Bangin'

To celebrate our anniversary we usually visit glamorous destinations to eat, drink and spend too much money.  This year we dragged ourselves to physical exhaustion and beyond…

Team OrangeCat give the competition paws for thought...

I run and cycle fairly regularly because I enjoy it - and need to spend time away from a computer screen for my health and sanity’s sake. (I have already failed in at least one of those categories).

But it’s always better to to have an event to aim for, and when Rose told me about the Big Bang Adventure little did she know what she was letting herself in for.

Their website told me that you could only enter in teams of at least two, and somehow catching Rose at a weak moment, she agreed to join me - Team ‘OrangeCat’ was born!

Mountain biking - how hard can it be?

This all day multi-disciplinary event has a strong map reading and orienteering angle, and so exact details were shrouded in mystery right up until the actual date. All we knew for now was there would be running, mountain biking and a mystery aquatic event.

Rose arranged mountain bike hire for the date and I drafted my ever-dependable Dad as our support crew, another stipulation of entry.

Fast forward the inevitable training montage (alright, a little bit of running and stuff) to the big day. But first, there’s something you need to know about Rose. Although a brown belt in two martial arts styles and constantly active, she also suffers from a mysterious muscular ailment which has shortened her right leg and made even walking painful at times.  But paradoxically, our running seemed to help and Rose gradually became fitter and more pain-free than she had been in years.

This was hugely encouraging, but I also knew we would never be serious contenders - our goal was to do as much as possible without causing lasting harm.

Leaving at 5.30am with me crammed in the back of our car around two huge mountain bikes and a sack of scroggin we headed for the Kapiti coast, and the recently disclosed race location. On hilly private land just east of Raumati we were to throw ourselves into four cross country events. Alternating between running/orienteering and mountain biking, before ending up at Queen Elizabeth Park for the water challenge.

A always, a lot of anxiety dissipates once you’ve actually made it and know what’s expected of you, but the difficulty level was extreme. Finding  a variety of electronic check points up and down the hillside was made slightly easier in that we were able to stay with ‘the pack’ to some extent, although the steepness and altitude of the terrain was extremely daunting.

The first orienteering stage. We go up, and up...and up.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about my staunch OrangeCat team mate at points throughout the day.  Mobility pain aside, in the darkest moments a history of heart problems in Rose’s family made me question the sense of this foolhardy venture.  Just when I thought she might do the sensible thing and give up, Rose rallied every single time and willingly stepped back into her world of pain. She probably showed more courage and determination than anyone else on the course, certainly me.

And down - I'm holding the map which was our life-line.

I worried a little about my father as well, left for hours on his own waiting for us to finally reappear and driving our gear from one transition point to the next.  But true to form he was totally dependable, always smiling and encouraging - making the best of a day anyone else would find a chore.

He even had a selfie taken with one of the top managers of the organisation I work for, just by falling into conversation with her.  Couldn’t have done it without you, Dad!

Emerging after getting lost in the bush - still smiling...

We struggled up endless bush-clad inclines, hurtled down logging roads on our hired bikes, got seriously lost when we fell behind anyone who could actually orienteer - but found our way out again. 

Ending with a punishing motor boat ride through the pounding surf to a marker buoy, we crossed the finishing line, intact, alive, still friends - and not even last.

Surf's up - time to get very wet...

I know I’m married to an incredible woman, but 27 years on she continues to surprise me still.
Next year - shopping and eating in Melbourne!

(and here is a video of the day - watch out for those OrangeCat hats at 0:25 and 1:09)

https://www.facebook.com/ThreeSixtyNZ/videos/1010547665740889/

The Amazing Race

A mysterious, enlightened tribe of superhumanly-fast endurance runners, previously hidden from the world in deep Mexican canyons who emerged to smash ultramarathon records in the early 1990s? Oh, run along…

The Tarahumara know how to dress

I have a work friend called Bill who is one of the funniest men I have ever met.  Relentlessly self-deprecating and always quick to highlight the absurdity of any situation - when he told me that he had read a book about running which had changed his life I waited for the punchline. Instead he went on to tell me with evangelical zeal how much he was now loving running, brought the book in the next day to me and told me that he didn’t want it back, but did want me to pass it on when I’d finished.

There was no sarcasm or irony here, Bill really had been born again by the Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run.

I started to read it for two reasons  - I was intrigued by Bill’s uncharacteristic transformation and secondly, I realised that I wasn’t enjoying running as much as I used to. Somehow this year it feels as if I’d been dragging an atypically reluctant body around, instead of my usual contended loping.  A list of excuses is always close to hand, entering my fifth decade, congenitally flat feet, persistently hot weather.  But I wanted to persevere - being able to leave the house with no equipment, transport, booking, venue or team commitments and simply exercise by putting one foot in front of the other embodies physical and mental freedom to me. 

Picking up Born to Run has resulted in my desire to write about this book outstripping my meagre reading speed.  I’ve only completed the first section, which I am assured that isn’t the most important part, but this is already one of the most fascinating stories I’ve ever read.

There’s something of a modern fascination with ancient Sparta and its army, who achieved a legendary physical prowess through utter devotion to their training.  But who knew that in the copper Canyons of Chihuahua in Mexico, there is an elusive race equally dedicated, not to war, but the art of long distance running?

Look at those smiles - these people love to run

McDougall first heard about the Tarahumara people when he found what he described as ‘a photograph of Jesus running down a rockslide’, in a Spanish travel magazine.  The description was not only visually apt, but the robed and sandalled runner also came from a race dedicated to honesty and philanthropy.  When the superhuman athleticism of these people also became apparent to Westerners, the Spartan comparison was not far behind, but as McDougall is quick to point out  “Unlike the Spartans the Tarahumara are as benign as Bodhisattvas, they don’t use their superhuman strength to kick ass, but to live in peace”.

They withdrew into the canyons after disastrous contact with the Spanish Conquistadores, and for hundreds of years were able to exist almost entirely isolated from the outside world. With widely dispersed settlements, the Tarahumara people developed a tradition of long-distance running for inter-village communication and hunting, covering up to 320 km non-stop over a period of two days.

Not only have they established a culture and economy based on altruism and happiness and achieve one of the lowest disease rates in the world but the Tarahumara also created a wonder food to enhance their legendary athleticism. Iskiate is made of dissolved chia seeds, bursting with protein, minerals and antioxidants.  As McDougall says, iskiate is not only the only food you would need on a desert Island, but it could also enable you to swim home.

Inevitably exploited once again by western greed in the early 1990s, these shy superhumans briefly humiliated ultramarathon runners on the toughest courses available, before leaving their sponsored track shoes (which they never wore) and squabbling ‘promoters’ behind to return to their own lives again.

The author meets an eccentric hermit who left everything behind to follow the Tarahumara home, and in gaining his trust begins to learn the secret of these people.  This passage has got me pulling my own running shoes on again and aspiring to be more like a Tarahumara (though goodness knows their preschoolers would outrun me).

“Think easy, light, smooth and fast.  You start with easy, because if that’s all you get that’s not so bad. Then work on light, make it effortless, like you don’t care how high the hill is or how far you’ve got to go.  When you’ve practised that so long you forget you’re practising, you work on making it smooth.  … you get those three, and you’ll be fast.”

I hadn’t been doing any of those things, and no wonder I haven’t been enjoying running recently.  But from now on I’m going to 'pitter-patter' with a straight back and a smile on my face like the Tarahumara do … and come back to review this book properly when I’ve finished it.

The rugged terrain which is the Tarahumara running track

Tora, Tora, Sorer

When will I learn that a coastal running event
is never what it sounds like?

Beautiful Tora

Loping happily along the sunny Wairarapa shoreline with the sparkling pacific stretching to the horizon. Seals bobbing peacefully in the surf, seabirds wheeling overhead… and my goodness, what’s that cheering sound - is that the finishing line already?

Cue that 'needle being pulled across record' sound effect…

How about 6km of stupidly trying to keep pace with the race leaders until last night's curry feels ready to make an unfortunate reappearance, while sunburn and windburn vie for supremacy?
But this is the easiest part - now turn sharply inland for 10km of gruelling climbs and connective-tissue ripping descents.

Never forget where you've been...

You finally stagger back onto the road only to discover that another couple of kilometres of dusty gravel awaits, until you shamble across the finishing line at last, to a sympathetic smattering of applause.

Coastland run? You’ll barely see the sea - what you will see is a hell of a lot of steep farmland, and gravel.

How did the sea get so far away?

But was it fun?

One of the very few people I overtook, a fit looking young woman, actually clapped and shouted - “Go Bro - you’re doing really well!”

Volunteer marshals, stuck on the top of a ridge in blistering wind and sun for goodness only knows how long, smile and shout encouragement as you stagger past. (No, Sir and/or Madame, you are the true heroes, nay, superheroes of these events).

The cameraderie and sheer goodwill that runners have towards each other is a wonderful thing - as is the opportunity to feel alive, even as it numbs your lips and cramps your muscles.

And then there are the minor triumphs of human spirit all around you. Not so much the athletes at their prime, but ordinary people pushing themselves harder than they ever have before. Maybe overcoming illness, injury, diminished confidence - a thousand different stories about why they might choose to do this to themselves.

So although I have to confess that taken-for-granted fitness once effortlessly within my reach now requires so much more of a flailing stretch, yes, it was fun.

Thank you Tora Coastal challenge organisers and apologies to my own connective tissue - I suspect we won’t be best of friends tomorrow.

Bushwhacked

I’m trying to rediscover an enthusiasm for running in time for an event next month. But I can’t do worse than I did last spring…

'Run through the jungle' (Image copyright Breadcraft Wild Challenge)

I'm an occasional runner and cyclist, but not especially talented at either. Really more of a hobbyist, I occasionally like to enter a race event with actual athletes. Setting a goal - even if it is as simple as turning up on time, on a given day, always feels like a good idea.

So last year I had another go at the Pukaha (Mt Bruce Nature Reserve) Wild challenge, this time not just doing the 10k run up and over the bush-clad slopes behind the reserve, but also the 32k cycle ride back to the starting point.

The dawn of the big day was full of promise, the first clear day after an unrelenting week of spring rain. And so the sunrise drive north to drop off my bike at the transition point was a very pleasant experience. Unfortunately, this was overlaid with a much less enjoyable factor as a few hours earlier clocks had been wound forward an hour for the beginning of daylight saving. Climbing out of bed cheated of an hour's sleep after a late night laced with champagne and whisky in celebration of a friend's birthday might have been one of the day's biggest challenges.

Resigned to the fact that a recent brush with the flu virus meant it wouldn't be my best work, I decided just to try and enjoy the experience instead. It's surprising how liberating this can be; we males are afflicted with obsessive competitiveness, something which can presumably be traced all the way back to ensuring our genetic line would prosper in more desperate prehistoric times.

Mammoths and sabre tooth tigers are not among Pukaha's bounty of exotic species, so I was determined that testosterone poisoning need not play too big a part in the day’s gathering (but it probably would).

The starting line. The serious competitors have little rubber tubes on their shoulders...

Like all races, the starting line scramble very quickly resolved itself into three distinct groups. The serious athletes in body hugging black 'superhero' outfits were already out of view in a flurry of wet leaves; as usual I was loping over tree roots somewhere in the middle group and the more casual, recreational participants were ambling happily somewhere behind us, enjoying the beauty of the surroundings.

The recent rainfall had mixed with the leafy ground-cover to create a slippery vegetarian paste infamous for its reputation to delay trains, and as the track turned steeply upwards my breathing started to rasp in my throat almost immediately. It's dispiriting to be out of condition and only too aware of it, but the fact that some of the steepest, greasiest sections were literally impossible to run over, slowing you to a careful walk, was actually a breath-catching blessing.

A spectacular view across to the Tararua range opened up very quickly behind us and I sacrificed any last slim hope of a respectable finishing time to stop and take photographs at each of the recording points on the way up. This caused the race Marshals some amusement, and a couple of them even posed for me. 

One of the day's true heroes: a Race Marshal.

 It also instigated a weird game of leap frog with the runner closest to me. She ran past me as I clicked away like a tourist, and then I’d eventually overtake her before stopping again at the next photo opportunity. No doubt I’d discovered a new way to irritate a fellow competitor.

This stop-starting might be anathema to an adequate finish, but did mean that the summit was reached relatively painlessly and there was only a small pause before joining everyone else in flinging myself down the descending track. This would have been an opportunity to regain a lot of ground if it wasn't for the extremely treacherous terrain, and I slid and fell more than once.

We broke out into open farmland surprisingly quickly, and I was able to use my stride to edge far ahead enough of my group to stop and photograph them pounding past me again.

The slippery slope downhill.

Reaching the bottom of the hill irresistibly registers in your psyche as the end of the on-foot section, so the slowly unwinding, dusty farm road making up the final couple of kilometres just felt like extra homework.

Interest was added by a shoelace malfunction and the unseen presence of another runner matching pace with me, their breathing and crunching footfalls issuing an unwanted challenge as the finishing line comes into view at last. Although I'm tired and in imminent danger of being taken down by my own loosening footwear, a tiny spark of competitiveness kicks in at last and I decide not to relent, or even turn my head to see who it is, until the end.

My ‘shadow’ turned out to be a very petit mother of two who quickly disappeared under congratulatory hugs from her family once past the finishing line. Mounting my bike, I cycled off off into even greater ignominy.

The fact that there would be a head wind for the entire journey back to Pukaha, supernaturally shifting to hit me in the face no matter which direction I pedalled in, was a given. But what I couldn't blame anything else for was my decision to bring my cross-terrain bike, a sturdy 'draft horse' quickly left behind by super-light racing bikes; buzzing fluorescent hornets quickly disappearing around distant bends on the sealed road.

Being too concerned with the run and not checking the cycle course details properly had led to me bringing a proverbial knife to a gunfight.

I tried to enjoy the scenery, which was rolling and verdant in the new spring sunshine, but became hugely disconcerted by the complete absence of any other cyclist after that initial swarm had vanished. Was I lost? Or was I so far behind that the race organisers would have to make accommodation arrangements to wait for me?

This distinctive road sign means the end is nigh. (Copyright Breadcraft Wild Challenge)

I wasn't last; no doubt some terrible catastrophe, or at least flat tyres, had befallen those few behind me. The ragged, sympathetic cheer which went up from big-hearted spectators at the finishing line gave me my first cause to smile for the last 32km as I coasted into the car park.

Talking to a regular event competitor afterwards, I admitted that although I couldn't take much pride in my time, I had genuinely enjoyed myself.
"Enjoying it is the main thing”, I was assured.

I vowed to beg, borrow or steal a road bike when I attempt this event again, but now need to come up with something else to blame my performance on, next time.