If someone told you that you’d run a hundred marathons one day, would you believe them? Of course not! Yet somehow, I’ve reached this milestone. I ran my first marathon just before my 21^st birthday in 2003. Back then I was a 3^rd year medical student who played rugby but never ran long distances. No one in my family were distance runners and the only running I did was to keep fit for rugby. My flat mate at the time, Carl, suggested that we should run a marathon “for a laugh”. So (whilst laughing) we both entered and then subsequently trained for the Dunedin Marathon. Although I respected the marathon challenge, I didn’t fear it. I was young, cocky, and knew everything. I figured like most things in life, if you worked hard enough, you’d get the reward. This philosophy got me into med school and so a marathon seemed no different. Yet despite following and adhering to a good training program, the Dunedin Marathon DESTROYED me that day. I was shattered by 30km and suffered every ensuing kilometre to the finish line. I was limping for two weeks post-race. The sight of any runner afterwards made me sick and I threw my Avia running shoes into the bin. Life had given me my first major reality check. You’re better than you think you are, but not by much. I had finally met my match. And I was hooked! I wanted more of this! My mate Carl and I continued to run marathons after this. Initially we ran them “for our kids” (yet to be born) and then “for our grandkids” (which was an even greater pipe dream as we were still single) but never for a laugh again! Eventually work, family life, and kids caught up with Carl so he stopped running but I kept going. Training partners came and went but I persevered. I never thought of myself as a very good runner. But I was bloody stubborn and very good at ignoring excuses. For whatever reason, I just committed to running a marathon for each year I lived. I ran on average 5 marathons a year such that by 2007 (4 years since starting), I had run 25 marathons and matched my age. I then decided to ‘bank marathons’ as surely this type of thing won’t get any easier with age. By 2013 (10 years since my first marathon), I had run 50 marathons. As the average male life expectancy at the time was just under 80 years, I thought I’d add some buffer so a hundred marathons ought to do it. Initially it was all about chasing times. And then I was chasing numbers. Somewhere along the lines, I became addicted to the effort. I just love how running rewards effort. I love how you get out what you put in. There’s no bull shitting. No degree, status, or amount of money will get you over the finish line. Running was a great leveller and was all about your effort. And if you remained true to your effort, you’d invariably be rewarded. So after years of effort, running has become so engrained in my life that I don’t know anything different. I’m too far deep and don’t know if I can ever turn back. I just run now.

Running my first marathon with Carl (left) early on in the race whilst being laughed at by our support crew (Otago Harbour in the background)

When I first started writing these blogs in 2017, the purpose was to share and illustrate how you can make running (and exercise in general) a lifestyle. I’ve always been one to practise what I preach. When I was in the military, I was more of a lead by example type rather than lead by words. I believe actions speak louder than words. I had also just qualified as a Sport & Exercise Physician. I bemoaned how our ability to practise medicine was confined to a 4 walled office and was largely treatment orientated rather than preventative medicine. If you even knew a fraction of the benefits exercise can provide you, I guarantee you’d put on your running shoes right now! Put simply, if our society was more active, I’d have bugger all work! So as part of my commitment to the above, I’ve made an effort to write a blog after most events I’ve participated in. I’ve kept my expectations low throughout. However, if I could influence just one person to be more active, then I’d be a happy man. Writing these blogs has never been about drawing attention to myself (quite the contrary – I hate the attention). Though I’m grateful for the positive comments I receive, it always makes me cringe a bit. Nor is it about fame or popularity. That kind of stuff has never appealed to me. But if I can help someone to find it within themselves to be a bit more physically active and realise the benefits of exercise, then I’m overjoyed with their success. That’s what spins my wheels. And effort. I love effort.

Around the back end of the Dunedin Marathon and the long suffer towards the finish line. Meanwhile Carl (right) appears to be cruising and my other flat mate Steve (left) continues to find this whole experience amusing.

As I lined up at the Selwyn Marathon start line, I was calm but contemplative. Wow, I’ve finally got here. I entered at the last minute so none of my friends knew I was here. My wife Courtney had to take the kids to a friend’s birthday party this morning so my family weren’t present also. I remember (vividly) during my 48^th marathon seeing another competitor dressed in a pink tutu and balloons to celebrate running their 100^th marathon. I never understood why and I certainly wasn’t going to do the same. I’m now 40 years of age and it’s taken me 20 years to get here. Running a hundred marathons hasn’t been on a whim or part of a midlife crisis. Why would I want to run in a pink tutu like some clown when it’s taken me 20 years of devotion, discipline, and dedication to get to this point? And so I dressed like I did in all my other 99 marathons – in my running shorts and t shirt. I had no intention to draw any attention to myself. Only my wife knew this was my 100^th marathon. “Pick a big city marathon” she told me. But I was happy with the Selwyn Marathon. It was small, local, and fit for purpose. It was 30 minutes drive from home and I’d be back by 1pm and still have the whole afternoon to work with. When some people run, they like to be ‘someone’. That is fine. But when I run, I love to be ‘no one’. It’s such a liberating feeling. I’m not Dr John. I’m not a husband or father. I’m just another runner like everyone else. This is my time to myself. My time where the only thing I’m accountable for is my effort. It’s an examination of my internal character. And one that I’m willing to keep repeating. The experience keeps me grounded. I believe it makes me a better person. And so I ran content and it felt like 20 years was only yesterday. I finished my first marathon in 4 hours and 18 minutes a broken man. I crossed the Selwyn Marathon for my 100^th marathon in 3 hours and 57 minutes a fulfilled man. There were no special announcements at the finish line. I received a finisher’s medal like everyone else. As I walked back to my car, I became contemplative again. After a hundred marathons, what do I do now? If I stop running now, then what the f*** am I going to do? Hmmm. What if I live until I’m 200 years old? This was too much for a simple man to comprehend post run. I hopped back into my car and drove home. When I arrived home, the kids weren’t back from their friend’s birthday party yet so I cleaned up the leaves in the yard. I then mowed the lawns and walked the dogs. After that, I spent the rest of the afternoon with my family by the fire. I was happy. Whether you’ve run one or a hundred marathons, a marathon still hurts! I’m not going to sugar coat it. It takes a huge amount of effort. Every finish line is earned. There’s this great quote in medicine “He who studies medicine without books sails an uncharted sea, but he who studies medicine without patients does not go to sea at all”. Don’t just read these blogs! At some point you must experience a marathon for yourself. Be brave and set sail for the sea! Enjoy it, endure it, suffer it, live it! Running is medicine.

Twenty years later at the Selwyn Marathon and holding the effort around the 24km mark

Courtney: “Number 149, Courtney Molloy for the 33km and number 36, John Molloy for the marathon.”

Crew member: “John Molloy, is that Dr John Molloy? He’s done this event a few times hasn’t he?”

Courtney: “Yes, and he’s doing the Christchurch Marathon the next day too.”

Crew member: “What’s wrong with him?”

Courtney: “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him when you see him yourself?”

Contrary to popular belief. There is nothing wrong with me. After spending a whole week confined to my 3x5m office whilst listening to my patient’s ailments (of which the majority are related to our sedentary modern day life styles), I couldn’t think of anything better than getting out into the mountains. But it’s interesting how our modern day world wouldn’t bat an eyelid at someone who sits on their arse at work for 10 hours a day, 5 days a week, yet raises their eye brows when that same person decides to go outdoors and do back to back marathons on the weekend. (Ok when you put it down in writing, I can see how some would consider this extreme). However, if you kept your dog in a cage for 5 days a week, that would be considered cruelty. Yet this is how the majority of us are living currently. Regardless of what some people may think, by the end of the working week, I’d had enough of this office shit. I was off to the mountains!

The Mt Oxford Odyssey Mountain Marathon start line

It’s 5.40am on Saturday morning and I’m listening to the marathon race briefing with about 60 other competitors. It’s cold enough to keep my gloves and beanie on but I resist the urge to put my jacket on in a bid to be ‘bold and start cold’. I move around to keep warm but can’t help but notice how wet and muddy it is underfoot. I can remember it being this cold on previous Mt Oxford race day mornings, but I couldn’t recall it being this muddy. This is ominous, I thought. At 6am, we all cross the start line with our head lights on and proceed into the dark. Within a couple of minutes, my balance is being challenged as my shoes slip and slide across mud. Within five minutes, any remnants of comfort are decimated by the freshly cool, shin high river crossing. As I progress onwards, the sporadically muddy single trail suddenly becomes a huge pathway of mud. The advice during the race briefing was to go straight up the middle but my modern day life style had conditioned me otherwise. I try skirt around the side until SLUURP, one of my shoes sinks all the way down to shin height. Remaining calm, I reorientate towards what appears to be ‘firmer mud’ when SLUURP, my other shoe sinks even deeper. F***. As I wrench my mud caked shoe from underneath me, I hear the pop pop pop of air bubbles as the mud and water immediately fill the hole I’ve just extricated my foot out of. Oh God. This is going to be a long day. From then onwards, most of the time, I went straight up the middle as directed. There was way too much mud to fight so I just had to embrace it. Now that my feet were wet and muddy, it was also one less thing to care about. Besides, I had far more pressing issues to contend with (like another 40km to go and a 1300m climb up Mt Oxford [twice] ahead of me). Somewhat less burdened, it was head down and bottom up. The only thing that really mattered now was one foot in front of the other. I left the mud bath behind me and kept climbing the mountain. The ‘rewilding’ process was beginning.

Heading up Mt Oxford (1364 metres)

As much as I appreciate my comfortable work environment, the pitfalls are that it makes me physically weak and soft. Though I’m mentally and emotionally challenged on a daily basis, physically my body is crying out for challenge. The air conditioning/heating unit means that the temperature is always perfect. If it’s not, this is easily addressed with a simple touch of a button. I have a large black leather chair with extra padding to inflate my self-importance whilst better supporting the subcutaneous tissue and muscles around my weary arse. The white walls are absolutely pristine and the white lights are at the perfect wave length to supposedly increase my mood and work productivity. Though I’m lucky enough to have a window in my office, the inconvenience of having to frequently open and close blinds when examining exposed patients means I just keep them permanently closed now. On the days I do Body Balance during lunch times, I open the blinds so at least I can see the green space beyond a car park where a church once stood until the Christchurch earthquakes. In our increasingly urbanised world, city dwellers can spend up to 90% of their time either indoors or sitting in vehicles. We are confined to office spaces and shopping malls and alienated from nature. A particular author has called this ‘Nature Deficit Disorder’. Hence the importance of ‘greening up’ our communities and green space. Proximity to green space improves our health and wellness. In green space we feel less anxious and depressed. Getting into nature/green space has a calming effect, decompresses our minds, and improves our sense of wellbeing. We need to get away from our computer screens, escape our offices, and ‘rewild’ again. We need wilderness.

The Wharfedale Hut aid station with the great jam pikelets

As I climb higher up Mt Oxford, the morning sun is just beginning to rise. As I pass the tree line, it’s beautifully crisp and the wind is amazingly light. As the sunlight spills over the mountain, it blends with the tussock and I bask in the golden natural light. The air smells good and it even tastes fresh. All my worries have gone. Breathing in the mountain air, I settle into a rhythm of breath and movement. Climbing higher again, I become one with the clouds. The clouds themselves move lightly and untroubled in the gentle breeze. When I eventually reach the top, I take a moment to appreciate the vastness of the Canterbury Plains which extend as far as the eye can see. I love the feeling of insignificance. A feeling of a force larger than ourselves. How I’m merely a small speckle in this vast beautiful world. As the wind up top is much stronger, I don’t stop for long and keep moving. When I descend back into the tree line again, I’m sheltered from the wind and shoulder to shoulder with beech forest. I’d purposedly put on my green long sleeve running shirt today. I wanted to become one with nature today. Completely disappear into the bush. Dissolve in all of it. Feeling light and unburdened, I descend swiftly towards Wharfedale Hut. When I arrive at the aid station, it’s a quick top up of food and fluids and I’m on the move again. As I approach three consecutive knee high river crossings, I think back to earlier this morning when I was guarded and reluctant. This time, I crossed freely. I’d embraced my new normal. As I leave the gushing river behind me, I tune in to the other sounds around me. In main, it’s silence. It’s so quiet I can hear myself think again. But in between are birds. Birds singing. Birds chirping. Birds returning calls. You can hear the rustle of the forest and even the noise a gentle breeze makes. As I begin another long climb towards Black Hill Hut, I’m completely connected to nature and in tune with myself. After a while, I stop thinking and start feeling. I feel the wind against my skin and the sun against my cheek. I feel revitalised. I feel refreshed. I feel free. Far away from my office, I feel wild and free again. And it’s so therapeutic! Surely a day in nature for some would be far more therapeutic than any medication I can hope to prescribe. After finally arriving at Black Hill Hut, the reward is a large section of technical downhill running. The only thing I think about is my foot strike with the ground. Eventually, I connect with the Wharfedale Track which is pleasantly runnable. The Wharfedale Track runs along the Dobson Stream so I cross over many of the small tributaries that feed into it. Where the water is flowing freely, I stop to splash my face and the cold water is instantly energising. When I arrived at the Wharfedale Hut again, I’d covered 30km over 6.5 hours. However, had it not been for my watch, I’d be none the wiser. I’d completely assimilated into nature’s own time and rhythm by now. I was lost in nature and lost in myself. It was wonderful.

Having experienced nature’s more favourable side, at some point during the Mt Oxford Odyssey you’re likely to encounter its rough side. Knowing what lies ahead, I take as long as I need at Wharfedale Hut to replenish my supplies before leaving. Just like in previous years, the jam pikelets are on the return leg menu so I help myself to a few. Whereas those who do the 21km and 33km events are directed around Mt Oxford towards the finish line, the marathon competitors have to go up and over Mt Oxford again! This is where nature reveals its raw brutality. The ascent from the Wharfedale side of Mt Oxford is one of the hardest things you could do. I mean, it probably wouldn’t be so bad with fresh legs. But by this stage of the race, not many have fresh legs to call upon! Time slows remarkably and nature really grinds you down. With my chest seemingly at the same level of the ground at times, I bravely look at my GPS which reveals a 25 degree gradient over the next 1.5km. You can expect at least a 30 minute kilometre for this one. After a couple of kilometres, the gradient softens somewhat but not by much. It really is a long grind. Hours disappear. When I finally reach the top, I give thanks to the hardy LandSAR Oxford crew who have braved the strong winds up top all day and keep on heading down. However, as keen as I was to accelerate and get to the finish, going down wasn’t much quicker. The rugged uncompromising rocks and rocky trail ensured a careful descent until at least the tree line. From the tree line, it became the turn of the tree roots to hamper any swift descent until eventually the ground levelled off and you were reunited with mud again (only this time the mud was much worse as by now a few hundred competitors had been and gone before me). Hear we go again. Like a wild animal, I start charging through the mud. For added effect (whilst making sure no one is around me), I roar like some wild boar. Chest out and nostrils flared, I descend wildly along the muddy paths. When I finally cross the finish line, it’s just after 4pm and I’ve been gone for a good ten hours. I spot Courtney waiting for me at the finish line. Her shoes are muddy but she’s wearing a fresh change of clothes. I can tell that’s she been waiting for a while but I can’t tell if she’s happy or angry to see me. I quickly transform back to a subdued man. “Man that was hard!” I exclaim. We hop into the car and exchange war stories all the way home. The rewilding was complete. Now, I just had the matter of another marathon to contend with…

Rewilded and approaching the finish line

Courtney spontaneously volunteering and putting on my finisher’s medal

It’s not often an opportunity comes by to do back to back marathons in your home town so I was up for the challenge. It’s also amazing what a couple of hot showers, good meal, and good night’s sleep can do for you. As I walked towards Hagley Park, my legs didn’t feel too bad after Mt Oxford taking into account the 10 hrs and 3500 metres of vertical gain from yesterday. The new Christchurch Marathon course revolved around a 10.5km lap course through the CBD and Hagley Park. The Quarter Marathon (one lap), Half Marathon (two laps), and Full Marathon (four laps), all started at 7.30am. As I approached the starting line assembly area, what an amazing contrast it was! Yesterday my start line was a muddy wet paddock in the dark and for most of the day, I was shoulder to shoulder with bush. Today, I’m lining up along Park Terrace shoulder to shoulder with 4000 other participants. The music is pumping and the loud speakers are blaring out instructions. I move optimistically towards my 4hr finish starting group and stand quietly and collect my thoughts. It’s funny how once upon a time, all I use to do was run road marathons. But the less road running I did, the more comfortable I felt creating my own path on the trails. I think I’ve now morphed into an off road/trail runner with a bit of a road running background. In saying that, I’ve run enough road marathons to know that the most important driver is within. All external motivators are short lived. So whilst I appreciate that the party atmosphere helps to amp people up at the start, the most important party you need to prepare for is the party in your legs from 30km followed by the battle with your mind. And whatever motivator you choose to use, it has to be greater than the desire to stop. Today my motivator was my kids. I’m conscious that the majority of the time I’m either at work or running so I didn’t want to miss out on too many important occasions. Poppi (4 year old) was scheduled to start her 1km run at 11.30am and Millie (7 year old) was scheduled to start her 2km run at 11.45am. If I could belt out a 4hr marathon then I’d be back in time for Poppi. If that was too tough, then at least a 4hr 15 min marathon would get me back in time for Mille. However, even these kind of times are challenging on fresh legs! It was a big ask but I was going to try.

Some nice green space during the first lap

As I wait for the starter’s gun, there’s a lot of nervous energy around me. I stand pretty relaxed having used up all my nervous energy yesterday. Fair to say, an overexcited fast start was the least of my worries though I was concerned about starting too slow or having to work too hard too early. At 7.30am we get the traditional on your marks, get set, go! Being so far towards the back, it’s a walking start until eventually I can jog and ease into my work. The mass mixed distance start meant there was a lot of foot traffic with a huge variation in pace so I was very conscious of establishing my own pace and rhythm. Initially my focus was on easing into things. I didn’t want to shock my body too early of the impending marathon. However, I also couldn’t afford to start too slow. I had no idea how long this process would take other than it required a lot of ‘feel’ and a bit of patience. The new course started by going past Christs College, Canterbury Museum, and The Arts Centre. Although my legs weren’t overly heavy, they also weren’t stupid and remembered what I got up to yesterday. I started drinking and fuelling much earlier than usual aware that I was probably already in deficit and would need to work much harder throughout the course of the run. At around the 3km mark, I pass an overheating lady wearing a Pikachu costume (which probably meant I started too slow) but I continued to hold back. By 4km, I’m still running within myself along the Avon River. When I hit the 5km mark, I check my watch for the first time and it shows that it’s taken me 33 minutes (ideally, I needed to be in this position by 28 minutes if I was serious about a sub 4 hour time). As I approach Hagley Park, I realise that I need to push the pace but despite my increasing effort, I struggle to go any faster and am consistently above a 6 minute kilometre pace. By the time I finished my first lap in 1 hour and 6 minutes, I was well off the required 5 min 40 sec kilometre pace required for a sub 4 hour finish. If I continued at this pace, then I’d finish the marathon in 4 hours and 24 minutes. By then, my girls’ races would’ve finished and dad would’ve missed out again. Oh man this is getting tough. It was only 10km but already I needed to dig deep.

Pushing hard running next to the Avon River

Working hard with The Arts Centre in the background

There is this perception that if you can run a 100 miles, then a marathon would be “a piece of piss”. This is untrue. And right now I’m living proof of this. When you train for a 100 miler, you really don’t want to be running faster than 6 min per km for a prolonged period of time. Going too fast can drain your legs and leave you stranded in the later stages of a 100 miler. The terrain in a 100 miler is also much more varied with many ups and downs and walk/run transitions. So after spending hours training my body to run no quicker than 6 min per km on varied terrain, I was now asking it to hold a 5 min and 40 sec kilometre pace on a dead flat course for a much longer period of time than I had ever trained for (cue the training principle of specificity). And this is what makes marathon running so physically and mentally demanding! And excuses aside, I was finding this tough. I had to keep pushing but I needed buy in from fortress brain. The problem being, my brain was telling me that pushing the pace 10km into a marathon was too early. However, my heart was telling me otherwise. Now that it was the second lap, I knew the course had no further surprises. The field had also thinned a bit but there were still quite a few runners on the course. I knew that it was now or never. I had to make my move. Here we go. Only 10km into the marathon, I initiated my ‘finisher’s kick’. Typically this kind of rear guard action is reserved from 30km onwards but not today. I put my foot on the gas and ran like I had everything to lose. I ran for my kids. My focus narrowed immensely. Unlike yesterday when I was in tune and connected with my surroundings, today I was completely detached from anything. All I could think about was the effort. The sole focus was the drive. The drive was the sole focus. I just had to keep pushing. Although I managed to claw some time back, I reached the halfway mark in 2 hours and 6 minutes. I now needed to run a negative split to finish under 4 hours and get back in time for Poppi. Can I do this? Is this possible? The mind games started. Of course you can. Think strong. At the start of the third lap, I pushed harder again. The push became a blur. The blur became the push. When I finished my third lap, the time was 3 hours and 8 minutes. However, my legs were starting to feel heavy and less fluid. The physical cracks began to appear. I accepted that I was too far off the pace and that a sub 4 hour pace was beyond me. There’s no way in the world I’ve got a 52 minute 10km in me. Running along a painfully long straight up Kilmore Street (for the fourth time) into an increasingly strong head wind, I lamented that I was no longer in nature’s time, but rather doomed by my own self-imposed time demands. Not for lack of effort, it dawned on me that you excel in what you train in. I wasn’t trained for this. The physical cracks deepened further into mental cracks. At some point, you need to stop the rot. I had to prevent the cracks from becoming full blown fissures. I knew I had to quickly reorientate and adjust my expectations. Ok, if I can just hold this pace, then a 4 hr 10 min finish is possible. If I can do that, then I’ll be back in time to see Millie off. I just had to keep pushing my limits of perceived exertion. The reminder of the fourth lap was a greater blur. I simply ran as hard as I physically could. It was a battle just to hold a pace but I managed to hold all the cracks together. As I approached the finish line, Courtney seemed surprised to see me. “Are you finishing now?” “Yes” I respond. “Four laps is enough. How’s the kids?” She doesn’t answer (or I didn’t hear) and she rushes away somewhere so I just keep running. As I approach the finisher’s chute, Courtney shouts out to me and lifts Poppi up over the side railing. Poppi had just finished her 1km and was keen to join me. I lift her down and then we both start running down the finisher’s chute. As we approach the finisher’s line, Poppi reveals an incredible turn of pace and leaves me in my dust! “Poppi!” I shout out. “Wait for your dad!” She slows down for me and we both cross the finish line laughing whilst holding hands. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I make my way to Courtney and ask “Do you want me to run with Mille?” “No, I’ll go back to her. She’s just about to start” she responds. Poppi and I wait together near the finisher’s chute until we see Millie and then we all join her to the finish line as well! I’m smiling ear to ear. Finishing with my kids has just topped everything off. As we head back to the car, finisher’s medals around our necks, I’m so happy. I’ve had one of the best weekends I could imagine. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was challenging. But it was fulfilling. And this was what I was made for. I believed I could, so I did. Find and keep doing whatever it is that flicks your switch or spins your wheels. That’s one good thing covid has taught me. Whether it’s an off road run in nature or a big city road run with family and friends, discover what you need the most as a person and just keep fronting up. Running is medicine.

Finishing the marathon with Poppi in 4hrs 10 mins

Finishing with Millie

Heading down the finisher’s chute with the whole family

Just enough time for a photo at the start line

After talking about running in the heat in my last blog. It makes sense to talk about running in the wet which is typically followed by running in the wet AND cold. The first priority is adequate lubrication to prevent chafing. Lubrication should be applied liberally and without fear of judgement. If one is applying lubrication in the presence of non-runners, it should be applied matter of factly and with an expressionless face. The perineum, inner thighs, arms pits, feet, and nipples (plus other protuberances of concern) are the main areas. Maybe your first webspace (area between your thumb and index finger) if you’re just starting with trekking poles. I rate Gurney Goo as it works really well and doesn’t ruin your clothes. The next thing is good wet weather gear. A good sock and shoe combination is paramount. Any feet issues you have in dry weather will be amplified in the wet. Good running clothing is also a must and although expensive, you won’t regret purchasing a light, waterproof, windproof, breathable jacket (e.g. GORE-TEX). Before your race, it pays to check the weather forecast. If forecast rain is fleeting or clearing, you may get away with not wearing your jacket. But if rain is forecast to stay, best to put on your jacket before you get soaked (rather than after) to help maintain your core temperature. The reason being is that it’s so much harder to warm up when you’re already cold! This is especially true later in a race as fatigue sets in and muscle activity slows meaning your ability to produce heat decreases. Your ability to go faster (and hence generate heat) is also reliant on the terrain. Terrain dictates pace. Though this may not be an issue in a road marathon, good luck trying to maintain 5km/hr going through puddles and muddy/slippery trail! Exercising humans have more effective physiological mechanisms for cooling (i.e. sweating) rather than conserving heat. Our physiological heat conserving mechanisms are limited to: Directing blood towards the core and away from our peripheries (hence cold hands and poor dexterity), increasing our metabolic rate (ever wondered why you’re inclined to move more / jog on the spot when you’re cold?), and finally shivering. Hence, we cannot rely purely on our physiological mechanisms to keep warm and must also utilise our cognitive responses and ability to make good decisions e.g. putting on more clothing, seeking shelter etc. (On a side note, ultra runners who gather in large groups aren’t renowned for their cognitive processing abilities). The other reason keeping warm is important is that cold muscle contracts with less force. The nervous system responds by altering normal muscle fibre recruitment patterns which has been suggested to decrease muscle efficiency and power. Hence, as you get colder, running may appear harder as you start to run differently and deviate away from your ‘normal/efficient’ gait (if the wet trail hasn’t altered your gait already). Finally, what’s the role of hydration and nutrition in the wet and cold? Drinking according to thirst is more reliable in wet/cold conditions and you’ll generally find yourself drinking less compared to hot conditions. However, your energy requirements will probably be greater as you’re running efficiency may be compromised and you’ll be out on the course longer due to the conditions. You’ll need your glucose/carbohydrates not only to replenish your muscle glycogen, but also to fuel your brain. Your brain will be in overdrive as you’ll be concentrating so much harder to prevent yourself from falling head over heels in the wet and mud. At any time during a race you get to a point of prolonged shivering, then you’re really courting a DNF as you’re now churning through your muscle glycogen to keep you warm (rather than using it to get you to the finish line). So in short, you may get away with carrying less fluid in the cold, but don’t skimp on your energy. Go with a carbohydrate/electrolyte drink and pack that extra chocolate bar!

Running along the Crater Rim Walkway heading towards Mt Vernon (photo courtesy of @jadosadventures)

Heading down towards Governors Bay, it’s getting pretty treacherous! The track is quite narrow and the rocks are wet. Although its only raining lightly, the lower half of my body is already drenched from the wet bush and thick grass. I pass a lady who’s struggling a bit going down a rocky and slippery switch back. “This is my worst nightmare” she proclaims. It always inspires me how ultra runners tend to seek adversity rather than shirk away from it. How many people nowadays willingly expose themselves to ‘their worst nightmare’? The majority of the tracks in this part of the course are rarely ventured (Faulkners, Watlings, Bush Rd, O’Farrell’s, and Cass Ridge Track) which makes for rugged going. The climb up Cass Ridge Track gets you back onto Summit Road and then you’re descending the Orongomai Trail deep into the lush greenery within Kennedys Bush. It’s during this section that I take my first major fall. Trying to avoid the slippery mud, I place all my weight on a large smooth rock when in an instant, I’m on my back staring up into the canopy. For a moment I lay on the ground in stunned silence. Usually when you fall, you’re at least afforded the dignity to shout or stick an arm or leg out. But seldom have I found myself belly up so quickly in complete silence. Despite the ferocity of the fall, I stand up relatively unscathed other than some minor bruising to my ego. Tail between by legs, I connect onto Holdsworth Track and eventually back onto the familiar Crater Rim Walkway again. By now I’m beginning to pick up a recurring pattern to this course. If you’re a Christchurch local you may appreciate the gravity of such a course. In summary: Go down towards Governors Bay and then back up to the Sign of the Bellbird. Head back towards the Sign of the Kiwi (via Kennedys Bush and Trig V Track) and then loop around Sugarloaf. From there, descend all the way down Latters Spur Track into Bowenvale Valley and then all the way back up to Summit Road via the Hidden Valley and Bowenvale Valley Walk tracks. Head towards Mt Vernon and then go up it (rather than around it). Descend down Farm and Gorge tracks all the way to the bottom, and then go back up the Mt Vernon Valley Track towards Mt Vernon again. Cross over Rapaki Track and go up Linda Woods Reserve through thick wet grass where there are no official tracks (I mean why would you want to utilise the perfectly formed Rapaki Track next to you when you can channel your inner goat and go straight up a hill face?). Run all the way out to the top of the Bridle Path. From there, you can finally turn around and head back home via Castle Rock and Bowenvale Traverse MTB tracks back onto Thomson Track and the more familiar Harry Ell Track. For non locals, the summary of the course is below: Go all the way to the bottom of the bay and then back up to the top. Run along the top for a bit. Go all the way to the bottom of a valley and then back up to the top. Run along the top for a bit but this time whilst you’re there, go up a mountain for good measure. Then go all the way to the bottom of another valley and then come back up again. Fluff around doing a few loops around the top and then head back home. This will give you a total distance of 50km with a total ascent of 2 900 m and a total descent of 2 900m (how’s that for Feng Shui?). Heading back towards the finish line at Victoria Park, the rain is really starting to pick up. By now the rain and sweat have merged into a thin glistening film and there’s the odd crunch in your mouth from the dirt that’s managed to find its way onto your water flask mouthpieces. Running’s getting a bit clunky and I dare not stop or risk stiffening up in the cold. Eight hours later, I cross the finish line. Soaked right through. Like a drowned rat minus the death and the misery. Happy. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog. It’s a biggy. The Southern Lakes Ultra in Queenstown in late February. 300km over 7 days!

Wet but thankfully finished in one piece and injury free

The Coastal Ultra start line

The cool air and firmly packed sand ensured a relatively brisk starting pace until we hit our first major water crossing within ten minutes. This appeared to be more significant than usual as a couple of marshals were positioned at the designated water entry and exits points. Over the years, the lengths I’ve seen some runners go to maintain dry feet is extraordinary. And sure enough, some stop to take off their shoes and socks whilst another pulls out a large rubbish bag to walk in. My spot assessment tells me that wet feet are unavoidable so I just cross. The water is chilling and halfway across it reaches thigh height. I pause and carefully watch those in front of me for the preferred route (wet feet I can handle but any water crossing that encroaches on the genitals is another matter in itself). I successfully cross without any squealing only to be greeted by a flash back to the film, The Beverly Hillbillies. Just off the shore stands an isolated rickety old house with a couple of quad bikes parked outside. Old rope hangs from every corner to dry a variety of khaki coloured clothing. A couple of the house occupants are standing outside on the front porch drinking an undetermined brew as they give a subtle chin raise greeting. I can feel a clump of sand in my shoe that needs removing but instinct tells me to keep running so I give a nervous wave and follow the track around the coastline. As time passes, the field starts to spread out and any purposeful track disappears. I’m left to myself to explore this raw and rugged coastline. The ocean spreads infinitely into the horizon but in other areas it is close enough to carve out the coastline next to you. I move along a few more sequestered bays running next to the tide line and through a region of dense native bush with ankle deep mud. For long periods of time my only company is the ocean and the boundless farmland. I am lost to the outside world. I am lost in my thoughts.

Running at sunrise

At sunset near the finish

For all the joy and endorphins one receives from their running environment, eventually the toil of the distance sets in. The unventured private land means that there are no formed tracks other than what has been tread by the runners ahead. Progress is always limited by the terrain and this farmland is rough and hard going. The sustained concentration is intense in order to hold your feet in what is very much ankle busting country. I had managed to complete the first 25 km in 3 hours and 30 mins so the quick maths told me this was a 10 hour affair. I had hoped to finish around prize giving at 3pm (8 hours) but this was now a pipe dream. By the time I had reached the 40km mark, I was already a spent force. The weather had also turned and the rain had decided to set in. The winds picked up and the arduous hills climbs kept coming. Whatever fragment of joy that remained died a cruel swift death. The thought of having to drive to Christchurch afterwards to run a marathon also weighed heavy on my mind. For the remaining 30km of the course, I was fending off survival mode and knowingly eating into my Christchurch Marathon running legs. A volunteer at an aid station asked me if there was anything I needed and I half jokingly responded, “Comfort”. It all became a haze of farmland and hill climbing (total elevation of 3000 metres with a lot of climbing at the end). A random alpaca sighting broke the monotony but by the 60km mark, I was pretty sure that I had seen enough of the Catlins. The final stretch along the beach managed to lift my spirits somewhat. By then the rain had cleared but the sun was beginning to set. I crossed the finish line in 10 hours and 44 mins just before 6pm. More relieved than elated. I know I’m behind schedule so I move swiftly to my car. I need to get to Christchurch pronto.

I initially thought I was delirious but it was indeed a random alpaca!

Heading towards the Coastal Ultra finish line

Truth be told the Coastal Ultra chewed me up and spat me out onto the Christchurch Marathon start line. I had managed to get to bed by 2am after the 500km drive from the Catlins. I was awoken just after 6am by my children and then had to move fast to make the 7.30am marathon start. I knew I wasn’t adequately hydrated or nourished from yesterday (none of this is ideal of course before a marathon). My wife dropped me off as close as she could outside the cordoned area. Unfortunately, the morning shower wasn’t miraculous and I was still very, very stiff. I attempted a gentle jog to the start line to help prime my legs and address this conundrum (whilst eating my toast for breakfast). I managed to get to the start with a couple of minutes to spare. Although I was feeling a bit pressured, the atmosphere was electric. The music was pumping and so was the race vibe. It was an amazing contrast to the start line I had experienced only 24 hours ago! Before long, I’m off to the starter’s gun amongst a sea of runners. My daughters Millie and Poppi had entered the Kids’ 1k Mara’Fun and were scheduled to start at 11.30am. I was therefore hoping for a 4 hour finish so I could join them. I didn’t know if this was possible after the Coastal Ultra but I was determined to give it a try. I’d at least made the start line!

Lots of energy at the Christchurch Marathon start line

Although I flirted with a 4 hour marathon pace for the first hour, it wasn’t long before the wheels started to fall off. I knew this wasn’t going to be my day when I was passed by Aquaman with his life size trident. By the 15km mark, I was only 5 mins off a 4 hour pace. But I was beginning to slow down which is never a good sign. Then it all happened quite quickly. The heat. The feeling of being flustered. The questioning of the sanity of this all. The internal implosion. I had hit a wall. My tank was empty and I started to walk. ‘The wall’ is typically reserved from the 30km mark in a marathon but mine occurred much earlier around the 18km mark. By this stage, I was really struggling to hold it together. I was stopping at aid stations rather than passing through them. Instead of sipping from a cup, I was guzzling multiple cups wildly. A well intentioned half marathon runner sees my struggle and tells me “Keep going, not long to go now”. I make an efforted smile for thanks just as he notices my marathon bib. “Ohhhh!” I see his confused regret in a snapshot. “My journey continues brother. You go get it.” He surges onwards whilst I flail about in my struggle. “Keep moving, keep going” I whisper under my breath. Barely jogging, I spot an unopened Horley’s gel that someone ahead of me had dropped on the road. Feeling pretty desperate, I stop to pick it up and tear it open. The raspberry flavour is thick and sweet. I can feel the fuel gauge slowly lift off empty just enough to run out of this wall. They say good luck comes to those who sweat. Either that or the running gods are feeling merciful today.

Running through Hagley Park and along the Avon River

Holding it together at the 21km mark

As all the 10km and half marathon runners have already finished, the second half of the run is much quieter. Minus all the hustle and bustle, it’s a lot easier to connect with your surroundings again. I begin to enjoy running around Hagley Park under the shade of the large acorn trees. Running along the Avon River also provides a peaceful backdrop. Without all the commotion, I can concentrate on doing what I do best. Putting one foot in front of the other. What some may find mind numbingly boring, I find totally liberating. For a period of time, I don’t have to listen to anyone else’s problems. I don’t have to worry about my patients’ problems and how their struggles are affecting their quality of life. I only have to think about my own struggle. And when you’re really struggling, you can think of nothing else but the struggle! By now, I’ve found a slow but sustainable pace that will get me to the finish. Rather than being passed, I start passing people again. Around the 39km mark, I see a couple of guys who are clearly running together. One lets out an exasperated, “F***, I gotta walk Josh”. Once when I wore a younger man’s running shoes, I would’ve considered that the walk of shame. Fast forward 18 years and 89 marathons later, I see walking in a different light. In that particular situation, I see walking as the result of pushing one’s limit. Be it a physical limit or a mental limit, a limit has been reached. If you’ve never pushed yourself to your limit, then how do you know that you have one? For me there is no shame in walking anymore. What matters is what you do AFTER you start walking. For you can only truly know yourself when you go beyond your limits. And you’re none the wiser if you remain restrained within your comfort zone.

Enjoying quieter times

Approaching the Christchurch Marathon finisher’s line whilst ruthlessly being passed by kids

As I head towards the finish line, I see children much older than my own running so I know I’ve missed out on running with my own children. A 4 hour marathon was too big an ask today. I manage to cross the finish line in 4 hours and 29 mins. Content with the effort but a bit disappointed. However, that disappointment is short lived when I see both my girls near the finish line with beaming smiles on their faces eating ice cream. They both have their finisher’s medals around their necks and seem to have enjoyed themselves. All the previous struggles of the last 24 hours seem to disappear and I’m light on my feet again. I get a photo with my girls at the finish line and this is a very proud dad moment. As much as I love running, I don’t want to force my kids to be runners. However, I think as a parent, the best I can do is provide opportunities for my kids to live active lifestyles early. Physically active kids are more likely to become physically active adults. And healthy habits can last a lifetime. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Rotorua Marathon at the start of May.

Proud dad moment. At the finish with Poppi (left) and Millie (right).

Millie approaching the finish line

Love it

With my two girls at the start line (Millie – left & Poppi – right)

Running in the Port Hills is like going to your favourite restaurant. Most of the time you order the tried and trusted but other times, you want to try something different. The tried and trusted for most runners for many years has been a high carbohydrate (HCHO) diet. Carbs have been shown to enhance performance in exercise greater than 60-90 minutes and carbo-loading 24-36 hours pre-race is a common practice in running circles. So what’s with the sudden interest in a ketogenic aka low carb high fat (LCHF) diet (defined as < 50g of CHO/day with fat providing 75-80% of energy compared to a HCHO diet where carbs provide 60-65% of energy)? As mentioned in my last blog, a LCHF diet can provide beneficial short term health benefits for some people and particularly those with type II diabetes. But are there any performance benefits from a LCHF diet? Should all ultra distance runners be on a LCHF diet? The rationale being that a high fat diet increases our capacity to use fat as an exercise fuel. We also have unlimited fat fuel stores compared to our limited liver and muscle glycogen carbohydrate reserves. An advantage of preferentially burning fat may therefore mean that you won’t need as much carbohydrate during an event. However, often refuelling during an event is not a problem anyway due to the availability of aid stations. The idea of a LCHF diet was first raised in a study by Phinney et al in 1983. Phinney showed that endurance trained cyclists (n=5) who ate a ketogenic diet for 4 weeks had no compromise in endurance exercise compared to a ‘balanced diet’ with both groups having a similar exercise endurance of 2.5 hours on an ergometer (i.e. no actual performance benefit – just parity). This idea of a LCHF diet is therefore nothing new and there have been a few more studies since. So why the sudden explosion in interest? The answer lies in n=1 and social media. The best marketing study of all. Get a LCHF runner with great genetics who wins a race, looks the part, and has a following on social media and BINGO. Everyone should now be on a LCHF diet and they too will win races! As mentioned in my last blog, good nutritional studies are hard to come by. Often study participants self-select their diets and recording exactly what people eat is tedious and challenging. So I thought a recent study by Burke et al (2020) gave a good attempt of answering this question utilising a well designed scientific study. A sample of 26 male and female elite race walkers had energy matched LCHF and HCHO diets for 25 days and the same three week training program. Both groups were matched for age, body mass, base line VO2 max, and personal bests so there were no significant differences between both groups other than the diet they were eating. When both groups were retested over a 10 000m race walk, the HCHO group improved by 5% and LCHF group were slower by 2%. So in this group of elite walkers, a LCHF diet was actually detrimental to their performance. The critics will say a 10 000m race is not long enough or that fat adaptation for performance benefits take “several months” (i.e. 4-6 months) and not 2-3 weeks. To which I look forward to their long term studies on compliant ultra runners (whom in my experience tend to follow their own path and do what they want anyway). So once again we fall back on the need for more research on the performance (and health) benefits of longer term fat adaptation. Also, remember that the Burke et al study involved elite trained athletes. Thereby, if you were to start eating a LCHF diet in addition to exercising/training, there’s a good chance that you’ll shift some weight (which LCHF diets and exercise are known to do), and by default you’ll get a ‘performance effect’! But all things being matched, if you’re a well trained athlete at optimum weight who is performing well on a HCHO diet, then the evidence isn’t compelling to switch to a LCHF diet. So what do we believe is the science underpinning this finding? We know that although fat provides more energy than carbohydrates, the body requires more oxygen to burn fat compared to carbohydrates. That is, to produce the same speed/intensity/power from burning fat, you need to use a higher fraction of your VO2 max which by definition reduces your exercise economy (exercise economy has been shown to correlate better with performance than VO2 max). Now, this may not be an issue when oxygen is plentiful (e.g. sea level compared to altitude [note that a HCHO diet is also recommended in high altitude]) or when the demand for oxygen is low (e.g. low intensity compared to high intensity exercise). In other words, a LCHF diet may not be a problem for sports that require moderate aerobic intensity (e.g. 60-70% VO2 max) as there’s more aerobic reserve at lower intensities / extra wiggle room. But it could become a problem for athletes exercising at higher intensities (e.g. 80-90% VO2 max) and exercising at higher intensities is critical for elite athletes. So, the current scientific consensus is that a LCHF diet does not translate to improved performance in sports in which athletes need to work at higher intensities, speeds, or power for the above reasons. But a LCHF diet may still have some potential in recreational endurance runners participating at medium to low intensities. That is, those running long distances at conversational pace which are most of your middle of the pack runners and plodders. Where do I stand on this? I’m biased by my upbringing. My father is a Kiwi and my mother is a Filipino. Whilst growing up, to keep the peace and both parties happy, I learnt that I needed to eat potatoes AND rice. So now, I routinely double carb for most of my meals and as a result, I’m intermittently vilified. But I do like this concept of “metabolic flexibility” – using a variety of energy generating pathways. That is, why should we only be good at burning fat or carbs? Why can’t we be good at burning both? After all, you’re predominantly priming your fat burning pathways when you go for a morning run before you eat breakfast. Why get all worked up about fat versus carbs? Why can’t our energy systems cooperate and we all just get along? Why can’t I just eat my potatoes and rice in peace?

Ready to go bush. Heading into Kennedys Bush Reserve

The beginning of the Port Hills Ultra serves a familiar menu in the form of the Harry Elm track and the Crater Rim Walkway south of the Sign of the Kiwi. The course then veers off downwards towards the South Boundary Track along Faulkners Track which is all new to me and proves to be quite technical. The next section along Watlings/Bush Rd/O’Farrells/Cass Ridge Track is more unventured territory until I link up with the familiar Sign of the Bellbird. Although I’ve run past Kennedys Reserve a number of times, I’ve never really stopped to explore it so the Orongomai Trail loop was a highlight. This was pure running soul food as one was completely surrounded by dense beautiful native bush despite being so close to the city. We reconnect with the Crater Rim Walkway again and head towards Sugerloaf via Mitchells Track which offers some nice harbour views. I make good progress along Latters Spur Track which is an easy going pine needled downhill track but this marks the end of the honeymoon phase. From here, the leisurely 10am start begins to take its toll. The heat of the day starts to bite as we ascend up Hidden Valley Track and back towards Sugerloaf for the second time. I manage to link up with another runner who has a similar pace to me (Josie originally from Wales) and our conversation provides a welcome distraction to the heat and the uphill grind. We’re back on familiar tracks along Farm Track and the Mt Vernon Valley Track but the event organiser adds a cruel twist by directing runners into more unchartered territory – unheralded farmland by name of Linda Woods Reserve. Why bother going up the perfectly formed Rapaki Track when you can venture along sporadic sheep tracks whilst practising orienteering (without maps) all the way to the top of the Summit Road? Josie and I manage to successfully stay on course and we replenish at the final aid station at the top of the Bridle Path. From there, it is a 12km push back past Castle Rock via mountain bike tracks until we connect with the Harry Elm Track again and head back towards the finish at Victoria Park. I cross the finish line just after 6pm, 8 hours and 10 mins later. Tired but not exhausted. Legs appropriately primed for bigger things. If the Port Hills Ultra was the appetiser, then the Tarawera 100 miler in mid February is the main course. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Tarawera 100 miler (165km). Hopefully I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew.

That was tough. Crossing the finish line at Victoria Park

A bit ruffled heading up the road to Port Levy Spur

It was a slow and steady grind uphill from Pigeon Bay to Port Levy and I could feel the early effects of a well catered festive season. Talking about nutrition can be a challenging topic. There are so many diets available (e.g. low fat, high carb, ketogenic, Mediterranean, vegetarian, intermittent fasting). The problem being that good scientific studies are difficult to conduct and expensive. Diets vary and can change over time. Recording exactly what people eat is difficult and converting our diet into components of carbohydrate/fat/protein etc is unreliable. So, to make a definitive link between a diet recorded over a short period of time with disease and deaths encountered decades later is invariably difficult. In saying that, there is compelling short-term evidence (of at least one year) that a low carb diet (rather than a low fat, low calorie, or low glycaemic index diet) should be the first approach to treating type 2 diabetes which has become a life style disease. A diet low in carbohydrate has been shown to improve biochemical markers (HbA1c/cholesterol/lipids) and reduce body weight in those with type 2 diabetes. However, runners thrive on a high carb diet and carbs have been proven to increase performance in exercise. So, does this mean that a low carb diet should also be used in non-diabetics for possible long term ‘health’ benefits? The answer is we don’t know and there are no long term randomised controlled studies to support this (more on the ‘performance’ benefits of a low carb high fat diet in my next blog). At times it can seem like anybody who is skinny and has access to a social media platform can become a glorified ‘expert’. Truth be told, I’d be one of the worst dietary examples to follow. I have an appetite that can frighten the elderly. I run so I can eat everything and anything. I run because it makes me feel good. No amount of kale, quinoa, or tofu can make me feel as good as running. But one of the best pieces of nutritional advice I’ve heard is from Dr Zoe Harcombe who is a researcher well versed in nutritional evidence-based literature. Dr Harcombe’s simple take home message is to “eat colourful non processed food”. This advice in addition to at least 30 minutes of physical activity most days of the week should keep you on the straight and narrow towards a long and healthy life.

Heading towards Gebbies Pass

It’s another slow and tortuous climb along the Port Levy Spur road towards Mt Herbert. Although I’m eating into the total 2 278m course elevation, it’s beginning to take its effect. The temporary bliss of the light and fluffy pavlova on the lips has been converted into a dense heaviness in my quads. I move past the old remnants of totara and up the steep tussock slope to Little Mt Herbert (913m) followed by the summit of Mt Herbert itself (919m). The downhill section past the Packhorse Hut and Gebbies Pass offers some reprieve until I reacquaint myself with Summit Road’s renowned tormenter aka ‘the bastard”. Its prime purpose is to torture me for all my accustomed comforts and to remind me of all my temporary pleasures and sins. It’s another slow and sustained climb and it’s getting hot. The sun reflects off the road and the tar sticks to my shoes. The bastard serves up a meal of its own and it tastes foul – humble pie. I swallow my pride and break down the remaining 15km into bite size portions. Next corner. Next hill. I summon my own culinary skills and change the recipe. By adding a pinch of “keep going” to the secret ingredient of “don’t stop”, I eventually get to Kennedy’s Bush Track. From there, it’s all downhill to the finish. Seven hours later, I cross the finish line at Halswell Quarry. Sufficiently famished and primed for the BBQ season. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Port Hills Ultra 50km at the end of January.

Being tortured by “the bastard”

With the kids (Millie [left] and Poppi [right]) at the finish

The joyful ascent up Mt Herbert

Pain is one of the most complex things I see every day. Our perception of pain is influenced by our upbringing, knowledge, fears, and emotions. As health professionals, it can be quite challenging to treat pain as it’s so individual and subjective. We all interpret and cope with pain differently so it gets really murky. What started as simple one way signalling from pain receptors in the periphery has expanded to include the importance of the brain in interpreting pain. The brain plays a crucial role in deciding what is relevant. To that effect, the brain decides what ‘signals’ to facilitate and what ‘signals’ to inhibit (i.e. descending pain inhibitory pathways). If the brain decides something else is more important, it can inhibit pain and prioritise other tasks. This explains how soldiers can be oblivious to battle field injuries as the importance of survival outweighs any ‘minor’ limb shrapnel injury. Contrastingly, fear of the unknown, stress, anxiety, and low mood can amplify your pain system. Our habitual activity profile in treating musculoskeletal pain conditions is also important. If you’re a sedentary individual then it can be counter intuitive to keep moving if movement is painful. If you understand and appreciate the benefits of exercise, then you’re more likely to keep moving despite the pain. Five important concepts to share are:

1) Not all pain equals tissue damage. Just because it’s sore, it doesn’t mean that it’s abnormal or a predictor of significant tissue damage. For example, headaches are common but are not often a sign of significant tissue damage. Contrastingly, one may bruise easily (which reflects tissue damage) though individuals may not even be aware of this or feel pain.

2) Most tissues heal/remodel over expected time frames. Skin heals over ‘days’, muscles over ‘weeks’, and tendons/joints/bone/nerves over ‘months’. Trust that your body has a remarkable ability to heal. If you’re still experiencing pain longer than expected tissue healing time frames, then something else is driving this. What other stressors are going on in your life? Have you developed an overprotective pain system (see below)?

3) Your pain system is an early warning system. I use the analogy that your pain system is like a guard dog. The problem is, the guard dog doesn’t think it’s doing anything wrong. It simply thinks it’s doing its job and protecting you. “Hey you injured your back last year while running and now you’re starting to run again. I’m a bit worried about this so I’m just going to bark. Great, you’ve stopped. Thanks for listening to me”.

4) Your pain system is plastic. Your pain fibres are made out of the same fibres as your brain so they have the ability to respond to repeated stimuli and remodel i.e. the longer you’ve been in pain, the better your body gets at being in pain. That’s a scary thought.

5) Load can be painful. To illustrate this, if you lift a 1kg weight above your head, it won’t be sore to begin with, but if you’re still holding it there 8 hours later, it’s going to be sore. Nothing’s been damaged. Nothing’s been injured. It illustrates the concept that load can be painful. Our neck, back, and knees etc absorb load all day. Load can be increased through age related / post injury deconditioning (e.g. weak muscles and stiff joints) and weight gain. These are all common post injury.

Taking the above into account, if you’re post injury and still experiencing pain greater than expected tissue healing timeframes (e.g. > 3-6 months), then there is a good possibility that you’ve developed an overprotective pain system i.e. a hypervigilant and overprotective guard dog who has become very good at doing its job. The problem is, your guard dog doesn’t think it’s doing anything wrong. It simply thinks it’s doing its job. As a result, you stop moving. It hurts so I should stop moving right? Although this is the desired outcome for your overprotective pain system, this is the worst possible outcome for you. It’s during this period where the ‘true enemies’ really prosper – post injury weakness, stiffness, and weight gain. This in turn increases the load onto already compromised tissue. This pain is further fuelled by the fear that any movement will create more damage. It’s a vicious cycle that’s difficult to break. However, it can be broken. It may take time but take heart in knowing that you can retrain your pain system. One approach is to ignore your pain. Yes, that’s right, ignore your pain. If you’re talking to your friendly neighbour and your guard dog is incessantly barking, how is this helpful? Don’t pay any credence to this unhelpful behaviour. An alternate approach is to work with your guard dog. Tell your guard dog “Thank you, I know what you’re trying to do, but I need to do X, Y, and Z in order to get better. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Do this often enough and most guard dogs eventually get the message. Injury aside, if you’re aging and have ‘let yourself go’ and everyday activities or low demand activities are now becoming painful, is this because you’re deconditioned and unable to tolerate the loads you previously tolerated? Do you need to move more rather than move less? We live in a society where we are over sensitised to comfort. We live in a society where pain is no longer tolerated and all pain is abnormal. Amongst the haze we have lost the once valued mantra of “no pain, no gain”. I reminisce back to my basic military training where our corporals and sergeants took great pleasure in telling us that ‘pain was weakness leaving the body’. If we were sore, then we were told to take a concrete pill. By the end of my first week, I could barely straighten my arms from doing so many press ups to rid my body of all this ‘weakness’ whilst also being severely constipated from all the concrete pills I had taken. Maybe there was a method to all this madness. A colleague of mine who grew up and practised medicine in Uganda before moving to NZ tells me ‘we have forgotten how to suffer’. Maybe this is what ultra runners are subconsciously doing every weekend. Conditioning our bodies to discomfort. Remembering what it’s like to suffer again. Running to escape from our excessive comfort.

Moving along the Crater Rim trail

Heading up Mt Herbert is challenging (920m) but enjoyable to begin with as I’m still surrounded by the positive energy from other competitors. It’s a cloudless sky and the sun is warm and forgiving. Track conditions are also perfect so one can afford to relax and take in the harbour and coastal views around Mt Herbert and towards Packhorse Hut. There’s a light cool breeze so it’s all pretty smooth sailing along the pine forests towards Gebbie’s Pass. However, as expected, things start to get hard from about 20km onwards. Smooth sailing doesn’t last forever. Joy and comfort soon turn into discomfort and deep introversion. The trial by discomfort begins with a testing ascent up ‘the bastard’ (which as the name implies, doesn’t garner much affection or fondness). Moving over rocks and under vines towards the Sign of the Bellbird offers some reprieve from the uphill, but softens the legs up in the process. The descent down Worsley Spur towards the Adventure Park and back up the aptly named “Uphill Track” is when things start to unravel a bit. The sun is at its peak and it all gets a bit hot and heavy (minus the seduction). Before long, I’m light headed and well and truly in Ultra-Land. An ultra-runner’s equivalent of Disneyland minus the joy. I manage to labour towards the Sign of the Kiwi aid station (40km mark) and stay a while to implement some damage control. I ingest a combination of glucose and caffeine which helps to lift the mind fog. Once hydrated and nourished, there can be no other excuses. It’s time to channel Billy Ocean – When the going gets tough, the tough get going! No point standing still and feeling sorry for yourself. Best to get moving and finish! The last 13km is pure mind over muscle. No pain, no gain. Pushing through discomfort. Just before 3.30pm, the trial by discomfort ends and I cross the finish line in 8 hours and 7 mins. Often the best pain relief is the finish line. For the next few days, I’m a bit sore. I’m a bit stiff. I have to learn to bite my bottom lip when my patients tell me how sore they are following their activities of daily living. I don’t like discomfort. But I believe that I need to intermittently experience discomfort to really appreciate the comfort around me. Running keeps me grounded in that respect. I know that exercise isn’t easy but at some point, it actually needs to be hard. When exercise is no longer hard, guess what invariably becomes hard? Life. Sometimes there will be a requirement to push through pain. Seek guidance if you’re in doubt. Knowledge is pain relief. Not all pain equals tissue damage. Not all pain is abnormal. Exercise is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Valley Ultra in mid-November.

Christchurch beaches to the east

Homeward bound

At the marathon start line with Courtney and Walter

The 4 Paws Marathon allows me to promote participation and ‘exercise as medicine’. It’s also my way of giving back and contributing in some small way to my community. Doctors are very good at practising medicine within their office walls. But we need to do better and challenge ourselves. How do we extend our influence beyond our walls and into our communities? The 4 Paws Marathon allows me to do this. We are living in an increasingly sedentary world. Our jobs are more sedentary. Our recreational activities are reducing. Our transport is increasingly becoming more automated. Several studies have shown that dogs are powerful motivators to get people moving. Forget the treadmill! Get a dog! Dog owners are generally more active and more likely to meet recommended exercise guidelines than people without dogs (or cat owners for instance). A study published in April 2019 in Scientific Reports (Westgarth et al) showed that dog owners spent close to 300 minutes each week walking their dogs which is about 200 more minutes of walking than people without dogs. In fact, this study showed that dog owners were about four times more likely than other people to meet today’s physical activity guidelines. Unexpectantly, dog owners also spent slightly more time than non-dog owners jogging, cycling, or visiting the gym; showing that walking their dog had not affected their other recreational physical activities. Even better, the influence of dogs extended to children. Children whose families owned dogs were substantially more active than children in homes without dogs. Worldwide, 1 in 4 adults and 3 in 4 adolescents (aged 11-17 years of age) do not currently meet recommended physical activity guidelines. Dogs continue to be our best ally in keeping active. The 4 Paws Marathon is one of the few events in the world where dogs are actually invited to exercise with their owners. In summary, owning a dog is really good for you and can lead to a healthier and longer life!

Spending some quality time with ‘the big guy’ aka Walter

Although I was determined to make this event a positive experience for our competitors, COVID-19 was quite stressful. Lead times for ordering products were significantly prolonged, sponsors were losing staff and finances were tight, obtaining an event permit was more onerous, unscheduled COVID forestry works meant courses had to be rerouted, and our stream of volunteers dried up. The switch from level 1 to level 2 (with its maximum 100 participant limit), meant we had to impose a wait list and cancel our 2.4km Rascal’s Run. The possibility of a sudden cancellation and COVID restrictions meant multiple back up plans had to be considered. Creating a virtual event offered a viable alternative and gave our entrants another option. Throughout this whole time, the focus was on controlling the controllables. So, when we were advised the week before the event that our finisher’s medals would not arrive on time, I refused to dwell on it. Que Sera, Sera (whatever will be, will be). Stress aside, event day was magic! We couldn’t have asked for better conditions. Participants abided by the COVID-19 alert level 2 rules, sponsors freely contributed, and my family, friends, and neighbours continued to smile despite all the challenges. My wife Courtney did an amazing job at the start/finish. I was the combined Race Director and marathon tail end Charlie again. In doing so, I was able to take down the ‘hundreds of signs and pink ribbon’ that my cousin Shane, and good friend, flight lieutenant Jim Sheehan had help me put up over 14 hours the day before. It was great to see so many people having fun with their dogs! Although I don’t get to see the start/finish area in its pomp, I always enjoy looking at the pictures and hearing the stories of dogs getting their massages and eating their ice creams. My 13-year-old Spanish Water Dog, Summer completed the half marathon this year and Walter, my 10-year-old Spoodle, joined me in the marathon finishing together in 8 hours and 38 minutes. Mable, our 8-month-old Italian Water Dog, also did the last 5km with us and is a future runner waiting in the wings for sure. This event is not about how fast you can run or how long you can run for. You can only go as fast as your slowest dog. The 4 Paws Marathon is all about finishing together with your best friend! See you next year! Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Crater Rim Ultra in mid October. A local favourite of mine.

Task force tail end Charlie. From left to right: Merv (Spoodle), Logan Austin, Daniel Millar, myself, and Summer

Our 2-year-old, Poppi running towards her older sister, Millie as she approaches the finish line

Up in the Port Hills with Quail Island in the background

Going up Mt Herbert I am winding back the years. With each kilometre I am shedding responsibility and eventually I am that carefree kid again. The descent down Mt Herbert is when things start to get really wet and wild. The ground is sodden and my shoes sink into the mud. The path ahead transforms into a muddy slide. A by-product of all the kids before me. Before long, I am slipping and sliding and losing control. The drizzle, sweat, and mud coalesce into one. I skid and fall many times to meet it. Eventually trepidation gives way to laughter and you learn to let yourself go. I start to find my groove as I swerve past the Packhorse Hut. There are nooks and crannies in this back yard I’ve never explored before and I’m enjoying the experience. The play continues as I commando roll (accidental) through pine forest, swing across native bush, and dodge large steaming cow pats. Sometimes in life we forget to play. Running is an adult version of play which allows us to stay young in more ways than one. Our aerobic capacity declines by about 1% per year or 10% per decade from the age of 30. Those who continue to exercise can reduce this to about 0.5% per year or 5% per decade. Our peak muscle strength and muscle fibre size also decreases from our late 20s. If you’re over 30, you need to work harder with each passing year just to maintain (yet alone build) your strength and aerobic fitness. If you’re over 30 and you find being physically active hard, then it means you need to do it. If you find it really hard, then you really need to do it! You must find your own form of play. And once you find it, you must keep on playing! Only then can you ‘wind back the years’.

The big kid and the little kid approaching the finish line

Play time continues as we move along the Crater Rim trail, through the Sign of the Bellbird, down and up Worsley Spur trail, and towards the Sign of the Kiwi. By the time I reach the 40km mark, all this play is starting to catch up with me. I know the end is approaching as I get closer to the sugar (Sugarloaf) and the muddy trails are replaced by more red and dry rock. There are a few more dizzying loops followed by a sprint down Rapaki track towards the finish. I’m lucky enough to see my four-year-old daughter, Millie, near the finish line. For the last 100 metres, the little kid joins the big kid and we play together. I love how children run free of reason, pressure, or expectation. Running for them is simply a natural expression of joy and overflow of excitement. We cross the finish line hand in hand whilst laughing and smiling. These are special moments. People think we stop running because we get old. I’m in the group that says we get old because we stop running. Running is play. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Valley Ultra 57km, at the start of November.

At the finish line with my wife Courtney (fresh after her 21km run) and daughter Millie

The start line of the inaugural 4 Paws Marathon ‘Marathon’ (all dogs finished by the way)

When the start line arrived on Sunday morning, I was pretty exhausted. I had not slept for the last 24hours. My good friend, Squadron Leader, Jim Sheehan and my cousin, Shane McErlane had helped me set up the course the day prior. We had started at 9am Saturday but things had not gone to plan. The problem being, I was the only person who knew the layout of all the courses and I was being helped by two people who had never been to Bottle Lake Forest in their life. We also had about 200 signs to put up and much of the course could not be accessed by vehicle (i.e. we had to walk or bike most of the tracks). Eventually the light became darkness and we were marking the course with head torches on. We were also starting to run out of pink ribbon and arrow signs. Thankfully, Courtney (who had just completed pre-race registration and was already snowed under herself) managed to make up a few more pegs with pink ribbon and drop them off to us. Jim (another ideas man) purchased some black electric tape from the local service station and manufactured arrows from strips of tape. Things were looking good for a 9.30pm finish (just in time for the All Blacks versus South Africa game) when the unthinkable happened. Our car got stuck in a deep muddy track right in the middle of the half and full marathon course. After about an hour of pushing, creating platforms from branches, and calling AA and towing companies without any success, there remained one person left to call but no one wanted to call her – my wife Courtney. Jim, Shane, and I were all tired, cold, hungry, and out of ideas. I looked at my cousin Shane who was covered in mud from all the pushing. His shorts had somehow been ripped in the process exposing his genitals in the dwindling car headlights. That was the signal to abort. I asked Jim to call Courtney and he duly obliged. However, he caught me off guard when he handed me the phone just as she picked up. I explained our predicament and how we needed to be rescued. When she arrived just after 10.30pm, it would be fair to say she was very angry. The car ride back was deathly quiet. We had just made her unpack her vehicle which she had prepared for the following day. We had also stranded our car plus trailer which were crucial to transporting all the marquees, food, and drink containers the next morning. It was all a bit glum. Our transport plan for tomorrow had been compromised and we had just missed the All Blacks. Jim being the driver was feeling guilty. He suggested it would be better if he spent his efforts retrieving the car during daylight rather than running the full marathon with me in a few hours. We sheepishly went to bed. I lay in bed from midnight to 2am and my thoughts were racing. I still hadn’t marked a good 6km of the half and full marathon course along New Brighton Beach. I realised a whole year of hard work had come down to this moment. I was exhausted but I was emotionally invested in this event so I knew I had to give one final push. I got out of bed in a sorry state and continued marking the rest of the course between 2am-4am. By the time I had returned, the rest of the house was waking up to our agreed 4.30am alarm. The mood was about as bright as it was outside. Despite this, everyone just got to work. I also had to somehow mentally prepare myself to run a marathon as the tail end charlie whilst acting as the ‘race director’. I don’t know how we did it, but somehow, we did. By 7.30am, we’d managed to put up the start/finish archway, gazebos, rubbish bins, and parking signs. I had quite a few well-meaning people in my face asking questions. St Johns had also arrived 15hrs after our scheduled volunteer brief to receive their brief. So, when I finally managed to get to the start line with Summer and Walter, I was exhausted but relieved. I’ve always said that getting to the start line is the hardest part.

Running through the forest with Dr Bella Henzell (left), Summer (middle carrying a pine cone), and Walter (right with tongue out)

Right from the beginning, I’ve said that the 4 Paws Marathon was all about ‘passion not profit’. I love running with my dogs and I wanted to share this with others in an event environment. Summer, my Spanish Water Dog had turned 12 this year so I knew I was running out of time to experience an event with her. Walter, the Spoodle, was about to turn nine. This was the underlying drive for this event – my love of running with my dogs. However, being a Sport & Exercise doctor, I also wanted to promote the benefits of physical activity beyond my office. I’ve been an exercise advocate at an individual level for a long time now but I wanted to make a difference at a community level. Doctors are good at working within their offices but we need to be better at extending our reach beyond our medical clinics. Being sedentary kills more people in the USA than smoking, diabetes, and obesity combined. Yet a lot of people still don’t know this. Being sedentary is the new silent killer. Therefore, the 4 Paws Marathon also provided an opportunity for me to promote ‘exercise as medicine’. And who better to help us than our best ally in exercise – the humble dog. It’s known that people with dogs generally do more exercise than people with cats. Research published in The Telegraph showed that the average dog owner gets more exercise than gym goers. In a world where recreational exercise is reducing, jobs are becoming more sedentary, and transport is increasingly automated, we need our dogs to help us exercise. There are people out there who think that dogs shouldn’t be running marathons. These people who say it cannot be done, shouldn’t be interrupting those who are actually doing it. Certainly, a dog’s age and breed (e.g. working dog) plays a large part. But in my opinion, the single biggest determinant on whether a dog can run a marathon or not, is the owner. A dog is a portal and portrait of an owner’s exercise levels. An owner who is active is likely to have an active dog. An owner who sits on the coach all day, is unlikely to ever run a marathon so the dog is ‘protected’ by default. This event was never about creating the first official dog marathon in the world. It was never about getting people to run 42km, 21km, 10km, or 5km. It was simply a medium to get people out of their homes and exercising in a safe and enjoyable event environment with their best friend. Their best friend who also happens to be our best ally in keeping active. Why an event environment? Because people can do more than they normally could in an event environment. Otherwise, we’d all be running marathons every day!

Running along New Brighton Beach whilst fulfilling tail end charlie duties (i.e. collecting pink ribbon)

The course is a beautiful mix of soft forest trails and beach for those who chose to participate in the half and full marathon. But rather than talk about the course (you’re better off doing it), I’d like to give thanks to those who have supported the inaugural event. Thanks to my wife, family, friends, vets, animal management / medical staff, volunteers, and sponsors who have helped make the 4 Paws Marathon possible. To the 180 participants and their 140 dogs, many thanks for all your kind words and messages of encouragement. There was a point leading up to the start where I thought that I’d never do this again. But all the happy faces (dogs and human) have made it all worthwhile. Although I spend most of my time trying to make people better, arguably making people happy is more rewarding. Finally, to Summer and Walter. You have no idea how much you’ve taught me about running joyfully, freely, and in the moment. You probably don’t even care that you’ve participated in an event. But I care. And this memory will be cherished for a long time. You’ve always been my best training partners and now I’m very proud to officially call you ‘marathon dogs’. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Crater Rim Ultra 52km at the beginning of October. Another favourite of mine!

Oh my God we made it! The 4 Paws Marathon family at the finish line (finishing time of 7hr 46 mins).

Making start lines with my wife Courtney in tow (green jacket)

Today also happens to be the Australasian College of Sport & Exercise Physicians (ACSEP) annual #DoctorDash campaign. The #DoctorDash is a new initiative from my college to help support good mental health in the medical profession. Medical professionals are not immune to depression, suicide, and substance abuse so the #DoctorDash encourages everyone to walk/run to support mental health. It is only fitting then that this blog is about the benefits of exercise with regards to mental health. The first important point is that exercise has been shown to prevent depression. Those who engage in regular physical activity have a lower risk of developing depression while those who do no physical activity have three times the risk of developing depression (Weyerer S. 1992). The second important point is that there is clear scientific support for using exercise in the treatment of depression. Exercise has been shown to be as effective as antidepressants in treating mild to moderate depression (Blumenthal JA et al. 1999). Better still, there is a clear dose-response relationship. The more you exercise, the better the response. The long term effects are also positive. If you keep exercising, you are more likely to remain in full remission with a reduced risk of relapse. So with reasonably good evidence that exercise is effective in preventing and treating depression, why is antidepressant prescribing going through the roof? What are we doing wrong? Is it quicker to write an antidepressant prescription rather than address life style risk factors? Is it easier to swallow a pill rather than exercise for 30-60 minutes at a moderate intensity for most days of the week? We need to prescribe more exercise than antidepressants! If regular exercise is the equivalent of taking an antidepressant, conversely, stopping exercise in those who regularly exercise can be viewed as a depressant (e.g. the retired professional athlete). My own personal experience is that running has been the best anti stress, anti-anxiety, and antidepressant medication I could ask for. I know that there is more to depression than just a lack of exercise. But in my opinion, I also believe that it’s no coincidence that our increasing mental health numbers are occurring during our current epidemic of sedentary lifestyles / increased screen time.

The home straight

It’s nice to be starting again at the Town Hall. We head out along Kilmore St and do a few circuits around the city. The torrential rain from the night before has meant parts of the Avon River have overflown onto the roads. So today we are manoeuvring around rivers as well as puddles. Hagley Park is also wet and muddy underfoot but at least the old oak trees block the southerly wind. Fifteen kilometres into the run, I am getting quite cold. The rain comes and goes and wind gusts bite. All my peripheries are numb and I can no longer physically determine if I am a man or a woman. Running with cold muscles also makes maintaining a rhythmic stride challenging. Normally a marathon gets tough from about 30km. But today the adverse weather means that the ‘trial by sweat’ starts a lot earlier at 21km. Many non-runners only see the physical benefits of running a marathon. However, experienced runners are well refined on the mental benefits of running a marathon. Running a marathon arguably builds more mental resilience than physical resilience. You have to condition your mind to cope and resist stress. Although I know this running medicine is good for me, today this pill is served cold and tastes repulsive. Running through the ‘red zone’ along the Avon River, I switch to the calm, clear, and task focused ‘blue head’. As the rain and wind continues to lash down, I work on building a resolve as cool as the surrounding elements. I flush out negative thinking and focus on positive thoughts. When things start to get tough from 35km onwards, I once again break it down into small achievable goals. Just around the corner, the next tree, the next kilometre marker. A willing body simply follows a positive mind. Eventually small achievable goals will lead you to the finish. Four hours and 8 mins later, my own mental trial has finished. In times of mental hardship, set small achievable start lines and goals. Exercise to condition your mind as much as your body. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Mt Difficulty Extreme Mountain 44km this weekend.

Thankful to have finished albeit being cold and wet

Taking my medicine with others at Hagley Park

We still have a long way to go but it’s promising to see that a few medical clinics recognise exercise as a “vital sign”. Vital signs are the body’s life sustaining functions that have been routinely measured by doctors for years. These include body temperature, pulse rate, respiratory rate, blood pressure, and weight. There is a growing chorus from exercise medicine practitioners to add physical activity to these other well established vital signs. However, this breaks with medical tradition as unlike other vital signs which measure a body part, asking about physical activity levels measures behaviour. And changing behaviour can be complex. Currently, most doctors do not ask their patients ‘how often’ or ‘how long’ they exercise. Consequently, not many doctors know how to prescribe exercise. It’s also been shown that doctors who do not exercise (which is increasing like the rest of the general population) are unlikely to promote the benefits of exercise themselves. As a result, not many patients know that low fitness kills more people in the USA than smoking, diabetes, and obesity combined. That’s right, combine your three biggest presumed killers and low fitness still trumps them all. Low fitness kills eight times as many people as obesity. Therefore, someone who is fit and fat will live a longer and healthier life than someone who is genetically skinny and doesn’t exercise. Low fitness kills twice as many people as smoking. Yet we continue to direct most of our focus towards stopping smoking rather than educating people about making exercise a healthy lifestyle choice. If all smokers were non-smokers, we’d save 8 lives per 100 people. However, if all inactive people were getting 150 minutes of physical activity per week (which is equal to 30 mins five times a week), we’d save 16 lives per 100 people. In the 21st century, low fitness is the silent killer. We cannot stay silent about this for any longer. We must spread the word – Exercise is medicine.

Approaching the finish line at the Cathedral Square

The Christchurch Marathon starts at the Cathedral Square and passes through the CBD. It then goes through Hagley Park and follows the Avon River for a while. Runners are then taken through earthquake red zoned suburbs. Much of the inner city landscape has changed since the damaging 2011 Christchurch earthquake. My favourite part of the whole marathon is easily the segment through Hagley Park away from all this havoc. The old oak trees and weeping willows along the Avon River provide comforting familiarity amongst all this destruction. This connection with nature is soothing and relaxing. In contrast, the second half of the marathon is less appealing. The course goes through the desolate red zone and support is minimal. The rain also just happens to pick up and it gets colder. Unpalatable as it is, I know that I need to keep taking my medicine. Not all medicine tastes good but I appreciate this medicine is good for me. Three hours and 47 minutes later, I cross the finish line at the Cathedral Square. Exercise minutes successfully banked for the week and monthly health insurance premium paid in full. If sweat is the currency of health, then regular exercise is the best health insurance policy you could ever take out. Make an investment in your health today. Exercise is medicine. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Taupo Ultramarathon 100km in October (I’m having a rest from marathon running for a while).

Cold and wet at the finish line but happy

At the start of the inaugural Crater Rim Ultra 50km

When you run, you play. When your backyard is the Port Hills, you play all day. Running takes me back to my youth. Back to when you could play all day. No expectations. No one to please. No timings. Just pure, unrestrained, and unbridled joy. You didn’t walk from one adventure to the next – you ran. And you ran with a smile on your face. Running wasn’t hard. Running wasn’t unhygienic. It wasn’t a way to lose weight. It wasn’t a way to increase your cardiorespiratory fitness. Running wasn’t something you HAD to do – it was play. Unfortunately, as we drift further away from our childhood, some of us have forgotten how to play. Some of us have forgotten how to run. We’ve been caught up in the adult world of money, material assets, and ascending the ranks. When you play, you challenge your physical abilities. You test your boundaries. You learn about yourself. Running is like play for adults. In my medical office I am working. But in the Port Hills, Christchurch, I am playing. And what a backyard it is. Hopping from rock to rock. Wading through ankle high mud. Slipping and sliding down wet grass. Skipping around steaming cowpats. Manoeuvring through fresh native bush. Singing with bell birds. Passing through tracks less travelled, or sometimes creating your own path. You did whatever you felt like doing. Fuelled by your own imagination. Moving by instinct. Running liberates me from my day to day adult pressures. It unclutters the mind. Flushes out the problems. Removes the negativity. Running is my form of play. Never be too old to play. Whatever your form of play is, keep doing it. There is a time to play, and there is a time to work. Always make time to play! Dedicate 30-60 mins of your day towards play and connect with your inner child.

Diamond Harbour, Mt Herbert, and Quail Island

I must admit, after 8hrs or so of playing you get pretty tired. I probably never appreciated how big my backyard was. I’d entered corners previously not explored. Made some new friends. Refamiliarised myself with some of my favourite tracks. Rolled my ankle pretty good and stubbornly kept going. I didn’t realise how bad it was until I had actually stopped. I’d just run from Diamond Harbour, up Mt Herbert, towards Gebbies Pass, along the Crater Rim trail, past the Sign of the Bellbird, past the Sign of the Kiwi, along Sugerloaf, and was now running back into Christchurch. 8hrs and 25 mins later, I cross the finish line. Memories flash of my mother calling me for dinner. My father yelling at me to do the lawns. Play time is over. It’s time to go home now. Time to return to my wife and child. Time to be an adult again. The day ends with a recovery spa and a meal with my family at Lone Star. I order a couple of lamb shanks and a Moro Bar cheesecake. So good! Come night fall I’m completely exhausted. All played out. Before long, this adult is sleeping like a baby again! Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, Mission Mt Somers Marathon next week. A quick turnaround!

Crossing the finish line. Play time’s over.

Running seasons along the Avon River

This was my first run in the new Christchurch marathon course post the 2011, 6.3 magnitude Christchurch earthquake. The race started in the Cathedral Square and coursed through the CBD, Hagley Park, red zoned land, and along the Avon River. It was a strange feeling. I had never run a marathon through a CBD before that felt so empty and lonely. The damage was plain to see. Buildings remained cordoned. Roads were unsealed and pot holes greeted the unwary. Although I had run parts of this course many times previously, it was almost unrecognisable today. Houses had been replaced by empty sections. On road had been transformed to off road. The course had changed so much. The city I had known had changed so much. But in this moment, I too realised that I had changed so much. I was once a carefree medical student who ran. Now I was a husband, father, uncle, physician, and dedicated personal trainer to my two running dogs – Summer and Walter. Responsibilities change. Life circumstances change. Homes change. Jobs change. Relationships change. Friends change. In fact, the only thing that remained constant in my life was running. Running was the true constant. And for this I am grateful.

Approaching the finish line of the 2017 Christchurch Marathon

The run was cold. From 30km onwards it started to rain. They weren’t  the most pleasurable conditions to finish in. Despite this, I managed to finish strongly in 4hr 3 mins. Although I was aiming to finish under 4 hours, I had never run a marathon two weeks after a 100km run before. I couldn’t get too precious over 3 minutes. Naturally, one would think that running a marathon after a 100km run would be a walk in the park. Mentally, it does become a lot easier. But physically, the marathon will always challenge. There is never an easy marathon! It is this challenge that attracts me and draws me to it. After the UTA 100, today was simply about getting to the start line. I believe that the finish line tends to look after itself if you treat the start line with respect. And tomorrow, you look for a new start line. And before you know it, those daffodils have sprung again and you have run full circle! Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Wuu-2k off road marathon in mid July.