It's 3 hours and 20km since the start of The Hillary, and I'm standing at the top of Omanawanui Track, high up above Whatipu, and wondering how the hell I'm going to get down. I've done this descent dozens of times, it's not as if I'm unprepared for it, or am I? Every step downhill is hurting. With every footfall a stabbing pain shoots up through the soles of my feet and into my legs. I'm overheating and sweat is pouring off the brim of my cap. And it's just gone 9am. And I've got 60km to go...
It took me over 10 and a half hours to do the next 60km. Along the way I experienced some of the toughest moments, physically, I have ever known. Reduced to a walk on all the downhills. Begging for the uphills. Only to get there and experience debilitating cramp. Crawling on my hands and knees up some of the steepest climbs. Willing myself up the steps up to Constable Road 5 steps at a time. And the longest 5km road section at the end I have ever run...
So what went wrong? Should I even ask that question?
I thought about this a lot on Saturday, although it wasn't until after the event that I managed to stitch the various strands together. Immediately after the race I thought, to hell with it, I'm just going to forget this and move on. Any contemplation seemed just like an excuse for not doing "well"; and I don't make excuses. But then, as I thought more about it, I realised that the real gift of these brutally tough days - the ones that don't go to plan - is the opportunity to learn from the experience. Forgetting about it is such a waste of that opportunity.
In trying to figure out what went wrong, the first question is what actually happened. Here is a clue (The Hillary 80K elevation chart):
It all started off quite well. I ran in the lead group of 10 or so from the start, and down to the bottom of Pipeline Track, and then along a gravel road section of 3-4km before the climb up Parau Track starts. I was conscious of not pushing too hard, and tried to hold back. I did notice that I was running the uphills, when I would usually hike them, even this early in an ultra. But I felt ok. Then there was a very steep and gnarly climb up Parau, followed by a long flowing decent into Huia. I ran that decent fast - following another couple of runners who were flying down the track in front of me. It was exhilarating and freeing after the long slog up.
After a few kms of flowing downhill the course pops out onto the dam road above Huia, and there is a road section of 3-4km towards Karamataura Farm. I was running ok still, but started to feel heavier in my legs. I knew that the next section, up Karamataura Track, is a very steep climb, and started to ease off to conserve some energy for the hills to come.
The climb up Karamataura, which is about 400m over a few km, is a real test. If you're not ready for it, it will call your bluff. This time it was a real slog. Towards the top it became quite surreal as the bush was shrouded in cloud, and the temperature dropped noticeably.
The section of track from Karamataura Forks down to Omanawanui is one of my favourite downhills. It's a flowing gentle descent, where you can open your stride, and make good time. Not today it seemed. The first signs of pain in my legs started, and I had to keep my stride short and light just to keep running. I wasn't sure what was happening, and put it down to the tough climb I'd just done. Things would come right, right?
Nope. As the track wound it's way across Huia Ridge and down to Omanawanui, my legs felt tighter and tighter. I fast walked parts, and ran others. It was frustrating as on a good day there are not many people who run this section as freely as I do. But not today. I was passed by a couple of runners, then another, but I was still somewhere close to the top 20.
Then we hit Omanawanui. And the sun turned on. Full bore. At 8.30 in the morning. I could still run the flats and gentle climbs at this stage, so it is a shame that there were none of those. It was steep ups or downs, and bugger all in between. At this point I was passed by a strong Australian runner, who ended up finishing in 10 hours 30 something, so relatively speaking I was still in a good position on the course, but starting to struggle badly.
The descent down from the seat at the top of the second peak on Omana to Whatipu was a killer. I have never "run" that section so slowly. Each downhill hurt. My legs were gone. Fuck. Less than 20k into an 80k race. What should I do?
It was then that I started thinking about what James had said during our Cadence Coaching group conference call the previous Monday. That was (and I summarise here), unless you are injured, doing yourself serious potentially permanent damage, or are a danger to yourself or others, you carry on and finish. Thinking about that I had no reason to stop. It wasn't an option. So I decided to keep on going, no matter what.
After re-fueling at Whatipu, I started the leg to Karekare feeling optimistic and positive, but still fighting various negative thoughts which popped into my head. How tough it was, how hot it was, how sore my legs were, I wasn't going to achieve my goal time... I dealt with them by consciously focusing on the process rather than the outcome. It was like flicking a switch. Suddenly the negative thoughts went. As cheesy as it sounds I focused on how beautiful the trails were, the sound of birds in the bush, the cool feeling of the water on my feet and legs on the stream crossings, the warm sun on my face. And I focused on the good feelings of being a participant, rather than a competitor. And I decided that I was going to get the most out of the day.
Within a few km of my epiphany, the wheels really fell off. Within a few metres of the bottom of Buck Taylor Track, which is a brutal climb on a good day, I felt a searing cramp in my right thigh. I was stuck and couldn't move. And in agony. Great. A few more people went past, and I joked with them that I was just resting and would hunt them down later. After a minute or two the pain eased enough to start to haul myself up the track, but whenever I bent my right leg the cramp would start to take hold. The only way to keep going forwards was to drag myself up with my good left leg, and keep my right leg straight. It's not a very fast way of ascending a steep hill, but at least it is still moving in the right direction.
Eventually, about 5hrs 30 into the race, I made it to the Karekare aid station. I managed the station last year, and one thing that struck me was the difference between the runners who were silent and suffering, and the ones that were animated and happy, despite the fact that they were also doing it tough. The latter ones seemed to be having a much better day. So that's what I decided to do. I had a good chat and plenty of laughs with the aid station volunteers. Drank about a litre of Coke, and as many pieces of watermelon and airplanes as I could get in in a few minutes. Then I kept on trucking.
The section from Karakare to Piha is about 50% uphill, which I hiked, and 50% downhill, which I also hiked. It took a lot longer than it normally would, but hey, I was still moving towards the finish. I even passed a couple of guys, who were also finding it pretty tough going.
After Piha there are more very tough hills up White's Track to Anawhata Farm, and then along the infamous Kuiataika Track, where Simon Clendon claims to have lost his will to live a few years ago. About half way along Kuiataika I hit another very low point. The track is very steep both up and down, and the downs were killing me. I could't do anything except slowly pick my way down slalom style, but every step on the steep parts was agonizing. The pain and exhaustion was taking a toll on me mentally, and I wasn't making good decisions. I stopped by a stream and took off my socks and shoes and bathed my feet in the cool water. That felt like such a relief. I ate a Hammer bar. And gathered myself together. And then I tried to put my socks and shoes back on, and the cramp came back. All I could to was lie flat on the ground and stretch my legs out and wait for it to pass. Once it had, I got to my feet, but putting my socks and shoes back on was not an option, so I decided to walk on for a while in bare feet. That certainly brought some feeling back! I was glad no-one saw me on this section, as they would have seriously questioned the state of my mental health. After a couple of kms, and another stream crossing, I managed to get my shoes back on.
Once I'd completed Kuiataika, the section down Houghton's Track and around Lake Wainamu to Bethells was quite uneventful. Houghton's is another steep downhill, so it was back to a very slow pick down, but from the bottom there is about 5km of flatish trail to Bethells, and I even managed to shuffle/run a fair chunk of it. My legs were very sore, but were not getting any worse, so I just continued on. There were quite a few people around the lake and along the stream, and lots of them clapped or called out encouragement. I focused again on the fact that I was participating in such a great event, and that I was loving every minute of it (that's a lie), and that helped. I also knew that once I hit Bethells all I needed to do was knock off Te Henga, and I would finish, and that kept me going.
The volunteers at the Bethells aid station were great. They were dressed in penguin costumes, and had music playing. What a pick me up. I fuelled as much as I could, wrapped a wet Buff around my neck, and headed off to conquer Te Henga. I had no idea how hard it was going to become.
On the climb out of O'Neill's Bay up on to the high part of Te Henga the cramp came back and I was stuck. I couldn't move forwards up the hill, or backwards down. I couldn't believe that I was at the bottom of one of the steepest climbs and it was happening again. I waited a minute or two, took 10 deep breaths, and moved forward a few steps. Then cramped. It was ridiculous. I thought about Dean Karnezes' quote about "crawl if you must", and so started dragging myself up that climb. Eventually the cramp eased enough for me to employ the one bent leg one straight leg climbing technique, and after what seemed like an eternity I reached the top.
From the top, the main issue I had to deal with was the heat. Te Henga is totally exposed to the sun, and it was roasting hot. I kept the effort as easy as I could (which wasn't hard as it was a shuffle at best, and a lot of hiking), and kept drinking and drinking. Still, I felt I was overstressing my system and a finish was not guaranteed. I wondered what would happen if I was stuck on Te Henga. It would be a cool helicopter ride... But that was still not a good reason to drop, so I slowed down even more, and kept moving. The kms were going excruciating slowly - anything under 10 minutes was a win so far as I was concerned, and plenty were in the 12-15 minute range - but the only thing that mattered to me was making continuous forward progress.
The last major hurdle were the stairs leading up to Constable Road. Probably no more than 200m, but there are a lot of them, and they are steep. I went up the first few then stopped and dropped to my hands and knees. Then I did a few more. And took a few deep breaths, and did a few more. And on and on it went. Sometimes walking, sometimes crawling. I knew that there was an aid station at the top of those stairs, and all I had to do was reach the top. I kept crawling, and pulling myself up and up. I learnt a lot about my character over that couple of hundred metres. No matter what, I wasn't going to give in. Those steps were the hardest thing I have ever done, during the hardest race I have ever done. I have never been happier to see an aid station.
From the top of Constable Road it was a 7km grind along the road, down past the gannet colony at the South end of Muriwai, and along the beach to the finish. It was almost an anti-climax. I knew at that point that I would make it, even if I had to walk that last 7km. From somewhere deep down I found the energy to shuffle along. The pain was still bad, but I knew that it would all be over, and wanted to get to that point as quickly as possible.
So, at 7.38pm, over 13 and a half hours after I started, I crossed the finish line. My body was wrecked, but my mind was as strong as it has ever felt.
Back to the question, what went wrong. I reckon I came down to a very small handful of things:
1. I relied too heavily on the training I had done for Tarawera, and didn't do enough Hillary-specific training in the period between the two races. I kidded myself that the training would carry over, but it didn't. Tawawera is like a 5k track race compared to The Hillary. Hillary is a much much hillier and technically demanding course and the best way to train for that is to get out into the hills and hike hike hike. Although there was quite a short turnaround between the two races, I could have maximised the training by doing more specific runs. O'Hagan's 5k really wasn't great preparation.
2. I made the classic go out too fast mistake. Hell, I was running in 2nd place behind Chris Morrisey and in front of Sam Clark for the first couple of kms. That probably didn't make any difference, but the next 10kms after that, chasing fast runners on the downhills, definitely took its toll. The combination of insufficient specific training, and running the downhills too fast, killed my quads before I reaslised it. When I needed them on the steep downhills to Whatipu they had left the building.
3. I couldn't control the cramping. I need to experiment to find a solution for that. It may be more/better training. It may be nutrition. Who knows. I'm going to try a few things once I've recovered, and see what helps. I kind of wish that there was an easy fix - like taking a salt pill - but my experiences tell me that is very unlikely. My intuition tells me that it is more to do with pushing too hard because of poor preparation, than eating or drinking the wrong stuff. We will see.
Finally, what went right?
Without a doubt that was the hardest thing I have ever done. The big positive out of it is that I refused to give up - in fact I never even seriously contemplated it - and learnt some very interesting things about my character in the process. To steal a quote from Pooh, I learnt that I am braver than I believed and stronger than I seemed.
