Ultra-distance Adventures

So near . . . and yet so far

2008-12-10T17:38:00.000-08:00

You rarely hear of anyone running for 24 hours barefooted. Not that it hasn’t been done, mind you. There are at least two others that I know of, a German man and a Dutch woman. Also, I’m sure the odd indigenous person has had a go. But it’s only we Westerners that make a song and dance about the feat.

This report is about my attempt to do so, in the 11th Sri Chinmoy New Zealand 24-hour Championship held on 22-23 November, 2008. It was my first real ultramarathon, but I was confident of completing the course. In the decade I've been running barefoot, I've run 3 marathons, walked the length of New Zealand (2200 km), and, in shoes, completed the Otago Rail Trail (150 km) in 35 hours. The only question was what pace to set, and what goal to aim for. From Barefoot Ken’s website, I’d learned that the men’s world record was 145 km, and the women’s (and overall record) 155 km. To me that seemed doable.

On race day, after having flown up to Auckland from New Zealand, I was driven to the venue by a cousin. I’d only seen Ric a couple of times in the three decades since we’d cycled from Dunedin and Queenstown and back, a distance of 600 kilometres, in the mid 1970s. All Ric had to do was enter the location ‘Sovereign Stadium’ into his global route-finding gadget, and we navigated effortlessly over to the North Shore from his Western Springs home. Would my event go as smoothly, I wondered?

The run was held on a proper 400-metre track that boasts the same surface as that at the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games. When we arrived, the tents, flags and inspirational billboards were already up, and a few dozen people were quietly milling around. The atmosphere was low key yet professional. In the hour before the start Ric filled a plastic basin with water for me to dip my feet in whenever I felt the need, and I did a circuit of the track clearing away small stones. Ric then headed off for work, promising to return in the afternoon, and for the finale the next morning. I wandered onto the infield and pinned a cloth to the back of my cap to protect my neck from the sun.

The weather was fine, though the outlook was for clouds and maybe a little rain tomorrow. As things transpired, it would remain sunny all day; my skin would peel next week as a result. A strong wind built up quite early, but was only a consideration around one curve. I would take off my headwear in case it blew off. The best conditions were during the night, when the weather grew balmy (you miss that in Dunedin). Next morning it would become somewhat chilly and breezy—more like home—but overall I can’t complain or make meteorological excuses.

Every runner was then introduced to his or her human lap counter. A fellow called John promised to make eye-contact and to call out whenever I passed. To double check, other pairs of eyes recorded numbers as people passed, so we had to make sure to keep them clearly visible. Also, at the starting mark a large digital clock showed elapsed time. A large board featuring everyone’s name would be updated every hour with distances run to the nearest kilometer. At the two-hundred metre mark, a refreshment tent provided drinks and food throughout the day. I’d expected a Port-a-loo beside the track, but the nearest toilets were in a building several yards away across a patch of rough (to my feet) concrete. I reckoned each visit would cost me three minutes, so I planned to minimize the number of trips.

I’d wanted to remain anonymous—maybe wear some shoes before the start and kick them off with the gun, but that hope was scuttled. The race organizer spent 15 minutes before the start introducing all of the competitors to the spectators, the support crews, and each other. For me, that was a first. I’ve taken part in many races and runs over the years, but I’ve never experienced such a personal element. I guess it helps when the numbers are lower. On the track at any time there would only ever be a maximum of thirty or so entrants. The 24-hour event would be run concurrently with 12-hour and 6-hour shorter options, and for the last 12 hours a teams race would be held. It was ‘go as you please’, and there were even walkers in the field. Ten men were taking part in the all day race, and six women.

When the gun went off, I immediately shot, not to the front, but to the rear. I had no firm plan, as I wasn’t sure whether my soles or my muscles would hold up. I decided to walk and jog alternate laps and keep that up for as long as it felt right. That meant walking the very first round. This, it turns out, is in line with conventional thinking in ultra circles. See Stu Mittleman’s book Slow Burn.

For maybe three hours I stuck to my pattern. It took me a few seconds over 4 minutes per 400 metres when walking, and a little under 2:30 jogging. But it was difficult to concentrate. I’d forget to check the digital clock, the time wouldn’t register, or I wouldn’t recall by the time I next passed around. And as the day wore on my powers of concentration would only deteriorate.
Trying to look back, the race is a blur. Throughout I took care to remain in the present, but the instant that I sat down at 143.059 kilometres, time telescoped with a ‘whoosh’. All of a sudden I realized that the day I’d spent in continual motion had suddenly shrunk, like I’d folded it up and put it in my pocket. At that point it honestly felt as if the race had lasted no more than an hour. The message I took from that was that I’d better scribble down my recollections before they evaporated for good.

Such weird scenes inside the goldmine! Was it the chanting (of Indian bhajans)? Was it the food (electrolytes and carbohydrates)? Was it having to run endlessly in circles? All I know is that from almost the start it was hard to keep track of time and distance, what to say of calculations involving the two. Subtracting? With effort. Division? Forget it! I’d note the digits as I padded past, but would forget them by the time I next went by, or would get distracted and have to catch the numbers two or three laps on (and then have to divide). Oof!

But, according to the final tally, I jog-walked, on average, almost exactly 6 kilometres per hour. In the first three or hour hours I built up a buffer of four or five. I mostly walked after that as smartly as I could. If I strained slightly, I lost just a few seconds every lap off the 6 km/h pace. I tried to calculate just how many hours it would take for the extra to bleed away, but to no avail. As Spock would say, “That does not compute.”

Here’s my best stab at what went on: After jogging and walking alternate laps for 2 hours, or maybe 3, I then reduced the running I did to one lap in three (I couldn’t say how long for), averaging 6 km/h from then on until evening.

Ric turned up just before 5 p.m. I know, because it was the second time we all changed direction. Every four hours or so, we’d double back around a cone and go from clockwise to counter. That gave us the chance to match faces with backsides. Ric kindly set up a picnic table for my gear so I wouldn’t have to bend down. He searched through my bag of gear for the tights that I hadn’t been able to find on my own. I needed to change, as the shorts (and underwear) I’d started out in had begun to chafe. With a few lengths of string he made it possible for me to fasten my number so as to be able to change tops without unpinning and re-pinning. Much appreciated!

By the halfway stage I was still 5 km up. I believe that for the next several hours I never ran, but I never stopped walking either. Others had set up tents where they were able to rest for an hour or so. I didn’t want to expose myself to that temptation. Nevertheless, I entered a rather somnambulistic state. My eyes I kept closed except for one narrow slit. I was able to respond to each “Gotcha William” with a wave of my hand, but to all intents and purposes I was dreaming. I noted the cumulative distance increase, but the numbers meant nothing. I never stopped to consider whether I was still on track. I was half of a mind to call a halt when the half-day people stopped, but had prepared against that temptation. I concentrated very hard on getting at least a couple more hours under my belt. Reaching fourteen hours, it seemed to me as if I was almost there. Usually as it gets dark it becomes psychologically difficult to continue during the night. But the stadium lights were switched on, and it made a huge difference. There were always spectators around. The place was always humming. Gradually the quips about my bare feet grew less as I kept holding up. People saw that this man meant business!

Suddenly, at two a.m. (after 17 hours) I came wide awake. Don’t know how that happened, but all of a sudden I decided to mix in a little running. I’d been losing ground despite walking quickly. My thighs were starting to feel it. I would reduce my walking speed but try to resume running a little to keep up the average. Lo and behold, my tank was full!

When I tried to put on the gas . . . it was easy. Wow! This was fun! I powered down each home straight, and would then walk the rest of the lap. The body felt fresh and energized—had it been that cup of coffee I’d asked for? The muscles were silken. I moved fluidly and gracefully, better than any man or woman taking part. I even did a lap at a time, or two, without slowing, until I realized that it would be better to eke out this surge for as long as it lasted. Truly, I was confident at that time of a negative split and that the record was in the bag.

This period lasted for perhaps three hours. I took a stretch every hour or so—a modified sequence of yoga asanas that I instinctively strung together as a set. But after having done everything right, I then psyched myself out. It was the Mathematics. I couldn’t handle it by then. I called out and asked the lap counters, but beyond being informed of the elapsed times and distances, I didn’t learn what I needed to know: the speed at which I would have to run to reach my 146 kilometre goal.

I believe that by the 20-hour mark I’d covered 122 km. So I was still two kilometers up. But by the time that that information was posted, there were three-and-three-quarter hours left to trot, and for me it was an impossible task to work out what speed I had to maintain. The answer that I came up with was wrong. I divided the remaining 24 km by 2 (instead of 2.75). Travelling 12 km per hour was obviously an impossible ask. I decided I was tired. I decided to stop.

It felt great to lie on the grass and take a rest. I went through my stretches. We’d been told that massages were available throughout the race, and I set off in search. Failing to locate anyone, I returned to the track and lay down again. Whether I persisted and finished up 20 km short of the record or 10 made no difference to me. I might as well recover. However, it was too chilly to sleep. Why not keep warm by walking, walking slowly? After a quarter of an hour or so I got up. Staggering, I completed a lap . . . then another. Miraculously I began to speed up. I was able to jog once more. In a fashion.

Earlier, I’d caught myself drifting across and almost tripping on the inside rail. Had my drink been spiked? A fellow competitor passed me and called out a clue. “What’s happening to your form? You’re running crooked!” I was listing to the side. It had happened to me on another occasion—when I walked the Otago Rail Trail in one go. Then too, after about 20 hours, I started leaning. Then, I’d leant to the right. This time I was leaning to the left. It was like driving a car with the wheels badly aligned. When we changed direction for the last few hours, I had to fight the tendency for me to spiral outwards into lanes 2, 3, 4 and so forth. It must have looked awful. Though it didn’t feel bad, that’s where I probably lost the race. Probably I ought to have stopped for a stretch.

In the final couple of hours I pushed ahead for all I was worth, but to outward appearances like a seagull with an injured wing. I'm not absolutely certain, but I believe that my final hour was the fastest. To gain the record, I would have had to run another 10 kilometres. In any other set of circumstances I might have done so. As it was, I managed eight.

I flopped to the ground on the track next to my marker. Of course everyone finished at the same time. Ric had arrived with his oldest son to watch for the final hour. They got me a handful of goodies from the snack station. The women manning the ambulance wandered over too to check that I wasn’t too far gone. I then hobbled over for a quick shower (wheelchair access, lovely!) before the prize giving. It felt grand to sit on chairs and to see everyone’s efforts honored.

The winner (200 km) was Alex McKenzie. Second place was Lisa Tamati (192 km), the first New Zealand woman to have recently completed the Badwater ultra in the USA. I placed first in the 50-59 year age group, 4th male and 6th place overall. I enjoyed seeing former NZ greats Sandy Barwick and Richard Tout hand out the trophies.

And now for a brief postmortem . . .

I’d do it again. In a shot. I agree with Tom Osler who claims that an ultramarathon is less of a strain on the body than racing a marathon. For me, the experience was trance-like. I never experienced ‘pain’. I was never bored, and time never dragged. The pace was not an issue, neither was energy depletion. Nevertheless, it was tough, and by the time I was through I knew I'd been through a hard day’s night. A friend I told about this sensation replied that it sounded to her like the phenomenon that happens during the labour of childbirth.

But next time I’ll wear my own watch (I actually had it with me but removed it when I spotted the electronic clock—and then I never though of wasting the few seconds it would take to retrieve it). I’ll copy my race schedule on a card and maybe laminate it. I’m thinking 7 km/h, which would bring me to over 100 miles (161 km). If I could find a lap counter that I could click each time round that would help, although I could get into difficulties if I forgot to use it consistently. My clunky walkman radio didn’t function very well, so I listened to only one song on the radio. I had a paperback with me, but it was a bad read. I’ll choose my reading matter more wisely in the future!

Also, I’ll drink from a collection of my own (small) water bottles. Though I tried to recycle the Styrofoam cups that I used, I must have used up more than a hundred. That guilt doesn’t sit nicely with me. As for toilet access, I ought to have left my sandals at the edge of the track and used them to get across. Alternatively, if I set up a tent with a bottle inside that would save me at least a minute every four hours. Such concerns come with the territory of the ultramarathoner.

Forgive me with listing all the minutiae, but I’ll use this article myself when preparing for 2009. To continue, I’ll make sure to take stretch breaks regularly (hamstrings, calf muscles and the 3-min exercise set of six) say five minutes every two hours, and from earlier on. I’m sure that the time invested there will be more than paid back. That will help with breaking up the whole into bitable chunks. Next time I’ll push on jogging for longer. I’ll have a schedule that will get me to try a jog every so often instead of allowing myself to merely walk for hours at a stretch. And if I walk, I won’t try to maintain 6 km/h; it only creates strain. My excuse is that this first time I had no idea about whether I could do the whole thing in any fashion whatsoever. I’d told myself that the ‘race’ wouldn’t start until the 12-hour mark, and so take things very quietly until then. Next time I know that there’ll be high and low periods, roughly when they will occur (near the beginning and then at the end of the night) and to how ride through them.

In terms of costume, I think I’ll wear my running tights from the start. My legs got sunburned during the day, and it was a real hassle trying to change into them from shorts when the latter started chafing. I’m going to work on fat-burning metabolism too. I really feel that it is necessary to move away from a sugar and carbohydrate emphasis.

Finally, I think I’ll risk bringing my wife. I worry that she might try to pull me out if she sees me starting to lean, but I’m confident that she would keep me on target if I’m within reach of setting a world record. Really, a handler for an event like this is indispensable.

And finally a word of thanks to Ken Bob Saxton, the Barefoot Runner. I contacted him before the race, expressing a certain degree of nervousness. I’d never attempted such an unshod feat. I worried about my soles and the rest of my body. I’d come down with the ’flu a month before, and some of its symptoms were persisting. But Ken told me that the three words to remember were “Relax, relax, relax . . . oh, and have fun!” And that’s exactly what I did. All I could remember of the research I’d carried out was to run for no more than 10 minutes at a time, and then to walk, even if only for a few seconds, until the body signaled it was ready to do more. All I had to do was walk at an easy 5 km per hour pace, and to try and boost that to six with a little judicious running.

Nevertheless, there were times when I started to tense up and found myself in some mental distress. I would remember the words “Relax, relax, relax,” and I would stretch out my arms and inhale, accepting the intensity of the experience, rather than merely enduring it. I drew in the grain of the granular rubber surface and made it part of me. In truth, on a scale of 0 to 10, with ten the most severe, my muscles were never outside the 4 to 5 range, and my feet never worse than 3 or 4.

And hey, I did not get one blister!

Strangely, that night, 1000 miles away back in Dunedin, my wife had a dream where someone kept telling her to relax. Methinks I got was a little telepathy thing going there. Maybe that’s something to work on for next time. I could do with an edge.

Another report from the Otago Daily Times

(I find) Another Gear

2008-10-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

After reading (actually I'm still in the middle of it) Ray Jardine's Guide to Lightweight Hiking, and applying a style of pace-walking described therein, I've discovered another gear!

For months I've fussed and worried over trying to combine walking (at 5.5km/h) and running (at 10 km/h) despairing of finding a solution. Instead, I've found another gear. I seem to be able to pad-walk very comfortably and nicely at about 8.4 km/hour (or a few seconds under 3 minutes per 400m lap.

Tried it out today for the first time at the Caledonian, and it was effortless despite my still having some of the effects of a cold.

But I'll need to practise. And there are only 4 weeks to go.

Here's how I see it:

Train daily to get used to the style and monitor its effect on my calves and hamstrings
Give up barefoot training 2 weeks prior
Give up most walking in last week
Approach the race pad-walking say 4, then jogging 1, then walking 1. Repeat and rinse for as long as possible.

Not the September half in Dunedin

2008-09-15T18:09:00.000-07:00

Mami hasn't run at all since June. She has a suspected hairline fracture (not covered by ACC).
My training has been sporadic. Neither of us, therefore, took part in last weekend's half marathon in Dunedin - a pity since the weather was glorious. We may take part in the Outram ten next month. Then, for me, it's onto the Shri Chinmoy 24-hour race at the end of November. (The starting date was changed, so I lost a little on my air bookings.)

So, what's new?

My training has been on again, off again. Some little niggles such as calves. The odd cold. And I was trying to train for too different events. Mostly I tried to use the Caledonian. I was - and still am - concerned about the surface. Really, I would prefer asphalt.

I haven't completed any long sessions. I've done two, three or four hours half a dozen times. Each time I realise that a world record is not a foregone conclusion by any means!

I alternate between thinking that 160 km is a cinch, and that it is impossible. Two things concern me: the friction, and muscular endurance.

I've learned through trial and error that alternating running and walking in several-lap bursts is too tough on the system. It is hard to change back and forth. Also, I think that depending on being able to maintain an even pace for the full 24 hours is not realistic.

Here's how I see it:

I need to do a marathon's worth jogging (from 10-12 km/h) and the rest walking (at 5-5.5 km/h). I see most of the running being done early in the day. The schedule could look like this:

walk first lap
jog 40 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 30 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 20 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 15 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 10 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 6 laps
walk 1 hour
jog 4 laps
walk the rest, possibly trying up to 3 laps for as many hours as I can

I can do 10 km barefoot in my sleep - no problem. I'll do three of them every week until after Outram. I need to concentrate on increasing the flexibility in my calves (bent knee) so that the heels touch down lightly while jogging. Otherwise I'm putting too much strain on the muscles and risk injury.

Queen's Birthday half marathon

2008-06-06T19:52:00.000-07:00

Mami and I took part in the 2008 Queen's Birthday half marathon in Christchurch, though we weren't in the best condition. Mami has been having problems with a calf muscle, and I a niggly side of my foot as well as an unresolved gallstone condition.

Since electronic timers recorded each person's exact start and finish time, I thought I'd start right at the back and enjoy passing a few people. That went well up until about the 15 km stage when people started to pass me. I felt tight about the torso and back, so it must have been the gall bladder.

Mami passed me then, and I thought that I had her, having started at least 3 minutes behind her. No such luck - in the final 4 kilometres I lost a lot of time.

Overall, Mami ran 1.45.01 and I did 1.45.48 I hope to do ten minutes better at Dunedin in September.

Broken glass and bad weather

2008-04-20T20:33:00.000-07:00

The forecast was poor, but since I was up anyway I thought that if I could get in my long run this Friday that that would leave the whole weekend for Mami and I. Therefore, I decided to put in 20 or 30 kilometres and then, if the conditions really didn’t permit, I could repeat the exercise on Sunday, when, hopefully, the front would have blown by.

It was dark when I began ‘looping’ at 5.10 a.m. It was cold and wet from a previous shower. The first lap you always need to check for conditions afoot. What have the students been up to? Last week there was a roadside fire, and I’d had to dial 111 (the number works on a cellphone). Today the only problem was a couple of smashed bottles outside a notorious address. I pushed a few pieces aside and carried on. I thought I had escaped until right at the end of the run when I felt a prick – had to pluck out a sliver. Then the next day I discovered another embedded chunk of glass, and then a third the day after that. Just grist to the mill, really. Oh, and beware that hump in the road halfway around!

Today’s aim to was to be (otherwise) injury free. A slightly torn calf muscle had limited what I was able to do for the previous two outings – 30 and 20 (or 20 and 30). I wanted today to do the full 12 hours if that was possible, and to crack my best distance of 72 kilometres. I wanted to keep going for the whole period running one-third of the distance (the ‘downward’ 400m and 700m sides of the 1690m ‘C’). That proved possible. I did 31 minutes per loop (equals 46 ½ minutes per 5 kilometres). I got to 77 kilometres in total.

Yes, there was sleet and a freezing wind blew up. But I wore the tights that I’d bought the week before – my first – and I wore my floppy track pants over them. I used my Goretex jacket when it was really foul. A woman called out, “Are you mad?” I think that I was. I risked cold burn on my feet – they definitely tingled when I finally took my shower. Apart from the glass I developed a blood blister on the side of my right big toe. But, perhaps because of a 10-second stretch every lap, or maybe because I’m improving, I felt better than previously. The only thing was a touch of tendonitis across the top of my left foot. Also, a slight gout-type of lingering pain in my big toe(s).

As for my plans for next time: I shan’t leave my race on the road. For the next six weeks I want to train towards the next half marathon in Christchurch in June. Therefore, I want to do at least three 10-kilometre runs per week, timing the occasional one (from 48 down to, say, 43 minutes). Also I'll complete the odd 'long' run, from an hour to an hour and a half. My next ultra training run will be in July, and then another in August. Thereafter comes the September half. Then it’s the Outram 10 in October. And then in November I fly up to Auckland . . . Not many chances to overtrain, therefore. But Osler says that the training you do for a marathon is enough, physically, for an ultra, as long as you train mentally for going the full (Monty) 24 hours (“Are you mad?”).

Along the way I was solving simultaneous equations in my head. I want to do 160 kilometres, and I expect to have to walk the last hours. Okay, so trace a line back from (24, 160) with a slope of 5 (the speed I can rely on managing).

y = 5x + 40

If I can keep going at 8 km/h pace for the first part of the race, I get another line:

y = 8x

Solve them simultaneously and you find the intersection point at the point: (13.33, 106.7)

Nifty! All I need to do is keep it up for the first half and then walk – if I need to – the rest, or push on and go for the limit, 192 kilometres. That would put me up in the medals! However, I think that realistically the sole wear or muscle breakdown would get me before then. How to achieve 8 kilometres per hour? Well, just increase the ratio of running to walking. I run at 11 kilometres per hour and walk at 5, I need to be running for half the time. I'll train on the track for up to six hours, walking two laps and then jogging four.

I've been in touch with Tom Osler, and in light of what he writes (and wrote) I'll consider sweetened tea. Other snippets of interest: I thought I'd dropped my gloves and searched for them for 8 hours, then discovered them in the back of the car! I actually did drop my jacket, but someone draped it over a fence. There was a fantastic semi-circular rainbow, but it signalled the start of the bad weather. The batteries of the Walkman that I had bought for 50 cents, still with the original batteries, finally ran flat. In the distance I saw two women pick stuff off the ground. It turned out to be mushrooms under the trees I'd run beside for many hours - I'd missed them! And I'm usually so observant!

And finally, I discovered a half-eaten muesli bar, setting off a train of thought.

Food is so plentiful these days that people hardly value it
People have no sense of the future (when they'll feel like another half bar)
People realise that junk food is just junk
People have less respect for the environment, and so they litter

And for the record - of course I picked it up and polished it off! (all except for the end bit, which I broke off and threw at a bird).

Twelve hours for the first time

2008-03-11T15:36:00.000-07:00

On 7 March, 2008, I completed my longest training run ever: 72.2 kilometres in 12 hours. This is my third-greatest distance. It is the longest distance that I’ve run barefoot. And, at twelve hours, this is the maximum duration that I intend to train.

But only in terms of time. Over the next 8 months, until I take part in the next Sri Chinmoy 24-hour challenge in Auckland on the 1^st and 2^nd of November, I’ll want to repeat such 12-hour sessions every two or three weeks. I’ll want to increase the distance by reducing the ratio between walking and running.

I do my training at Logan Park. There’s a ‘C’ loop that I run, a there-and-back cycle that avoids the back unpaved stretch – from the end of the pavement outside Logan Park High School, to the corner of Harbour Terrace and Dundas Street. I think of each leg as a mile (though it’s slightly longer) and each triple length is almost exactly 5 kilometres (5007 metres).

I started the run-walk at about 6.30 in the morning, and finished at the same time in the afternoon. Previously, I ran further at a time – a whole leg out of each three. This time I ran less, but more often: every ‘downhill’ stretch (about 700 metres) from the school down to the corner.

Each loop took me an average of between 33 and 34 minutes (range 32-36). It was an easy schedule to maintain. I developed some mild discomfort in the muscles of the pelvic girdle (a maximum of 4 on a scale of 0-10) and to a lesser degree in the soles of my feet (3 out of 10). Muscle fatigue is what gets you in the end. The breathing is fine. The energy is fine.

Old injuries make themselves known. At 20 kilometres I passed through an iliotibial patch, and at 40 kilometres my tendonitis reoccurred. But it is a psychological game rather than a physiological one. When you pull back slightly so do the symptoms.

I believe that I over-strained to make up time while walking. I was only intending to better the 60 kilometres that I ran in 9.25 a few weeks ago, but when I appeared to be on target for a 6-kilometres-per-hour pace I couldn’t help myself.

Next time, to better my distance (say 75), I shall simply run for more of the time; on the next run I’ll do both downhill stretches – at total of 1200 out of 3300 or 4/11, but I’ll relax more when walking. I’ll aim for a cycle time of 31 minutes, and then 30 for the time after that. I’ll also stretch. I’m developing a series of 10-second stretches that I’ll rotate, one of six every ten to 15 minutes.

Incidents that made the day memorable: a fire-drill at the school; a cold and dark start (I should have worn those gloves); fun and games at the Student Centre toilet (when I struggled to fit a new roll); and standing on a piece of glass and having to extract it with a needle just before the 50 kilometre mark.

To Set a World Record

2008-02-16T15:18:00.001-08:00

This year I have a two-fold aim: set an athletic world record and invent a new religion that makes all the others obsolete. See elsewhere for the later ;-)

On February 15, I complete my fifth long distance training run. Weekly or fortnightly I have jog-walked 20, 30, 40, 50 and now 60 kilometres. A few notes about the last outing to be written up later:

7 a.m. start - duration 9.25.30. Cold weather: the high of 14 didn't eventuate, and it didn't make the minimum of 12 degrees either! At one point I heard that it was 11.6 degrees Celsius. Strong winds too. Showers. The sun came out for a total of perhaps 10 minutes.

I completed 36 'C' laps (see elsewhere) and I ran every third. 18 min on average, when walking, 9 when running. I saved 13 minutes of every hour for each 5 kilometres. A touch of iliotibial band friction syndrome at about the midway stage, but jogging (as opposed to walking) worked it away.

I felt fresh all the way. Not much pain in that spot in my neck that I usually get. Rhythm boken by numerous 'pit stops' - no probs with hydration, and a 3-min 'number two'. The rugby club toiletes are handy for that, but so are the bushes at the back and even the Students' Centre. I once lost my key that wore a hole in my pocket.

My blue stain shorts were fine, though they chaffed slightly. Also wore a tee-shirt, a light jersey, a windbreaker and a woolen hat. No shoes of course! In the future I must bring some gloves.

The best thing I caught on the radio through the walkman (which I delayed using for a few hours) was Hey Joe by Otis Taylor on a banjo.

In terms of food, the mainstays were: garlic bread, a peanut slab, and 1 bar of a One Square Meal (OSM).

I found a single earplug that I stuffed in to cut down traffic noise. It was sportsday for a school (or schools) and at the marathon stage I was able to run with and overtake a number of pupils doing a Logan lap.

A couple of days after, I'm already running. Ran 11 kilometres with Mami. We have the Otago Rail Trail to take part in at the end of the week. The next long training session I'll do in about 2 weeks. This time I'll go for time - 12 hours, perhaps a little slower than before. Maybe 72 kilometres.

Third time on the trail

2008-02-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

In a week's time, I revisit the Otago Rail Trail.

This time, I shall take part socially. Together with Mami and Paul, we've made up a team of three. I've volunteered to do a cycling and a running leg on both days. This is a first for me.

I've never competed on a bicycle before, although I've cycle-toured thousands of kilometres. The pain from cycling hard outweighs the pain from any degree of running, I've always felt. So anyway - a new experience to look forward to.

I thought of using a single-speed road cycle instead of a mountain bike, but I've been talked out of it. Maybe one day. It's just that without ugly dérailleurs they look so cool, and they must be more efficient. And the trail is relatively flat, as I well know.

But I suppose that as well as inclines, you can get a headwind. And so I'll do it the conventional way.

Getting back into the Groove

2007-12-15T18:52:00.000-08:00

There are a couple of things that I want to do this year: one is to set a world record, the other is to make all religions redundant. I’ll document the first journey here.

So today I got out of the house to make a start – just get out there and do it! This process is going to take me a year, but as the ancient Chinese say, a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

I’ll begin modestly with my training. I’ll only do 20 kilometres. Did I mention? I aim to break a German guy’s record for the greatest distance covered barefoot in a 24-hour period. I figure that a hundred miles is within my reach, and that would do it.

Now, I’m not a beginner at this sort of thing. I’ve tackled journey running and walking, barefooted, shod and be-Jandaled. I’ve covered the length of the country (New Zealand). I’ve walked for thirty-five hours straight to complete the Otago Rail Trail, all 150km, in one go. Yeah, I’ve got guts and grit.

I drive on down to Logan Park where I’ve previously trained. There’s a circuit there that measures 2.2km. It was checked out and measured a few years ago when a group of us organized the world’s first marathon of the millenium.

The funny thing is that once more I feel like a novice; I’ve forgotten everything there is to know. No matter – I’ll simply re-learn those old-dog tricks. That’s part of the fun and the beauty. All those tips and techniques of food and hydration, clothing, preparation and psychology.

Today I front up in the clothes that I woke up in. Apart from a plate of muesli, I’ve gulped down a microwaved cheese and Indian pickle sandwich. I tell you, I’m casual. Don’t give that mind a chance to get itself in a tether!

First off, I drive around the circuit. On the odometer it reads 2.25km which makes sense, allowing for the ‘outside lane’ extra. But I’m going to have to cut out that back straight. It is unsealed and unsuitable and unsustainable for skin. The rules say (I’m going by the Guinness book) that the surface must be asphalt. Three quarters of this circuit are good, but not that 500 metre stretch at the back.

I whip out my unicycle with the 20 inch wheel. In the kitchen earlier in the morning I’d measured its circumference: 1.62 metres. And now I stroll around the loop, and start counting where the gravel turns into tarmac. Keeping track of the tally, with half an eye on the wheel, the hundreds thumbed onto the fingers, is quite a feat in itself! Anyway, it comes to 1030 revolutions, which multiplies out (or up) to 1669 metres, just over a mile, or 5007 metres, almost exactly 5km, every three legs. It will work if I complete not the entire loop but a C shape. I’ll reverse my direction at either end, and just stroll up and down that banana!

I march up to the start line: where I’ve parked my car . . . and scrape my toe. The Morton’s knuckle is now bleeding. Ha! Just a rite of passage, say I, as I glance at my stop watch.

Within minutes, I’ve settled down. Walking is easy, so natural. My brain works best when the rest of me is pleasantly occupied. If this were the Lakes District I’d be composing poetry. Instead, I just jot notes:

The sun comes out, but then as quickly retreats. What’s with the climate in this part of the world? It’s almost Christmas; it should be summer! The footpath here needs sweeping too. As I enter into Butts Road, a piece of glass enters my right foot, but I react quickly and pull it out before I push it in further. This is normal – nothing to panic over. Once a month on average I get punctured. If it hadn’t happened today, it would tomorrow. No worries.

The route is not uniform. There’s a stretch beside the main road heading toward Ravensbourne where a lot of sharp stones have been kicked up. Also, there are student flats along Harbour Terrace where bottles have been broken, just for the hell of it. To hell with them! Butts Road is really an avenue, and there are twigs from the trees, especially after wind, and cracks in the pavement from their roots. There are two crossings to make where you need to look out for cars. There’s a mild rise up each end of the C, but the only significant hill climbs up to the back section that I’ve eliminated. I make friends with half a dozen dying bumblebees. I make a mental note of their locations and take care not tread on them.

Back to that section along the main road, and I stuff in the earplugs that I always carry. At the back of my notebook which is also always at hand (or in a pocket) I start a list of essential items: notebook & ballpoint, earplugs, sunglasses, sunscreen, cap/hat, jacket/windbreaker, shorts and underwear that don’t chafe, money, watch, car key, handkerchief, waist pouch, reading material. I think it’s worthwhile to have a broom in the back of the car. Also in its boot I have water and food – this morning I rinsed out a milk bottle and tossed in some muffins, fruit and chocolate treats. But if I’m to trim to my target weight of 146 pounds, more thought will need to go into nutrition.

Each C length takes me 20 minutes, or 40 min per return trip, exactly 5 kilometres an hour. That’ll do for training. Let me build up to twelve hours for 60km. After that, I’ll incorporate a little jogging. When I can include a few hours of 10km per hour pace into the first half of the day when I do the event then I ought to be able to average the 6.25 km/h that I’d need to do 150km. (I know – a hundred miles is a little more.)

First though, let’s see how I manage today. I know that I clocked an average of thirty kilometres a day when I walked NZ shoeless on the roads. (It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t comfortable, but heck what an experience!) I figure on doing a long stint every week or two. That will allow the wear and tear of my skin to keep up. When I go running the rest of the time, I’ll wear my lucky Lasers.

Walking never gets boring, especially when I take out a book. Today I have the last chapters of Ruth Stout’s “How to Have a Green Thumb Without an Aching Back” to finish. As long as I remember where there’s glass I’m okay. There’s some right near where there used to be an Eden Street where I lived when I was seven. The Polytechnic now owns that land, and they employ me.

As I read, I reflect that writing is the best way to communicate. I don’t know what Ruth looks like or sounds like – or looked and sounded, because she must be long dead. Instead, I hear her words but in my own voice. I customize or personalize them. They sound nearer and clearer and even dearer to me than if I were to hear her speak them out aloud. I consider what she says more patiently than if she voiced them herself.

Do movies work that way too? Hmm, I don’t think so. What a movie does – for me at least – is to put me into the other person, the director’s, perspective. My personality changes and I become him or her for a couple of hours. It’s disconcerting. It’s like being under the influence of booze or hypnotism. When I walk out it takes me some time to yank me from under that brainwashing.

Today’s insight, therefore, is that I need to work more on my written communiqués instead of worrying about how to win over friends and influence people in person. Quite a relief, really!

Speaking of relief, I think I’ve overdone the hydration bit. Or maybe it’s this cold weather. I’m wearing a ski-jacket and a woolen hat. From time to time I’ll slide the zip down, but then I come to a windy open space. I need to pee four times in the first two hours. There’s a toilet nearby outside a sports ground that I can use, but for convenience I find a thick copse of bushes more preferable.

On the reading front at least I’m well prepared. I return Ruth to the back of my car and pull out “Let’s not Screw it, Let’s Just Do it” by Richard Brannon. In his introduction he uses the 1000-mile-journey-starts-with-a-single-step saying, so that resonates nicely with me. That starts me thinking that I could get a lot of use from these hours if I was to wear a walkman. I’ve never got into that habit, but it would be great to listen to talking books on the move. I wonder in terms of intimacy where they would fall along the written word-movie continuum. Um . . .

But the reading has slightly slowed me down. At the halfway point I’m about five minutes behind schedule. We can’t have that! That gives me the opportunity to see how much leeway or give-and-take there is in my pace. I walk a little more briskly and easily catch up. Fantastic!

There are cricketers afoot. There are rugby players training. There are groundsmen, builders, concrete workers taking a break. I outlast all of them – cool! – yet this has only been my first short four-hour session. (Squeezing in six, eight, ten and twelve hours will require a little more finesse.)

Next week (or the week after) I’ll go for 30, and then 40 (or 42 as that’s the magic marathon). I try a little 20-walk-20-jog scout pace to finish off with. The feet have stood up well, I reflect, as I cross the road to take a ‘fireman’ shower.

Our Otago Central Rail Trail Trial

2006-09-22T15:19:00.000-07:00

The two of us taking it easy for a change!

Since the start of the new millenium Mami and I have established a tradition of sorts evolved: every summer we set out on a trek. During the holidays of the last six or seven years we’ve walked, run and cycled the lengths of New Zealand and Japan. In 2006 the opportunity arose to join some of my cousins, nieces and nephews and cycle the Otago Central Rail Trail. We’re so glad that we did.

The Otago Central Rail Trail plaque. The trail itself has only been operating since 1995

What a resource! Mami and I live in Dunedin, but we’d had no idea that such a fantastic hiking route is there for the doing, virtually in our own back yard. As we cycled along, we were inspired by the wide open spaces, the stillness and peace, the scarcity of hill work, and the total absence of traffic. Right away I decided to travel it again as soon as possible, this time on foot,.

Walking and I go right back. A quarter of a century ago, I once walked from Gisborne to Wairoa, a distance of 100km, in one day. I did it in winter and slept for a few hours in a shed at the side of the road. Ah, the impetuousness of youth! How audacious I’d been. Still, what a memory to have; I’ve remembered the experience often. Got a lot of mileage out of it, you might say.

Almost 50 now, I’m a little longer in the tooth, not so green and impulsive. You wouldn’t see me repeat such a feat. No sir, no way. Instead . . . I’m going to top it! This time I shall set off in better weather, and I won’t wimp out by sleeping. This time I’ll aim for one-hundred-and-fifty non-stop!

I learn that in a couple of months’ time, on the 25th and 26th of February, a duathlon will be held on the trail. Great, I’ll aim for that and do it in company. The trail is never closed, and I read that competitors are instructed to cooperate with other users. Yeah right.

In the meantime I train. Yes, ‘training’ to complete the Rail Trail sounds fitting. I am reasonably fit to begin with, but it is important to get used to longer distances. I need to get to grips with what’s required – for me ultra-distance is new territory. I suspect that the walk will be a mental game, and so it proves. I needed to psyche myself up. Every weekend I undertake to do a long walk, with a little jogging mixed in. Intensifying the effort ought to shorten the time I require to build up my endurance.

On my first attempt I churn out 30km and learn what not to wear. The wrong shorts may chafe – I had to turn a pair seam-side out. I discover that cotton tee-shirts aren’t comfortable when wet – the cotton doesn’t easily wick away the sweat. Certain foods and drinks work better than others – I experiment with water, orange juice, condensed milk, and honey and peanut butter on white bread (luncheon and chow-chow is tasty but causes indigestion). In terms of mental training I learn that a huge distance is best not considered as a whole. You need to tackle it one step at a time. One must walk in the instant.

I do 31km on my second attempt. My coasting walking pace is 5km per hour, double that if I jog. The orange juice goes down better when diluted, and to stop a constant stream of philosophizing – prattling – it is good to read a book on the hoof.

Long walk #3, and I manage the marathon distance of 42km. Occasionally I get a niggle in my knee or calf muscle, but this generally comes right. A stretch every hour or so helps. You don’t work against the pain but accept it rather.

With just a month to go, I do my longest walk. Again, I use the 2.2km circuit around Logan Park where I encounter Shireen Crumpton, training for the Commonwealth Games. I once did a marathon of my own here. For an hour, I go barefoot to break the monotony, then incorporate the 6km way home into today’s effort. It takes me just over ten hours to clock 61km.

A week or so later I get up in the middle of the night to experience a four-hour walk when it's dark. The atmosphere is very different, and I have rowdy university students and drunken casino revelers to contend with. It’s good to get back home and into bed.

You prepare for a walk such as this as if it’s an expedition. I’ve still got the original scrap of paper on which I noted my needs: sunscreen, water, sugar drink, sandwiches, book, raingear, watch, pen & notebook, sunglasses and handkerchief.

On another sheet I planned my itinerary:

Clyde 0
Alexandra 8
Chatto Creek 25
Omakau 35
Lauder 44
Oturehua 67
Wedderburn 78
Ranfurly 92
Daisybank 113
Hyde 124
Middlemarch 150

The aim is to start at 6.00 a.m. and finish up the next day at 12.12 p.m., but you know what they say about plans.

“Wake up! We’re late!”

Oh my God, I’ve overslept! We’d camped out the night before at Clyde, all booked out, naturally, with duathletes. They’d taken over the hotels and the main street too, overflowing from the pubs onto the footpath. Mami and I had driven out to the end of the road onto a reserve. She slept in the car. I tried to, failed, gave up, put the tent up in the dark, and then slept much too soundly.

Hastily I bundle up the tent and toss it into the boot. I stuff on my shoes, grab for my daypack, then drive off in search of the rail trail (we had only a rough idea). It’s still dark at 6.15 a.m. by the time that I stumble off. I’ve had nothing to eat, I’ve not done my morning stretches, and I’ll walk in the clothes that I slept in. This isn’t ideal in terms of preparation, but at least I’ve had no time to develop any jitters. We agree to meet up at Alexandra where we’ll have a bite. I’ll change my gear, and we’ll see what’s what. A quick kiss from Mami and then she’s off. Her taillights disappear down the road . . . and I’m alone.

This was not taken at the start, but it does give the impression of setting out. Mami took it at Omakau

I take stock of myself and the situation. Okay then, the weather is calm, cool, and there’s a sliver of moon to see by. An acorn moon, I always think. My feet crunch satisfyingly on the gravel. I discover that I’m walking too fast. What’s this? Trying to make up for lost time!? This isn’t a race, you know. I force myself not to rush. An extra kilometre per hour doubles the wear and tear on one’s body.

The first people I see are some men in overalls putting out orange cones for today’s race due to start in a few hours’ time. I’ve got the jump on the field; if I stick to my pace I should finish at the same time as the leaders. Wouldn’t that be something? Theirs is a two-day team event. They will pass me by round about midday, but I’ll overtake them during the night.

After an hour I come to a sign: 3km. What!? Am I even later than I think, or slower? That can’t be. It clicks that there are 3km to go to Alexandra. The Otago Rail Trail has its own original distance markers, starting from 215 at Clyde, and these count down all the way to Dunedin. Every 11 minutes, I pass one, which means I’m walking at 5.5km/h. Later it will take me 13, and I’ll take the odd break. I need to eat, stretch and relieve myself. The longest time I’ll halt is for 20 minutes.

I arrive at Alex where I cross the main road. Mami is waiting for me with a pizza-pie. I cram it in while I change into my long-sleeved tee-shirt and cycling shorts. Now at least I look the part. Off I go.

I’m feeling great. I will continue to feel energized for the first 20 or 30 km after which my bum and hips start aching. It’s a good pain, though, that encourages me to walk with precision. Steady, steady, all the way, is the name of this game: crunch, crunch, crunch . . .

Feeling strong (and slightly chubby?). The camel has it's hump, and me my tum

Since it was opened a few years ago, they say the gravel of the trail has compacted; it’s now much easier on the feet than it used to be. I’m wearing well-worn running shoes. The only thing is that when I strike the ground, the stones shift ever so slightly. My heel slips a couple of mm with each step, which causes a blister to form behind each heel as the day progresses. I adapt to this a little by keeping my weight more on the forefoot, as when walking barefooted.

The long and (un)winding road . . .

At 10.30 a.m. the first cyclists zoom by, and then others for the next two hours. There’s even a tandem. I receive loads of comments; they are cheerful and supportive as they read the ‘WALK 150’ I’ve printed onto my back. Even my brother and his wife are taking part. There are those, though, who scream by much too close. They’re riding two abreast and show little consideration. I feel that the race organizers could have briefed these guys better.

Some sheep like people. Some people are like sheep

Overtaken by cyclists. I stayed to the right and they stayed (usually) to the left

I text Mami to let her know I’m almost at, where? Chattanooga Junction? No, Chatto Creek. So, 24 km, that’s a decent day’s walk so can we stop? They have a roadside café there, with picnic tables and the like. Mami is preparing our lunch, and it’s quite a spread. I feel guilty having to eat and run, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. No time for mucking around. I really appreciate Mami’s support and help, but I grow impatient when everything is not instantly ready. I’m aware of this urgency within myself, and try not to let it show. Extra effort to be nice.

It has turned into a hot day, but I can manage. As long as I wear my cap and sunglasses, and carry a water bottle, it’s okay. When you’re on a bicycle you get that wind chill factor, but not on foot. The slowest cyclist is faster than the fastest walker. Later on in the afternoon the last competitor, a hefty woman, grunts her way past me up the trail’s only real incline – I won’t dignify it by calling it a hill – followed by a DOC support vehicle. I pick a few wild apples from a tree and munch one.

Alone once more, I think about life, training, journeying and work. I decide not to do any more marathons, only halves and 10kms where I can be mildly competitive. I love to show off what this old body can do compared to others in my age group.

As for traveling and journeying, I’ll set myself personal goals and targets as I desire. I’ll no longer do them to achieve externally-recognized firsts and bests. Cycling I’ll do more of, for sure. I read a paperback as I walk – Robert Fulghum’s All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten. It has a promising introduction but it falls short in many of its homilies. I know that my own writing has no flair, but I do know what reads badly and am able to avoid it. My expertise, in my modest opinion, lies in living-the-life, and I’ll try to document that adequately. My effort and the zeal will lie in the doing and being. Finally I grow weary of my thoughts and distract myself by going through the Beatles repertoire, humming and whistling.

Food keeps me going. At Omakau under an awning Mami awaits, dozing. I go through half a pecan pie (and I wonder later what happened to the rest). Later, at Lauder, she is there for me with a hamburger and chips plus a bread roll for the road. I often walked wearing my pack on my front, both to show off the WALK 150 on my back, but also to get at my supplies. At Oturehua I only have the appetite for a milkshake; although we’d been thinking of a meal I’ve neither the space nor the time. It’s getting on in the day – only about an hour of daylight left.

The gloom descends and it grows dark. From past experience, I know that dusk will be a low point – a fabulous sunset notwithstanding. It’s to do with circadian or diurnal rhythms. There must be some deep instinctive urge to seek shelter, warmth and rest when the sun goes down. By the time I arrive at the marker at the trail’s highest point, 600m above sea level, it is comletely dark. I sit down to slip on extra layers, Backyard dogs bark. I bark back at them, then pick my way carefully further. The torch I’d taken won’t go. I aim for the middle of the trail that is slightly less inky.

And then gradually I feel cozy! The stars join me on my vigil. Out here in the clean, clear Central Otago night air, I count ten shooting stars, and the outlines of the Magellanic Clouds are easy to trace. The next stop is Wedderburn, when I’ll have walked further than I’ve tackled in training. I’ve fun and games in the dark, trying to operate my cell phone – I can hardly manage the thing in daylight – but I finally manage to meet up with Mami beside the Grahame Sydney’s Wedderburn goods shed, relocated there in 2002. I urge her to grab a few hours’ sleep at Ranfurly, where the duathletes are roosting, if she’s to walk with me during the rest of the night.

At Wedderburn. Taken by Mami just before dark prior to our meeting.

The longest unbroken dead-straight stretch is into Middlemarch, but the next longest is coming into Ranfurly surely. Here is where I start having hallucinations. At first there are a bunch of fireflies, swirling in a cloud directly in front of me and travelling at my pace, as if they are my guardian angles or guides. I check by looking to the sides where they disappear. At one point they turn into the headlights of oncoming cyclists, and I yell out a warning. This lasts for between thirty minutes and an hour. I see sheep on the track that aren’t there, and phantom gates. Just when I think I’ve got it sorted out, I walk into a fence post that is not a mirage. Careful now!

I text Mami at Ranfurly from inside the public toilets. She is sleeping in the car parked a little way from the town centre where we’d arranged, because it is quite rowdy, but this necessitates an extra hundred yards that I begrudge. I hide my irritation, because it wouldn’t do to start off with her this evening on the wrong foot, as it were!

Hand in hand we set off – I’ve been looking forward to this for hours. At Hyde, 32km further, we’ve stashed the bicycle that Mami will return by. When we did the length of NZ on foot 30km would be a good day’s effort. I can’t believe that I’m trying five times that today!

In fact, I won’t allow myself to dwell on the task. I’ve read up on ventures such as these. No matter what distance a person chooses, the first third is always easy, the next third is a steady effort, and the last third is hell. My ploy is to persuade myself that I’m actually doing three hundred, which means that my walk will end unexpectedly halfway through the second steady phase, the idea being to save myself 50km of torture!

In front of us hangs Venus. We share a sliver of moon. I pass Mami one of my cheese sandwiches, but it sits in her stomach like a lead weight. She is quietly nauseous and dizzy for her entire distance, but doesn’t dare to complain in case it distracts me from my mission. As it is, her presence makes my day; when we set out I actually feel fresh, even after having walked 92km! I’ve now gone the greatest distance I’ve ever done without sleep. Later we crack the 100km, and after 24 hours I’ve reached 108km. I figure that I’ve slowed slightly from 5km/h to four.

I stride through the 24-hour barrier. Still determined

The best scenery comes at dawn as we see the sky starts to brighten over Lake Taieri. Absolute magic! There are mists as we approach Daisybank, where I share with my partner my best hallucination of the trip.

What a wonderfully imaginative idea! Some farmer must have taken it into his head to create a sort of Disneyland out here in the boondocks. Mechanized cartoon cutouts 10m high of zebras, rhinos, giraffes and dinosaurs bobble on the way on rail tracks around and around his fields. “Look at that,” I exclaim, “Isn’t that amazing?” Mami has no inkling of what I’m on about, and when I turn back to point the animals out, they dissolve into trees.

Noticeably listing. Come on my son - think of Enter the Dragon, I mean 'Tunnel'

The lowest point for me comes not much further, when a sign informs us that there are 14km to go to Hyde. Suddenly I realize that I have nine hours still to walk. Psychologically, the daylight had tricked me into thinking that I was almost home. Ouch! That hurt. And I’m worried that Mami feels cold; the coldest part of the day is not at dawn, but after. I try and set a faster pace to get it over, but that is a mistake and we soon slow down.

Breaks on through to the other side

Really, I’m going well. My calves are fine, as are my thighs and hamstrings. My body is not malfunctioning, and my mind is still lucid. I do notice that my shadow is listing to the right, but when I straighten it up I feel that I’m overcompensating to the left. Ah, don’t worry! The second most scenic part of the trail takes us across a footbridge and through the Price’s Creek tunnel. The wind is blowing for only the second time of the trip – just half an hour as night had fallen and now, late in the morning.

Mami returns via tunnels and underpasses too

Finally we arrive at Hyde, before any of the cyclists. It had been cold, very cold, and windy too, so I keep my coat, long trousers and jersey with me, little realizing that the thermometer will shoot up in the next few minutes. As well as the bicycle, we’ve stockpiled some water and peanut slabs. Mami isn’t up to eating yet, and I’m not either, but on a walk like this you’ve got to keep up your energy. During this day-and-a-half I’ll have gone through six chocolate bars, scroggin, cheese sandwiches and a heap of fast food – chips, hamburgers and pies. And not forgetting those apples from the wild trees along the railway – seeds spat out of the window in the past.

On a bicycle built for one

Within the hour the cyclists catch me up. If I’d finished as planned I would have finished amongst the medals. Oh well, next time. Next time!? One or two ask whether I’m okay, and a colleague from work stops also. I guess that I don’t look completely hunky-dory. Cyclists keep cooler by generating their own breeze. The thing is, there’s no relief from the weather in these last twenty miles – not a tree for shade of, not a house or a tap to obtain water from, and it’s dangerously hot. My one-litre supply rapidly dwindles.

I remember that Mami had told me that at Lauder, at a café where she’d just ordered coffee and toast – cheese and butter, yuck! – she’d asked for some water. Instead of granting her request, the woman directed her outside to a garden hose in the sun. The tap didn’t work, and when Mami has to ask again, the woman begrudgingly filled the bottle . . . but only halfway!

Don’t these people realize that under such a sun drinking water is a question of life and death? I don’t subscribe to the notion that a customer is God, but neither do I accept that water here is in such short supply that a visitor cannot drink. Every time a toilet is flushed that would use enough water to quench the thirst of a coach load of tourists. Come on now, Central Otago!

Safety on the trail is promoted. It is all very well to insist on cycle helmets, but really, something needs to be done in terms of shelter. A hut every 20km is not sufficient for walkers – that distance represents four hours in real time. I can’t help thinking that these facilities have been set up by people with a motorist’s conception of speed and time. An emergency phone here and there could save a life. More responsibility needs to be taken by those who would promote the trail. At the very least, the missing distance markers ought to be replaced. It is crucial for a traveler to know how far he or she has walked.

Stretching in the only bit of shade for miles

I do find a bridge with about 20km to go, and I clamber down the bank to the stream where I take off my shoes. Two blisters have formed next to my big toes and then migrated to the top, like a camel’s hump. I dip my feet into the water I dare not sip. The last cyclists trundle overhead every few minutes, and I feel like the troll with the three Billy-goats Gruff. During the last 20km I shall stop half a dozen times for several minutes each.

All I need to do at this stage is to keep those mountains on my right . . . and keep moving

I’m starting to hallucinate even during the day – in the peripheral vision through half closed eyes. I see flower pots along the trail, and buildings. Every time that I stop for a few minutes I start to stiffen. It is best to keep an iron grip and concentrate on my form. Every step is now an effort and I’m aching all over. I can only face the thought of an hour’s walking at a time, and I plod on, plod on one more . . . one more . . . just one more.

No, it's not the glasses. You are just hallucinating!

I text Mami with 6km to go, desperate because my water has run out. She reaches me within minutes by bicycle, and then accompanies me for the last hard interminable yards. I complete the trek a few minutes shy of 35 hours, five hours behind schedule. The first thing we do is buy an ice cream and eat it across the road in the shade. I fall asleep in the car on the drive home, and miss Monday at work.

Everyone needs a story about a war wounds to boast about

And don't we deserve them? Make mine a double!