One Day & One Week Later - the Final Post

In the middle of the night I'd woken - body demanding both food (cheese sandwiches) and more Panadol. I didn't exactly hurt but there was a general body-length ache going on and someone was sticking pins in my feet (as the battered nerves tried to reconnect). I closed my eyes and saw mountains and fiords and felt decidedly vertiginous.

In the morning as I lugged myself into a standing position, I teetered back and forth, unable to bend my knees, and had to ensure I kept moving for fear of cramping. Having said that, I was in a much better state than the previous day and was able to move (relatively) unaided!

At the official post-race breakfast I noticed a few people were limping, but surprisingly few, and although there were a few people moving stiffly, everyone was lively, hungry and decidedly chatty. We ended up sitting at a table with a local (Kathy) who'd just done her 21st (out of 22) Keplers and said that the track had been in the best condition she'd seen. She'd previously run it in rain, crawled across the tops in huge winds and had taken part in the year where due to the volume of snow, the course was amended to a figure 8 (Control Gates - Luxmore Hut - Control Gates - Moturau hut - Control Gates). Also on the committee, Kathy said there were very few competitors choppered out because of injury out if any (Ed's note - of the 408 competitors that started there were 9 DNFs though which were injuries v. failing to meeting the cut-off mark wasn't specified).

Prizegiving was a very funny affair. Lots of prizes for the winners (4hrs57mins - for goodness sakes, he was home in time for lunch!), much deserved recognition for the legendary Malcolm Law and his 7-in7 crew, and apologies from the man who'd spent all day yesterday on the tannoy announcing runners' arrivals. Amongst much silliness, he'd told some German trampers that they couldn't go onto the track as the week's allocation of Germans had all been used up and they'd have to wait until Tuesday. He also apologised to the other couple of trampers who'd decided in their enthusiasm to try and race one of the competitors to the finishline - over the tannoy as he called the impromtu race, he'd said that the runner looked like he'd being chased by a couple of Israelis. Naturally, both trampers were from Israel.

The event wouldn't be the same without the Te Anau inhabitants. Admittedly, the arrival of the runners and their support crews double the number of occupants in town but, with Kepler Challenge flags down the main street, every local shop was seeming to sponsor it in some way, and the two local newspapers doing comprehensive coverage, it was a huge event. And according to Ben, who'd had a busy day waiting for me to come in, Te Anau's pie shop sells the best apple pies he's ever had.


I've now spent a week recovering, and although I spent most of the day following the race hobbling around Queenstown, by day 4 I was walking so comfortably there was little physical evidence of any exertion of my part.

However mentally it's taken me about a week to actually comes to terms with having done it. The day after the event, as I sat at one of Queenstown's many pubs enjoying a couple of ciders (oh how I missed you!), I couldn't believe only 3 days prior I'd sat nearby (drinking orange juice) thinking in 3 days hence, I'd be back there having completed it.

After the initial exhaustion and euphoria of stopping, the sense of achievement is huge. As the Southland Times said, it's not about winning but just surviving it. It also turns out I'd been running with a minor celebrity / guinea pig, with the Otago Daily Times doing a piece on Cath earlier in the week (she didn't mention Everest Base Camp to me when she started running at the 30km mark!).

Ben's also been inspired to start running too and we did a gentle 3km jog / walk into Wilton Bush on Monday (exercise for him, recovery for me - sorry knees).

There are a couple of organisations / people I need to thank. Firstly to Store Manager Ben at Gymeez who gave me nutritional advice literally fuelling my Kepler effort and some common sense when I was getting a bit stressed out about the whole thing. If you need gels, powders, drinks, bars, equipment or anything at all to support your bid to do something even half this crazy, either visit Gymeez or email Ben directly: info@gymeezwellington.co.nz. Secondly to Bodyworks who's great equipment, facilities and classes enabled me to train, and get fit and strong during Wellington's (very) inclement winter weather.

Thanks guys - you helped me go from just a mere Coast-to-Coaster to an Ultramarathoner.
I said at the end of the Coast to Coast mountain run I'd never do it again (before promptly trying to work out how to reduce my time in future). With the Kepler, I came off the finish line delighted to have stopped, ecstatic to have made it but knowing it was an insane distance. It took me 4 days to fully comprehend that I'd done it, a week to fully recover and about 10 days before I decided I'd be putting my hat in the ring for next year.

Loose a couple of stone, get some serious cheek bones and bring Ben along with me. I mean, how hard can it be?

El, Cath and Paul's Most Excellent Adventure

I've never actually not had ANY sleep prior to an event, but the night before the Kepler was a long, slow one.

We'd driven in from Queenstown, past The Remarkables and out to Te Anau with me hoping that the low rolling hills I was spying were those that the Kepler track snaked through, rather than the snow covered summits that surrounded us. Inevitably as we drove into the small township (pop 1,800) I saw the start of the track and it suddenly dawned on me what I was in for. The sun shone down on the cool waters of Lake Te Anau, as the snow covered mountain range rose up behind it and loped away in the distance. This was the Kepler Challenge, not the Kepler stroll.

There were the delighted locals, who embraced the race and its participants with the enthusiasm of excited children - if they weren't participating themselves, they were on the committee / manning a station / on the course somewhere supporting (if not all 3). Then there were the uber fit whippets with pronounced cheekbone and single digit body-fat percentages who'd done it all before and who were enjoying being back for the race. And then there were the amateurs who hadn't seen the course but only the mountains stretching away on the other side of the lake and were getting an inkling of what they were in for. The difference between the two was obvious – if the smile was relaxed and comfortable they were local or experienced. If it was slightly panicky and you could see the whites of their eyes...

I spent far too much time looking out for and sizing up fellow runners. They're wearing sneakers, they look fit, I bet they're a 6hr runner. Oh God, what happens if they're a 10hr runner? Where does that leave me?

We registered and got talking to a local (Ray - 72yrs, this would be his 20th Kepler), who said that the course was originally thought to be 67km. It was then measured with a GPS device and reduced to 60km. Just to be sure, he'd then walked the entire course with a measuring wheel (a tramper he'd met on the path had said “haven't you got a dog?”) and it came out at 61.7km. Ray recommended walking the hills and not worrying about posting a specific time but just get through it...and then come back next year and beat it.

The pre-race briefing on Friday was full of nervous energy. The local meteorologist said the forecast was for clear skies, a light northerly and rain later on. I wasn't sure how much later was 'later on' but I hoped it stayed dry.

The local PC (who was responsible for our safety on the course) said that if we hadn't reached Rainbow Ranch (50km mark) by 10hrs we would be pulled out. This was slightly nerve wrecking considering a) it was a hell of a long way to get into the race only to get pulled out and b) I thought the general consensus was that if you got to the 50km mark and it looked like you were going well enough to finish, they'd let you go through.

The local DOC ranger said there was good news and bad. The good: the track was in excellent condition, the snow (!!) we were running through would be hard packed, they'd cleared up a slippery area later on in the race and the scree slopes (!!) were good. The bad: as the track was in such good condition, we would have to do the entire 61.7km.

Runner Malcolm Law entered the auditorium to a standing ovation. He and his support crew had run 6 of NZ's great walks in 6 days and were finishing with the Kepler Challenge (7 in 7) – a total of 359.7km all to raise money for the NZ Leukaemia and Blood Foundation ($90k and counting).

After a brief pasta dinner, we headed to bed and I did my best to feign sleep. I'd packed my bag, my clothes were laid out for me, my breakfast all prepared. I spent the entire night trying to calculate what time I could reach each section of the race and still make the 50km cut off. Every now and then I felt I'd be OK and could only do my best. And then I went back to calculating again. It was a long, restless night. But all too soon, 4am came.

Yes, 4am. That's right. Enough time to get some breakfast in, allow it to settle, get dressed, packed and head off to the start line. An organised coach collected a lot of us from the hotel at 5.15am and drove the 5km to the control gates / starting point. The ride was quiet. It was still dark outside and there was a full moon. It was cloudless and cold and as we registered, we looked around to try and ascertain where in the 400 runners we should seed ourselves on the start line and whether we could believe what we were about to do. I admit I shed a few nervous tears before we all hugged our loved ones good bye, moved to the start line and waited for the off.

I'd spent 2 days trying to spot fellow blogger Paul, who was apparently staying at the same hotel. He'd been training hard for the Kepler but in the last week had come down with major stay-in-bed-for-4-days-man-flu and was only going to make a decision at the last minute as to whether or not he was going to actually do the run. I only knew him through the few photos on his blog but he described himself as a midget who'd be tucking into deserts. Ben (my aforementioned loved one) didn't actually believe he existed (and referred to him as the Poisoned Dwarf the entire weekend). Looking around for Ben at the start line, I saw this chap moving through the crowd to talk to one of his friends standing next to me. Eleanor? Paul? Yes. Hand shaking and general how're you going? Quick photo and we were off. Very strange to meet him literally 2 mins prior to the off, but great and we nervously chatted for the first 6km run into the bush.

The Run

The first 6km were a lovely flat bush covered run. Slight rises but otherwise flat, with nothing but the heavy breathing and footfalls of 400 runners making their way through the bush, jostling for an appropriate place speed wise with slower runners courteously moving left so the faster ones could move through.

There was chatting, there was laughter. All of it covering nerves and a slight sense of desperation.

There were 10 drink stations / check points throughout the course and all had been challenged to create the "Best Checkpoint" with a $200 bar tab up for grabs. As we reached the first point (Brod Bay), there were streamers and balloons, fairies and cheers for the runners as we went through, stopping to collect water and Leppin, before being wished well on our way. Plus a sign saying “5km done – only 55km to go!”. Oh well, it had been a good warm up.

And then the hill started. I'd started the run in a thermal and running top, it being so cold at the start, but soon stopped to remove the thermal telling Paul I'd catch up (ha ha) - it was the last I saw of him.

The climb went and on and on. Malcolm and his team powered on past, chatting and laughing as they went. He'd been given a special start 10minutes after the rest of us. “How depressing,” I laughed, “being overtaken by a guy who's just done 6 Great Walks in 6 days”. “Yeah, but we're having a siesta at Iris Burn” he said. “Great, count me in” I responded as they headed off up the path.

Upwards and upwards, back and forth, heavy breathing, sweating, legs hurting, fellow walkers around me also hurting. I chatted to plenty - what time are you hoping to post? Done this before? - all trying to ascertain whether I should push harder or whether I was doing OK. Cherie, a local, said the fact that I was talking meant that I could complete the race, which came at the right time as I was considering getting to Luxmore Hut, throwing my toys and going home. She also said for every minute we pushed in this climb, we added 10 minutes on to the end: it was so steep and just went on and on and on (this was the 8km ascent Gordon Walker had mentioned).

I chatted with another fellow who told me to shorten my stride so my pulse rate could drop – again perfect timing. He was chatting to a lady called Cath – she was also working as hard as me and having about as much fun.

I'd heard of Lion Rock, but didn't know if I'd recognise it when I got there. However when we did, it was pretty obvious, being a HUGE (multi-storey) limestone rock that just appears on the track ahead of you, with the path snaking round to the left of it. It's stunning and dizzyingly big. It was great to get there as it meant a big chunk of the climb was out of the way. There were a couple of metal staircases before the track left the rock and continued on.

And then we were out on the tops. Out of the bushline and into the alpine tussock grass. And the views... Wow. That's right - we're in a National Park in Fiordland - with snow covered mountains, lakes and views that went on for ever. The inclination to stop, admire the view and take photos was HUGE but with a sign saying that Luxmore Hut (2nd checkpoint) was 45mins away, I stopped merely to put back on my thermal top (without the bushline to protect us, it suddenly became apparent how high we had climbed) before continuing on upwards.

There were runners spread right across the course. Apparently the lead runners were now an hour beyond Luxmore Hut (which seemed nigh impossible given we'd only been going 2.5hrs!) and there were helicopters hovering off in distance probably keeping an eye on the lead pack.

Turning a corner, Luxmore Hut suddenly came into sight. A very pleasant sight at that. Balloons, horns, Christmas hats and “Welcome to Luxmore” called from the balconies. This is where they crown the King / Queen of the mountain - it's also gear check spot to ensure that no one's dumped any equipment to get a lighter pack. It was also a great opportunity to refill the water pack and grab another swig of Leppin before heading around the back of the hut and up the hill.

This is where I realised how high we had to go - the trail snaked its way up the mountain and around the edge of it. I had no choice but to continue upwards - if this was where the path went, this is where we were going. With Cath coming along behind me, we gradually started to overtake some of those who had started off too hard. Having said that, we were also being overtaken, and it was really just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, keeping an eye on the rocky track and admiring the view when you could.

A couple of runners came towards us down the hill - they'd injured themselves (a knee had blown in one case) and they were descending back to Luxmore for some medical assistance. Good reminder that if the skinny fit ones could injure themselves so could the rest of us.

Up through the snow and round the corner, to more stunning Fiordland views (steep mountain, long drop to big lake) and the path snaking away upwards. This continued for some time. Although Mt. Luxmore is the highest point of the Kepler, you don't actually go to its summit, but wind your way around the back of some other peaks, down some steep zig-zags that had scared me terribly on video footage (one hand up to the side of my face so I couldn't see the drop – gentle progress down these) and eventually up and around to Hanging Valley.

Cath and I were working well together and we made our way over and onto the ridge (which in other years they've had to crawl over in high winds), up another hill and down on to the other end of Hanging Valley. Admittedly I spent most of this section looking at the path, but it wasn't the knife edge I'd seen in other pictures.

At the end of it, I saw a figure up ahead, and called to Cath that it would either be a number check or a photographer so prepare to smile. Turns out it was "just a local out to support runners - looking great girls". This was typical of the generosity of spirit of the Te Anau locals. Slightly less typically, he also had a kea with him. He also said we hadn't got far to go until it was all down hill. "How far is not far?" I asked him. "Ummm... well...."

We continued upwards up to the final crest of the mountains and reached Hanging Valley shelter. Or Hanging Valley Hilton as it had been renamed for the event. With signposts out to the Golf Course, Sauna and Spa it was very tempting to stay, but we slugged back more water and started the long staircase descent.

The staircases were on the ridge line and quite steep (focus on the stairs Eli, not the view either side). Cath and I chatted our way down it, running when we could but tending to take care with the stairs. And then to the switchbacks...

I'd been dreading these 87 zig-zags down to Iris Burn Hut (not quite 1/2 way), but as soon as we started on them we entered beech forest as the staircase had taken us down out of the alpine region. Running this was easy and comfortable and we made rapid progress.

Half way down we'd encountered a galloping Cherie who yahoo'd past us at a great rate of knots. Obviously what she lacked in hill climbing, she made up for in hill descents and she was long gone before we made it anywhere near the hut. And we could hear a bell clanging away in the distance.

200m out from Iris Burn the balloons started, all with messages of welcome and support. They started so far out actually, we were agonising about when this damn hut would show up! The bell got louder and when we actually ran into the checkpoint, there was Rudolf ringing his bell, high fiving all the runners who came in – no matter how bad you were feeling, you couldn't help but smile. Father Christmas refilled our packs, angels ticked off our numbers and a paramedic watched on sternly as I popped 2 Panadol, trying to decide whether I actually needed medical attention or was just trying to dull the fun my knees and ankles were having.

Also with the rise in temperature (down in the valley compared with the alpine region), the sandflies attacked. In the 2 minutes we were at the hut, we'd taken off our thermal layers, refilled our water, scoffed some jellybeans and got bitten about 30 times, so we were off and running through the beech forest on the 'easy, downhill' bit of the track.

Months ago, some turkey had commented that the real race starts at Iris Burn. “Bah humbug” I thought, “if I can get through the mountain section, the flat bit will be a walk in the nice flat park”. It turns out the turkey was right. It had taken us 5hr15mins to do the 27km to Iris Burn and from then on my GPS km indicator just didn't move.

I'd told Ben that if I'd completely overestimated the race, I'd be in in about 9hrs30mins. Otherwise sometime between 10 - 11hrs. As Cath and I jogged along the nice flat terrain, I wondered whether I'd need to contact Ben and tell him we'd be in earlier - we were doing so well - but I figured that he'd be there anyway, so it wouldn't really be necessary.

Cath was chugging along at a nice pace. I wasn't sure I could keep up with her for the entire 30km (she was RUNNING for goodness sake!), but decided that I would keep up for as long as I could. Despite attempting basic arithmetic in my addled brain, I still wasn't 100% sure I'd make the 50km marker by the 10hr cut off time, so thought my best bet was to run when Cath ran, and walk when she walked. And if I could get her to talk lots, she'd tire more easily and walk more! OK, I wasn't that devious but Cath sure did like her running.

Cath had worked out some estimated times between huts and having previously covered this terrain on a stoat trapping weekend, she was pretty sure that the next hut (Rocky Point) was an hour away. 1hr40mins later, we were still wondering when it would turn up.

We were gradually reigning in runners who had taken off too fast on the alpine section, but we were also being overtaken by others. Occasionally we met a legitimate tramper on the track, who cheered us along and said we were making it look easy. Fibs. Complete fibs.

Although the track was predominantly down hill, there were still nasty little hills we had to climb - they didn't last long, but just enough to remind our quads which had been killed on the descent from Hanging Valley, that their job wasn't over yet.

Eventually we turned up at Rocky Point, themed as M*A*S*H, and as ever we were welcomed in by enthusiastic locals. We grabbed another Leppin drink (by this stage I was mainly using their Leppin drinks to top up as my hydropack was still full) before we headed out. Cath was hardly stopping - just enough to uplift a cup or two, before she was off again. I was aghast (I'd been hanging out for a quick stop and chat) but thought if I didn't stay with her the next umpteen km would be a nightmare.

We came past a chap in his 40s who was looking decidedly uncomfortable but was still moving forward. He also told us we were looking strong, but he knew how far we had to go so he wasn't pushing it.

The track wandered in and out of beech forests, with ferns, moss covered rocks, a scree slope and beautiful stunning scenery. Plenty of discussion was held on how much incredibly harder the race would be if it was held in reverse – going up those switchbacks and then on to the alpine section would have been torture. It wasn't easy going as it was.

The km dawdled by. At 43km (8hrs) my GPS ran out of juice. Head down and keep going. Jog, walk, jog, walk.

One of the runners on the Luxmore hill told me that the last 30km is known as the Death March by the locals as this section is mind over matter. You're exhausted by the first half and just want to get home, but you're so far out and the km creep past so slowly that it just doesn't seem like you're getting anywhere. I think we were covering the terrain at about 6.5 - 7 kph, so the maths suggested I was going to have to keep up with Cath at this pace if I wanted to reach the finish line within the next 5hrs (5 hours!!! That's FOREVER away!).

I was chowing down on the Em's Powerbars and Leppin sachets. They were great. Easy to get down and stay down and with a constant intake I didn't feel like I was tiring due to lack of food - just lack of fitness.

We were making our way alongside the river and it was great to see it gradually get wider and eventually joining Lake Manapori - we were at least getting somehwere.

Then to the Moturau hut checkpoint at the 44.6km mark. There was Malcolm and his crew have a huge laugh and rest. They hadn't been kidding about the siesta. Cath didn't even stop to grab a drink and we booted on through, covering the ground fast. We must have provided incentive for the 7-in7 crew as they passed us again, not 10 mins later. “Almost there” said one of them. “Yes” I replied, “I'm visualising that finish line and medal but it's just out of reach.”. “No” he replied, “it's just within reach”.

I heard a shining cookoo and saw several mice. There were fantails and stunning views of the river.

Ankles, knees and shoulders were sore. Hands were swollen. Calves and quads were complaining. But the feet continued onwards.

A young girl came down the path in the other direction carrying minimal gear so wasn't a tramper, but it seemed odd for her to just be out for a day walk. Turns out she was the daughter of the gentleman we'd seen just outside the M*A*S*H checkpoint, going in to cover the last 20km with her dad. With renewed energy (and possibly some secret stash of energy bars) they steamed past us and headed off into the distance.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, we came across Cath's husband. He'd entered in previous years, hoping to post an 8hr time, but had been struck down with severe cramping after the switchbacks. Unfortunately the same had happened again this year (despite having no issues in his training) and he was slowly making his way through the trees. After a brief discussion, we continued on knowing he was OK, if disappointed, to reach the finish line whenever he got there.

Then finally into Rainbow Ranch. The 50km mark and time check - 9hrs. Praise be: they weren't going to DNF me for not having made the cut off. However, the stumbling had started. Taking my eyes off the path to admire the view or losing concentration for a moment, I had to catch myself several times and almost hit the ground. A really good reminder that even at this stage, a twisted ankle or pulled muscle could mean the end of the race.

There is car access to Rainbow Ranch and a lot of supporters had started to gather, cheering every one on, bringing fresh food supplies and general encouragement to the weary staggering their way around the course. "Only 10km to go" they called. Blimey, the last 10km had dragged by... I mentally reset myself to run 70km. I'd need more concentration to get to 70km. I'd need my body to hold together just a bit longer for 70km. I'd need to look after myself for another 2hr. Just hold on El, just hold on.

5km to go - another checkpoint. Another drink station, another power through. Then the 2km checkpoint. 2km run from home - that's nothing. That's down to the end of the street and back a couple of times. That's nothing. Where's that damn finish line? We could hear the tannoy annoucing the arrival of competitors. Where's that damn finish line? Only 1km to go. Cath picked up the pace. I stayed with her. Where's that damn finish line? We came around a bend in the river and could see the control gates, miles away (figuratively). We walked. And then there were family members walking up the path to wait for their runners, cheering us on - only 200m to go. We started to run.

Final checkpoint and then up on to the control gate bridge. This was it. Look up. Smile. Where's Ben? Cath and I running stride for stride together. There was no pain. No discomfort. Just joy and wonder and the finish line. And we were through. Both recording 10hrs27mins36secs. Hugs and medals, juice and beer. The commentator asked if we'd run the whole way together - “from 5km in” I responded. We'd run 55km together. Talked about anything and everything and finished the job together.Ben was at the finish line taking photos. Cherie was there having arrived 5mins before us. Then I was stretching, trying to straighten or bend the muscles that would without others cramping. "Don't do it" I said to a group of ladies who were nicely encamped with their G&Ts waiting for friends to arrive "it's insane". But the grin on my face and sense of wonderment that I'd actually completed it said otherwise.

Father and daughter came over the finish line together - we'd overtaken them at one of the checkpoints. Malcolm and his crew had come in 20mins earlier. Paul whipped all our butts and posted 9hrs30mins.

The Aftermath

My walking turned into hobbling and Ben helped me up to the car. My body had held together until the finish line, but no more. Back at the hotel, as I slowly lowered myself in to the bath (my quads were refusing to stretch, my knees refusing to bend) I rapidly discovered a severe case of chaffing (under arms, back and butt - damn that shorts label). Feet and ankles were swollen as were my hands.

After a long soak in a short bath, I showered, dressed, tried to stretch again and we headed out to dinner so I could eat something the size of my head and have the most gorgeous, wonderful Speights Old Dark I've ever had.

I was shuffling slowly, using Ben's arm as support but was amazed to see so many other competitors, walking round like they'd done nothing more strenous than have a picnic in the local park. I had to laugh - it was 60km people! Couldn't you at least pretend it pushed you a bit?

Back at our hotel, Ben poured me a wine (the champers he'd bought to celebrate would have been lost on me) and I lay down to relax my poor old legs. And then it got very dark...


A full gallery of photos can be found on Facebook, while a significantly better selection of the race can be found on Paul's Flickr site.

Final Post of a Would-Be Ultra-Marathoner

We're heading out early tomorrow morning and should reach Te Anau tomorrow night. For those not familiar with little ol' Nu Zild, the Kepler Track is the red dot just outside Te Anau. The ENTIRE red dot!

I've done as much training as I've done and am the fittest I'll probably ever be. I'm assuming at this stage I'll get through the race - ideally in under 10 hours, but perhaps more realistically somewhere under 11.

I haven't looked at the long range weather forecast as we'll be running it in almost any and all conditions, unless it's dire when we'll be running the last (flat) 30km there-and-back.

Fingers crossed, stomach in, head up and see you on the other side.

P.S. If you're heading down there and spot me, come and say hi.

The Other Upside

Shallow female I may be, but there are many benefits to all this crazy training, one being the weight loss. Or rather the changing shape of my body. My belt is now on it's final hole (6th as opposed to it's normal resting place of 4th) and some of my clothes which were snug 6 months ago, are now decidedly roomy. I'm not so skinny that there's any chance of me fading away, but my metabolism is such that the 2nd dinner helping I have doesn't stay around (almost worth the training alone!).

I'm also enjoying being fitter. My running doesn't feel any faster and the paths don't feel any easier, but I reach the summits much quicker than I thought I would and I'm still loving being able to look around Wellington, pointing to 5 hill tops and marvelling that I visited them all in one day.

There are also the unseen benefits - lower cholesterol levels (it was a healthy 4.3 anyway), lower blood pressure (120/80 I think at last count), not to mention the mental benefits of having something to train for, rather than just focusing on job hunting.

I've also learnt that I look forward to a drink, possibly too much. Prior to planting myself on the wagon (with occasional exits for specific events), I was restraining myself daily until 5pm (a time I deemed acceptable) before imbibing and was getting through probably 1/2 bottle per night. I don't physically miss it, but I don't half enjoy drinking it! Some would say I have a problem, others would say I'm very restrained. I'm definitely looking forward to a drink at the finish line though!

However the other, and most important upside, is the funds that the Child Cancer Foundation will receive thanks to those of you who have made a donation. For those who still want to, click here.

My family's a fairly healthy group, but cancer has taken a few members who were very important to us. I still miss them, and my life is a quieter, less rich place because of it. Their names are in permanent marker on the soles of my shoes and they'll be running across the hills with me.

I'm Fitter than a 3rd Former

After a couple of supportive phone calls and some brilliant emails and comments, I'm feeling decidedly happier about this expletive race. Some may say I've resigned myself to it but after CJ's alternative suggestion of running it in the dark so I can't see the steep falls, I'd rather continue with things the way they are (thanks CJ!).

The universe is also doing it's bit to reassure me: I was out for a 1.5hr run on Monday in the continuing Wellington rain (36hrs and counting), when I came across a young school girl outside the Botanic Gardens looking decidedly lost. She was trying to get to Northland but had no bus money (or raincoat) and was getting steadily drenched. Having neither money nor spare jacket, but sporting knowledge (and a personal destination) of the quickest way to get to Northland, I took her with me via the shortcut (which in Wellington means steep ascent). 1:1 (or thereabouts) for about 70 steps. She reassured me that she was fit and used to live on a farm and she started off quite nicely. However by the mid-point she was struggling and by the end I was waiting for her!!!!

DOMINATION over a 12 yr old girl. BWAHAHAHA. I am truly Kepler material.

So Much for Plan A

In yesterday's post, I talked about this week being about maintenance, tapering, injury prevention and not panicking, with perhaps 'not panicking' being the most important. It was all going well until I decided to do some more research...

A 2008 competitor took these photos of his race, and a 2007 entrant set his camera to take a photo every 5 minutes (1st section, 2nd section, 3rd section).

I know it's over used and very cliched, but OMG! It's not the hills so much but the descents in the 2nd section - particularly the path snaking it's way along the end of bloody cliffs.

I haven't previously blogged on my vertigo, but having just looked at those images my hands are sweaty and shaking and if pulling out was an option, I'd seriously be considering it.

I think tail-end Charlie might be holding my hand on the way down.... and I hope like crazy I don't end up on my own like I did for the C2C.

Seriously scared.

Sneaking in Before the Rain

As I fought off consciousness on Saturday morning (damn birds!), I put on headphones and tuned in to National Radio as I find it very interesting but also very soporific. However, I caught the 7am news and the following Wellington weather forecast: "there is a heavy rain warning for Wellington which should arrive in about an hour. This will be followed by Southerly gales."

Groan. If I was going to get a run in, it needed to be now. So for possibly the first time in my running "career" I struggled out of bed, into my running gear and rain coat (it was already raining lightly) and out the door before 7.30am.

Heading down into Wilton bush, there were some campers tenting it in the middle of the picnic area. As I arrived (heralded by my giant plodding footsteps), the tent flap unzipped and a head poked out to admire the drizzle. "Heavy rain on it's way", I called as I ran past. Moving wet gear and packing down wet tents in the rain - ahh, the joys of camping.

I decided to head up through the trees via previously discovered mountain biking paths which were still dry, the rain having not made it through the trees yet. I took to wearing my raincoat around my waist, until I got up to the cleared farmland and out of the trees. Pausing to put my jacket on, I looked at the exposed area I was about to head out into, again with low visibility due to low cloud, and decided that I was tough enough to tough it out and headed off upwards.

However, once up on the tops and being blown back and forth while (attempting to) stand still, I again turned tail and headed back into the trees. Now is NOT the time to fall off a bluff, twist an ankle or do anything that might hamper next weekend's (eeek) run.

Aside from trying to find somewhere sheltered, I spent most of the run thinking "this time next week.... I'll be 2 / 2.5 / 3hrs into the run.... hope I find some nice people to run with.... hope the weather's not like this.... hope there's not too much snow on the tops.... hope my feet hold up and I don't die..." etc

There's a sense of panic that's building in the pit of my stomach. I'll be merrily thinking about Christmas presents or family birthdays or upcoming holidays and then my brain reminds me that "... dun, dun, daaahh...that's all after you've run 60km ...this coming weekend". Cue heavy breathing, tightness of breath and an urgent need to head to the loo!

I headed back through Karori Cemetery and back to the picnic area to find the campers, still in their sleeping bags, sheltering under the um.. shelter, enjoying a cup of tea watching the rain come down. It did now seem significantly more civilised that running around the bush at that hour of the morning.

Returning home, I did some core strength work which I've basically stopped doing since my gym sponsorship expired, mainly because I'm not practised at doing it at home. Much to my surprise and consternation, I noticed a huge difference in my comfort levels when I was out on my 4hr run the other day - my stomach (yes alright, my gut!) moved more than it should when running down the final descent from the ridge line and over several hours would easily become another source of ache.

This week's all about maintenance, tapering and injury prevention. A few small small runs, white spirits on the feet and sit ups. And not panicking.