at the end”, the tramper cryptically replied: “could be”.  What did he mean?  Was the end of the track affected by some sort of space-time continuum or worm hole that made reaching its end unpredictable?  Maybe he thought I was querying his progress?  I chuckled to myself.  Or maybe there was a really long and treacherous way to go, and he thought I was delusional.  The next chuckle had hints of nervousness to it.   I figured I had an hour to an hour and a half of running to go.  I hoped so, I was cutting it dangerously close to my ETA for return.  I didn’t want to have the emergency services called out.

I really loved the next section of the trail, a very runable and slightly technical undulating single trail, led me lower and lower.  It was raining quite heavily now, but I was sheltered by the dense bush.  Everything was dripping and lush, reminding me of Milford.  A multitude of further stream crossings greeted me, I was becoming quite the expert at fording my way across.  I could hear another waterway ahead, when rounding a corner, to my delight and surprise; I saw a waterfall coasting elegantly from a rock overhang, the track passing beneath.

Waterfall cascading in front of trail

The track descended to a river, and I wondered if this was the water that fed into the Sharplin Falls.  If it was, then I was running on the wrong side of it.  From here on the quality of the track deteriorated.  Land slips and fallen trees forced the trail to the river bed, and there was more than one occasion where I lost the track all together.  There were a few tense moments when I wondered if I would have to attempt a river crossing through what I would describe as nearly a raging torrent (a million stream crossings would not have been preparation enough), but further exploration revealed evidence of trail further down on the same side.  I plunged on, fancying that my tracking skills must nearly qualify me as a detective. 

A little further on, a second flimsy-tightrope-like-swing-bridge crossed the river.  I bolted across, joyous because now I was on the right side of the river to be getting quite close to the end.  The track followed the river for quite a while, and involved a lot of rock hopping and boulder scrambling (excellent practice), before climbing steeply away from the river.  This last climb was really hands and knees stuff.  Tree roots provided hand holds and I inched my way along a track that only accommodated the toes of my shoes.

The higher I climbed, the better the track became, and before long I was able to run again, although the climbing did go on for what seemed like a lot longer than necessary.  I was impressed that I was still running uphill at the end of a long day.  The descent was very welcome, but also very steep, and it felt like an age before I reached the turn off for the track to Sharplin Falls.  I was nearly there.  I had only a few minutes of very well graded and very gentle trail to cover before I reached the car.

I made it back to the car, and back to cell phone reception with less than half an hour to go before my intentions form ETA would have lapsed.  I felt really good.  I wasn’t all that tired, and my legs weren’t sore.  I was looking forward to eating something that wasn’t a muesli bar, and I was glad that there were no more streams to cross on the way home.

As I left Mt Somers, still shrouded in cloud and rain behind me, I marveled that I had run for seven hours and covered 33km and I still felt energetic.  Had I blacked out in the car park and hallucinated the whole experience?  Or am I just getting a little bit fit?

What an amazing run.  There was so much variation in landscape, foliage and environment, I think that Mt Somers is one of the most incredible places I have ventured into...And most of it was obscured by cloud!   I look forward to practicing this route more often, especially on a blue sky day when more of that incredible landscape will be revealed.  

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.

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.                                   

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 6^th 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.

Dancing On Mountain Tops

With all of my running on the flat, I have been yearning to run in the mountains.  The peaks have been calling me, tantalisingly close.  So on Friday, I heeded their call, and made my second attempt to run up Little Mount Peel. 

I woke up earlier than normal, and headed west.  I tentatively began my climb, the first section up a steep little section of road.  My poor legs started to burn after the first few meters, and I quailed, thinking that I had lost all of my uphill fitness.  Breaking on to the trail, and along a gentle undulating section, my legs began to warm up, and the leg-screaming subsided.

Then the climbing began in earnest.

The last time I embarked on the Mt Peel climb, I quickly reached deep snow, and so although the views and I rose were familiar, I was seeing the trail for the first time.  Areas of snow obscured trail that I slithered and fallen on, were revealed to comprise of knee and waist height steps, no wonder I struggled the first time!

The weather was calm and warm, the sun injecting warm fingers of heat into the crisp alpine air.  I quickly passed the point that I had reached on my last expedition.  The views were just stunning – the vast plains stretching out to the ocean, ever further below.

The higher I progressed up the ridge, the more technical the terrain became, with steep sections interspersed with flat and gloriously muddy bits.  I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself for managing to run so much of this very-up-hill trail (well I was running up a mountain!), and the bits I couldn't run I was scrambling on my hands-near to rock climbing through the tussock, and up lichen crusted rock.

About two thirds of the way to the summit, I still had a really steep section of ridge to ascend, but as I climbed, my progress felt more manageable than I had imagined.  Some tenacious soul(s) had carefully laid hundreds of meters of board walk to protect the delicate alpine eco system from the tread of exploring feet.  I marveled at the enormity and logistics of such an enterprise – and felt simultaneously proud of and sad for our beloved Department of Conservation, the under-appreciated and politically sidelined guardian of our most precious native assets.

Excited to be so close to the top - the shelter and trig station in the background

Cresting the last major climb before the summit, I was almost overcome by the beauty of my surroundings (I think that my senses and emotions are heightened exertion), and felt so pleased to have nearly achieved my goal.  I could see the Tristram Harper Shelter in the distance, and the trig station and the peak.  Behind me the mountain dropped sharply away.  In front, Middle and Big Mount Peel blended into the ranks of snow capped peaks marching forward from the Southern Alps.  All around me, in the rustic golds and greens of the quintessential New Zealand alpine environment, Little Mount Peel was beautiful and splendid.  Now I was running through the brilliant blue sky.

Middle Mt Peel and Big Mt Peel

I pushed forward with renewed vigour, my spirits soaring high, buoyed on by being so close to the top.  The track the led to the shelter dropped away extremely steeply, and sidled along, dodging treacherous patches of snow that would send the callously-footed climber over the edge.  Behind the hut, the last few meters of track wound up to the very peak itself.

Trig Station on the peak of Little Mt Peel

And then there I was, standing on the top of the world.  The view was amazing, but the tranquillity and sense of achievement was breathtaking.   I literally danced on the top of the mountain top with joy.

After drinking in the view, I sat on the shelter steps drenched in sunlight, and gobbled up a couple of muesli bars – chocolate and apricot never tastes as good as it does on a mountain top.  I stayed for ages, and didn’t want to leave (except that I was looking forward to more running).

View Glorious View

I explored the shelter interior, which was delightful, before plunging back down the mountain.  The run back down was so much fun (and a little hair rising in sections).  I relish knowing that even a few months ago I would have struggled much more with the terrain than I did.  I flew back down the board walks, and took great bounding leaps down the steps.  I splashed though the mud, and am not ashamed to admit that I even turned around and ran back through some of the muddiest sections, just for the joy of splashing through the thick of it.

Tristram Harper Shelter

The sun had really warmed up the day, and I was boiling as I ran back down, grateful for the shade as I reached the bush line.  It seems that the core strengthening exercises I have been doing are also helping with my running form, and I felt strong and stable as I descended.

Its always a good day on the trails when you are covered in mud 

This amazing and beautiful run has to be one of the best that I have ever had – confirming that running in the mountains is definitely my favourite.  I can’t wait to practice this route more in the future, and improve my speed and footwork over steep and technical terrain.  I also can’t wait to discover more beautiful peaks.

Less than a week to go until my next race, the much anticipated 50km, it is going to be great (although I do hear mutterings about snow).  EEEEK! 

Is it crazy...

That I will run my first official ultra marathon before I run my first official marathon?  Well anyway, that I my plan.  I have entered the Great Naseby Water Race and the Cadbury Dunedin Marathon.  The Great Naseby Water Race is a ultra-marathon fest with distances from 50km right up to 160km (or 100 miles).  I am excited and nervous about completing this distance.  But I have run 50km before, so I know that I can cover the distance, and I was thinking today, that it doesn't matter how I finish, as long as I finish.

The Dunedin Marathon is a little more nerve wracking.  There is a time limit on the distance, and although I have been doing quite a bit of speed work, and tempo training over distance, I know that at the end of the day I am not fast (but built to last).  However, nerves over completing the course in the designated time are somewhat cajoled by my excitement of getting to run around the beautiful Dunedin harbor, on what promises to be a rather spectacular course.

I haven't blogged much of late because all of my running has been on flat, open country roads, and I can't find it within myself to wax lyrical about gravel roads, paddocks and irrigators too often.  But the important thing is that I have been doing a lot of running, and covering a lot of kilometers (to the extent where I think I just about need a new pair of shoes).  A short run for me at the moment is 15km, and there are many and varied routes around my house that make up quite even distances (21km, 30km, 42km etc.).  I run mostly on the grass verges where I can, as the softer surface is kinder on my joints, but I also like running in the thick gravel, as this fulfills some aspect of my trail running desires.

Today through, for the first time in ages, it had rained a lot over night, and the grass verges were ankle deep in mud.  The route that I chose today, took me past some earth works, so I relished running up and down the piles of mud and stone as I slithered through the mud.  Large puddles, and well trodden drive ways contributed to the muddiest run that I have had in a while, and it was great fun.

In other news, Malcolm Law has launched is latest charity running event: The High Five-0 Challenge - which a 50 day, 50 marathon event, run over 50 different peaks around NZ to raise money (at least $250,000) for the Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand.  For those unfamiliar with Malcolm Law's running feats, he has completed numerous fundraising endurance events for New Zealand charaties, and he is one of New Zealands best known and accomplished ultra runners.  I am excited about hopefully being involved in this event as it is rolled out over the next months...watch this space.

Finally, I have been reading Dean Karnazas's 50 Marathons in 50 days.  It is an interesting read, notably because he seems to find the logistical aspects of the event more challenging than the running itself.  I particularly liked his musings about the suitability of ultra running for introverts (like me!) who enjoy their own company and appreciate the long hours of running with just their mind and the wilderness for company.  I can definetly relate to that sentiment.

Ultra

On the same that that Ruby Muir came third at the Speedgoat 50k, I decided that it was high time that I had a good crack at my own 50km challenge. I am planning to run my first official ultra marathon at the end of this month, and I always find a distance easier  ( less daunting ) the more I do it. I was also curious to see if I could actually run fifty kilometers.  It's funny to think that just under a year ago the idea of completing a half marathon seemed impossible.

Go KIWI! Ruby Muir running into 3rd place at Speedgoat 50k.

I knew that  the distance was only eight or ten extra kms on top of my longest distance run, and I figured that I just had to get out there and start running and just keep going until I completed the distance.  I worked out a route that would take in some familiar running territory as well as some new terrain.  With a full Camelbak, some food, and my trusty, newly discovered Dextrose tablets, I set out.  I kept my pace purposefully slow (somewhere around the 7:30min/km), and plodded along quite comfortably for the first 10.  My strategy, was to run as much as possible on the grass verge to provide a softer running surface, and less impact for my joints.  I also kept the magnitude of my task right at the back of my mind, and tried not to calculate distance covered, or distance still to go.

My knee and consequently hip started to get twingy around kilometer 18, and I tried to ignore this for a while, but decided to get out my kinestesiology tape, and wound it around my knee, in a fashion that I hoped was close to the sort of technique that I have seen other athletes use.  The relief was instant, and the remainder of my run, my knee was pretty comfortable.  At km 20 I stopped to buy some Powerade and some Coke (to flatten) (which I have heard is magical go-go juice for endurance sports).  I periodically shook the Coke and opened the lid to release the gas, sticky syrup pouring over my fingers and clothes.

The day warmed up as I headed towards Lake Hood, the cloud cover dispersing, and the sun beginning to beat down.  I knew that I just had to cover another 5km before I could turn around and head for home.  I think that I found this part of the run the hardest, I still had the longest distance to run looming ahead of me, and I was hungry and tired.  I sat down for a few minutes at the turn around to further secure the strapping tape on my knee (sweat and movement were making it loose it's stick).

Back in town, I bought an enormous bag of lollies, and with only 20km to go, I felt that I didn't really have much running left.  As the sun shone down, my new self motivational strategy was to stuff my face with lollies whenever I felt like slowing to a walk, eating boosted my sugar levels and distracted me from feeling tired.  I just kept on keeping on: left - right - repeat, and somewhere around km 35 it got easier, all discomfort (sore soles, rubbed toes, achy legs) seemed to evaporate.  I wasn't running very fast but I was travelling along quite comfortably.

As I ran through the 40km mark,  I felt elated, every step I took now, I was running further that I had ever run before, plus I only had 10km to go, hardly any distance at all compared to what I had already run.

The sun was starting to set as I headed up the home straight.  I had been running for over 7 hours, but by god, I was going to make it, I was going to have run 50km!  I pulled out my by now, very flat Coke, and swigged away as I covered the last few km.  I don't know if the Coke had the desired go-go juice effect, but the caffeine hit was welcome.  As I reached the house, my GPS watch read 49.90km, so I did a couple of loops around the house (victory laps!) to boost the mileage to the desired distance.

I had done it.  I ran 50km.  It seems a bit surreal, and weirdly I found it easier than running 40km.  I had my own little 50km victory, and I know that I wasn't 'killing it' over the mountains, but I was only about an hour behind Ruby's time...not too shabby for a first crack at the distance!

My joints have been feeling a bit "used" since I ran, so I have been taking it reasonably easy and not doing too much.  I have been walking a lot, and have done a couple of short, slow runs.  The worst after effect for me was a bit of rotten chafing!  I should have listened to Vaseline preachers, and may have to investigate some good anti-chafing "runderwear".

Now that I have done my first 50, I feel more confident for the race at the end of the month.  Bring it on....and maybe some new running shoes too!