I made it! Happy to have finished the 3.8km swim at IMNZ 2025

Success is a poor teacher. After 14 NZ Ironmans, I was habituated to following the same training plan that had worked so well for me previously. I’d also learned where I could take short cuts and for me it was in swimming (which also happens to be my least favourite discipline). For the last 5 years or so, I’ve managed to complete the Ironman swim by training solely at my local 50 metre swimming pool without any open water swimming. I knew it wasn’t ideal but like most Ironman athletes I was time poor, and it worked. Remarkably, I had my best ever training leading up to Ironman 2024. My times on the bike were significantly faster and I was managing to back up big swim/bike/run sessions. I was feeling strong and quietly confident that I’d do well. That was until I developed shingles two weeks prior to Ironman. Though I managed to scrape through the Tarawera 100 Miler run, in retrospect, backing it up with Ironman was a bridge too far. So if success is a poor teacher, then failure is the best teacher. These were some of the lessons I learnt:

• Don’t leave your race legs (or race arms) on the training course. I had the best ever training sessions leading up to the event but I was spent come race day.
• I can’t keep training like I’m 20 years old. I’m now over 40 years old. Over 20 years, I’ve developed a lot more mental strength which has allowed me to push my limits physically. However, I pushed too hard and in return my body gifted me with shingles. I successfully made the start line but I was not healthy. I needed to adapt my training accordingly.
• Not only was I overtraining but I was overliving. This came at the expense of rest, recovery, and sleep. Recovery and sleep are crucial leading up to an event. I also learned that I needed to do less of what didn’t matter in life.
• I needed a complete swim overhaul. Like most wannabe triathletes, I just assumed that you get better at swimming by swimming more (this approach seems to work for biking and running). This is not the case. You get better at swimming by focusing on technique. I’ve learnt that swimming is 80% technique and 20% fitness. I subscribed to online swimming teaching, started doing swim drills, and began to use training aids such as fins, hand paddles, and pull buoys. I returned to open water training sessions with a friend (thanks Rob)! For many years, I’ve unknowingly got through the Ironman swim on my fitness. As I age, this is not sustainable. I need to focus more on my technique.
• I was a rigid two side breather (breathe every 5 and 3 strokes). Though this worked in calmer waters, I was exposed in rough waters. I introduced more breathing flexibility (2 stroke, 3 stroke, 4 stroke, and 5 stroke breaths) so I could adapt to variable conditions. In particular, I worked on prolonged unilateral breathing on both sides (i.e. 2 & 4 stroke breaths). The Lake Taupo swim is a rectangular course that you swim clock wise. On a rough day, the waves come off the lake and crash towards the shore. This means you’ll need to be adept at breathing to one side for a prolonged period of time (i.e. the side away from the waves) to avoiding swallowing water and starving yourself of oxygen. When you reach the opposite side of the rectangle, you’ll need to be able to breathe to your other side for a sustained period of time.
• Wear a watch while you’re swimming in case you need it. Also, stop being a tight arse and invest in a good wet suit and googles. Good equipment helps.
• One bad day does not define you as a person. How you respond to it does.

At the start of the 180km bike ride

Happy to have finished the bike!

Which brings me to Ironman 2025. Back at the start line again but this time feeling healthy. Focused, determined, and on edge. It felt like I was lining up at my first Ironman all those years back. Ironman has no respect for your reputation, pedigree, training plans, or past achievements. Like a 100 miler, an Ironman is what I call a ‘no guarantee’ race. You still need to deliver on the day. For me, Ironman this year was all about the swim. I made sure I swam in Lake Taupo a couple of times during race week. I familiarised myself with the swim course, buoys (there are 24 numbered buoys), sighting landmarks, important turning points, and entry/exit points. I did all the things I did on my first Ironman that I’d neglected over the years. When I woke up on race day, the winds were light and Lake Taupo was calm. I had trained and prepared for rough conditions yet as if mocking me, the triathlon gods had delivered almost perfect swimming conditions. When the starter’s cannon went off, all the suppressed adrenaline was released. I took nothing for granted and swam like my life depended on it. All the attention to detail during training paid off as for the first time in years, my googles remained clear and I suffered no leaks. I was less wayward with my sighting and hence my navigation was sound. I concentrated on reaching, gliding, rotation, and making every stroke count. Unlike the previous year when I neared the final turning point by myself, this time I was surrounded by other swimmers with purple and green caps. When I crossed the 3.8km swim finish in 1 hour and 33 minutes, for once, the overriding emotion was happiness rather than relief. I knew that I still had a lot ahead of me but I was quietly assured. I’m a mammal, not an amphibian or a fish. I can handle a bike and run. I was also grateful to have the opportunity to bike after missing out in 2024. When my 180km bike ride finished 6 and a half hours later, I was even happier to get onto the run course – my strength. As I neared the end of the marathon there was a sign that resonated with me which read ‘You have earnt this pain’. There is a certain power in suffering, in overcoming adversity, in returning to your sites of previous failures. I learnt so much from my 2024 failures and was able to grow and adapt because of this. When I crossed the Ironman finish line, 13 hours and 18 minutes after starting, there was a huge sense of satisfaction. It was my 15^th NZ Ironman but it ranked up there with my first Ironman as the most memorable. When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. When you fail, don’t make any excuses. Reflect but don’t dwell on it for too long. Accept, adapt, make the required changes. Get back in the pool, hop on your bike, and go for a run. Repeat this as many times a necessary. And before you know it, you’ll be back at Ironman NZ again! Running is medicine.

Various stages of the run during the Ironman marathon

Finisher’s photo with my wife Courtney and eldest daughter Millie

Poppi and Millie after finishing Ironkids

IMNZ 15 Year Legend award

Feeling fresh early on in the run

Come Saturday, it’s a 5.30am wake up and by 6.15am, my cousin Paul is driving me from Rotorua to Taupo. It feels like I’ve been packaged up from work, onto a plane, and now this car and my low back pain is flaring up again. When we arrive in Taupo, the sun’s up and it’s a frosty start. It’s currently 2 degrees with a forecast high of 13 degrees Celsius. There are a few hardy souls in shorts and singlet though I’m not too keen to lose my polar fleece just yet. I join the masses huddled together at the frosted over Tongariro Domain to listen to the race briefing. The briefing is pretty stock standard until the MC mentions that someone from the YMCA is doing their 300^th marathon today. Paul (having run one marathon in his life) looks at me in disbelief. “I thought one marathon was a good achievement” he mentions. “Young man, there’s no need to feel down” I respond. I pause, waiting to see if Paul will bust out his dance moves but he didn’t seem to pick up on his cue. After the briefing, we all move towards the start line on Redoubt Street. At the last safe moment, I take off my polar fleece and wish Paul luck for his half marathon later in the morning. At 7.45am, close to 300 marathoners set off together past the Taupo Marina. It’s cold but there’s no hint of a breeze and Lake Taupo is completely still. Conditions were absolutely perfect for running a marathon! No excuses. Theoretically, the main limiter should only be my training. Oh and myself of course. Always myself. Only I’m accountable for my effort.

Settling into a nice pace

Though I’m no expert, after running 100 marathons you certainly learn a few things along the way. Hence for my 101^st marathon, I’d like to talk about Marathon 101: Starting & Pacing. Unless you’re an elite athlete hoping to win, intending to deliver your pregnant partner’s baby at the finish line, or running from the police, I’d suggest you start easy. Ease your body and mind into the huge challenge that lies ahead. It’s better to start slow and pass people towards the end, rather than start fast and spend the rest of the race slowing down. If you’re human and have an ego (which is most of us to an extent), being passed is psychologically damaging and can bring on ‘the walk’. Start slow, take all the pressure off, and leave the stress of winning to elite athletes. Don’t be another ‘one and done’ but rather think of this as something you want to be doing for as long as possible and ideally for the rest of your life. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Which leads me onto pacing. One of the most important things you can learn is how long you can hold a certain pace for. A 10km pace is different to a 21km pace, which is different to a 42km pace, which is different to a 100 miler pace for instance. If you like to run with a watch, look at your time splits every 5km rather than checking your km per min pace every kilometre. Monitoring your pace every kilometre is tiring and your time over 5km is a better reflection of pace consistency. For a marathon, over time, you need to learn a controlled pace that you can hold for 30km. This is not easy and life starts getting tough from the 21km mark. However, the true race starts at 30km so you need to do everything within your power to get to the 30km mark ‘relatively fresh’. Don’t prepare for the wall, prevent the wall! Train for 30km and race for 12km! If you’ve done this right, you should be feeling relatively ok by the 30km mark. Only then can you unleash your dance moves and ‘race’ the final 12km (at your known 10km pace if possible). Trust me, finishing a marathon strong is much more pleasant than slowly dismantling all the way to the finish line!

Inward bound during the second lap with Mt Ngauruhoe in the background

Finishing marathons under 4 hours has been a goal of mine for many years. A sub 4 hour time is hard enough to be challenging without leaving me absolutely wrecked before returning to work on Monday. After a lot of practise completing road marathons around 4 hours, I know that if I want to finish under 4 hours, I need to be pacing at 28 minutes every 5 kilometres. Even when my brain gets tired, I don’t have too many problems adding by 28. So by 5km, I need to be around 28 minutes, 10km 56 minutes, 15km 1hr 24 minutes, 20 km 1hr 52 minutes and so forth. By 30km you want to be around 2hr 48 min which should guarantee you a 4 hour finish if you’ve paced sensibly! As I head along Lake Terrace, I’m feeling pretty stiff after my recent travel and the frosty morning so I start very conservatively. My first 5km was all about warming up and easing into things rather than going out all guns blazing. It took about 1km for my back pain to magically disappear and 5km before my feet were no longer numb. After 5km, I’d clocked 31 minutes. Three minutes off the required pace but not the end of the world. For the next 5km, I steadily increased my pace such that by the 10km mark, I clocked 57 minutes and was there and there abouts. By 15km, I was at 1hr and 24 mins and bang on a sub 4 hour pace. All I needed to do now was hold this pace. Assured with my pace, I began to relax into the run and could appreciate my surroundings a bit more. The return section back to the Tongariro Domain along the Great Lake Pathway was absolutely stunning. There were some beautiful secluded bays with spectacular views across Lake Taupo and the snow capped peaks of Mt Tongariro, Mt Ngauruhoe, and the largest of them all, Mt Ruapehu. The wind had slightly picked up but the sun was still out and for a period of time, running felt amazing. Heading back into town, I reached the 20km mark at 1hr and 52 minutes which was bang on again. As the course was so good, we then had to turn around and do the same half marathon course all over again! There was a bit more congestion as the half marathoners started at 9.15am but at least I was incentivised to try catch my sister and cousins ahead of me. I managed to hold my running form between the difficult 20-30km section such that by the 30km mark, I’d clocked 2hr 48 mins which was right on pace for a sub 4 hour finish. From here, I steadily picked it up trying to replicate my usual 10km pace (easier said than done). Although I couldn’t quite catch my sister and cousins, I still managed to pass a hell of a lot of runners and finish strongly. Nearing the finish line, I got a nice cheer from my family (mum, sister, three cousins, and two nieces) which is always heartening. I eventually crossed the finish line for an overall finishing time of 3hr and 54 minutes. There was a large tub of chocolate fish at the end so I helped myself to a couple for good reward. Though it’s satisfying achieving a sub 4 hour finish, it’s a much greater joy celebrating my family’s achievements together. Shout out to my sister Cristy Tucker for doing her first half marathon since 2009 and beating her time by 1 second! Nice pacing and way to make a comeback! Running is medicine.

Heading down the finisher’s chute

Family photo at the end (1 marathon finisher, 5 half marathon finishers, one 5km finisher, and two 1km kids dash finishers)

Millie and Poppi after the Kids Fun Run

As is usual of late, I’m awake before my 6am alarm. I’m not feeling a 100% as I’m still recovering from a classic Ironman tapering cold I developed mid-week. But I’ve had a couple of days to mentally prepare for this and I’m feeling better than yesterday so that’s good enough for me. There’s no way I was going to let a common cold derail my Ironman after months of training. This year, our motel was only 5 minutes walk from bike transition so I decided to head over to transition early before the kids woke up. I dropped off my bike drinks and pumped up my tyres to a firm 120 psi. By the time I’m back, its 6.30am and there’s still heaps of time before the 8am start. However, time can fly pre-event and it always seems to be that your kids sleep in when you need them to wake up early. We turn on the lights and play Meghan Trainor’s ‘Made You Look’ on repeat to try rouse them. By 7.40am, I’m in my wet suit and we all start walking along Lake Taupo towards the swim start. As we get closer to the transition area, some of the Ironman 70.3 (Half Ironman) athletes are already coming out of the water and heading towards their bikes in transition. It’s a bit congested with competitors racing and supporters everywhere so we actually end up on the wrong side of the road and unable to access the swim start from our position. I have a wee panic realising that we need to backtrack in order to cross over. It’s already 7.50am and ideally I’d like to be in the water warming up by now. When we eventually manage to cross over, I say a rushed goodbye to Courtney and the kids. I’m now right at the back of the swim cue with the purple capped swimmers so I urgently manoeuvre through the crowd so I can join the green capped swimmers I’ve been allocated to. The swim start is a deep water start so the best position to start is actually 50-100m away from the shore where the starting buoy is. However, a large group of swimmers are either still hanging around on the shore or waist deep in  the water not willing to lose contact with the ground just yet. As I start to swim around them, I hear the starter’s canon. Bugger! I’m about half way out and well behind the start line and not in a favourable position at all. I know this because there’s barely anyone around me and I can see a wild wash of people ahead of me. For the first 5 minutes, although I was swimming alone, I didn’t mind this too much as it meant I could ease into my swim. However, it’s not long before I’m eventually joined by a large wash of swimmers from my left (all the shore and shallow water starters) who are now trying to jostle for the best deep water position next to the buoys. It’s a bit of carnage and I try to hold my own and maintain my rhythm. I’m not the most confident swimmer and prefer my own personal space so I try to keep away from some of the big volatile bodies in the water. About a quarter of the way through the swim, navigating from buoy to buoy becomes increasingly difficult and it’s as if the surface of the lake is covered with fog. Unable to see too far ahead of me, I’m forced to follow the group of feet in front of me and hope they’re taking the most direct route. I did this for a while until I realised something wasn’t right as the fog only seemed to be ahead of me and not to my left or right. When I took an exaggerated neck extension to look ahead and could see the buoys again, it dawned on me that the top half of my googles had fogged up. In my rush to get into the water, I hadn’t put my googles on perfectly and now I was paying the price. I’d also put my swim cap over my googles so to address this problem would be a fidgety two step procedure. Though many aspire to have ‘the perfect ironman race’, the reality is that this is not the norm. I can’t think of one Ironman where I haven’t had to troubleshoot something. In this case it was, do I persist with reduced vision or readjust my googles and risk getting water into them (which is just as frustrating and can take multiple attempts to resolve)? I decide with the ‘better the devil you know’ approach and persist with my fogged up goggles. However, it also meant that I had to trust those ahead of me to guide the way which I felt uneasy about. I continued with this approach for about three quarters of the swim until suddenly a miracle occurred. A tiny circle clearing formed in my condensed googles such that I could see again! It was about the size of a pea but it was all I needed. Being able to see the buoys again, I picked up my speed and forged ahead confident in my own navigation abilities. I cornered the final buoy and headed towards the swim finish. One hour and 36 minutes later, my feet could touch the ground again. It was a relief to finish and I was happy to put that experience behind me. 3.8km down, 222.2km to go.

Pre Ironman swim photo with the swim course in the background

Coming out of the swim exit

Though the swim makes me the most nervous, the bike leg of an Ironman is my least preferred. I know that for psychological reasons I’m not meant to think like this. But the bike’s a hard sell. In a nutshell it’s go for a 180km bike in the heat of the day between 9.30am-4.30pm. Ride by yourself because drafting is not permitted. And lunch is your responsibility and needs to be sorted on the move. Do this, and you’re lucky enough to start a marathon. As I bike up Rifle Range Road to begin my first 90km loop, I see Courtney and the girls waving and cheering. It’s a nice lift and I wave back in a restrained manner knowing that I need to conserve all my energy for this barbaric bike ride. As I head out towards Reporoa, the conditions are very pleasant. The sun is out and it isn’t too hot yet. The weather forecast predicted 23 degrees Celsius with light southerlies and an average wind speed of less than 10km/hr. I knew that a southerly wind meant that I’d have a tailwind to Reporoa and a headwind coming back into Taupo. Though I’d trained in much stronger winds (average wind speed in Christchurch is normally in the teens to early 20s), I also knew that biking consistently into a light headwind can be very tough. Aware of this, I held back during the first leg out to Reporoa and took it easy. As I approached the 45km turnaround at Reporoa, I was feeling pretty good. I was passing people and my legs felt light. I looked at the other cyclists’ faces coming back inbound for clues on any headwind but they didn’t appear to reveal too much suffering. Poker faces or not? I thought. There also wasn’t too much movement in the trees. This could be perfect conditions. Maybe there is no wind? As I reached the turnaround point, the course showed its hand. As predicted, there was a persistent warm Southerly headwind all the way back to Taupo. Initially it didn’t appear too bad but it slowly smothered your will. The headwind combined with the uphill climb back into Taupo began to take its toll. Riding up the hills, I started to feel more fatigued than desired and also developed a stitch which is not very common whilst biking (compared to say running for instance where there is a bit more jostling involved). Was I drinking too much? Was I riding the uphills too vigorously? Is my sickness catching up with me? Regardless, I slowed and started to get passed again. When I reached the halfway point of the bike, I had biked 90km in about 3hrs and 15 mins. It was 1pm and the sun was puffing out its big yellow chest. I stopped at the bike special needs tent to pick up my frozen drinks and cookies/chocolates. One volunteer who noticed my golden race number (given to those with 10 or more Ironman finishes) asked how many Ironmans I’d done. Feeling a bit worse for wear I responded “Too many!” As I headed back out to Reporoa again, it was good to have a tailwind but my stitch continued to annoy me and hold me back. I simply couldn’t stop eating or drinking otherwise I’d be destroyed by the marathon. Aware that there was a bit of downhill coming out of Taupo, I knew this was my only opportunity to address this short of stopping completely. I reduced my intensity going down the hills and gave myself permission to stop pedalling for short periods whilst the heavier riders thundered past me. The tactic seemed to work and finally after about an hour of trying to manage it, my stitch eventually resolved. I was able to push harder and picked up the pace on the flats again. By the time I had reached Reporoa again, the frozen drinks I had picked up 90 minutes earlier were lukewarm. As I turned around, I knew this would probably be the hardest part of my Ironman today – a 45km warm headwind all the way home. It was head down, bottom up. At some stage during an Ironman, you’ll reach the point where you simply don’t give a shit anymore. Tired as I was, I knew there was no point holding anything back now. It was time to throw caution to the wind. When you’ve been on a bike for more than 5 hours, there ain’t too much to enjoy about life so I had a strong desire to get off this dastardly bike as quick as I could. I pushed hard into the headwind. Attack, recompose, attack, recompose. By 160km, the pressure from the pedals on my bike shoes was starting to get a bit unbearable. Knowing I still had a further 10km of incline and a couple of nasty hills to go, I succumbed to the pain and pulled over at the next toilet stop. I whipped off my shoes and proceeded to enter the portaloo when one of the volunteers shouted out “You might want to leave your shoes on, the floor’s pretty gross in there.” “That’s the least of my worries” I responded. “My feet are killing me!” “And you’ve still got a marathon to run!” she gasps. “I’ll be in my running shoes by then, I’ll be fine” I reply. Relieved of the pressure from my feet and bladder, I feel like a new man and I’m on my way again. As I climb over one of the last major hills, a sign on the side of the road reads “That was the easy part. Now just a marathon to go!” When I finally arrive back into bike transition, it’s just after 4.30pm having completed the bike leg in just under 7 hours. Sometimes the thought of doing a marathon is harder than actually doing a marathon. I quickly change into my running gear, smother myself with sunscreen, and put on my trusty wide brimmed hat. Before my mind can comprehend what I’m about to do, I’ve left transition and have started running.

Coming out of bike transition and having breakfast on the move

Heading out to Reporoa with fresher legs

Heading back into Taupo for the final time before the large hill climbs

As I set off, my heart rate is going through the roof but I’m relieved to be on the run course. I find the swim and bike the hardest part of an Ironman whereas with running, it’s the one thing I’m remotely good at. In saying that, no matter how good your run legs are. Running a marathon after biking 180km is no laughing matter. As mentioned earlier, sometimes the thought of doing a marathon is harder than actually doing a marathon. It’s important that you come prepared with a good nutritional and psychological plan to deal with this or else the marathon will dismantle you. More recently, I’ve started using my running vest again so I can administer ‘aid’ during the course rather than only at aid stations. Having all my iced drinks, food, and supplements on me at all times reduces the loitering time at aid stations and allows me to ‘move through aid stations’ without breaking momentum. As in previous years, I left my watch at home to take some of the pressure off. As its easy to be overawed by distance, make your life easier by working with small numbers. The newly designed run course is now 4 laps so it makes sense to break the run down into four small achievable sections. Better still, at the turnaround point just outside of town, you’re given a different coloured wrist band each time you pass so you’ve got something tangible to show for your efforts. If you stick with the above, knowing the exact distance you’ve run at any point in time is not particularly important. So, the focus of my life for the next 4-5 hours was simply to get wrist bands and keep moving. At the first turn around point, it’s the blue wrist band. You then have to run back towards the town centre (which is slightly easier due to the multitude of supporters cheering you on) and turn around again. Next goal is the orange wrist band, followed by the pink, and then finally the yellow wrist band. The key lies in maintaining momentum and not floundering between the two turnaround points. Kind of like a running version of ping pong where you want to avoid the net (aka ‘the wall’) in the middle. Gamers out there may also find it easier to think of the marathon as a game of Super Mario Bros. Imagine each runner as like a gold coin (pass enough and you’ll get a 1 up life) and each wrist band as like a Powerup Mushroom such that when you receive your last wrist band, you’ll also receive an Invincibility Star that will get you all the way to the finish line. As silly as some of this may sound, I guarantee you’ll find it a lot easier than counting each of the 42 kilometres you need to run. After a 3.8km swim and 180km bike ride, the simple thought of running a marathon will wear you down and you could be mentally fried within 10 kilometres. As the day becomes night, it becomes much cooler and running becomes more tolerable again. Courtney and the girls had positioned themselves somewhere between the turnaround points and their encouragement helped me get through that testy middle ground. When I finally cross the finish line, it’s just after 8.30pm. I completed the marathon in 4hr and 42 mins for a total finishing time of 13 hours and 32 mins which I’m happy with. It wasn’t the perfect day but I’ve lowered my expectations over the years. There are so many variables in Ironman and not everything will go to plan. A lot of the time it’s about staying calm, managing any problems that arise, negotiating the difficult times, and learning to win ugly. Any Ironman finish regardless of the time you finish is a massive achievement! If you have the desire, discipline, and willingness to put in consistent effort, then finishing an Ironman is not beyond anyone. If you think you can, you should. As Iron Mike Stowers would say “Finishing is winning!” Running is medicine.

At the beginning of the marathon with fresher legs

Millie showing dad how to run effortlessly

Heading down the Ironman finisher’s chute

Ironman NZ # 14 in the bag

Finish line hug with cousin Shane

Headlamps on near the start

It’s Saturday 3am and I’m in my bunk bed in a shared dormitory at the Taupo YHA backpacker hostel. I’m awoken by this loud banging resonating from the room beside me (excuse the pun). I should’ve been wiser with my choice of accommodation but $35 a night seemed like a bargain at the time. For most of the night, my sleep was interrupted by the laughter and hollering of inebriated youth. But the banging was the final straw. It was time to accept my fate and get up and run a 100km. I catch a ride with Dr Esther O’Sullivan at 3.30am in order to catch the 4am bus that will take us to the start line. When we hop into the bus, it’s remarkably lively. Strangers in brightly coloured running gear are laughing and chatting freely seemingly unburdened with the forthcoming struggles. When we get to our destination, it’s 4.45am but the race doesn’t start until 5.30am. Some of the colourful mob head straight to the toilet cues to continue socialising but I’m reluctant to get out and loiter in the cold. Esther eventually coerces me off the bus and we head to a wooden shelter near the start line. There is a river close by which intensifies the damp coolness so I start to jiggle around on the spot to keep warm. Waiting around in the dark and cold is my least favourite bit of ultra running but Esther doesn’t seem to mind and stays positive throughout. Tough Irish girl. After about half an hour of questioning my own resilience to the cold, I happen by chance to see Esther clutching onto something with her Raynaud-like white fingers. “What are you holding onto Esther?” I asked. “Oh these? Handwarmers. Would you like one?” WTF, I thought. Cold weather 101: Use your brains not brawn as I sheepishly took one. After what felt like an age, we were eventually called to the start line and it was time to delayer and brave the cold. In keeping with tradition, a representative from the local iwi was entrusted to give a karakia (Māori prayer) before the starter’s gun. “You guys are all mad” he started. There was mixed laughter and then he commenced the karakia proper. Not being fluent in Māori, I said my own ultra runner’s prayer. Dear Lord. Give me the strength to finish, the wisdom to stop only after I’ve finished, and well-behaved bowels. And please ease the suffering from 80km onwards. Amen. After which, I crossed the start line and into the darkness with 150 other faithful runners.

Lush forest past the airstrip (half way point)

After crossing the swing bridge, it’s a gentle climb up onto the cliff tops above the river. As you reach the top, you’re welcomed by the pink and orange rays of the early morning sun. Sun rises always seem better when you’re moving. As it gets lighter, one can really appreciate the beauty of the Waihaha Trail. The trail is surrounded by abundant dense native bush (mainly Tanekaha) with outcrops of weathered volcanic rock. In the clearings of bush, there are spectacular views of Lake Taupo and all its vastness. The course then crosses over farmland and past a large old woolshed (Barton’s woolshed / 33km). After the woolshed, you traverse over more challenging farmland. Due to the high winter/spring rainfall, a waterway has spilled over on the fields meaning unavoidable wet feet. Once through the farmland, you encounter a mixture of gravel and sealed straight roads (some very long straights) until you eventually reach the 50km mark at the airstrip. When I arrive at the airstrip, it’s around 12pm and I’ve been on my feet for 6.5 hours now. By the time you get to the airstrip, if things weren’t already hard, they become harder. The reason I like (and also don’t like) the 100km distance, is that it forces you to run the kilometres you don’t want to run. For many experienced runners, they are the kilometres past 30km and for many ultra runners, the kilometres past 42km. However, for the vast majority of people in our society, it’s sadly any physical activity at all. There is a fantastic book titled ‘Exercised’ by Daniel E Lieberman (who studies human evolution) which I’d recommend to anyone with an interest in their health and fitness. The main premise of this book is that we were never evolved to exercise. This concept of being ‘born to run’ has been sensationalised somewhat and more so after Christopher McDougall’s best-selling ‘Born to Run’ book which centres around a hidden tribe of Mexican Indian super runners called the Tarahumara. But Lieberman helps us to understand why it’s so unnatural for some to exercise. He argues that we never evolved to exercise and were in fact born to avoid non-essential physical activity. Humans have lived longer in ‘energy scarce’ rather than ‘energy rich’ times so it’s an ancient instinct to conserve energy. Our ancestors were only physically active when necessary to survive as energy was needed in order to reproduce and ultimately maintain our survival as a species. Guess what happens to a women’s period if she exercises too much? Lieberman illustrates that for the few remaining hunter gatherer populations in society today, their exercise is their physical work as part of everyday living (e.g. walking, hunting, lifting, carrying food and water). Hunter gatherers like the Hazda walk about 11.5km/day. They also don’t simply turn on a tap to get fresh water. Any water has to be resourced and carried back to the tribe. No hunter gatherer populations did exercise for the sake of health and fitness. For the Hazda, the concept of a treadmill was abnormal and bizarre – why would you walk to get nowhere? So from an evolutionary perspective, it’s more normal to avoid unnecessary physical activity and exercising is the abnormal behaviour! Which leads us to our current problem. Our modern technological world has eliminated a lot of day-to-day physical activity and hence we’re more sedentary than ever. And though we may never have evolved to exercise, we also never evolved to be as persistently physically inactive as we are now. Hence, we need to be a bit more compassionate to those who struggle to exercise and stop pretending that exercise has to be fun all the time. Though I paid $400 to enter this 100km, I appreciate that no amount of money would ever entice someone to participate in this distance. For those who don’t exercise regularly, it’s not instinctive for them to do unnecessary physical activity (the multitude of ‘why should I do something that is unpleasant and hard’ people). These people need encouragement and not judgement. For those of you reading this who don’t exercise regularly, you need to realise that you have to fight this deeply ingrained instinct and move with the changing times. Look around you. Everything is motorised and most of the hunting and gathering now occurs at Pak’nSave. You need to exercise for your own health and fitness. Though you may not like exercise, your body loves movement. There will be days where you won’t want to exercise. This is normal (even for people who exercise regularly). You need to fight this urge and be more physically active at every opportunity. Persist and hang in there and eventually you’ll learn to like exercise! Succumb to your instincts, and you’ll risk becoming prematurely obsolete.

Running with Gareth around Kawakawa Bay

As I mentioned earlier, a 100km forces you to run the kilometres you don’t want to run. The vast majority of ultra runners who started today didn’t’ say “What a beautiful day for it. I think I’ll run a 100km for fun!” Ultra runners run the distances they do because they appreciate the benefits in it. They realise that change happens when you challenge yourself and do the things that you don’t want to do. And it’s not just physical or mental change, but internal change. There is an unknown power in suffering. It’s like your soul feeds off it. A 100km distance influences your soul and shapes your life. You’ll hear people say that a 100km/100mile is life changing. I personally wouldn’t go that far but semantics aside, it does change your life. Your outlook on life is never quite the same after completing a 100km. As I leave the airstrip, I know I’m entering the kilometres I don’t want to run territory. When I last ran the Taupo Ultramarathon in 2018, the section just after 50km was where the course chewed me up and spat me out so I was keen to hold my own this time. I eventually catch up to a runner called Gareth. He looked to be in pretty bad shape with more side to side than forwards movement. But when he sensed my approach, he picked up his pace again. I couldn’t work out whether he was a 100km runner or a back of a pack walker from the 74km distance as although he appeared to be working hard, his walk/shuffle was quite effective. Content to hold rather than push the pace at this point, I just sit in behind him. We did this for about 30-60 minutes in complete silence until he pulled to the side and said “Thanks for pushing me.” This was never my intention of course. I simply didn’t have the energy to make a pass and was content to hold my pace. “No worries”, I replied. He then sat in behind me until the next aid station at 62km. I hung around for a bit topping up my drinks and eating oranges and lollies when I noticed Gareth loitering around the aid station. It’s funny how misery attracts company. A problem shared is a problem halved right? I sensed he was keen to stick together. “You ready to go?” I enquired. And off we went again. As we walked up the “wee hill” into Kinloch, we started to talk a bit more. He shared how he got into ultra running and I shared my own story. He was a home brewer who was “getting too fat” drinking his own home brew so he started running. Over the course of a couple of years, he built up to running 100 miles. Although I didn’t say it at the time, I thought, you must’ve been drinking a lot of home brew. I enjoyed his company and we ran with each other for at least a half marathon all the way to Kinloch. As we approached the Kinloch aid station, Gareth was back into a good rhythm. He told me that he was going to push through and I told him I needed to stick around at the aid station for a bit. I also had a pacer waiting for me. At this point we thanked each other and parted ways.

Running with Dani

When I arrived at Kinloch, it was around 3.30pm. I’d done 76km and had been on my feet for 10 hours now. My cousin Paul (determined not to miss me) had caught the 10am bus into Kinloch so was ready to go. The last 24km to the finish had the greatest elevation gain but I was actually looking forward to this. The Taupo Ultramarathon 100km is quite a challenging course as it’s very runnable. It’s so runnable that your finishing time is largely determined by your will and desire to keep running and not walk. Hence, after running the majority of 76km, I was looking forward to walking up the last big rise. “I reckon it’s about 4 hours up and over to the finish” I told Paul. “Hopefully we’ll finish before sunset but bring your head lamp just in case”. In the lead up to the event, Paul had been apprehensive to pace me despite my reassurances that after 76km I’d be going pretty slow. I ignored his own doubts and multitude of excuses because I knew he had the potential and the ability to dig deep. I’d given him lots of encouragement but I think the lightning bolt was when I warned him that if he was too slow, I’d leave him behind. We were hence both accountable to each other. Him to stick with me and me to get him through this. As with my previous pacers, we started at a walking pace so I could eat and Paul could warm up and lose any nervous or pent-up energy. After walking the initial steep bit, we then commenced a reliable shuffle all the way to the top. Paul tucked in behind me and we kept good company. At around 85km we were joined by a lively and enthusiastic lady called Dani. It’s always better to surround yourself with positive people when running an ultra. We seemed to have the mettle on her on the uphill but then she would catch up to us again on the downhill. We invited her to cling on and we shared good chat. Dani was 29 years old and was doing her first 100km. She shared that her father had type 1 diabetes and died at 39 years of age. She was an “obese teenager” and conscious of her family history so she started running. Although her mother was concerned, she started training for a 100km and the rest is history. The 100km wasn’t killing her, she was killing it! It never ceases to amaze me how open people can become during long distance events. Running for more than 50km seems to remove the filter and experiences are easily shared. It also never ceases to amaze me how seemingly ordinary people (like Gareth and Dani) can turn around their lives and do extraordinary things. The three of us manage to stick together and maintain a good pace all the way to the finish line. Dani has a sprint finish but I’m content to coast to the finish with Paul. We eventually cross the finish line together just before 7pm in a time of 13hrs and 28 mins. After initially wavering in my commitment to start the event, it was very satisfying to finish. Nothing started. Nothing finished. Change happens when you do the things you don’t want to do. Often the kilometres you don’t want to run count the most. Keep chasing start lines for your own health and fitness. Running is medicine.

Running with Paul (pacer) near the finish

Crossing the Taupo Ultramarathon 100km finish line

At the swim start

It takes me a while to get into a swim rhythm this year. COVID-19 delayed the start by 3 weeks so the water is appreciably colder. My breathing is tight and I’m unsure if I need to inhale or exhale. It’s very easy to get caught up in the catecholamine induced quick start, so I slow my stroke and reign in my ego which helps. Not being a very good swimmer, I try keep away from the swimming pack. I like my personal space and have never been good at drafting. Following the person in front of you can also be a bit hit and miss as you can easily swim off course. Hence, I tend to trust my own navigation abilities (albeit dodgy) rather than trust other aspiring misguided open water swimmers. I eventually establish my own swimming rhythm and ease into my work. As the lake is reasonably calm this year, I exit the swim in 1 hour and 27 mins. The 180km bike ride is always a big day in the office. Thankfully the outside office is reasonably calm today with light winds for the first 90km. But everything in life is temporary and nothing good lasts forever. By midday, the wind picks up and it’s a challenging north easterly head wind on the second lap to Reporoa. Being a relative ‘light weight’, I stick to my strengths and treat the headwind like a slow uphill climb and put the pedal to the medal. I finally reach the turnaround point and the last 40km back to Taupo is aided by a nice tail wind. Conscious of not losing my running legs this year, I ease back a bit from 160km in preparation for the run. I arrive back at bike transition just under 6 hours and 30 mins which I’m reasonably happy with. Years of Ironman has taught me that if you have a good bike, then there’s a higher probability that you’ll continue that good form and have a good run. If you come off your bike worse for wear, then there’s a harsh life lesson just around the corner called a full marathon. As I start my run, a jubilant supporter shouts out “You’ve only got a marathon to go”. Yes, ‘only’ a marathon to go.

Leaving Taupo early on the bike

Heading out to Reporoa

Running a marathon with tired legs is no easy feat. I maintain a sub 6 min km pace for the first 5km but inevitably the overall fatigue catches up with me. I hit a wall quite early on around 15km. It’s the usual stuff again. My feet are sore and my legs are heavy. I feel completely drained and the brain fog starts to settle in. Running becomes clunky and cumbersome. I see my wife on the course and I can tell that she knows I’m struggling. Although she doesn’t say it, she has a facial expression that would translate to “You look like sh*t”. I know I need to urgently tend to this rot. It doesn’t get any easier running through a wall but I’ve been here enough times to know what to do. I guzzle some orange juice, swallow a Leppin Squeezy, and take some paracetamol/caffeine tablets. During moments like this, you just need to keep moving, think positive thoughts, remember why you’re doing this, and be grateful for this moment. Every wall no matter how high, long, or formidable, has a door. You just need to find it. Everything starts to click into place and my running legs return. I know I’m back in the game when complete strangers start telling me “You’re looking good”. A complement I would never receive outside of running. I resist the urge to walk and hold on to the momentum for the remaining 25km. I cross the finish line 12 hours and 49 mins later doing a 4hr and 39 min marathon. The hallowed words are spoken again, “You are an Ironman”. It’s a personal best time for me and I can tell because I feel mildly sick. The covenant is sealed for another year. One Ironman a year. No more. No less. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Coastal Ultra 71km and the Christchurch Marathon (the latter if I feel strong enough).

Enduring the run

Crossing the finish line. An incredible feeling!

12th NZ Ironman in the bag

Just before the swim start with my family: Millie (left), Poppi (centre), and Courtney (right)

I’ve wanted to talk about ‘healthy aging’ for a while. A lot of the ‘injuries’ I see in clinic are related to ‘aging athletes’ or deconditioning. Although we are living longer, we are not aging less. And this process occurs earlier than a lot of people appreciate. We do not suddenly wake up one morning with grey hair and a walking stick. We do not suddenly go from 30 to 65 years of age and feel old. Aging is a process. And this process starts from our late 20s (if not younger). If you develop an ‘injury’ without a clear mechanism or significant trauma, you may be presenting with a symptom of the aging process. To elaborate, we reach our peak bone density in our early 20s. We start losing muscle strength and muscle fibre size from our late 20s (i.e. age-related sarcopenia). The capacity of our joints to absorb and dissipate load reduces from our 30s. Our aerobic capacity declines by about 1% a year from the age of 30 i.e. 10% per decade from 30. Ask yourself, how many All Blacks compete at a high level from 35 years? When I completed my first Ironman aged 24, I was in my physical prime. My lifestyle was also more conducive for this arguably selfish exercise pursuit. I had more time to train and more time to recover. Why is it then, that the majority of Ironman triathlete participants (not winners) are between 35 and 44 years of age when they are well past their physical prime? Social reasons aside, there are two main factors from a Sport and Exercise Physician perspective. The first is that we have the ability in endurance sports to exercise at a submaximal level for a prolonged period of time. For example, we can maintain a pace at 60-80% of our VO2 max and still do quite well in endurance events until our 60s. And the second is, with age, we have banked more ‘mental resilience’ (or tolerance to suffer) through our life experiences. Therefore, although I may not be physically stronger at 37. To compensate, I have become mentally stronger. The key message I wish to get across is that if you continue to exercise from 30 years of age, you can slow down the aging process! Those who continue to exercise can minimise their aerobic capacity decline to 0.5% per year or 5% per decade (i.e. compared to 1% per year or 10% per decade in non exercisers). Those who continue to resistance train can maintain their muscle strength to better support their joints. Those who continue to do flexibility/recovery sessions can maintain musculotendinous compliance to better absorb load through their joints. For those over 30 years of age, it is not ok to exercise less with each passing decade. If you are sedentary between the ages of 30 and 60, then expect to accumulate a weakness debt and the side effects of normal age related deconditioning. Be prepared to incur an ‘injury’ with the same day to day activities that would’ve never troubled you in your 20s. Exercise needs to be challenging with an element of difficulty. Because when exercise is no longer hard, invariably, ‘life’ becomes hard. Conversely, if you are still exercising intensely in your 40s or playing a ‘high demand sport’ (i.e. any collision or change of direction sport), be prepared to put in the hard yards. You must commit to dedicated aerobic, resistance, flexibility, balance, and recovery sessions in order to condition your body to handle the rigours of your sport. You need to tick all the right boxes and maintain a healthy weight. Your conditioning needs to be superb if you want to keep playing any high demand sport. You can’t afford to be mediocre. Or else, (no surprises here folks), you’ll get ‘injured’. There’s a difference between aging and healthy aging. The choice is yours.

Swim completed and heading towards the bike transition area

The weather gods are kind today and Lake Taupo is relatively flat with minimal chop. I’m not that keen for a fight this early in the morning so I keep my ego in check and start towards the back of the pack. Away from all the carnage up front, I establish a good breathing rhythm and ease into my work. The sunrise, sandy lake floor, golf balls, and lake weed are a refreshing break from the ‘black line’ of the swimming pool. The swim is my weakest discipline so I’m happy to complete the 3.8km swim in 1hr and 25 mins. It’s all a blur of spectators and a commotion of noise as I come out of the water and head towards bike transition in preparation for the gruelling 180km bike ride. Although the bike is my least favourite discipline, I attempted to adopt a gratitude mindset this year. I was thankful for the overcast conditions and light winds which made for favourable biking conditions. I was thankful to be in the moment and to literally have hours to myself away from the demands of parenting. At the same time, I was also determined to push hard as I wanted to finish before my four year old daughter went to bed and bizarrely, resume parenting (or contribute anyway). The parenting guilt seemed to motivate me and I managed to maintain a good pace throughout only stopping at halfway for an ice cold Powerade and two mince savouries. Unbeknown at the time, I had biked my fastest ever Ironman bike split at just over 6hrs 20 mins. Now that the hard part was finished, I was just left with the marathon…

Heading out of Taupo on the bike

Although I have a reasonably strong running background, the marathon part of the Ironman is one of the hardest marathons you could ever run. Being a runner at heart, I try limit my walking but the temptation to walk is great. In no other event in my experience is the compulsion to stop running as high as it is during an Ironman marathon. The next 42.2km is an absorbing battle between the willingness to move and the compulsion to stop. This struggle of wills is a life changing experience (in retrospect) and is probably one of the main reasons people like myself willingly come back year after year. I leave the run transition well lubricated and with the knowledge that I just need to maintain an honest pace to achieve a personal best time. The first lap (of three) of the marathon course is always the hardest. This is usually due to a combination of 180km of bike fatigue, heat, and being passed by other faster runners on their final lap home. With a PB on the line, I know I need to mentally hold it all together and keep pushing until sunset. As the sun sets, the air begins to cool and running becomes a bit more tolerable. Willed on by my family and many, many, complete strangers, I approach the finish line a touch over 9pm and just under a 5hr marathon time. Heading down the finisher’s chute, I spot my four year old, Millie, who is still awake and waiting for me. I resume parenting and she joins me for the last 100m. We finish together laughing hand in hand. I manage to achieve a PB of 13 hours and 11 mins but the greater satisfaction is having trained and finished an Ironman as a father. My last personal best was in 2009 when I was 26 years of age so you really can wind back the years (even as a parent)! An Ironman is not about how fast you can go, but more about, the less you slow down. Sounds a bit like life doesn’t it? Aim for healthy aging. Aim to exercise deep into your living years. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Mt Oxford Mountain Marathon in April (Coronavirus pending).

Heading down the finisher’s chute with Millie

Headlights on at the start of the run

Most 100km runs start in the dark which is fitting for what is a bit of a dark art. I’ve always preferred the marathon distance but got seduced into this run by my friends Dr Andrew Stanley and Dr Rich Newbury (again). It is a distance that can shock the very core of a non runner. The ‘why’ is an extremely good question. Let’s be very clear – 100km runs are painful. You cannot escape from this. It is part of the territory and intimately related to the attraction. My personal view is that the 100km distance is no more painful (with respect to pain intensity) compared to a marathon. All runs start to become challenging and uncomfortable after the 30km / 3-4 hour mark. The main difference between a marathon and 100km event is the duration of time that you need to cope with this discomfort. In a marathon, after 30km, you need to ‘push through’ the last 12km. In a 100km ultramarathon, after 30km, you need to ‘survive’ the last 70km. And for me, that may be the attraction of this distance. It strips away the layers of vanity and pretence that the modern day world dresses us in. It taps into the very essence of our identity. The 100km distance looks deeper than skin, subcutaneous tissue, muscle, and fascia. It provides a window into the human soul. A portrait of the inner self. When things get tough as they invariably do during a 100km distance, are you true to yourself? Do you give up? Do you seek to blame others? Do you add layers to cover your insecurities? Do you buy your way out of hardship? Do you rely on status? The 100km distance will rock your fragile insecurities and doubts. It taps into our primitive survival mechanism and reminds us that we are all vulnerable. Vulnerable to our own expectations. Vulnerable to failure. The 100km distance teaches you how to accept yourself and how to cope in a material world full of modern day stressors. The 100km distance teaches you how to ‘survive’. It teaches you how to be confidently vulnerable.

Running past inspired livestock with Dr Rich Newbury (left)

The Taupo Ultramarathon 100km is a beautiful course. I started to struggle from 40km onwards. From 50km, I switched to survival mode and my ‘all day pace’. The dense native bush, deep ravines, wet lands, and intermittent views of Lake Taupo provide a welcome distraction. The sounds of flowing rivers, tuis, and bell birds are soothing. Things can appear pretty foggy during a 100km run but the survival instinct is clear and strong. One foot in front of the other. Next aid station. Seeing other participants persevering and surviving is inspiring. Running from sunrise to sunset, I am vulnerable. The fear of failure drives me. But not as much as the fear of not living. The reds and oranges of dusk are replaced by black sky. Time for darkness and headlights again. However, now it is 8pm instead of 6am.  After 14 hours and 27 minutes, the run eventually ends. Although I’ve finished in darkness, the inner self is bright and radiating. By surviving, the human soul is rekindled. Life is enriched. In the days following, your bed is more comfortable. Your breakfast tastes better. You are a better person around people. Seek your start lines. Survive to ‘live’. Be confidently vulnerable. Running is medicine. Join me at my next blog, the Kepler Challenge in December, a favourite of mine!

It can be hard keeping up with these two (Dr Andrew Stanley [left] and Dr Rich Newbury [right]) when they’re in a rush to finish before sunset

At the finish line having survived the Taupo Ultramarathon 100km