“Where suffering is the prize and everyone is a winner” – Northburn 100 mile

Today I sat down at the computer to do my normal race report. I tend to do blow by blow reports, but 100 miles at my pace is a bloody long time (41hrs and change this time around), a lot happens but there is also a lot of monotony and I don’t think “and then I ate a gel, sipped my TrailBrew, stared up at the mountain I was trying to (still) climb and thought fuck!” over and over will be all that interesting.

So, this is going to be more like moments here and there taken from the race. Things that stand out from the day, hopefully in some sort of chronological order. This isn’t everything that happened and no doubt I will recall things wrong or differently to those around me – sleep deprivation does that.

So, Northburn 100miler is held on a sheep and cattle station in Central Otago on the south island of New Zealand. It holds the reputation of being one of the toughest milers in the southern hemisphere and a look at the elevation profile you begin to see why.
Basically you are either climbing or descending. There really isn’t much that you can call flat.

Having run the 100k version before (Northburn 100k) I had some idea of what I was in for. Incidentally, doing Northburn was a catalyst for me now living some 45min down the road from where the race is – but thats another story for another time.

So, I was prepared to suffer and I was determined to finish. Having DNF’d (not finished) at UTMB some 6 months prior, I needed to prove to myself that my finish at Alpine Challenge had not been blind luck. There was also a bit of wanting to prove myself to my new coach, Matty Abel from DBA runners.

I was once again blessed to have people raise their hands to help me out on my adventure. Two dear friends from Brisbane made the trip across the ditch to support me. Marianna (Maz) had crewed me when I ran the 100k at Northburn and also at Alpine Challenge Miler, whilst Tallula (Tui) was crewing me for the first time – although she had supported me through the homebirth of my youngest child, so had seen me hurt before. Also along for the ride was a local friend, Andy, who would be pacing me for the last 60km. Andy had run the Northburn miler twice before so knew the course well.

We had made the decision to camp at Northburn to make things easier for crew rest through the weekend and to maximise possible sleep beforehand. Being at the start and hanging out with my crew and fellow runners actually made me feel more relaxed. Thats not to say there weren’t nerves. As Tui worked on my race braids (that’s totally a thing by the way) the fears and tears bubbled up under Maz’s understanding prodding. I couldn’t not finish again..

Tui working her magic whilst being heckled by the man in the van in the background 😉

I was probably the most relaxed I’ve ever been at a startline. After giving Barry, a fellow former Judd Adventures athlete, a hug, I wandered the through the crowd saying hello to new friends and old. Settling at my spot on the startline, I stood with Kim, who I had met on a 60km recce run at Northburn some 6 weeks later. It was much warmer this year. The past two years (one racing and one volunteering) I have stood at the startline in thermals and gloves, bouncing to keep warm. Today I was comfortable in a t-shirt and tights. Terry had warned us that it was going to be a hot edition this year and he wasn’t wrong.

Kim and I ran together for most of the first climb, keeping things very relaxed, chatting as much as possible. About halfway up the notorious “fenceline” I offered to take a pic for fellow miler Mgcini, who in turn took a photo of the two of us. Mgcini and I would see continue to see each other out on the course throughout the race.

Kim and I on the dip in the fence line climb

Once we got to my favourite section – the alpine streams – I began to lose Kim, her knee was making it hard for her on the untracked uneven ground so I kept moving at my pace and she at hers, we would see each other again the following day at TW.

The sun bringing its heat

The run back down was hot. As we descended the heat increased. I felt great but was intentionally taking it easy, not wanting to cook myself in the first 50km. I started chatting to people around me, the descent is really long (about 15km with no real breaks) and can get monotonous, so talking helped pass the time and keep my speed in check. Every stream I would pull off to dip my hat and buff in the water, knowing I did not want to deal with heat stroke – been there, done that before.

As we began the turn back towards the start/finish on the “loop of deception” the heat was stifling. I caught up the Mgcini who was struggling through a low. We openly chatted about how the lows come and go, reminding each other to eat and keep moving.

I looked at my watch as I came up the last rise before the 50km crew point. I was disappointed to see that I wasn’t that much faster than my time 2 years previously. The disappointment was quickly forgotten as I realised the boy hanging off the orange gate was my son Quinn, waiting to run me into the aid station – one of my biggest highlights of the race.

Quinn running me into the first crew point

This crew stop was awesome – mostly because it was fun! Yes, fun. Quinny sat to my left constantly prompting me to drink the ginger beer he held, Maz tried to keep things moving as I just wanted to chatter to everyone and anyone, Tui quietly worked away in the background refilling and finding things, while Sim looked concerned but tried to smile. We took a wander to the loo and decided on the way back that it was cooler outside the tent, so the Bailey support circus moved outside. Picture me facing the tent, tights hiked above butt cheeks whilst Maz rubbed my hamstrings and people shoved noodles and ginger beer in my face. At this point Terry, the RD, walked past and asked if that was baby oil to make sure my thighs tanned. Its a glamour sport! But seriously, the whole stop had me smiling for at least half of the next climb, both for the hilarity and the love I felt from it.

The next climb (known affectionately as “the death climb – round 1”) was where the head games began.

Checking in with the OpMoveSisterhood as the head games begin

Having done the first 100km before, I was constantly comparing where I thought I was last time and how I felt. As I came within sight of Leaning Rock, I knew my timing was similar, which was disappointing.

Sunset Day 1

Last time I had turned my headlight on, on the climb to the rock, this time it was at the rock. Less than 30min ahead of my 2017 time. As night fell and landmarks disappeared for comparison, I knuckled down to “just keep moving’. My stop at TW was quick and the vegie soup delicious.

The night is mostly a blur of a magnificent moon rise, searching for markers in the dark, watching headlamps dance above and below and relentless ups and downs. A bright moment was crossing paths with the birthday girl, Eemon, not once but twice. I tried to keep up with her as we ran down to Brewery Creek but my shins were not my friends at this point and tiredness was taking its toll.
As I ran the pump track, or more realistically, hiked, I was near to tears. Time was ticking away, I was well behind my predicted time and I couldn’t run without pain from my shins slowing me. Even hiking downhill was painful. As I came into camp, Eemon was coming out, we wished each other well and I felt tears well up, she looked so strong, the opposite of how I felt. As I crossed the line into camp Terry told me I was doing awesome, at which point I burst into tears, shaking my head and I told him my legs were fucked and I didn’t think I would make the final cut off. He replied that I had plenty of time, that I could go sleep for an hour and I would be fine. At this point Maz whisked me into the tent and went into damage control. I was adamant I needed a nap, I knew tiredness was making everything worse but my shins were also stressing me majorly, mostly because I’d never had pain there before. After bundling up to make sure I didn’t get cold and a quick hug from my pacer, Andy, I lay down to nap. I sobbed that things were falling apart again but told everyone who would listen that I wasn’t giving up. I’m not sure if I was trying to convince them or me.
Maz tells me that I did sleep, I don’t really know. Tui did some Bowen therapy on my legs and after some porridge and coffee, we made ready to leave. Andy was jumping around like an energiser bunny and I quickly told him that we were hiking and that that was all I could manage. Poor Andy – he was in for a rough day!

Andy = excited, Me = tired

We shuffled and hiked our way to the first climb, treated to a spectacular sunrise.

Second sunrise – captured by Andy, I wasn’t allowed to stop 😉

Somewhat buoyed the first climb to TW really didn’t seem that bad. It was slow and never more than a hike but we chatted and moved and slowly clicked the kilometres off. After enjoying the magical vegie soup of TW and then heading off, we descended down to redo part of “the death climb”. The thing with Northburn is that each section it not only gets harder but also more sadistic. Yes, you’ve just been to the top aid station so now you are going to descend sharply and then climb back up. It is very much a mind game, especially when you did this climb 50km ago and it was hard then. Halfway back to TW I started to slip mentally. The familiar feeling of just wanting to lay down and sleep that I had at UTMB began to creep in. I was struggling to concentrate and struggling to not burst into tears from sheer exhaustion. Andy was doing an amazing job of keeping me distracted and present by pointing out terrain or insects and just keeping me engaged in conversation. I was losing my resolve and wondering why the fuck I was doing this, again.

I began reminding myself of how far on the course I had come and what was left. It was helpful having Andy as I was able to talk through what was to come, how many climbs, what sections and mentally prepare myself. Mind you, a few times he would go to point out that once we get up there *points way up the ridge* and I would tell him to shut up, I don’t want to know. It was as we began discussing the water race (a notoriously technical part of the run occurring at 130km into the race) that we hatched a plan to ring Terry in the depths of that section, just so I could swear at him, it kept me amused for a bit.

We never did ring Terry. As hard and awful as the water race was, it was here that I realised I wasn’t angry or annoyed at Terry (or Ed or anyone else involved in the race) I was actually glad it was hard, really fucking hard. I wanted hard, I crave it. I’m not great at these long races, that’s obvious, but I want to test myself. I want to go to the edge, to be on the brink of failing (and sometimes I do fall short) and then push through. I have slowly come to this realisation over the past week. That this is why I love the mountains and these long mountain races so much. Its also why I am forever thankful to Terry for creating this event, where the terrain gets harder as the distance passes.

So, we made it through the water race and the promised bad weather began to move in. The wind came up and we felt a few spots of rain. We made it to TW for the last time, for one last cup of magic soup, and I knew I would finish. I was able to shuffle jog downhill now but it was still slow. What took an hour a few months ago on our recce run now took many hours. It was so excruciatingly slow.

Following Andy into the sunset

I was boosted by messages from my coach, my son and my crew as I made the decision to turn my phone on when we left TW.
Unfortunately I was stopping every hour on the descents to pee – a sign of good hydration but also a bladder that has been through three pregnancies and births. As the sun set I hit another low as I missed yet another time goal. My only hope was that I would now finish before midnight on sunday. The trudge up over the bicycle wheel track seemed to go forever. Both Andy and I were hurting now and cursing Terry and his course marking but once we reached the top my mood began to lighten. As we came up the last rise, along the dusty road among the vines, Terry, who had been checking on another competitor, rode past on a buggy shouting that I was doing it, I was finishing, I smiled but was grumpy that I was hiking not running. We got within earshot of the camp and Andy commented that it was great that there was still music playing. As we got closer I smiled and then laughed out loud. I could hear Raspberry Beret – my favourite Prince song – blaring through the speakers and I knew my crew were the culprits. Gotta love them, and I do, I love them hard.

Finished

Andy convinced me I could run to the finish and somehow I did. I was so relieved. Relieved I had made it. Relieved that I had proven that my ability to finish a miler hadn’t been a fluke.
I enjoyed the hugs, the congratulations and the food, glad it was done.

I love my buckle, presented at the ceremony the following day. I love that it has real weight to it when you hold it.

I am so proud of finishing Northburn. As always I learned so much. More about myself this time than about running a miler (although there was a lot of that too). And while I am very proud to have finished there is always that yearning to be better and do better. I missed my mark as far as time and strength, so I have more to strive for.

There is a reason that Northburn has so many repeat offenders. I don’t think you truly understand why, until you run it yourself….

Time on feet – 41hrs 15min
Ascent – 10 000m
Descent – 10 000m
Food – Spring Energy Gels, Clif Bars, Salt Chips, Vegimite Sandwiches, Various Chocolate varieties, apple, banana, porridge, 2min noodles, magic vegetable soup
Hydration – water, TrailBrew, Spring Energy electroride
Shoes – Topo Runventure and MT-2
Socks – Injinji
Pack – UD UltraVesta
Poles – Leki MicroTrailPro
Lights – Ay-up

Going All In

You know how you pick a race, you say in your head that you are going to do everything you can to be your best/do your best, but things slide or sometimes you don’t even start with the “extras”? That’s me. Before UTMB I was determined to do everything I could. To be fair, I hit the mark with all my running training, I was extremely diligent about rolling and stretching every night and I improved both my running nutrition and daily nutrition.

Rolling, rolling, rolling

But there is so much more I could have done. So why didn’t I? Well, some of it was because I didn’t know, I am still learning. Some of it was because it was easy to let slide, like my strength work, to make excuses “I’m too tired”, “I don’t have time”, “I deserve some downtime, treats etc”. Mostly though, it was fear.

Doing the hard yards with running – but what else was missing?

Fear? I hear you say – wouldn’t fear make you want to do absolutely everything possible in preparation for the biggest race of your life.
Well, yes but also no.

You see, in my mind, I always have potential to improve. There is always something else that I know I could have done to make a race better. That’s easy to see with hindsight of course, because each race you learn something new, but there are also things that I could stand on the start line and tell you I should have done. My excuses to save my ego.

Because what if I did everything within my power/knowledge to get to that start line and I didn’t achieve what I set out to do? Then I fear that the voice in my head, that tells me I’m not good enough, not fast enough, not strong enough would be right and that the voice in my head that says I can and I am enough would be wrong, and thats a terrifying prospect.

However, if my experience at UTMB has taught me anything (and it taught me a lot!) its that not achieving what you set out to do is not necessarily a complete failure. Yes, I failed to finish, but the experience was still worthwhile, amazing and hard. The learning over those 24hrs of racing were hard won. There were victories within the ‘failure’.

The race I’m still learning from..

So, as I looked toward my next ‘A’ race, I vowed to do everything, to put it all on the line. I started with writing it all down. I wrote down the big scary goal, followed by everything I would do, that was within my power to do, to get there. All the nitty gritty things, the tiny steps which seem to be nothing in isolation but together they are everything.

Then I did what is probably the scariest thing of all. I told my husband, some key friends and my coach about how serious I am. About the things I am committing to doing this time round. I am also writing everything I do on a daily basis to work towards my goal in my Training Peaks account for my coach to see. Every step, every stretch, every sit up – spare a thought for my poor coach! This is to keep me accountable, because although they may never see me doing each little step, it helps that someone expects you to be doing them. It is also because if I set the intention and the pattern of having it written for someone to see that I started, maybe I won’t let it slide, like I have in the past. It is terrifying though, because if it all falls apart I have nothing to hide behind, no excuses.

So now, I knuckle down, I stick to the plan, I do all the little things and then I see how this particular adventure ends. I continually ask my self “how bad do I want this?” and “would I rather try and see what I may be capable of, or spend the nights wondering what if?” I am terrified. Terrified to my core. I know that regardless of what happens there will always be more to learn, more improvements to be gained, but the idea of finding out what you are truly capable of is a very scary and very, very exciting thing.

Let’s go all in and see…

The Shift

I have always wanted to be “more”. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be the best at whatever I chose to do. Its an ongoing theme in my life. I always feel like there is this inherent darkness inside myself that I am trying to overpower or that I need to prove to myself that I am good enough, worthy enough, loveable enough, fast enough, insert what ever action I feel inadequate about on the day. It is a constant in my life.

Since falling in love with trail running, I have always struggled with feeling a sense of belonging in the trail and ultra community. This has been obvious to people close to me. The friends who I am reluctant to run with because I’m not “good” enough or “fast’ enough. My coach, who is constantly reminding me that I have a place in this community and that I don’t need to prove myself to anyone. The constant need to post on social media, to gain approval for the things I have done. Its funny, because if you put me on a trail in the mountains on my own, I rarely feel more at home, more at peace, more like I am where I should be. That sense of belonging in the mountains is a feeling that has increased more and more over the past months. Yet, I still question my place in the community.

That big blue arch in Chamonix

Part of the reason I wanted to run UTMB (other than the fact that those mountains are just SO fucking awesome!) was because I wanted to win and by win I mean take my place in the ultra community, to prove that I belonged. I wanted to be “that woman”, the one who took on one of the ultimate mountain races and finished. So, when I fell short of my goal, when I finished my race at 100km instead of 172, you would expect that I just proved to myself that all those negative beliefs that I have, that I don’t really belong, would ring true. For a little while they did. There was a sense of knowing that this was always going to happen, what was I thinking? How could I have thought, even for a moment that finishing was possible? I don’t belong here.

Luckily the story doesn’t end there. As well as my wonderful friends and coach who bolstered me up after this experience, there were a few, seemingly small, things that happened that changed my perspective.

During UTMB you are unlikely to go down the street without at least seeing one of the rockstars of the trail community. I was lucky enough to meet a number of my running idols during the time before and after the race. It was encounters with one previous podium finisher, whilst waiting in line to register and with two amazing runners after the race, that made me see that maybe I am ok as I am and that I do have a place in this community.

Standing in line to register is a nerve wracking experience. For someone who is unsure they belong there is always that worry that you are going to turn up at the desk and they are going to say “Sorry, there’s been some mistake”. When I spotted the famous runner ahead of me, it was a case of “just breath”. My crew encouraged me to go say hi and get a pic and seeing as it was a once in a lifetime chance, I stepped up. After a photo, we chatted about our respective races. He looked at me when I answered I was running UTMB and instead of being incredulous the question was “Have you run it before?”. It seems innocuous enough and probably had very little thought behind it, but the fact that I could even “look” like someone who might have run that race before kind of shocked me.

Super nice guy in the rego line

The two separate encounters with the two runners who had not finished for different reasons, were also surprising. As I stood talking to each of them about their race, I was struck by a few things. The first was that they felt the same things I did. There was a profound disappointment and sadness. A questioning of why and what if? They also both seemed to have a need to debrief, to go over what had happened, how they had done their best but it hadn’t worked out for them on the day, all things that I also went through and felt. They wanted to share their experience with someone who had also been there. The second thing that actually surprised me and made me realise that other people don’t see what I see about myself was when both of them then asked me how my race ended, what happened, would I be back? Those moments of commiseration, where they put me on their level. I was just a peer, another runner who had also shared their experience. I was a part of their community.

Post race discussion with this guy

It probably seems silly that it took these encounters to start to feel a true sense of belonging but these were, in hindsight, a culmination of something that had been building over the months leading up to the race. Where I had slowly started to let people in and take the risk of running with others, where I started seeking out others who had run the race and asked questions and where I had begun to allow people in, to encourage and bolster me without dismissing anything they said about me that was positive.

Another thing that happened was a few days after the race, when most of the runners had left the Chamonix Valley. I got up in the dark, just as I had so many times during in training, and went to climb a mountain on my own. In the dark, on the single windy trail that climbed up from the valley opposite Mt Blanc, I found a sense of utter belonging. I knew, really knew, deep within my being that this was my place. Where I wanted to be but also where I belonged. As the sun poked above the mountains my heart was full to bursting. As I ran back down I came across an older gentlemen, looking to be in his late 60’s at least, his poles clicking along the trail and he purposefully moved up the steep trail to La Flegere. He paused when he saw me and smiled and yelled “Allez! Allez!” as I ran past. I grinned “Merci beau coop, monsieur!”. Inside thinking, I want to be just like you when I grow up.

I know the moments of wavering will still come, I know the doubts will come and go about whether I belong. I also know I will forever hold a little sadness over the time I ran UTMB and did not finish. On the flip side though, I am glad I went, I tried, I learned and I feel I finally found my place.

I may never be the woman in first, second, fifth or tenth place but I have truly found where I belong and I intend to keep showing up, for a long time to come.

On the trail in Chamonix

Race week fear

I’m sitting in my Air B’n’B in Chamonix and I am in tears. I am so scared right now. That fear is mixed in with so many emotions. I am so grateful for the opportunity to run here, the joy just looking out at these mountains brings is immense, I’m excited, I’m worried, I’m hungry (ask my crew, I’m always hungry 😉 )

People often tell me I’m badass or say that I’m so strong. I never really feel those labels though. I’m just me. A mum who works as a housekeeper and also likes to run a long way in the mountains. I have big dreams, I often feel like they are way beyond my capabilities, but my husband has taught me (by example) that we only have one life to live and and we should try to live without the regrets of not having at least tried. I love him so very much for that.

To go all the way around Mt Blanc..

So, here I am. I am looking at the cutoffs and thinking about the logistics of staying ahead of them, in the crowds of runners. I so badly want to finish, to see the whole trail around this magnificent mountain. It sucks, because I feel like I can go the distance, its the speed that could be my downfall.

The start of the PTL (300km team event)

This morning we saw the start of the PTL. The wave of overwhelm as I watched the runners make their way through the streets was chest crushing. As my crew and I sat in the cafe afterwards the fear overtook me, the tears began to flow. I want this, I want this so badly that my whole being screams for it. I want to make it past 30k, past 50k, I want to do this and do it well.

Part of the magnificent Massif du Mt Blanc

I know the next few days will be shakey. A rollercoaster to the start line. There will be, undoubtedly, more tears, more sitting gazing at mountains, hoping I am enough, that I will make it through. So thankful for my crew for holding my hand and letting me be fragile when I need to be.

This is all part of the experience.

 

Nothing like a big arch to make you feel really small

 

The 2017 Run that Changed Everything

Having run both Northburn (you don’t race it, you survive it!) and my first 100 mile race you would think those would be pivotal runs and that one of those would have been the most important run of my year. Or maybe the run where I broke my 5km personal best? Or my 10km best time? No. None of those were it.

The most important run of my year happened on July 24th. The kids and I had flown out to our new home in Wanaka just 7 days before. We had had a whirlwind week of travel, settling in to our unfurnished house, with nothing but the things we brought in our suitcases. My coach, Matt, had set me a “Welcome to Wanaka” run. It involved summiting  the quintessential Roy’s Peak and Matt warned me it would involve snow and possibly ice, warranting a quick trip to the local outdoor store for some microspikes.

I had just dropped all three kids off for their first day at their new schools. It was probably good that I had been so busy dealing with all their anxieties about the coming day as it left me very little time to worry about my own endeavours. This would be the first time I ever ran in snow, the first time on the Roy’s Peak track, first time using microspikes and first time doing a long training run whilst solo parenting here in New Zealand. If I had really thought about it I may have been overwhelmed and backed out of the run.

Less than a third of the way up – clouds coming in

When I got the start of the trailhead, I rang the local DOC (Department of Conservation) office to check the conditions. Having never run in snow or alpine environments before, I was being cautious. The climb was amazing, the views breathtaking. As I climbed higher the temperature continued to drop and snow patches lay on the ground. The snow deepened and became ice across sections of the track, prompting me to try out my new gear and attaching my microspikes to my shoes. I stopped twice to take urgent phone calls from the kids schools, checking on details and making sure we had all we needed for the week ahead. My hubby called to make sure everything had gone ok. It was a less than perfect “run” but it was real and it was cold and it was something I never thought I could do. As I reached the deep snowline, I began post holing my way to the summit.

Above the snow line but not in deep snow yet

Checking my map and telling myself I could do this. Plenty of people do this every day. The snow was wet and cold. My toes were frozen. The views off the back side of Roys were steep and testing my fear of heights, but my head was firmly set on making it to the summit. There is a sense of relief as well as accomplishment to reaching a summit. When I reached the top I stood alone and just gazed out at the clouds in amazement, there was no view to speak of. I was amazed at what I had just done, that I was there, living in Wanaka, and that I had just summited a real mountain, alone, in the snow. That I could do that. Me. The hippy mum from Northern NSW who liked to run in the bush.

Views thanks to a momentary break in the clouds

The run down was no less epic. I ran (as opposed to hiked) through snow, I felt the childlike thrill of freezing cold air on my cheeks, wet and frozen toes and the heat of my breath and body making steam around me. Then it started to snow. Just small delicate flakes, lasting less than a few seconds on my skin, but snow nonetheless.

On the way down, jacket off and pink cheeks despite the cold

I finished my run. Breathless and exhilarated. I cried, the tension and anxiety of doing so many new things in such a short space of time coming out as tears. I looked up at the mountain, the peak fleetingly visible here and there between the clouds, in awe that I had just been up there.

That run changed a lot of things. It showed me I could do these new and hard things without someone there to hold my hand, to lead me along, to show me the way. I could be my guide. It didn’t mean being reckless or dangerous. I could be methodical and thoughtful. Prepare myself and take my own lead. I could do the hard thing and I could do it alone if need be. It was on that run that I learnt how much I love the mountains, the real mountains. I thought I did, but being there in that truly alpine environment that is such a start and scary beauty made me feel like this is where I belonged and I knew I wanted to spend more time there. I found that there is something about the challenge and the tinge of fear of doing something new, something outside the comfort zone that I love, that I take strength and joy from. Sometimes the mountain allows you to reach her summit and sometimes she doesn’t. I have hiked and run up a number of mountains since then, both here in New Zealand and back in Australia. The views from some have been amazing, easily better than that first run up Roy’s. Some have been little more than a trig point at the top of an alpine grassland. A few I haven’t made it to the top of, despite my best efforts, due to my fears getting the best of me or my time being short. Each has been an experience that I took something away from. Each has made me grow.

That first run up Roy’s Peak though, that was the run that changed everything. Its when I began to understand who I truly was, what it was I was searching for and where it was I wanted to be.

“The mountains are calling and I must go, and I will work on while I can, studying incessantly” (John Muir) for I still have so much to learn….

Don’t You Get Scared?

It’s a common question. When people find out where I run and that I do so alone there are usually a few standard responses, either “I wish I could do that” (you totally can), “Your husband lets you do that?” (Seriously? WTF? That’s a WHOLE other blog post) and “But, don’t you get scared?”.

The answer is yes, I do get scared. We all get scared, don’t we? There are things that create fear in our hearts and minds, but it’s a choice as to what we do about that fear. How much power we give the fear and how we listen to it.

I run alone and at the moment I try and run every long run somewhere new, in an effort to mimic what will happen on race day where I will be running on ‘new to me’ trails and needing to navigate along the way. This can be scary, there is a chance I will get lost, or hurt, but I can’t let that fear dictate my life. I am a planner and I mitigate the danger as much as I can. I have a planned route. I tell at least two people where I am planning to run, how long I should take and when to start worrying if they haven’t heard from me. On every mountain or long run I take a full pack of gear, I always have, whether it be here in New Zealand or back in the subtropical National Parks of NSW and South East Queensland. In my pack I have dry thermals, a raincoat, beanie, spare food, water, a bivvy sac (think sleeping bag made out of space blanket material), first aid and a headlamp.

Planning for any situation helps mitigate the fear.

Knowing I have these things in place helps me manage the fear. I usually have more fear before a new run than during. I will stress about running in a new place or if I know the conditions aren’t going to be the best, but nine times out ten, once I am underway the fears drop away.

But this doesn’t mean I blatantly ignore that fear. A month ago during training I decided to take on a particular trail near Lake Hawea called the Breast Hill Track. It gets a bit scrambly up the top and anyone who knows me will know I have a fear of heights. It was a cold and windy day, there were showers forecast, but I thought I would give it a go. As I got to the start of the first short scramble the wind came up the face of the mountain and hit me. I sat and calmed myself, willing myself to keep going. Yes, I was scared. This willing myself forward, getting beaten back, trying to quell my fears went on for about a kilometre. Then I reached my point of “no more”. The fear was too great. The wind was too hard, the trail too slick and my heart could find no joy, no reason to continue. Why? Because I no longer felt safe. Not just scared but also not safe. So I listened and went home and found a different trail to finish my run on.

Rain, wind and fear on Breast Hill

Running alone as a woman also brings a special fear, one that is instilled in us from a young age. That fear that we shouldn’t do something because of what other people might do to us. There is, unfortunately, a culture of telling women to adjust their activities to keep themselves safe from men who may be out to do them harm. There have been many posts written about this, many debates about victim blaming and putting the onus on victims instead of perpetrators. It is also one of the main reasons many women who find out I run alone tell me they don’t feel safe to do the same. In five years of running, predominantly alone, on trails I have only felt unsafe twice because of the people I met on the trail. The first, I believe, was unfounded fear. I was doing my first solo night run and toward the end of it, when I was tired and already stressed, I crossed paths a group of men in their early twenties who were bush walking. They did and said nothing that would warrant fear, but still I was scared and put as much distance between them and me as I could. The second time, is the one time I feel something could have happened, but I listened to my gut and took steps to make myself safe. As I came off the trail at Mt Barney, a young guy pulled up in his ute and hopped out and approached myself and a man I had been chatting to about sport watches as we had made the final descent to the carpark. As I set about doing my cool down at my car, thinking about my snack waiting for me on the front seat, they had a short conversation and the you guy called out to me a comment about me looking super fit and threw me a look. Alarm bells went off, so instead of getting my snack and sitting at the picnic table like usual I hopped in my car and drove down the road to a spot where I could eat in the car. Less than 5 min later the ute pulled up beside my car, so I packed up and left to drive to the nearest town. But I didn’t let that fear control me. I was out on the trails again the next day.

So yes, I do get scared and when I get scared I try and work out if that fear is a socially instilled fear (women should not run alone), a fear fed by a phobia (this is too high) or a fear stemming from something I need to listen to for my own safety. I get scared. Sometimes terrified. I will have tears running down my face. Then, I will stop, take a deep breath and try and look at the fear, where is it coming from? Do I really have something to fear? And what should I do about it? I try to keep a level head and make sure I’m not letting irrational fear or fear caused by the unknown or worst case scenario thinking, stop me from having the adventures and experiences that I crave, whilst being mindful that fear is useful tool and we feel it for a reason, to keep us safe.

 

I won’t let fear stop me from experiencing things like this!

Are You Mad?

In January, I shared how I was going to start chasing points to get into the lottery for the UltraTrail Mont Blanc 100miler (UTMB) – you can read that post here: Big Scary Goals.

I had already accrued 5 points from my run at UltraTrail Australia 2016, but to gain entry to the lottery I required a further 10 points from a maximum of two more races by the end of 2017. After scouring through the racing calendar and working out what races were doable for me, I settled upon the Northburn 100km in March (5 points) and the Alpine Challenge100km in November (5 points).

About 4 weeks before I was due to run Northburn, which still to this minute has not had its point status confirmed, Alpine Challenge announced that their UTMB points had changed and you would now only qualify for 4 points when running the 100km. This kinda set a spanner in the works, along with Northburn not yet receiving its points status, I was a little worried my plans were going to be thwarted. I was already committed to running Northburn and truth be told, I was rather excited about taking on this tough course, so I put the thoughts of UTMB points aside and concentrated on completing Northburn. I figured, worst come to worst it would be good practice for the future, plus I was getting to run in New Zealand mountains, I was hardly about to start complaining.

At Northburn registration, Terry the RD, confirmed they would definitely have UTMB points and that it was just an administration issue which would be sorted in time for the lottery. You can read my full Northburn account here: One Good Day – Northburn 100k

Northburn was amazing

About two weeks after running Northburn, I travelled up to the Gold Coast to speak to my coach, Matt from Judd Adventures, with the plan of discussing how Northburn went and then where I would go from here. I left home early that morning to light rain, the creeks were low and both hubby and I figured I would be back well before expected rain from Cyclone Debbie hit.

I had pretty much settled on sticking with the current plan (Alpine Challenge 100km in November) and then possibly doing Northburn 100mile the next year to get my required 15 points from 3 races, whilst applying for the CCC (UTMB’s little sister covering 100km) using my current points. As we sat talking, Matt surprised me and suggested that I do the miler at Alpine Challenge, worst case scenario I would DNF and still have the points to apply for the CCC regardless. I was a little stunned to be honest. At the same time though, the thought of doing that distance excited and ….. well….. terrified me. After chatting about Northburn, a bit more about UTMB points and future training we parted ways. I was excited to get home and share the news with my hubby, Sim, but mother nature had other plans.

I rang hubby to let him know I was on my way home and he told me that the creeks were rapidly rising and it was doubtful I would get home, he was about to leave to go get our kids from school and was unsure if he would make it back himself. He was in a panic and had to leave so I told him I would head to a friends and talk to him later.

A wee bit stuck

So, I was stranded at a friends and I had this big exciting news to share. I told my friends Jill, Claire (who had lovingly given me a place to stay) and her partner Pat (who said he already knew that was going to happen) along my super support crew from Northburn, Sarah and Maz (who both confirmed I was crazy but that they were excited for me). I still hadn’t had a chance to tell hubby due to him having low battery power on his phone and communication being strictly crucial info only (he was also stranded at a friends house, closer to home). I also hadn’t done my usual “look what I’m doing next!!” on social media, mostly because the idea was and is still really terrifying. Then, when it became apparent that I was going to spend a second night at Pat and Claire’s I sent him a text telling him about moving up to miler distance. The convo was hilarious, mostly as he didn’t read the whole message the first time (a regular occurrence for Sim).

 

So, now, a few days later, I am home, the clean up from Cyclone Debbie is in full swing, I am finally sharing what’s next and hubby has come around to the idea. He says he is excited for me, but thinks I’m crazy. And me? I am ridiculously excited (how unusual, right?) but I am also terrified out of my mind, to attempt to go for an extra 60km past what I have previously done. It is going to be such a long 2 days. I only have this life though and if nothing else I know its something I want to attempt, so why not now? Its just a little sooner than I thought it would be. I have all sorts of imposter syndrome and not good enough going on, but hey, as I said to Matt in my meeting, in for a penny, in for a pound. I may as well go the whole hog now and see what happens. If you never try, you never know.

Yes, I probably am mad, but in a good way. Right?

One Good Day – Northburn 100k

For the week leading up to the race, Terry, the Race Director (RD) for the Northburn100, had been posting on the Facebook page about how the Cromwell weather was saving up all its bad days for the race. Northburn is a notoriously tough race, in fact it’s tag line is “You don’t race it, you survive it”. It is known for its challenging weather conditions, as well as its difficult, off-trail terrain. In fact, the weather was one of my main concerns leading into the race.

My training, under the direction of super coach, Matt Judd, had been my best to date leading up to an event. I had mimicked the terrain as best as I could guess from Strava profiles from previous years and despite an ankle injury in early December, I had missed very few sessions and reached race day feeling strong and confident that I had all the tools I needed to finish. Of course I knew, from past experiences, that it all comes down to what happens on the day and that the smallest thing can turn a good day into a not so good day or a disaster.

I travelled from home in Australia to New Zealand with my dear friends, Sarah and Maz, who had volunteered to act as support crew for the race. We spent a couple of days before the race exploring the surrounds of Cromwell, including Wanaka and Queenstown, and with each new vista my love for the New Zealand mountains grew stronger and stronger.

Those mountains!!

On Friday, the day before the race, we took the 10min drive from Cromwell to Northburn Station for race registration and gear check, to be followed by the race briefing later that night. As I walked up to the registration desk the RD, Terry recognised me from our Facebook messages over Northburn’s UTMB point status. I was surprised and a little embarrassed but Terry was lovely and reassured me that points were definitely on offer before sending me on my way with my bib. After being weighed for medical and having all my gear checked we headed home to prepare for the coming day, before heading back out for the race briefing.

Have bib, will race

We had had a crew meeting the night before, so when we got home my wonderful support crew set about readying everything they would need to support me in the downstairs area while I set about my own preparations upstairs. I began doling out my TrailBrew powder that I use for liquid nutrition, along with my solids of Clif Bars, Bounties, Snickers, Chips and chocolate covered coffee beans. As I divvied up my TrailBrew into bottles and baggies it dawned on me that I only had enough electrolyte for 24hrs. My heart sank, what a stupid miscalculation, it was a big ask for me to finish under 24hrs on such a challenging course, in fact that was my B goal for the race. Whilst trying to keep calm and not completely freak, I messaged my wonderful friend and seasoned ultrarunner, Jill. We chatted about working the problem and possible solutions. I figured I would plan to finish under 24hrs and I could use aid station electrolytes or more solids if need be. It wasn’t the end of the world. I finished packing up everything, put together my drop bag and sat back to reread my prerace email from Matt, whilst my crew packed some extra special things in my drop bag.

At the briefing we sat listening to the safety instructions. Both Terry and Tom reiterated the toughness of the course, the remoteness, the lack of dangerous wildlife but also that every plant has it in for you and will cause you pain. After going over what to expect on each section and what the course markings look like, Terry’s last words of advice were “Prepare yourself for the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but know it will be worse than anything you can imagine”. Reassuring right?

The dreadful Spaniard Speargrass

With the briefing done and the fear of Northburn firmly instilled (if it wasn’t already), we set off to try and grab some sleep  before waking in the wee hours for the 6am race start, in the dark.

We got back to the house to our slow cooked dinner and as we ate and chatted about the race and the hilarity of the briefing, the nerves started to creep in. My crew took care of the dishes, in fact they had been taking care of me all day with such love, it makes my heart burst when I think of it. After dishes the crew set to work with some henna messages on my hands and arms to help me not feel so alone out there and to make me smile.
I then readied myself for bed, wondering if sleep would come easy. I reread over my notes for my race plan, a plan that Matt and I had nutted out the month before. After making sure I knew what I was doing, I spoke to my family back home and my hubby sent me a message so I could reread it in the morning before the race. I fell into bed exhausted but excited for the morning.

Late that night we were woken by a very loud, drunken party next door. It was, of course St Patricks day and the people next door were celebrating hard! As I lay there, trying hard to sleep despite the noise, I heard the garage door open and wondered what the hell was going on. I got up and Sarah assured me it was all under control and to go back to bed, Maz (bloody legend!) was taking care of it. She gave them a stern talking to and I was soon asleep only to be awakened by my alarm.

Race day morning is a bit of a blur. I got ready determined not to let waves of nerves get the better of me. We were trying to time our leaving for the startline so we were there without too much time to wait around but early enough not to stress about being late – its a fine balance! I dashed for the bathroom for a last minute nervous wee. Ugh! Blood… Great… One more thing. I walked out and announced to Sarah and Maz “And! I have my period!” Whilst shaking my head. Once this would have sent me into a panic, but thanks to such random occurrences as my period starting without warning on the startline (Tour de Tambourine) and halfway through a race (TNF50), along with discussions with my friend Jill about the hormonal advantages of bleeding on race day, I just accepted it and decided to bleed through as I was wary of chafing.

At the startline, geared up and ready to go, 100k runners were informed they would now have trackers. These were crammed into already full to bursting packs and I was reassured that my crew would know where abouts I was, meaning I could leave my phone off unless I needed to contact them. I warmed up, had my last minute hugs and lined up at the back of the pack with a mix of miler, 100k and 50k runners of all ages.

Whole crew at the start

We stood in the dark, waiting for all the trackers to come online, nerves slowly rising. I listened to the seasoned runners around me chatting, whilst trying to keep warm, not panic and reminding myself I could do this. I hate starts!

The start itself was very subdued. Terry and Tom counted down from 10, I flicked on my head torch and we were off on a 5km loop that would take us back through Base Camp before heading out onto the course proper. As people ran off up the hill, I stuck with a fast power hike, determined not to go out too hard. I tried to ignore the usual fears bubbling up inside (last again) whilst it seemed everyone rushed passed, constantly reminding myself that it is 100 very steep kilometres to the finish and to take my time. I ran, jogged, hiked in the dark, glancing at my HR to make sure it wasn’t crazy high, but not yet being stringent about it, knowing adrenaline was playing a big role right now.

About 3km in I could hear someone behind me, I figured they were stuck so I called out that they could pass. Aaron, who I would run with throughout the race, called back that my pace was good and he would stick with me for a bit to stop himself going out too hard. We ran and chatted and were soon passing through Base Camp where I waved and called out to my crew that I would see them soon. I dropped back to a hike as we started uphill again, passing Terry who was noting race numbers and congratulated us on “Being sensible in hiking the ups”. It was hard to tell whether he was joking or not…

At this point I decided I needed to click into strict MAF heartrate zone, so Aaron took off to run his race while I hiked and ran along, now watching my HR as much as possible. The sky was now starting to lighten a little and there were hardly any people around, although I could still see others ahead here and there. The grade of the track began to change to a bit steeper uphill, we were on four wheel drive farm tracks now, and I made the decision to get out my poles, I didn’t stow them again for the entire race. As I pulled out the poles, two men who were doing the miler passed me and commented that they were saving theirs for later. Fair enough, I thought, you have an extra 60km to do so why not wait! I was still feeling pretty sluggish and my legs were complaining more than I would like so early on, but I put it down to menstrual cramping more than anything else and tried to focus on the outside instead of what was going on in my legs.

Part way up the first climb

The sun was now up and I was able to stow my headlamp and switch to my visor. The views were gorgeous, but it was still cold and I was glad for my thermal keeping me warm but not hot. As we continued to climb it was interesting to watch the different strategies. Some people seemed to pick a pace and just go with that constantly, whether it be up, down or flat. Others were hammering the hills and then walking the flats and short downs. I was being dictated pace by my HR so would hike the ups and do a gentle run down and either hike or jog the flats. I was also starting to yoyo with a few people including Amy (100k) and her friend doing the miler, as well as Marina and Andy (both doing the miler) who passed me whilst deep in conversation about UTMB – I may have been a little starstruck at that point!

We took a sharp turn behind a rock and the track curved steeply up to a ute serving as a waterpoint. I could see people off to my right and figured I was finally at “the fenceline” a notoriously steep climb from the first loop. I actually got really excited at this point, because it looked just like the steepness of my training fenceline at Mt Gipps in northern NSW. After a short chat with the volunteers and filling a soft flask, I clambered through the fence and started up the course. You will note I didn’t say track. That’s because there was no track. We were now just following each marker. There were sheep tracks to follow, but they didn’t always lead to the marker, in fact at one point I got so engrossed running along a sheep track that I looked up and it had lead me away from the markers on my left. So, up we climbed. It was here that I started to really feel comfortable, my legs knew what they were doing and I have to be honest, I loved the technicality of being off track. I was now jogging happily along any flat or non steep bits, enjoying having to pick my way between rocks and the spiky spaniards of death (super spiky plant that was everywhere higher up on the course, it has poisoned razor sharp leaf tips that sting really bad). I was also being buoyed by the fact that I was now starting to overtake people and holding my own. It was here that I passed Sam and Adele, two amazing Brissy women who were undertaking the miler. We had a brief chat and I kept moving, my HR now happily within the zone and actually having to work to keep it there at times.

Somewhere along the fenceline looking back at Cromwell

As it started to flatten out a little (I use the word flat very loosely) the terrain changed to being more rocky and less vegetation. It was here that I caught up to Amy and her friend. We ran/hiked for a bit together and chatted about Northburn (the friend doing the miler had done it before) and food – as you do. I stopped and decided to take off my thermal as I was hot and then moved past them up the hill. It was getting cloudy now and there was a slight breeze but I was warm enough thanks to the steady incline, interspersed with small clambers over rocks here and there. As I reached what felt like the top the cloud descended and I put my thermal back on as the temp dropped. I stood up and scanned for the next marker, taking a few steps in the direction I thought it was before it appeared through the mist. Huge shapes in the form of rocks also appeared through the mist as I ran to each marker, they were epic and other worldly and ahead I could just make out the shape of a ute and a group of people. I had reached the next aid station.

As I came into the station the volunteers welcomed me and took down my number. I busied myself refilling my flask and noted the two men also refuelling were those that had commented on my poles earlier – ok, I’m doing ok, I thought. I was as quick as possible , although my hands were shaky with cold at this point, the aid station workers commented that the temp had dropped at least 5degrees in the last 10min thanks to the cloud and also that we had just missed the photographer (seems to be the story of my racing life in New Zealand!) So, after a thankyou and checking I was going the right way I headed over another fence only to stop immediately and put my gloves on – my hands were freezing! My nose was also starting to drip from the cold, so I wound a buff around my wrist as a snot rag and set off again.

When planning my race the lack of possible beauty was something that Matt had brought up a number of times. I run because I love it but also I love the things I get to see and experience during the run, whether it be training or racing. Plus, a pretty waterfall or gorgeous treeline can change how your feeling when things get really tough. I had prepared myself for a lack of beauty. Lying in my bed in Cromwell looking out over Mt Dunstan and Mt Horn it all looked like brown mountainside. Not particularly beautiful or inspiring. But in truth there was so much beauty up there.

The next section was my absolute favourite. It was stunning and I really wish I had taken at least one photo but I was trying very hard to just stay completely present and I was feeling good and didn’t want to stop and possibly ruin that feeling. I was now running beside a small alpine creek on spongy, mossy ground. As I looked at my feet it seemed like an undersea scape with all different types of corals. The mosses and grasses grew right to the very edge and sometimes over the stream which was crystal clear with small granite type pebbles at its bed. Here and there I would jump over small star shape flowers, smaller than a 5 cent piece and bunches of what looked like small white tulips. All this in an increasingly misty valley with nothing to hear but my breath and the creek bubbling away. It was seriously like something out of a fairytale or Lord of The Rings. I was also still having to guess and search for markings thanks to the thick misty cloud, but kept Terry’s words in my head that if there was an obvious path to follow it, the path in this case being the creek. After heading down for a bit I then switched across to another creek and began heading back up. I stopped here and there to have a sip of the icy water and tried to take it all in as much as I could while continuing to steadily move up and out.

I don’t actually remember the transition up off the creek but I was then climbing over another fence and back onto four wheel drive track. I was now half way through my first loop, which in my head was just half way. I was doing two 50km runs, not a 101km race. Here we started to steadily descend. Nature called and I began to look for somewhere, a big bloody rock basically, that I could hide behind. Finding one where people couldn’t see you was difficult! I was also starting to catch more people, but was cautious of running as hard as I felt I could because I knew that along with a lot of ascent there was much more descent to come. Finally I found a big rock and found some relief. It was getting warm now and I figured I had enough water to get me through to close to 40km, keeping a steady pace I headed down off the mountain, chatting in short sentences here and there to those I passed, wondering if my watch was right as far as km’s and beginning to think about the 50k aid station stop with my crew. It was definitely warm now, and all my warm gear was stowed away.

At the 40km we came to a waterpoint within view of Base Camp, it was tantalisingly close but from here we headed back out away from it along the Loop of Deception. Hiking along the up, I rang my crew to let them know where I was and some extras that I would like if they could get them (my toothbrush and some magnesium oil to rub my legs – I had both in my 80k drop bag but thought they might be good now). Sarah answered and exclaimed they could see me on the tracker and I wasn’t far off now. I laughed and said I reckoned at least another 1.5-2hrs and then made my requests. Getting off the phone I had been boosted by the short conversation and started really pushing.

It was super hot now and despite moving well it seemed to be taking forever to get to the next waterpoint. I started to worry that I was going to run out of TrailBrew, I was down to a quarter of my last flask. I had been staying well on top of my nutrition at this point, having half a flask of TrailBrew and half a Clif Bar or a funsize chocolate every hour along with extra water and I really didn’t want to stuff it up. After a nice short steep descent we began to climb again and I saw the waterpoint, much to my relief. I filled up my flask whilst answering questions about my interesting henna and then set off again, determined to keep moving. The tracks were much more dirt road like now and easy to run and I clicked along at a steady pace, catching people here and there and not feeling too tired considering the 50k I had just run.

Running in to Base Camp

As 50km ticked over I wondered where the hell Base Camp was, thinking around each corner I should see it, but couldn’t. At the same time I was feeling absolutely stoked at my progress, knowing I was coming in at the fast end of my time estimates for the run. Then, just as I remembered that the first loop was 51km, Base Camp appeared up ahead. I could see people waiting on the hill and as I got closer I heard cheering. Emotions welled up but I put my game face on knowing that the hard work was just about to begin and that I needed to not get too comfortable here with my crew. Sarah met me on the hill and cheered me down to Base Camp where Maz was waiting. As I walked into the tent where the crew had set up, they had everything laid out and ready for me, I spied Aaron and said hello.

All the gear

I dropped my poles, I took off my pack and pulled out all my flasks and the bladder, put my watch on to charge and then Maz held my hand and walked me to the loo while Sarah refilled everything for me. Having the loo and loo paper to clean up was SO good. I was relieved I wasn’t bleeding too hard but it was still messy – oh the joy! Maz and I walked back into the tent as she asked questions about what I’d seen and what I needed to do. Maz gave me a rub down on my legs while Sarah and I sorted nutrition to pack in my pack. I emptied out one shoe which now had a hole in it thanks to a spiky spaniard attack, then Maz suggested she wet me down as they had been hearing reports that the next big climb was very hot. I stepped outside the tent and Maz doused me with 2L of water. It was freezing on my hot head, but oh so good as well. Quickly back into the tent and everything was repacked, pack on, teeth brushed and out the door. As I got to the dirt road, one of them yelled out that my butt looked sexy in those shorts (go the duds!) and I yelled back that they forgot to make me laugh – to which they both flashed me, bwah ha ha ha! That did it! What an awesome crew. As I ran past a caravan where one of the 100miler crews were sitting they also yelled out that my butt did look sexy in those shorts, which made me crack up again. Then I headed up the climb, away from Base Camp.

Saddling up for round 2 

Soon after Aaron caught up with me, we chatted and hiked and having company helped pass the time. I was finding it hard to hike hard enough to get my heartrate up now, despite it feeling like I was working really hard. We were moving nice and steadily though, we caught up to Marina and had a brief chat about how we were practically neighbours (she is from Mullumbimby) then we kept hiking and hiking and hiking, going up and up and up. Aaron started talking about how I was keeping such a good steady pace and pulling him along and that I should do the third loop for him as his pacer, too which I laughed and said I wasn’t that crazy. As we got to a small flatter spot, with the sun starting to set, I pulled out a note my crew had given me at Base Camp. It was from my best friend, Tui, I had been instructed to wait until I was somewhere really beautiful to read it, this was the spot. Tears welled up as I felt her love in those words and the connection burned bright. I stuffed the note away and turned determined to get to Leaning Rock before night fall.

Reading Tui’s note at Sunset

Soon after we decided to stop, put a layer on and get out our torches before it got too dark. Marina caught up to us and I helped her change the batteries in her torch before we ran together for a bit to get to Leaning Rock. As we headed up and up the sun began to set proper, treating us to a spectacular pink and orange sunset with snow capped mountains far on the horizon. We reached Leaning Rock aid station just as it became really dark. I refilled and grabbed some apple slices, although I was still keeping on top of my nutrition I was finding it harder and harder to chew and swallow solid food, particularly as the bars were so hard in the cold. I was ready to go and Aaron was happily chatting so I called out that I was off and headed out. Aaron caught up to me and reiterated that I was to be his pacer, which I laughed at again and we went in search of TW, the next major aid station and my drop bag point.

Saying goodbye to the sun

I was still jogging all the downhills and hiking well on the ups but my heartrate had not been within the MAF zone for quite sometime. I could feel tiredness starting to keep in and my knees were a little sore, but Aaron’s constant chatter was a distraction in the now extreme dark. In the distance we could see the lights from Clutha Dam and cars driving along the highway well below, the stars were also amazing, but mostly I saw rocks and rubble and grass, concentrating on each step. TW seemed to take forever to get to. In reality what was only an hour seemed a lifetime. Unlike at Base Camp, when we entered TW I became the Queen of Faff. I got my bag, unpacked stuff, looked for things that weren’t there and were unneeded, went to the loo, read my notes from friends (thank you everyone) but barely took it in. Although Jonathon and Barry you made me laugh and Tina, I read yours out aloud and everyone in the checkpoint thought it awesome!

I had a cup of pumpkin soup and then, just before we were about to leave I decided I needed to get something warmer on. The volunteers confirmed that the temperature was dropping quickly so I decided to change from shorts to 3/4 length tights. Once that was done we were out of there, way too much time had passed, but that is in hindsight. During that time, Marina had been in and out and we caught up to her again in a couple of kms. Aaron was beginning to have stomach trouble and I was now needing to pee every 30-60min, probably because it was now so cold. We would power for a bit and then hit a low spot.

I was starting to struggle with having constant company. I’m not really used to running with other people and Aaron was starting to get increasingly negative. I think the realisation that he was only about halfway through was dawning on him. He kept telling everyone that I was his pacer and I seemed to take that on, whether intentional or not. It was a weird place to be in, mentally. I am a slower runner, to be honest knowing that I was keeping someone going, who can run 10ks at least 20min faster than me, was probably a bit of an ego boost. I was starting to feel a sense of duty to get him at least to the 100k but also feeling like I was losing time that I could be making up.

The Northburn 100km Profile

The climb to Mt Horn, which on the race profile looks innocuous after the two big climbs we had just done, was nothing short of arduous. I refused to stop though, my whole plan to get to the top of that bastard without having a break. So we climbed and Aaron began talking about dropping at 100ks, I shut him down, not wanting to hear any negativity, trying to keep my own thoughts about how hard and cold it was or how sore and tired I was at bay. The need to pee seemed constant and I past the point of modesty, taking a single step off the track before dropping my daks. At one point another miler runner ran past and called out “Still peeing? Thats a good sign”, just your normal every day conversation….

Finally we reached the top and then dropped down to the Mt Horn checkpoint. Here, I refused to go in the shed where the heater was set up and as soon as I was restocked with water I bullied Aaron back on the track, my sense of duty still strong, although it was hurting me at the same time.

As we did our last steep descent, I was really beginning to hurt. My ankles and knees refused to run due to pain and I was sure I was starting to get butt crack chafe, the worst kind ever. Picture me standing on the side of the trail shoving handfuls of PawPaw cream down my butt…. Hiking, however was fine and I was setting a good enough pace that Aaron would hike behind me for awhile and then jog to catch up. All I could think was I should be running this downhill, so I would start running but the aches would stop me within a few hundred metres. The path was overgrown and slippery because of the dew, markers were becoming hard to find again thanks to the terrain, long grass and fatigue. I kept seeing cats sitting on the side of the trail only to find they were in fact tufts of grass as I got closer. Then I had my first ever encounter with a hedgehog! The cute little guy was sitting in the middle of my track, at first I thought I was seeing things, but Aaron assured me no, it was a hedgehog. So cool! We saw a mother and baby a few kilometres later. Climbing over fences and styles was now comical and at one point I commented how they had put the fence crossing right in a patch of spaniards, sadisitic bastards! Only to check the other possible pass point and see that it was much worse. Bloody spiky shit!!

It was getting harder and harder to choke down my solid food, but I persisted adding a small pinch of potato chips after each bite, which seemed to calm the nausea

Aaron was now saying I was going too fast for him and that I should wait. At first I protested and told him to just keep up, but he was fading and not long after the 90k waterpoint he decided to stop. I couldn’t wait any longer, I just had to go. I cautioned him against getting too cold, to make sure he put another layer on if he sat down and then I set off, hiking as hard as I could, wanting to catch Marina if I could, after being told she had left the last waterpoint in the group before us.

Now I was doing my own thing. I was hiking hard but my heartrate was still low, I had in fact given up looking at it. The dark and quiet was lovely, not scary as I sometimes think it will be. The tiredness was seeping deeper and deeper in, food was hard to eat but the chocolate covered coffee beans I had broken out at 3:30am were keeping my eyes open.

As I hit 98km I began to get excited, in that totally exhausted way. I knew that if I kept moving I would finish before sun up (my C goal) and possibly under 24hrs (B goal). I watched as the lights of Cromwell got closer and then further away. I was on a dusty track now and could see footprints everywhere, which I took as a good sign despite the markers being few and far between. I clicked over 100k at exactly 22hrs59min, 1min and 15sec faster than my UTA100 time, I had hit my A goal as well! I had a little celebration and then my stomach decided it was all too much and I frantically searched for a tree or rock, I found nothing, it was just lucky no one came past right then. I got up and buckled down. Less than 1.5km to go, tears were starting but also the wistfulness of it being over. Just then I saw a headlight and recognised Marina, heading out on her 3rd lap. From watching her all day I’ve learned that being super fast at stops makes all the difference, she was lightening fast at each checkpoint and that made a huge difference. She congratulated me on finishing, asked where Aaron was and said she would see me tomorrow at the miler presentation before heading off on her final loop. I jogged, power hiked as fast as I could towards the now visible lights of Base Camp. I finished, oh so happy. I had met all my goals and as Terry congratulated me I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

Finished = lights out and relief

With Terry the RD at the finishline

Of course the story doesn’t finish there. My crew gave hugs and chicken soup, messages were sent to family and friends who were sleeping in Australia and I was bundled up to be taken home for a shower (Oh my how I did stink!) and the much anticipated cheese toasties and chocolate milk.

Cheese toasties!!!

After a brief sleep, I woke to be told I was currently the second female, by Pat who had found the preliminary race results on Facebook. I was incredulous. How exciting! That is one of those “its never gonna happen to me” things, you know? At the presentation, I received my medal, a bottle of Northburn Station Pinot Noir and some Gurney Goo, a hug from Terry (#terryyoubastard) and smiled. However there was a level of disconcertion growing.

At the presentation, Terry was a bit surprised at my request for a hug (bloody hippy!)

I didn’t feel I deserved this. I was so slow and we had amazing weather. Any other year in the usual, tougher conditions that Northburn is known for, I would have been lucky to be top 10 in the women (its always a very small field).

Wanaka Lake – recovery dip with the crew

Recovery food – doing it right!

As we stood in the lake at Wanaka, trying to bring down the inflammation in my legs and just cause we all loved Wanaka so much, I voiced these thoughts to my crew, who of course immediately slapped them down.  My coach had similar stuff to say, about stopping with the comparisons (a common theme for me) and relishing it for what it is. I still feel like a bit of a fraud, for taking the 2nd place. I know its not my decision, and its funny because I’ve always wondered what it must be like to get a placing. How much brighter the accomplishment must feel. If anything its made me feel awkward because its not the 2nd place that has brought me so much joy. It is, in fact, the conquering of Northburn, an epic adventure if there ever was one and meeting all my goals, something that I haven’t been able to say about a race for a very very long time.

It was a very good day.

Gear
Shoes – Inov8 Trailroc 245’s
Socks – Injinji Trail 2.0 midweight crew
Poles – Black Diamond Carbon Z flick lock
Pack – Ultimate Direction Adventure Vesta
Nutrition – TrailBrew, Clif Bar (Choc Chip/Coconut Choc Chip/White Choc Macadamia), Funsize Bounty/Snickers, M&M’s, Zentvelds Choc Covered Coffee Beans, Apple, Pumpkin Soup

Thank you’s
My hubby, Sim – for always encouraging me to do whatever makes me happy, for looking after the kids so I could go play in the mountains and for always being there when I doubt myself
Sarah and Maz – for being the best support crew and travelling buddies. You took all the stress out of the trip and the race for me. I love you both and am so happy to have all those wonderful memories that we made together.
Matt (super coach) – for getting me to the start and finishline of this and many other races. For listening and caring and for believing in me, even when I sometimes don’t.
Mum and Dad – for always instilling a sense of adventure and for supporting my crazy adventures which I know are a bit outside the box.
To my friends who sent messages of support throughout training, the race and after – knowing you’re there holds me up when I feel down, helps me get out of bed when I don’t want to and makes me smile when it’s hard.

Big Scary Goals

About a month after finishing my first solo 100km race I emailed my coach and told him what I wanted to do next. I was sure he would mail me back and tell me that I was getting ahead of myself. That such a goal was way too big to think about, especially considering I hadn’t exactly blitzed my first 100km race. What with the 50 odd km of vomiting and slow movement in the middle, it was hardly a raging success? Instead he replied with “Let’s do it, and if you really want to do that then let’s work towards the big one! What’s the saying? “Shoot for the moon and even if you miss you’ll land among the stars”?”

You can see why he’s a great coach, right?

And then I got scared..

It’s one thing to fantasise in your head about doing these big crazy runs, but when someone turns around and says “Sure, you should do that” and you suddenly go from daydreaming to actually working towards it, sinking your time and energy into it and sacrificing events with friends and family to make it happen, it can be a little confronting. More so, because this particular race is a long term project. It’s not a case of pay your entry, train and go run it. In order to get an entry I need to accrue the required qualifying points and then be one of the lucky few picked from the lottery.

On top of all the qualifying and entry malarky there is the whole “imposter syndrome” thing to deal with. I’ve talked about it plenty before, the feeling not good enough to do these big amazing races that “real trailrunners” do and the struggle with being a slow runner. The thing is, making it to the finish line of Ultra Trail Australia 100 taught me that although I’m not the fastest, I am strong and in the races that I am drawn to, that counts almost as much as speed.

Finding my strong at UTA100

I’m also blessed with a husband who has always had a “give it a try” attitude. When, at the start of my discovery of moving my body, I asked what he thought of me doing Tough Mudder on two consecutive days, he looked at me like I was mad but replied with “Sure, if that’s what makes you happy”. That pretty much is the theme for us, if one of us wants to do something crazy, like paraglide the french alps for a week, or run around the bush for 8hrs on a training run, the other is there to support them in doing so, which with three kids is important.

Without him none of this would be possible

I haven’t always been the “just give it a go” type person, for a long time I stuck to what I knew I could do and what wouldn’t cause stress or require the help of others, but I’ve come to realise, with the help of my husband, my friends, my coach and my experiences in trailrunning and life, that life is too short to not give stuff a try and if things don’t work out? Well, it will still be an adventure.

So, what is my big scary goal?

In 2018 I’m hoping to get an entry into The Ultra Trail Mont Blanc 100mile trail race. Whilst this isn’t exactly a secret, it’s not something I have really put out there because, well, it scares me! Despite all I’ve said above there is still that part of me that worries that people will look at this and think “Really? You really think someone like you could do that race?” Not to mention that it is 100miles (not kilometres!!), with insane technical trails that scale ridiculous amounts of climbing and descent! But I’m getting ahead of myself, because first I need to qualify, and that in itself is scary!

With completing UTA100, I garnered myself 5 UTMB qualifying points. To qualify I need 15points from a maximum of 3 races (have I lost you yet?). Getting these points is no easy feat. My coach, Matt from Judd Adventures, and I sat down and poured over the qualifying races, trying to find ones that I would be capable of finishing, within the cut offs. Qualifying races for UTMB are typically steep and 5 point races are 100km or longer. So, this year, 2017, I am looking at two 100km races to get my required points – that in itself is both exciting and scary!

My first qualifying race will be the Northburn 100k on the south island of New Zealand. With 6000m+ elevation gain, not to mention battling the elements of heat, wind and cold (it has snowed on top of the mountain in past years) it will definitely be an adventure! Then in November I hope to take on the Alpine Challenge 100k, running through the Victorian Alps.

Its’ kind of scary even just putting it out there that I have this long term plan, because what if I fail? What if it goes wrong? A DNF, a missed cutoff, an injury, they could all throw a spanner in the works. But hey, I figure at least I’m giving it a red hot try.

So, over the next year, I will be climbing lots more mountains, trying to improve my mountain legs on both the ups and the downs. I will be getting ridiculously excited about each step forward, towards my big goal and if I don’t qualify or don’t get a lottery entry then I have a back up plan, but hopefully these dreams will come true and if they don’t? Well at least I will have had one hell of an adventure in trying.

What’s your current, big, scary goal?