At the start line at Te Puia with Courtney

As we run past the steaming geysers at Te Puia, it’s not long before I’ve built up a light sweat. I sense that we are running too fast so I pull back a bit. Courtney on the other hand, being a lot more social than me, gravitates towards the speeding group. I try to reign her back and counsel not to get caught up in this trap. “For the first 2-3 hours of the run, all you’re trying to do is establish your all-day pace. At this point, most runners are just chasing each other’s tail and running on adrenaline. Eventually you’ll find people who are the same pace as you but you won’t find them here!” How you start any miler is crucial! There is a tendency to go too fast as we don’t have any fatigue to limit us. For most of us in a miler who just want to finish, it’s not about how fast you can go but rather the slowest pace you can comfortably hold. Running slow requires discipline and isn’t easy. If people are passing you early on in a miler, rest assured that you’re doing it right! We let the masses stream past us and run at a slow disciplined pace all the way to Puarenga aid station (11km). We continue in a similar vein towards Green Lake aid station (22km). By this point, we’re on well-formed gravel road and its light enough to put our head lamps away. By the time we arrive at Buried Village aid station, it’s just after 8.30am and we’ve done 30km in about 4.5 hours. There has been minimal exertion and we’ve still arrived well within the 10.45am cut off. We quickly stop to collect our iced drinks and walk off eating our second breakfast for the morning – a slice of Domino’s BBQ Meatlovers pizza. Consider this as your warm up for the Tarawera Miler. Now the difficult Tarawera Trail awaits.

A snapshot of the Tarawera Trail (above) which runs along Lake Tarawera (below)

Despite all its beauty, the next section from Buried Village (30km) to Isthmus aid station (45.5km) along the Tarawera Trail is a deceptively challenging section of the course. It’s narrow single trail and hence you’re shoulder to shoulder with native bush most of the way with intermittent views of Lake Tarawera. The profile is mainly rolling, undulating terrain with a pretty steep ascent and descent towards the end. This 15km track is tough enough on fresh legs (yet alone after 30km) so I’d urge you to take this part easy and keep your legs fresh. There’s at least 30km of forestry roads ahead where you’ll need your running legs so don’t go burning matches here. Just keep humming along at your all-day pace and don’t force any passing. It can also get pretty hot along this section so make sure you leave Buried Village with at least 1.5 litres of fluid (maybe more on hotter days). The last kilometre or so to the Isthmus aid station is also pretty taxing. With full exposure to the sun, you have to move along a make shift grassy trail that’s rarely used. When Courtney and I reach the Isthmus aid station, it’s nearly midday. There’s minimal shade so I’m not too keen to stick around for long. We make sure we’ve got enough fluid to last us until Rerewhakaaitu (56km) and leave with our zip lock bags full of food and fruit. It’s a gradual 1km climb to where the boat waits so this is a good section to walk/eat and bank some calories for later on in the run. When we reach a small wooden jetty, there’s a rather luxurious boat with a canopy roof and enough seating for about 11 runners. It’s then a quick 2.5km sprint across the lake until we’re dropped off at the other side. We spot a small chilly bin with ice so Courtney and I stop and add ice to our flasks knowing that the next part of the course is quite exposed. Soon enough, the clouds part and the sun beats down on the exposed farm land ahead. We settle into a shuffle that is sustainable for the conditions and pass a few participants (and dairy cows) who have succumbed to a walk due to the heat. We then leave the farm land and enter a sealed country road. In previous years, it was a long difficult slog along straight country roads to Rerewhakaaitu but this time we turn off early into a pine forest. Although the trail through the pine forest remains a gradual gradient upwards, at least its soft underfoot and provides welcome shade. There is then a bit more farm land and shingle road until we reach Rerewhakaaitu aid station (56km) at 1.30pm. By now, we’re battling the full heat of the day and the sun beats down on us like we’re a couple of petulant kids. Thankfully our cousin Shane is there to greet us and tops us up with more iced drinks and a slice of Meatlovers pizza for the road (lunch). It’s always nice to see a familiar face in the heat of battle and Courtney and I leave the aid station in pretty good spirits.

At Rerewhakaaitu aid station (56km) with Courtney

The next section from Rerewhakaaitu (56km) to Outlet (88km) aid station is arguably the toughest part of the course if you don’t like running. I say that with tongue and cheek as the vast majority of this section is along forestry roads and very runnable! Other than a steepish climb around 70km when you enter the Tarawera Forest, most of these roads are runnable and you should be aiming to shuffle most of this section. If you’re reduced to prolonged periods of walking, then there’s a good chance that you’ve run more than you should’ve before this point and lost control of your pacing. I can tell Courtney isn’t enjoying this section (she tells me that this was tougher than the CCC 100km at UTMB!) and that’s because most ultra runners aren’t use to prolonged continuous running as often the off-road terrain limits this. However, deep in the heart of the Tarawera Forests, these long stretches of forestry roads will either make or break you. If you can run/shuffle most of these roads without dismantling, you’ll be well placed to arrive at the Outlet in reasonable shape. When Courtney and I do arrive at Outlet aid station (88km), there’s no loose parts and everything still seems to be hanging in there (including the sphincter). It’s now 7pm which means we’ve been moving for a total of 15 hours. I scull some iced orange juice in my drop bag which goes down a treat and pack away another slice of Meatlovers pizza for the road (dinner). A volunteer ties a glow stick to my pack for the ensuing night and I make sure my head lamp is easily accessible before leaving the Outlet. The Tarawera Outlet is where the water from the eastern end of Lake Tarawera forms the start of the Tarawera River and hence the next section of the course is absolutely beautiful. We run along the crystal-clear turquoise waters of the Tarawera River which culminates with the gushing white of the spectacular Tarawera Falls. Eventually we reach the trail end and we’re back on gravel road again. The road is initially flat until it gradually turns upwards. By 9pm, the darkness smothers us both on this endless gravel road. Though you may no longer see the gradual incline, you can certainly still feel it.

The crystal clear Tarawera River (above) and the spectacular Tarawera Falls (below)

The 11km section from Fenton Mill to Rotoiti aid station is pretty punishing. In fact, the gradual 3% gradient climb begins even before Fenton Mill so it’s actually 12km of gradual up. I take comfort in knowing that I didn’t have to do this section in the sun but not much else. It’s dark so your whole existence becomes reliant on a small cone of light and you’d be lucky if you were doing 10–11-minute kilometres. The up seems to go on forever and it’s steep enough to make any running unpleasant. All is quiet apart from the crunching of gravel beneath your feet which provides you with ample opportunity to reflect on your life choices. Milers certainly don’t get any easier. I don’t even think they get less hard. I’ve always encouraged exercise as a life style – a life style that you can build your home around. But in reality, you couldn’t build a life style around milers. If marathons were valleys, then milers would be mountains. And you wouldn’t want to build your house on a mountain. As much as one enjoys the views on top of a mountain, living on a mountain all year round would be too harsh. Hence mountains (like milers) are a great place to visit, but it would be ill-advised to build a home there. In saying that, I couldn’t possibly live in the valleys all day long and look upwards wondering. Some of my best experiences have been going up mountains including some of the most amazing views. Mountains are there to explore, to climb, to endure. Milers are challenging. Milers are hard. And though the climb is difficult and the journey is arduous, this was what I was built for. So while I can, I will keep visiting. Because one day we won’t be able to. And we’ll be wishing we could.

Millar Rd aid station at 4.15am with our pacers Shane (middle) and Tessa (far right)

Eventually what seems like hours of going up ends and we’re descending again. The descent is steep along freshly cut trail which is treacherous and slippery in the dark. When Courtney and I arrive at Okataina aid station (119km), it’s just after 1am which means we’ve been moving for a total of 21 hours. We’re greeted by our support crew – my cousins Shane and Paul and my wife’s friend Tessa who did the T21 (23km) earlier on in the day. They’ve obviously seen a few runners entering looking worse for wear as we’re told that we’re looking good (despite essentially doing three consecutive marathons). As if intuitively sensing my desire for further Domino’s pizza was wavering, Paul has brought some KFC popcorn chicken and fries which he has remarkably managed to keep hot. The hot salty food hits the mark beautifully and is a huge boost for morale! The next section from Okataina (119km) to Millar Road aid station (134km) is arguably the most feared part of the course for those in the know. It’s a deceptively long 15km which is reasonably technical and contains the steepest sustained climb of the whole course. On fresh legs, the climb out is not that intimidating. But after 120km, it’s transformed into a gnarly beast and I’d recommend that you save some fuel (or KFC) in the tank for this one. Courtney and Tessa take off like women possessed while I decide to stay a bit longer to complete lubrication formalities for the night. I wish them luck though I’m quietly concerned by this bravado. I’ve seen many athletes and their pacers take off with reckless abandon only to leave their running legs on that steep climb and their hopes of finishing in tatters. When I eventually leave Okataina, I’m accompanied by my cousin/pacer Shane who knows me well enough to know that I’m in no mood for a regimental sergeant major after 120km or after death o’clock. He does a poor job of inflating my ego though provides good companionship and we ascend in a slow sustainable manner until we eventually reach the starry sky above. As I course over the top, I know that a long downhill follows so I get my legs spinning again and pass the majority of runners and their pacers who attacked the climb earlier. The final 5km into Millar Road always seems to take forever due to a second climb (which is more gradual but equally taxing) that is often unappreciated at night. I eventually arrive into Millar Road aid station at about the same time as Courtney and Tessa around 4.15am. In previous years, Millar Road was a bit of a ‘death station’ but in recent years it’s been fantastic and lively. The lights are bright, the music is pumping, and the volunteers are shaking a groove. We all decide to stop for some Maggi 2-minute noodles but then get moving again before the rigor mortis sets in. Thirty kilometres to go!

Sunday sunrise over Blue Lake

Most DNFs (did not finish) occur at aid stations and Millar Road is no exception. If you can leave Millar Road aid station, you’ve got a good chance of finishing the miler. By now the course has thrown the majority of its punches. You’ve survived the Tarawera Trail, the long stretches of forestry roads in the Tarawera Forest, and the relentless climb in the dark out of Okataina. Get what you need from Millar Road and be brave for a few seconds and get moving again. Take heart in knowing that with each step, you’re getting closer to Rotorua and that the second sunrise should energise you. For the last 30km of the course, focus on briskly moving through the small lake town of Okareka, walking purposely through the rooty/technical single trail that connects Lake Okareka with the Blue Lake (a good one to practise if possible), and then shuffling the approximately 5km runnable circuit around the Blue Lake. By the time Courtney and I arrive at the Blue Lake aid station (146km), it’s just before 7am and the sun has risen. We’ve been on the move for about 27 hours and apart from Courtney stubbing her great toe around the Blue Lake (“hidden rock”), we’re still holding it together. Tessa swaps out for some beauty sleep and Courtney is joined by her second pacer, Shaun who also did the T21 (23km) the day prior. We leave Blue Lake with the sun to our backs and renewed confidence that we only have 17km to the finish. As we head towards the Redwood Forest, there is one final steep climb just past the water tower which we ascend together. It’s short and nasty but it’s also the miler’s last big punch (the steps leading down the Redwoods are merely jabs)! It’s shortly after this that I part with Courtney so I could selfishly finish under 30 hours and fulfil the Western States 100 qualifying criteria. I know that Courtney is in good hands with Shaun and I also KNOW that she will finish from here. Remarkably, running a miler as a couple has been very civil and we had no arguments whatsoever! I guess when you’re running a miler, you’re so absorbed with just keeping moving that you’ve got no time for petty grievances! I wish Courtney and Shaun luck and then pick the next downhill to attack the course. There is some painful reequilibrating and micro tearing of muscles but after this, the faster pace feels a lot better than my previous stiff and painful gait. I move relatively freely down the steps leading into the Redwoods (i.e. the jabs) and arrive at the Redwoods aid station (156km) at 8.40am. I stop briefly for some lollies and then link up with my pacer Shane again. From here, I increase my pace knowing that I’m dealing with small numbers / single digits now (7km to go)! It’s overcast so the steaming Sulphur Flats are more bearable and I manage to hold a 7 minute/kilometre pace all the way through Sulphur Point and to the finish. I cross the finish line just after 9.30am for a total finishing time of 29 hours and 34 minutes. Remarkably, Courtney is not far behind and in a sprint finish, finishes in 29 hours, 59 minutes, and 6 seconds, also meeting qualifying criteria for the Western States 100. The Molloy Family is lucky enough to have two finisher pounamu’s today! A shout out to my wife, my patient Pete, and Riana from Namibia for also completing their first milers! Running is Medicine.

Crossing the finish line with my pacer Shane

Courtney at the finish with her glammed-up pacers Shaun (left) and Tessa (right)

At the start line with my cousin Paul (and sole supporter)

Crossing the Tarawera 100 miler start line

I started extra conservatively considering my situation. I knew I had to ease my body into this as starting too fast or hard would freak my brain out. Kind of like the boiling frog effect. The concept being that a frog placed in boiling water will jump out to protect itself. But if you put the frog in a pot of cold water and slowly turn up the heat, it won’t notice the subtle differences and will be boiled alive. Though I had no intentions to die today, the reality was that I’d probably have to simmer in some discomfort for a period of time if I were to survive this. Reassuringly, I had some control over the thermostat but I needed to run smart. And so I started as slow as I could comfortably handle. As light dawned, I’d established my comfortable all day pace (i.e. the pace I could go at all day if I needed to). As predicted, my shingles pain was completely forgotten. My brain was distracted by the increased tension in my legs and focused on the task at hand. The Tarawera Falls also provided a welcome distraction and the river it fed was beautifully clear and reflected the green bush that surrounded it. I arrived at the first major aid station at the Tarawera Outlet (30km) around 4 hours and 30 minutes. I topped up my fluids and coerced a couple of slices of meat lovers pizza down me. I knew that I needed a positive energy balance to get through this so I loaded up on solid foods earlier than usual. The conditions were favourably overcast as we ran through the Kawerau Forest and it remained cloudy as we entered the road section towards Rerewhakaaitu. I made a calculated risk to increase my running intensity to get through this section whilst conditions were favourable knowing that this area was very exposed and a potential heat trap. I arrived at Rerewhakaaitu aid station (65km) around 1.45pm for a total running time of 9 hours and 45 minutes. It was starting to get hot so I sculled down my chilled electrolyte drink. I left Rerewhakaaitu aid station reasonably confident. My pacing was good and my body seemed to be holding together. Everything seemed to be going to plan.

Tarawera Falls in the background

One of the main reasons I enjoy doing 100 milers is that I love being physically and mentally challenged. Whilst we all seek the perfect race, it’s often when things don’t go to plan that we learn the most about ourselves. When things don’t go to plan, I pride myself in being able to problem solve and adapt to the circumstances. Somewhere after Rerewhakaaitu, things suddenly began to unravel. In an ultra, you need a few organ systems to remain functional. The five key organ systems being your cardiorespiratory system (heart & lungs), musculoskeletal (muscles & joints), gastrointestinal (gut), genitourinary (bladder), and your central nervous system (i.e. your brain). There’s something about Tarawera that stresses out my genitourinary system. It struck me in 2021 and low and behold, it was happening again. Just before the boat ride across Lake Rotomahana, the urinary urgency began. I developed a painful urge to void small volumes of urine every few minutes.  All of a sudden, my pacing was no longer determined by my heart and muscles, but rather by my bladder. Running became a stop start affair and my ability to hold momentum was lost. I’m sure the cause was multifactorial (increased humidity, heat, > 65 km, underlying medical condition, anti-viral medication, concentrated electrolyte drinks, dehydration) but I needed to find a solution. For the next 4 hours, I somehow managed to keep running around Lake Tarawera whilst stopping to pee every few minutes and attempting to problem solve. A previous experience of bloody urine seemed to respond to paracetamol but paracetamol didn’t seem to work this time. Walking seemed to help and running made it worse. But I wasn’t prepared to walk out the last 90km of a miler. Things seemed to improve when I just drank water. But I eventually ran out of water and had to switch back to my electrolyte drink which only made matters worse again. I eventually postulated that due to multiple factors (but mainly exercising in the heat in a dehydrated state), my concentrated urine was upsetting and irritating my bladder. And it was a vicious cycle. Exercising in the heat meant that most of the fluid I was drinking was being directed to my muscles (to work) and to my peripheries (to help cool down) so whatever fluid that did make it to my bladder was minimal and concentrated at that. Dr Stanley had also warned me that anti-viral medication could cause urinary crystals so this also played on my mind. Jesus, I’m growing a crystal factory down there. I knew that rest and hydration would help but I was stuck between aid stations. I was out of water and my electrolyte drink only seemed to compound matters. It felt like a hopeless situation. I felt like giving up. It became clear that the ‘treatment’ I needed lay at the Buried Village aid station. And I had to enlist all my powers to get there.

When I arrived at the Buried Village aid station (88km) it was 5.45pm and I’d been moving for 13 hours and 45 minutes. However, for the last 4 hours, I’d been in damage control mode. It felt like there was no way I could keep this up for another 70km. By now it felt like a wasp had stung the end of my knob and it hurt to walk. Sadly, it hurt even at rest. Whatever caused the problem in my bladder seemed to have spread to the rest of my plumbing. I desperately looked around for my cousin Paul but he was nowhere in sight. Although supporters where shouting and cheering, I felt like I needed to tell someone close to me that I wasn’t in a good state and felt like giving up. I thought about asking the medics if they had any urinary alkalinisers but I doubted they’d have any. They also seemed busy treating a reclined athlete who looked like a ghost and I was pretty sure that the last thing they wanted to see was someone with a sore dick. For the next 30 minutes, I rested at the aid station and tried to stay positive. Just rest for a bit. It’s getting cooler. Just hang in there. Believe. I took the next best urinary alkaliniser I knew – H2O. I took a 500mL fluid bolus. After a while I took another 500mL. Then I had a cold McDonald’s cheeseburger followed by another 500mL fluid bolus. And then another 500mL. After 2 litres of fluid, I figured that would be enough (also conscious of water intoxication). Surely, rest, a 2L fluid bolus, and cooling temperatures would direct more fluid into my bladder and ‘flush out’ whatever the hell was going on down there. After 30 minutes of rest, I was no longer peeing constantly but I was still sore. At some point I realised that ‘rest’ had served its function. I’d performed the treatment. Now the body just needed time. And the reality was that I had a lot of time. I had 36 hours to complete this thing. I’d never forgive myself if I jumped out of the pot (and probably feel a lot better a few hours later) knowing that others were still simmering away in their heated pots of water. I was in boiling water but I needed to hang in there. And so I left the aid station and all its comforts. I ditched all my electrolyte drinks and left with water only. I attempted a jog but jogging hurt so I started walking again. Just give the body time and keep walking. Going forward is a pace.

As I walked along Tarawera Rd enroute to Millar Rd aid station, the mind games intensified. Although the temperatures were cooling, my pot of water was boiling and life was getting horrible to say the least. As I was walking, runners I’d passed much earlier on in the race began to pass me. Every passing runner inflicted a further psychological blow. Come on, you’ve had a good run. You were bound to DNF one day. Just call Paul and ask him to pick you up. After Millar Rd I was fully aware of the Okataina out and back. I’d done this many times before in the past and knew this was hard enough on fresh legs yet alone after 100km. This weighed on my mind. Maybe if this bladder problem doesn’t get better by Millar Rd, you should just pull out. But lots of people pull out at Millar Rd. If you pull out there, is it because of your medical problem or have you just had enough like every other DNFer? I can’t tell you how many times I said the word “Believe” in that 12km stretch of road but it was a lot. After a while I attempted a very gentle jog and my bladder pain didn’t get any worse. Believe. After a while I had an amazing pain free 30 second pee with clear urine that was bliss at the time. Believe. Many more pees followed but things felt different. It was no longer urinary urge with small volumes but rather an urge to clear much larger volumes like the flood gates had opened. Believe. I happened to come across my wife Courtney who was attempting her first 100km coming inbound from Millar Rd. “John boy, I’ve done 76km!” she shouted. She looked so confident I just knew that she was going to finish. “You’ve got this!” I responded. I had a wee moan about my current situation (excuse the pun) but she didn’t seem to register my concerns. “See you in the morning” she exclaimed. I was absolutely flabbergasted. Here I am dismantling and doubting myself yet Courtney has this absolute confidence that I will finish. See you in the morning. Believe. One of our biggest strengths (but also our biggest hurdle) to completing a 100 miler is our minds. The vast majority of DNFs in ultra endurance races are psychological or related to inadequate preparation/training yet hardly anybody will admit this. Rather we will blame our failures on a ‘medical problem’ (“My leg hurts. My gut hurts”). Trust me, all of us during a miler will have some kind of musculoskeletal, gastrointestinal, or genitourinary problem at some point. All of us are going through hell and want to quit. What matters most is how you control your thoughts during adversity and how you respond to these situations. How much do you want this? Look for the positives. Stay positive. Reframe your thoughts. Adjust your expectations and most importantly believe in yourself. Say it out loud if you need to. Believe.

Courtney participating (and finishing) her first 100km (actually 105km)

When I arrived at Millar Rd aid station (100km) a comparatively slower 2.5 hours later, my bladder problems weren’t gone by any nature. But for the first time in several hours, I could hold a running rhythm and my bladder pain was manageable. And I can do manageable. It still hurt to pee (and for the next 10 minutes afterwards) but I learnt that the bladder pain seemed to improve if I resisted the urge to pee again after voiding. I also took paracetamol regularly. I’ve since learnt that ‘bladder slap’ (a form of bladder trauma seen in long distance runners) can be decreased if the bladder is partially filled and adequate hydration is maintained. I’m sure that this contributed to some my problems. Regardless, I’d reached the 100km mark and I was back in the game. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do 60km on water alone (and still traumatised that my electrolyte drinks played some part in this problem), I filled up one of my flasks with Mountain Dew for the needed glucose. I also upped my eating game plan knowing that I had now deprived myself of my regular fluid energy source. As the sun set, I moved swiftly along the Western Okataina Walkway. All of a sudden, I was passing people again. It was also nice to hear words of encouragement from the 100km runners coming the other way which fuelled my drive. I arrived at the Okataina aid station (115km) just before 11pm and was remarkably back on target for a 27 hour finish despite all the adversity. Feeling back in the grove of things, I didn’t stop for long. I topped up my Mountain Dew and water, forced some garlic bread down me, and took off again. The cooler night conditions made for good running and I was back at the Millar Rd aid station (133km) just before 2am. The aid station was remarkably lively and I started singing to the music playing in the background. As the Mountain Dew seemed to be too gassy, I switched to flat coke knowing that the caffeine would also help me get through the night. I also managed to successfully change my battery on my night light which reassured me that my brain was still functioning (this can be a remarkably challenging task after 130km and 22 hours of running though I appreciated the requests to help by the volunteers). The next section of the course (bar a small section of technical rooty single trail leading to Blue Lake) is quite runnable so I made a concerted effort to hold my shuffle. By now, most participants are reduced to walking. A shuffle is much quicker than a walk (for not much more energy expenditure) and helps to keep you psychologically strong. When I arrived at the Blue Lake aid station (145km) just after 4am, my cousin Paul whom I last saw 24 hours earlier was waiting for me! He apologises for missing me at the Buried Village aid station and we have a good chat. We both agree that in hindsight, it was probably a good thing. Sometimes when you’re on the brink of giving up, a familiar face may actually soften your defences and make you want to jump out of the furnace. We run and talk for a bit before I politely ask if he can leave me be so I could problem solve my developing gut ache and concentrate on my breathing. By the time I reached the Redwood aid station (156km), I felt like a pretty broken man. The cumulative stress of everything past and current was starting to overwhelm me again. However, I knew there was no point in stopping and prolonging matters. The only aid I needed was the finish line. I painfully built up to a shuffle again and kept going. As I coursed along Sulphur Point, there was a welcoming orange sunrise. It wasn’t until 2km to go that I KNEW I was going to finish. I crossed the finish line just after 7am for a total time of 27 hours and 9 minutes. Ironically, despite telling myself umpteenth times during the race to believe, I couldn’t believe it when I finished! For long periods it seemed impossible but somehow, I made it. Four hundred and fifty runners started the miler but only 329 runners finished resulting in a 27% DNF rate. No matter how bad the situation seems, don’t stop believing. Don’t jump out of the pot of water too soon. You have a remarkable capacity to do a lot more than you can ever imagine. Just stay in the fight, don’t look for an out, and find a way to finish. Running is medicine.

A satisfying finish line

All done in 27 hours and 9 minutes

Running in the rain approaching Mourea

Fast forward another week and all six of us who had entered fronted up to the Rotorua Marathon start line. Joining me were my cousins Casey, Monette, and Paul (doing their first marathon), Shane (doing his 11^th marathon), and his partner Madeline (also doing her first marathon). As much as I wanted to support and run with them, I knew I had the UTA 100km in 7 days so I had to run my own race. Doing a marathon slower than what you’re used to is as painful as running a fast marathon. However, I also had a bone to pick with the marathon and wasn’t keen to simply coast through. The last marathon I ran in Christchurch three weeks prior served me a lesson in humility so I was pretty determined to get one back on the marathon and finish under 4 hours this time. I hence wished my family the best of luck and when the race started, we all set off at our own pace. Despite chasing a time goal today, in my rush to leave for the airport, I’d forgotten to pack my watch so I had to rely on running by feel again. I knew my baseline marathon pace was around a 4 hour finish but I hadn’t consistently run at this pace for a while so I made sure that I was in front of the 4 hour pacing group when we set off. Although we started in dry conditions, five kilometres into the run, the forecast rain set in. A supporter at Ngongotaha tries to lift our spirits by shouting out “The rain is kissing you because you’re awesome”. However, having prepared for rain all week, I wasn’t overly phased by the rain. After all, everyone’s in the same boat and you can’t control the weather. The best thing you can do is control your attitude towards it. It is what it is. Accept and deal with it. The Rotorua Marathon gets deceptively hilly from the 10km mark so after a faster start than I’ve been used to in recent times, I eased back a bit. It’s at this point that I start getting passed by most of the field but I’m not overly concerned. Though some may find this concerning, my experience is that you actually want to be passed early on in a race as it means that you’re pacing appropriately. Passing should be reserved for the later stages of a race, not the start! As I approach Hamurana (15km), I’m suddenly passed by a very large group of runners. One of the runners has a yellow balloon tied around her so I realise that I’ve been caught by the 4 hour marathon pacer. I’m then left with a reasonably common dilemma that most runners experience after they’ve just been passed. Am I going too slow? Do I stick with this group or keep going at my own pace? I chose to run with the group for a wee while but then eventually fall back. The group was going a bit too fast for my liking and I knew that there were still the hills around Mourea (including Rotorua’s own Heartbreak Hill) to contend with. The interesting thing I’ve learnt about pacers that all runners should be aware of, is often they’re selected to pace slower finishing times compared to their ‘usual’ finishing time. So a 4 hour marathon pacer is usually a 3hr 30 min or 3hr 45 min marathon finisher. The issue with this approach is that these runners will instinctively run at their 3hr 30/45min pace. So often, they’ll go faster in the early stages of a race only to slow down near the end to finish under 4 hours (i.e. they’re more likely to have a positive split rather than a negative split). I’d argue that a 4 hour pacer should be someone who normally runs a marathon around 4 hours as they’re the best at pacing a 4 hour marathon! Yes, there’s the risk they may finish over 4 hours if they have a bad day at the office. But at least their pace will be steady and consistent right from the start! As I reach the half way point of the marathon near the back end of the lake, the 4 hour pacing group surges away from me on some of the big downhills. Oblivious to my timing splits, I ask a random runner what the time is. She tells me that it’s 9.58am. This means that I’ve done the first 21.1km in 1 hour and 58 min which means I’m well placed for a sub 4 hour finish. Although I try to keep the 4 hour pacing group within sight, they seem to keep accelerating until I lose sight of them around Mourea. I restrain the ego and hold back. The reality was, all I had to do was hold my current pace (not go faster) and I’d still finish around 3hr and 56 mins. I was still tracking well. Keep calm and carry on.

Under the Prince’s Gate Arches and on the home straight

Sub 4 hour marathon in the bag

As I go up Rotorua Marathon’s own Heartbreak Hill just past Mourea (around the 27km mark), I can see some runners are starting to falter and slow down. I hold my pace and don’t force any passing. After this hill, there’s a steady downhill gradient but again I don’t force the pace. The aim is to get to the ‘real start line’ at 30km relatively fresh. When I get to 30km, it’s time to unleash. I take my first energy gel and caffeine and I’m off! From 30km, it’s now safe to start passing people and rein in all those runners who passed you earlier. I catch the slower of the 4 hour pacers near the Rotorua Airport (33km) and the faster of the 4 hour pacers at the McDonald’s near Owhata (34km). From then on, it’s all about holding onto momentum. When I reach Vaughan Rd (35km), I know I’m close. The long straight can be challenging but I focus on the positives – it’s mainly downhill and the finish line is beckoning. Eventually Vaughan Rd becomes Te Ngae Rd. As I turn off Te Ngae Rd onto Hinemaru St, there’s one kilometre to go and I know it’s a done deal. I make the final turn off into the Government Gardens under the Prince’s Gate Arches and eventually cross the finish line in 3 hours and 56 mins. Having achieved my finishing time goal, my focus now switches back to my family. I turn around and walk back towards my family. Along the way, I cheer and encourage others. Having been in their position only minutes ago, I know exactly how tough it can be and the affect a few words of encouragement can have. If you do this enthusiastically enough, it’s like a direct transfer of energy from you to them. Eventually I see Casey and Paul on Te Ngae Rd near the 40km mark and give them a big cheer. Paul asks if I’ve got anything for cramp. “No sorry” I reply. “But I know the best treatment for cramp is the finish line”. I keep heading out until I see Shane and Madi on Vaughan Rd and not far behind them is Monette. It’s at this point that I turn around and head back in again. Monette looks determined and locked in her own world of pain. It appears that her 8km long run hasn’t quite prepared her for ‘life after 30km’. But she’s in the zone and doing what she needs to do to finish. Not much is said along the way and my jokes seem to fall flat. Near the end, I sense that she’s tiring of my company so my 7 year old niece, Billie, takes over for the last kilometre. Monette crosses the finish line with Billie just after 6 hours. We then stick around and wait for my sister’s mother in law who finishes her marathon walk in just under 6 hours and 30 mins (and in the process completes her 15^th Rotorua Marathon which is a remarkable achievement)! With all the family finished, we take a group photo together near the finish line. After years of running, maybe my running influence is starting to rub off on my family? In marathons, you get out what you put in. It may not be the best tasting medicine at the time and the benefits may be delayed. But after a while, it becomes an acquired taste and you appreciate that the benefits are multifaceted and long lasting. Running is medicine.

Heading to the finish again with niece Billie (middle) and cousin Monette (right)

A family of marathon finishers (left to right – Madi, Shane, myself, Casey, Monette, Paul)

Skirting past Lake Okareka on fresher legs (less than 20km in)

On the usual Tarawera 100 miler course, you’d normally encounter the large climb on the Western Okataina Walkway (arguably the hardest part of the course) in the middle of the night and after you’ve run 120km. By this point, your legs would be heavy and if you hadn’t saved anything in the tank, there was a high probability your race would end in this short 16.5km section between Lake Okataina and Millar Road. Although it was still dark this year, the main difference was that we had only run 1km before reaching this critical juncture so there was the risk of climbing too fast. Not to be fooled, I ascended slowly. I intended to start as slow as possible and then build. I settled in with a group of similar pace until we reached the top and encountered our first train of ‘careful descenders’. I was familiar with this trail and knew it was reasonably stable without too many trip hazards. Not overly keen to put my quads through unnecessary braking stress, I managed to pass a large train of people until I was by myself again and could comfortably descend and let gravity do all the work. When I reached the first aid station at Millar Road, I simply ran through it. The sun was beginning to rise so I just kept following the sun towards Lake Okareka and then around the Blue Lake. First sunrise down. One more to go. As I was leaving the Blue Lake, Simon Clendon (an acquaintance who ran the Tarawera Miler back in 2021) shouted out “You’re back again! Why?” With nothing inspirational coming to mind I simply responded “I dunno” as I kept running. When I arrived at the Village Green aid station (45km), I’d been on my feet for just over 6 hours and it was around 10.30am. Unable to run today due to an Achilles injury, Dr Stanley is Johnny on the spot as he hands over my iced drinks. He tells me that George is still running on nerves and is one hour ahead of me. How is that possible? Not keen to linger, I get moving and start my first 60km lap. My initial 10min per km calculations had me arriving back at the Village Green again just after 9pm. I knew last light was 8.30pm so if I could just hold this pace, then hopefully I’d get back before sunset.

In the midday heat during the first 60km loop

When people think of a 100 miler, they instantly associate it with a massive physical challenge. Don’t get me wrong, IT IS a massive physical challenge! But for me, it is a greater mental challenge. A miler is as much a measure of your cerebral fitness as it is your physical fitness. I know I can physically do a 100 miles. But am I able to get enough buy in from fortress brain? Your mind dictates how close you push your boundaries. You’ve just got to convince your mind to keep going a little further than it makes sense to. The 60km loop was essentially ‘The Black Track’ in reverse (34km long) with extra milage via the Puarenga Trail, along Te Puia, and a loop near the Green Lake I’ve never done before. Having grown up in Rotorua and come back often during holiday breaks, I’d run The Black Track many times and knew it well. Running The Black Track was always a challenge and arguably it’s tougher than the Rotorua Marathon. Hence, I knew that running this 60km loop in the heat of the day was going to be no easy feat and had to be respected. I ran within myself most of the time. It helped knowing when to walk the prolonged climbs early and when to push a bit extra to maintain momentum over rolling hills. The loop near the Green Lake had lush green moss and vegetation with scenic views of the lake. However, it was also quite hilly and technical in areas and not really something I wanted to repeat again. When I passed the Blue Lake for the second time, I bumped into Simon Clendon again. Clearly not enlightened from our earlier correspondence he shouts out “Are you having fun yet?”. I pause for a bit and then respond “I’ll tell you at the next lap”. When I arrive back at the Village Green again (103km), the first lap had taken me about 9 hours. It was around 7.30pm and I’d been on my feet for 14 hours and 50 minutes. I knew coming into the Village Green for the second time would be the hardest psychological part of the race. Had we been doing the original course, after 100km, I would’ve been approaching the Lake Okataina aid station. Lake Okataina was in the middle of nowhere so it made sense to push on to get closer to the finish. Meanwhile, back at the Village Green, the first male for the miler had just crossed the finish line before me (14hr 41 mins) and it made no sense to leave the finish area and repeat that 60km loop again. As if intuitively aware of this, Dr Stanley is waiting at the aid station area accompanied by my wife Courtney and cousin Paul (who’ve both just completed the 50km event). They amazingly have prepared ice-cold drinks for me and shower me with encouragement. “George just left not long before you. If you leave now, you’ll gain 10 minutes on him straight away” Dr Stanley coaxes me. As much as I was enjoying sitting down and resting, I knew deep down it was in my best interests to get the hell out here. I ditch my hat and sun glasses and put my head lamp and spare battery into my pack for the night ahead. Before I know it, I’m being willed on to leave and I comply unthinkingly. After seeing quite a few competitors ahead of me walking the start of the second lap, I was determined to jog all the way to the Hemo Gorge aid station 9km away. This was mostly flat and runnable. But running when you’ve already done a 100km can be challenging. The ice drinks were great but I was still quite hot and incredibly thirsty. I hadn’t sculled enough water down at the Village Green and my hypothalamus was letting me know all about it. My mouth was dry and I was craving more ice water. After jogging the whole way, I was about 200 metres out from the aid station when I decided to walk in so I could plan what I needed at the aid station. It’s at this stage I stumble slightly. Oh God. Here we go. After holding it together for 110km, I start to wobble and begin to feel light headed. I see Courtney and Paul waiting for me at the aid station and I tell them that I’m going to need a bit more time here for ‘damage control’. After the race, Courtney said she knew that I had hit the wall at that point. At the time, I didn’t think I had hit a wall. But I knew I was in a spot of bother. At some stage during a miler, you’ll reach the point where you’ll want to give up. But you aren’t going to. Tell that voice in your head to shut up and keep going. As I plonk my sorry arse into the seat, Courtney and Paul ask if I’d like some KFC. OMG! “Yes please!” It was around dinner time and I was craving real food after eating chocolate and cookies all day. I devour a whole snack box of popcorn chicken and chips in addition to a regular tub of potato and gravy. I wash this all down with about 1.5L of ice-cold water. Psychologically it was a massive lift but I knew physiologically, I’d pay for this in the short term. Physiology would shunt blood away from my working muscles and direct it towards my gut to digest this rather large food and fluid bolus. I would have to walk for a bit following this. I put on my head lamp and thanked Courtney and Paul profusely. As I left the aid station, the combination of night fall, the ice-cold water, and walking next to the Puarenga Stream meant that I was now cold and shivering. To think that mere minutes ago I was parched and hot. Ok this is not going to work. I started jogging again. In fact, it was barely a jog but it was faster than a walk. I took my first caffeine tablet and now I just needed to buy time. I needed to hold a pace until all the benefits of the Colonel and caffeine kicked in. And eventually it did! For the remainder of the race, I just focussed on relentless forward momentum. Sometimes it’s more about holding a pace rather than pushing the pace. Sometimes your run is as slow as your walk, and sometimes your walk is as fast as your run. What matters most is relentless forward momentum. Walk run, walk run, as many times as you need to. When I get to the Green Lake aid station (130km), there’s quite a few stone-faced people hunched together over their hot soup or brew making intermittent unintelligible noises. It’s no coincidence that runners have stopped here prior to repeating that Green Lake loop again in the dark. It was nice to do once. But as an extra loop, on top of your second loop, in the middle of the night, was mentally taxing. As tempting as it was to sit down and share war stories, you’ve just got to get on with it and exercise one’s mind. Finishing is a mental state. Resisting the urge to stop, I push on. I negotiate the viewless loop in pitch darkness and head towards the Blue Lake again. I don’t spend too long at the Blue Lake aid station and grab a couple of Nutella sandwiches on the way out. It’s a slow steady push towards the Redwoods but the most important thing is that I’m still going forwards. After descending those gigantic horrible purple track stairs for the third time, I hear someone ringing a bell deep in the Redwoods. They’re keen. I think to myself What clown would be up at 4am ringing a bell? A voice shouts out “Good work Johnny”. It’s my cousin Paul! “Goodness me! You should be in bed!” I exclaim. Paul is very encouraging. With no pacer this year, I had to rely a lot on my own inner drive but it’s amazing what difference a few energetic words can make. It was like he transferred his energy directly into me. Feeling invigorated, I finish the last 6km through the Redwoods and Sulphur Point at a rather brisk 6.24 min kilometres. I finish my second 60km loop in 11 hours and 40 minutes for a total finishing time of 24 hours and 28 minutes. It was just before 5am and I’d managed to beat the second sunrise. As I cross the finish line, I’m congratulated and get an intense vigorous hug from Dennis Hunt (a man I know but not intimately). Although not much of a hugger, I’m tired and overwhelmed by his manliness so I succumb into his arms as my wife Courtney looks on alarmingly. Somehow, I’d managed to run George down as well and he finished a couple of minutes after me. It’s amazing how we finished around the same time yet only saw each other for less than 10 seconds during the whole race! Remember, your mind dictates how close you push your boundaries. You’ve just got to convince your mind to keep going a little further than it makes sense to. Finishing is a mental state. Success is a mental state. Running is medicine.

Coming back into the Redwoods

Crossing the finish line just before 5am

Recovering from Dennis Hunt’s man hug

Running along the back of the lake near Hamurana

The main reason I set up Running Medicine was that I wanted to show and be living proof that you can make running a lifestyle. I also wanted to play my small part in promoting the benefits of ‘exercise as medicine’ and educating others on how you can make exercise a healthy life style choice. However, what sounds easy on paper, is quite complex to put into practice. Some of the problems being that the human body is hardwired to be fat, warm, and comfortable i.e., some people don’t have the inclination to exercise. The other problem being that we live in a society that champions winning over participation. An unheralded side effect of professional sport. The ‘if you’re not winning or getting faster, then why should you do this’ mentality. Throughout life, we are told that we should participate in exercise that we like. But what should you do if you don’t like to exercise? We are told to exercise for at least 30 minutes a day. But what should you do if you don’t have the time or can’t afford to? We are told that we should be getting stronger, fitter, faster each day. But what should you do if you aren’t? Life is full of problems and your doctor does not have all of the solutions. What I do know is that you will live a longer, healthier, happier, and functional life if you can exercise for at least 30 minutes most days of the week. You’ll get even more benefit if you exercise for 60 minutes. If you exercise regularly, you’ll be able to keep healthy and continue to support your family. You’ll be able to play and run along with your children as they grow. You’ll be able to live independently and look after yourself long after your children have children of their own. The original policy makers of the ‘30 minutes of physical activity a day’ feared that they would put too many people off exercise if they promoted 60 mins/day so they went with the lesser ‘at least 30 minutes a day’. I’d argue it’s helped to create a society entitled to wellbeing. A false expectation of doing the minimum but expecting maximum health. Over the years I’ve learnt that I can’t prescribe effort. I can’t prescribe time. And I certainly, can’t prescribe money or youth. All I can do is influence your priorities. Because until you make exercise a priority, you will manufacture every excuse under the sun not to do it. If you don’t make the time for exercise now, sooner or later you will make time for illness and dependence on others. You do not need to win. You just need to start. Motivation will get you started. But its habit that keeps you going. People will make the effort and find the time when something is important to them. So, how do you make exercise important to you?

Heading down the finisher’s straight

Although I’ve run a lot of off-road ultramarathons lately, it still doesn’t quite prepare you for the rigors of a road marathon. An off-road ultramarathon teaches you to go further by pacing well interspersed with walking. But an on-road marathon is much faster by nature so holding a faster pace for a prolonged period of time is a discipline in itself. Dr Stanley and I manage to run the first 5km at a 5min/km pace until we suddenly get passed by another Rotorua Hospital doctor, Dr Esther O’Sullivan. We were already going like a bat out of hell and now Esther has unknowingly waved a red rag to a bull. Dr Stanley increases his pace to catch up with her and I sense early trouble (for me anyway). Andrew successfully distracts her focus from the finish line (which is still 37km away) and momentarily slows her down by a skill well practised to any life style runner – initiating conversation. As Andrew and Esther start chatting, I fall in behind them to catch my breath. Dr Stanley introduces me and I learn that Esther specialises in endocrinology which I find slightly surprising as Esther doesn’t appear to have detected Dr Stanley’s excessive testosterone today. We manage to run together until the 15km mark where I eventually drift off their hot pace and fall back. Stanley has left me for a younger and much faster Irish woman. As in sympathy, the heavens open up and it begins to rain. Left to myself, I’m able to run through Hamurana and the hills near Mourea at a much more comfortable pace. However, by the 25km mark, the untempered fast start and hilly middle section begins to take its toll. Soon I’m being passed by the wise who have held back and cleverly timed their surge. Although I know this course well and I’ve been here many times before, it still doesn’t make completing a marathon any easier. You just got to keep on running and eventually you make a habit of not giving up. I keep holding it together past the airport and maintain a good honest pace down Vaughan Road. I cross the finish in 3hrs 56 mins only discovering afterwards that I had run a positive split race. That is, I ran faster in the first half of the race and slowed down in the second half. Marathon 101 states that you should run a negative split race which is the reverse – running the second half faster than your first. Finishing time and splits aside, at the end of the day, none of this really matters. Just ask the true champ, Garth Barfoot, who finished last but in doing so became the oldest competitor ever to finish the Rotorua Marathon (8hrs 53 mins, 2 weeks shy of his 85^th birthday). This is the type of stuff we should be celebrating and championing. If you want to be a lifestyle runner, you need to put finishing times aside and just enjoy the process. Keep starting. Keep sweating. Keep running. And if you run enough times, then running soon becomes a lifestyle and the house that you live in. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Mt Difficulty Ascent 44km in the beginning of June.

They don’t get any easier

Wet but happy

Group photo at the Te Aronui a Rua Marae, Te Puia

I run with Dr Stanley for at least 20km until the sun rises after which he powers ahead along the back of the Green Lake. I’m content running at my comfortable pace or ‘running like an old wise woman’ as a participant on course shares with me as her approach to 100 milers. As I pass the Buried Village and enter the Tarawera Trail, the mind games begin. I always find this patch around 30km the most difficult in any long distance event. It’s usually around this point that the fatigue and discomfort start to settle in. By then any runner’s high has been suppressed and the realisation sinks in that you’re not nearly there yet and have 130km to go. I’m running by myself and I try to keep my emotions in check and my mind focussed. To run a 100 miler, you need to be able to think on your feet and be a good problem solver. ‘Bad things’ will invariably happen and you need to come up with a solution or risk a DNF (did not finish). My first ‘bad thing’ happened leading into the 54km aid station at Rerewhakaaitu when I started to develop lower abdominal discomfort. I was pacing well and I thought I had respected the gastrointestinal system through appropriate nutrition and toileting so it caught me by surprise. I decided to push on to the next aid station and soon realised that the discomfort seemed to be related to the pressure of my Camelbak waist bag against my bladder. I’ve had relatively minor/manageable urinary issues with my waist bag previously during longer runs (> 60km) but these have typically settled. Reducing the weight of the Camelbak through drinking seemed to help but it didn’t solve the problem. I knew I couldn’t continue like this so after reallocating my equipment, I left my trusty waist bag at the Okahu aid station at the 62km mark. Running without the waist bag was much better and I felt like I was back in the game. However, not long after that, my clinical suspicion that my bladder was the source of the problem was confirmed when the sport-related haematuria happened i.e. I started urinating gross blood (black currant colour). Having worked as a Sport and Exercise doctor, I was aware of this phenomenon but had never experienced it myself. I knew that it was ‘relatively common’ in high intensity / long duration sports (70% of runners in a 54 mile race had microscopic haematuria [Dancaster, 1971]). Explanations for sport-related haematuria include foot strike haemolysis (trauma to red blood cells circulating through the sole of the foot), bladder and/or kidney trauma (abrasions of the posterior bladder wall), reduced oxygen to the kidneys, dehydration, and non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (e.g. ibuprofen). Although I knew that this condition was not typically associated with any significant structural damage or anything untoward, it was still very unnerving! I soon learnt first hand what wasn’t emphasised in any literature. That being, blood in the urine is an irritant. Its one thing to know that you’re not creating any damage. But it’s another thing to continue to run when you have the constant urge to pee every 10-20 minutes. As a result, I found it difficult to maintain any running rhythm as the faster I ran, the more the discomfort and the urge to urinate would increase. The next few hours running in the Tarawera Forest was demoralising. I had hoped to maintain a good pace along the non-technical forest roads but now I had reverted to survival mode. I slowed significantly and became cannon fodder to all the runners behind me. I increased my hydration hoping to ‘flush out’ the problem but the blood in the urine persisted. I also took some paracetamol for my presumed bladder trauma. The paracetamol seemed to help as my urinary frequency stabilised (could hold on for roughly an hour a time). During moments of lucency, I remembered from my teaching that sport-related haematuria settled with rest and within 48-72 hours. The reality sunk in. I knew that this would be my new normal for the next 100km. From then onwards, I refused to look at my urine anymore. Despite reassuring myself that it was nothing untoward, the black currant stream was damaging my psyche. I choose to look outward and enjoyed the course views instead.

Early on in the run before the first sun rise and feeling fresh

The night was approaching and I was already dismantling and nowhere near my desired ‘freshness’. I stopped for my dinner at the Outlet aid station (103km) but even stuffed that one up. I put too much water in my mashed potatoes so they just tasted like water. The sun set slowly over Lake Tarawera as I was leaving Humphries Bay and the darkness returned again. The combination of the night and the technical Eastern Okataina track meant that running slowed to a purposeful walk. The reduced intensity helped me to regather my thoughts and refocus. Urinary system aside, every other system was intact and my legs were still operational. My mind was also coming back as was evident by the return of my sense of humour. Whilst on the Lake Okataina boat crossing, I joked if the driver could take me to the finish by the Lakefront at Lake Rotorua. When I arrived at the Okataina aid station (120km), I bumped into Wild Thing Simon Clendon whom I was extremely grateful for. Noticing that I was crewless, he offered to crew for me. Being an experienced runner himself, he knew all the attributes of a good crew – being helpful and positive. He filled up all my drink bottles and talked me into eating a cheese toastie. At the time, it felt like the best cheese toastie I’ve ever had in my life and it really hit the spot. I confided in my bladder dilemma and how I knew it would settle with rest. He responded, “Well you’ll get plenty of rest in 6 hours time”. I also shared my apprehension about not looking forward to hitting another wall. I knew there would be at least one more wall in the last 45km (including a possible physiological 3AM wall i.e. we were not physiologically designed to be running at 3AM). To which he responded, “After hitting rock bottom, you can only go up”. Thanks Simon! I left Okataina aid station in much higher spirits than when I entered.

Enjoying the company of my pacer Shane past the 150km mark

The reason the DNF rate is so high in 100 milers is because of the effect of cumulative stress. Every stressor begins to accumulate. You can handle one thing going wrong. But invariably other things will start to play up due to the fatigue and prolonged time on feet. Although I chose not to run with a watch for this miler, I may need to reconsider wearing a watch as I lost all concept of time during the night. One can roughly get a gauge for time during the day due to the sun and temperature changes. But at night, the darkness provides no cues. Despite everything I had gone through, I had somehow managed to maintain a respectable pace but I hadn’t really appreciated this. Thinking that the sunrise would occur in an hour or so, I took another caffeine tablet hoping to combine my caffeine surge with the sunrise for maximum effect (in retrospect I had caffeine dosed too close together). I followed this up with a mouthful of sweets to keep me awake. However, one hour later, the sunrise didn’t occur and instead I was hit by sudden nausea. By now, I had too much caffeine and concentrated sugar on board and my gastrointestinal system was protesting. I had now acquired another problem which was painfully self-inflicted. I tried to push the pace around the Blue Lake but the nausea and urge to vomit increased with running. I knew if I were to vomit now, this could be the end of me and finishing could be a bridge too far. Knowing that most exercise related gastrointestinal problems tend to settle with adequate hydration and rest (due to dehydration and reduced blood flow to the gut whilst exercising), I yielded and slowed down. I slowly moved towards the music playing at the back half of the Blue Lake until I reached a sole volunteer with her sound system pumping loudly. I found it difficult to string a sentence together but I managed to ask her if she had anything that wasn’t sweet to eat. She offered me her own salmon and cheese sandwich. Aware that my stomach wouldn’t be able to handle the salmon and cheese, I just ask for the bread instead. She thoughtfully offers me the side of bread away from the salmon and I thank her and carry on. This lady will never know it but she was my get out of jail card. I slowly eat the plain bread and this seems to neutralise some of the sweetness in my gut. I manage to build up to a jog again and arrive at the Blue Lake aid station (149km) although still in damage control. I was still in a perilous situation so I was in no hurry to leave. I ask for anything which tastes plain and for any unsweetened drink. The chicken soup doesn’t really work for me so I try some milo minus the sugar which seems to help. I try stomach a small slice of pizza but this also doesn’t work so I switch to the salted peanuts which are surprisingly pleasant. I’m slightly startled when my younger cousin Shane and his partner Madi show up unbeknown to me just before 4AM. Shane had expressed an interest to run with me from the final aid station at the Redwoods, so I was surprised to see him at the Blue Lake before sparrow’s fart. I ask if he is keen to lace up early in case I happen to collapse in a heap somewhere unnoticed and he kindly agrees. Unable to tolerate anything sweet for the last part of the race means I lose any finishing kick. It is a slow procession to the Redwood Forest just as the sun begins to rise. Shane has the qualities of a good pacer – not too fast and just being present. Some pacers can be too zealous or push too hard. But at 150km, there is no benefit in flogging a dead horse. At this stage all you really want is someone to keep you company and distract you from your troubles. When I reach the Redwoods aid station, the mood is jovial and ‘Eye of the Tiger’ is pumping in the background. I’m told its another 6.9km to the finish line so I grab a handful of salted peanuts and carry on. I follow Shane along the steaming and hot trails around Sulphur Point until we finally cross the finish line at the Lakefront just over 27 hours later. Relief rather than elation is the overriding emotion. I feel grateful to finish knowing that I had dodged multiple DNF bullets.

Feeling the cumulative effects of everything around Sulphur Point

One week later, I’m still a bit traumatised by what happened at the Tarawera 100 Miler. It was my worst race ever in that lots of things went wrong. But somehow, I still found a way to finish. This run simply reinforced to me how ultra-distance finishers need to think on their feet and be good problem solvers. I’m aware of research that shows that nausea is the most common symptom reported by those who do not finish an ultramarathon. But then, a clever person decided to research the symptoms of those who finished ultramarathons and found that both finishers and those who did not finish reported nausea in equal amounts. What does this tell you? You will encounter problems in long distance running. Good training will help mitigate most problems but you will still encounter them. Don’t be surprised by this. Accept the problem, seek solutions, manage it / try stabilise it, and most importantly, maintain a positive mindset. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, another big one, NZ Ironman at the start of March.

My wife Courtney with the support crew at the Redwoods near the end of the 50km

Crossing the finish line more than 27 hours later

At the start line with Dr Rich Newbury (left)

The run sets off through the geothermal area along Sulphur Point. The smell of sulphur reminds me of home and brings back memories of the distant past. We then enter the Redwood Forest which is one of my most favourite places to run. By the time we approach the Green Lake, the sun is well and truly up and I am into my own rhythm. Running through the ancient Buried Village arouses further childhood memories of day trips years gone by with my parents. I particularly enjoy the next section running through the thick native bush alongside Lake Tarawera. The bush density is broken by intermittent glimpses of Lake Tarawera sparkling in the sunlight. There is beauty in remoteness. The boat ride across Lake Rotomahana (50km) was also a memorable highlight and helped freshen up the senses. The middle section of the run leading to the 100km mark was hard work. Although I run because I ‘enjoy’ running, it doesn’t mean that I enjoy ‘every minute’ of a 100 miler. Distances of this nature can evoke the highest highs and the lowest lows. I hit quite a low point in the Tarawera Forest. I was heavy on my feet, the heat was getting to me, and to top it all off, my genitourinary system decides to dysfunction. Sometimes in an ultra, it can feel like you’re unravelling, reravelling, and unravelling continuously. Thankfully, things improve somewhat by the time I reach the 100 km mark at the Tarawera Outlet. By now it is 7pm and I’ve been on my feet for 15 hours. Night is approaching and I really need to prepare the body and mind for the night section which is arguably the toughest part of a 100 miler. I spontaneously decide to take a quick swim in the Tarawera River to help freshen up. I then get changed into new clothes and shoes and tuck into some noodles and mashed potatoes. The desired effect is magical and I know I am ready to take on the night. As the sun duels with the evening sky over Humphries Bay, I head out towards Okataina. I know this is where the real race starts.

All eyes on track. Running along the Tarawera Trail.

Why do you do it? Why would you run through the night? These are all very pertinent questions. The answers to the ‘why’ are many and varied. I remember when I did my first 100 km run (the Tarawera Ultramarathon in 2010), I truly believed that I would get some form of spiritual revelation. I believed God would present himself and endow me with some incredible high. Why else would people run these distances? (Seriously, why else?) Instead, I got nothing. No incarnation. No magical high. No spiritual revelation. I can remember seeking the Lord but only finding misery. Misery that compounded itself with every kilometre from 70 km to 99.9 km. Lots of misery with a sprinkle of anger. Looking back now, that experience taught me that when life got hard, I sought divine intervention from ‘someone’. I had everything I needed at my disposal but I wanted someone/anyone to get me out of that hot spot. I was too busy seeking outwards that I never had the inclination to look inwards. It is only now that I realise that this is where the real power of the 100 miler lies. After running for a while, you begin to listen inwards more. You begin to form a connection with your inner self. The problem is, the inner self is hidden by all your insecurities and your ambition for material assets, wealth, and status. Long distance running loosens your insecurities. Kilometre after kilometre peels away the material layers. Eventually, if you can keep running for long enough, you will break down your self imposed defences and create a conduit with the inner soul. And if you look deeper still, you will see the scariest truth of all – your vulnerable self. Not the version you want the world to see you as, but the authentic version with all the imperfections. Just the real and genuine you. Running long distances kindles this dynamic relationship and allows you to work on being a better person. You begin to accept yourself for who you are despite your limitations. You develop the courage to be you. Running truly is spiritual and fills your soul. I just didn’t realise it that lonely night in 2010!

Going for a quick swim in the Blue Lake after 146km as the sun rises

By the time I get to Okataina (118km) it is just after midnight. Left with the choice of tending to a sweaty and well lubricated man or his wife and two children, my support per, Dr Andrew Stanley, has chosen the latter and gone home for the night. Thankfully, like a true gentleman, he has left my pacer, Dr Isobella Henzell behind in the cold night to see me through the final 42 km. Running in the night is difficult. It certainly beats the heat of the day but it can be hard work concentrating on keeping your feet whilst fending off the sleep monsters. I was therefore grateful that Bella provided me with some company. By now, my mind is cloudy and my stomach is queasy so I’m not sure about the quality of the company she is keeping. She keeps me awake by talking about men and the night stars whilst I simply try stay upright and hold my feet. The volunteers at the Millar Rd aid station (135km) nicely applaud our early morning arrival. I attempt to respond thankfully but it just comes out as a grunt and a groan. Bella tops up my supplies sensing my struggle. However, I know that it’s not food and drink that I need, but rather the sun to rise soon. We push onwards around Lake Okareka until I hit another tough moment along an incredibly short and technical bush track though the Lake Tikitapu Scenic Reserve. Even though it hurts and I’m falling asleep, I know I can’t stop. Stopping before the finish line is futile. I know that all this discomfort/fatigue is temporary and would never compare with a did not finish (DNF) which would carry months of pain and disappointment. By the time we come out of the tree line, the sun is beginning to enter the morning sky. Alleluia – the second sunrise! The light instantly invigorates every cell in my body. Unfortunately, it invigorates Bella’s body in a different way and she has to take a detour to the Blue Lake aid station to attend to pressing gastrointestinal issues. I’m by myself again but now that the sun has risen, I know I’ve got this. I increase my pace around the Blue Lake. I know this part of the course intimately well and switch to auto pilot. Just before the next aid station, I stop to have a quick swim. The setting is beautiful. The lake is still and the pink sun peeps over the horizon. The cool water rejuvenates me. Cleansed of negativity and purified by effort, the soul is restored. The final 14km back to Rotorua goes through my favourite Redwood Forest again. I instinctively know every incline and turn. The familiar smell of sulphur for the second time symbolises that I’m heading home and the finish line is near. Twenty nine hours and 47 minutes later, I cross the finish line. It is a pleasant exhaustion. The soul is full again. When you run, look and listen inwards. Run to fill your soul. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, IRONMAN New Zealand at the start of March. A quick turnaround!

At the Redwood Forest with 5km to go (this is not the real me – the real me is really tired on the inside)

At the finish line with my finisher’s pounamu / green stone

Winter is coming. On ‘wall watch’ along the back of Lake Rotorua near Hamurana Springs.

Having run the Rotorua marathon a few times now, you begin to know the course well. You know where to push and where to conserve. I set off at a reasonably steady but comfortable pace accompanied by my friend Dr Andrew Stanley. A lot of the time whilst running, I am on ‘wall watch’. Some competitive runners actually seek the wall. For them, not hitting the wall means they aren’t running hard enough. Myself, I try to avoid the wall if possible. This is usually through a combination of smart pacing and adequate hydration and nutrition. I see myself as running beside the wall or like a boxer constantly jabbing to keep it at bay. The reality is, ‘hitting the wall’ really takes it out of you. It takes a lot of physical and mental strength to recover from an encounter with the wall. And sometimes, no matter how good or elusive you are, the wall will eventually find you. Many allied health professionals have tried to explain the wall. Nutritionists will cite low glucose or glycogen depletion. Exercise physiologists will quote poor training leading to fatigue and exhaustion. Psychologists will probably say that the wall is a mental construct that is all in your head. In my opinion, the wall is best explained by the ‘Central Governor Theory’ proposed by South African Sport & Exercise Physician, Dr Tim Noakes. This theory proposes that the body has an innate ability to protect itself during exercise. The ‘central governor’ is actually the brain which is influenced by your past experiences. The brain is constantly receiving information from different parts of your body such as your cardiorespiratory, neuromuscular, thermoregulatory, and gastrointestinal systems whilst exercising. The brain assimilates all of this information and then dictates a ‘safe pace’ for you to continue exercising. The brain will stop you before you do any serious or permanent damage to yourself. The wall therefore, is a protective mechanism of the brain to slow you down. Typically the wall is brought on by inappropriate pacing (e.g. going too fast for too long), maintaining a pace that does not take into account the environmental temperatures your body is use to (e.g. running a marathon in a desert), or simply running beyond a distance you have never run before (e.g. the last 12km in your first marathon). In order to pass the wall, you must somehow convince your brain that it is safe for you to continue exercising (if you have not already convinced it prior with satisfactory pre-race training). Often this involves a period of slowing down, cooling off, or optimising your hydration and nutrition. A positive mind set is also helpful. Hitting the wall is a negotiation with your central governor. For some, it is a fierce battle.

Feeling good heading towards the finish line 3 hours and 50 minutes later

As I run along the back of Lake Rotorua through Hamurana Springs and the hills of Mourea, I know I am approaching ‘wall country’. The 30km mark of the Rotorua marathon is just past the Rotorua 3D maze. It is usually around this point that runners start to acquaint themselves with their own walls. I continue to run beside my wall. Constantly jabbing, keeping it at bay. As you run past the Rotorua Airport and down Vaughan Road, you see runners battling with their invisible walls. The duals are intense and deeply personal. The mind coercing the body to slow down. If you do meet your wall, you must embrace this challenge. Believe ‘you can’ in order to convince your brain ‘you will’. Take solace in knowing that every wall weakens with every step forward. The closer you get to the finish line, the smaller the wall becomes. Also, every wall (no matter how formidable) has a door. This door is full of opportunity and leads to infinite growth. Open your doors. Conquer your walls. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Mt Oxford Odyssey mountain marathon in mid May. This sounds like a tough one!

Walls can come in physical forms. Dr Andrew Stanley (right) accelerating at the finish line.