when an Ultra Runner Takes on a Half Marathon at race tekapo ...
One of the best things about the half marathon distance at Race Tekapo, besides the views and the community spirit, is the 10am start. That time of day sings to me. My body seems to respond well to demands around then, so if I was going to hit the course hard, I would be giving myself the best possible chance of doing so.
On race day morning, having stayed with a family member in Timaru overnight, I had a 1 hour 15 minute drive along New Zealand’s picturesque country, roads ahead of me. Beautiful blue skies, a cheeky coffee acquired in Fairlie on the way, and an audiobook playing through the car speakers meant I was feeling pretty good about the day.
I arrived in Tekapo and immediately felt the familiar buzz of race day, even as I drove in along the main highway. I could see runners mid race, from the longer distances, making their way around the waterfront and the urge to put my car window down as I was driving to cheer them on was strong. But I decided to focus on driving less like a maniac and more like someone who now needed to navigate the parking situation.
I drove around for a few minutes and, by some miracle, managed to find a spot right by the race village. So close that I wouldn’t even need to put a finishers bag at the tent while I raced. Things were going suspiciously well.
I got out of the car and headed off to register, the usual race-day thrill washing over me as I soaked up the anticipation, the smiles and the distant cheers for competitors by the water’s edge.
Within minutes I had already spotted some familiar faces, it seemed that half of Canterbury was at this event. So many smiles in one place. It was delightful.
Once registered, I had some time to kill. The first job was to find toilets with running water. A Portaloo was not going to suffice as, once again, I would be racing on my period and needed to make sure all female admin was attended to before the start.
There was a hefty line for the permanent toilets at the car park, but luckily I had made sure to arrive in plenty of time, so all was well.
Of course, 20 minutes later, when the race briefing was looming, I still had to visit the Portaloos for that last nervous pee meaning I had to stand in yet another loo line … typical race morning vibes lol.
Soon enough, competitors adorned with orange race bibs began shuffling towards the corral and start line. Kerry, the race director, conducted the race briefing, which only had one short technical mishap amongst it, leaving us just a couple of minutes behind our intended start time.
Before I knew it we were off, being released in waves over the start line to create some form of order on the pathway in that first kilometre.
From the beginning I had my poles all ready in my hands because I knew that after the first kilometre there would be a grunty climb up to the top of Mount John. I felt a little self-conscious though, as I couldn't see a single other person intending to use poles for this climb.
I found myself arguing with my choices … poles or no poles? It’s short but it’s still relatively steep, and I knew my best chance of nailing the climb was with poles. But on the other hand it’s a relatively short climb and I knew I’d end up carrying the extra weight for the majority of the race. In the end the ultra runner in me refused to release them from my deathly grip.
So I used them as if my life depended on it, really making them earn their keep over those first few kilometres. They definitely helped, and before I knew it I was at the top of the hill, with the glorious view of Lake Tekapo below me, clumsily negotiating the poles into their attachments on the back of my pack secretly wondering if the poles had in fact been overkill LOL.
Arms and hands now free, I took in a gel and then went for it on the downhills.
My new Prodigio Pros, which I had only been wearing for a couple of weeks, were absolutely eating up the terrain and keeping me firmly stuck to the ground in my preferred upright position, making these downhills particularly fun.
At this point I had been going pretty hard for around 6km and I was starting to wonder whether I had let my ego get the better of me and gone out too hot?
Had the poles somehow convinced me I was invincible? Perhaps having them with me had actually meant I pushed TOO hard. Before I could muse over my life choices for too long I was distracted as I heard drums being played haphazardly in the distance.
WTF?
I looked to my left and there was a full drum kit perched on the hillside, with photographers positioned nearby to capture the runners who were happy to take a moment out of their race to bang on the drums and grab what would undoubtedly be a pretty epic photo opportunity. I love the race director, Kerry Uren's playfulness with this event, she definitely goes above and beyond to give the runners a good time.
I momentarily considered stopping for the fun of it, but I knew I’d come here with a purpose in mind, so I carried on, smiling at the added entertainment this event never fails to provide.
I refused to give up pushing, though. I had come here for a hard and fast training run, ready for some exciting goals later in the season, and I fully intended on making the most of the race environment.
A 21km race is relentless when you’re actually racing for a time. Every minute you don’t push, every unnecessary pause at an aid station, every little decision to back off adds up. And today I was fighting for my place. Not because I have any interest in being better than anyone else. I’m just trying to work out where my own limits are. When I race hard, I’m racing myself and sometimes I need the competition, the people around me, and the pressure of a race environment to push me further than I could on my own.
I really had to hang on to those high effort levels once I had completed the majority of the downhill and hit the track that sidles around the lake and back towards the race village. This part of the trail isn’t particularly technical, but it is undulating, and I was making constant decisions about my pacing and whether I should run or walk up each undulation knowing I still had a long way to go.
It took a surprising amount of cognitive power to keep pushing, constantly deciding whether to run an undulation or allow myself to walk it, whether I could hold the pace for another kilometre, whether backing off would actually help or just cost me more time later in the race.
But one by one, the kilometres kept ticking through and soon enough I was almost back onto the main stretch of pathway that runs around the front edge of the lake. There were lots of other competitors from the different distances here, and I was laughed at myself when I realised that I was struggling to catch some of the people who were just about to finish their 50km distance. Especially since I was only just over halfway through my 21.
It was amazing to see so many strong finishes from these ultra runners, and I did my best to give them some encouragement for their final push as I gasped breathlessly past them.
I could see the start/finish line now and hear the MC welcoming runners home from the other distances.
At this point I was very grateful I’d been warned that the 21km course is a figure eight. With the first half taking you up and over Mount John, before bypassing race village and heading off into the forest on the other side of the lake for the second half.
Mentally, it can be hard to see your finish line and then knowingly run straight past it. The comfort of my folding camping chair and cold can of coke that were waiting for me in my car called to me. But thankfully, the backyard ultras have trained my brain for exactly this kind of nonsense and so, reluctantly, with laboured breathing I continued on towards the forest.
By this point every undulation was energy costing and I was having to dig deep to keep pushing hard. It would have been more comfortable to take my foot off the gas and let myself relax a little, take some photos and enjoy the view but I squashed the voice inside me that was telling me to do that. I kept running hoping that the forest section would be easier.
How wrong I was! It’s certainly not another Mount John but it is undulating and there are a few climbs through here that took a fair amount of effort to run up and I had to fight mentally to do so.
Dodging the pinecones and tree roots was also a necessary component of this part of the race and I had to stay alert as part of an ankle preservation tactic.
It was exhausting but each glance at my watch confirmed that I was still on target to hit the time goal I had set myself.
Soon enough I was back at the edge of the forest, crossing the road via the traffic management that had been set up and heading back towards race village.
I was definitely having to work harder to maintain the same speed and I pushed on, willing myself not to give up now. Past the church, over the bridge and a right turn onto the path that would take me towards the lake again, and then a left turn onto the grass and into the finishing chute. Finally I could stop, and I bent over, hands on my knees to catch my breath.
Once I looked up and accepted the epic Race Tekapo medal I breathed a sigh of satisfied relief from a good day’s work. I knew that I could not have worked any harder or gone any faster on that day. Everything had gone fabulously well and I was safe in the knowledge that my training was working.
Once again I was reminded how much of a different experience it is to tackle a half marathon compared to an ultra and once again I was suitably humbled. There is no, "but it’s just 21km's", as many will say to me when they hear I run ultra distances! In many ways, I find a half marathon to be harder and take more willpower to complete, as I am working at higher intensity levels for longer periods of time than I ever would in an ultra.
It’s fantastic training to work at those levels and it will have done a lot for my fitness, but I say kudos to all you hardcore half marathoners out there, because that shit ain’t easy!
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