Thursday = in bed all day, fevers and chills, dozed for hours, dazed for hours, there is no way I can run an Ultra in two days. This is not just nerves.
Friday = I can walk but get puffed and wobbly legged packing the car for the family to head to Rotorua for race registration. There is no way I can run an Ultra in one day, but I might as well take the start line even if I just fall across it and get dragged back to my car. Still definitely not nerves.
Saturday = It's too early and too dark and too exciting and too scary to even work out how I feel. Until I get into Ultra-Best-Support-Crew-Ever-Clare's car and then I feel sick. Sick to my stomach and think I'm going to vomit sick. Clare says it's just nerves. I want to vomit in her car to pay her back for that.
Do you know how it feels to stand in the dark with nearly a thousand other runners, decked out in lycra, and merino and caps and headlamps and tutus and capes and million dollar race bags? Before you all head out to run 60 - 100kilometres? If you ever find out, please describe it to me, as I felt sick and gulped air to avoid a panic attack and there wasn't enough brain space left to take it all in.
Then the local Tangata Whenua did the haka, the challenge was laid down, and somehow I was able to pull all the emotions back within. I grabbed that feeling of belonging to this land, to the trails I was about to run, looked around at all the other nutters, gave some high fives to random strangers and my face broke out into the grin I kept for (most of) the day.
Whakarewarewa - Tikitapu Blue Lake
Parts of this leg were a bit eerie, running near so many other runners in complete quiet. Other times it was crazy party as certain group dynamics shone - the sinewed old guys in their Aussie running singlets, a local crew in tutus, random people meeting up. I just ran slowly, enjoying the sights, walking most of the hills. As we dropped back into single track near Tikitapu a saxophonist stood in the dusky forest, and I ran with my feet in time to a jazzy tune and grinned at the insanity of it all.
The first aid station has a Masterchef theme, completely with a band of kids banging pot lids. I'm at 1:38, grab a little fruit as per the plan and keep going.
Tikitapu - Okareka
I'm trying to balance keeping my early pace manageable with my desire to be through the open gravel of Millar Road before the sun gets too hot. Tennent's Trail is a gorgeous little hardly-there trail to keep runners off the road between the two lakes. It's twisty, rooty, technical and just how I love to run. Unfortunately, some of the leggy road runners who have outpaced me on the forestry roads and wider trails now have crises (what's the plural of crisis?) and are tentatively tiptoeing through the best bits, arms outstretched and absolutely killing one of the best bits. It becomes so congested, at times we are standing still waiting. I know this trail pretty well, and when it pops out in the open I absolutely leg it across the open grass, passing 15-20 people at a sprint that gets lots of comments. the last five, ten minutes of frustration I take out on the trail, and enjoy keeping up the "quick-light-feet" rhythm and overtake a number of groups without feeling that I'm taking too much out of my legs.
(In hindsight, I later heard of a couple of runners whose races ended in Tennent's trail with sprained ankles. I was probably way too cocky and would have been gutted to do the same, and it was probably wiser, more experienced runners than me taking it easy for insurance?)
Okareka Aid Station, 2:25, about 20 minutes ahead of the schedule I've given Best-Support-Crew-Ever-Clare. It's great to see her and her mum Ursula now that I'm not trying to heave in their car, and the party atmosphere is a bit contagious. We have a chat, do we swap some gear? I don't remember much except yelling at her from the Aid table "Honey sandwiches are on the nutrition plan but there aren't any, what do I do????"
Okareka - Okataina - The Western Okataina Walkway
From Okataina the course climbs up an open gravel road for a few kms. In training I dubbed this stretch "The Eternal Hellhole Of Impending Doom" as it's hot, dry, boring and feels way steeper than it looks. My aim here is to just not let the life force be sucked out of my legs, lungs, heart or spirit. Highlight is walking around a corner and spotting the photographer ahead, pulling off some lovely running form for 50m until I'm past him, then ambling to a halt again. Everyone else thought this was pretty funny, but it's all about the race photos people!
The Western Okataina Walkway is usually shortened to WOW. I ran this twice in each direction in training, once I thought "WOW, I'm going to die" another time I thought "WOW, I wish I would die" The trail is ok but not great, and it's a killer climb followed by a thrashing descent. I know I can make it through here, but I know I could kill my enjoyment for the rest of the day too.
By this stage I'm starting to leapfrog with certain runners a number of times, and with my L plates on my back I get a few comments and have a few chats. Part way up the climb my own knees start to get that sharp pain I've had on my long training runs, and I quickly take a couple of panadol rather than let it get any worse. From here on in, I know I'm really running outside my limits, outside my talent, outside my training, and I'll take a little bit of help if I can get it.
Up, over, down, and at times my knees are so sore I need to stop for a minute or two. Somehow though, I'm passing more people having greater struggles with their knees, than those who are passing me. I can hear the Okataina Aid station for light years before I actually run out of the forest into a crowd of cheering people, then run straight off the course into the public toilets. That was bit of an anti-climax. They were still cheering when I came out though...............
Best-Support-Crew-Ever-Clare is there waiting, with my gear laid out all ready. However, the Most-Patient-Ever-Family-With-Mummy's-Mad-Escapades is not. It's 5hours 15 minutes, and I'm an hour ahead of schedule, too far ahead. My heart sinks, they're driving for an hour, then waiting for a slow bus trip to make it to this point, then walking from the bus stop with two kids and associated clothes, picnics and books to set up and wait for me. I'll have to wait, I can't go without seeing them. And then I see them come rushing down the road laden with bags and looking generally harassed. All that effort to watch my change my socks, put a plaster on a hot spot, refill my water, get a sticky, sweaty, stinky hug, and wave goodbye.
Those hugs were GOLD for me though.
My Garmin GPS has a bit of a blip here, as it lost satellite in the concrete toilets. But I spent 10 minutes in this area, which makes me cringe a bit. Toilet, Sock change, water, hugs all probably take longer than I thought but I think the real problem was that when I ran on to the aid station, they were out of the food I had planned and I dithered trying to decide what I could take with me. Decision making really does become impaired when you're this tired.
Okataina - Humphreis Bay - Tarawera Falls
The inaugural amalgamation of the Tarawera Express! A couple of runners passed me early on, running a nice steady pace that I liked the look of and I latched on behind them. We picked up one more runner, who tucked in behind me, and the four of us ran that trail like a freight train. The cadence was good, it felt nearly effortless, and we somehow became a unit. We obviously had momentum as other runners were stepping out of our way. It wasn't until I looked at my watch and saw my pace was less than 7minute kms that I freaked out, as that was way faster than anything I'd done in training, even on much shorter runs. We were running up most of the climbs, which wasn't in my race plan.......... and I commented on this aloud to the other runners. Unfortunately, the driver of the train, Mr Orange Hat Man, was wearing headphones, and wasn't hearing my pleas to stick to the Ultra Running Mantra of WALK THE HILLS. A few more hills and a few more comments fell on deaf ears, at which point I said to the other two passengers "I don't think he's working for us, let's drop him" and the female runner in front of me said "I can't drop him, he's my husband." It's a bit hard to run with your foot in your mouth, so I extracted it, decided to throw caution to the wind, bought a long distance ticket, and enjoyed every minute of the next hour or so until the next aid station.
At Humphries Bay I ate Burger Fuel Kumara Fries with aioli, just because they'd boated them in specially and I could. Just a few more kilometres of technical running and I would hit the free running trails from Tarawera Outlet to Tarawera Falls. The ghost of a thought which had been haunting me for the last couple of hours hit with a vengeance.
"Do I go for 85kms?"
TUM is unique in that you're allowed to change your race distance by continuing at any stage. Entering the 60km was such a challenge for me, going further had never occurred to me. But here I was, more than 3/4 of the way through, and I felt good. No, I felt great! All the hills were behind me, most of the technical trail done, the hard work complete. I was running faster through technical trail than I usually plodded on roads, making friends, loving the forest. All that hard work over the Summer, the sacrifices my family made so I could run; while I had that base maybe I should just push for it?
But! But! But, I had never stepped foot on the 85km trails, knew only rumours of fire roads and a Loop of Despair which might be on the 85 or might be on the 100. I didn't leave a headlight in my drop bag - it's back at the first drop station near the start. I do happen to have road shoes in my gear though, just in case my trail shoes were bothering me at any stage............ But! But I don't have a pacer - it never occurred to me to organise one. Best-Support-Crew-Ever-Clare is wearing running shoes though - and there's no one else I'd rather pace me anyway - can she run un-registered?
Should I go for it? Can I do it? Is it better or worse for my family? The mental conversation continued until the last lot of painkillers wore off and I realised that my knees had that shards of glass feeling in them. A pain intense enough to making going downhill agony, but dull enough to push through. Pain that told me, I wasn't actually strong enough or prepared enough for 85km. Pain that made me wonder if I would do myself damage by pushing on.
I made that decision just a few hundred metres before the Tarawera Outlet, checked my watch, and changed the goalposts. Nine hours could be an achievable goal from here. A whole hour faster than the 10 hours I was 'hoping' for, not even sure I could make that. But it would need a 5km split at 6 minute ks. I can't even run a negative split 5km run on the back of a 10k, let alone 55. So I ran straight past the aid table, knowing nothing there would help me now.
And I ran. I passed loads of runners, solo, pairs, groups. Some had a solid pace for 85 or 100k, some were in misery downgrading their plans to the 60, some were just maintaining their plan. But I had juice in the tank and no hurts that I couldn't endure for another half hour or so.
I look back on this section with mixed emotions. This is where the event became a race for me. I look at my 6minute k average and I grin because I didn't think it would be possible. I remember how I was panting, and grunting with effort, and in tears, and I feel both proud and a little sad that I wasn't enjoying myself just then. That section of pain helps me feel I earned my Ultra stripes, but the parts I run in my head at night are the trails where I'm grinning.
Tarawera Falls 8:56:21.
