15km at Skedaddle: A Trail Race with Big Climbs and Even Bigger Community

After three ultras in five months over the spring and summer 2025/26 season, lining up for the 42km event  like I did last year didn’t feel like the smartest choice for my body. But Skedaddle is such a great event, in such a beautiful part of the country, that I didn’t want to miss it altogether. So I had decided to sign up for the 15km instead, excited to take on a different type of challenge.

This was going to be my highest intensity race in a long time. Over the past few years my focus had shifted more towards longer distances but fewer races per year because it was simply too difficult to get to events without a driving licence (thanks to a “bump” in my epilepsy battle). Getting my driver’s licence back after finally receiving medical clearance last year has changed a lot; suddenly races feel accessible again.

The 15km at Skedaddle has a reputation for being a really tough race, and for good reason. It has over 700 metres of climbing packed into its 15 kilometres, with most of that elevation loaded into the first 5.5km. It is absolutely not a “short and easy” option and I was excited to take this on and see how it felt.

I arrived at race village around 8:30am, just as a gunshot sounded, signalling the departure of the 30km runners. The place was buzzing. Competitors sorting gear, volunteers everywhere, nervous energy mixed with excitement. I had plenty of time to get myself organised, eat a second breakfast and even made a last-minute decision to borrow a pair of Leki poles from the Mountain Adventure stall. 

I’m no stranger to poles, I love running with them, but I’d never used the Leki glove system out on trail and had been curious about how they would feel. Being able to trial them in a race felt too good an opportunity to pass up, so feeling like I was betraying a pair of friends, I relegated my trusty Black Diamonds to my after-race bag, and unfolded the Leki poles at the start line instead.

By the time we lined up for the 9:30am start the sun was already beating down onto the course. Honestly, it felt amazing. I’m used to ultra distances starting in the dark at ridiculous hours of the morning and my body and mind always resist. My circadian rhythm is definitely not designed for 4am breakfasts and 6am race starts. So for once, I actually felt awake, energised and genuinely ready to go.

The 15km field was split into two waves and I slotted into the first one hoping I was in the right place. The count down began and as soon as the gun went off, the race was ON, the field quickly ran past race village and into the hills beyond.

I had made the decision to push hard right from the start. There was no luxury of easing into this one. Almost immediately the course headed uphill and, apart from a few brief respites, it basically stayed that way for the first 5.5 kilometres.

Like any good New Zealand hill, the climb felt relentless. Sometimes the gradient was steady and manageable, and sometimes it was outright rude.

All around me people were breathing hard, everyone finding their own limit and sitting right on top of it. I joined them in that uncomfortable effort space too, waiting for my breathing to regulate somewhat while keeping the effort level high.

The track itself was mostly wide, rough farm track, so there was plenty of room to pass. I found myself leapfrogging with a few other runners as I found my place in the pack whilst the gradient constantly shifted between manageable and a complete grind.

I dug the Leki poles in hard, liking how secure they felt attached to my hands. What I didn’t like, initially, was trying to do literally anything else with them. Eating, drinking, adjusting gear — suddenly I felt wildly uncoordinated, my usual tried-and-true systems no longer working the way they normally did. At times I was basically a hazard, swinging the poles unpredictably off to one side or between my legs, almost tripping myself over while wrestling gels from my vest and repeatedly forgetting the poles were still attached to me. (Luckily no other competitors were harmed in the making of this comedy sketch.)

Eventually, feeling slightly more at one with the poles … for now … I reached the top of the main climb and the course finally eased off, sidling around the peak with a few blessed downhill sections thrown in. I started relaxing a little, right until another nasty climb appeared around the corner out of nowhere. Classic New Zealand trail style. 

Soon enough, the main downhill arrived. I had unclipped the poles to carry them in one hand through a flatter section, so when I opened up my stride down the rocky, muddy descent I instinctively tried to use the Lekis the same way I use my Black Diamond poles. Wanting a bit more balance as I careened downhill, I swung the poles out in front of me — and immediately the low profile handle meant that both of them shot straight through my loose grip whilst I continued running forward and they clattered onto the track behind me, right where I had been just seconds before.

I scrambled back uphill to retrieve them laughing at my own stupidity, only to then repeat the same technique again, but this time with more confidence, and what I thought was a firmer grip… but once again managed to leave the poles behind me … up the trail.

Clearly I’m not a fast learner. But the message was finally received.

Unlike my Black Diamond poles, which have a wider shaped handle and wrist straps that let me swing them around with reckless abandon, these ones very clearly needed to stay attached to the gloves at all times. So I clipped back in properly and carried on, finally committing to the new technique … despite being nervous about what would happen if I fell whilst attached to them… a definite possibility at this point.

From there I really started pushing. I loved the downhill running and the relief it gave my cardiovascular system after all that climbing. The legs were taking a hammering, but it was short-course pain; sharp, intense and temporary, and honestly I was enjoying it.

At some point I glanced down at my watch and realised a sub-2-hour finish was possible. 

Until then I hadn’t really had a goal. I genuinely didn’t know how this race would feel, so I’d kept expectations low. Now suddenly I had something to chase, and the moment that possibility appeared, I locked onto it and kept pushing.

Back on the valley floor there was a long grassy flat section that should have felt easy but, after flying downhill, running on the flat felt awkward and clunky, like dropping from a 100km highway into a 50km zone with no warning. My legs were also starting to feel properly cooked by then, which felt reassuring. It meant I was racing hard enough but I hoped I hadn’t burnt them out too quickly - that sub 2 hour finish was luring me in.

Through marshalled checkpoints, small stream crossings and past photographers, I kept moving until eventually I spotted that dreaded final climb. I remembered that hill from last year. I also remembered being quite offended by it, but there was only one way to the finish line so I had no choice but to put my head down and keep pushing.

The climb felt even longer than I remembered and right in the middle of me starting to question my life choices, the front runners from the kids’ 4km race started flying past me uphill.

I cheered them on as they went by and loved watching my cheering give them a momentary boost in pace. Kid after kid came charging past with legs that seemed completely unaffected by the effort of defying gravity while I continued trudging upwards at a pace much more suited to my 40-something-year-old body.

I loved seeing them come past and they were such a good distraction that before I knew it I’d reached the top and could finally see race village again in the distance. One kilometre to go.

No matter what distance you race, that final kilometre always seems to last forever. I had to dig pretty deep mentally to keep the pressure on all the way back around the final paddock and into the finishing chute. 

Crossing the line to the noise of supporters and volunteers, I felt so happy and relieved to finally take my foot off the gas after what had been, as planned, a high-intensity effort. I managed to achieve the sub-2-hour time that had become the goal midway through the race but, more importantly, I knew I had raced to the best of my ability on that particular day, which is all I ever ask of myself. I had given the course everything I had and that’s the only win I chase.

The rest of the afternoon was spent exactly how good race afternoons should be: sitting in the sun with friends, drinking coke, eating delicious food from the next level food vendors that attend this event, whilst cheering other runners across the finish line. I was more content and relaxed than I had felt in a long time and by the time I packed up to leave, my energy tank may have been completely empty, but my “soul food” cup felt very full. 

Once again Skedaddle turned on the sun and some epic race-day vibes. It really is a 10 out of 10 event and one I’d recommend to anyone, regardless of which distance they choose. 

Side note: Thanks to Mountain Adventure for the on-race entertainment they provided me by loaning me the Leki poles. I clearly need a bit more practice to avoid being such a hazard to myself and others but am definitely planning on converting!