Poronui Passage Marathon
I never thought I could run a marathon. I enjoy running especially during the autumn season, but it’s a sport I usually practice for a few weeks before a race, and then I usually work out in other ways during the rest of the year. I kind of slid backwards into running a marathon, but I’m so glad I did.
This is something I might never have done without social media. About 8 months ago, one of the groups I’m in for physician women (I’m in many similar physician women hobby and interest related groups, as a person with many hobbies) was talking about having a gathering. They shared information about a race being held in Arizona, a half marathon they planned to run together as a team. I looked at the race site and it looked like fun, but I put the thought aside. Arizona is far away, I had never run an official half marathon, and it sounded like an unrealistic idea, especially given that I didn’t know any of the women on the team in real life. The deadline to register came and passed, and I did not sign up. “That’s that,” I thought.
But my mind kept wandering back to it, I kept picturing how much fun it could be to undertake that kind of a challenge, and one day after a few weeks of these lingering thoughts I decided “actually, I’m making this happen. So what if I don’t know the people I’m racing with? I’m sure it’s going to be great.” I checked and found the race registration deadline had been extended, and I registered for the USA Women’s Half Marathon in Scottsdale, Arizona.
Several months passed and I realized that the race was approaching, and that I wanted to start a training program and see how I could do if I really followed the program. I have run the distance of a half marathon before, mostly on the bike path that runs past my house, during an unofficial race that was held during early pandemic days. In my typical impulsive style, I did not train at all - I just used my endurance cycling program to feel like I had somewhat prepared, and it allowed me to finish the half marathon distance, although not quickly.
So with this year's race in mind, I looked at a few training programs online and chose to go with the program on Peloton, because I was familiar with the motivational strategies the app uses and I knew that they worked for me by making the program like a game I had to try to beat. Peloton doesn't have a half marathon training program, but I figured I would just use the full marathon training program and then adjust it later on. My approach to big undertakings can be so helter skelter - I didn't even count the number of weeks until the race. I just pressed play on the training program during a random week I was on vacation over the summer, strapped on my running shoes and headed out. I still remember the first training run - I was staying on the Maine coast, I tucked the kids into bed and I went out after dark, running through the empty streets of Pine Point, the moon high above, and crickets and the smell of salt marsh all around. Before that night it had been months since I had gone out to do any significant running.
As it turned out, I enjoyed the program. I liked having the structure, the electronic check marks, the coaches to cheer me on while upbeat music played in the background. Yes, the runs require you to listen to the same 10 minute warm up several times a week, so I now feel unreasonably irritated whenever I hear the song "Sexual Healing" or this other really annoying song chanting "you are a magnet, I am metallic" repeatedly. after about 12 weeks I started literally hearing these songs in my dreams. By the time I had finished the first 6 week program of the three part series, I had heard my coaches say it enough - they say in almost every run how great it's going to feel to cross that finish line and that I *could* run a marathon at the end of this program, and I decided if I was going to spend all this time and energy on training, this was my chance to do something that I might only achieve once in a lifetime.
As I completed the second part of the training program series, I started searching for marathons that would occur right after the Arizona half marathon I was registered for, in New Zealand because that's where I would be at the time. There were very few options, because that time is summertime in New Zealand and not a popular time for people to do long distance running, however there was one that would occur almost right at the end of my program, and it was called the Poronui Passage. A review of the trail map was intimidating. The marathon was off road, through the forest, and involved a significant amount of elevation gain over the course of the race. I dismissed the idea as impossible at first, but after thinking about it for a bit, I decided that I was going to go for it. I registered for the race.
I continued to follow my training problem, running a "tempo run" (fast intervals), "marathon training run" (intervals at marathon pace), a fun run and a long run weekly. The distance of the long runs increases by about 10% per week. When I made it to the 14 mile long run, I felt like my limit for being able to focus and push myself had been reached. I ended up walk-running the last 6 miles of the run. At that point, I decided I needed more motivation. I registered for another half marathon the next weekend, the Ocean State Half Marathon in Narragansett RI. This would guarantee that I would continue to run for at least 13 miles and try my best.
The Ocean State Half Marathon
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person, but for the sake of the race I dragged myself out of bed bright and early and got myself over to Narragansett to run my first ever official half marathon. I started off optimistically, running with the 2 hour pacer, but only about 2 miles in, they started to pull gradually ahead of me. I had made a typical mistake by starting too fast- the race had an app that told me at each mile what my projected finish time was, and each mile that passed, the projected finish became later and later. However, I was buoyed by electronic "cheers" sent by family and friends, and enjoyed the pretty autumn scenery along the coast. I kept up with a particular racer for most of the race, who looked like a high school or early college age runner, very muscular and certainly looking far more fit than I did. So it gave me a heck of a boost every time I passed him, even though by the grimacing and cursing he was doing, it seemed like he was having a bad day. Eventually at about 11 miles in, I passed him and just kept on going, and didn't see him again. Although the race was more hilly than expected, and I was struggling for most of the second half of it, it did feel amazing to cross the finish line, where they announced my name on the loudspeakers and I broke out in a huge smile and felt like a champ. After the race, I felt pretty spent (and my stomach was turned all upside down), but I walked another 3 miles along Narragansett Beach to reach my long run goal of 16 miles.
The Airline Trail Ghost Run
After some prompting by my dad, I decided to continue my race-motivation strategy, and registered for a small event called the Ghost Run, held in my hometown in Connecticut two weeks after the Ocean State Half. For this race, I decided I would not wear my hydration vest, because at the first race it started to hurt my back and felt like it was weighing me down after a while, and I didn't actually drink that much from it. I also forced myself to eat a banana, whereas before the Ocean State I had drank a cup of black cold brew coffee (my usual "breakfast", but did not turn out well in my stomach during and after the race). I also had procured an anti-chafe stick after burning the heck out of my underarms in the first race. My dad drove me to the starting line in the neighboring town of Hebron, where I would follow the Airline Trail back to East Hampton. This race was much smaller, with about 175 participants, and we ran along the scenic rail trail through the golden brown hills as the leaves fell. This trail started off fairly flat, but was gradually uphill the entire way, which was quite mentally challenging, because again I was trying to maintain a steady pace only to see it getting slower and slower. My dad was there to cheer me on at a road crossing at about 6 and a half miles and when I saw him, I was feeling great. After that, I started to get more tired and sore, and the constant uphill push started taking more of a toll. I had brought some mini gummy bears from Halloween and had them as a snack, hoping it would give me energy. The last mile of the race took us through a muddy section, and I got a wet foot. The racers had spread out so I could only see a few other competitors, but I tried to stick with them to the end, where my kids enthusiastically ran the last 100 meters or so of the race with me, which was a fun way to finish - and I triumphantly realized I had beaten my time in the previous half marathon by about 5 minutes.
The USA Women's Half Marathon
The training continued and I was now preparing for the race that had started it all, the USA Women's Half. However, when I didn't have a registered race scheduled, I found it very difficult to get myself out there to do the long runs. I was really enjoying having a reason to go outside and watch the autumn leaves go by, and the cool weather is the best for running. This made me a bit nervous about my race in Arizona, because I thought for sure that it would be overly hot for me and that would impair my performance or make it unenjoyable. As it turned out, I should not have worried! I travelled to Arizona and met up with my team of other doctor moms, including a fantastic hotel roommate who I had never met before but how wonderful to make new friends with shared interests...! The day before the race, many of the other runners noted that they had picked up throwaway clothing to wear in the morning, at secondhand stores. On race day we shared an Uber at dawn to the starting line, where it was incredibly chilly, and the lines to the portapotties were lengthy! (well, the race WAS almost entirely women) I was wearing a throwaway secondhand long sleeve shirt that one of my new friends had kindly given me, and pacing or hopping around to stay warm until the starting time. I decided to start in between the 1:50 and the 2 hour pacers. For the first several miles, I was feeling quite cold but slowly warming up. It's amazing how the temperature in Arizona can go from feeling like winter to summer when the sun comes out from the shadows! The race took us through several quiet suburban neighborhoods in Scottsdale and on a trail along a canal. There were some very mild rolling hills but nothing that felt brutal. I was in great spirits as we doubled back, passing by many of the other runners going in the opposite direction and we all cheered each other as we went by. I was maintaining my pace and I even had time to stop briefly at the hydration stations, grabbing a cup of Gatorade and drinking from it while paused instead of trying to swallow and choking because I was doing it while in motion. Nearing the end of the race I kept thinking it was just a short ways longer, but it felt like the last mile took forever (possibly because it wasn't measured right). Other runners were spread far apart from me. Then I finally saw the bridge to the party at the race's end and I pushed myself to go as fast as I could to the very end. I found several of the fastest mom doctor racers just about to snap a finish line photo after I crossed, and was able to join them! I felt so proud, and I had again beaten my last best half marathon time by 5 minutes (10 minutes faster than the Ocean State race). I got a little "13.1 AZ" necklace to wear and we celebrated with free breakfast and champagne. That night at dinner with my team, everyone exchanged small gifts and I got all sorts of neat accessories, from a charm for my shoelaces to a headband to a little metal medicine case of Imodium and ibuprofen.
It was two weeks until the Poronui Passage, and I certainly didn't feel ready. Although I had run 3 half marathons, I had never felt like I had the energy - or the motivation, for that matter - to go much beyond the 13 mile distance. 16 miles remained the furthest I had gone. How was I going to make it when the course wasn't even flat or paved? Well, I kept telling myself I wasn't going for any speed record. I needed to pass the mid-race checkpoint by 1pm so that I would not be diverted and could run the entire course during the allotted 8 hour timeframe. If I had to walk, if I had to crawl, I would get there if I could, I would just do my best.
The Poronui Passage
The next two weeks sped by as I celebrated Thanksgiving and traveled across the world to New Zealand. I ran my best time ever in the Manchester Road Race - which I have been running for about 20 years - thanks to all my training. All set to stay seeded in the under 42-minutes-group for next year and starting ahead of the sea of racers! After spending almost two days traveling to our destination in New Zealand, we had about 5 days before the race. We decided every day to walk around Mount Maunganui, where we were staying, but this was a leisurely walk, stopping to look at unique shells or a seal frolicking in the water. On one of the days, we hiked up to the top of the mount, and then jogged on the way down. I thought I would add more miles on by then running up and down the mount by myself afterwards. It was by no means a difficult run, although slightly steep, but for some reason when I got to the bottom, I started to feel severe leg pain. I began limping along the walkway from the mount past the beach, and after a quarter of a mile, the pain and cramping was so bad I had to get down on the ground and could no longer walk. I still have no idea why this happened, but I worried quite a bit that this did not bode well for my race a few days away. I wasn't physically able to go up the mount again, and after conferring with my running group, decided not to run again until the race, to ensure that I was ready. They comforted me, saying that after training for 4 months, I was ready even if I did not get the final "shake out" runs in.
On Friday, I packed all my gear, picked up my rental car, and drove from the beaches of Mount Maunganui inland to Lake Taupo, a drive through rolling farmland pastures and fern forests. I made two stops along the way. I stopped at the secondhand shop in the Mount to get a pair of gloves ($1) and a winter hat ($5), which were on my required gear list for the race. The kind lady at the Salvation Army gave me a bit of an odd look as I purchased this winter gear in the wrong season. I then stopped at the local outdoor gear shop at the mall, which is called Kathmandu. The race had sent out a final information notice which stated that I MUST bring a seam sealed waterproof jacket with me for the race, showing photos of how they would inspect for seams that were not sealed properly, and stating in strong terms that if a racer showed up without this required item, they could be turned away from the starting line. I wasn't about to let that happen, and although I had a light jacket with me, I wasn't sure that it was "seam sealed" to the requirements. I showed it to the staff member at Kathmandu, who explained that with sealed seams, when the jacket was zipped up there would be no way for water to get through, and so the jacket I had brought was not actually waterproof. Unfortunately, performance clothing in New Zealand was expensive, and they sold me a new jacket for $445 (NZD!). There was no way in hell I was going to spend $445 on a jacket, but fortunately I knew that New Zealand also has a policy that all businesses must accept returns for 30 days after purchase for any reason.
As I traveled, the sunny summery weather turned much colder, and I was glad I had brought the required gear and other warm things. I arrived to the small town of Taupo and watched the sun set over the lake, and admired the Christmas lighting along the main street in town. I then set off into the remote part of the hills where the Poronui Lodge was located, and there was no more mobile coverage. Fortunately, I had downloaded offline maps to my phone and my directions continued to work. After dark, I reached the small farm where I was staying, which turned out to be an economical hunting lodge. The lodge's host welcomed me despite the late hour, showed me to my room, and also brought me to the common area where the other guests were socializing. The common area was decorated with taxidermy, wild boars and deer heads lining the walls. However, none of the other guests were hunters. They were orchid researchers and conservationists, visiting from Waikato University, who had come for the weekend to monitor and protect native New Zealand orchids in a nearby forest preserve. They would spend the next day digging weeds and invasive species, and trimming plants around the orchids to ensure they were getting enough sunlight. The orchid researchers were extremely friendly, but we did not stay up late because we all had to rise early the next morning.
In my small room, it was quite cold - buildings in New Zealand are typically poorly insulated and windows made of single pane glass. There was a small space heater I turned on, and I laid out my outfit for the morning and carefully packed my bag with snacks and the required gear items. Racing tank top, compression sleeves, wrist sweat band, fully charged Aftershokz bluetooth headphones, sports bra and running shorts, special running socks and trail running shoes, check! I had several specialized running "fuel" items I brought from home, like a "honey stinger waffle" (which is kind of like a Dutch stroopwafel) and gummy candies. At the grocery store before I left civilization in Taupo, I had grabbed another bag of gummy candies, which I don't even really like to eat, but I was slightly panicked about going miles into the woods in the middle of nowhere and not having enough food. I had also gone to purchase a banana, which I also don't love to eat that much but I felt was a good race day breakfast. In the grocery store in Taupo, the entire rack labeled "Cavendish banana" was empty. I had a momentary panic about that as well, wondering what my backup plan race breakfast would be, then as I turned around, I noticed a little basket near the entrance to the store, labeled "free fruit for your children/tamariki!" [children in Te Reo Maori] In the basket sat a lone banana. Seeing as it was almost closing time in the shop, I shamelessly grabbed the banana meant for the tamariki and brought it to the hunting lodge as my race breakfast.
In the morning, I woke up, and for a few minutes, wondered why the hell I had gotten myself into this and why I should get up out of a warm bed and into the chilly air. Then I thought of my journey up to this point and I dragged myself up, throwing on my outfit and heading to the common area to mix up my hydration backpack with lemonade electrolyte solution. In the common area kitchen, the orchid researchers were cheerily making breakfast, and offered me some of their feast. I politely declined most of it as inappropriate before a big race, but did accept with gratitude a piece of peanut butter toast. Then I drove off leaving a cloud of dust following me down the unpaved road to Poronui Lodge. The roads which had been abandoned and lonely the night before now had a stream of other vehicles headed in the same direction, many with bicycles mounted on them. Aside from the marathon race, there was a half marathon, and there were 50 kilometer and 100 kilometer bike ride options as well.
I parked in a big grassy field and made my way to The Stables, which was the home base for the race event. I checked in and was sent to the mandatory gear check station. I had dutifully folded the incredibly expensive waterproof jacket that I had no intention of wearing into my backpack, and I had my winter hat, gloves and survival blanket that I was proud to display. I was more than a bit irritable when they gave my bag only a half second glance, and made not even a show of trying to ensure that my jacket was seam sealed. Hmf. Well, onwards. There was a coffee cart, with baristas brewing up some hot drinks, although I certainly wasn't about to drink even a sip of a caffeinated beverage before this race since I knew it would wreak havoc on my stomach. There was a roaring fire in a stone fireplace, and a wooden fence created a starting/finish line corral. I didn't arrive with much time before the race, so I quickly checked in my bag for the end of the day and went to the starting line. The marathoners would begin first. Immediately I noticed several obvious differences between this race and any of the half marathons I had done, which I assumed must be related to race culture being in a location halfway across the globe from whence I had come. The racers looked relaxed and they were just, well, just standing there. At all the races I've ever been to in the US, the participants will be stretching, jogging around, warming up in the minutes leading to the race start. Here, they were just hanging out, I was the lone person doing my usual warm up from the training program, and I started to feel a bit ridiculous, so I stopped and stood with the rest of them. We gathered in the corral, and just after 9am (a nice leisurely start for a marathon race!) a CANNON suddenly fired next to us, making me jump nervously a little into the air, unleashing a cloud of gunpowder scented smoke on the racers as the crowd started to run.
The race began through a series of grassy fields, and then turned into a lightly forested area. It appeared clear right away to me that there was a segment of runners who were in a completely other league from me, who took off like a flash when the race began and quickly disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again. Aside from them, it was surprising that the runners "in my league" seemed to settle quickly into a formation in which we were not passing each other, we just sort of stayed the way we had settled. As we turned into the forest, there was a large puddle flanked by reeds and bushes, which I had to slow down and gingerly pick my way around. We had been warned at the starting line about this "unavoidable puddle" and I was proud that I had kept my new trail running shoes clean and dry. We were about a mile in to the race and I had no idea what was in store.
I ran along through the forest and got onto some farm roads for a short time, then turned up a long and fairly steep hill. Here we go, I thought! The elevation map for the race had showed elevation gain throughout most of the first half of the race, ending up steeply cresting to the top of an old quarry, and then dropping even more steeply downhill, and finishing mostly more flat. As I jogged up the hill into the sunshine and the amazing views unfolded around me, my playlist came to "Unstoppable" by Sia and I smiled widely. Unstoppable today! There was a couple running together who had been ahead of me for a while, and I focused on following them along - reaching the first of six aid stations just as they were departing it. The aid station had several different types of candies, some potato chips, water and Gatorade. I inwardly though to myself I had likely really overpacked on fuel, but, better to be prepared. "Where are you from?" The man staffing the aid station asked. "The USA - Rhode Island." I told him. He then observed "I'm surprised at how many women are running this race." I wasn't surprised, and didn't want to take any time to find out why he was, so I bid him farewell and began running on along the ridge I had come up. The trail then took a downhill turn along a fenced pen and I ran into my next obstacle, many fallen branches crisscrossed the path, and as I gained speed on the downhill, I jumped from one safe spot in between the branches to the next.
As I ran into the next area of the race, which were some rolling grassy knolls with interspersed bush, another racer caught up to me and hailed me. Apparently, the man at the aid station had informed her that I was from the USA, and she told me that she was from New York. She was a kiwi living abroad, and had run several races in New England that she told me about as we ran companionably for several miles. She seemed far more experienced than I was, and I explained to her my goal of ensuring that I made it to the halfway point by the 1pm cutoff time, so that I would not get diverted from the full marathon distance. She offered reassurance that I would, and then I was surprised that I ended up pulling back ahead of her again as we proceeded into a scenic area of the trail, where it meandered through a forest of young trees. The race organizers had given a speech at the beginning promising "so much wildlife!" The property had large stocks of deer, pheasant, and wild boar for hunting. At this point I was about a third of the way through the race, but I hadn't seen anything, native or otherwise. I focused on following the couple running together, who at times pulled fairly far ahead of me, but almost always within my sight. I noticed that when we were on uphill segments, they got further away, but if we were on a downhill, I started to catch them - I assumed this was because they were a bit older than I and my knees could take the force of the downhill better. We then came to a shallow stream, and I caught up to them. There was no way around, and there were no stepping stones, and the stream was too wide to hop over, so we forded through with a laugh together. My shoes were now wet, and I wasn't sure what that would mean for the rest of the race, because I had never run a marathon, not to mention doing so with wet shoes - I did know from running in the rain at home that wet shirts could cause a much nastier friction burn. Also, my shoes by this point were full of tiny twigs and bits of gravel. I had noticed that other runners were wearing an extra piece of gear that I did not have and had never seen before - they were small lightweight gaiters to go over the ankles, protecting the top edge of the shoe so that debris could not fall inside. I inwardly cursed the mandatory gear list for forcing me to bring winter accessories but not mentioning these useful foot gaiters.
I had come to a second and third aid station, and decided that my favorite fuel were the sugar doughnuts, but I also was making sure to eat a pretzel or a few chips at each one for the salt. Doughnuts in New Zealand are generally not the best doughnuts ever, but when you’re running 26 miles through the woods they do taste good. I then began what was going to be the most difficult segment of the race. It was a series of steep up and downs through heavily forested hills, almost all of it was uphill. Many of the segments of the trail were very muddy and I had to be careful as my foot hit the ground not to slide and fall, and to try to aim to step in areas where I would not sink in. There were also a lot of segments of the trail that were peppered with obstacles – small bushes, large branches, small branches, branches littering the ground and branches leaning into the path to catch your face. My legs started to feel quite tired as I continually ran uphill, and a number of people who apparently had been behind me started to pass me. They were all ages, but one woman in particular looked to be well into her 70s, striding up one of the steep hills like it was no one’s business, passing me without much effort at all. I felt a bit demoralized and began to think perhaps my training was not up to par. However, I was still tracking the runner couple, particularly the woman. At one point, I was closely on her heels coming around and down a bend in the trail, and she had disappeared. I looked around a bit, surprised at the disappearance and her voice came from some bushes next to the trail “don’t look!” Oops. I kept on running. I had gone over ten miles and I hadn’t needed to take any pit stops, fortunately. The uphill seemed to go on forever, and at this point I was getting passed by many bikers. There were more bikers in the race than marathon runners. “Are you just on your first lap?” one of the biker joked to me. During most of the steep uphills, the bikers would often have to get off their bikes and walk up, and I would pass them on foot while they walked their bikes. Some tried to fight their way up despite the grade. "This is f$%&ing BRUTAL, mate!" one said as he struggled up the hill, while I ran by. On the steep downhills, I would try to go as quickly as I could and gauge where I could land my feet in between the rocks and branches, hoping that my judgment and balance practice from the training program would keep me from a race-ending fall and injury.
I had slowed down considerably through the forest of steep uphills and obstacles, at one point there was what New Zealanders call a “slip” on the trail, an area where a steep hill had slid down partly over the trail, creating a large uneven segment of mud and brush, where some race personnel were standing and trying to ensure people got through safely. Aside from this, there seemed to have been little to no effort to ensure the trail was clear or safe, beyond placing ribbons to mark the trail along the way. New Zealand is a very “watch your own back, because we’re not liable” kind of place. I crossed into an area that finally had a bit of downhill slope, into evergreen woods, where I passed by a race photographer snapping photos. The location was certainly beautiful, but also made it look like I had been strolling along a very flat and gentle path, rather than leaping down ravines with various plants and rocks crowding the way. I felt rather unreasonably that they ought to have represented my struggle better.
I finally then began to emerge from the heavily wooded area, and started to come down a mountain side, through some rocky paths and onto an unpaved mountain road. I reached the aid station after which the runners of the half marathon would go back to the starting line, and marathoners would go onwards. I had reached it well before the 1pm cutoff, and I stopped in to the “upscale portapotty” they had at this location, then ate another doughnut and set off. The path had become a gravel and dirt road, and seemed like it should be far easier than the path I had just left, but since my legs had turned to jelly after all the climbing and up-and-downing, it wasn’t. The area was less scenic, and more lonely. There was an overpowering smell of a large dead animal, and I cursed the race organizers again with the feeling that this should have been remediated before the race. The dead animal smell seemed to be present for miles. I had thought that if I came to a more flat and reasonable trail, that I could run for quite a few more miles beyond the half marathon mark, but I started to feel discomfited by how much of the race remained, and although I pushed on, I had begun to take slower and faster speed intervals, which is what I typically do when I start to get really tired and feel too tired to maintain a speed.
I was approaching the last third of the race. I was very impressed with myself for running nearly 18 miles, but wary at the thought of how many miles I had left to go, since my speed had slowed greatly. At 13 to 15 minute miles it would take me another two hours to run 8 miles. My legs ached and my lungs were fatigued. I tried to just take my mind off the distance and focus on the horizon and keep going. Unstoppable! That was all that mattered, not my speed. I wound along a stream and a very scenic river, mostly not seeing any other runners in front or behind me. The bikers had all either gone onwards to the finish or taken a different track. At one point along the trail, I started to see a man in front of me who was also running and walking intervals, and I worked on trying to catch him. The path then came to another large muddy puddle, about 15 feet long and flanked by tall reeds. The man was trying to gingerly pick his way around the edge of the puddle, just as I had when the race began. Well, that was twenty miles ago. I ran straight into and through the puddle, splashes reaching up my legs, mud and water be damned. "I've stopped caring!" I shouted merrily to the man. "You're my hero!" He shouted back.
The trail started to take me through some vast pastures, some of which were enclosures for sheep or other animals (I still hadn't seen any wildlife or animals kept by the lodge). I came to a few electrified fences with gates, where I had to squeeze through a small opening next to the gate, or take a few wooden steps up and over the gate then down the other side. I was so tired that I was a little worried I would stumble and fall onto the electric fence. These pastures were very wet and grassy, and my feet were sinking into the mud and grass. In some places there were small streams or branches of streams headed downhill through the grass that I just kept passing through and over, since there wasn't really any way around.
As I hobbled through the pastures, A few runners gradually approached me from behind. One of them reached me and just continued on ahead. The second one was my friend the kiwi transplant New Yorker. We congratulated each other on only having a short distance to go, and she asked how I was feeling. "I keep thinking that it's only two miles or so to go, and that I should try to go as fast as I can.... but my legs just won't do it." I lamented. "I think we can run it to the end," she said. "let's try it from here, and if you feel like you can go on ahead of me, just keep going!" This was the motivation I needed. We started to run. It was a painful, tired loping run but it was running and we had pledged not to stop. We had come onto a road, and small farm buildings were in sight, so we knew The Stables and the finish line were close. Just before the last mile or so, there was meant to be a beer tent so that you could grab a beer for the end of the race, but I was apparently so exhausted or so intent on the road ahead that I went right past it. I started to pull ahead from my fellow runner. "Go ahead!" she said. "Keep going!" And I just ignored all the pain and all the fatigue and thought only about keeping my legs running as hard as I could push them. I'm so powerful, I don't need batteries today! I'm so confident, I'm unstoppable today! Sia sang in my ears. I ran up the driveway to the Stables, where the wooden gates of the finish line sat just where I had left them 6 hours earlier. Most of the other runners had finished the race already, and they had joined the bikers in picnicking around the yard of the Stables, where a musician was playing live folk songs. Small groups of people were clustered all over the grass, all looking up as I approached the line, and there were several gathered along the corral at the finish line, loudly cheering. It was no deafening crowd of fans, but I was overcome with triumph like I had won the race. I crossed over the line smiling like my face would break in half at the cheers, and then I felt my whole face twist into sobs a moment later. I can't believe I actually did this. "Awww." Several people in the crowd said. The race staffer put a wooden medal around my neck. My legs slowed down and I started walk through the picnickers aimlessly, not really knowing what to do with myself now that I had finished, since I was there alone and did not actually know any other participant. I saw the man and woman partners who I had run much of the first half of the race with, sitting by the tent. "Great job out there!" I told them. They looked up and beamed at me with smiles of recognition. "Good on you, mate! Strong work!" the woman congratulated me. I looked down at my watch and realized - I haven't gone 26.2 miles. According to the race statistics, the length of the race was 42.2 kilometers, which should be a full marathon, but my watch had tracked me at more than a mile short of that distance. So you can guess what I did. I wasn't about to stop, not after all that. I turned around, headed out of the Stables, and I kept going. At a very, very, painfully slow jog I went back down the Stables driveway, and then back up again. Back down, and then back up. Several post-race revelers passed me, giving me odd looks, so I tried to look like I had someplace to go, but I just kept jogging, right until the digits flipped to 26.2 miles. It was done.
I walked into the Stables to collect my post race rewards. Most of the participants had already taken theirs - a little native plant to put into their gardens. I had no use for that, so as cool as it was, I didn't take one. I then found that inside the Stables building, they were offering free massages. I sat down on the floor and would wait as long as it took to get my massage. I was a bit bashful of my legs, which were crisscrossed with abrasions, splashed with mud, with shoes and socks that looked exactly like one would imagine after running through miles of swamp. However, the masseuse seemed unfazed and rubbed my sore muscles regardless of the dirt.
After the massage, I made my way to the food and drink tent. They gave me a Speight's cider and I got a veggie burger and fries ("chips" as they are called in New Zealand) with some kind of aioli. I thought I'd be ready to vomit at the sight of food after going 26 miles, but I wasn't. The meal was actually amazing. A chilly rain had started to fall after I finished the race, and I had goosebumps all over. I tried to wrap myself up, putting on my mandatory snow hat, fleece gloves, and other pre-race gear, however would not touch the still-pristine fancy seam sealed jacket. A couple of other tables were wrapping up their drinks and snacks, appearing to have imbibed plenty at the open bar. The staff were cleaning up and taking down the event equipment, and the buses taking people back to Taupo had left. I had to start walking, or I would be the last person at the event. I did not regret lingering, though. I had booked a second night at the hunting lodge anyhow, and was not in a rush. I had had no internet or wifi coverage of any kind for almost a full day at that point. I walked back out to my car, which was now almost alone parked in the field down the drive from the Stables.
I made my way down the road under the gray skies and drizzling rain, finally passing several pheasants and a herd of deer. I arrived back at the lodge, where the orchid researchers had already settled in for the evening. A sign hung above the lodge entry way, written in red marker: "This is Acomidation. Not a bloody dog Run. Keep ya mutts in ya trucks. Run them up the rd. Thanks. NO DOG'S." Although the lodge was only a few miles away, it wasn't raining there, and one of the researchers was sitting out reading in a lawn chair. He looked up "finished the race, did you?" I held up my medal proudly, which I was considering wearing for at least several days. "Yes, I survived!" He shrugged in a "so what" gesture and went back to his book. I was nonplussed by his dismissive reaction and continued to the common area. Several of the researchers had gathered around the table, having tea and wine, and eating cheese and crackers. They warmly welcomed and and invited me to join them. Unlike their dismissive colleague, they congratulated me on the race with kindness. I shared stories from the race, and afterwards they told me about their work to protect the delicate native orchids in the preserve. They showed me several lovely photos of the orchids they had found that day. They would be staying overnight again to continue their work over the rest of the weekend. After having a companionable drink with this friendly crew, I excused myself from the table. The prospect of a night alone in the little lodge room was not appealing, and I decided to eat the cost and just get on the road. I had worried that after going 26 miles, I would barely feel able to walk, and would be in too much pain, or too fatigued, to tolerate driving several hours out of the Taharua Valley forests and up to the beach where my family was staying. However, thankfully, I didn't feel that bad. I queued up my audiobook and started to drive out of the wilderness. Feeling sentimental, I played Sia on repeat more times than I care to admit before the night was over.
The first finisher completed the 2022 Poronui Passage in 3 hours and 30 minutes. The second person to finish the race that day was THIRTY MINUTES behind the first place finisher, at 4 hours and one minute - but only beat the first woman finisher by a little more than one solitary minute (wish I had been there to see that moment!). Only thirty eight participants finished the full marathon that day. And that's how, in my very first and maybe only marathon ever, I came in 5th in the Master's Women's category, 10th woman overall, and 22nd to finish the race. I still consider myself a complete amateur who was just willing to take a stab at a huge challenge, but I am proud beyond measure of myself for doing something that was completely outside my comfort zone, that I never thought I could achieve, and following it through to the last step.
