Greatest Run Ever is one of the most popular parts of the show, the bit where we ask you to write in to us and tell us your Greatest Run Ever. It doesn’t have to be a race or a mountain summit - it might just be a run around the block - but it’s a run that sung to you for some reason. Inspirational, funny, sad, delightful, everyday stories of running. Send it in to us dirtchurchradio@gmail.com

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December 17th 2024

Chris Flack

What an experience. I'm still smiling as I think back to the Paris marathon earlier this year. 

They say marathons are two races, a 32K warm-up and a 10K race.
This run definitely felt like that.

***

We were going to Europe on a family holiday, and I had worked out (with a bit of juggling) that we could be in Paris for the marathon. I jumped on the opportunity to sign up for it, especially as it's one of the iconic marathons outside the big six majors. I’d also heard it was one of the biggest marathons in the world and the crowd support was super passionate. Those reports were bang on.

***

On the morning of the race, I went through my normal pre-race routine.
Porridge 

Nipple plasters
and magnesium.
(not all together tho). 

I had my Paris metro route mapped out on a piece of paper - and I was ready to go.

***

When I got to the metro, I started to see a few fellow marathon runners. 

I gave them the universal nod of approval. 

Soon I changed stations to the metro line that would take me to the bag drop-off near the start line.

Suddenly there were marathon runners everywhere like a pack of bees swarming the nest.
Everyone with different levels of nerves.

Checking gear…
Hydrating and going through their race plans.

I embarked out at the station and then followed the mass of other runners to the bag drop area.
As I rounded the corner, more and more runners appeared.

I did my pre-race check, then handed over my drop bag.

I then followed the others to the start line on the Champs-Élysées

The start area was electric.
I’d never seen that many people in my life!

There were people everywhere, taking selfies and videos.

After a bit of a wait. My section was just about ready to go.
The crowd was cheering each wave of runners as they left.

The excitement grew as finally, it was my turn. 

•••

The first 5km blew past. 

Runners covered the road as we winded our way through the Streets of Paris.

The body was feeling good and the conditions were perfect for running. 

10k…

15k…

20k…

The K’s were ticking by.

The crowd was lining the streets on both sides.

At least 10 people deep in most places. 

21k…

I saw my wife and kids.

They were shouting for me to keep going.

Life was great.

25k…

Running is great.

I was on target for my goal time. 

30k…

Time to increase the pace. 

***

But suddenly things felt a lot harder.

My legs were starting to cramp up

I thought about trying to use my kids for motivation, but I knew I wouldn't see them again on the course. I thought about my twin brother who had passed away nearly six months ago.

He wasn't a runner.

So I asked him for some advice and what to do?

He said, “I'm proud of you, bro”.

I said any other advice and he said, “Be nice to your wife.”
I was hoping for some words of inspiration (rather than marriage advice… didn’t he know I was running a marathon).

35k

I run through a tunnel.

Suddenly we couldn’t hear the crowd chanting.

All I could hear was the drummers.

Hitting their drums at the same cadence that I was running.

Dooth…

Dooth…

Dooth... 

***
I passed the 37km marker. 

Only 5K to go, so much pain!

I went to the toilet to gather my thoughts for the final push.  

I thought to myself ‘Who am I running for?”
and realised it wasn't my kids, it wasn't my twin brother…

I was running for me (and all this soreness and pain that comes with it).
I was running for the challenge that these moments bring.

***

I gave myself a pep talk and said it's only 5k to go.

It's like a park run on Saturday with your mates.

Or a run around Hagley Park after work.

I came out of the toilet like a new man.

My legs, my beautiful legs. They were working.  

If could run six minutes per kilometre from now on, I would get close to my goal time (Four hours).  

I started running. 

Then like a gift from the running gods. The four-hour pacer appeared in front of me, followed closely by a small group of runners. I couldn’t believe my luck. I locked onto the back of this group. 

And, to my disappointment, they started to slowly get further and further away from me.

I told myself Sam Harvey style mantras to push through the pain.

“What's on the other side of discomfort?”

 “Comfort?!”

I zoned in on the green line (which marks the shortest way to the finish line), hoping it would get me there quicker. 

40km

I thought about what I was doing and how lucky I was to be running THE Paris Marathon.

Then it hit me ‘Soak it in, soak it in’.

And at that moment, with 2 kilometres to go I had found it… ‘The Joy of running’.

Joy was around me.
Joy was everywhere.
It was powering me to the finish line. 

***

Suddenly (as if by magic) the crowd was 20 people deep.
They were shouting “Aller, aller!” (Go, go)

The route started to get narrower and narrower.  

The crowds and runners started to bunch.
It felt like I was running in a movie - my movie.

I felt like I was floating.

I thought about taking out my camera to take a video to try and capture this feeling.

But I stopped myself and said you're in it - you don't need to record it!

Things started to feel like they were happening in slow motion (or maybe it was my running).

I look around me and narrowly avoided some kids as they joined their dad for the last 700m.

I get overtaken by a guy pushing his girlfriend to the finish line with his hand on her back.

I sidestepped some more excited fans trying to high-five their friends.

The cobblestones are making us all come together.

I’ve got 500m to go.

I felt like I was running in the Olympics. People everywhere… all screaming for me (and the 56,000 other runners) to keep going.

The crowd was so close and so tight that you could touch them.
I could smell the sense of anticipation and…

…the hairs on the back of my neck were tingling.
Maybe this is my Olympic moment.
The closest I will ever get…..

….and I didn't want this to end.

I felt the feeling.

That feeling - that I’ve had a few times when you're floating along.

That feeling of pure joy.

The feeling that Chris McDougall talks about in ‘Born to Run’.

I gave myself another couple of sprays of cramp spray.

The spray (and my race) is just about finished.

And I hope that my legs don't give up now.

And I have to crawl to the finish line.

I repeat my mantra.
“Soak it in, soak it in, soak it in”.

I want to freeze-frame these moments so I can re-watch them when I'm 80.

When my legs don't work as well as they do now.

I want to GRAB the person next to me, shake them and say, “Are you feeling this?”

“Are you, are you floating like me?”

 
I realise I don't have the energy for anything extra and I'm too scared that my legs may cramp up so close to the finish line.

I keep smiling and moving forward, the green line is gone.

I enter the finishing chute… the finish line is only 25m away.

I throw my arms in the air and take those last few steps towards the line trying to slow everything down. I think of everything I've done to get here and wonder why we do this to ourselves.

Why do we run?

Why do we run marathons?  

Maybe… For me, It's the feeling of joy, the joy of running.

Those painful last five kilometres taught me that all we really want to do is to float.

Float along with the joy of running.

***

December 5, 2024

Lisa Chaplow

Early morning runs are my favourite, and this particular Monday morning run was a balm to my soul. As I laced up my shoes at dawn, eyes tired from tears and lack of sleep, and my heart tender with the news of the death of a bright and beautiful friend by suicide, I knew a little left-foot-right-foot was called for. Thank you, Kerry and Ali, for an easy 5km in my programme :)

I jogged around the very familiar suburban streets, with my early morning companions. People whose names I don't know, histories I'm not privy to, but who are a part of my life and beautiful weekly rhythm nonetheless. I waved and shared a quiet "hi" with the man who was always at the corner waiting for his friend; I said good morning to the lady with the perky black labrador; I smiled and waved at the two ladies who were walking uphill at a pace and chatter with fervour; and I was deeply touched by the lady with the two golden retrievers, who looked me right in the eye and said "Hey you!" with a special kind of care today.

While the world still felt jagged and jarring in that particular way it does with death, and the tears came anew, the remembrance of the importance of the little moments and the connections we each bring to one another sat full in my heart. They eased some of the ache, and I let myself feel nourished by the weaving threads of good mornings which impact me in ways I can't quite describe. It reminds me we're all part of this world, carrying with us our ups and downs, impacting one another in ways we don't always know. Kia kaha e te whānau; and warm wishes all around.

November 20, 2024

Matt Dean

My Greatest Run Ever changes frequently as I'm a new trail runner and amazing experiences are continually upstaged by the next as I get more immersed in the sport. This run was no exception.

I got into trail running in my mid (late) 40s and I've managed a 25k and a handful of other distances so far, with a goal to complete a 50k. A career change and a non-traditional schedule has meant more fun-running and fewer races this season, but a 50k is not far off. To be honest, running trails for fun without a specific mileage or time goal has made it more enjoyable, and given me the freedom to explore new trails with no expectations.

This particular run was during the fall when the trees turn a multitude of colors here in the Pacific Northwest, truly a spectacle to be savored. Running a fun and technical trail through this visual masterpiece can be an other-worldly, almost spiritual experience. I drove about an hour away to the Kamiak Butte escarpment, a five mile-long spine of greenery and rocks rising out of the Palouse in eastern Washington, to run the West End Primitive trail. I had planned on participating in "Summits on the Air" (SOTA https://www.sota.org.uk/) as part of this run, an amateur radio sport that blends well with trail running. After getting a couple of miles in and up onto the summit of Kamiak, I stopped and played radio for an hour, in awe of the stunning view of the surrounding plains on a pristine cool, and clear day. After making contact with several other stations including Japan and France on a tiny packable HF radio, I headed off into the forest for the rest of my journey. The trail undulated up and down the rock wall which splits the escarpment in two, weaving in and out of singletrack stone passages for several miles, before finally descending back down to the Palouse and returning to the parking lot. At the end I was spent, my water depleted, and still thoroughly amazed at the incredible scenery and thankful I found trail running, even at this age.

So far, this has been my Greatest Run Ever. But I have no doubt, another is just around the corner.

November 6, 2024

Sara Beaumont

In 2023 I ran the Crater Rim Ultra 30km - it was a hard run but I thoroughly enjoyed the event and how well organised it was.  I had done a few trail running events but never actually an ultra, so after completing the 30km I thought “I’d just love to say that I’ve done an actual ultra”.

As soon as the 2024 event was opened for registrations I signed up, clearly, I was eager as I ended up with the bib number 3   This was the only time I was ever going to be in third place so I took it as a win.

Training for the event sadly wasn’t event-less.  Various injuries gave me grief, mainly my knee but I worked hard to keep up with strength and mobility training.   6 weeks out from the big day I was on the tail end of a cold and put my back out during a run (don’t run and cough apparently).  It was so bad I couldn’t put my chin to my chest.  A few hundred dollars later with a chiro, osteo, and sport massage therapist, I was back into action.  

I managed a couple of 30+ kms runs in the Port Hills before it was taper time (isn’t that the best feeling!).

Then 2 weeks out queue the food poisoning - (from eating a blimmin’ chicken salad) - I’ve never had anything like it and it knocked me for 6 days.   I went to a dark place of negativity with this being so close to the event.  There I was, freaking out about trying to force nutrition and hydration into my system whilst also feeling like I was doomed anyway with not being a “natural runner” at this stuff.  I needed to snap out of this state if I was going to give myself a chance of getting anywhere near my goal.

1 week out I started to cram positivity into my head, I was constantly listening to positive mindset podcasts and trying to bring the good vibes.  

I visited my sports massage guy (shout out to Brett Tingay) and he told me of a client of his who had been delivered devastating news.  Things got put into perspective when he reminded me of the fact that I GET to do this when others have had the opportunity stripped from them.  

Just as I type this a song has come on from one of my best friends' funerals - he would have run this with me if he was still here or at least been cheering me along.  

On to the big day.  The alarm was set for 3:30 am and my body didn’t enjoy the very early breakfast.  I wrote on my arm “You GET to do this” Then Hubby drove me to the start line, where the 53km people would jump on a bus, catch a ferry to Diamond Harbour then walk up the hill to wait for the start at 7:15 am.  

The run started a little later, so I had to make sure the time would be added to the checkpoint cut-offs.  My calculations of my previous runs had me cutting this very close.  Clearly, my goal was to make it before the finish line was packed up (I had had a dream that I came in an hour afterward so I couldn’t let this come true).

The first 200m was around the rugby grounds and I thought “shit I’m tired already” Luckily I snapped out of that and plodded along with the crowd. 

Up we went.  Mount Herbert was neverending but the chats were good with all different types of people, a lot ticking off their first ultra too.  Once at the top it was off around the South side of Mount Bradley, which was a mud pit and after a hundred or so feet had churned it up it was ready for me to eat shit and wipe out.  I could feel my positive mindset start to shift so I had to quickly shake it off.

I made it to the first aid station which was 20kms and 1000m of elevation completed.  My friend Becs was waiting to cheer me in and get to work on restocking my fuel supplies and slapping sunblock on me.  Then I was off again… up the next hill.   

I remembered the start of the 30km very well and it was there to slap me in the face just like last time…  Up we went again, almost like climbing a ladder, it was a slog for sure but I ticked that one off.   After the steep incline, we were treated to a ready-to-blow, dead cow on the edge of the track.  I held my breath and got through the smell and the million flies as fast as I could.

Not far from the second checkpoint, my hubby Matt had come to find me, it was so good to see him and it gave me a much-needed boost.  At the checkpoint Bec’s again topped up my supplies, slapped more sunscreen on, and sent me on my way.  

The next mission was to get down and then back up the body bag at the adventure park.  I knew this was going to be tough, so it was head down and soldier on.  Time was starting to get tight and my supporters were out in force to get me through to the Sugar Loaf checkpoint.  

The stop at Sugar Loaf was hard as my crew were all there and I wanted to stay and chat.  One of the volunteers then came over and said “I don’t want to be that guy, but you’ve got 2 minutes to get across that marker and move on”  So off I shimmied.  The poor guy behind me got stopped. 

My crew had given me the task of catching the 3 people in front of me, so it was a challenge accepted.  I managed to pass 2 of them before the next checkpoint and then there was one left.  At about 8 km to go I passed him.  

Finally the downhill part!  Normally my time to shine but it was a delicate descent.  Bec met me at the Rapaki crossover to make sure I remembered to lift my feet and not trip on the rocks.  As we ran down my watch ticked over the 50km mark…. That’s an Ultra, right?  I was stoked, but the day wasn’t over.  Still 3 km to go.  We were joined by our 34-weeks pregnant friend who had just placed 2nd in the 6km run.  Before too long the park and finish line was in sight, people were leaving after prize giving and made sure they yelled and cheered me on.

My son was waiting to run in with me and I had a sudden boost of energy as Rocky was announcing my arrival - still with enthusiasm I might add.

That was it!  I had done it!!  I made the cut-off with 12 minutes to spare and was able to cheer in the last 3 runners. I was so happy they made it too.

That was a big day of 11 hours on the go.

I managed to keep a positive mindset through the day and kept reminding myself that 80-year-old me would look back on this proud that I pushed myself to see what I was capable of. Super grateful to all of the support from the people who got me through.

It's now a week post run and I’m still buzzing about reaching my goal.  I’ve listened to the CRU episode on DCR and it made me so happy knowing the pros found it a tough day out.  I’m walking tall.

October 22, 2024

Jamie Calder

Greatest Run Ever for the Fat Wood Pigeon

I’ve been lucky enough to take part in some awesome trail events across New Zealand including my first ultra the OG Ring of Fire, a number of WUU and WAI runs, and  TUM 102km but TUMiler had eluded me.

My first attempt at the miler was in 2020, 9 ½ weeks after a hernia op so training was a bit sub-optimal.  My wife and Coach Ray Boardman both asked if I was going to withdraw which was a no, maybe do the 50km?  No.  The 102km again?  No.  Coach Ray knows my mindset where I love the challenge so did what he could to minimise the risk to my body from the inevitable disaster and my wife referred to me as a copulating person of low intelligence, or words to that effect.  I pulled out at Titoki, my legs and brain were doing their part however I had a couple of Cuppa Soups that my body rejected, violently, five times so I took the hint.

My 2021 Miler build-up and attempt wasn’t much better as I had some Achilles issues that stopped me running for six months but I maintained fitness through swimming, weights, and spin bike.  My first proper run was a week before the event up that mighty hill known as Canons Point here in Upper Hutt, The elevation is not a lot and distance was about 6km.  I made it one more aid station beyond 2020 getting to Outlet before the blisters on my soft feet retired me.

2022 didn’t happen thanks to the global plague so 2023 was going to be my 3rd and final attempt, call me Ahab because this event was my Great White Whale.  I came into this run feeling good, I had a plan to finish and not just see how far I could get as I had the two previous attempts.  My plan was simple and I had only a few things to really think about I didn’t fall asleep in the sun in the beer garden on the Friday like 2021 so that was good for the body.  The key things to my plan were to use my poles earlier than I had in the past; you know actually use them rather than just carry them, have average pace as the front screen showing on my watch, and only look at it after many hours or when I slowed right down, 5 – 10 minutes max at aid stations other than the main one at the lakeside – all that should be happening at the majority of them was refilling the soft flasks with water and my little baggies of Tailwind, change shoes, socks, shorts and t-shirt at 50km and 100km as well as have a softflask of Tailwind Recovery and have fun.

I lined up at the start with everyone else, bantering with some of my friends: Andy Lucas the Little Blue Penguin, Fabiano Petroni the Brazilian Beefcake, and Charles Navarro the Filipino Flyer then we were off to do some loops.  I found myself getting into a nice rhythm and stayed there for a while and before I knew it we were at the first aid station, in and out in under 5, smile on my face and back into it.  This became the pattern and my mind was rigid on what had to be done, this doesn’t mean I didn’t talk a power of shit with everyone I came in contact with though as I’m there to complete not compete so interacting with all the cool people is a big part of my why.  I did have a fall about 30km in, a rogue root didn’t like the cut of my jib as I was going along at a good clip, the resulting thud off the ground was enough to set my incident alert off on my watch but after a quick check that I hadn’t popped my shoulder out and with a hearty “[Rigby] it!” I was on the move again.  In and out at 50km with no dramas, majority of clothes changed and all in under 15 minutes.  That loop went okay, I slowed a bit due to some hot spots forming on my feet but the worst was some chafing.  Some is a bit of an undersell, I was in nappy rash hell, turns out I had been applying too much and my undies which were the only item of clothing I didn’t change were just a soggy mess of disaster.  This started to play on my mind a bit.  I went to the med tent at 100km to see what could be done for the hot spots that turned out to be about six blisters per foot and the team there patched me up nicely, not much could be done for the nethers though.

As I waddled my way towards the aid station by Te Puia, I went into the dark space of my mind, “Can I manage this with the chafing?”, “This is bullshit.”, “The chafing really hurts dude.” All those types of thoughts were flooding into my brain and bringing some heavy negativity to what had been a so far positive vibe.  Thankfully though, the resilient part of my brain took over and I had an inner discussion that went along the lines of – There are two options; One – Pull pin and the pain won’t get worse. Two – get the [Rigby] through it, accept it, and get moving with purpose again.  The brain is an amazing thing and with having the talk with myself the pain from the chafing didn’t bother me for the rest of the run.

All was tracking well but the blisters on my right foot were getting a bit lively again as I was heading to Blue Lake for the last time.  I stopped at the med tent to see if they could help out where they did their usual marvelous work and as I was leaving I looked at my watch and it hit me, even at a slow, slow walk, I would make the cut-off, I was going to do this.  20 something km out from the finish line I got hit by a wave of emotion as the realisation that this was going to happen registered.  I then had visions of me being a blubbering mess crossing the finish line but good old brain kicked in and reminded me I still had to get there for that to happen.

I was back in good spirits as I came into Redwoods aid station and just before leaving there my mate Andy powered in, time for a quick fist bump, a nod of acknowledgment of where we were and how far we’d come then I was gone.  Text sent to some friends who had completed the 102km with a rough idea of when I’d get to the finish and I started to dig my poles in a bit harder.  Somewhere along here my brain went into super self-motivator mode and I started ramming my poles in the ground even harder and my pace increased.  I lost the plot for a while and started doing little sprints, grunting and growling as I moved, I could sense I had an intense gaze happening so put my sunnies on, the good people out supporting us didn’t need to see that level of crazy.

With about 1 or 2 km to go and still doing little sprints, well they felt like sprints to me I then started chanting “Full send!  Full send to the end!” which I can only apologise to anyone who witnessed it.  I ran past Tim Day with that chant going on and he smiled and gave me the look that said he knew the place my brain was currently occupying.  Before starting, I really wanted to record coming down the chute and crossing the finish line but I was caught up in the chant and the moment and after two failed attempts and 29 hours and 38 minutes I finally finished my first miler.

I ended up not ugly crying like I thought was going to happen but I did get hugs from friends, a quick check-up from team med then had a beer while waiting to celebrate other people crossing the line.  It wasn’t just finishing that made this my greatest run, it was the whole experience.  I technically ran it without a support crew but every person at an aid station or giving encouragement from the street or wherever were my support crew and I thank them for it.

Rere te Kereru i te ngahere – The Kereru flies through the forest

OCTOBER 9, 2024

STEfAN PULPITEL

I was on my Wednesday run, and listening to your wonderful episode with Gareth Morris on the Bob Graham round when  I was seemingly inexplicably moved to tears. A benefit of being out in the arms of ‘The Mother’ on a trail run is that I could find a place to sit and contemplate why his words had stirred me. And maybe make the inexplicable, explicable. And it came to me that your conversation had unearthed the emotion of another Greatest Run Ever, one of the first times I ran on a trail, not far from the setting of my previous submission so beautifully read by you last year.

I had subconsciously thought about the Myra Waterfalls, those gorgeous cascades that tumbled down over the limestone hills, through cool leafy woods and forested glens. Photos show that I saw them first as a baby, but my first conscious memory of them was their image on the old Austrian stamps my father and I used to collect together. At age 14 we had moved back to Austria, and one day in the spring, my Dad and I went to the falls to spend a few happy hours out in the hills of the Buckled World that was our home. We started our hike at the carpark at the bottom of the falls and climbed our way up the endless stairs and wooden bridges that criss-crossed the innumerable tiny and large falls. We looped around the back of the hills on a kite-tail that looped away from the river and found it again at the weir at the top ready to descend the stairs and paths back to where we had started. There we stopped looking first at the ink black water and along to the tiny hamlet beyond shrouded by hills.

"I would go to the Inn over there in the spring," my Dad told me. "Often they would have music and dancing there. The owner was a terrible drunk and would always pay the patrons to buy him a drink. His wife wouldn't let him drink. She knew him too well, knew he couldn't just have one drink. But if the customer bought him one, then she couldn't stop them. So he paid them to 'buy' him drinks. When she found out she gave him one hell of a hiding."

We looked at the inn, nestled between the hills, but unusually we didn't continue up the path for a drink there. We started to head back down the hill with me in the lead.

What happened next was so organic. Perhaps it was that my Dad gave me a playful nudge? I'm not sure. But heading down the hill from the weir began as a fast walk that became a gentle trot, as though the soil itself was conspiring with gravity to pull me faster and faster. We came to a place where the stream ran parallel to the soft springy path before hooking in a zigzag between two towers of limestone and suddenly we were running. We sped across the leaf-strewn paths, we clattered across bridges, setting up harmonic waves that set the timbers to swaying, we jumped down the little staircases, grabbing the railings to help us fly through the air, four or five stairs in each crazed leap. We ran together, and the whole time I could hear his breath, every now and then one of us would laugh briefly, and we ran together at the same speed.

About a kilometre into this down there was a big sweeping corner that hooked left across an earth embankment and I ran up it, like a skateboarder might travel along the edge of a bowl. Dad saw his chance, and cut across the inside, taking the lead, and then the chase was on. I can't remember how often we swapped the lead, but even then, as a 14-year-old boy I knew this wasn't about winning, this was about making each other run that bit faster. A walk that took us more than an hour up was over in less than fifteen on the way down. I don't know who got to the car first, but I do know who won. 

Both of us.

The last time we went there was a few years ago. Dad had lost both his legs after illness, and could not go beyond the carpark in his wheelchair. We were both older, and could no longer run at the same speed. We each had moved into new lives and struggles. But he had looked up with a twinkle in his eye, and at that moment, our thoughts, our memories were running in tandem, racing down through springy, leaf-strewn paths, clattering across bridges and jumping so far downstairs so high that it was like flying.

September 25, 2024

Cheryl Walker 

My greatest run ever was the 100 miler in 2023 at Tarawera. I was born in Lower Hutt and dragged by my parents to live in Australia when I was 14. 

Flying into Rotorua and getting that first smell of NZ air (yes even Rotorua air) always brings tears to my eyes. The soft green grass, the blue, proper blue lakes,  the rolling hills, the trees that when the wind blows through just has a different sound to the Australian bush. I could go on but the senses light up everytime. 

The race was a spectacular showcase of all of these things I love about my old home. Even though I fell about 8 km in from the start and had a blood encrusted shin (hello downhill Okataina where I tripped over the always invisible rock) I could have stayed out in the pristine natural forest forever.  The crunch of the fine gravel, stunning lake views and hearing the kiwi accents all around me at the checkpoints made me feel like I was really at home. 

Even when I finished the race and was certainly in need of sleep I had a tear in my eye as I knew it was over and I would soon be leaving NZ again. I packed up my pounamu with sadness and left. I returned to the miler in 2024 with a sore knee which turned out to be torn and only made it to the Buried Village before the mighty DNF.

Still I was overjoyed to be out there even with the pain of my knee. I'm returning in 2025 to the miler with excitement as once again I get to soak up the sights and sounds of my homeland NZ. Maybe for a new Greatest Run Ever.

September 11, 2024

Sarah Bauer

Sometimes it's the people who make a run extra special, sometimes it's the environment, or simply the feeling of pushing your limits. Luckily, in my case, it was all of these together.

Back in March 2020, just before the Covid lockdown, the Ring of Fire-race around Mt Ruapehu had been cancelled. Despite this, I decided to run parts of the course anyway since I had been so excited to do this race.

Together with friends, I headed to Tongariro National Park to enjoy our last days of relative freedom. At the base of Mt Ngauruhoe, I bumped into a random runner with whom I've since went on breathtaking mountain adventures. Both a bit nuts about volcanoes and mountain peaks, this was a good fit. 

This year, in July 2024, we planned to run up Mt Etna in Sicily. With a volume of about 350 cubic kilometres and an area of around 1200 square kilometres, Etna is Europe's largest volcano. Also the most active.

Our plan was to head up to the main crater at 3340m. We were aware of the volcano's activity and occasional eruptions, but what were the chances of anything significant happening while we were in the area?

Shortly before our departure, we checked again. Lava and ash were spewing just two days before our arrival in Catania. At times, even the airport was closed. We were excited but knew we had to adjust our plans. Initially, we drove our car to about 2000m altitude, which was manageable despite the recent volcanic activity. 

When we arrived, apart from a gas cloud, the mountain had gone quiet again. We set up camp to spend the night on the volcano. Then, at 2:00 in the morning, it happened. Looking at the main crater, we saw lava fountains shooting hundreds of metres into the air. 

It was an unbelievable sight. We quickly packed up to get closer to the spectacle. Just on a side note: Etna is a relatively "friendly" volcano; its eruptions, while impressive, are somewhat predictable due to its continuous activity and very close monitoring. We were aware of the risks and prepared with a mask, helmet and other safety gear.

The beauty of this experience was yet overwhelming. With a mix of fascination, awe, and caution, we eventually climbed to 2850m and couldn't take our eyes off the scene. We had the whole world to ourselves, with the night sky glowing red from leaping lava and fire bombs, transitioning to a quieter, vivid glow by morning. 

We opted for a bit more safety distance by then, settling comfortably with a two-day-old croissant on a cooled lava rock to have breakfast; still in disbelief about what we had witnessed, still watching the ash plume that was rising about 4k into the air. We could hear the mountain rumbling while looking down on the city of Catania, that was slowly waking up; so much had happened in the last 3-4h when everyone seemed to be fast asleep. Our minds were rushing like speed trains and we’re so grateful to be able to share this experience that had somehow started on New Zealand's central plateau volcanoes a few years ago.

By the way, Etnas main peak has now risen to 3369m due to this eruption, and the eruptive episode is still ongoing. Let's see where our next adventure takes us :)

August 28, 2024

Fiona Curry

Kia ora from Cumbria, England!

Firstly, we are massive fans of the show, and yours is the first podcast myself and my husband have found that we can listen to for 8 hours+ continuously on a long drive south to see family, so thank you!

We also love New Zealand, and visited for our honeymoon in December 2018 for a month, and are planning a big revisit probably in the next 10 years (it's really far and we have a 4 1/2 year old labrador called Morris now we wouldn't want to leave for that long). Anyway!

We love the segment -greatest run ever-, and enjoyed our run on Saturday so much, that we knew we had to write in.

We moved to Cumbria in July 2021 from Cheltenham in the south of England. My mum was from the north-east of England and at least three generations of the women in her family have been bringing their children to the north of  Cumbria to stay in a camper-van including me and my siblings. When I brought my now- husband James to visit and camp in Cumbria for the first time summer of 2013, we both ended up revisiting most years every bank holiday we could, to camp and hike. We thought we might move here when we retired, but life and a pandemic happened, and working from home/combined with office work meant we were able to move to Cumbria in 2021. 

We graduated from road runners to very keen trail and fell-runners since we moved here. Particularly fell running is really popular here, with the Bob Graham round definitely in our sights for the future. Fast-packing and ultra-running are two things we've started this past year, and the Cumbria Way, from Ulverston south of Cumbria, to Carlisle in the north, was something we really wanted to do. 

On Saturday 6th July, we set off from Premier Inn in Ulverston just after 6am, with the intention of getting to Keswick (46ish miles) in about 12 hours. This is the longest run we've ever done by about 14 miles. The last long run being the tearound (George Fisher is a shop in Keswick, you run all the mountains you can see from the cafe window- it's awesome!) We had planned to do this adventure in March, but we ended up travelling to a family funeral on the Isle of Wight and listening to your podcast to keep us sane on the very long journeys to and from the island. My (was at the time) 92 year old grandma then broke her hip and fractured her shoulder on the island, the day before the funeral, and i with family have been working since then to help get her care at home 2 months after she was allowed home from hospital. She's since been diagnosed with vascular dementia. This Saturday, we were in a position 4 months on, to be able to return to the plan of this run, my grandma now being safe at home with care support in place. 

The weather was incredible, around 15-16 degrees and sunny, the whole section from Ulverston to Coniston water was new to us, and we were rewarded with beautiful views behind us towards the Hoad Monument in Ulverston and the sea and then moving towards the mountains and the Lake District National Park ahead of us, knowing we would be running up the Langdale valley into the mountains. We ran next to Coniston water through the woodland, passing a paddle boarder with their dog on their board and running past a full campsite and Duke of Edinburgh award school students on their expeditions. We had loaded up on recently tested tailwind to keep us fuelled and were happy that this helped us feel great until a banana bread and tiffin stop at Coniston.

After Coniston, we also passed Tarn Howes, a beautiful spot we had walked around before, and eventually Elterwater, where James heard someone call out his name, and it happened to be someone he works with out for a Saturday stroll with their family. We followed the Way to Langdale and watched a wall of weather coming through the mountains in the valley, and just out-ran it, taking shelter in a pub for some chips and (regretted later) a scotch egg. I may have had eyes bigger than my stomach and might not have a MASSIVE meal with 16 miles to go in future...lesson learned! It was then waterproofs on for the next hour climbing eventually up stakes pass through langdale out and over, when the rain cleared and the views opened up back over langlade and towards Rosthwaite via stunning waterfalls and views for days. 

We were both starting to flag at this point, but topped up bottles in another clear, cold and beautiful stream (not short of those in the lake district). Even struggling in the pain cave a bit, we could both appreciate how special it was to be outside all day, testing ourselves together and connecting paths that we'd walked in different hikes bagging wainwrights (214 peaks Alfred Wainwright wrote about in his books) in one Way. There were no dead miles/no boring miles, just beautiful, varied and interesting miles of views, waterfalls, water and people enjoying being outside. 

When we finally approached towards Rosthwaite, we were on the home straight on one of our well-trodden regular Sunday long runs, towards Derwent water and back into Keswick, where the famous moot hall is to finish the bob graham round. James touched it to finish (though it's not a cumbria way thing!) and we drove home tired, but fully satisfied from an epic adventure together.  

It's been a tough start to the year for my family, and we've had quite a few tough years, as my mum and aunt unfortunately both died in their early 60s between 2015-2019. My uncle then passed away this year at 70, so for someone in their early 30s, i've ended up thinking alot about life and not knowing how much time i might have. Running is a community of people that inspire me, and trail and fell running, short or long is a way that i can focus entirely on being outside, looking after myself, and navigating where I'm going. Everything else empties from my mind- work, caring responsibilities, volunteering, anything else on the jobs list. It's given me resilience and strength to support others, and gives me a healthy output for emotions. We ran the Yorkshire three peaks race for the first time this year and i literally cried over the finish making the cut-offs, in front of the race director (!) This time with my husband, was the culmination of my starting training since January through the winter, so that our bodies can go further, and enjoy piecing together more of the county we love and live in. 

August 14, 2024

James Bodycoat

I think mine might actually be two different training runs where shit just fell together unplanned... You know the ones where you just head out the door and a km or so in you realise holy shit, I'm on here... Best go with it, coz you never know when you'll next feel this way...

My best would be a half at my local oval where I set out to go for a set time, but quickly realised I was on and way ahead of that target, and just ended up holding on for dear life and absolutely smashed my 10k, 15k and halfa PB by a lot.

Another one was on a hill segment we have locally that is an 8k round trip (4k there, 4k back, and has 230m of vert)... Anyway, about a km in I realised I was going a lot quicker than normal but I felt at ease... So went with it and treated myself, ended up smashing my PB there and took a crown we all thought locally was unobtainable.

In an event my best would be I think SCC the last time I did it back in 2021... Went in off the back of not much running through the month leading in due to a dicey knee... My wife and I fully expected at best I'd reach the halfway point and need to quit... I did the first leg super cautiously and was 35min slower on leg 1 than the year before... Anyway, got to end of leg 2 and felt fine so kept going, and not only reeled back that 35min slower first leg, but ended up another 45min ahead overall compared to my previous year, for an 80min turnaround from end of leg 1 onwards.

Common theme, when you're on, you're on, and you got to go with it!

July 31, 2024

Benny Fraser

I'm sitting in my car on a beautiful winter's day in Tamaki Makaurau after what certainly feels like the greatest run ever!

It wasn't a mountain summit or 52 loops at a BYU.

In fact, it wasn't even on the trails which I have fallen in love with.

I've forgotten why I run as of late, I had got bogged down in a goal I had set for myself at the next event I'm training for.

Running had become something I had to do, I needed my training peaks to turn green. Warm up into tempo, X kms @marathon pace, heart rate below X, data blah blah blah. If I'm going to reach my goal I need to tick the box, and if I don't tick the box I won't reach my goal, and if I don't reach my goal, who the hell am I?

I've felt stretched  thin, I have a young family, a puppy, I'm self employed, I'm tired and I always feel like I'm on the verge of getting sick.

Running has gifted my so much over the last 4 years, as Mr Matt Rayment would say 'Running isn't therapy but it is therapeutic' and this has been the case for me, it's taught me the power of consistency, delayed gratification, being part of a community, I can do hard things, I've had some incredible experience, Kepler, crossing the finish line at TUM102 in tears with my mum and pregnant partner waiting at the finish line, running with mates a 6am in the forest laughing and chahooing like madmen. Just to name a few.

As of late, Running has become something I had to do, not something I got to do.

Today, I had another run I HAD to do, 10km easy into 5km tempo, I parked up in mission bay after an early work meeting, it's a beautiful day, but I was dreading having to get this run done and hit the numbers. Tick the box.

"Just get it over and done with," I said to myself as I waited for my GPS to load.

Off I set, before I had run 100 metres, I bumped into Jaime Stevenson, I had only met Jaime a few times but we had lots of mutual friends and I alway enjoyed our interaction, we started running and chatting, the conversation flowed, we talked about out families, our pets, I shared my story of running and my involvement with the Speed Freaks, I was inspired hearing about Jaime's running achievements and her goals, after almost an hour running together I said goodbye and turned to run back to the car with a big smile on my face, 

I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time, gratitude, how lucky was I that I get to run, my pace sped up, I felt free and easy, I think this is called the runner's high, pure joy. I even had a few of those cheesy high fives with fellow runners running towards me, the world was smiling at me, as I returned to my car, I stopped, I realised I hadn't looked at my watch the whole run, I took a moment to look over the water towards Rangitoto, THIS IS WHY I RUN.

Thank you Jaime for the connection and inspiration and for reminding me I GET to run, I don't HAVE to run. For you, it may have just been a mid week long run, but for me, my joy and gratitude for running returned and that made it the greatest run ever. The funny thing is, after not being able to hit my numbers, I absolutely nailed my prescribed run without even trying.

July 3, 2024

Campbell Willis

The Northburn 100 miler is an ultra marathon set amidst the breathtaking landscape of central Otago, spanning one of the largest Merino sheep stations in the nation. With its formidable vertical challenges, both uphill and downhill, there’s no escaping the raw elements of nature. Despite two previous attempts in 2013 and 2016, where victory eluded me, the allure of Northburn never faded from my mind. In 2024, fueled by an unwavering determination, I was more resolved than ever to conquer this ultimate test of endurance.

Nearly seven years had passed since my last endeavour. Still, finally, everything fell into place: with the assurance of long service leave, the steadfast backing of my wife Tanya, and the invaluable guidance from Jamie at Run Vault Performance, I embarked on what promised to be the most monumental challenge in my ultrarunning adventures. Months of relentless training, methodical preparation, and unshakeable resolve had brought me to this moment. As I stood on the brink of the journey, I harboured a blend of respect for the course ahead and an innate assurance, a deep-seated belief that this was my moment to shine.

Without hesitation, my Dad offered to drive me to the starting line of Northburn in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Considering the health hurdles he’d faced over the past year, I cherished this gesture, understanding its significance all too well. He’d been a steadfast presence throughout every attempt, and having both him and Mum there to witness the journey added another layer of motivation to finish what I had started.

Standing at the start line, I embraced a calm acceptance, positioning myself at the back of the pack, intent on running my own race. As we embarked on the course, greeted by the sun and rugged terrain, the raw beauty of nature became evident. Amidst the stunning scenery, I felt a profound vitality and gratitude for the opportunity to return to Northburn.

In the first loop, I concentrated on pacing, staying mindful of nutrition and hydration, and keeping a steady effort. I felt strong on the uphills and managed the downhill sections well. With my mantra, “Be at my feet,” I stayed present, avoiding getting ahead of myself. Mentally ticking off each leg of the journey, I maintained control and felt at ease amidst the challenge.

Towards the end of the first loop, I tackled the renowned loop of deception. It was a demanding section with challenging climbs, technical descents, and the heat. I encountered my first hurdle of the day as my stomach rebelled. Negative thoughts crept in, but I focused on reaching the checkpoint, understanding the importance of connecting with loved ones, and resetting for Loop 2.

Upon reaching the checkpoint, a momentary panic gripped me as I couldn’t spot my crew immediately. A reassuring call to Mum confirmed they were nearby, and a pep talk from Terry encouraged me to take things slow and not rush back into the heat. Finding shade, sipping on some trusty ginger beer, and connecting with loved ones provided the much-needed boost. With renewed spirits, I was prepared to tackle Loop 2.

Loop 2 presented the daunting challenge of the infamous death climb, a grueling 14-kilometre ascent to Leaning Rock, the course’s highest point. This climb had been my undoing in previous attempts, but I approached it with newfound determination and resilience this time. Joining forces with another runner towards the top, Amanda, whom I had connected with before the race, enhanced the journey. Reaching the summit at Leaning Rock, I was greeted by awe-inspiring views, filling me with profound gratitude for the opportunity to be there and pursue my passion. I felt a deep connection to myself, my community, and the land beneath my feet—a remarkable sensation.

Entering the Water Race, a famed section I’d only heard stories about, I felt energized and navigated smoothly. As the sun set on the first day, I ascended to TW aid station, marking my return to the top of the course. Departing TW, I descended toward Cromwell but soon felt discomfort in my right ankle. With each downhill stretch, the pain worsened, challenging my mental resilience.

The final stretch of this loop is the ‘pylon track,’ characterized by endless undulations and switchbacks that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. In the early morning hours, fatigue and doubts began to creep in, leading me to question again if this would end in another did-not-finish (DNF) scenario. Then, I took a step back from my thoughts, reassessing my position in the race and reminding myself that all I needed to do was complete the loop. As I approached the last few kilometres, I felt a renewed determination to see this through to the end, proudly committing myself to continuing onto Loop 3.

Feeling a bit disoriented at the checkpoint, but with Tanya’s comforting words and guidance, I gathered myself and prepared for the final loop. I couldn’t help but feel grateful and filled with love for Tanya, who was there in the early morning hours, supporting me despite little sleep and helping me pursue my dreams. After a brief nap, I acknowledged that it would be a tough day ahead, bid farewells, and ventured into uncharted territory—the start of Loop 3.

The loop commenced with a challenging ascent to Mt. Horn and onwards to TW, covering 17 kilometres, with 15 of those kilometres uphill. Despite the daunting terrain, I persevered, uplifted by the encouragement of the dedicated volunteers and the unwavering support from friends and family afar. Reaching TW for the second time, I braced myself for the demanding Loop of Despair. At 127 kilometres into the race and struggling to maintain pace on the downhill sections, I summoned every ounce of determination to continue onward, fully aware that each step brought me closer to the finish line. Returning to TW, I embarked on an out-and-back leg to Leaning Rock.

Hobbling back to TW for the last time, I knew the final downhill stretch would be brutal. Despite the pain, I pushed forward, reminding myself that it would eventually end. Towards the bottom of the climb, I came across the first flat, runnable section of the course, but unfortunately, by that stage, my ankle/shin would have none of it. Just keep moving forward!

Up to this point, I approached the challenges of the trail with a determined mindset, taking each climb, loop, and descent in stride. However, as I reached the notorious Bicycle Wheel climb, I encountered a formidable obstacle that tested my resolve like never before. The ascent was grueling, and with every step upwards, I knew I would soon face the equally demanding descent. By the time I reached the summit, the intensity of the pain was undeniable. Yet, amidst the struggle, I found a familiar determination to persevere. Each obstacle was just another opportunity to push through the discomfort and keep moving forward, reaffirming the resilience of both body and spirit.

The last leg was a whirlwind of agony and resolve. Tears flowed, prayers were sent to the running gods, and I rallied myself with inner pep talks. I’d traversed a long road, and nothing would deter me now! As the light dimmed, strange shapes and illusions danced before my eyes—I even fancied seeing my Mum on a swing, urging me to keep going. I paused to capture a photo of the 1km to go sign, a poignant symbol marking the culmination of an 11-year journey nearing its end.

As I neared the final 500 meters, I spotted my beloved wife and daughters—an encounter so surreal that I had to embrace them to confirm their presence. Sharing those last moments with them was an unforgettable experience etched in my memory. With my girls and parents by my side, I triumphantly crossed the finish line, greeted by Terry and overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. I finally realised the magnitude of my accomplishment—I had conquered the Northburn 100.

In the days that followed, the magnitude of my achievement sank in. I couldn’t have done it without the incredible support of my loved ones, especially Tanya, Ruby, Sylvie, Mum and Dad, whose sacrifices and unwavering belief in me carried me through the toughest moments. To my family, friends, coach Jamie, and support team – your encouragement and support meant everything.

Finishing the Northburn 100 wasn’t just about crossing a finish line; it symbolized the strength of perseverance, resilience, and the remarkable connections formed amidst adversity. Reflecting on this accomplishment, I’m grateful for the journey and the exceptional individuals who supported me.

Campbell’s blog

June 19, 2024

Bogdan State

It was 1 am and I couldn’t sleep. Three alarms were set on my phone, the earliest at 3:45 am. I was in a small stuffy room at my hostel in Te Anau. I needed to be up that early to have a shot at running the Kepler Track, on the last day of my trip down South — I only had a very short window of opportunity between two cold fronts coming in. For a few hours, the weather on the tops would be runnable — outside those few hours, the first blizzards of the season.

If I can’t sleep I might as well get a move on. But why was I even doing this to myself? Why get out in the cold night to do something unhinged? Wasn’t it going to be dangerous? Besides, could I even do this at all? I had just finished running the Milford Track 33 hours before. I had plenty of excuses to take it easy. This was not on the official program for my running trip — just a small note in my calendar, “Kepler Track” set for today. That and the power of public half-hearted commitment, and an enthusiastic response from my running mates.

Deep down I knew I could pull this off. I had spent the previous year voraciously going through the DCR back catalogue while building up my weekly distance. I had learned to love vert and mud, through the misery-is-the-point ethos of Big Sunday Runs, a running group made for the Wellington hills. Even though my legs were tired they still felt up to the task. Crazy to think I could do it still. “I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?” Sometimes you just got to take on the unhinged, and get a move on into the cold night, but not before you pack a PLB, three torches and a spare set of batteries.

I got out at 1 am and made my way to the control gates, a full moon lighting my path on the lake side. I could always go back at the gates I told myself. But I did not. I turned left towards Rainbow Reach. If I was going to run in the dark, might as well go through the bush first — not much to see there in the daylight. Besides, it felt like a wise choice to stick to the lower altitudes at night. And there might be kiwi along the way.

The night-time bush run was magical indeed. I got to Moturau around 3:30 am, and started hearing kiwi calls soon after. The bush felt interminable, longer than my first set of torch batteries could accommodate. Thank goodness for those spare batteries! The trail got gnarlier as I approached Iris Burn — I was certainly not going to be breaking any records. And then disaster struck at Big Slip. I was in ankle deep mud, two hours before day break, when my torch gave out again. One of the spare torches turned out to be out of juice, and so started a mad dash to the bottom of my backpack in the dark for my one remaining hope — the barely-adequate torch I had gotten when I started running with WoRM on Wellington hills a year prior. Luckily the torch worked and I was back to a running at an awkward shuffle pace under the underpowered beam.

I finally reached iris burn around 6:30 am and took a break in the common room, eating a mixture of olives and Oreos and the one waffle I had left over from Tarawera (yum!). Getting a change of socks felt like the biggest luxury given my soaked feet. Trampers were already leaving ahead of me by the time day break drew nearer. My legs were already tired — I had already run longer the prior week than I ever had in my life so far, so I was not looking forward to the next climb. But at this point there was nowhere to go but forward, so might as well get on with it.

The climb to Hanging Valley started out painfully. I thought I would probably tramp my way up. The first steep bits gave way to slightly flatter switchbacks and I started running a few metres at a time. Then I came across the first trampers and I felt obligated to run a bit longer — after all I was not the one carrying a huge pack! Heart rate up, Oreos in the blood stream, feet go faster. Beast mode engaged for this middle-aged non-athlete. Dopamine kicking in. Out of the bush line, magical views to snow dusted peaks. The last pair of trampers ahead, a couple of American women belting My Heart Will Go On. I seize the moment — well, my brain on dopamine does — and join in. My singing is atrocious, but the moment is too good. I did apologize for the mild fright I gave them and my lack of musical skills and even served as impromptu photographer to help them capture the moment.

Finally on the tops, there’s a fresh layer of snow. No footprints ahead of me, except tiny ones shaped like three drops. Snow dusted stairs going up. There sure is a lot of climbing. Up in the sky something that looks like a hawk. Actually it’s a kea, landing nonchalantly next to me. It likely was the author of the claw prints I had see before. I stop to take pictures, the views are extraordinary, even on my barely functioning, soft-focus-by-now phone camera lens.

After Hanging Valley shelter the weather turns. The wind starts gusting and there are the first flurries. The clag starts rolling in, as do the trampers. Some say hello back, others are too busy fighting the horizontal sleet to say anything. A long way to Luxmore. My glasses freeze so I have to run without. 

I eventually make it to the hut for a second break. The rest of the Oreos are gone. After Luxmore a slow descent down to the lake and the final run back to the gates, where Carly Webber, the fairy godmother of Te Anau, takes pity on me and gives me a ride back to town.

Blistered soles, full cup, longest run ever, best run ever.

P.S.: thanks to Lee Webber for lending me his torch, and to Anna Frampton whose encouragement / teasing got me to actually run this mission.

June 05, 2024

Natalie Seay 

After many greatest runs ever, written in my head while out running, I’ve finally put pen to paper. Here is my Greatest Run Ever: The Cavalcade – Central Otago, 6 days of running awesomeness.

The Cavalcade starting in 1991 re-tracing the Cobb & Co Coach’s journey from Dunedin to the Dunstan Goldfields, via the Dunstan Trail 1862. On November 22, 1991, the first Cavalcade left from Rockland’s Station, near Middlemarch, and headed inland for the Dunstan, to end the journey at Cromwell. Over 220 people participated in the inaugural Cavalcade, with 240 horses, a Gold Coach, wagons, carts, gigs and buggies.

Walking was introduced in 1994 and about 6 years ago MTB and running were also introduced. I first saw this event on Country Calendar and immediately put it on my bucket list.

The beauty of the Cavalcade is not only do you get to run in some magnificent countryside you get to start at a different place every year.

2022 was the year I finally got to enter due to COVID cancelled events being pushed back by this stage I had talked my husband Matt to come along too, but unfortunately it got pushed back to 2023 due to restrictions to us in the North. It was so worth the wait.

2023 was our year and what a banger it was.

Our cavalcade adventure  was 6 days from Ben Nevis to Millers Flat  and approx 190km. 

We averaged 30kms per day with the longest being 50km. Each day was a point to point finishing at a different destination. Everyday was doable. You started at 8am, carrying a day pack. 

There were groups of every pace with a leader and no one got left behind. Yes there were a couple of days when some groups went a bit of track, but we all made it safely back to each campsite before dinner.

We got to see some amazing country and hang out with some amazing people and at the end of each day we would regale, drink beers and generally be content.

Our group of about 27 were from all over NZee and we all just got along so well. Our hosts Roger, Joy, Pete and Cheryl were amazing. They would transport our gear and feed us great food. Whether you were vegan, GF, DF or a meat eater – all diets were covered. Pete had a fridge so we could put our beers in to keep cold for the end of the day. 

Roger is a legend who has not only done multiple ultras but has also walked the length of the country following SH1. He is a power walking extraordinaire.

Also good sort Terry Davis, who was the event director, came along for a couple of days before heading back to be part of the rest of the event. Great to spend day 1 with Terry scaring the shit out of me by sidling along scree covered mountains. Good times.

One day we headed up to the Obelisk on Old Man Range. Another day we were running along the Dunstan Trail and another day being boated down the Clutha River hooking one trail up to the next.

Our last day was a 13km meander to Millers Flat. We all showered and headed to town for the parade. What an awesome event. Each group paraded through the town – walkers, runners, MTBers, then the horses came through. When you live in the big smoke it is something to behold.

Lastly and again one of the main reasons for doing the event is the Hoe Down. Millers Flat is in the middle of nowhere and at the Hoe Down there were 400 people having the time of their lives. What an amazing end to an amazing week.

To be clear  this is not a race, and with a good level of fitness it is achievable by anyone. I have done quite a few ultras and trail running and tramping and this is by far the most epic adventure I have done. It still makes me smile remembering it. Will we be back. 100%. Not this year but next. It will be on my to do list for as long as I’m moving and able to have epic adventures.

May 08, 2024

Chris Martin

I spend a lot of my time on longer runs writing stuff that never finds a keyboard, it's like a fidget spinner for the mind. Today was not an opening paragraph for a greatest run-ever idea that will never be finished or ever noted down. Not sure if it was the cold, the sunrise, all the adulting going on but I think I poetry-ed, so if you are open a bit of a stretch of the brief:

Commute (early)

Quiet wheezing mass shuffles

forward in the softening grip

of winter's last breaths.

Dull teeth & pressure.

Discomfort displaced by the abundant embrace of sunrise,

and the horizon finding its way underfoot.

Endurance is not strength or grit....

Rather patience, sensitivity, presence or escape.

A gentle firm ask of the moment and all within.

Listening to that, that must be listened to.

Tending to that, that must be tended to.

And releasing that, that is no ally to the task at hand.

context:

Fasted hoof commute, 0530 rise, espresso for GI animation, toes on the road 0610, typical race kit in a vest, 2x soft flask, some emergency calories just in case (and a towel). 

The ask, is simple: get to work 20k(ish), go easy, and run within yourself. Be able to work and (stretch goals) do it tomorrow too.

music

https://open.spotify.com/album/4u7B3DAWWTgROfynsq9Fnf?si=QJIoaQdZRvSNLKALdaP86Q

https://open.spotify.com/album/677DDXZPYZLzkL1gCyRfIg?si=y44wzOsUSoa19QLsp8-R4A

legs are happy, mind sharp.

run strong.

April 24, 2024

Brendyn Montgomery

My greatest run ever, so far

It’s 4am and there are some stars out, a good sign. We’re up, coffee’d in record time and on the road from Punakaki to Blackball, headed for the start of the Paparoa. All week the forecast has been fluctuating but the general consensus is that there’s a great lump of rain sitting over the Tasman Sea just waiting to dump on the West Coast. Will it come in before we’re through the tops? Will it hold off til lunchtime? The lack of certainty prompts the early start. 

Lack of certainty is my achilles heel when it comes to running. I’ve been thinking about this run for ages, in fact I’ve definitely been overthinking it. As usual.

I’ve wanted to run an ultra for over 10 years. Each time I’ve built to a decent bit of fitness I’ve had things crop up (2 hernia ops in the space of 8 months, long term patella injury, plantar plate tear in my right foot, covid twice to name a few). You may even remember my previous greatest run ever being more injury recovery story than run (even though the run itself was fab). Some real physical challenges and definitely a mental barrier to break through as well. 

So I made a conscious decision to try and get out of my head for this mission. I’ve been sorely tested in the build up, visited by the ghosts of all my injuries past. “Here, have a knee niggle. Oh you’re going to go to the gym and do the physio exercises for that? Well what about a tight hammie, fine you seem ok with that, here’s something else…”. Each time I’ve had to have a talk with myself and lo and behold it’s nothing serious. 

6am and we’re off, the dawn is stunning. We wind our way up to Ces Clarke hut popping out onto the tops and it’s beautiful. Cold and windy though, gloves on. None of us have been more than 47km before so we’re taking it easy and mostly walking the hills.

At 13.5km in, the drizzle starts to set in. We can still see Barrytown beach below us but it’s pretty grey and windy on the tops. That’s not a good sign, it’s not even 9am. This could be a long, wet day. 

Past Moonlight hut, we wind into some forested bits. I’m just starting to feel a bit low, my glutes are tired and I’m wondering if this is going to be a struggle. Stop it, you’re overthinking this again. 

Suddenly we round a corner into some patchy sunshine. The vegetation’s true colours shine through, vivid and delightful. The rain is gone and the visibility increases. My friend Joe and I are in the lead and rounding every corner reveals some new glorious vista. Fantastic slabbed rock formations, shear drops to the west and east. Rock escarpments that flow with the track and a sweeping argillite basin that photos struggle to capture. Endorphins are flowing and the sore legs and doubts are forgotten. By the time we are off the tops my cup is well and truely full. 

We pass below a spectacular waterfall and wonder what that would look like in the rain that still hasn’t arrived.

Pulling up to Pororari hut, we chat with the trampers who are a bit envious about us going through in a day. More respect is given when they find out we’re running, not biking. Only 17km to go, suddenly I know with certainty I can do this. It’s a wonderful realisation.

There’s even a bit of welcome drizzle to cool me off. 

At 43.1km (the exact distance of my previous longest run, give or take a GPS error or two) there is a bridge to cross, a metaphorical rubicon.

We’re stopped for a quick moment at 47km when we meet a runner who has come up the track from Punakaki. He jumps on the train but when the pace is slower, and the conversation more monosyllabic than he envisioned, he shoots off. I guess we might look like ultra running bad-asses but none of us are feeling it right now.  

At 50km there is a gate to go through. Another threshold crossed.

The swearing doesn’t start until we hit the steps in the last couple of Km. Really, there are only two dozen or so, I spare a thought for the folks running in the blue mountains. 

Before I know it, there are the pou, marking the end of the track. We’re done and super chuffed. What an epic day! Burgers and beer await. I’m so grateful, grateful to my friends who joined me on the mission and much of the training, grateful to the Paparoa which was absolutely stunning. 

The rain doesn’t hit in earnest until we are asleep.

April 10, 2024

Brook van Reenan

Hey guys a long time fan and repeat greatest run ever offender here but I think I have it nailed this time!

In 2015 I was introduced to what would become a life changing moment in my life.

I was super lucky and won an entry into the Kepler Challenge and introduced into the magical world of trail and ultra running which has since become a massive part of my life and made me who I am today.

While I completed the loop that year I have gone on to finish 4 more so hoping to collect my 5 year bling this year and join the likes of legends Dan Jones and Matt Rayment in that elusive club!

I digress.

Te Anau and the Kepler track holds a special place in my heart.

Last year I got the peak bagging bug hard and had the audacious goal of trying to summit 100 peaks in a calendar year.

It was a really cool thing to do, I got to visit lot's of new places, Immerse myself in nature and see some amazing sights.

One of those peaks included Mount Luxmore on the Kepler track, A summit you don't actually hit during the race so I had to make a special trip.

While collecting medals and crossing finish lines is cool this run was truly special.

After cruising to Te Anau the day before I camped out so I could get an early start and hopefully be on the tops for sunrise.

Waking up super early I slowly got ready and procrastinated a bit with my morning coffee scrolling insta as you do before making my way to the start of the track. As it was dark I couldn't see what the weather was doing but the forecast was for a nice day so I started the first 5 k flattish cruise to Brod Bay.

With my head torch lighting the path and my music cranking I was underway and got into that nice rhythm. 

40 minutes in something stopped me in my tracks, I couldn't believe what I saw, A Kiwi.

Minding its own business pecking at the ground with its massive beak, not even bothered that I was there.

I just stood there in awe watching it for what felt like forever but was only a couple of minutes sharing this moment with this elusive bird and my first Kiwi ever spotted in the wild.

In an instant he or she was gone into the bush so I carried on.

No more than 5 minutes later another one which must have been startled by the sounds I was making sprinted across the track in front of me and disappeared out of sight.

I couldn't believe it in all my 37 years I had gone from never seeing Kiwi to now seeing two birds 5 minutes apart.

I carried on and the sunrise above the bushline turned out to be better than expected.

Luxmore hut came into view and as it was late July it was pretty chilly on the tops so I stopped to put on more layers.

The Kea at the hut was being it's usual pesky self and one of the trampers informed me that this particular Kea is a local at the hut called Melsby! 

While these birds are always rad to see, seeing the Kiwi kind of out did the Kea this time around!

I continued to make my way up, chucked on my microspikes as I got above the snowline and made my way to the summit of Mount Luxmore.

Goal reached, Summit bagged and mandatory photos taken it was time to head back down and pretend I was in the Luxmore Grunt so gave it some jandal! 

It's an odd feeling crossing the control gates when there isn't a race on but I wrapped it up very satisfied with that day's work and headed to my regular when visiting Te Anau The Sandly Cafe for some much needed delicious coffee and food. How can a run like that be topped?

Hopefully I will get to see you guys in Te Anau for the 2024 Kepler edition and to get my 5 year finish.

March 27, 2024

Jo Ashton

My greatest run ever came soon after a terrible race in my hometown of Port Macquarie — a hot flat road run had left me and a friend who were both doing UTA soon afterwards feeling unmotivated and  doubting whether we could make it. 

My husband has just found out his upcoming Ironman race had also been cancelled ( thanks Covid) so when a first ever Inaugural St Albans Trail Race popped up on my Facebook feed I entered the three of us up on a whim even though it was only two weeks away. 

St Albans is tiny — I mean really tiny — town in NSW just north of Sydney, the kind of town where random dogs and cows seem to roam the streets. 

After a crazy drive involving a few dirt roads we set up camp at the start line and headed to the historic pub across the road where you felt like you could be in 1900. 

The next morning we headed to the start line and off on the dirt road not sure what to expect. In  the lead up to the race there had been a lot of rain so other creek crossings and mud became rather interesting. 

Being relatively new to trail running I didn’t yet realise mud and running don’t mix so managed to fall head over heels right in front of the official photographer – definitely a contender for my running club's photo of the year.

After a bit more mud we came across our first creek crossing (and my first ever), waist deep not so bad.

Next we got chased by a goat and then a cow along the path, and came across the kids/dog race which was hilarious as they had a creek crossing too – mud, dogs and kids is definitely an entertaining combo. 

On we went having a ball chatting and greeting all the amazing volunteers which appeared to be every member of town ages ranging from 5 to 105 all from the Rural Fire Service which the race was raising money for. 

Onto the last creek crossing this one was more interesting –  with the help of a rope and a lovely volunteer I managed to make it across though being rather short the water managed to come up to my neck so I had to shimmy across with my running vest balanced precariously on my head much to everyone’s amusement. 

Onto the last few kms and I could confidently say my running mojo was back. All I needed was a bit of mud, some beautiful scenery, friends and trail running. What a way to spend a day!

March 13, 2024

Eve Southan … she’s done it again …

Well I seem to have had another animal related GRE! Who knew I could have another run that involves an animal rescue! Here is an updated story for your consideration.. 

Back in 2021 I had my GRE, when I refloated a dolphin while out for a run. I thought that was the end of my animal rescue days but I was wrong. 

A few weeks ago a group of running friends and I headed up onto the Skyline trail in Wellington from the Old Coach road end. It was a beautiful Welly day and we were enjoying the view and undulating trails as we headed towards Karori. 

As usual the conversation was flowing and the km's were passing quickly when all of a sudden I heard one of our crew yell out 'kitten'! We stopped in our tracks and sure enough there was a tiny, fluffy kitten on the side of the trail. 

The poor wee thing had quite a nasty head wound and so we quickly wrapped him up in a spare merino top (another reason to carry emergency gear!). He was very wriggly but soon settled into the top as we stood around trying to figure out what we were going to do next. We were very close to a tun off to Ōtari-Wilton's bush, but also very far away from our cars. 

So we called some friends we knew that were heading out for a Kaukau mission and managed to catch them before they had started, so they could swing by and collect the kitten. We still had a couple of km's to navigate to get to the meeting point so our kitten was about to experience his first trail running adventure.

Muni carried him out in front of him, which is pretty tricky to do on the trails and we headed down the fastest route to meet up with our friends with the car for the kitten transfer. From there we carried on with our run back up onto the Skyline and the little bundle of fluff was taken to the wonderful Animal Medical Center for assessment and care. 

The rest of our run was full of kitten chat as we came with possible names and I am pretty sure we all ran through the possibilities of keeping him. As we went back past the spot we found him we had a look around for more kittens, but we couldn't see any others. 

The kitten is doing really well, estimated at about 4 weeks old, it looks like although he won't have full vision in his damaged eye, he gets to keep it. He has found a new home with the vets family. I hear that is considered a foster fail when it's no longer a foster, but I think it's a success. The other good thing about us getting the kitten off the Skyline is the protection of wildlife in the area. There have been Kiwi released not that far away and Ōtari-Wilton's bush is full of beautiful birds too. I know he won't be the only cat up on the Skyline, I have actually seen a wild cat up there before and will be sure to keep an eye out from now on when running around on the trails up there. 

I wonder what the next GRE animal addition will be!

February 28, 2024

Tanja Rosendorfsky

I have been so inspired by so many greatest runs ever that I started to think what my greatest run ever was and hope this can help inspire someone else out there.

To give a bit of context I have never been a runner at all. In fact I hated it and saw it more as a boring chore. I rather went into the mountains and pursued rock climbing, mountaineering and particularly ski mountaineering. I felt strong until this one little incident in 2020 when someone ahead of us pulled off some rocks.

I was hanging on a steep section unroped when one of those rocks hit my head. Thanks to my helmet I didn't lose consciousness and my well trained body managed to hold on. We finished the climb but my life should change forever after this. I really struggled returning to my passion no matter how hard I trained. And I started to feel weaker physically and mentally. 

I was drained from trying hard over and over again to preserve what felt like it had gone.

One of those frustrating mornings after another failed attempt the day before, I decided to put my running shoes on and go as far as my legs would carry me.

I downloaded some inspiring podcasts, one of them being an episode of DirtChurch Radio. I can't remember the episode but the story in the 'Greatest Run ever' really kept my motivation high. I ran up the hill which was tough and then along the familiar trails of the Port Hills. It is crazy how your perspective changes from biking and using these trails as access for climbing all the time compared to just feeling the ground under your feet and responding to it. 

I felt the cold wind in my face clearing my mind and drying the tears that were streaming down my face as I just let my mind flow at the same pace as my legs underneath me. It felt so freeing and for the first time I could let go of the grieve that was holding me so tight. In the end I finished aching and happy at 21km - a distance I would have never thought I was capable of. Running has changed my perspective on things a lot and I am very grateful for it being part of my life now. It has created more moments of suffering and hard work but also more moments of intense joy. It helped me feel strong again which allowed me to return to mountain climbing. And it all started on that one day in the Port Hills.

February 14, 2024

Mark Ford

I want to share with you my "greatest run ever." Now, it might not sound like much—a humble 20-minute slow run around the block. But let me tell you, it's the backstory that makes this run truly special.

It all began with the 2018 Old Ghost Road Ultra (OGR). I finished mid-pack, utterly captivated by the rugged beauty of the west coast landscape. I was hooked. I poured my heart into training for another go at OGU in Feb 2019. But fate had other plans.

On February 9th, 2019, I was struck by a sudden and unexpected stroke. It left me paralyzed on my left side, struggling to speak and swallow. The cause? An undiagnosed hole in my heart. After weeks of intense rehabilitation, I slowly regained mobility. My first attempt at running was in a pool with my physio, where I had to teach myself to coordinate my arms like a runner once more. My arms initially moved more like a train, together in unison rather than alternating.

Four months after the stroke, I had the hole in my heart closed. Eager to run again, I anxiously asked my cardiologist when I could lace up my shoes. His answer filled me with relief—I could run as much as I wanted, once a minor cut in my groin healed. And so, six days after my operation, I embarked on that slow 20-minute run around the neighborhood with my wife by my side.

That run, that feeling of oxygen filling my lungs, was my greatest run ever. Something I'd once taken for granted had become a profound gift. Since that day, I've made a remarkable recovery. While some lingering effects remain, they haven't held me back. I've conquered the 65km WU2K, The Resilience, and Valley Ultra, even tackling the coast-to-coast mountain run in 2021 as part of a team.

And now, in 2023, I'm gearing up for another shot at OGR in 2024, five years after my stroke. My journey back to this incredible event is more than a personal feat—it's a chance to raise awareness for stroke, offer hope to survivors, and hopefully raise some funds for the New Zealand Stroke Foundation.

So, when I hit those trails, I'm not just running for myself. I'm running for everyone who's faced their own uphill battle, proving that with determination, anything is possible.

Thanks for listening, and see you on the trails.

January 31, 2024

Rob

While I consider myself a trail runner, I'm afraid that when I stop and think about my greatest run ever, I'm a fake, a fraud, and a phoney. It's not a race, a mountain summit, or trail run. It's not even outdoors. My greatest run ever was on... a treadmill.

To set the scene, several years ago as an obese person I decided to take up running. I knew nothing about it at all, so naturally I went out and immediately bought a treadmill and put it directly in my living room. I was mocked by my family and friends and told that it would just be used for hanging laundry upon, but after a few days I gave it a shot. I made it 160 metres, and even that was difficult.

Over the course of a few weeks I managed to get up to about a 1 km here and there, sporadically. I decided to embark on a couch-to-5k plan, but after several mis-starts and setbacks, I eventually got my first ever 5k done. It felt magical. 

The day of my greatest run I was attempting a similar 5k on the treadmill. I'd only managed a 5k to that point a couple of times, and as the distance approached I was utterly knackered. I didn't own a running watch back then but I can tell you from experience now that I was running everything at the utter red line, 100% max heart rate. As an obese person that still wasn't fast, time wise.

However something happened at that moment. I felt a desire deep down that I didn't want to go on being this way physically, and that the process I was currently doing could fix that situation in a very direct way. A red mist seemingly descended. I paused the treadmill for a brief moment, went to the kitchen to grab whatever I could. I didn't know what I needed exactly but I knew people who ran usually ate stuff, so i came back with a variety of snack bars and bottles of water and pressed onwards into the unknown, distance wise.

The rest of the run was a blur. I barely remember any of it, but I can say I ran harder that day than at any other time since. I somehow got to 15k and I remember thinking "I'm going for the half marathon, right here, right now, even if it kills me" and meant it. An absurd goal that morning to be sure, but at that moment it seemed possible, somehow.

My wife returned home to find me laying on the floor, the room covered in empty wrappers and drinks bottles. I'd managed it, and god it felt so good, but I was utterly spent.

That run 8 or so years ago was the exact moment that began a fairly massive weight loss and sparked a love for running. I'm now happy to say that I'm firmly an outside runner and I look forward to doing the Tarawera miler this year, but I think back fondly knowing that it all started with that run. That's my greatest run ever.

p.s: We still have the treadmill. It's mostly used for hanging laundry.

January 17, 2024

Tanja Rosendorfsky

Indigenous people say that you can only truly connect to the land once you set your feet onto it. So here I was again on a beautiful Saturday morning at the start of the Paparoa Trail - 53km of trail ahead of me, but this time instead of a bike, I had just my feet to carry me through.

Starting a trail without options to bail could leave you with a couple of questions, or a sense of adventure, or both. I have come to a point where despite the questions, I have a strong belief in my ability to endure discomfort.

From about 12 km in I would be by myself, no one to distract me when things hurt and no one else to focus on except my own rhythm. But I was excited to be back to this place that I feel a special connection to.

The first part of the trail felt slow - I felt sleepy, my mind was busy and my heart felt closed up. I knew I had to find a way to free myself from my expectations. Once on the ridge and by myself, I felt a deepening sense of presence - for this journey I had to be alone.

A fresh breeze from the South gave me new energy. I turned around and saw Aoraki and Te Horokoau on their icy thrones having my back. I smiled back and thanked them for the nudge.

After the ridge I was ready to dive into the ancient beech forest with its grey and green curtains of moss. I immediately feel as part of a fairy tale and a strong connection to the past.

After this trip back in time and diving into the rain forest - the part I love the most - I feel a fresh sense of energy. Lots of luscious green ferns - so big, so fresh and full of life. I found myself surrounded by so many korus - a gentle sign for the wonders of new beginnings.

This run was a reminder to sometimes take the leap of faith and create something new.

The energy gave me such a boost that I entered a state of flow- everything was light and I was able to move fast, having the biggest smile on my face. When I finally got a glimpse of the Pororari River weaving its way through the thick rainforest and spectacular architecture of limestone cliffs, I knew this adventure would come to a close soon. I finished in just over 8hrs, well below my expected time, with a full heart, a free mind, and deeply connected to this beautiful piece of land.

January 03, 2024

Martin Raudnic 

This one has been nearly 8 years in the making, but super cathartic to get pen to paper on this.

I lay on the snow, screaming my lungs out. An innocuous, slow-speed skiing accident had unscrewed my leg in the middle, leaving my tibia and fibula a mess of cracked bone. A helicopter ride off the mountain saw me with eight screws and a rod through the length of my tibia - Rod Stewart, as he was affectionately known.

Previously never much more than an on and off again recreational runner, trail running became a focal point of my recovery – a source of physical strength, a yardstick for measuring progress, and a deep mental satisfaction of being connected to nature by the trails on which I ran.

Flash forward a handful more years and I began being haunted by a deep gnawing pain through my leg and a growing sense of unease. Appointments. Diagnostics. No running. Feelings of helplessness. More appointments.

A leg which lit up like a Christmas tree in the bone scan imaging – huh?

I had osteomyelitis, a bone infection growing in the space between rod and bone – my body now turning on the hardware which had facilitated my recovery.

Crutches. Bed rest. Surgery to attempt to remove the rod. Failed surgery to remove the rod. Three months of antibiotics. An overwhelming sense of darkness. More surgery and rod successfully removed – minus half a screw.

Years later again, my Saturday long run saw me following the course of Te Awa Kairangi (the Hutt River) from Kaitoke to where it flows into Te Whanganui-a-Tara. The miles slipped by effortlessly, diffuse high cloud shielding me from the heat of the sun. An aid station in the form of the Stokes Valley petrol station, the rhythmic crunch of gravel under my shoes propelling me down the valley with an undeniable lightness of both body and spirit, and a smile on my face the whole way. Legs emptying, cup filling.

As I turned away from the river and ran down Petone esplanade towards my destination through families out enjoying the day, I was struck with an enormous wave of emotion, with tears welling up in my eyes as I was ambushed by an immense and unexpected feeling of gratitude.

I had experienced some incredibly dark moments across previous years, the highs of what running contributed to my life, the incredibly low lows of contemplating what a life without running could look like, and the overflow of these feelings into my general state of being. But here I was, experiencing my greatest run ever – fitter, stronger, faster, and happier than I had ever thought I could be.

What if I knew the best was yet to come?

This phrase kept repeating in my head as I ran onwards:

What if I knew the best was yet to come?

The parallels between what we experience as runners and in life as humans have been well explored. We face high highs, low lows, and the triumphs and setbacks which we experience in one can both contribute and detract from the other. Neither is consistently easy or effortless, each can be messy and soul destroying, or joyous and fulfilling – but it is these similarities and differences which attract us to the process of running.

I am not happy every day, nor is every run my greatest run, but through it all I am now reminded:

The best is yet to come.

December 06, 2023

Caitlin Knox

So what makes a run the greatest one ever? The people? The place? The snacks? The trails? I'm not really sure but I know that this one was pretty bloody special.

I have never felt like I've had the life changing run that would class as my best run, I'm pretty young so I hope I still have ages for another few epic runs to happen.

Summer 2021/22 was a great one for myself and running as I was training towards my first 100km race. The adventure planning started with my peak  long run for TUM coinciding with my family being away in the south island (I'm from Tauranga) so I did a bit of research into possible day-long adventures and I realised the Abel Tasman starts about 15min from where we were staying near Takaka... perfect. I was going to try and run the full thing in a day. I wasn't racing it, it was just going to be a steady solo day out on the trails for time on feet, and at that stage the furthest distance I'd ever covered, no biggie.

So on new years eve of 2021, I set off from Wainui car park just before 10 am with a full pack and a big smile. I waved goodbye to mum and dad and set off on the first 22km before I'd cross the Awaroa Inlet (my first ever water crossing in a run), hopefully at low tide if I had got my timings right to meet my non-runner parents for a supply drop. I took it easy and just enjoyed the beautiful views of Tasman beaches and stunning native bush, peppered with friendly greetings as I was passing hikers. I got to the crossing okay, and was a bit taken aback by just how much water there was to cross. I took a surprisingly good path across, managing to only get up to my knees wet, which if you've done the Abel Tasman will know is pretty lucky. I got to the other side and couldn't see mum and dad so I decided to take a seat at the hut and have lunch. 15 minutes later, I see mum and Dad walking towards the hut from the beach side, opposite to the track they were meant to be coming down from the carpark. Turns out the road to the carpark was an unsealed 4WD track, not quite ideal in our campervan. We all sat down for a bit and I got to hear about campervan drifting adventure, then being unable to spot the crossing markers to get here, having to walk all the length of the Inlet before they had their own water crossing, picking the worst and deepest spot and having to swim across because their feet couldn't touch the sand at the bottom. They were soaked in their normal clothes and jandals, but were happy to see me and drop off my food top up. After a slightly soggy sandwich, some hugs and a repack, I was off and back running. It was an absolutely stunning day, the beaches were golden and the water was sparkling and I was truly on a runners high for the next 30km. I had a bit of a dip in my mood and the final 10km were definitely a big effort, then before I knew it I was dropping down into Marahau to finish. I could see a hiker ahead of me and willed myself to finish strong with a sprint to get in front of him- I'm competitive as heck and it's something I like to try to do at the end of races too. Mum and Dad were there and cheering me on and it was an awesome finish to a truly epic and special day. 60 odd km's done in about 7.5 hours, no blisters or injuries, and I felt pretty great afterwards! Definitely was made even greater by the fact my parents got to share in the fun by having such a big adventure in the middle, having not been prepared to swim. But It makes this run so much more special for me because they put so much effort into helping me finish ( survived their drifting and near drowning) and its left lasting  hilarious memories that we can all look back on and laugh about. so yes it was a solo run but also not really because I couldn't have done it without them and I'm so appreciative of that!

Tarawera ended up getting cancelled because of our good mate C, then this year I caught it 2 weeks before I was meant to race so I'm hoping 2024 can be the year I finally get to do a 100km!

November 22, 2023

Aaron Kearney 

I only started running properly during the first COVID lockdown so I would have to call this a greatest run ever, despite doing a magic TUM 50 earlier this year for the first time.

Kinloch 2022. This was my first time doing the entire Run Taupo Trail Series and, as you know, Kinloch is the final of the three. I had elected to do the half marathon distance for all of them. I had only done Cougar in Tokoroa the year before. Craters had some epic scenery up behind Wairakei but nothing prepared me for the conditions at Kinloch. 

I travelled down with two friends, one who got me into running himself. I stupidly for some reason decided to only wear a sweatband on my head that day, despite normally wearing a peaked cap (or a big straw hat during summer like I did at Tarawera). Given how wet and muddy the conditions were, a peak would have been much more sensible. We registered and got our compulsory gear checked and stood around waiting for the start. Getting as damp as we did before the race even started should have given us an idea of how it would be.

Off we went and sploshed up the hill. You two know how dark and gluggy the mud can be on those hills. I normally listen to a podcast or an audiobook while running but this time I didn't get it out. Yet I found myself getting into this flow state as we got up on to the headland and I forgot about having anything in my ears. It was so wet and muddy and cold up there I could see mist rolling into the trees. It was only about 9 degrees. In conditions like that you talk to people a lot more and cajole each other up the hill. Once up the hill I remember flying down the other side thinking I could slip over at any minute. I came across one friend from my running club down the hill who had slipped over and ran with her for a bit. I got back down the hill as the rain kept streaming down and realised how knackered I was but couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. I knew I hadn't improved much on my average time but I just wanted to get under 3 hours. As I approached the Kinloch Domain I realised how much more surface water there was between me and the finish line as it is so low lying. I decided to do a Hammington in honour of our late great friend Rob Hammington, who was famous for sprinting at the end to the finish. I just remember pumping my arms like mad as I charged to that finish line sploshing up to my ankles in that water. I never slipped over on that run.

Getting through conditions like that with a smile on my dial gave me a lot more confidence of what you can get through when the weather turns against you.

November 8, 2023

Kendall Peacock

Why is it my greatest run ever? Collectively it ticked all the boxes, great people, challenging distance, challenging weather. Off the bat I didn’t make my distance goal as I was stopped by the course closure. That is what it is. 

This challenge started for me 12 months ago when I turned up to Blue Lake 22 waiting for ankle surgery the following week. Against my wife’s direction I hacked out 8 laps with a few friends and then stopped at last light before I hurt myself and had some explaining to do. So throughout the year I was dragging people into my crazy plan and we had a crew from Waipukurau of 9. We trained together on Sundays and really built this cool little running group. A few didn’t make it [to BL23] due to work commitments (one in the UK).  

We arrived at Blue Lake at midday Friday and the weather looked far better than expected, tents sites sorted and helped the fabulous crew with some set up. My wife was crewing me and was a little bit stressed, more worried about getting me through. So I avoided all that and went for a lap of TikiTapu with Chris [CMF Running]. A great opportunity to get some hints and tips from an experienced runner, and man the course was in good nick. 

Early to bed and up before the Christmas music started. Quick bacon and eggs on the BBQ and then round the tents to say hi to the friends I made the year before and a chat with some legends of the lake. Just before the start the rain started to come down and already the grass was getting muddy. And then a year of planning done and we were off. 

Slow lap to start and bumped into some amazing people and chatted along staying patient getting all my markers for the loop logged in my brain. What’s awesome when trail running is the discussions about resilience, life, life balance, training, mental health and learning life stories of people you’ve just met on the trail. 

Lap one done. Nutrition taken on board- plan was in place and working. So great seeing all our running friends out there working hard and fighting to achieve goals. We had some aiming for 60km three for 100km and some just wanting to move for 24hours (that was going to turn out to be really hard). 

The trail started to get muddy, slippery, technical and challenging. The rain would come in waves the wind would chill you on the road section and just be noise in the bush. I think we all knew the real bad weather was on its way, and still people kept running. So inspiring seeing the diversity on course. A few speedies but in the main people where just trucking through. 

The course was starting to get hard. Muscles that you would not normally use where getting a work out with the lateral sliding. Feet were taking a hammering with being wet and mud building up in your toes and shoe selection making either the road section hard or the downhills treacherous. 

My Scotts (shameless dirt church plug) where ideal and with a change to the supertracks as the rain worsened being a game changer. Things were going well. In off lap 12 and met my wife (like clockwork) at the board and felt good, round the tent loop and to our tent site. 

Then shit got real. I just wanted to sleep. 70 odd km, still daylight and the wheels didn’t just fall off, they went missing. Into the tent and down on the chair (only time for the run) and I wanted to quit. All the hard work to get here and I just didn’t care, I was tired. I wanted to sleep. Just curl up and close my eyes. 

Thanks to Nat that wasn’t going to happen. Changed shoes and socks. New top. Didn’t want to move. 10 minutes gone and Nat came into her own and got me up and pushed me out of the station and down the very muddy alley. I walked. I hit Lap where I always did at the tailwind tent and the lap of the race began. I walked. I wanted to sleep. I fact it wasn’t even walking - I was stumbling. 

It was still daylight, what was going on. “I’m done” turn around. Made it to the road. The step down hurt. On the tarmac “if I had my phone I could get Nat to pick me up”. Walking. Spectators giving me ups. Runners going past telling me I’m doing ok. “Is that a bench, I could sit down”. Past the Top Ten Holiday Park - “ok just walk this lap then quit”. 

Others that I had run with going past - ‘well done Kendall - keep pushing’. Still on the road section I tried to run the downhill, nope that’s no good, back to walking. Off the road section and managed to run, ok this is good make it to the roots section and walk to the top of the stairs. 

Stairs done and 20m past the gate I started to plod. By the time I hit the clearing I was back. Bomb the down hill. Back into camp with a 50min lap (which became important later). I was back. 13 lap done. In and out under 30seconds and we where on track. Dark came, change of top and windbreaker on. Temperature management in progress. 

Laps down. 17 done and firing on all cylinders. I could now see the end. 18, 19, long sleeve merino and raincoat on, anticipation the weather bomb. Legends speedies go past but it does nothing but inspire me.  

Out on lap 20 now with thought of only 7 after this. I calculate when I will finish lap 20, 15:30hrs (using total time not real time as daylight savings would have fried my brain) did some math, checked it a few times. 72minute laps required, hey my bad lap with a big slow walk was 50minutes. I had run the second half hard but had now settled into a really consistent pace, knowing where to walk and run, walk the routes and stairs, plod up the climb, avoid the rocks after the clearing, check the lap time at the pallets and manage the lap from there. 

We’ve got this!!! Runing up the hill into the tent, more for me that the small group of hardy souls at the tent. Wet, smiling, psyched. Then I saw my wife  - a tear in her eye. “Is she pulling me- really” a look over at the staff and I knew straight away what was happening, NOOOOOOOOOOO. The weather had started to get real bad. 

The course was like a river, the wind was up and it was only going to get worse. I could handle that. Been in worse for longer, been cold wet and tired for days in my past life. Anyway. “That’s your last lap, mark it up, the course is closed”.

 I wanted to argue but I know it was the right call. There were people who were struggling out there. So I marked lap 20 and knew I hadn’t quit. I knew (even though 7 more laps to go and a lot could go wrong) that I had this. That’s the end. 15 hours 22minutes. Job done. Running Beast was at the finish waiting for his daughter. A few wise words from him. Some chats with other buckle chasers giving hi fives. I was now getting really cold. My wife looked worse. 

Our tent had failed. Most people were in bed or gone to town. I watched Meg Collins come in at hit her 100, Simon Cochran come in of lap 25 and then it was done. So into the car, dry clothes on and attempt to sleep, which wasn’t going to happen (full of tailwind and cliff blocks for 8 more hours of running). 

So much emotion. What I thought was the best though was that no one questioned the decision. It was the right one. So that’s a DNF without quitting. So much went right. I had so much fun, the people were awesome, the collective will to succeed was inspiring. Sometimes it’s not winning the fight that is important, and just being in the fight is what matters. 

Greatest run ever, for now.

October 25, 2023

Jenny Rankin

I should provide some context for this greatest run ever. My dad at the young age of 62 has early onset dementia which is quite advanced, he can’t talk more than a couple of jumbled words a day but he understands what we talk about and you can see from the light in his eyes when he’s excited. For the last few months my small family has been living with my parents so the day to day care of my dad has been a shared activity. Now to the run…

A week prior to the run I turned around to my other half and said “I really need to do the ‘Ultra Beer Run’ from the trail directory, it’s a itch I need to scratch, it’s on my bucket list and if I died tomorrow I’d regret not having ticked it off.” 

He turned around and said “well next weekend is free, go for it”. So I jumped on it, in my mind I’d been prepping on how I’d accomplish it so I just needed to get the wheels in motion. 

The night before the run I had my mum and dad lined up to be a water resupply at the ¾ mark and my other half on child minding and finish line pick up and, as mobile coverage could be patchy, I wrote out what I thought were fairly realistic times for halfway, ¾ and the end for my mum and partner to work off.

At 5am my alarm went off and I quietly dressed and popped my pack on and crept out of the house. The beauty of this run is that it started 1km from the house! I jogged to the start, popped the headtorch on and pressed the start on my watch. It was an hour or so before the sun started to come up, I came out on the Crater Rim track still in the pitch dark. 

I stumbled across a freedom camper, who was just up for the day, lighting up his first cigarette.  He looked startled to see me and said perhaps I should wait for the sun to come up, I laughed and carried on running. I knew this section of the trail like I know my own back garden so I trotted along under the power of my headtorch ticking away the kilometres, at around 10km I looked up and wow I’ve seen many spectacular sunrises but this one quite literally was breath-taking. I did a giddy squeal, took a handful of photos and carried on. 

As the sun came up I bathed in the chatter of the birds waking up and the smells of the damp native forests, pure bliss. Before long I ran out of trail and had to join back up with the road for a small section. I dropped into a comfortable pace to stretch out my legs ahead of what I knew would be a good grunt. At the 20km mark I had made it back to the trail and the start of the Te Ara Pātaka track, a section of trail that takes you all along the summit line of some of the Banks Peninsula’s tallest mountains.

I was still feeling fresh at this point, I knew I had signal here so I flicked off a message to my other half so he knew how I was tracking against the schedule I had written the night before and trotted on. The kilometres ticked by and I absorbed every bit of my surroundings, finding the peace and solitude a balm to my frantic work and home life.  Just after I’d passed the historic Packhorse Hut I saw another trail runner, he was coming up behind me and he was gaining. I knew I still had a fair few kilometres to go so I had to disengage in my inner “hunt down mode” and keep my sustainable pace and let him pass. He grunted on his way past as I gave him a friendly hello and off he went into the native bush and mountain beyond.  

A few kilometres later as I was about to summit Mt Herbert (tallest mountain on the banks peninsula) he was descending off the summit. This time he stopped and said “Not far now, you must have started early’, I smiled and replied “Yes, but I’ve got a wee way to go yet” He looked at me and said “where are you headed?” I replied “the Hilltop Tavern” a few seconds passed and he said “oh wow that’s a good mission, where did you start from? “Cashmere” I replied. The look of utter astonishment on his face was enough to give me a good buzz, so I said my quick good byes and took off into the now rapidly descending cloud cover.  I knew I had to be fairly careful for the next few kilometres as the cloud cover had gotten so dense that visibility was limited to 100m, luckily the marker posts had been recently been replaced and I managed to keep to the not very well worn track off the back side of the summit. 

To this point, although I had sent a few texts to update on my location I hadn’t really paid much attention to the actual time. I had planned for my parents to be at the Port Levy Saddle in what I thought was a realistic window but when I looked at my watch I realised I was an hour ahead of schedule, I had 1 litre of water left and it wasn’t going to be enough to get me to the finish.  In my mind I knew I’d have to wait for them, I’d have to throw on my survival blanket to stay warm and hope I didn’t seize up or get cold. As I came around to the saddle my heart did a leap, there in the cloudy distance were my parents, sitting in their car to keep warm, they had figured out I was making good time and decided to get there early. Mum immediately got to work filling up my bladder and checking I was still in one piece, my dad looked at me with excited eyes and a proud look, I gave them my biggest hug and said “I’ve got this, see you at home” and off I ran into the clouds.

 From this point I had worked out I had 15km of running to go, 10km of it was trail I’d never seen before. This was exciting, even though the clouds were low and there was not a view to be had, I plugged in my headphones and cranked up the tunes. My grin was a mile wide, I was having so much fun. 

Coming up to the finish line, the 50km marker that promised to be the Hilltop Tavern (Currently closed for a refurb so no hot chips!) I looked down at my watch and thought, this can’t be right….that’s right my watch read 48km. But the trail directory said 50km, I wanted 50km. My partner and 5 year at this point could see me coming and were starting to cheer, I did what any sane person does, I turned right instead of left, told Siri to message to the other half and tell him that I couldn’t finish yet I was 2km short, so in true "sane" style I proceeded to run 2km around the Hilltop Summit and the tavern carpark.  

It wasn’t the sunrise, the company (or lack of) or the distance that made this my greatest run ever. It was ticking off my bucket list run with my loving family there to support me and knowing that my dad had witnessed it.   50km 2,356m of elevation and to-date 1st known female.

October 11, 2023

Lucy Cookson

My greatest run ever is definitely not my fastest, nor my longest, nor in fact a true 'run' as such (there was plenty of hiking involved on this day) but it was a run which enabled me to process and begin to heal after suffering insurmountable grief after losing my son in an avalanche in the mountains that my family held so dear.

The day dawned sunny and clear and it was time for me to be brave, put my sneakers on and get out the door. For the weeks or so prior I had been stuck inside my own wee family bubble cripped by the boredom that grief brings. 

I was buoyed by a friend who I ran with regularly and I had committed before I gave myself an excuse to say no. Stupidly and perhaps blindly I ventured into the mountains looking for some respite from the emotional pain. 

The first few kilometres were straight up and the physical pain was certainly a distraction. Our route was taking us from the bottom of Porters Ski field up the ridge line to the tops along to Mt Enys and Mt Cloudsley and back to Castle Hill Village (Thank you Wild Things Trail Directory!) I slowly committed to every step, one foot in front of the other while verbally pouring out thoughts, feelings and having nonsensical discussions with my running mate. 

We admired the view on the way up, I cried a bit, I laughed a bit, I swore a lot and finally made it to the top. On reaching the top we marveled at seeing all of our special places, the mountain where I ski with my family, my running mates incredible farm, the river my family boat on and where my son used to fish, the many places we had run together and ridgelines we plan to tackle in the future. 

We worked out which peaks we needed to hit and then blindly followed the ridgeline commenting on how lucky we were to be able to have bodies that allowed us to reach this point. There were more laughs along the way (and to be brutally honest more bad language) when we realised we were a few peaks short of where we needed to be but we ticked along quietly together enjoying the space and place where we were, lucky to be blessed with no wind and glorious sunshine. 

As we steadily descended back towards the bush line, the well formed tracks and ultimately civilisation I thought about the friend who I was running with and how she gave me time, patience and courage to do this run and how the connections I have made through running the trails are just as important as the way it physically makes me feel. On finally reaching the car my exhaustion reminded me I was alive and that I needed to continue to get out on the trails to help me navigate through the new normal I now faced. 

When running with friends we always 'rank' our adventures just to remind ourselves where we have been, but this is my greatest run ever because it reminded me how important the trails and the mountains are in my life. 

A place where I can feel free of judgement, a place where I can reflect in the stillness and a place where I can feel closer to a much loved son whom I will miss forever but whom I know is still in the mountains somewhere watching over his family.

September 27, 2023

Ben Wicks

Oh my god, I just realised what my greatest run ever has been!

It was March 2019 and I was over in Sydney on a work trip, It was around 6am, I was on a mission, I had flown into Sydney on Saturday, stayed overnight in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, figured out a route over some red wine the night before and if it all went well I'd get a good 6hr adventure in before heading back to the CBD to meet my workmates for dinner and to resume normal life.

I wasn't feeling great (maybe that was the red wine) and it was so much colder than expected, but I wanted that sunrise, so out the door I went, I followed a short single track blast through some bush under headlamp which popped out onto the cliff top track right on sunrise. It was so good! The orange glow on the horizon behind the silhouettes of mountains, the blue sky starting to show some colour, and beneath me what looked like an endless canyon filled with bright white clouds. I stopped in my tracks. And then like a little kid I would run around the track a bit further to see if there was an even better vantage point, stop, stare, run, repeat.

It left me wondering a couple things, one - how did I survive that without face planting as I was so distracted, two - where is everyone - how can so many people live so close to this place, and I am one of only a dozen people out here??

Eventually I dropped down into the valley, it was cold, damp, perfect for running, and I was so surprised to see lush green bush and ferns, this run just couldn't get any better, I was so alive. The trail started getting a bit difficult to follow, I remember some boulders taller than me that I really didn't want to be clambering around on my own, but I had lost sight of where the track was going and my map was far from accurate. So I found myself tentatively exploring a hundred metres in each direction across some sketchy terrain. Was the magic over? Was my epic adventure turning into a short out and back? Finally, after a few pushes further into the bush, the track re-emerged and I found myself running along a narrow track with long grass lashing my shins. Or were they snakes.. omg I just remembered there are snakes in Australia.. Again I contemplated the choices in front of me, I could turn back or I could keep going. I decided not to be scared of snakes and just run, fast!

By the time I reached a junction in the track where I planned to head back towards Blackheath, the day had heated up considerably. I was definitely in Australia in summertime. The buzz of the early morning wonders had worn off and I was now working a bit harder for the miles as I headed back towards those cliffs. Now I was over-thinking and second guessing my time estimates, was I going to be late? The primary reason for being here was for work - what if I turn up in a completely fatigued, dysfunctional state.

I carried on, the track was taking me back up the cliff face, I was pushing, overheating, the sun was beating down on me, it was not easy. But the Blue Mountains had one final magical surprise for me. I first noticed ice cold water was running down the cliff face, and then on this blistering hot day I found myself completely drenched in a shower of ice cold water that was raining down from the cliffs high above me. That moment seemed ridiculous and unbelievable and will stick with me forever.

I best summed it up in a post that day "Possibly my all time favourite day on the trails, days like these are why I do all the silly training runs that I do". So true. Greatest run ever!!

September 13, 2023

Kate Thomas

Greatest run ever (recently) – Low tech eats humble pie

I pride myself in being a low tech runner, in fact it’s one of the things I love most about running – I can be anywhere with just a pair of shoes and an adventure is imminent. My friends tease me endlessly for my OG stripy Kathmandu thermals – popular at least two decades ago, and I’m known for doing long runs with just a couple of pikelets in my pocket; there’s even been an occasion when all I took was a piece of slightly mouldy bread. I have run many an ultra using a classic backpack with a waist buckle to carry my compulsory gear and in fact it was at the start line of the Tarawera 102 this year that I finally realised I was quite possibly the only runner out of 5000 on the trails that day that wasn’t using a running vest, and perhaps I was out of the loop.

I admit I have haughtily judged the hordes of runners wearing arm warmers, compression socks, and straw-flapping water bottles on their shoulder straps. I’m a scientist and sceptic, I demand evidence for everything, and my entrenched philosophy is that I don’t need gear to run, just good training and a sense of adventure. I resisted having any gear on principle and it was only a couple of years ago I caved and bought a Garmin watch. Recently I resorted to running in a ‘business casual’ checked button-up cotton shirt with a collar and short sleeves – not because I thought it looked cool – it does not – but because my backpack causes my collar bones and lower back to chafe until they bleed on a regular basis, and the collar and long back panel of the shirt protect my skin a little, and it creates less of a crime scene.

Finally, after Tarawera I relented and bought myself a fancy running hydration vest, with its stretch fabric, zippered pockets, elastic cinch system and quite frankly so many bells and whistles it seems less a carrying device and more a runner’s Swiss Army Knife. I was half expecting it to open me a bottle of wine. I strapped it on and took myself for one of my favourite trail loops, up Flagstaff, Swampy and Mt Cargill – a classic three peak combo that all Dunedin trail runners know and love. It was a beautiful, calm twelve degrees; a perfect autumn day for running. As I got into a rhythm heading up the Pineapple Track I instantly knew I’d made a mistake. The mistake was having been so stubbornly committed to minimalism for almost 15 years of trail running that I genuinely didn’t know what I’d been missing.

The vest is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn, has space for everything I need, in compartments I can reach without fumbling, doesn’t bounce and flap around, doesn’t cause my shirt to ride up, doesn’t chafe anywhere, it truly is fit for purpose, almost like it’s been designed by runners. Funny that. I skipped along Swampy Ridge in the sun, and literally started laughing at myself, at what an idiot I’ve been. I danced down the last hill, legitimately contemplating another loop as I had enjoyed every minute of this so much. It would have been a great run anyway, but the vest made it infinitely more enjoyable. I can’t wait for the adventures to come, where I don’t have to make a hard run harder with my awkward, antique backpack.

I’ll probably keep wearing the business casual shirt and eating pikelets, but I no longer feel the need to wear my permanently scarred collar bones as a badge of honour. Turns out the runners I’ve been ridiculing for having “all the gear, no idea” actually do have an idea!

August 30, 2023

Emma Marriot

Out the back of my parents place a gravel road climbs up a curl of abrupt corners, steep drop offs, and sharp pits of pot-holed puddles. It’s a 8 km grind up and up, heavy breathing mixed with bird calls and the not quite silence of thick bush on either side.

Snap shots of the Hauraki plains, peek-a-boo through the trees. Patchwork’s of paddocks, broken by the Waihou river as it slowly snakes its way to the sea.

A wooden gate, half rotted, blocks the road; a place to draw breath. There are signs warning of “Private Property”, and “Keep Out”, and “Security Cameras Operating”. I should do as they say but I never do.

The camera is bollocks anyway. I jump the gate.

Sheep, wild and caught unaware, bounce and bob up the track ahead. Dodge the poo amongst the foxgloves, mind the big chunks of gravel that don’t see enough traffic to be kept in check.

Up and up. A waterfall off to the side, quietly minding its own business. Lichen creeping over

the sandpaper surface of big grey boulders.

Lumpy grass strewn with gorse and thistles and an abandoned rusty bathtub. Up and up. Into the cloud, misty tendrils clinging around the tops of surrounding hills. Mount Te Aroha in the distance, making a grand appearance. Up and up. Laboured breathing, calves burning, arms pumping, keeping moving, just—up and up.

There! The radio mast, towering above all else. The ground is level, I can breathe, the early morning sun, the sweet sweet air, the tree-tops meeting the sky, and, if I’m lucky, on a clear crisp day, the sea over Coromandel way, glinting faintly in a blue haze.

No-one else. Just me up there. Me and all of that. It’s always more than enough.

A very peaceful, challenging, necessary, reset. My greatest run ever.

August 16, 2023

Chrissi Faber

Greatest Run Ever – Pinky Promise!

Note to self / advice to others: do NOT make any important decisions or promises straight after

crossing the finish line of a 100-miler full of endorphins, sleep deprived and emotional :D

Now I did say that THAT was my greatest run ever – there’s a number of reasons for this but the three main ones are:

The place: The Redwoods, the lakes and bush around Rotorua are my absolute favourite spot on the North Island, there is something truly magical about running in the bush and being surrounded in nature. I grew up 100m from the forest in Germany and whilst a German pine forest is nothing like the NZ bush I do feel the same sense of home and belonging in both. It’s my all time happy place to be surrounded by trees, hills and streams / rivers and lakes.

The people: The volunteers! Need I say more? Incredible energy and helpfulness at every corner! All the other runners from around the world, the shared joy, pain, words of encouragement energy and shared journey – the mutual respect for everyone, no matter the pace or distance (my true superheroes were the ones heading out into the night for another 60k lap as I was on the homestretch – that’s some grit right there). My tribe – my partner and parents (all the way from Germany) following me around aid station to aid station (only had two hiccups – “you ran too fast we missed you”). My parents never had the chance to see me race anything longer than a 15k before so having them there was truly special – and whilst they still don’t fully get it why I do this (and yes my dad’s a psychologist :D ) they now have an appreciation of the magic trail running and its community

The process: I fell into a rhythm, the whole race start to finish just flowed, yes there were pain caves and yes I did have a couple of pity parties but I embraced all of them as part of progress and managed to run through them all – leaving me with a way quicker time than anticipated but more importantly feeling as good as one can in a 100 miler.

Now – whilst I said that this was my greatest run ever – I do have a slight curveball to throw.

My true greatest run ever was the 2km shuffle I did the day after to keep my run streak alive (don’t ask, I am too stubborn to quit) – why this was my true GRE? In those painful(!) 15mins of plodding along, I felt truly grateful for what my body allows me to do and the support of my loved ones. I had the chance to reflect on the journey of a 100 miles and I again embraced the feeling of ‘yes this hurts but man am I feeling alive’

August 1, 2023

Alison Hanegraaf

TUM 103 - the real thing

The dream started in 2020 when I spotted a headlight bobbing through the night from my Rotorua motel. I’m thinking “What are these crazy people doing, surely they can’t be running all through the night. 100km run, that’s ridiculous!”

Fast forward 3 years and there I was, 1 o'clock in the morning, trotting along that same section with my loyal pacer, Fiona Donald, no legs, plenty of blisters, but happy, so, so happy that I was going to finally tick off that impossible dream of finishing the Tarawera ultra marathon- TUM102.

We do these things, these crazy endurance competitions to discover what we do when the going gets tough. How we cope when it hurts, when we have no energy and can’t remember why we wanted to enter in the first place.

For me this was the toughest race to date. Since nailing Taupo 100km the world seemed to throw everything at me to challenge my resilience and determination - just getting to the start line was an achievement. No time expectations, I would be happy just to complete. Yet the wheels started to fall off very early- energy levels low before the 28km aid station. Before the 42km mark in town I was unable to eat, was feeling dizzy and had decided that to continue was not possible and foolhardy.

Enter my dream team support crew, Mum, Dad, Aimee and Fiona. A cool seat, calm words, ice, chippees to suck on, and water melon (gods food for ultras). Soon, I was back out there, content to walk in the hot part of the day but still back on track and walking towards my goal. Every step one step closer.

I kept repeating that for 30km, congratulated myself when I managed a sub 10 min km. I jokingly commented to local mountain bikers who seemed to watch us in awe that “Yes, we were hurting, and questioning our life choices!” It helped to know that every other runner out there was hurting too, but they also cared and supported each other, with a genuine “are you ok” when passing each other.

Darkness came in, so headlights, warmer clothes and sparkling reflective strips came out. Night running is for me! Cooler temperatures, different mindset, good to go. Running on the soft surface, strong marching the hills and stony sections and before I knew it I only had 16km to go. As always the perfect words from husband Stewart. When I said “I think I can actually make it”, he said “You were always going to make it”, and sent me on my way.

And then finally I had Fiona join me. If you ever consider ultras, get yourself a Fiona to take you home. We smashed the last 7km out of redwoods, Fiona leaving a trail of chippees from the pile she carried in case I got hungry before the end. The finish line was a blur, probably for everyone at 1:15am but I finally got that medal - job done!

Thanks to my support crew, aid station angels, coach Wez (Squadrun), fellow runners and TUM Organisers for making it happen. I wonder what is next…

July 19, 2023

Tim Richards

My greatest run ever came in early Feb 2022 on a solo loop on the Kepler Track.

I was originally meant to be doing Tarawera 102k on this date but it had been cancelled 3 weeks prior. On cancellation I quickly booked in a replacement to make the most of the training I had put in.

Kepler seemed like a clear choice as I was originally meant to do the full Kepler loop the year before but in 2021 the course was reduced to the contingency course on race day due to weather conditions.

In the few weeks post booking in this adventure I split with my partner and had the death of a close friend, so this short break became very important.

On arriving on the Kepler track that morning my head was still moving a million miles and really I struggled to stop and be in the moment.

I hit the ridge line and it was as if the weight was lifted from my shoulders. Having not got that far the year before I really felt like I was closing the book on something and In those few kilometers I did a world of healing in many parts of my life.

From this point forward I spent the following kilometers with a smile on my way and loving every step. 

Even had a close encounter with a Kea!

Truly a day to remember!

July 05, 2023

Chantelle Robinson

It's been just over a week since my longest trail running event, the 21km at Tarawera Ultramarathon. I followed the plan (for the most part), I trained and I had an amazing, challenging and fun time and I thought it might turn out to be my greatest run ever, but it wasn't.

In November 2021 I attended the 8-day Discovery Course at Outward Bound. One of the prerequisites of an Outward Bound course is being able to run 3km in under 24 minutes. I'd never been much of a runner so I begrudgingly started running 3km once a week to prepare (and not a centimetre more). Fast forward to my first 3km run at Outward Bound, I set a personal best 18.05 (my first sub-20 minute run). I was a bit shocked but pretty stoked.

The night before our final day we found out that we would be running 8kms in the morning before we all head home. Yeah, sure, why not. I'd never even attempted that kind of distance so as we set off I sat in behind a Watchmate and just tried to keep plodding along. We parted ways with about a third of the way to go and as I got closer to the finish line I decided to dig deep and sprint to the finish (to the dismay of the watchmates that had come out to run me in). This was my greatest run ever.

That eight kilometres just flowed and completely changed my attitude towards running, so much so that when I got home I went for a run in the rain.

June 21, 2023

Carol Robertson 

My last 100k race was a shocker. Not enjoyable, had me questioning why I do this, am I just getting too old and my body has had enough. On my Christmas break I came back home from Australia and rediscovered my why on a magical run on the Timber Trail north west of Taupō. It was a trail my dad had walked in parts, but had always wanted to traverse in full. And as my dad does, he suggested I run it.

So on a drizzly morning, a perfect lego building morning which entertained my son all day, my dad and I set off from Hamilton to drive to Ongarue. I knew this was the harder direction, but I had lost confidence in my body's ability to run too far, and given this was the most scenic end, I started from there. As we pulled up, the drizzle soon passed. I used the port a loo on site and hugged my dad goodbye. He was to meet me at Piropiro, the halfway mark, in case these old legs had had enough.

As I headed off, the very narrow trail began. I began to think this was a mistake. Having had two ankle reconstructions in the past, I was not a fan of narrow or technical trails. But within a few k's, the trail opened up. I began the gentle climb up to the Ongarue Spiral and the magic began. The forest was alive. The moisture in the air, the rampantly growing moss and wild flowers, the noise of the gushing river below, the tunnels created by overhanging trees. I was home again.

I have spent the last 10 years in Noosa, yes a beautiful place, but the National Parks are dry, the Australian natives are spindly and lifeless, the paths are rocky, sandy and dusty. This was the trail that I had longed for.

I continued along beautifully maintained trails, they were wide and groomed, there were endless swing bridges - although not the best when one suffers from vertigo, and there were other trail users, walkers and cyclists who cheered me along, understanding that I was running the full trail. I met my dad at halfway with no thought of stopping. I restocked and continued to Pureora. Having reached the highest point, my legs were full of energy and flew down the final section of trail. I even managed to push to finish in under 9 hours.

My love for the trails was restored.

June 07, 2023

Chris

As is the case, we all tend to one-up our greatest run ever and my New Year’s Eve run to round out 2022 was it.

I was with my family & friends in Moana on the West Coast enjoying a stunning day on Lake Brunner with jet boats & jet skis which were enjoyed a lot by my  9yr old daughter for the first time. We were on the last full day of our 9 day family camping holiday exploring the Lewis Pass & West coast area over the festive break, the first proper holiday we have had in our daughter's lifetime due to my wife working in hospitality prior to starting at the oh-so-amazing Further Faster 1 year ago. 

While on the lake during the day I was in awe of Mt Te Kinga,1204m guarding the lake. Covered in stunning native forest almost to the top where there was a small patch of alpine flora. So a quick look on Wild Things amazing trail directory I found what I was after and set myself a goal of kicking off in the late afternoon once we were all back at our friends’ bach. So changed into my go to T8 running kits, some Tailwind mixed up and loaded into my Ultraspire Vest, laced up my new Scott RC3s thanks to a late order from the handsome Grant Guise and drove the 10 minutes in the hot afternoon sun to the start of the trail, I had a small chat with a old guy sitting on his chair next to his campervan where we discussed how hot it was and my intentions of summiting. 

A glance at the trail sign told me this trail was for Experienced Fit hikers only and it would be 8hrs return. I set off with intention, ran what I could and hiked the steep technical root covered trail. Luckily the trail wasn’t boggy as was mentioned by another guy at the trail start who said it tends to be. I pushed myself pretty hard trying to get out of the forest into some breeze amongst the alpine bush. I finally got out into the open in just over 1 hour where it started to cloud over which was a cool relief. 

Shortly later I summited and decided to video call my wife & daughter down below in Moana where I got to show them the non existent view  haha. Feeling festive and a little emotional I also video called my parents to also celebrate the summit. They thought I was a bit mad . The reason I was a bit emotional is because I just made it to the end of my first year sober which has helped my anxiety & depression ten-fold and allowed me to be more open to new challenges and setting bigger goals. Once I finished those calls I took a big sip of Tailwind and decided to give it my all on the descent which is something I really enjoy. Hoping to beat my 1.40 time up by 20 – 30 mins I took off and gave it my all. I exited the trail 2.49 hours after I started, feeling accomplished and grateful to my body and mind. 

I staggered past the old boy at his Campervan and he couldn’t believe I made it to the top and back in such a short time ! I wished him a good day and proceeded to walk into the lake to cool down. What a way to spend a New Year's Eve ! I reckon that’s got to be on the cards for the next one for sure. So with lots of love and gratefulness I head into 2023 with new challenges & goals and sober. Thank you DCR !

May 24, 2023

Maree 

I'm not a runner. As in, I've done various bursts of running for fitness or random events over my life, but never consistently run for enjoyment or fitness or thought about it as something I wanted to do. Give me a body of water and a good swim any day. 

Such was my conviction about my non-runner status, I didn't even notice when that started to change. In early 2019 I had a craniotomy to treat a fortunately discovered UIA (an unruptured brain aneurysm) and the recovery took longer than expected. I wasn't allowed to drive for six months and fatigue and memory issues hung around for a bit. My world shrunk and depression kicked in. It was a hard year and, as I've since realised, I am not the first person to discover running as an antidote to the hard stuff.

It gave me physical control at a time when so much was unknown, it got me into a different environment, it stopped my thoughts from taking over, and when I ran hard all the hard stuff couldn't keep up - it streamed out behind me and evaporated for a while. But at the start of 2020, as I was coming off the tail end of my own personal 12 months of lockdown, I still considered myself 'not a runner' - even though I was running four times a week or more and had been doing so for about six months. When I ran 10km for the first time in my life, I was surprised. And then I kept running.

When the COVID-19 lockdown restrictions started it was a bit of deja-vu - except now everyone else was stuck at home just like I had been. And again, like many others, running continued to be an antidote for me. I was still 'not a runner' at this point, I was 'just running' - no watch, only just starting to use Strava to measure distance, but mostly nothing except me and my shoes and following where the path took me, which is still my favourite way to run. By May, when Mother's Day rolled around, my husband and three kids gave me the gift of time: go for a run, take as long as you want, come back when you're ready. And so I set off. 

It was a beautiful late autumn day, cool and clear and sunny. I had no plan other than to enjoy the run, and since 'I wasn't a runner' I set off with no hydration or nutrition (I didn't even know I needed those things), just my phone in an arm band and my headphones on. We are lucky to live close to the Waikato River and the paths that travel alongside it, and that's where I headed. Running next to the water, surrounded by trees and very few people, I felt happy. There is an incredible freedom to running, and that day freedom was the best Mother's Day present ever. I reached the point I usually turn around and felt like I wanted to keep going...so I did. Over an hour in, I decided I should head back towards home.

From familiar milestones, I roughly knew I'd already run further than I had before, but I felt good so I took small detours on the way back - around the lake at the gardens, up some different paths, through the old cemetery and through the paddocks. I had this growing feeling of amazement at my ability to keep running - it was now two hours and I was still smiling, feeling sore but relishing it, along with the pure joy of being outside and in the green, near the water and feeling strong. It was awesome. After just over two hours I turned into my neighbourhood and headed for home, arriving through the front gate with a massive smile on my face and a feeling of tired happiness.

I had run nearly 22km, an unexpected half marathon, the longest run I'd ever done in my life, and I felt great. It wasn't a big event, it wasn't something I'd planned, and at that moment something clicked: Oh. I think I might be a runner. 

The distance achievement was only part of why I remember that run as the greatest. What made it amazing was the joy of moving, of being outdoors and free, knowing my body and my mind could do this. That run was what changed my thinking to 'what else can I do?' It helped me feel like myself again. Although I still don't know how I felt so good without any hydration! 

Happy Mother's Day! I'm a runner. It's pretty cool.

PS: Since then I went on to complete the Taupō 50km ultra trail run last year, which is a close second for the title of greatest run ever. It was a seed planted by a wonderful running-enabler friend who I have known since I trailed (a long way) behind her running laps around the field in high school PE. She has encouraged and supported me, including giving generous training advice and information on much better nutrition and hydration, and always brings the laughs - as well as a firm belief that 'if you run, you're a runner'.  Thank you, Helene Barron, you're a legend.

May 10, 2023

Stefan Pulpitel

Unfinished business is at the heart of what motivates me to run. Every milestone, every goal is just a momentary victory to be overshadowed by the Next Thing. Some days it's about a new personal best, other times exploring a new trail. Most often it’s about adding another notch on the belt, or wearing away a few more millimetres of rubber from my soles. Every run is an achievement that ends in thinking about the next time. 

Unfinished business is what I had with the Austrian mountain Schneeberg (Literally Snow Mountain). It dominated the view to the west of our village, rising a hair over 2000m. One spring day when I was 14 my family caught the cog-railway to the station at 1800m, walked to the summit and then planned a descent down a trail on the east face called the Mieseltal. As a group we straggled and I got separated from everyone, taking a wrong turn and ending up walking an extra 12 km before my father found me. Though there were many other trails and mountains, we never went back and it became one of those family stories - the day Stefan got lost on the mountain. We moved to Australia a year later but the mountain stayed in a special place in my heart.

Twenty years later my wife and I honeymooned in Europe, and spent some time with family in Austria. And one day we catch the same cog-railway up to explore the Schneeberg. We planned to take the Mieseltal trail down, mostly my idea of course. I warily checked the sign which claims it’s 1 hour’s walk to the village where the train station is. We walked for an hour before we came to an identical sign claiming 1 hour to the village. After another hour walking we see the same sign again. It’s not quite an ordeal, but it distracts from the beauty of the landscape. It takes 4 hours to get back to the car. There’s debate on the weary drive home about my navigation skills, and given my prior history it’s hard to refute. The day gets added to the mythology of how this 2000m mountain and I are incompatible. It becomes a dinner party favourite back in Australia for everyone but less so for me. It still feels like unfinished business, like defeat.

Two years later I returned to Austria to care for my father in the last weeks of his life. I’ve taken up trail running in earnest at this point. I’m running each morning before hospital visiting hours, to burn off my anxious energy. It’s the only thing I feel a measure of control over at this time.

On the scheduled day of my father's surgery, being unable to visit, I borrow a car. There’s only one place I want to go. I want to run the Mieseltal trail to the summit and back.

The first three kilometres are more difficult than I had anticipated - despite my daily 10 km runs, a relentless rise on the gravel road winds between impossibly green fields and into pine forest that feels like running through Grimm’s Fairy Tales. I’m feeling slow and despondent until I get to the point where the trail starts to climb in earnest. 

It seems to go on forever - climbing stone stairs then running along a section of gently rising narrow trail, then stairs again, then running back the other way.. It’s so steep that I'm almost at eye level with the next snaking section of trail. I’m still not feeling fast, but I don’t let up for a long time, and I reach the tree line, scrabbling and slipping on loose stones.

Once I reach the plateau and the upper train station there’s only a couple of hundred metres of vert to the true summit. I find my pace and it’s a quick run over alpine meadows spattered with flowers of every colour. I make the summit after a total of 2 hours and 20 minutes. It has been a run of 13 km with 1400m of climb. I sit at the Summit Cross and eat, and think about unfinished business. Then I get up and run most of the way back down to where I parked the car. 

As I’m stretching and cooling down I look toward the bulk of the mountain. It’s been a great run, but my motivations at the start feel hollow and misdirected now. It wasn’t about ‘beating’ the mountain, but about becoming connected to it. By letting go of my expectations and fears I was able to enjoy the run - by far my most challenging to date - and appreciate the landscape. The following day I return to see my father post-surgery, and during a lull in the conversation I tell him about the run. He listens with his eyes closed - I am not sure whether due to the fog of pain and anaesthesia, or the joy of reminiscence.  

At the end he smiles at my childlike enthusiasm and says “You did it. Though, you know I had planned to take you on the Edelweiss trail later - the longer one that runs across the Eastern face before descending to the north. ”

That’s Unfinished Business of course. 

But this time it doesn’t take away from my greatest run ever.

April 26, 2023

Rowan Hoskins

My Greatest run ever happened out of the blue on a dreary rainy Sunday where I really could have stayed in bed. Alas the lure of new trail shoes was too great so I dropped a coffee, got geared up and consumed a banana driving towards the Tararua ranges looking at the ominous looking clouds that shrouded the tops. 

For some context I’m quite fresh to the whole running scene and set a lofty goal of running the Holdsworth Jumbo run in the New Year. I signed up to Squadrun, the training was great. I felt fit, my legs felt great and then I decided to double my km’s in a week and my IT band went. 

I was frustrated and down I went to physio and tried to run through it but ended up having to stop for four weeks. Now slowly getting back to running I hadn’t done much hill work so was planning on a short 5km out and back. 

The first 2kms felt slow. My calves hurt, my knee felt stiff. I was seriously considering just stopping. The wet bush smelt great, the mist swirled around and the bird life was singing. The new shoes felt great and all of a sudden I felt alive. Everything clicked into place and before I knew it I was standing on the deck of Atiwhakatu hut but not for long as I was eager to get back on the trail. 

The return was just as epic, my Greatest run ever had me with a goofy grin on my face flying down the downhills and pacing up the inclines. What started as a run I really didn’t want to get up and do will keep my cup filled for some time yet. 

A flat week mentally really turned the corner and I’m now focused and ready to get back into training. 

That 14km out and back was just what I needed: the rain, the birds and the solitude only passing one other runner. We are so lucky to have the Tararuas on our doorstep.

April 12, 2023

Hector Plaza

Whenever someone mentions running, usually the first words out of my mouth are "I'm not a runner."

I think from a very early age I told myself I would never run a marathon. I had read articles of the pain and seen pictures of people's toenails falling off or they themselves collapsing somewhere in the race. Not for me, no way, nu-uh. 

Rewind to October 2021, I was heading down to South Pole, Antarctica to spend a year on ice. I remember 3 weeks of lazy MIQ doing acrobatics in my room and watching movies on discord with friends. The furthest thing from my mind was running. I remember landing on November 9th, 2021 in -50F (-45C) weather and each breath feeling like being punched in the throat. Now I just want to clear something up, even though I have always said I am not a runner, that doesn't mean I haven't run anything. My crazy Colorado friends (Max and Louis!) convinced me a few years ago to run the Blue Ridge Relay with them. My first ever race was a 200 mile relay race in the middle of the Blue Ridge Parkway with 6 other people. I was responsible for 30 miles of the race, It was exhausting, but it was a blast and I would do it again. 

After a few days of suffering at Pole (due to the altitude) I heard about their annual marathon coming up in about 8-10 weeks. Maybe I'm not a runner but I'm a sucker for a challenge. 8 weeks to train for a marathon at 9301 ft (2834m)? Count me all the way in. The first week you're not allowed to use the gym facilities due to altitude acclimatization. The second week I would get on the treadmill and walk for half a mile or a mile and get a pounding headache. By the third week I could run 3-5 miles during the week. Getting strong at an amazingly slow pace! The first few weeks while I waited for the weather to "warm up" was all on the treadmill.  There were definitely about two weeks there where I just could not sleep due to the high altitude as well. Full on zombie mode and the only thing I would get done those days is do my job. Eventually it warmed up enough and I gathered the courage to start running outside. Even though I had been running 5-10 miles a week by that point, a mile outside was killer! Between the cold air at -20F (-7C) and the snowy texture it was a whole different beast. How was I going to do this? Eventually I built up to one or two 13 mile runs outside within those 8-10 weeks and I felt the most ready I would ever be. It took a long time running outside to understand what I needed to wear at which temperatures and wind speeds. How to protect my lungs from ice forming in them and what I could do to keep my goggles relatively clear. It was a huge learning experience on many different fronts. 

The race course was set by our surveyor (thanks Nate!) and he set an awesome 6.55 mile loop which you needed to complete 4 of to nab the finish. I have included a picture of the course with this email, but I'm also going to describe it. We started and finished each lap at the ceremonial pole. Your first target was getting to the Atmospheric Research Observatory (ARO), then the geographic south pole, and then out to the ski loop. The ski loop was the worst part of the loop. They had tried to groom the path but did a little late. Each foot strike was a soft crust you would break through and your foot would immediately slide an inch. The first aid station was about 2 miles in, at the ski warming hut. Then the loop finished up around our RF Communications sector and back in towards the station. The second aid station was in the fuel barn, then the loop went out onto South Pole Overland Traverse (SPOT) road, doubling back, hitting the fuel barn again, and then back out to our Dark Sector Lab (DSL). Completing the  loop out there and then finishing up at the ceremonial south pole. 

Finally after struggling for weeks I finally arrived at race day. I couldn't have prepared more unless I had run in my hotel room in San Fran and Christchurch. Some people did that, some people ran marathons while cooped up, those impressive kooks! Of course we had terrible weather for our marathon. The weather started at about -30F and kept dropping slowly throughout the race. The windchill at least was mild throughout the race, but the conditions were terrible. Our race course was a 6.55 mile loop, four of those would net you the marathon finish. During the first lap it was overcast conditions, meaning warmer weather, but no snow definition. You didn't know if your next step was 6 inches higher or 12 inches lower than what you were expecting. As we went out on our loop we hoped that the footprints would stay in the snow and we could at least make a trail to follow. We quickly realized this was false and you could see footprints disappearing in front of you as you ran. As I approached the first aid station on the ski loop I saw a few friends skip it and keep going, a big mistake is what I thought to myself as I went in for some hot water and cookies. The first lap was uneventful and I felt good. 

The most awesome thing about this marathon was that it seemed to get all sorts of different weather patterns per lap. The first lap was overcast conditions, the second was a gorgeous blue bird day with some wind. I started feeling a little tired at the end of the second lap, but it wasn't too bad. The third lap conditions started to get interesting and a storm started to roll in. By this point the first finisher had crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 20 minutes. Brandon had just wintered over so he had been at Pole since last November. My pace started really suffering at that point and the weather was not helping. By the fourth lap it was a full blown almost whiteout storm on the ski loop approach. I started wondering whether I'd be forced to come off the course. I was 6.5 hours in at this point. "Luckily" I made it into the storm before the station leader could stop me. As I approached that first aid station, I ducked inside for some food and drink and because I could not see the next yellow flag. The water cooler was frozen by this point and the cookies frozen. I waited for a few minutes and started to get cold, as I peeked outside I saw a snowmachine approaching. It was Tim to the rescue! He asked me what my plan was and I told him I was waiting since I could not safely go on. I asked him to give me a mile ride closer to the station where the whiteout wasn't as bad and I would make up the distance at the end. He only agreed since mentally I still seemed to be doing really well and making good decisions. My good friend and work partner who had just been 5-10 minutes behind me had been pulled off the course by this point, I was the last participant left. In that mile snowmobile ride, my left shoe, which happened to be facing most of the wind, froze to my foot. I remember getting off the snowmachine and starting to walk slowly but surely trying to warm up and convince my body to keep running. Tim brought me a parka to walk in until the second aid station. I had less than 2 miles to go and I was exhausted. I went into the fuel barn to fuel up (HAHA!) and change some of the moist clothes out, then out and down SPOT road and then doubling back to the fuel barn. My colleague Moreno who had been cheering me on had fallen asleep inside. He had stopped after lap two due to too much sweating and freezing. I left the fuel barn and started up DSL road for my final push of the race.

This was my lowest low of the race. Not only was the DSL loop a pain to run because of the loose snow, but I had to make up a mile of race in the final leg. I had to be within clear sight of the station and the finish, where food and warmth were waiting, and will myself to turn around for half a mile and jog away from comfort. The hardest part was at any point in the race I was only a few minutes from it all stopping. The cold, the running, and the mental fatigue. Officially my time came out to 7 hours and 42 minutes. Technically a horrendous time, but I did a  marathon at the South Pole! 

Now you would think I would have stopped running for a bit, but I actually kept running consistently throughout my winter. Not everyday and I had a few weeks of breaks, but enough to keep a decent foundation. I think the South Pole Marathon inspired me to try and tackle it again and get a much better finish. Being friends with Sarah Bouckoms also didn't help since she told me about Kepler and that sounded like it was right up my alley. She mentioned she had run it before, showed me pictures, and I convinced her to sign up for Kepler again. Training at the South Pole for Kepler has been nothing short of a struggle. Countless hours on a treadmill for weeks with no end in sight. I'm still not a runner, or am I? 

March 29, 2023

Harriet Watson

I have listened to your poddy forever and a day and have finally got around to submitting my own GRE!

In typical Watson fashion, we left the house about 5 minutes before we needed to be at the Torea Jetty – just a wee 20 minutes of brisk hill walking...away… So it was on to Mum’s bike for me, a fast trip up the hill (breathing through my eyeballs at this point), and a speedy roll down to the Jetty. All I had to do was stall the water taxi for few minutes while Mum and Dad ran across. I got there in record time (I didn’t actually have time to start the Garmin…) only for the boat to be about 10 mins late anyway… one hell of a warm up before a big day of running!!

An hours boat trip helped me to consider the beauty of the Sounds – it really is my favourite place to be. But it also gave me time to think… an hour on a boat seemed like a long time, how long was it going to feel running? The boat was also the point of no return. Once I was on, I had very few options but to make my way back to the bach on foot. So with the salty fresh air whisking past us, I had to fully commit (well… I was already on the boat and pretty committed at this point), to running the furthest distance I had ever attempted in one day (I hadn’t even run a marathon at this point, but here I was, considering 50odd kms). 

Prior to this mission on the Queen Charlotte Track, my longest ever run was the 33km through Goats Pass for the Coast to Coast race (back when I was 16). But that didn’t stop me from dreaming… just prior to this run on the Queen Charlotte track, I (ably assisted by my just-as-ambitious Dad) developed an idea for a fundraising run/bike event from Farewell Spit to Ross. Thriving in the challenge, in 2020, I kayaked 100km in a K1 racing boat and raised over $4300 for Endometriosis New Zealand. But this 650km running/biking mission is going to test me in ways I don’t even know about yet, and so ticking off the marathon distance, and the 50km in one day was probably a good place to start. 

So given 33km is a pretty short run in the scheme of my December plans, I probably needed a good wake up call, and what better way to do it than in my favourite place, attempting my very first marathon distance, and ultra-marathon distance, all in one day!

The run started with a pre-departure nervous pee and an iconic selfie at Ships Cove. The steep start was enough to get the legs burning (especially after my unplanned bike sprint first thing), and the heart rate up. I started with the “whoop we’ve hit 1km”, “wahoo we made it 2kms”, but I quickly decided that was going to get old. I turned my attention to keeping an eye on the time. One key focus for me on adventures like this one, is eating every 20minutes. Just a bite of some sort of bar, or a swig of whatever drink mix I have in my bottle, is a non-negotiable for me. If I get hungry, or notice my energy lacking it is too late… my lesson has been learnt, so a religious focus on eating is what gets me through – an absolute gamechanger!!

Another gamechanger - we set out with the goal to complete the run, we all had headlights and plenty of food, so the day was about putting one foot in front of the other, having fun and going the distance. This mindset has developed for me. I used to think that all of my training sessions had to be 100% focused being the fastest, pushing the hardest or beating whatever I had achieved last time. The reality is, that’s just not sustainable. I learnt to change my focus – I still put 100% focus into my sessions, but that doesn’t always mean pushing myself to exhaustion (although I do enjoy those sessions too). Now my training load has all sorts of sessions, sometimes the focus is recovery, sometimes to lose track of time and just have fun, sometimes to build speed or endurance. 

So this adventure was about having fun and going the distance…and it turned out to my favourite ever run!

We ticked away, 1km at a time, making it through all the nice lodges where bikers were parking up for the day. I distinctly remember as we filled our water supplies up at about km 17 at Fernaux lodge, we got chatting away to a group of mountain bikers who we had been passing and been passed by a number of times through this first stretch of the track. Noticing that we were filling our drinks up, and not stopping for a coffee (or a cocktail) like they were, one of them asked “where are you heading to”. Our response of “Portage” was received with some startled steers – it began to dawn on me that I might be slightly crazy!

But, I am my father’s daughter, so at least I had someone just as crazy to run the rest of the way with. Trotting through a nice flattish bit of the track, we finally made it to Punga Cove (one of those times where you see your destination for a longggg time before you eventually reach it!). A water fill up, and bit of a lunch stop was wrapped up with goodbyes to Mum as she set off along the road for the rest of the way – being the best support crew, she was determined to be home and have a hot dinner waiting for us when we finished – what a gem!

The climb out of Punga Cove had never seemed so steep. It just seemed to go on and on, but I suppose that’s what you’re in for when you’ve already done 30something kms for the day! We just trucked along – admiring the sun across the beautifully flat water as it was coming down for the evening. By this point we (mostly me) had started to lose the plot a bit – poor old Dad had to suffer through a few of my jokes.

All tough bits and terrible jokes aside, I was quietly stoked with how the body was feeling at this point. During this section of the run, I was officially crossing into uncharted territory – after 33km, every step took me to the furthest distance I had ever run… and to my surprise I was still running (not crawling, hobbling, or even walking)!! I had half (maybe more like 75%) expected to be well and truly aching at every step, or at least feeling the effect of 30 something kms of pounding on a track. I had an old hip-flexor injury which had given me grief in May, but to my pleasant surprise, none of these things were affecting me. 

Years of immersing myself in resources to help me be the best athlete I could possibly become had exposed me to podcasts where athletes explained the ‘flow state’ where everything feels like it just comes together. And as we ticked off those kms that day, I was sure I had found my flow state. I just felt like I was floating along. It wasn’t easy, but it certainly didn’t feel as hard as I thought it should. But needless to say, I was trying to put those thoughts aside – still more than 10kms to go as the saying goes – it’s not over till the fat lady sings!

By km 40 I was emotionally starting to wear the effects of the day. My body and mind were feeling strong and happy attacking the task at hand, but I was getting pretty emotional. And anyone who knows me, knows when I’m emotional, I don’t hold the tears back very well. So you can imagine when at km 42.1 when dad stopped running, started walking, put his arm around me, watched his Garmin tick over to 42.2km and said “well done on your first marathon girl”, the eyes suddenly got a bit foggy.

We carried on running – me with one of the most heart-filled smiles ever on my face – what a special moment I had just shared with one of my number 1 supporters!! Step by step we chipped away, until km 49.9 when I stopped running, started walking, put my arm around Dad, watched my Garmin tick over to 50.0km and said “thanks for sharing my first 50km with me Dad”. Wowee – foggy eyes again!

From there, on a familiar part of the track, it was almost a bit of a race against the clock to get back before the sun went too far down. We weren’t so worried about running in the dark but we had plans to get back in time to sit in the ocean for a natural ice bath. 

When we got back to the house, Mum had dinner pretty much ready, we had a wee dip in the sea and I had a huge smile on my face. Not only had I just completed a big old run, but I had my best run I think I had ever had, and I felt like this ambitiously crazy ultra-running fundraising project might actually be achievable after all. Safe to say I slept well that night – and with a big smile on my face too!

For reference – the details of the fundraising project can be found at @hazzas_run_4_endo

March 15, 2023

Jared Schnell

Here’s the story of my greatest run ever:

After a season of working excessive and unusual hours I decided it was time to recharge the

batteries and headed off on a solo tour the South Island sightseeing, surfing and running.

I had a goal of doing a sunrise mission during the trip and the opportunity presented itself in the last few days - Mt Fyffe in the Kaikōura Ranges. I wasn’t sure how long the ascent will take me, so with a few hours’ sleep, I woke up unnecessarily early and got going.

I thought I was going to miss the sunrise so powered up the hill with tunnel vision – I am going to make it before the sun – ignoring the usual strains us Northerners get in the Southern Ranges.

I arrived at the top of Mt Fyffe under the cover of darkness, there was still at least an hour before dawn. At that point I decided to find a comfortable shrub hidden from the wind, rug up warm, eat some food and wait.

Eventually the sun edged over the horizon casting light on the sleepy town below and illuminated the mountains with shades of red and orange - my cup was immediately full. Once the sun was up, I continued along a saddle and up Gambles End – two peaks for the price of one.

At this point I had run for about two hours and had covered over half my anticipated distance, only the downriver to go. As you always expect, the mountains own you and I soon realised I had a long journey still to go.

I spent many hours clambering over boulders, along tributaries and through dense sections of scrub as the Kowhai River formed. There we’re plenty of slips, trips and falls, many river crossings and a skinny dip in one of the tributaries.

Eight and a half hours later I made it back to the car, a very happy chappy feeling very privileged to have the ability and opportunity to spend time in the South Island hills. A great way to finish off the battery recharge and by far my greatest run ever.

March 1, 2023

Toni

It’s Wednesday, two days ago I returned to New-Zealand after visiting my family in Europe for the first time in two and a half years. The holiday has been amazing, filled with love, good food, great runs and activities.

I’m living on a high and ready to get back into things over on this side of the globe. 

I’ve just finished my first run back in NZ when my girlfriend calls me. “I think my car has been stolen!” She’s calm, I’m not. Selfish as I am in the moment, I immediately realise that I’d left quite a bit of my gear in her car, since we’re still moving places as I don’t really have my own place to stay at. “ F***, all my stuff is in your car, you sure you didn't park it somewhere else?!.” Followed by a few more words that shouldn’t be repeated. I realise that I’m not giving her the most empathic reaction and ask her how she is. She’s alright, and surprisingly strong and calm. I hang up and I get on my way to pick her up. It’s that moment when it hits me: “ my camera, my laptop.” I’m not sure if I’ve ever screamed that hard. I break down in tears as I try to keep the car on the road. 

I feel a pain I’ve never really felt before. It’s not that I’m a materialistic person but I realise that there’s a lot of very valuable photos of family on both laptop and camera. I’d forgotten to take them out of her car earlier that day.  As she left the driveway in the morning I realised and tried to call her, I needed them for today. As I’m dialling her number I get the message that I don’t have enough credit left: “Shit”. There’s no wifi either at the gorgeous Airbnb we’re staying..

There’s nothing I could’ve done. It’s this mixture of unfortunate events though that will mess with me for a few days. 

The list of missing items is long, a backpack full of pretty much all my outdoor clothes. Jackets, socks, bike clothing, run clothing, mountaineering clothes, thermals, a brand new down sleeping bag that was a farewell present from my parents and who knows what else. Luckily my new running shoes were in another bag.

Monday comes around. After a few days of mourning and trying to be optimistic the training schedule reads: Race simulation. 5 hours of fun. I laugh. It also reads: “ wear everything you’re going to wear and use on Raceday.” I don’t have much choice coach. I’ve got 1.5 pairs of socks left, 1 pair of running shorts, 2 shirts to choose from and no mandatory gear. I think I’ll just go with what I have for now.

I'll run at my local favorite, Tawharanui. I load up my hydration pack, which I fortunately still have and wait in the car until the rain stops. It’s windy, a bit stormy even, I’m surrounded by dark clouds and only sometimes there’s some sun piercing through the clouds. I’d like to start when it’s dry so I can warm up a bit, as I have no clothes to keep me warm or dry.

I find my window of opportunity and start running. It’s after 20 minutes when the first rain hits me, but I don’t care anymore. I’ve warmed up and am in a good headspace, the muddy K’s tick away and I’m smiling. 

My thoughts get clearer, my smiles get bigger. Birds chirp away and the list of species I see gets longer and longer. There’s nobody around and I’m completely zoned out until a fat Kereru scares the hell out of me as it decides to take off right next to my head. A little while later a seal does the same to me as I run too close past a Harakeke it’s lying under. It gives me a loud roar, I jump. The extra adrenaline gets me through the last couple of beautiful Kilometres and I finish the run with  exactly 5 hours and 47k’s on the Suunto. 

I decide to go for a swim to cool down the legs and wash off the mud and probably loads of sheep and cow poo. It is however not only that I wash off. It feels like a page has been turned. I’ve run and washed off all the frustrations, anger, sadness and pain. I’m filled with positivity again as I sit in the sun, eating my pasta and tuna, listening to the waves crashing onto the pebbled beach.

It’s those moments you realise again that life is beautiful in all its simplicity. I’m privileged I have the health, time and money to go for long runs in gorgeous environments. And it reminds me that  you don’t need much to feel fulfilled and happy. The runners high keeps surprising me every time, again and again. For this year this might be my greatest run ever. I'll keep reminding myself whenever, sad, mad or whatever, get out there!

I hope my outdoor gear is not thrown away and put to good use by somebody else whoever it might be and maybe even lets somebody else have a greatest run/hike ever. Who knows. It’s something I hope everybody will experience once. As for the missing photos, the memories are still in my heart, maybe we should live in the moment a bit more. For now, I’ll be chasing more adventures, more memories and I hope whoever reads or hears this will do the same. Have fun out there and be well.

February 22, 2023

Beth

I’m from across the ditch on the Central Coast of NSW. (Don’t hold that against me!) I love your show and the amazing stories you and your guess tell. They really inspire me on more then just a fitness level.

I have been wanting to write about my run for a long time time now but didn’t think my story is anywhere near as epic as others I have heard.
But it’s my story, and it’s pretty important to me.

It was the year 2020 which for so many people was a year of disruption and change.
For me it was also the year that my life fell apart.

My husband of 10 years told me he was having an affair (with his running partner) right before we went into lock down.
We were in the same house, trying to figure out what our future held for our family while not being able to see or hug others around us. I kept so much to myself in those first few months knowing that it would hurt my family and friends so much to hear how much I was hurting, but they could do nothing about it, not even visit me and definitely not hug me.

So I ran. I already had a love for running, but it became my true therapy. My physical and emotional outlet when there was so few other options. I was really fit. The fittest I’d ever been.

Eventually I moved out to my own little place right near the lake. It was my little sanctuary for myself and my 2 young boys. It was a chance for us both to have some space and decide where to from here.

A week after I moved out was Mother’s Day. My ex offered to have me over for dinner after my shift at work so the boys could see me.
When I got there by gorgeous boys told me all about their day and how they had been with their dad and the lady he had an affair with.

My heart was shattered all over again. I know that this was definitely the end of my marriage. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t eat.
I wanted to feel something else. I needed for my heart and my body to match.

I remembered a quote ‘if you want to run, run a mile. If you want to change your life, run a marathon’
I wanted to change my life so badly.

So on no sleep. No food. With no planing. I decided to run around the lake. In my many hours of not sleeping a calculated that it was 45kms by road around the lake.

I called in sick to work, strapped on my shoes and grabbed whatever hydration/food I could find.

I took off. I was flying. The fastest kms I’d ever done. I’d remind myself to slow down, but legs just couldn’t!! My heart just pushed my body further and faster.
The kms just kept disappearing I was flying. I didn’t need to stop. I just wanted to keep going. At 30kms I started to break. I was tired and emotional. I had nothing left. I’d never run that far before. But I had to get home. I thought of calling someone for help. But knew I’d regret it later.

So on I went. At 38kms I ran out of food and hydration. I still had 7kms to go!
So I shuffled. And I shuffled.

Eventually my house was in view. I looked at my watch and realised that if I dug deep I might actually make the 45kms in under 5 hours.
So with cramping calves I attempted to sprint! Oh man I wish there was a video of that. I would have looked a lot like a baby giraffe trying to run moments after birth!!!
But I did it. 45kms in 5 hours with 4 seconds to spare.

Finally. My body was as broken as my heart.
There was such satisfaction and healing in that pain. It was the equilibrium I had needed for months and showed me that I can survive and I can dig deep. Even when I have nothing left to give. Physically or emotionally.

I’ve never needed to run that way again. My healing has been such a hard but rewarding journey. But that run was the start of my healing. Strange how sometimes we need to be completely broken to rebuild.

February 8, 2023

Ryan Abrey

I thought of this while listening to one of the others.

One of my greatest runs ever, took place way back in 2016 when I was asked to run the African X with my friend Steven Teuchert as one of the "Every Day Runners" of the Windhoek Light sponsored team.

This was a three day event with runs in the Elgin near Cape Town, which ended up with 98km on rolling hills totalling 2,600m of ascent. In the morning we ran finishing at the event area where we spent the rest of the day relaxing, eating together, enjoying our one free sports massage and finishing up camping at the same place.

What made it so special was that we were running as teams and while I was well into training for another race, Steven was recovering from a rolled ankle so racing was not a goal, but rather meeting people, enjoying the amazing scenery of the Cape and having a bit of a party on the way. One moment I won't forget was reaching one of the highest points on the route and jogging along singing Bohemian Rhapsody to the amusement of some around me, and the annoyance of those really out of breath.

As a team event it was also great being there for a friend who was struggling in pain but being able to stick with him and support him to finish each day. And while our times were not the best, the memories made will always be recalled fondly.

February 1, 2023

Henry Goldstein

My racing buddy Bryan and I recently finished our first Miler, the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail, in June. Despite living at separate ends of Queensland, him in Cairns and me in Brisbane, and quite separate training styles and schedules, we’ve been running marathons and ultras together for the last 5 years. Even though we race together, we’ve rarely had the opportunity to train together or do a proper recce run, but for the miler, we made it happen.

For the recce, we decided to park up at Esk, and run the last 65km to the end of the course using the same timing as we’d expect for the race. To complicate things, Bryan was arriving via a two week trip to South Africa and two days at a masters rowing regatta. The shared ability to suffer is something we have in common.

After a long drive and a meal at the Linville Hotel we were shivering in our sleeping bags in the van at Esk by 8pm. At the exact moment I fell asleep, the alarm went off for the midnight run. We faffed around. Extra gels, extra layers on, then off again. We genuinely discussed just getting another three hours kip and driving down the road to the next aid station. I’d never even contemplated welching on a run like this before, something was afoot.

Bry suggested we run the first 3 km and if it was still unbearable, we’d turn around, and so we trotted along the trail through the damp grass, ticking off the 1km markers.

At 4km, we saw a koala, and things seemed to be going well or well enough. We ran low on water through Coominya around 24km, and pushed on for Lowood, a further 12 km on.

Usually, a run at 3AM has that heightened awareness of things beyond bushes and whispers at the edge of vision, even for experienced shift-workers.

But that night, with an easy rhythm and the gravel crunching quietly underfoot, a still night and clear sky with a galactic core on full display, I experienced my greatest run ever. Everything was clear. The sounds held no surprises. For four mind-warping kilometres across the flood plain, time stood still and there was an endless sky absent the moon, but stars so thick and bright we could turn off the head lamps and move across the land as if ghosts, bearing witness to something far greater than ourselves.

We made it to Lowood just before first light, and later stopped in at the legendary Fernvale bakery for fresh cinnamon buns, before the last 20km steamy stomp to Wulkuraka in good enough shape.

When we returned in June I was looking forward to the  floodplain, but we were instead met by thick fog. After we trudged through the same section well ahead of our goal time, our support crew patched us up and on we went to the finish with family and friends in attendance.

The miler was amazing, but those four kilometres of the recce run remain my greatest run ever.

January 25, 2023

Chris Flack

The sun is setting. I’m deep into loop ten of my first backyard ultra. I’ve made my goal of running from sunrise to sunset but for it to really count I have to complete this loop. I’m tired and actually come to think of it… I'm exhausted.

I started running nearly 9 hours ago. My hands are freezing, my ankles are sore and I can just manage a slow shuffle in those moments when my legs aren’t both cramping. My feet feel like they are burning and my entire body wants to give up.  

I look at my watch. I’ve got just under 2kms to go to complete the 6.7km loop. And there is 14 mins until the cut-off. Any other day that would be easy. BUT this isn’t any other day.

I do some quick maths in my head. I need to run slightly quicker than 7min/ks to get back to the start within the hour and for the loop to count. 

My mind drifts back to the start of the day to attempt to block out the pain.

***

“3… 2…. 1… go…”
And like that 118 of us move forward into complete darkness.
The only things visible is our breath and the small area in front of us lit up by our headlamps.
The sun is not due to rise for another 30 mins.
And with that the hope that the temperature will rise as well.

***

Argh!
My mind is jolted back to the present moment by a sharp pain in my legs.
My right leg cramps.
I hit it with my fist.
My left leg cramps.
I hit it with my fist.

I’m not sure if I've got it in me.

My mind tells me to give up.
“Just walk, you don’t need to complete this loop”
“No one really cares”
I tell myself what I had been telling everyone else all day.
“Just one more loop mate…. Just one more loop”.

I come around a corner and then onto a wide dirt path. I try and eat some chips to ease the cramping in my legs. I force my legs to move forward.

12 mins until cut off.
I see another runner. He looks like he is in a lot of pain.
I tell him “come on mate, just more loop”
He smiles gingerly back at me. 

I hobble over some small hills.
The same very hills that I power walked with ease for most of the last 8 hours or so.

My legs start to feel a little better.
10 mins to go. 

I reach the boardwalk and try everything I can to get my legs to move faster.
It's like they are stopped in a time warp not wanting to listen.
There is no one else around. Just me and the sound of my feet as they hit the boardwalk.
Thump… thump.
Thump… thump.

I pass the 6km sign.
7 mins to go.
It’s now or never.

I manage to move from a shuffle to a fast walk.
I know soon that I’ll be able to get a glimpse of the finish line as the track snakes back and forth. I’ll be able to hear the voices just out of reach. 

5 mins to go.
I cross a small bridge.
I can now see the finish line.
I can hear the voices getting excited for the start of the next lap.

These voices have no idea that I’m out there fighting the battle.

I’m thinking I can do this.
Both legs cramp up.
I’m thinking I can’t do this
I hit both of them with my fists.

4 mins to go.
400m to cover.
I’m moving as fast as I can.
I’m parallel with the finish line. Hidden from view by a series of trees.

3 mins to go.
300 long meters to cover.
Daylight is fading.
I make out a shape in front of me.
It’s another person.
My legs are so excited they kick up a gear.
He looks tired.
I yell out “You can do it mate, we can do it!”.
He nods back tiredly.

2 mins.
200 m.
I approach the last corner which then turns sharply into a gravel road.
I know once I’m around that corner there is only 100m to go.
And very soon I will be in full view of everyone waiting to start the next lap.

I turn the corner and hit the gravel road with pace. 

My body has momentarily forgotten that it has been running for nearly 9 hours.
And has finally decided that it remembers how to run.

90 seconds
100m.
I might actually make it.
The crowd notices my head torch coming towards them in the distance.
The cheer gets louder and louder.
I tell myself
“C’mon, C’mon… you got this”

60 seconds
50m.
I can see the giant clock as I get closer.
It's pulling me into its glow.

I keep running as fast as I can as I can’t trust my tired eyes.

I can see the finish line.

I can see peoples’ faces they are willing me on.

I look up at the large digital clock.
56 seconds left
I make one big final surge to get across the line. 

The crowd cheers.

I raise my arms to celebrate in disbelief.
I’ve made it with 53 seconds to spare.
The crowd cheers again.
I think it's for me.
I look to my left.
Another person has just finished as well.
We tiredly nod at each other.

I hunch over in the corral.
I’m so exhausted I feel like crying.

The whistle goes for the start of the next loop.
The race director yells ”Just one more loop!”

I take a couple of steps forward and I realise I’m done.
I’ve found my limits.
And for now, this is it.    

January 18, 2023

Jasmine

I was stuck in Auckland where we were in lockdown for months, staying home while all our friends around the country were having adventures. Being a first responder I was lucky to be able to still get out of the house and go to work but that can still lead to lockdown fatigue which from what I could tell was a problem not just for me but for most Aucklanders.

Now that omnicron had taken hold we’re no longer locked down and confined to one city. We can travel and even though we can’t race we can still have adventures.

I had been training for the Tarawera miler which was understandably cancelled, once this happened I finally admitted the inevitable. I need a break. 

So I took one, I put my coaching on hold and booked a whole lot of leave at work, little adventures here and there to keep me outside and keep me sane. This one wasn’t supposed to be a run, I was supposed to be walking the Abel Tasman track with a friend but she pulled out due to injury. I still wanted to go so decide to make it a fast packing mission.

I never done fast packing before but have always been intrigued by it, I love tramping and I love trail running so why not mix them together, so I stuffed 3 days worth of gear into a 20L backpack and jumped on a plane down to Nelson.

The next day I was off. I took a water taxi to Apple Tree Bay and started my run there, it was a nice easy day, approximately 18km and taking in the views of the coastline. I immediately fell in love with the Abel Tasman Coastline taking in the views and taking breaks in the cool clear waters (which are cold by Auckland standards). I made it to the first hut at Bark Bay and spent rest of the day on the beach and watching the cheeky little Wekas trying to steal bits of food or cups of water off the other trampers.

After a nights sleep I got up early and was off again, today I had 31kms to cover. I got to Awaroa Hut before low tide, so had a quick break and sat with the others while we watch some trying to cross early, basically ending up fully submerged in the inlet packs and all. I made the wise idea to wait and crossed while it was knee deep.

The rest of the day was like a dream, out in a new area exploring and just doing what I love. Stopping to take advantage of the waters and chatting to other trampers.

I made it to the last hut in just over 5 hours with plenty of daylight to spare and made some friends for the night as trampers trickled in throughout the evening. We spent the night talking about other adventures we had done and what we had planned coming up. 

Day 3 was a much easier 5km over the hill to where I was being picked up. I had just ticked off my first great walk and my first ever fast pack. This may not just be one single run but a few days of running. Afterwards I was refreshed, inspired and ready for my next adventure and that is what makes it my greatest run ever. 

January 11, 2023

Laura Matthews

My greatest run ever: Krayzie’s Midwinter Backyard Ultra

I’ve been curious about the backyard format for a while and was pretty excited to take part. After an icy drive from the West Coast, I turned up for registration in the afternoon. I was both impressed and intimidated by the epic aid stations being put up around me, and had a growing sense of imposter syndrome looking at all the real proper ultra-runners milling about. I parked my little van up and settled in for the night.

I awoke in frost coated darkness on Saturday morning and tucked into a breakfast of maccas hash browns that my boyfriend/crew had nipped out to find. The race started with women first, so as one of the 26 ladies entered, I sheepishly made my way to the start line, trying not to think about the many hours ahead.

Lap one started and off we went. At 4km we hit the sand dunes right as the sun was popping up. Stoke was high. Everything was good.

The first 5 laps felt great. I enjoyed the chat around me (“If I reach 10 laps I’ll be doing a beer per lap from there!”) and met some epic people who made the hours and kilometres fly by.

By lap number 7 the brief moments of walking on the course started feeling a bit too good. During lap 8 my guts decided to stop cooperating. The brilliance of the backyard ultra is that you can nip off to the loo every hour.

By lap 10 I was tired. My boyfriend had set up an epic aid station complete with pot plants, candles and hot food. I almost threw up at the offer of instant rice and managed to force down half a Gu.

Lap 11 felt bad. The first 500 meters I felt stiff, sore and nauseated. It was really cold. A guy sprinted in at the end of lap 13 with 2 seconds to go. We all cheered. I decided I couldn’t quit just yet.

I made it to the end lap of 15 with a few minutes to spare. I walked straight to the timing desk and with relief told them ‘I’m out.” George McNeur called me over. I was bracing myself for a speech about “one more lap” but he gave me a hug instead.

I had absolutely no business running 100km but loved every minute it. Despite not knowing anyone else racing I felt super welcomed and inspired by everyone around me. The next day I got a message from another runner who I hadn’t met, saying my energy helped him get to 100km when he wanted to give up. How great is the running community!

January 4, 2023

Rich Lyon

I am not a runner.

I had never really enjoyed running, but in my early 20’s I ran a couple of half marathons, more out of boredom than anything, as my older sister was an avid runner at the time. 

Fast forward nine years, and I had only been for two or three 5km runs in almost a decade. Then I started a new role for work and the culture was very inclusive, with plenty of banter and cheeky sledging concerning all things fitness, and before long a work run club was formed. 

After just a few months, our run club had 20-30 members and running at lunch with colleagues or in the evenings to edge up the rankings on our Strava’s run club leader board became a regular occurrence.

Over the next twelve months, my colleagues and I would do the occasional fun run or half marathon in and around Auckland and it dawned on me that I had never attempted a full marathon and it was time to get the monkey off my back.

It was early 2020, I had just turned 35 and my sights were set on the Auckland Marathon later in the year.  The goal was set, and in true fashion, I told my work colleagues that I had signed up and as the date got closer, I informed everybody of my goal time to keep myself accountable to train and avoid the embarrassment of coming up short of my goal.

In the lead up I consumed myself with all things running. Learning about injury prevention, fuelling techniques, speed and hill training, negative splits and simply focusing on building a solid base. I listened to every running podcast and was also introduced to Dirt Church Radio at this time by a friend. I spoke with everybody that I knew who had completed a marathon and asked them what they would do differently if they ran it again, to slowly develop my own recipe for success - A shout out to my former colleague and ultra-runner Tracy Benjamin who gave me such a great steer to plan for the big day and encouraged me to trust my training and stick to executing my plan.

As the weeks got closer, it was common knowledge around the office that I was aiming for a time of 3 hours and 45 minutes for my first marathon attempt but to a few close friends, 3 hours 40 mins would be my perfect race if I managed to execute on the day. 

After 11 weeks, 42 runs and 460km on the clock, I was ready. The bag-drop was done, the gun went bang and I was off.  The scene at dusk was incredibly calm, just thousands of runners side-by-side wanting to give it their all as the sun started to rise over Rangitoto.  Running through the streets of Devonport was great, I paced myself and held back the entire time, smiling as I let hundreds of runners pass me while I kept telling myself “negative splits, negatives splits”.  Passing a colleague at Smales Farm who simply shouted “Stick to the plan, Rich, stick to the plan” just spurred me on and it was a relief to get over the bridge and head back towards Victoria Park to approach the halfway mark.

The next 9km just cruised by as I slowly edged up my pace to capitalise on the reserves that I had banked in the first half, by 30km I had finally caught up to the official pacer for my goal time. I had been told by so many that the race doesn’t start until you reach 30km so for the first time in the race, I put on my music and settled in, it was business time!

At the 34km I experienced some minor cramp for 20 seconds but I pushed on through as I ran to the beat.  The feeling of running at the pace you had trained for, supported by so many random strangers in the crowd, on a beautiful sunny day, was simply magical. On target for 3 hours and 39 minutes, it was somewhat comical that I cramped one more time and had to stretch out my calves on the side of the road for 60 seconds, from then on, I sprinted at a tempo pace towards the CBD.  The last one kilometre was electric, I was passing people left right and centre as the crowd steered and cheered at the chap with headphones that was sprinting home; quite the contrast to the other tired faces who had come out of the block storming in the first half of the run. The final sprint on the Vic Park grass was tiring and as I came around the final bend, I saw my wife and three daughters cheering me on, I crossed the line at my goal pace and finished in 3 hours 40 minutes, I was absolutely spent but absolutely stoked.

Some 18 months later after my perfect race, in early 2022, I realised the importance of this race to me. My first marathon had given me so much confidence and strength on how to approach my running and life’s obstacles. So much so that I was about to begin this year training for my first ultra, the Taupo 50km (cancelled from the year prior due to Covid) but instead my family’s life was turned upside down as we tragically and unexpectedly lost one of the closest people in our lives leaving a gaping hole in our hearts. The world stopped, everything stopped and of course the running stopped. Not a single run, for 3 months as we struggled to adjust to our new normal.

Fast forward to today, I have been back running again for 2 months, I’ve run a couple of small trail runs and the training has once again begun for the Taupo ultra.  When I look back at how far off course I was this year, and how far there is still to go, I realise that my race almost 18 months ago, my first marathon, my greatest run ever, has given me the strength to continue, the strength to face times of struggle and adversity but also the courage to chase the things you enjoy. 

I am now a runner!

December 14, 2022

Chris Horan

Mine is more a small series of runs. I was house-sitting at a friend's place in Taupō and began going out for runs from this unfamiliar neighbourhood. I found a trail between the streets in a gully so headed down to check it out. It was overgrown, with big trees and felt like the wilderness. That short trail led onto another and another until I'd reached the lakefront. I ran home back up the trails thinking it felt like the wild but still in town.

The next run I went a different way and found more of these 'secret' wilderness trails. It became my mission to find as many as I could. Eventually over the 3 weeks of house sitting I managed to link up a 10km loop through town that avoided all roads! I was stoked. I felt like a Little kid finding treasure each time I found a new trail.

I now appreciate the micro adventures one can have just by looking around the neighbourhood. I even made a presentation at Toastmasters about these trails and micro adventures in your neighbourhood.

November 30, 2022

Emily Marfell

I feel a bit greedy having a go at another Greatest Run Ever. So this one is short and sweet. It falls into a few sub-genres, including ‘marine animal’ and ‘greatest teacher-only-day run’.

I got out early in the dark on my favourite 12km farm loop. It was, as mentioned, a teacher only day, so I had winged time off work to hang out with my 6 and 8 year old sparks. It was a perfect freestyle day with no set plans, and could include bug hunting, jigsaw puzzling and adventuring up the creek. To make it even better, I was keen to get some endorphins and stretch my legs first.

This was a November morning; dawn was getting earlier everyday, and the promise of summer was real. I put in a moderate effort up the grassy climbs and then was rewarded as I cruised around the smoothed skinny sheep tracks towards the beach. Out in front of me the orange glow turned a tinfoil flat Cook Strait from monochrome to colour.

I made it down to the pebbled beach and today it was lapping rather than raging. I was stoked to find that the tide was out, so I could pin my ears back and do my best fake Kipchoge charge along the hard, angled grey sand.

Up ahead something unusual caught my eye. It was moved like something alive and yet it looked like a broken umbrella, rolling about in the gentle waves. Next thing, I was standing over a little blue penguin, a kororā. He wasn’t really moving too well and it was evident that he’d broken his leg. Without thinking much I whipped off my singlet and wrapped him up like fish and chips, and

morphed into Dan Carter, running home with the little blue tucked under my arm.

The children were into it. In seconds, out came a cardboard box, sprinklings of lawn clippings, a saucer of water, and some towels. The good towels for guests were sent back, to be replaced by old towels. Then we began a social media hunt to find someone to help Pebble. (Please note, we had no idea if he was a he, and he didn’t tell us, so we were being presumptuous, we hope that’s okay.)

Pretty soon, we had found ourselves the best adventure. It transpired that the place for him was the EcoWorld Aquarium in Picton, an hour’s drive away. So, after Weetbix, teeth and shoes, we were off. We ran some errands on the way and you should’ve seen the shop guy’s eyes when he was told, matter of factly, that we had a penguin in the boot. He had to come out to have a disbelieving look.

At the Aquarium the kind staff inspected Pebble. They decided that he was very skinny and weak, and agreed his leg was broken. They took him out the back to the staff only area (we were allowed to go too) and put him in a special warming box. That was the last we saw of Pebble. He was flown to the amazing Te Kohanga animal hospital at Wellington Zoo, where they operated and successfully pinned his leg. Sadly, some weeks later, he succumbed to a respiratory infection. We found out that the warmer sea temperatures had been hard on seabirds, as the fish were deeper and the birds were not able to feed as easily, so they were in poorer condition. Despite the sad ending it was a wonderful way to learn about this. We didn’t know all of that at the time though. Job done, we had a happy wander on the Picton Foreshore, terrorised the amazing pirate ship playground, and demolished some sausage rolls on the way home.

A teacher only day to remember, and it all started with one of those ‘Greatest Runs’ that you hope you get to do a thousand times again.

November 23, 2022

Logan Griffin

My partner and I have both had a tough run (excuse the pun) with injuries over the last couple years and have never really had the chance to run together, it always feels like one of us was doing well whilst the other was on the go slow. The stars have seemed to align and after some focused rehab and maybe just a little good luck we’re both on the mend and running well. 

However, as we both worked through some walk-running and rehab earlier this year the we both pounded the pavements alone here in central Tamaki Makaurau we never really thought much of it but it has been at least a year since we’ve actually ran together.

Now, we’re both love our running to get some alone time so honestly never really made the effort, but a few weeks back when visiting her parents down at Lake Okareka we decided to just head out on the trails together. Nothing special, well any trail run is special, but a 15km loop through the Whakarewarewa forest but instead of going out different ways, we just ran together.

It was wonderful, perfect winter temperatures, the trails were dry and the kilometres and elevation just ticked by. A few spots for your #boyfriendsofinstagram to get some pics but it was just lovely to get out and enjoy the trails together.

After our little 90 minute jaunt through the forest, feeling equal parts tired and refreshed we partook in out favourite post exercise treat of some hot chips to warm up again and got on with our day.

Some times it’s not the fast runs, not the long ones or even the new terrain, it’s just the company that makes it your greatest run ever.

November 16, 2022

Tony Sharpe

In the purest sense my greatest run ever was that time on the Routeburn Rage early 2000’s (pre- Routeburn Classic) when it snowed like mad the whole way. It was surreal and incredible. Would never happen today with Health and Safety and all that jazz. What a riot.

But that’s not my submission. For this I am nominating the first time anyone ran the Christchurch 360 Trail in one sitting (so far as we know!). The 360 Trail is basically a giant 135km loop around Otautahi Christchurch, an urban “Great Walk” championed by local botanist and general legend Colin Meurk. His idea was a staged multiday hiking trail loop around the city, with a different flavour each day. And as at 2016 so far as I knew no one had run it in a day.

Earlier the same year I had attempted my first 100 Miler at Naseby, having successfully bagged the 100km there the year before. The Naseby Miler attempt ended 70km deep in a whimpering mess of chest infection and coughing up blood at midnight in the depths of winter. It ate away at me, wondering if 100km was my limit and whether a Miler was even possible. So whilst training in the Port Hills for other things, I kept passing all the 360 Trail signage and the curiosity grew. Research was done and an idea was hatched. Having been a Red Shirt Support Runner in Mal Law’s High 50 I also wanted to do something for charity. And Mal and James Harcombe were well underway preparing for the Chasing The Dragon challenge around Wales. What better motivation?

As Mal always says if you want to own a personal challenge, then go public with it and make yourself accountable. Which is what I did. Almost instantly my trail buddy and all round legend George McNeur (Mr Wild Warrior of the Krayzie Kapers team) reached out and said he’d been on the committee for the 360 Trail and was keen to join in. So the idea was hatched. Mal and James jumped on board to support George and I. The media outlets came on board. We were away.

On Saturday December 11th 2016 we hit the trail at 4am in Halswell Quarry during a balmy and breezy 22 degree pre dawn. The plan was to do the flatlander stuff first. All the urban and fringe of town stuff, all the flat stuff, all the lesser known sections. About 90km of them. Then we could finish with the crowning glory, 40 odd km of hills from Sumner to Godley Head and then along the mighty Crater Rim Track. The dark wouldn’t matter up there, with familiar trails and minimal roads and cars.

Some 15 hours after starting we hit Sumner , having run around ¾’s of Christchurch. Through the urban bits, along the braided rivers, through the forests and around the coastal margins and wetlands. It was warm, it was windy, it rained briefly in the forest before it soared well beyond the 30 degree’s as only Canterbury can in a norwester. It was thirsty and physically draining mahi but we were massively supported by Georges partner Stephanie, and our friends and family. And many many keen local support runners that were ably led by Mal and James, who had turns doing the sections of the whole mission with us. The amazing Corrine who flanked us on her bike for much of the day. George nearly flaked out by Sumner with something akin to heatstroke, but a cold shower and iceblock at the Sumner Lifesaving Club literally recharged him.  

Evening followed and it cooled off. Out over the rugged cliffs of Scarborough and Godley Head we went to hook onto the fabled Crater Rim Track. Then the southerly buster hit. The next several hours were the literal opposite of the day. Gales, thunder, overhead lightning, cold torrential rain for several hours before and after midnight. What a ride. At 3:16am we finished the “loop”, having completed a soggy descent down Kennedy’s Bush and back into Halswell Quarry. It was done, mission accomplished. 23 hours and 16 minutes. Personal bars raised, and a First Known Time. Several others have come since, faster and more talented than I- Brion Matthews, Corey Woodward, Tim Wright to name three, and some others even twice (looking at you Michael Stuart and Christopher Fairbarn). It’s become a thing, the “Christchurch Round” if you like.

What started as a personal mission into the unknown became a much more important and wonderful fundraising event for the Mental Health Foundation. We raised a few grand for Mal and James’ mission, and had a wonderful adventure. The day itself, with all that the elements threw at us was so much more than we expected. The challenge within was quite a metaphor for mental wellbeing and all its ups and downs, light and dark, happy and low, it had it all. And incredible supporters. Too many to name.

For all those reasons, well and truly my greatest run ever.

And yes, I got that 100 miler in the bag at the Hanmer Old Forest 100 the following year, and have been back for 2 more since. And 3 other Miler DNF’s elsewhere- but ain’t that the nature of the beast!

November 9, 2022

Kelly Lilley 

I got into running about 2.5 years ago, as a Mum of 4 (now aged 4, 6, 8 and 10) it was my way of doing something for myself again, half hour runs made a big difference to regaining my fitness and doing something for me. I gave my first running event a go tackling the buller half last year and surprised myself with a reasonable time. My running buddy who is more seasoned then me coerced me into the mid distance South Island Ultra a few months later. Again knocking that off in a reasonable fashion I decided it was time for a big goal and set my sights on the 100 km the following year. I committed, I sacrificed, I juggled work/kids/training, I got up early and I ran for 8 months leading up to May. In between, other events were cancelled due to covid side lining everyone me included – but for those events that didn’t “run” we all missed out – we all sat on the bench. The timing for the Wilderness Trail run looked to be perfect, traffic lights, alert levels, protection frameworks or whatever they were referred to at the time eased. There was no doubt, this race was happening and I was ready. My stats in training peaks were climbing, my taper was on point, I had a coffee with my coach 4 days out, we talked race day. Then my husband text me  . . . he had covid. My running mate, had radio silence for a couple of days, until my rat showed the dreaded 2 lines, not that it mattered I was isolating anyway so I wouldn’t be making the start line. Race day poured with rain, my friend nailed her 100 km, I sat inside when I wanted to be out there too.

Rest, take it easy, don’t get back into training too quick, you’ll get long covid . . . that was the next few weeks. The plan was to run the 100 then take a break, it seemed unfair to waste all the build up and not properly stretch the legs. Then I came across Krayzie Kapers . . . and Backyard Ultra’s, because what else do you do when you are moping then watch You Tube videos of people running and google events. I thought just maybe I can have a last hurrah and give a backyard a go . . . luckily my mate thought it was a cracker idea too.

So on Friday night I pull up to Spencer Park on a crisp winters evening to be welcomed by a hug from George and a tour of the event village. I had just unwittingly joined one crazy community. My mug shot taken, fresh faced and full of hopes and wonder. I met another Coaster and caught up with a colleague and friend from 12 years ago. Feeling somewhat like an imposter I set up my seen better days gazebo and threw about a bit of gear. What a rookie. 

Morning dawned, crisp and frosty. Back and forth to the car hauling clothes, chairs, sleeping bags, food. My running mate and I were crewing ourselves, intrigued to give this race format a go – husbands minding children and shaking their head ever so slightly. Rugged up with headlights on we answered the summons from the muster whistle. We joined 116 other crazy souls ready to embark on a race which might not have a winner, what fun! Into the forest we ran, headlights snaking out behind us, dancing in the pre-dawn darkness, onto the dunes to see the sunrise over the ocean, across a frosty boardwalk and back round to the finish line. Off to our gazebo to await the whistle and avoid the melting frost droplets, then repeat.

We all run for different reasons. Some of us run away from our demons, some of us towards them, others don’t like their toenails, some just really like chocolate. This backyard community was something else, a group who had come together to run for their own reason in the same way, on the whistle, round the loop, rest and repeat. To go further, to keep pushing, to test that boundary. You aren’t competing in the usual sense, you don’t need to be first home, you just need to get home, every lap gets to be your own personal race. It is busy, the day passes in hour blocks, all of a sudden 10 minutes feels like bliss before the whistle calls you back to the corral from your sunbathed chair. Round you go again as you get more familiar with the route. Slowly less people answer those calls, the chants of one more lap grow . . . The crowd swells in the sunshine, the supporters and spectators treat the runners to an almighty welcome each time they hit the finishing chute before disappearing from sight until the next whistle. Scouts on a camp out line the track in one part, ready for high fives – from the rock star you could pretend to be on this day.

Darkness arrives, and I find myself alone, my mate has retired and I head off into the forest with that dancing snake of headlamps behind me. It looks different now – it is eerie. As darkness fell so did the jovial chatter. Here is the moment I am relieved I never saw more than the Blair Witch trailer, I can see the frost falling in front of the beam from my lamp, I can hear my breathe and the muffled footfall of all the remaining souls still out searching. One – more - lap. Over the dunes past the ocean, back to find the boardwalk frosty once more, searching for the lights of “home”.

The camaraderie 2nd to none. On the 13th lap, a sole headlight bobbed round the corner with a meagre 1 minute to go. The remaining runners ready in corral for the 14th, the crowd went wild, with 15 seconds on the clock I screamed sprint, this guy leant forwarded and morphed into road runner leaping across the line with a second to spare only to turn on his heel to be sucked back out. One more lap and rapturous applause – sssshhh mind the permanent residents – they mightn’t have cared as much as we did that that 6.667 km lap counted for road runner.

12 laps, I completed. 80.5 km. I ran strong, I ran consistent, I had power at the end of every lap. I had wanted to knock off the 100, but it dawned on me that I didn’t need to. This wasn’t that race and I now knew I could run that distance. Out on those laps I realised a backyard ultra can be whatever you need it to be. We all got to run our own race that day be it 1, 12, 35 laps or anywhere in between. For me rounding out the 12 hours was my day, I wasn’t broken, I felt fit, I felt happy. It was my greatest run ever, it was a DNF and I wanted to go home and hug my wee people!

October 26, 2022

Ian Gilmour

Greatest run ever (well, a great run at least).

I have had lots of great runs, but have held off sending in a 'greatest run ever' because I don't want to nail this down to a single run. However with the swag on offer and a recent amazing run fresh in my mind, it's time to submit. 

I don't know how I got in touch with Mike McManaway, but somehow we started chatting about running the Dragons Teeth High Route together - or rather Mike guiding me through the 60km route from the Cobb Reservoir through to Bainham. I had always thought of the Dragons Teeth as an extreme tramping route with huge exposure, weather dependancy and route finding challenges. Going with someone who knew the area like the back of their hand would allay the route finding issues, and doing it in a single day would help mitigate the weather dependancy and exposure by not having 10kg hanging off your back. 

After some false starts due to weather and schedule clashes, Mike and I finally met in Upper Takaka for the first time in early April, and drove up the Cobb to our starting point. We wanted to maximise our chances of getting through the un-tracked tops section in light, so we started at 4am and had the sunrise just as we reached Waingaro Peak.

Spending a day on the tops in bluebird weather is always a recipe for a great run. This had some extras with the spiciness of the slabby rock and exposure, the indistinctly marked path, the high-country lakes and tarns and the uniqueness of the Anatoki-lands and Dragon-lands that were the absolute highlight of the trip. But more than this was the company and chat that Mike provided along the whole run. Thanks mate - was a cracker. 

October 19, 2022

Mark Buckland

My wife and I drove our caravan up to Paihia for the Bay Of Islands Running Festival earlier this year. I’m very much a Mild Thing and slow to boot, and was looking forward to the Half marathon of this event. I had to get up early to collect my number, but was shocked when I woke at 7:00 - 30 minutes before the start. I scrambled to get all my gear and jumped in the car. My wife dropped me off and I scuttled to the tent, just getting my number attached in time.

It was a cold and rainy day as we headed north towards Waitangi. The course followed the Haruru Falls track beside the estuary before hading up into the hills and down through the Waitangi Mountain Bike Park. I was not setting a blistering pace (I never do), and there were a lot of things that should make this a horrible run - the cold and rain, a “slip-n-slide” on a boardwalk, and the occasional ankle-deep mud.

However, as I headed through the Waitangi Treaty Grounds on my own at the 17km mark, I experienced the runner’s high that I had often heard about but never had myself. I could have run home to Whangarei at that stage. It won’t last long, I told myself. But then it got better when my daughter turned up on her bike and stayed with me all the way to the finish line. Having her spur me on was really awesome and something I’ll remember for many years to come.

Hopefully I can get her on the trails when she gets older. I’m sure that would make for an even greater greatest run ever.

October 12, 2022

Skip the Border Collie

 OMG they’re all putting their shoes on!! Am I going too? 

“Do you want to go for a run with us or a bike ride with dad?” asks my mum. 

“I’ll take her”, says Aunty Elly. 

“Ok, but you’re responsible for her”, says mum. YUS!! I decide to be on my best behaviour - I’d better not disappear off and bail possums up trees today.

I drag Aunty Elly down the hill in front of mum and Katie, and pretty soon she lets me off the lead. Freedom!! I zoom around on the big grassy area near Squirrel Lake. I have no idea where we’re going, but I don’t care - I’m going. I head off down a track that looks interesting, but we are going a different way. I come when Aunty Elly calls coz she has treats in her pocket. Yum!

We go up a hill, down the other side, then up some bike tracks. Some bikes come past. Maybe I should go with them? It could be my dad, coz we go biking together sometimes. But mum is calling me. I run to Aunty Elly. She gives me a treat. Score!

Then we start going up steeper. There are rocks to jump up. The wind gets blowy, but I’m nice and warm with my fur. Why do my humans keep stopping? Ooh, I smell something, I want to run and investigate, but remember I’m meant to be on my best behaviour. Soon my feet start getting cold. There’s white stuff and then it gets super slippery. My legs are going in all directions. I can’t get a grip! “It’s icy!” calls out Katie. I follow her through the bushes up the side of the frozen stream. 

Another dog barks in front of me. I’m curious and a bit shy, but it sounds friendly. We catch up to it coz mum and Aunty Elly and Katie are going fast. I sniff and play a little bit, but I need to keep up with my humans. Soon we’re up at the top. The wind is blowing much harder and there’s a lot more soft white stuff. It tastes so good! My new friend turns up and we run around and around together bouncing and eating snow. This is so much fun!!

We are off again, my mum calls me coz she’s getting cold. Aunty Elly and Katie head off a different way. I trot home down the hill with my mum. We go a different way with a stream, I like swimming but it’s a bit cold today. I’m still on my best behaviour all the way back, because I want to be allowed out again. I can save chasing possums for another day. Today was definitely my greatest run ever.

October 5, 2022

Michele 

About 6.5 months ago I was invited to join a friend on a fun run. I had mainly been a road runner,happily getting in a 1/2 marathon a year for the past 5 years or so. To me all runs were considered fun, but this run had instructions. Come in a costume and bring drinks (alcoholic ones, that is). I love dress up parties and that was enough for me to want to go, but I had NEVER combined it with a run. 

It was a self-supported 50k and RTD’s of your choice were clearly a great way to rehydrate at every other of the 9 volcanoes we summited that day around Auckland in the beautiful summer heat! I recall feeling overly nervous. I’d never been on group run like that before (there were over 12 people and I only knew one). 

I seriously doubted my ability, wondering if my “pace” would hold the other real runners up. I didn’t yet have a running watch with a map or anything. Would people be patient if I needed them to wait or if I asked where we were going as I had never been where we were going to run. I was very keen but clueless. How would I know who to run with, what if I picked the wrong person - what if they were too fast and I couldn’t keep up with them, what if they didn’t like my enthusiastic American chatter and uncontrollable squeals of delight? My brain worried like the blades of a ceiling fan spinning round and round. 

The day totally surprised me and completely changed my life. The entire group couldn’t have been nicer. From the second I arrived, people offered to apply sunblock, store stuff in their car while we ran, and shared their food and drinks during the run and after. It was like an American Tailgate party at a football stadium filled with humour, team spirit, generosity and pure genuineness . They took me in as if they actually knew me. It was unlike runs I’d done before - here everyone chatted, joked and laughed. WHILE RUNNING 50k!

There was absolutely no stress, no pressure, no tension to compete - just 100% fun. The sense of community that I instantly felt was so wholesome and so fulfilling. The rest of my body wasn’t sore afterwards but my cheeks actually hurt from smiling. These people I happened to just meet by chance are now my friends who inspire me. We run together. We support each other. I have been baptized into the trail running world. There is so much fun to be had, places to explore and I look forward to enjoying it with friends. Trail running is this perfect trifecta of fitness, friends and nature. My eyes have now been opened, my mind is now alive with possibilities. I am beyond grateful. All of these reasons are what makes this “My Greatest Run Ever”.

September 28, 2022

Anonymous

My greatest run ever was far from spectacular or exciting. It was a routine morning run in the dark before work, on a very cold winter morning. I had just had a week off running due to multiple niggles, which doesn’t sound significant, but was a huge deal for me. I have to take you back two years to explain. 

Two years ago, life hit rock bottom for me. A nagging pain in my glute ended up being a severe sacral stress fracture. It was the culmination of 15 years of an eating disorder, and felt like the end of the world. For over a decade I had pushed my body beyond its limits and I had been able to do amazing things - 10 road marathons, countless trail runs, multiple trail ultras, two treks in Nepal. This was alongside doing medical school and becoming a surgical trainee. So although I knew I had all the signs of underfueling (REDS), I kept going. Despite the best efforts of my family and friends and numerous professionals to help me, nothing was truly going to stop me and make me change. Until I got a fracture that I actually couldn’t ignore. It was terrible. There were many tears of sadness and anger, mostly at myself. I felt completely lost, with no identity. I had two months of complete rest, not even gentle yoga was allowed. I ate what I was told. Then I started swimming for limited time with a kick board. That was in the midst of COVID, so I was swimming in the cold Melbourne ocean in mid winter. Then after 5 months I started a very slow return to running. It started as 30 second jogs; it was slow but it was amazing to be able to run again, especially to feel reconnected to the friends I did it with. Since then, I have done another two marathons and many trails, all with a bit more food and rest. It isn’t all rosy though, as the voice telling me to run more and eat less is still there. It is just quieter now and more controllable. But then last week I got sore feet and back. My immediate thought to any pain is that I have another stress fracture. So I did something that three years ago would have been impossible. I took a week off running. Not because I physically couldn’t run, but because my body didn’t feel right and I knew a week off now is better than weeks or months off if I pushed through. The day I had scheduled a long run came and went, with me constantly shutting up the stupid voice in my head. My biggest strength in these moments is to think what my sister and few close friends would do, all people who have healthy relationships with food and endurance sport. They know who they are. A new found love may also help. A few days in, the niggles felt better. But I stuck to my plan and didn’t run for a week. So this cold morning run back was the first back. Fortunately the niggles were gone and I felt refreshed. I felt so proud that I had been able to take a break, and felt it was a big step in my eating disorder recovery. I don’t think I will ever be recovered but that little voice is getting weaker. I will always want to push further. But I know I have to be smart. Never ever do I want to lose my ability to run again, as not being able to share the road and trails with friends is something I just can’t lose again.

September 21, 2022

Johanna Lucia

My most grateful greatest run ever!!

2018, June, Town of Seaside Park Run, with my Pops!!

I have so many great runs. From my home town Maunga, Taranaki. To the foothills of the Himalayas. The highlands of Scotland to the low lands of Europe but none of those can compare to my local park run with my Dad!

Back when I was 22 I thought I should train for a Marathon to do at least one with my Dad before he retired. (92 half’s, 65 fulls and 4 ultras!) Knowing full well the only part of ‘with him’ would be at the start line! He’d be showered and fed, well before I finished! So I trained for the 35th Rotorua Marathon, standing on the start line in pouring rain, wearing our black sack rubbish bags to stay dry to be told it was cancelled! 

As a young fit 20 something my Dad and his running buddies from Manawatu Marathon clinic would always kick my butt when I was home for a weekend and run with them. These old blokes would take great pleasure in beating me on the climbs in their 50’s and 60’s

I ran Barcleys Rotorua Marathon “with” my dad the following year in a grand time of 4.25hrs and Dad 3.49! (PB of 2.58!!!)

Then I grew up, moved overseas, moved back, had children, moved towns, moved to Aus, backpacked and moved back to Australia. During that time Dad had a few health issues, my strong fit father! I never remember him ever being ill growing up. He was always running or mtbing or something crazy on the mountains with or without skis! Did I mention his Black Belt in Karate competing in Japan?? My Mum is pretty frigg’n amazing raising 4 cool kids

His running took a hit! He slowed right down and just walking the dog round the block was strenuous enough (when he could manage that!) Slowly he began to rebuild. He knew how good running was for his mental and physical health. He knew moving forward was the only way forward. He discovered Park Runs in Palmy so I was super excited to run with him on my local when he came on holiday. It was slow but it was amazing! I felt such an honour and a privilege to have a mentor like my Pops! Strength, resilience, can-do Kiwi attitude! To have grown up on his sidelines, handing out flat coke and Moro bars from 30km to be running beside him was a beautiful thing! THE best finish line feels EVER!!! Making sure he stops his Casio stop watch right on the finish line!!

Now they can travel again, I’m stoked for them to support me at Rainbow Beach marathon next month while I set my goals to Blackall 100 in October (my 10th ultra…not my fathers daughter ) - sorry it’s not so much about the run, not much to cover over 5kms. More about the journey, the love and the support!

September 14, 2022

Tom Igusa

My greatest run ever is definitely the “Great Kauri Run” in November 2014. It was my first Ultra and the toughest by far.

My friend, Callum Wicks, who I used to do mountaineering with, started Ultramarathon a few years earlier and suggested that Ultra would be my thing. But I am not a keen runner (still today) and only ran as training for other sports. So, I passed on his suggestion for ages until I watched a TV programme made by then-TV3 Producer, Eugene Bingham about his own attempt to run his first Tarawera 100k. It changed my mind and the new goal of running Tarawera 100k was set.

As soon as the programme finished, I started to work on what I need to run Tarawera 100k in February 2015. As a final prep for it, I decided to run 72k Great Kauri Run in November 2014.

With very little knowledge, I turned up to the race registration in Coromandel township. Kerry Suter who is a record holder and won the races pretty much every year was helping to register runners. He quickly sniffed my “newbie-ness” and asked several questions to size me up. I barely passed those questions, but he wished me good luck at the end.

I had two goals for this run. One was to finish so  I could use it as a stepping stone for Tarawera and if possible, I wanted to finish in the top 50%, not the bottom 50%.

I was so nervous and could not sleep well at all on the night before the race but turned up to the start line with 30 odd runners. The race started well for me and I was leading the race for the first 400m. Obviously I had no idea about how to pace a race. Anyway, everything was going well until the halfway point, Waikawau Beach. I met and had good chats with people like Shane Caske, who I am still connected with.

As I left the beach, I started to feel the discomfort in my left knee. The pain got worse as I progressed and I could not run without poles. During the run, I had no idea I developed ITB friction syndrome. It was really sore and I was popping down painkillers.  Back then no one was talking about the risk of kidney injury from taking pain killers. Anyway, they had zero impact on my knee pain.

I skipped and walked for ages and eventually found “21km to go” signage and my heart sank to the bottom. I could not possibly imagine how I could travel another half marathon distance like this. The second half of the race was considerably harder than the first half. The track was either up or down and there was very little flat ground. For those who do not know, ITB causes pain when you go down slowly and so my knee suffered great pain for a loooong time.

Good thing about this being my first Ultra was that I had no concept of DNF or had expectations of Ultra. For about 2 years, I thought going through extreme pain like this was normal as I could not solve the issue for 2 years.

With a few km to go, the course takes you down the last hill. I still remember how painful it was and was glad I had poles with me. Once I got down to the urban road, I hurried along to the finish line. The last km felt like 10 km to me. When I finally got to the finish line, staff was taking down the set up and people did not even realised I just finished 72k run. I had to walk up to one of the staff and ask if the event was finished or not. Basically, there were only a few of us left on the field and they decided to pack up while they wait for us. Then I was asked to tell the timekeeper that I finished. When I told the guy I just finished, he asked me the time I finished. As I was not sure if I finished or not, I did not stop my watch and the watch was displaying 10hr 59mins. He said “I saw you come in a while ago. So I give you 10hr58. So I became 7th finisher with the time of 10hr 58 mins.

I was happy with 7th position finish among 30 odd participants. But later I found that everyone else except for 8th finisher, Mark Beatie had DNFed and I was second from the last. However, 7th finish is still my best finishing position in my running career.

I think 2014 Kauri is and will be my greatest run ever because it was so hard and so painful. It served my masochistic fetish very well. Also Kauri was such a down to earth, no frill event but full of supportive volunteers and a tough course!

Unfortunately, the race lost one of the founders to a sudden death at end of last year but I hope they can put it on again.

P.S.

I managed the ITB and finished Tarawera 2015. Also I stalked the legend, Eugene Bingham long enough to make friends with him. The moral of the story? If you persevere, you always get what you desire!

September 7, 2022

Kayla McKenzie

Greatest run ever for me so far would be the Kepler Challenge I ran last year! My first ever ultra. What makes Kepler great is the amazing views (was a blue bird day!), the varied terrain to keep you guessing and the inquisitive Kea were a massive highlight for me!. I fell over and scuffed my knees up (typical clumsy me!) so still have the scars to remember it by. Such a mind game. Would love to tick some more off the list.  

Val Spooner

Greatest run ever for me is when my mood is low, and nothing seems to be going right but I drag myself out and say you must do at least 25mins before you can go home and then the run just keeps going  and the endorphins are released and most of all I try to remember how good I felt for when this will happen next time!  

Ashlee Dolamore

I thought I'd send in my greatest run so far. I'm sure I'll have many better runs to come so I've been reluctant to send this one in but it's held a special place in my heart for a year or so.

There was nothing particularly interesting about this run. It was just a training circuit in my local park, which I'm out in several times a week.

It was a beautiful sunny day. I was flying, my feet hardly touching the ground, in an almost meditative state, with that elusive runner's high. It was one of those moments where I was completely in the present and everything felt like it was right with the world. 

Shortly after that run, I had a knee injury and couldn't run for several months in the lead up to, and recovery from, surgery.

During that time, I kept coming back to the memory of that run and the almost childlike joy I'd felt. It was a period of frustration for me, not knowing how serious the damage was until after surgery, but holding onto that awesome run got me through. 

Now, I'm out running again. I'm not fully up to speed yet but the prognosis is good and in looking forward to my next greatest run ever on the horizon.

August 31, 2022

Alister Kennedy 

Here's my story of my greatest run ever. 

During the first 2020 lockdown I pretty badly let myself go. Weight jumped up past 110kg and I didn't really do any fitness work at all (I blame the banana bread).

In July I had my first child and knew that I wanted to be fit as she grows up so I can play with her as much as I can so I started running. 10ks a week was the first goal. Then 12, 15, 18, 20.

In my first week targeting 23ks I had done a 4km on the Monday and then had a shocker of a week at work so didn't achieve much in terms of running until the Saturday.

An early alarm was set with the plan to run a 10k (my longest run ever) and try run the difference the next day.

I set out and was feeling quite good. 3ks in and I was 1/3 of the way there, 6ks and I was 2/3s in still feeling good. I got to 10k and texted my wife asking if our daughter was awake yet to no response so figured I'd run until she texted me.

After 3 laps of the new subdivision near my house all of a sudden I'm at 16ks. 

I still felt good and the baby was still sleeping. 

I'd never run a half marathon before that day but managed to get home after 21ks feeling quite shattered but super stoked with how I'd gone.

It was a huge mental block for me to get past the 10k mark but I'm stoked I did it and was stoked to finish my first half. And all before the baby woke up.

I'm now 30kg down and recently ran 30ks at the Summerhill Skedaddle. 

Love the podcast. Perfect thing for me to listen to while I commute!

August 24, 2022

Jason White

Sitting at Lyell Saddle aid station, 67kms into my attempt at running the Old Ghost Ultra, I had never felt so sore, tired and straight up exhausted ever before. Pretty much everything hurt, and my fuel light had come on long ago. 

Wind the clock back 24hrs and I had arrived to event check-in to experience a huge bout of imposter syndrome. Never before had I felt so out of place. Five years earlier I was packing down in scrums as a prop, with a playing weight usually around 115kg. When I stopped playing this ballooned out to almost 130kg, and I knew I needed to do something to get active again after my job had consumed me. 

So to walk into the check in at 95kg was a great achievement, however, I still felt so far out of place around all of the other people who were doing a much better job of looking like a runner should than me. I was aware of how silly that perception was, but at Seddonville the next morning as we were awaiting the start of the event I still couldn’t shake the ‘what an earth am I doing here, I don’t belong’ and ‘holy shit what have I got myself into’ feeling. 

If the event had a heavyweight division, there wouldn’t have been many of us in it! As the course wound its way up the stunning Mōkihinui Gorge I had time to contemplate how far I had come and practice gratitude for the journey I had travelled and the support of my family for allowing me to take the challenge on. I was able to reflect on running half-marathon distance for the first time when training for the Rotorua Marathon and thinking ‘how on earth am I going to do that twice?’, and after shattering my own perceptions of my capabilities and finishing that marathon, to then pondering if I could double that and run the Old Ghost Ultra. 

I was cruising along nicely up until the Specimen Point aide station but was a bit behind my target time as my imposter syndrome meant I started further back in the pack than I probably should have, and then had to find my way through traffic. After leaving that aid station I managed to find clear track and got into a good rhythm, making up time but probably expending more energy than I should have. When the climbing started it coincided with the first heat of the day and my pace dropped noticeably. 

My rugby years were not kind on my body, and with metal in both of my ankles, and less cartilage in both of my knees than I was issued with, a good knee and ankle day is a good run day and they were generally playing ball which was great news. Dropping down into the Stern Valley aid station brought us back into the bush and out of the sun, and access to my drop bag goodies. 

It was a strange thought to think I had ticked off a marathon and still had another to go, continuing to smash through my preconceived perceptions of my abilities. 

After this aid station you quickly find the hard work starting with the much lauded stair climb, and the following zig zag up to Ghost Lake. This journey was made much easier with the company of Dave from Timaru, a buddy met by chance that I will likely never meet again but I appreciated the chat while we ground our way up the hill in the scorching sun. 

In the pre race briefing the organisers point out that at some point in the climb you’ll be able to see Ghost Lake hut, but don’t look up as it can be demoralising and unfortunately I made this error. 

Sitting at the hut I was really starting to notice the intensity of the heat, and I began to become aware of how far behind on fluids I was. I remember at this point being shocked by how the live feed the event crew was beaming out really was live despite our remote location, as supportive messages from colleagues at the college I teach at came through. 

Climbing up on top of the ridge was simply stunning, the cloudless day had made the heat tough but wow were the views worth it, what a magical place and what a privilege to be able to see it on a blue sky day. 

As I started the descent I finally managed to pee, first time in a long time and that confirmed for me how dry I was due to the deep shade of yellow. I worked on getting more water in as I dropped back into the shelter of the trees but by then my left knee had decided it had had enough, the downhill was not doing it any favours and it was really getting to me. 

By the time I sat down at Lyell Saddle I wasn’t in good shape and was intimidated by the 18km still to go, that a few years ago I would have struggled to run fresh, and now I had to take it on in this state. 

The aid station crew were simply amazing and their encouragement got me back on my feet and in a positive frame of mind, where I was able to break the remaining distance down into sections and tick the k’s off as I passed each marker.

I surprised myself by managing to keep a reasonably consistent pace over that final stretch, but the sight of the final bridge still came as a very welcome sight. My wife, Mum, and three kids were there to cheer me over the line and the feeling of accomplishment and pride for what I had achieved is something that will stay with me forever. It wasn’t just the journey of that February day, but the journey I had been on for the couple of years prior, that made this my greatest run ever.

August 17, 2022

Josh

This is a shout out to those random runs where for no particular reason, everything just seems to go right. Those rare runs where your legs don't hurt, the pace feels easy, the wind in your hair becomes extra exhilarating and you feel like you could run all night. This run took place on an uneventful week night in the bustling metropolis of Timaru, where I happened to be living when I was 24. 

The punishing backstory is I'd picked up a recreational running habit in my early teens after being introduced to the gateway book, Into the Wild. I joined the notorious New Plymouth Boys' High School cross country team where I grew from the camaraderie in my formative years – the team mantra of "No Excuses" will be forever branded in my psyche to push me in the gritty parts of any race. Moreover I just enjoyed the simple 'wind-in-the-hair' freedom of running and the nirvana of those rare runs that just go perfectly.  

I loved running, but unfortunately the Girvan running genes (as I'm sure my brother, Matt, would agree) were less like a comfy pair of Levi's and more like a tattered pair of jorts. While I grew through my high school years, my list of injuries grew faster. Between the ages of 18 and 26 I more or less abandoned running aside from the occasional attempted comeback which always hurt and never lasted. Instead I redirected my energy toward the sports of hiking, rock climbing, skiing and binge drinking. However, no matter how much I enjoyed these alternatives, the thought always remained in the back of mind – this illusive, seemingly delusional goal – to one day, somehow, run pain-free. 

So this brings me to a random night in TimaVegas, during a period where pain-free running was just a pipe dream. But for some reason on this run I didn't have to stop 10 minutes in to stretch out my calf muscles, I didn't get the familiar tension in my mid spine that would normally restrict my breathing to 80%, my IT band and glute didn't try to cramp up on me. I ran my shorter loop up the river trail and golden hour happened to be extra pretty that night. The air felt fresher, the grass looked greener, the crunch of gravel under my feet sounded more delicious - all as though the serenity in my legs freed me to be more sensitive to the world around me. I realised that without trying I'd completed the short loop in my fastest time yet, and still I felt like a hundred bucks, so I continued on to run my longer loop as well. I turned off the river and charged along the coastal cliff trail in pure ecstacy. I ran like a transcended being. I went yahooing like a zealot into the blustery wind while the sun set over the Pacific. My legs and lungs burned but it felt so good. I was alive. I got back to my flat to chug some water, have a snack and grab my head torch while my flatmates wondered what the hell I was up to. I went out and ran my short loop again to round off what was at the time my longest run ever. 

Every runner knows these miracle runs are rare, and often unpredictable, but are what make life worth the livin'. This one was enough for me to feed off for a few years until I grew out of some injuries and learned how to train smarter. These days running is once again the backbone of my life that keeps my mental wellbeing steady and my endorphins supplied. 

My greatest run ever (so far).

August 10, 2022

Nathan May

I heard the call, and thought it was time I submitted another Greatest Run Ever!!

I went for a run recently.  A local 8k loop that features a bit of everything, some road, some stairs, a glimpse of the beach, a few hills and a small section of trail.

There’s nothing particularly special about this loop, I’ve run it many times before. But on this particular day this loop was different. On this day the loop was filled with possibility, with anticipation, with excitement! And the reason? The reason was because this was “New Shoe Day”!!.

You see, I’ve had this new pair of trail shoes sitting in the back of my wardrobe still in their box since September.  I don’t know why I chose to christen these shoes on this particular day. But it just felt like it was time. I laced them up and headed out the door. But it wasn’t the shoes that made this run great. It was the thoughts that filled my mind as I trotted out this rather familiar route. 

As I ran I started  looking forward to all the adventures we’ll have together!!

The places these shoes will take me

The things we’ll see

The gravel we will crunch

The hills we will climb

The races we will run

The people we will meet

The challenges we will face and the possibilities that they will bring!! 

So here’s to new shoe day!!

August 3, 2022

Steve Ackerman

My Greatest Run Ever started at daybreak at Dason Falls carpark on Mt Taranaki.  The aim was to do a solo loop of the AMC (Around the Mountain Circuit) track.  It's usually done as 3 day hike, staying in the lovely DOC huts.  However, my plan was to do this 43km jaunt in under 12 hours.

It started off poorly, as I chose the Lower Lake Dive Track.  I slipped on the frosty rocks crossing a small stream in the first hour, and stepped in the icy water, as it was nearing Easter when I did this run.  With my sloshy foot, I kept trudging past the first of many huts that I would pass.  The trail became more overgrown and not so runnable as I headed down the Auroa Track down to Brahms Falls.  From river level, the track then ascends a 100m ladder. In reality it's probably only 30-40 m, but it looks 100m high.  Fortunately it had a cage around it so I felt marginally safer.  Passing Kahui Hut for a breakfast of a gel, I startled some early morning trampers just getting up.  Then it was the jungly section to Kahui Hut.  I misjudged a tree root when hopping a gap and landed hard on my ankle.  It was a pretty serious sprain and throbbing.  Fortunately I had packed an ankle aircast with me and slapped that on right away.  It was still a bit sore, but I managed to keep going, seeing as I was only 10 km into this marathon run.  

Dropping down to the Stony River was a pleasant descent, then the scenery turned lunar landscape.  A flood a few years back had cut its way along the river and turned the track into a rocky hop fest.  Eventually, the proper track starts up again, as it heads up and up to Holly Hut.  It was about 3pm by the time I stumbled up to Holly Hut and was greeted by a few trampers.  I must have looked rough, as the offered me their food and energy bars.  I happily accepted and told them I was headed another 13k to Dawson Falls.  They gave each other dark looks, as if I was a bit daft to be heading that far with just 2 1/2 to 3 hours of daylight left. That was the same distance they planned to do for the whole next day. I was now racing the dark.  I made it as far as the Manganui Ski field before darkness fell.  I had a small hand held torch, as I was sure I would have been done by now.  It was slow progress on a skinny, winding track.  Fortunately, it was the night of the Blood Moon that rose like a large orange ball on the horizon.  It lit the way better than my little torch and raised my sagging spirit.  The last few kms went well, as I hobbled down from Wilkies Pools to the carpark.  

Mission accomplished.  Total time: 12:10

As I called home to report my great success, I was scolded by my dear wife who said "what took you so bloody long? We were about ready to get a search party sent up the mountain to find you".  Next time, I'll take her with me.

July 27, 2022

Kate Southern

I've already had the privilege of sharing my greatest run ever with you a year or so ago, but I'm writing in to update that with my new greatest run ever.

If you’d asked me even a year ago if I wanted to do the Tongariro Alpine crossing I would have found any excuse not to go.  For me, that was way too hard, and way too scary.

I've shared a bit about my anxiety 'journey' on social media before, but I'll give you a bit of a backstory here.  I had a heart issue flare up on holiday about 15 years ago, which resulted in me being stretchered out from a trail by an ambulance crew and an 8 hour lie down in A&E in Queenstown hospital while they figured out what to do with my misbehaving heart.  Following this episode I quickly fell into a hole of depression and overwhelming anxiety that spread to most parts of my life.  I was scared to do pretty much anything, and especially scared of being alone in case it happened again.

Running has been a life changer for me. Through small steps of setting goals and achieving them, and venturing further and further afield on my own in order to enjoy new places and new runs, I've been able to begin to put my anxiety in its place.  Being on remote trails has still been very nerve-wracking for me, (especially on my own), and it's only just in the last year or so have I begun to step even further out of my comfort zone with trail adventures.

So when the opportunity to run the Crossing with my husband came up, I jumped at it.  Yes, I was still nervous, but I knew that I was fit, healthy and more than capable.  I also knew that it would make me stronger and even more confident with putting my anxiety in its place.

The day dawned, a magnificently blue morning with barely a breath of wind and beautiful sunshine. It was the most perfect day. 

We took it gently, run/walking our way along the flats from Mangatepopo Road end to Soda Springs, and hauling ourselves up the Devil's Staircase.  The first Wow moment was passing through the South Crater, it felt like we were on the moon.  Then it was a tricky, slippery climb up to the red crater.

When we got to the red crater - the summit of the crossing - and I spied the beautiful emerald lakes that I'd only seen in pictures, I cried. It was an overwhelmingly beautiful and magnificent place, something I couldn’t have experienced without stepping out of my comfort zone.

We made our way down to the Blue lake, stopped for a snack, then continued zig zagging our way down the path to the Ketetahi Carpark via the old shelter and following the stream through the bush.

We emerged, feeling satisfied and with that sweet, sweet tiredness from a long run adventure.

The whole adventure was magical and one I won't forget, ever.

So, so, grateful. And proud.

Definitely my #greatestrunever.

July 20, 2022

Anthony

For some reason, during 2021 I decided that I wanted to get into trail running. I wasn't a runner, I didn't enjoy it and really only did it for the hurt. Each of my strava runs was accompanied with the hashtag #ihaterunning.  But a colleague of mine said I should bottle the hurt and do an event - the 24km Taupō Ultra. 

It was a daunting challenge as I wasn't a runner. But with the guidance of the amazing team at Squadrun, I was prepped.  Until it got cancelled.  

I worked damn hard and I wanted that finishers medal - so I did a virtual event around the Belmont Hills in the mighty Hutt Valley.  

The run started amazingly – because it was all down hill. Then it went to pot. About 4 or 5km in, I had a wee panic attack. My heart rate sky rocketed, I started to get tunnel vision. I knew that I was never going to complete the run. I needed to stop, give up and go home. This trail running thing wasn’t for me.

The first slog up to the Belmont Trig was dark. I was convinced that my progress was too slow, slower than my training runs up the same hill. Each time check my watch gave me was another dagger - 'why are you going so slow bro' I'd ask myself with each kilometre, trying desperately to give myself a reason to stop. 

The first loop ended back at the car park with a self supported aid-station. This was intentional, as I wanted to give myself a 'go/no-go' mental challenge to overcome. WHY DID I NEED YET ANOTHER MENTAL CHALLENGE?! As I filled up my bottles, I was surrounded by people in camo doing some sort of orienteering or navigation exercise. There were dozens of them. They definitely real - I was struggling but I had my brain working, right? 

I still had 10km to go. It took everything to head off again, down the hill to the Korokoro Dam, and then back up that bloody hill to the Belmont Trig.  Back up at the highest point again, I didn't register what I had done. I was nearly there but I felt so far away.

It wasn't until I heading downhill, with NOFX blearing in the headphones, that I had realised the watch had clicked over 21km. A half marathon. A hilly one at that. I wasn't done but it felt like the world. I started crying. Crying and signing "one more round and it's bottles to the ground" must have been a bit of a sight to see for the few people going about their Saturday walks - but I didn't care.  

1km to go, with a final hill backup to the carpark, my phone went flat and the music stopped. For the first time in hours, I had to listen to the birds, the wind through the trees and the waterfall at the bottom of the valley. I floated to the top of that hill and was greeted by my family who had made a massive"congratulations" sign. I sobbed and sobbed.  

Then through the tears I looked around for all the people in camo. They weren't there. Were they ever there? I'll never know.  That was my greatest run ever. 

July 13, 2022

Sian Johnson

Greatest run ever, greatest run lately or an ode to Riverhead and running friends. 

It had been just over a year since I had been into the forest since moving away from Auckland and it was the first thing I had confirmed in my travel itinerary while back in the 09. It was not an epic achievement run nor one where I managed to work out the meaning of life but just a regular run with a couple of mates in the forest. 

Geoff and I started in the dark with a "why the fudge are we doing this" gravel trudge up around the trig and then back to the gate to pick up Kunal who had as per usual created a glorious bespoke loop of all the best new trails and old faves that I had been missing. It took a while to find my clay feet but once I did oh the joy. We grovelled up the slippery bits and bombed down the pine covered trails popping out to the road and back into the forest again. We finished on Stroopwafel and I may secretly have been yelling "weee" on the flowing downs. 

Cup well and truly full (figurative and literal as we went to get a coffee or two after). Running is good, running with friends is better, running with friends in Riverhead (or any other trail) is the greatest run ever over and over again.

July 6, 2022

Lana Hamerton

So my Greatest run ever may not have physically looked like it should have been my greatest run ever, by the time I had finished 6hrs and 59 min after starting - well it looked like I may have had a fight with a bear in the woods. But there wasn't a bear, as good as that story would have been. There was however a rock.

It was during the Tarawera 50km 2021 I met that rock.

I had done the Tarawera 50km in 2020 my first time doing such an event and thought right I will be back next year to better my time, I had done the training I had figured out what pace I wanted to be going and what times I would /should be at aid stations for my support crew to meet me.

Lining up at the startline is magical, the haka performed sending goosebumps down your spine, the atmosphere is amazing and we set off through the geothermal wonderland of Te Puia.

My run was going great, it was all going to plan, I was on time to aid stations, and even ended up running with an old school mate of mine I hadn't seen in years for a while.

Coming into the Green Lake and in a second it all changed.

I kicked that rock. I would like to say I must have looked like superwoman, I hope the dive through the air face first into the rocky gravel path looked impressive...

I was, however, in instant shock! 

Helped to my feet by a group of runners around me, panicking thinking I had smashed my teeth out one lovely guy checked my teeth were still in place.

While others pinned my race bib back on which had ripped off, cleaned me up, picked up my now smashed up flasks from my vest, they said, "Look honestly it doesn't look pretty but can you keep running. If so start now don't stop for too long".  I did just that I carried on.. New race plan was just to finish!

No matter how much this hurts, just finish …

I made it to the Blue Lake aid station with some help from another runner and had to stop to be checked over by medics as I had slightly blurred vision. It turned out I had a whopping shinner and a swollen cheek and jaw.

With the support of many other runners who offered kind words and encouragement I got through the last half of the race, and still knocked 15 mins off my previous time.

(FYI Tarawera medics are amazing!)

Why is this my greatest run because I learnt in that moment that all your planning can go out the door, I learnt that I had it in me to push through and that it was going to take something more than THAT ROCK to stop me getting to the finish line. 

I found that moment where it would have been so easy to say I'm done but I didn't. And I experienced that supportive running community vibe, those runners didn't have to stop to check on me but they all did they all helped me get to that finish line.

June 29, 2022

Joe Benbow

I've already done a Greatest Run Ever, so this one is a bit different. It's my Greatest (Silver Lining) Run Ever.

Diary of a frustrated runner's week in home isolation

Damn you Covid! 

4 times the Wellington Marathon has been postponed or cancelled in the last 2 years:

July 2020 - Postponed to August due to lockdown #1

August 2020 - Cancelled due to still being in Level 2

June 2021 - Postponed to October due to another lockdown thanks to THAT Aussie tourist

October 2021 - Cancelled due to the Delta lockdown

So, with the event finally getting underway this year, it was with huge excitement that I picked up my race number on Saturday, ready to break my PB of 3:27 after a solid training block leaving me feeling fitter than I've ever been.

And then, later that afternoon, it happened....

Sacha appeared in the garden, clutching the small piece of plastic with the 2 dreaded lines. Just 1 week in her new teaching job had led to a positive RAT test. Bugger. Bed for her, and 7 days of isolation for the rest of us. I must admit, in the heat of the moment, my initial response was somewhat less than empathetic (sorry dear...). In a year of race cancellation disappointments, I was ill prepared for this one. But such is life in these crazy times.

The next day was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, reading proudly yet enviously of friends' achievements on what turned out to be great racing conditions, whilst preparing for a week of nursing, prepping meals, working from home and home-schooling the kids. Running had to take a back seat, as it often does when life gets in the way.

Other than a couple of clandestine walks with the dog, we were pretty much housebound. By Wednesday, cabin fever had well and truly set in and I had to escape for a run. So first thing that morning I just put on my shoes, walked out the door and ran as fast as I could. 19.5 minutes later I had a 5km PB in the bag. It's surprising how performance-enhancing emotions can be.

And then with today being a public holiday, and us all testing negative, I had a window to finally get out and go for a long run. So I decided to run the marathon that I wanted to do last week. At 7am, I headed out into the chilly, windless morning, just as the red hues of dawn were cresting the horizon. Now, running 42 laps of Karori Park wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea, but it would do just fine today. Feeling swift and confident, I was able to get into the flow and just run steady, lap after lap after lap.

I finished in 3 hours and 12 minutes (which included a 3 minute loo stop!), shaving a whopping 15 minutes off my previous PB, and justifying the months of effort completing this training block. It wasn't the race I wanted, but it was the run I needed. There was no finish line celebration, applause or medal, but the warm feeling of achievement burned just as bright.

So all's well that ends well. Sacha is recovering well, the kids can go back to school, and I can turn my attentions to Taupo - the next race in the calendar.

(PS Actually there is a medal, because the very kind Wellington marathon race director Michael Jacques has offered to send me mine in the post for having completed the run. What a legend!)

June 22, 2022

Kat Webber

I am lucky enough to have a great friend who I regularly run with and we have spent a lot of time together over the last few years, exploring new trails whilst talking through life's issues. We are both keen Wild Things members and love nothing more than exploring a new route from the trail directory so when he Rang me one Saturday in January to tell me about a trail, he had just completed I was instantly keen to run it. I could hear the excitement in his voice and just how much he had enjoyed it. He said that we would have to run it together soon so the very next weekend we both had permission from our very supportive spouses to disappear for the day. 

We drove an hour outside of Christchurch to just past Amberley where the Tiromoana walkway is located. We parked up and started on off. In comparison to our normal runs on the port hills it made a change to start a trail running downhill! The track continued as we zig zagged our way through some trees and eventually down to a remote and very picturesque beach. It was absolutely stunning! The sun was shining and the water looked so inviting that we decided we had to take the opportunity and go for a swim. The water felt so warm and refreshing. Whilst in the water we heard a noise that seemed to be getting louder and looked up to see two by-planes flying over-head along the coast line. The pilots saw us in the water and sounded their horns to signal a hello as they flew over. We waved and watched as they flew up the coast line a little before turning around and repeating the fly over again. It was a pretty magical moment. It's not every day that you get your own personal fly over! We eventually made our way back up and off of the beach where we got to enjoy spectacular views of Tiromoana Bush itself, through wetlands and forests, together with spectacular coastal cliffs, with Pegasus Bay and Banks Peninsula in the distance. The colours and beauty around us just seemed to shine and we could not help but stop every so often just to take it all in. The return loop offered a mixture of terrain from wide vehicle forest road, walkers' forest tracks and grassy pathways; even floating "stiles" to get through the deer fences were cool. The last 3k back up to the car park was a good challenge to finish. With great company,  varied terrain, open paddocks, pine forest, beach, bush and by-planes this run really had it all and will be one I will remember as my greatest run ever!

June 15, 2022

Dave Byrne

Our twins were born in 2014 and we were living in Roslyn in Palmerston North - a reasonably sketchy suburb. At around 10:30 on an early summer's evening, my wife and I were at the end of our tether with two crying twins and I decided to load them in the stroller and take them for a jog around the hood.

I was going along when I saw a bunch of cars and people up ahead on the footpath. It was pretty loud and obviously a bit of a party. It wasn't until I got closer that I noticed the Mongrel Mob patches.

I bricked myself but thought it would be too obvious if I crossed the road or did a 180. I walked along the berm, eyes averted, to go past when one of them said "you got twins?". I replied in the affirmative and noticed I now had three mobsters around me (a big pale ginger). Wondering what was coming next, I was relieved when he simply said "me too bro - hard eh?" We then stood there for 10 or so minutes discussing the nature of twin parenting. When we finished our chat, one had fallen asleep and the other had stopped crying. We said our goodbyes and I may have broken a 3000m with stroller world record on the way home.

June 8, 2022

Joe Lill

My GRE was a solo training run in the Canterbury foothills and goes a little like this. 

If you head from Otautahi to the hills, the first climb on your way to Arthur's Pass is called Porters Pass. If you stop at the bottom there is a little parking spot opposite a red roadman's hut. This is also the start of what on Wild Things is called the Torlesse Traverse. 

It's a fine weather and summer-only run as ice and snow cover the trickiest bits of it during winter.

I started at 6am with a pleasant 5km warm up on river flats as the sun came up. Then I filled my water bottles at the river and climbed straight up a ridge to the top of Mt Torlesse. Then it was a ridge run around Junction Peak, Red Peak through the gap then up over Castle Hill to Foggy Peak and the road. 

That made it sound like a jaunt but that's because I skipped the constant climbing, sliding back on shingle and very sketchy rock scramble sections which make me hesitant to recommend this run to anyone else. There's not much hope if you slip through those spots so you definitely feel alive and focused when you're moving through them...

It was the toughest and slowest not even half marathon I've ever run. For those interested in numbers the first 5kms took 35mins and the second 5kms took 1hr 48min...  But it was so worth it as running the ridge and then climbing up through the gap was a truly a magical experience. The Gap is a feature at around the halfway point which is kind of like a giant's rock door or window.  From here you look back out over the plains to the sea or face deep into the southern alps. You should google some images to get a feel for the scale of the place - it's truly special and if you're ever driving through the area look out for it sitting up there on the ridge line.

Anyway, my GRE finished 5 hours 10mins after I started and I was shattered.  At the end I had to hitchhike back down to my car.  

Asking anyone to open their door to a stranger in the form of a runner dressed in a bright lycra top, short shorts and who is obviously sweaty is not exactly appealing so when a car slowed down, it completed a final element of my GRE which up until then had been all about the outdoors and fitness. This last act of generosity from another person in the form of a passing motorist (and their trust in me) confirmed again just how lucky we are here. Being able to run in such a magnificent part of the world and rely on the kindness of strangers is something I feel privileged to experience and remembering that run still brings out a wry smile.

June 1, 2022

Michelle Bovill

My greatest run ever was the time I came DFL. It was at an event called the Wild Goose Chase in the Avon Valley near Perth Western Australia. Wild Goose Chase ran over a long weekend with distances ranging from 10km to a miler. I was entered in the 29km event.

But this story begins long before that event with a border collie called Jett. Jett was one of those really special dogs - smart, gentle natured and loved by everyone. He was my running buddy, my therapy dog, my constant companion. He came everywhere with us, work, camping, trips to Bunnings!! Unfortunately, as is common in border collies, Jett developed epilepsy. Although he was on medication to control his seizures, during the week before the event Jett started seizuring. He was rushed to the vet who was unable to control his seizures so he was then taken to an emergency specialist vet centre where he basically spent 36 hours in doggy ICU (on a ventilator in an induced coma to try and 'reset' his brain). Despite the very best care and treatment, we had to say goodbye to our beautiful Jett. They eased off his sedation just enough so that he knew we were there and we could tell him how much he was loved. I sat on the floor with him and Jett tried his very best to lift his head and put it on my lap. I held him and spoke to him until he passed. My heart was broken.

Three days later I lined up at the start of the 29km event at Wild Goose. I had "Jett" written on my arm in black marker and his collar attached to my running pack. I ran and walked that day in honour of my running buddy, my therapy dog, my best friend. It was a beautiful day on a beautiful trail. There were times I had to talk to Jett to get me up the grinding hills. I finished holding his collar in my hand which I kissed as I crossed the line. It didn't matter that I had come last. What mattered was that I got to have my final run with Jett.  This is why it will always be my greatest run ever.

In memory of #jettthebordercollie

May 25, 2022

Emily Solsberg 

Here is my greatest run ever, titled: "Not the OGU 2022"

My co-worker's hands clutched the back of my office chair with a white knuckle grip; I pressed the "Submit" button. It was 1:02pm on 1st June, 2021. I scarcely dared to breathe. The screen flashed, "You are now entered in the Old Ghost Ultra 2022!". The room erupted in shrieks of ecstatic joy.  I was in. 

Fast forward eight months later to early February 2022. It was a calm Sunday night and I had been watching races all around me fall like bludgeoned ducks after the red light announcement. My husband raced Jumbo Holdsworth in late January (thanks to the indomitable race director, Andrew Thompson) so I was confident that a race with only 300 entrants would survive with the introduction of a wave start. Then the announcement came out of the cancellation of the Old Ghost Ultra and I descended into a compressed 20 minute grief cycle of disbelief, shock, anger and sadness. Then I slapped myself in the face and messaged my Scottish Harrier club mate Geoff Ferry, who I knew was also entered in the OGU and asked him if he still wanted to go down to the West Coast and run the course with me on race day, and he immediately agreed. His training partner Andy Crossland, Upper Hutt park run race director, wanted to go too. Our plan was set in motion. 

I had never met Andy before and had probably spoken less than 10 words to Geoff in my life when we held our "pre-race debrief" via Zoom the Tuesday night before the "race". When Andy sent us the spreadsheet of race logistics (aid station distances, time to drink at aid stations, elevation profile, entire race weekend food list, specific mantras to rehearse at different stages of the course), I knew I was in good hands! We agreed to meet the night before the run for dinner in Westport and finalise our mission. 

In true West Coast fashion, the weather for race day called for steadily worsening torrential rain throughout the entire day, peaking at 4pm. We set out for Seddonville, the start of the race, from Westport at 5am on 19th February. For several weeks before our run, Westport and surrounds had experienced extensive flooding with the road from Westport to Seddonville entirely washed out at times. This was evident even in the dark of our drive. However, we had a purely magical start in the dark just after 6am from the carpark near the Rough and Tumble Bush Lodge. Throughout the day, both Geoff and Andy saved my life numerous times through their gear preparedness and the first time was providing me with a spare head torch when mine died on arrival at the start of the track. We learned that there were 22 others (members of Wild Things) attempting the 85km run from Seddonville to Lyell that day, paying for their own helicopter drop aid stations at three locations, as the track is completely inaccessible by any roads. We set out 15-20 minutes after this group but caught up to some of them on the way. 

This former mining track is majestic and I cannot recommend it highly enough. There are beautiful trails alongside the Mohikinui River, many waterfalls and swing bridges (including one with a door halfway across to prevent possums and stoats from crossing), misty stream crossings, lakes, a natural spring, bountiful forests and, apparently, endless mountain views. I did not see any views as, aside from our first 1-2 hours (one hour of which was in the dark), our entire run (almost 12 hours) was in pouring rain, that true to promise, steadily worsened through the day. I can honestly say that I have never had a wetter run in my life! The scenery was jaw dropping and the company of Geoff and Andy (discussing our top 10 best run/race experiences and bucket lists for life) distracted me from the pain that my body felt, never having run further than 60km before. The Wild Things running group allowed us to use their aid stations as they preferred not to have to helicopter all the food out again at the end! This was an absolute delight of the day and Geoff may have drunk 5 or more Red Bulls. We arrived at Lyell Campground (the end of the Old Ghost Road) around 6 or 7pm and having arranged to have my rental car driven to the end, jumped into our dry clothes and bags of food with the utmost glee and drove back to Westport in the afterglow of finishing 85km of pure trails (it was still raining). I had to leave Westport early the next morning to return to Wellington but Geoff and Andy had brunch with some of the Old Ghost race crew and the Wild Things runners who had done the Old Ghost that day. The race director told them that had those conditions been present on race day, they would have made the course an out-and-back race due to safety in the high mountain terrain. Upon learning that, I was overjoyed that we had been given the chance to run the whole course ourselves that day, as we may not have gotten to otherwise. Kia ora Geoff and Andy for joining me on my best run ever, and making it such a magical experience. I would do it again.

May 18, 2022

James Steele

I’ll admit that for the last year or so I’ve been actively trying to have a ‘Greatest Run Ever’ so I can send something in to you guys. There have been a lot of pretty good runs, or runs where I feel like I’ve had a good shift or gone quicker than usual, but not one where I’ve sat back thinking about it a while afterwards with a big smile on my face. Until this one.

For the last couple of years, a group of mates and I have been taking annual lads’ camping trips where we’ve had an intentional focus of sharp cheddars, cured meats, good whisky, and running. Average-blokes-in-their-early-40s type running, at least.

Last month we went to the Piropiro campsite on the Timber Trail in the King Country - home of the greatest concentration of bumble bees in the world, it turns out!

On Day 2 of the stay, we set off south, in the sun, toward the Maramataha swing bridge with the intent of seeing how far we might feel like going. The bridge is absolutely amazing – 141 metres long and 53 metres high, with more wobble in it than you’d admit you’re comfortable with. We plodded along for about 7ks before deciding to turn around, and this is where the ‘greatest’ bit happened.

After crossing the bridge again heading north, the trail starts a gentle descent. My mate Owen was ahead of me, Jim was behind a bit. At some point, Owen decided to pin his ears back and go for it, disappearing around a bend. “Good on ya, mate”, I thought, before realising, “Hey, I could be doing that, too!”, and let fly. For the next k or so, we completely let go and went as fast as we possibly could. My legs were spinning round quicker than they ever have before, vision went a bit blurry and the wind was buffeting in my ears. There’s something so exhilarating in that feeling – you’re on the very edge of control, and you have the realisation that at any second it could all come undone and you’ll finish up sprawled across the trail. It’s an odd thing to enjoy, but there’s a huge rush to it.

After the first burst of speed abated there was a moment sharing how awesome that had been. We realised there was still trail ahead of us, so off we went again, whizzing between the trees, feeling like we were on some kind of ride – a passenger zooming along, not really in control of what was happening, heightening the adrenaline rush.

The trail ended at the forestry road south of Camp Epic, and we trotted back to camp with massive grins. Greatest bit-of-a-run ever!

May 11, 2022

Tom Kissel

Don’t some of the best things come to you when you least expect it? There is nothing better than a surprise Greatest Run Ever when you least expected it right? 

I’m a very fastidious and pragmatic person (this sounds way better than anal but let’s face it…) and try my best to have a pretty good plan for most runs. This run was no different. I had planned to run a tempo session of around 16km before meeting a friend at 6:45am for another 10km easy trot around Hagley Park in Christchurch. 

I got into my work and was pretty sure that the 1st kilometre was thrown out by a cell tower as it was bang on 4 min and it felt way too easy. After 4km I was still running easy, HR was in Zone 3, and I had knocked out the previous 3 kilometres at 3:50ish pace, which is flying for me! I decided to go with the sensations and just keep it steady to 10km before easing off and linking up with my friend. By the time I got to 10km I was still feeling great and at 38min30sec was on one! I decided to push it to 60 min then ease off. When I got to 60min however there was some math to do. I was at 15.6km and had about 15min to make it in time to meet my friend on time. However, I had worked out that even if I limped in, I was likely to hold onto a half marathon PB! So, I made the call and pulled out my phone, while trying to run sub 4 min pace which must have looked ridiculous, and text my friend to say I’ll be about 10 min late but was still coming. I kept waiting for my legs to fall apart but it never happened. In fact, quite the opposite. I ran the final few km in 3:30km pace, negative split the half distance and crushed my PB coming home with a 1hr 20min 30sec time which was a whopping 3 min faster than my previous best! 

I can only imagine what was going through my friend’s head as he saw me running toward him at full speed, really late, only to run straight passed yelling “50 more meters to go”! The conversation about what had just happened was a great one. My friend is 30 years older than me and was like a proud Dad listening to me harp on about how great I felt out there. We enjoyed another 10km together which rounded out the session to a little over 31km. 

Why was this my greatest run ever? Well, I didn’t think I'd ever submit a GRE for a road run as I am mostly on the trails. However, the unexpectedness of the run and the immense sense of satisfaction at going with the flow state I found myself in that morning made it one to remember. There was no taper, in fact I had done 20km in the hills the day before and 73km for the week so far! There was no nutrition other than a 500ml carb/electrolyte drink. There was no pacing plan, no other runners to pull me through and certainly no finishing chute. Yet I enjoyed this one more than most races I’ve ever done. There was no pressure or expectation on anything other than having a great time doing what I love. It proved to me that as fastidious and pragmatic as I try to be, this experience proved to me you can’t always plan for your best result whether it is sporting, professionally or in your personal life. Sometimes you just have to be open to going with the flow and seeing what happens.

May 4, 2022

Alun Davies

 My yarn takes place in May last year.  

Thanks to the pandemic and for reasons I won't go into, my whānau and I had been under immense pressure for a long time.  My home environment was toxic, my work was stagnant, my marriage was at breaking point and unable to control any of it, I was spiralling into a pit of depression. 

Life was far from rosy. 

In an effort to salvage my mental health, I decided to set my sights on something I could control. A challenge way above anything I had done before; the Kepler challenge to be precise. But this isn't a story about running the Kepler. My greatest run ever happened when I had only just started training. 

I was taking a break from life at our bach and it was time to go for a run. I ditched the planned intervals in favour of exploring the tracks below Mt Hutt, aiming for Scotts Saddle. 

It was late Autumn; the skies were blue and there wasn't a breath of wind. I started early from Awa Awa reserve, as yet untouched by the sun and thick with frost. The crystal-covered grass crunched under my feet as I headed towards the steep and gnarly Opuke track, already enjoying the feeling of the crisp, cold air in my lungs.

I left Winter behind in the domain and was soon back in Autumn, scrambling up waste high steps between the rocks, using roots to stabilise myself on the slippery trail that seemed to have recently been a raging waterway. The ruggedness of the terrain and the dynamic movements needed to traverse it got my heart racing and ignited a sense of adventure deep within me.

I hit the Scotts Saddle track and as the trail levelled out, I ran from Autumn into Spring with the bright green moss on the forest floor, dappled with the light filtering through the beech canopy, giving off a sense of new life I wasn't expecting that late in the year. 

I carried on climbing through another steep and difficult section, then finally came out of the trees and into the tussocks. Again the track showed signs that it had a part-time job as a stream bed and as it snaked between the sunlight and shade, it constantly warped my world from Summer to Winter. In the tussocks, wildflowers bloomed in the sunshine. In the gullies, waterfalls were frozen in time and foot-long icicles hung from the earthy overhangs. It felt as though my body was split between seasons as I ran through the deep, frozen tracks with my head in glorious sunshine and my feet crunching ice with each step.  With no responsibilities and no schedule to keep to, I was free to stop and fully appreciate the full beauty of the world around me, giving me a rare sense of freedom and calm on what should have been an intensely structured training run. 

The track continued upwards, cutting across scree slopes and along ridgelines that sandwiched me between views of the canterbury plains, extending all the way to the ocean, and views of the seemingly endless, snow-capped mountains of the Southern Alps.  I hadn't seen anyone since I started and yet somehow out there, totally alone, my solitude felt empowering. A stark contrast to the loneliness I often felt in my own home.

I hit the turnaround point at Scotts Saddle, took the obligatory selfie next to the doc sign and started down again, getting stronger instead of weaker as I continued my adventure. 

Rather than risking injury by going back down the slippery Opuke track, I opted to stay on the more gradual Scotts Saddle track and didn't regret it. Again, I seemed to traverse the seasons as I moved through beech, pine and open grassy sections of the forest, the air temperature constantly shifting from baking hot to bracing cold as I moved in and out of the sunshine. 

Half an hour later I came to a crossroads; left to the car, or right down to the river. I should have been tired but I was full of a vitality I hadn't felt in a long time and didn't want to lose just yet, so I chose the river. 

Down I went and just before I emerged onto the river bed the temperature suddenly dropped well below zero and I found myself in a tiny patch of bush that Summer seemed to have forgotten. Everywhere I looked the ground and plants were covered in the biggest hoar frost crystals I have ever seen, some as long as my finger. The natural beauty in that tiny pocket of the world was both breath taking and mesmerising but it wasn't long before I was shivering and had to leave. 20 steps later and I was basking in the sun again, it was surreal. 

When I finally returned to the car, I was at that perfect balance of tired and exhilarated. My camera was laden with photos but more importantly, my soul was filled with something no pill could have given me. 

I felt so immensely grateful and privileged to have witnessed such momentary and unique natural beauty that morning. I drove away with a peace in my heart I hadn't felt in a long time and even now, nearly a year on, I still get emotional as I relive the experience. 

My greatest run ever was more than just a great run, it opened my eyes to the value of being immersed in nature and empowered me to take control of my own happiness. It was a turning point in my battle with mental health, a battle I believe I'm now winning. 

My greatest run ever was an experience I will always be immensely thankful for and has been with me on every single run I've done since, including the Kepler, which was epic. 

April 27, 2022

Mark La Roche

My greatest run came on a steely grey, bitingly cold, blustery, drizzly, Christchurch winter’s day last year. My coach (shout out to Matt Ingram) had scheduled a 60-minute run which I had been putting off all day. When I finally forced myself out the door, I did so with an incredibly low level of expectation, just wanting to get the job done, and a green box on Training Peaks.

Heading down Scarborough Hill toward Taylor’s Mistake I spotted what I thought was a massive log in the surf, but quickly realised it was a whale (later identified as a Great Right Whale) – at least 15m long, and a calf about half that length, literally a stone’s throw from my position on the cliff top.

I don’t run with a phone and had no-one to share the experience with, which made the moment all the more intense, intimate, even transcendental.

At that time I was contemplating changing jobs, weighing up the pros and cons – what I knew and what I didn’t know.

Was this proof that what I know about the world can never be contained? I could never have anticipated coming face to face with such a magnificent creature, especially on this otherwise unpromising day.

Was this a sign that I should make the change, and leap into a new world of unknowns?

This was at least a reminder for why I run – because every run is an adventure. I never know who or what I might encounter or experience on the way and in doing so am constantly expanding my universe.

April 20, 2022

Lauren Bradbury

This greatest run is dedicated to the wonderful superhuman that is Kerry Suter & the beautiful Ali Pottinger. Their support, encouragement, infectious humour & the broader Squadrun family got me to the finish line of this event.

My greatest run ever is my first ever ultra, running the Ultra Trail Australia 50km in 2019. To understand this journey, I need to take you back to my first UTA experience in 2017. At that point in time, I had been road running for a few years and had a few half marathons under my belt. 2017 were the good old days when you didn’t need to take a day off work to secure your coveted UTA spot & I had heard a friend talking about it just two weeks out from race day. ‘A day in the mountains sounds fun’ I said to myself, so I entered the 22km.

I did zero research on the course, did not own trail shoes & boldly took my usual road half nutrition of a couple of gels. Almost 5 hours later I dragged my  hypothermic, soggy, leech covered self over the finish line, burst into tears & swore never again. 12 months later with some more training under my belt & eyes very much open, I entered the 22km again & had a fabulous day. That was it. I was hooked on the magic of trail running & firmly set my sights on the 50km the following year.

In my 38 years on this planet, I am not sure I have ever been so doggedly focussed on a goal. I signed up with Squadrun as soon as I had secured my 50km entry after hearing wonderful things about their coaches & having witnessed the Squadrun community in action with cries of ‘Go Squaddie!’ during the previous year’s event. I stuck to that programme like glue, sought help & advice when I needed it with Kerry & Ali always happy to help.

Four months out from race day saw disaster strike when I suffered a nasty ankle sprain while on a training run in the mountains. Like all good runners, I ignored the magnitude of the problem, ‘rested’ it for a couple of weeks & pressed on with my programme (please know I in no way advocate such idiocy but runners are going to do what runners are going to do). Things were going well with my long runs progressing. I remember finishing my longest ever run of 30km & feeling like I couldn’t possibly go further then doing a 35km mountains loop a couple of weeks later.

Race day was insight, taper began & whilst running my local park run, rolled my stupid ankle again! I remember talking to friends & family who all commiserated; ‘there’s always next year’ they said. No chance. I had worked so hard for this. I was not missing that start line even if it meant crawling out of Kedumba to get to the finish.

Finally race day arrived. I lined up on the start line in wave 7 aka the party wave. We rounded the first corner & hit the first hill of the day. My strategy for the day was to hard hike the hills & jog/shuffle/crawl the rest. I made it to the 17km checkpoint at Fairmont in pretty good shape.

Sweaty hugs with hubby, water refill & handful of chips. Made it to the halfway mark and was slow jogging into the QV aid station at 28km where the atmosphere was buzzing. I headed out for the last 22km knowing there was no turning back now. A timely message of encouragement from a friend reminding me that I knew this section of the course like the back of my hand. It was a slow descent down Kedumba watching the 100km elites fly by.

I made it to the 41km emergency station at helipad & realised that maybe, just maybe, my original goal time could happen. I pushed hard on that last climb out of Kedumba, head torch came out at Leura & as much as I wanted to push the pace, the terrain was not ankle friendly. I began passing people who all called out words of encouragement in the dark. I smashed the last of my gels at the bottom of the infamous Furber steps & began climbing.

Out of the dark you could hear struggling runners in front & behind, cursing coming out of the darkness & even one poor person spewing down the side of the mountain. Train of goodness my arse!

I got to the top just before the boardwalk & realised my watch had just ticked over my target goal & I burst into tears. A nearby spectator reassured me it was ok, I was almost finished. I somehow mustered what felt like a sprint but probably looked like a zombie shuffle to cross the line in just over ten hours. I threw my hands in the air, burst into tears & took the hug offered by one of the awesome volunteers handing out medals. She somehow found my husband in the crowd and handed me off to him for more sweaty hugs as someone place a cold beer in my hand.

Greatest run ever.

April 13, 2022

Mark Ballantyne

I have to admit, I’m a very casual runner, at my best completing a few half marathons and 3 full marathons in my younger years.  The best was the Rotorua marathon in 3hrs 38min where I had a goal of under 3hrs30 so I was a bit gutted.  I’ve always run for fun with a few events to keep the focus. These days it’s very much for fitness and wellbeing and since May 1st 2021 I’ve run every second day without fail, more than 145 runs to date.  I’m a creature of habit

I’ve been meaning to write in for ages and already had a greatest run ever in mind.  Over the holiday break I experienced an amazing run which was the trigger to submit both runs.

For many years, work in IT provided me opportunities to travel all over the world. I enjoyed several trips to Honiara in the Solomon Islands, where I attended the Monday night Hash Harriers group, which would run through trails around Honiara.  It was fantastic to step away from our computers and see more of the country.

After a number of Monday nights I found myself running near the front of the lead group with another expat Kiwi.  As we approached the end of the run the pace increased further and further to the point where I found myself running full steam through the trail.  I reached the finish ahead of the other runners, my first and only win, albeit a casual Monday night jaunt through the Honiara countryside.  It felt great.

And now my recent run.

My wife & I had the pleasure of spending a few days in Pauanui with friends over the New Year period.  While on holiday I was determined to maintain the consistent pattern of running every second day.

Early on Saturday the 1st I decided to set off through the streets of Pauanui arriving at the base of Mt Pauanui.  I stopped to consider whether to proceed up the hill or not.  With 16yo and 18yo sons their favourite term is send it!  With that term in mind I set off up the track, quickly coming up behind a group of walkers.  The first person in the group announced, “Runner coming”, and moved over to let me pass.  At that point I was committed to both the trip up the hill, and the pace, so away I went.  The trip to the top was much the same with lots of encouragement and the fantastic feeling of being close to nature.  Running in the bush is amazing.

After a quick selfie at the top I proceeded back down the track and spotted the Cave Bay route and the sense of adventure took over.  This was my first time running on a trail in many years.  It was amazing!  The trail was smooth & flowing.  So peaceful and quiet.  It was a blissful trip down the hill, around the rocky shoreline to arrive back at the track entry absolutely exhausted but feeling great! A short trip back through the streets to our accommodation to begin 2022.

April 6, 2022

Alison Hanegraaf 

A Family affair – my first 100km

I realised that I was in complete denial about my race cancellation when I immediately jumped at the opportunity to do a NonTUM 100km on 12 Feb. The sad, numb feeling, quickly converted to the excitement of pre-race week. The mission, Rotorua to Rotoiti and back – I knew I had my WHY– to achieve 100km. Man was I going to need it…

It was a “crazy hot”, humid day. I was dripping in the first 10min at 6am. Still, I felt

great. Coming into each aid station was not much different to a race, lots of people, noise, and excitement. Mum and Dad, my trainee support crew got better and better at each stop. They missed me at the turnaround point but the fabulous trail running community saw me right. With some electrolyte and an OSM they sent me on my way. I happily hiked up and down hills, feeling the humidity rise and fall with each one.

Was super happy at Lake Okataina, ready to take on the next big climb. At this point my gut decided that food was no longer an option. I didn’t have enough Pure so was running on vapours by Millar Road, 26km to go and starting to fade.  I kept repeating my motto, “Form, Cadence, Go”,this at every point that I knew I should run. I welcomed the hills because I allowed myself to walk.

At 16km to go, and still only able to drink Pure. I told my husband I felt terrible. He

quite sternly said “you can’t stop now; you’ve come too far”. I was sent on my way, with my headlamp and Thomas my fabulous ring-in pacer. Thomas undoubtedly got me through the Redwoods – my fuzzy brain, darkness coming in and poor knowledge of the track had us lost many times. A young track/road runner, he had never paced before but knew exactly what to do – either say nothing or something like, “This is amazing, I can see why people do this!” His calm demeanour and young brain for using Strava had us down at the last checkpoint in no time.

Finishing with Ashley and Thomas (daughter and her boyfriend) was an emotional blur, “I did IT” “ I did it” I kept repeating - body wrecked, mind blurry, but I did it.

A few tips in hindsight:

1/ The trail running community is awesome, thank you to everyone who was out there.

2/ Don’t do this without a clearly marked trail, hill reps are not ideal at 90km and I got lost plenty of times before this;

3/ No medical tent when pushing the body to the limit is risky.

4/ Having mum and dad at the aid stations and family to run me home makes for a

very special experience.

And finally – missing the Race Finish- line experience and medal does leave a little hole, but now I know I can do it – bring on TUM 2023!

March 30, 2022

Jen Dive

My greatest run ever is not a story of triumph, nor is it one of great beauty or even accomplishment. It is a tale of realisation and self belief. 

My kiwi wife and I (I'm an Aussie) moved to NZ from Australia in 2017 in search of a better life balance. After months of settling into new jobs, renovating/selling/buying a house it was time for us to seek out the adventure we were looking for.

We decided to enter the 26km Tussock Traverse. My wife is a natural athlete and talented runner who would have no problem covering the distance. At the time I had zero training under my belt but had covered a longer distance previously and thought it would be a great day out with a bit of a hard slog but nothing too arduous. 

I had never left Wellington prior to traveling to the event and had absolutely no understanding of the landscape and environment we were about to encounter.

Despite my insisting on the drive north that I would be fine to do the race at my own pace, my wife would have none of it and held firm that we would do the race together. I felt a lot of guilt as I knew she would have had such a great day out, testing herself against the great field but when I first caught a glimpse of the majestic Mt Ruapehu, I was beginning to understand what I had signed up for.

The morning of the event we caught the bus to the start of the contingency course just off the Desert Road..... Desert? Where are the dunes and golden sand.... this Aussie was blown away by the tussock and black sandy landscape. 

We mill around at the start eyeing off all the fancy running vests and super fit looking humans. I was feeling terribly out of my depth. 

The starter finished the brief and we were off. single file along the ruts for the first kilometer. I felt like I was sprinting in the sand, I was stressing out about holding up other runners and my lungs and quads were burning. 

Thankfully we had wisely started towards the back of the pack and after letting a few groups through we had a bit of space around us which made it much less embarrassing when, at the 3km mark, the lactic acid and lack of fitness got the better of me and my body started dry heaving. This was going to be a long day. 

We made a bit of progress in a walk/run fashion all while my brain was giving me lecture after lecture about lack of training, all the terrible nutrition choices I had made over the last few months, why did I even think I could run this, you don't belong in a trail running event...... the rabbit hole of negative self talk was deep and dark.

Thankfully something triggered my brain to ease up. We had made it to the out and back section of the course where the field runs back past you to carry on toward the Chateau. This is where my brain started to tick over. I was in awe of the athletes at the front of the pack. Almost all of the first 20-30 or so runners said hello or gave encouragement... while they were running! I had read about this mystical culture of trail running where it was a supportive community who is just out there to experience the outdoors and do some pretty epic things but to experience this first hand (and when I clearly needed a bit of a boost) was pretty amazing. 

Things got better from here. Despite the searing heat, blisters and non-existant nutrition plan, we slowly made progress. We were approaching a steeper section of the course where I gave myself a pep talk to just keep moving forward. A km or so before this section an older lady powered past us. Her speed and determination was impressive. 

After a couple of false peaks, I felt a wave of relief that I was actually going to finish this thing! I had already made some stern promises to myself to respect my body more and commit to training for our next adventure. We rounded a few tight corners and stumbled upon a person getting treatment from a medic and the sound of a helicopter in the distance. It was the lady that had passed us earlier. She was on a drip and looking very worse for wear. We checked if there was anything we could help with but the medic had it in hand. 

We were on the home stretch now. It felt like it went forever but the cool relief of shady trees distracted me from my sore toes that felt like they were going to explode out of my shoes. 

We crossed the line with a smile for the camera and a high five to acknowledge a mission complete. My wife and I smiled at each other knowing that we had both learnt a lot out of the day and that this would definitely be the first of many trail running experiences. 

I was sitting, zombie like, in the finishing tent drinking electrolytes when I saw her. I elbowed my wife and said 'is that the old lady?!' 

Sure enough, the lady that had passed us and then found herself on the end of a drip, crossed the finish line only 10-15 mins after us looking fresh as a daisy! She had a drink, a banana and walked herself to her car and drove herself home. I was gobsmacked. 

This is a story we share with our friends and family often. Even years later, it's hard to determine if the best part of the day was the self-belief I gained from the experience or if it was being witness to such a remarkable, determined woman cross that line in what seemed to be dire circumstances.

March 23, 2022

Just Plain Dave, from Massachusetts 

I started running in my early 40’s as an alternative to a lifetime prescription for cholesterol medications.  My running progressed from marathons, to 50K’s, and a 50-miler.  Then to celebrate my 50th birthday, and because I realized that the leap from 50-miles to 100-miles was exponential rather than cumulative, I hired a coach to guide my training for my first attempt at 100 Miles.  

The 2019 Anchor Down Ultra took place at Colt State Park, on the shore of Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island.   The course is a 3.95-kilometer loop.  The first half is dusty single-track forest trail with lots of tree roots.  The second half is a paved walkway along the water’s edge.  It is a generally flat and “runnable” course, with a 10-meter lumpy climb in the woods the tallest hill on the course.  

The course highlight is the Race Headquarters.  Race HQ is the aid station at the start of each loop, staffed by a dozen caring volunteers and stocked with a wonderful buffet of food, fuel, hydration, and electrolytes. The Anchor Down Ultra treats its runners very well.  And the reason it is called ‘Anchor Down’, is because at the HQ transition zone, there is a grassy field where runners and their support crews can set up their own tent, canopy, or support station.  For this one night of the year our tribe of ultrarunners sets up camp and “Anchors Down”.  The feeling of community support is amazing.  

In total, 185 runners started the race, with 79 of those aiming to maximize their mileage over 24-hours.  To reach 100 miles, a runner must complete 41 laps, with each lap taking 30 to 35 minutes to complete.  

The 6-hour, 12-hour, and 24-hour events all start at 7PM on Friday.  After about 45 minutes of fading light, we raced the next 10 hours in the dark.  Overnight, the forest trail looked like a mystical river of lights and head torches bobbing along the course.  Shared joy and suffering with a soundtrack of footfalls on packed dirt, the buzz of summer insects, and voices chattering among the trees.

Shortly after completing my first lap, only 5 kilometers into the race, I met Hanna and started a conversation.  She was more than 20 years younger than I, but also targeting her first “Miler” and we were running just about the same pace.  She had run the 24-hour event the previous year and finished with 122 km (76 miles).  She said that her A-goal was a ‘Top 3’ finish for the women’s field.  I told her that I only had one goal, a single-minded focus.  I was going to run 100 miles.

Mid-August is typically one of the hottest weekends of the year, perfect timing for a challenging 24-hour ultramarathon.  However, the 2019 Anchor Down weather was perfect, with moderate humidity and temperatures ranging from 20C overnight to a peak of 27C in the heat of the day.   After a summer of training in challenging heat and humidity, Mother Nature cooperated with a glorious day for an ultramarathon . . . or for a wedding.  And yes, one of the unique benefits of running this race is getting to see the “civilians” enjoying a perfect summer Saturday in the State Park.  

Running loop after loop, as the tide rose and fell, we ran a lap past volunteers setting up 60 white folding chairs and a flower-covered archway.  Mid-morning, we saw the wedding party assembled; looping again, we observed the ceremony from afar; another loop, bridal party photographs; and a few loops later the chairs were being folded up and loaded onto a truck.  “Real Life” went on while the ultra-runners were doing their ultra-thing.  In the afternoon there were kite fliers, picnickers, frisbee throwers, fishermen, and countless families taking their children and dogs for a walk in the picturesque oceanside park.

Seventeen hours later Hanna and I had run together for more than 120 kilometers.  What an amazing, shared experience.  When I was feeling low, Hanna was there to listen and offer support.  When she was not at her best, I offered encouragement.  We were each other’s sounding boards.  We were competitors, but we were not competing with each other.  We were each competing with our past selves, working hard to exceed our preconceived limits.  Joy and triumphs are best when shared.

We also shared suffering and discomfort.  It was a dry year, so the trail was dusty and gritty.  Around 5AM we both were experiencing catastrophic chafing due to dust and dirt sneaking into nooks and crevices that are best kept ‘dust free’.  I estimate that I had 200 square centimeters of chafing between my waist and my knees.  We both decided to take a 10-minute break to change clothes and re-apply lube.  I thought that I had lubed adequately pre-race, but I learned the hard way that by the time you feel the burn, it is already too late.  I generously re-applied lube.  And the good news, we only had 14 more hours to go.  

Each time through the aid station, we would split up to take care of business.  I typically got back on the trail more quickly because I carried food with me and walked as I ate.  We would reconnect in the woods after the transition zone.  My fueling and hydration were nearly perfect.  I’ve experienced gut challenges and GI distress enough at other Ultras to know how fortunate I was. [Including at the 2021 Anchor Down Ultra, but that story is NOT my greatest run ever, forgive the digression.] I relied primarily on real food, with watermelon being one of my favorites.  I estimate that I ate 2 or 3 wedges of watermelon on 30 trips through the aid station.  Doing the math, I estimate that I ate a whole watermelon:  Fructose, water, fiber, delicious!

Early Saturday morning, Chris, a friend who I’ve known since 1975 (when we were in kindergarten) brought me an iced coffee.  It was like the nectar of the gods.  A perfect sugary caffeinated potion to fuel my morning.

At noon on Saturday, my friend Peter came to pace me, and we celebrated the fact that I only had “One-Marathon-to-Go” with 7 hours left on the clock.  If I could hold pace in the heat of the day, I was confident that I would achieve my goal.  Hanna picked up her pacer at about the same time.  She was slowing and I knew I had fuel left in the tank.  I wanted to pick up my pace so that I would not be worried about running out of clock on 24-hours.  We parted ways . . . wishing each other the best as we both chased our first Miler.  

My mantra for the day was “It’s a great day to do great things!”  I must have said that 1,000 times.  I said it with a “THANK YOU” to the aid station workers filling my water bottles and providing food.  I said it to runners as we crossed paths on the trail.  I said it to State Park workers and random spectators.  I said it to my family and friends who were my crew for the afternoon and provided support.

The 2019 Anchor Down Ultra was my greatest run ever, because 5 months of training and preparation paid off.  With the exception of chafing, everything that was in my control went well.  On balance, almost all the factors beyond my control, like weather, tipped in a favorable direction.  I completed my 100 miles in 23 hours 16 minutes.  The icing on the cake was seeing Hanna finish in 23:55; she was the overall winner of the women’s field, and the last person to complete 100 miles.  We had both earned our belt buckles.

Looking back on that perfect summer day, someone might think that running 100 miles is a great individual accomplishment.  But when I look back on the 2019 Anchor Down Ultra, I realize that it was My Greatest Run Ever because of the support of our running tribe. Hanna and I, and all the runners who achieved our audacious goals did it because we had the support of our families, friends, coaches, race volunteers, and our running community.  I am 100% certain; it was a GREAT DAY TO DO GREAT THINGS!

March 16, 2022

Maddy Henderson

The story of my greatest run ever begins in early 2021. Following my greatest 10km run ever at the 2020 Queenstown Marathon event, my sister Sarah (who’d smashed the full marathon) and I entered the 2021 Queenstown Half. It was a bucket-list item to complete a second and final half marathon after having my two daughters (aged 2 and 4). Training commenced, and I realised that whilst I love trail running, I didn’t think distances longer than 15km were for me. But I was signed up and love a challenge. I loved the training runs but disliked the pressure to do longer weekend runs with the uncertainty brought about by the pandemic. As Covid alert levels escalated, it became apparent that the Queenstown event may not go ahead (“Phew”). I asked Sarah, off the back of having walked our first ever Great Walk (the Heaphy) in December 2020, if she might be keen to run the Routeburn if the Half was canned. At this point, despite the increased vert and longer distance, I was super keen to give this challenge a go to test my limits but not feel pressured by the race clock.

When Queenstown was postponed, we decided to go for it. The day prior to the run, we were enroute to Te Anau and the wonderful Mike from Trackhopper (who was relocating my car from the Divide to the Glenorchy end) phoned to say the Routeburn was closed due to snow up by Lake Harris. We were suddenly gutted that our Plan B might not go ahead. We decided Plan C would be to run into Mackenzie Hut and back out again, but my thoughts were also that if we were on to Plan C, perhaps a southern run was not meant to be, and we were better to go with Plan D – just park up in Queenstown and eat and drink to our hearts’ content. On the Saturday morning however, we got the call that the track had re-opened and we were good to go. I was nervous but excited. Nervous as to whether I could even do it, given my longest run in the lead up was only 18km, but excited for an adventure that we had all day to do.

We set out in the pouring rain from the Divide carpark, and I was absolutely puffed within minutes and the doubt crept in as I thought of how big this run was for me. But soon the green bush and fresh air relaxed my mind. At Lake Howden, I stopped to take photos, but Sarah quickly let me know that we would run out of daylight if I took photos all day, and so off we jogged. At Earland Falls, I knew that there was no way the Queenstown Half could’ve compared to this; we were blown away by the beauty of Fiordland. We stopped for lunch at Lake Mackenzie Hut, then mostly walked the climb up from the lake and revelled in the spectacular views on offer. At Ocean View Corner, we met a friendly kea and a strong wind. As we (literally) clung to the side of the mountains, overlooking the stunning Hollyford Valley, I was keen to keep moving. The wind was awful, and the hotel bed seemed awfully far away.

But it was all worth it when we got to the Harris Saddle and sidled along the bluffs above Lake Harris in the snow. It’s hard to say what slowed us down more – the conditions or the moody views of snowy alps, but we were at the top and she was going to be all downhill from here. We got into a good rhythm until the Routeburn Falls where another photo opportunity got the better of us and we took 5 to check out the Hut. As we descended back into the bush for a solid finish, my relief at surviving the alpine section and its recent snowfall turned to appreciation for the breath-taking views of the Humboldt Mountains. This was followed swiftly by complete exhaustion and a conversation that went very badly when Sarah told me that the Routeburn was 33km according to DoC, not the 32km that I was sure the website had said, and here I was fading at 28km. Things deteriorated further when my watch beeped for 34km and the sign said it was “30 minutes to the Routeburn Shelter Car Park”. Now it was a mind game. I did my best to soak in the last of the bush and the beautiful track alongside the raging Routeburn, but I was done.

Suddenly, so was the run. It was absolutely fantastic, and I was quite overcome with emotion at

having completed my longest, highest, greatest run ever. Pizza and coke delivered to our hotel room was the perfect ending to an incredible day, and I imagine that I’ll forever marvel at the memory of it.

March 9, 2022

Brendon Skates

So. COVID. It’s March 2020 and we are realising Corona is not just a joke and a Meme anymore. We are in Adelaide and just about to head into a lockdown.  No idea whether its going to be 7 weeks or 7 months.  I had been running a little bit but not the thing it has now become.  I decided at the end of this COVID thing we are either going to be fat or fit. With my occasional running partner from work, Kayla Holding, we decided on fit. 

How to do this and give the big finger to COVID . We thought what can we do?  We decided to run a loop of the Belair National Park. 16.5kms and you know what. We decided to do it twice. Once clockwise, once anticlockwise. 

 I downloaded a marathon plan from Strava and we had at it.  Luckily we were only in lockdown for 7 weeks but we had our program and we stuck to it.  Kayla is truly crazy and I remember a training run she did running back and forth along the side of her house. 

We had set a date and soon enough, the back end of June, it arrived. Ready or not we met up and set off.  We parked the car, and our aid station, at one of the park entry points, checked our gear and headed off.  It was a cold, rainy day. Yes it does rain in Adelaide, and get cold.  I remember a couple of walkers and a chat during the first loop. They thought we were crazy running the loop then I told them we were doing it twice.  The look on their faces still makes me smile. 

We finished the first loop and got back to the car.  Somehow, unspoken, we knew that our run didn’t really start until we set off for lap two. I guess it would have been easy to pull up stumps at that point and be done with it but there was never any suggestion that was going to be the case. 

We smashed lap two out of the park, so to speak.  Faster than the first and we felt great. There was a point on lap two though. It started hailing. I got a look. It was a bit of a “this is your fault look”.   

The park was amazing that day.  It was quiet, calm, peaceful.  There were emus out and about and Koalas trying to hide from the weather in trees.  I was running and in a happy place knowing we had made the right decision in March. 

We finished our run and got back to the car slash aid station.  We gave each other a huge hug knowing we had just run 33kms.  The furthest either of us had ever run.  Tired, happy and emotional.  At that point we both started rummaging around in our packs. Independently we had both gone out and got medals made up to commemorate the run. We were both laughing as we placed our “winners” medals around our necks. 

A quick trip back to my house for a glass of celebratory bubbles and I got to thinking. Belair National park was established in 1891. The second in Australia and tenth in the world. I thought other people might like to give this a crack. I submitted it to the Fastest Known Time website and they agreed and added the run to their list. Once they had done that I submitted our run, which was accepted, so not only had we run our longest ever run, given ourselves congratulatory medals, had some great bubbles we also ended up with a world record.   

I have recently checked the website and other people have done the run since which brings with it a sense of satisfaction but Kayla and I still hold the record for the mixed self supported run.  I hope that Kayla hears this on your podcast and I just want to say to her thank you for doing this with me.   

PS. I have just made her sign up for her first ultra and have been getting those looks I got when it started hailing but, silver lining, COVID has got us doing something neither of us would give up for the world.

March 2, 2022

Chris Macdonald from Runners with Beards

As a self-doubting, introverted, A-type, I score well on the typical "Distance Runner Bingo" card.

Frequently questioning my self-worth, loving running, not loving running, overdoing it, quitting in disgust, trying to find my place in the world and never quite working it out.

My motivation for running is often all over the show.  Ranging from guilt for being lazy, the promise that the upcoming race will be easier, or just to keep some sort of mental balance.

Despite this weird love, loath relationship, if I'm forced to stop running because of an injury, the frustration and self blame crank into gear.

I was sipping this cocktail of discontent in May 2021 after what seemed like a revolving door at the Physio.  One niggly injury after another. I was expecting to see my photo on the wall with the caption "Patient of the Month" at one point.

Rewind a few months earlier, and the family and I are signing up for the Possum Night Run in Taupo.  This was going to be a fun event, where I would do the 21K and they would meet me at the end after completing the 5K, their first-ever running event.

Under normal circumstances, the 21K is a sweet spot. I could push it with a bit of speed or sit back and cruise - either way, 21K would normally be a fun night out. 

But with the constant pain leading up to the event and twice-weekly Physio visits, going into event weekend, I was pretty dark about the entire thing.

We arrived early and got checked in. With only a few runners arriving before us, I waited until no one else was around as a witness and approached the registration desk to start the humbling process of changing down to the 12K event.  This was my first opportunity to practice my line of "ya, I would normally do 21K, but my physio said no". I would use a variation of this line countless more times between then and the start of the race to explain away my shame.

Everywhere I looked, I saw the 21K bib colours, but when I looked down at my similarly coloured bib, someone had written 'I'm a Loser' with a Sharpy.  It actually just said 12K, but it might as well said "He wasn't good enough".

At the start line, drizzling with the promise of rain, I said goodbye to my family and went to be grumpy & sullen by myself. I stood in the crowd of 12K runners, with my "bib of shame", still apprehensive because anytime I’d run over 5Ks in the preceding weeks had ended in tears.

Kerry Suter in a chicken suit set up the starting waves. The 21K group stepped up and Kerry commented "if you know what Dirt Church is, this is probably the wave for you". My heart sank even lower.  Those are my people over there.  REALLY they are. REALLY I belong.

Eventually, we get to the second or third 12K wave and off we went for what would no doubt be the bonking icing on the failure cake.

I set out tentatively.  Lots of congestion in places provided a good excuse not to push too hard.  And before long, the familiar niggle arrived on the cue.  Great. Just like before.  

But unlike the weeks before, it didn't progress past a niggle this time. 

By the time I got to the final 1K mark, I gingerly picked up the pace down the track, pushing women and children out of the way.  (For the record I only did that once and it was technically an accident).

Coming through the tunnel, I resisted the temptation of the sprint finish for the crowd and cameras. By that time, my ego did not matter. Because somewhere along the 12K trail, running changed.  I changed. At least for that night. I came across the finish line with tears streaming. Saying out loud "I CAN RUN AGAIN”.

I found the kids and wife who had all finished their first 5K run and our first-ever combined family running event was complete. Luckily it was raining so I didn't have to explain the tears.

My greatest run ever reminded me about why I run. It connected me with my family. It humbled me. And it created a memory that gives me hope when I'm mentally or physically not at my best.

www.runnerswithbeards.com

Februay 23, 2022

Elize Burton

My greatest run ever happened during the most recent lockdown in Auckland when I discovered my running shoes again. 

I used to be a runner until 8 years ago when I decided to enter a cycling event to raise money for cancer research and kinda chose cycling over running after that experience.

I would still occasionally go for a run, even entered the Queenstown half marathon and the IronMaori half Ironman in Napier, but nothing like I used to and the bike would be my sport of preference. 

Fast forward to August 2021 when we got thrown back into a 3 month home detention scenario. 

I decided to read a book instead of spending my days binge watching Netflix and found the autobiography of Dean Kernazes first book in my bookshelf. Not sure why I had this book, but started reading it and all of a sudden had the urge to go for a run. That man’s enthusiasm for running is infectious. 

So off I go, digging out my little Camelbak hydration pack and went for a 21km run around Shakespeare Regional park. My longest run before this was 7-8km, but I got home with only a little ITB pain and felt like a million bucks. 

So two weeks later in September I decided to try another long run, but this time round do it in dress up, just to cheer myself up as we seemed to be stuck in what then seemed like a forever lockdown

I dug out my pink clown dress and green curly wig, filled my Camelbak and went for a run from Army Bay via Arkles beach, Manly and back to Gulf Harbour all while looking like a clown. 

The day was perfect, complete strangers were cheering me, cyclist riding past was smiling and waving, drivers hooting friendly hoots and every Tom Dick and Sally were walking their dog, so it felt like I had my own personal cheering squad.

I got back after completing my 2nd 21km and felt exhilarated. Who would have thought that running your local streets in a clown outfit would become your greatest run ever AND make people smile during this time!!!! 

I finished the lockdown having completed 4 half marathons, discovering Dirt Church Radio podcast and a determination to run my first 42. 

February 16, 2022

Steve Beatson

 A late in the day, somewhat spur of the moment run up the Kill Devil track in Golden Bay.

My father had just got out of hospital after surgery and I had driven him back over to Golden Bay from Nelson. I was hoping to get out for a run on the way back if I had time. I hadn't been up the Kill Devil track for 20 odd years, when I was working for DOC doing track maintenance, so decided to give it a go. After getting my Dad sorted it was about 4pm when I got to the start of the track. So being mid-winter, I was going to need my headlamp!

As anyone who had done the Kill Devil will know, it's a steep climb for the first 6 kms, so it was not fast running (and at times not running at all)! Views towards the Takaka Hill and the Pikikirunga Range in the Abel Tasman provided a good reason for a breather now and then. After about 8 kms, a short side track took me to Tin Hut, an old musterers hut. From here the run just got better and better. Getting up onto the ridge, views down into the Waingaro River opened up - suddenly all I could see was the wilds of Kahurangi and I felt a million miles from civilisation. Stresses and thinking about what I needed to do at work the next day all just disappeared. I was very much in the present (something I often struggle to do), just enjoying being where I was, and it felt good. People talk about trail running, and being in nature as being good for the soul - this run was all about that for me. 

I was going as far as Riordan's Hut, a beautifully restored slab timber muster's hut, which was down a 1km side track. As I was heading back to the main track the light was fading, leaving a beautiful glow on the hill. It was a still, crisp and cool winter's night. It was headlamp on for a steep climb back up to the high point of the ridge, before a let loose blast down a perfect mix of technical but runnable (albeit on the edge of control), downhill track. The sort of downhill that leaves you feeling exhilarated and alive - the runners high!

It wasn't the biggest run I've done, nor an important race. It is my greatest run ever for the sense of pure freedom and adventure, and for the joy of being out in nature. It was a great reminder of why I trail run and what I love about it. Rather than rushing to get back home, I took the chance to get out for an adventure just because I could and it did me the world of good.

February 9, 2022

Sarah-Jane Edgar

It's been a couple years of listening to your podcast and each week contemplating my greatest run ever, but no one run stood out ... until now.

I started running about six years ago, a middle of the pack runner who enjoys challenging myself. My next challenge is my first and second ultra distances in early 2022 (maybe one of those will supercede this as my greatest run ever).

But back to this run. My Christmas holidays are spent in Gore and surrounds each year, and this year as part of my training I decided to head up to Luxmore Hut. My mother dropped me at the Control Gates at 7am on a chilly morning, and after brief chat to a real athlete training for the Coast to Coast (I made sure to give him a good head start) I started my more leisurely paced run. How beautiful is that bush, that bird song, that lengthy climb, and coming out on the tussock tops to the most breathtaking views (and not because of the climb). A brief stop at the hut with a inquisitive kea and it was back down. The track was far busier on the return with other runners, day walkers, and trampers. I hadn't run the duration I was aiming for when I got to the bottom, so mother was able to continue relaxing while I ran around the lake into town.

I shall remember that run for a long time yet, the beauty of the forest, the stunning panorama at the top, the realization I am fitter than I thought, and the desire to maybe make the full Kepler track my third ultra ... but for now to focus on the 12 February 2022 challenge!

Love listening to your podcasts and the inspiring guests who so graciously share their stories. And you both, thank you for sharing your running journeys each week, it can be the inspiration needed to put on my runners and head out the door on those motivation lacking days.

February 2, 2022

Mike Bray

After however many years I’ve finally got around to penning my greatest run ever. I’ve not taken so long because I’m lazy or even a procrastinator, but rather because I’ve been waiting for an even more epic best run ever. The thing is my greatest run ever isn’t my first marathon, first 100k or even that time I ran the miler at Tarawera and snuck home in front of that fine fellow Eugene. In fact, every time I listen to the greatest run ever my mind takes me back to a simple training run when I was a boring road runner who had yet to discover the pure joy of trail ultras.

I had achieved a bit of a bucket-list dream by qualifying for the Boston Marathon in 2016. I took a few months long service leave, packed up the family and embarked on a once in a life-time lap of the planet and coincided the American leg with the Boston Marathon. First stop was Washington DC where I was able to celebrate my 40 th birthday. A couple of days after I was up early for a dawn shakeout run as Boston was only about a week away. It was cold, like, well below zero cold. Being a dumb Aussie, I’d figured it was spring and so I hadn’t packed any warm run kit at all. Undeterred, I borrowed my wife’s run jacket. She is a lot smarter than me (and also an entirely different body shape) and I hit the frozen pavement and set off for the mall. I lost all feeling in just about every part of my body but as I carved through the famous streets of the nation’s capital and entered onto the mall, I was smiling like never before. My pace picked up, I felt light and free and a runner’s high quite like none other I’ve experienced enveloped me. Before I knew it, I was swinging past the Einstein statute, passing under the gaze of Abraham Lincoln and then lapping the Reflecting Pool just like Captain America in The Winter Soldier. At that moment the sun cracked the horizon and I felt like I morphed from running to floating. As I made my way up the mall beyond the monument toward the Capitol Building, other runners began to appear and it felt so good to share the vibe with my tribe. I worked my way back toward our apartment way faster than I should have in a taper week but it felt effortless. I was reminded that not everyone gets to do this and that decades of training aren’t just about the races and the performances, but also prepare us for moments like this that come along so rarely and can be enjoyed because we are fit and healthy. That run was nearly 6 years ago but I have the memory emblazoned in my mind and hopefully will forever.

By the way, the actual Boston marathon was pretty epic too!

I know you don’t have a worst run ever, but I thought I’d chuck it in anyway. I was recently heading out for a long run and had the latest DCR pod cued and ready to go. As I was leaving I decided that what I needed most that day was silence as I’d had a lot going on and I just needed time to free my mind and tune out of life for a bit, so I ditched the ear buds and set out. Instead of peaceful bliss, I had the opening DCR jingle stuck in my head on repeat for 2 hours! Note to self, next time, just listen to the podcast…..

January 26, 2022

Emma Sampson

I have been quietly waiting for my greatest run ever to happen, but when it finally did, I procrastinated about sending it in, who wants to hear from a 40 year old mum I figured?! But while listening to the pre-Christmas episode during a training run up Mt Oxford and hearing you had run out of the best part of the show I took heed and decided to send mine in.

My first ever hill and competition was The Teacup at Valley Ultra 2020. I was a flat runner and thought stupidly that my fitness would be fine, even after I got to the start and figured out from the view the climb that lay ahead. I feel that trail running is a lot like childbirth, when you're in the depths of it you swear you will never do it again…. and yet, one year later (after a few races in between) here I was, back at the start having signed up to the next size race. The Piglet. It was a wet morning and I had been placed in the first wave! Awesome, let's get out there I thought! I know headphones are discouraged and I decided to leave mine behind and get the full experience! We set off at a good pace and I soon slotted into my speed of runners. As I made my way up the first climb, while eating some liquorice in the vain hope that it would help lift my blood pressure that was currently somewhere round my ankles, I was told off by one of those wiry old fellas that look like they have been doing it for centuries, you know the type... “you should not be eating this early in the race” he said sharply. Normally a comment like this would make me question and doubt myself, but not today, I was here for the adventure, so when I could pass I smiled and wished him well. After a few laughs with some other ladies on the hill about how fit we sounded I reached the top and was out of the trees. The rain was still coming down and I imagine on a good day the view would have been amazing.

It was around the halfway mark when a rather speedy chap passed me, I soon became aware I was being passed by someone in wave 2, I didn’t care, I am not the speediest of runners. After having a laugh with each other about how I better pull my finger out and get moving, he was gone. Once reaching the bottom of a very curly wet clay track, I could hear a dog barking, bit odd I thought, but as I got closer there they were!

“Is that Badger?” I asked?

“Yep,” replied the man stood nearby

“So you must be Rocky!” I replied with a grin. After thanking him for my jacket that I had purchased about 2 weeks earlier I carried on singing the Further Faster jingle.

Now I had been told about a steep climb before the end of this race that involved a rope ladder, when I finally reached it I put my head down and dug deep (thank goodness for the support Snickers, from my bestie and coach Kim, which are without doubt the ‘Best Fuel Ever’) On the way up I got chatting to a lady about the same age as myself, once we reached the top, now 2 good mates beaming about slaying that final beast, it was a nice down hill 2 km to the finish, we discussed our lives, families, running and even got a photo together at the end.

I’m sure the day was made better by the weather, everyone had a smile on their face, even though it was raining, it was not cold and was such fun in the mud. I know when I compete I will probably not place, I’m not blessed on the height front for a start! Also when I was 19 after a good dose of flu, I developed pneumonia in both lungs and my trachea, after 2 hospitals, a miracle live saving machine called ECMO, chest drains, tracheotomy, trying to kick the bucket a few times and a team of amazing surgeons and nurses that were not going to let me, I was finally roused out of my medically induced 2 week nap and released home after 4 weeks or so. It took a long time to recover, even now the lasting effects make hills pretty hard work.

The best part is returning home from races to a proud husband and my 3 boys who are always pumped to hear how far I have run that day. But I also know how lucky I am... just to be able.

January 19, 2022

Trina McClune

This run has a bit of a back story. I had started running again after a hiatus of quite a few years and as often happens, went out too hard, too soon and got injured. My Achilles. It took a long time to heal (approx 2 years in total, this is from about 12 months in) and I (thinking I was still young and quick to heal, haha) had booked myself in to run the New York city marathon, thinking I had lots of time. My body didn’t agree. After many months of pain, cycling and hours and hours deep water running to keep up my run fitness, I was finally starting to run on the ground again, but time was running out and I’d also planned a business trip taking a group away for an Alaskan cruise. I was pretty worried and stressed about whether I could do the marathon, but continued to train as best as I could. I was following my plan, getting runs in when I could during the trip and using the dreadmill when we were at sea.

My greatest run morning, I woke early to get my run in, we were going to see a glacier that day and I wanted to be there for all of it. The dreadmills were all located at the front of the ship with amazing views, so it was pretty easy to get lost in the run as we cruised toward the glacier. The sun was sparkling on the water and I felt amazing for persevering all these months and getting to a point where I was actually running on hard surfaces again, yes! There was lots of ice and snow covering the shoreline (I’m a snow freak!) and tiny wee icebergs we’re starting to float around us, when I noticed movement to the front right of the boat.  It was a lone Orca. I watched it as it got closer (I’m sure my pace increased with the excitement, I’m also a whale freak), then I jumped off the dreadmill and followed it as it swam alongside and down the side of the ship, exhilarated by what I was experiencing, until it finally passed us at the back of the ship and kept going. I made my way back to the dreadmill and finished my run, high on that amazing feeling when you know how lucky you are to be running or else you would have missed an amazing experience.

As an aside, I never made it to New York as just 2 weeks after this, and 2 weeks prior to traveling, on my 50th birthday, I was unexpectedly admitted to hospital and a few days later had emergency surgery. I was gutted (understatement)!

I did however make up for it by continuing training and completing a couple of halves, the Waitomo 35km, and finally Tarawera 50km 14 months later! Such is life right?

December 15, 2021

Brendyn Montgomery

My greatest run ever happened a couple of weeks ago but the journey has been about 6 years in the making.

After I found running in my early 30's, it quickly became a core part of my life. Always trails over roads and steadily building until 2015, when I was the fittest I've ever been in my life.

So I was quite surprised to be honest (and pretty bummed out) when I discovered I had a relapse of the hernia I'd had as a 9 year old. Not surprising the doctors said, not at all uncommon, we can patch you up... queue up the laparoscopic hernia surgery. However, I was even more bummed out to discover, the day after my surgery, that I still had the hernia. That wasn't a good day.

Recover, wait, open hernia surgery 8 months later (April 2016). Recover again and get back to it. I'd held my fitness remarkably well due to the good condition I'd been in prior to all this. I built back into some great training and ran a self-organised trail marathon in Nov 2016. I felt great that day, could have run further and thought I was totally back on track. The world's my oyster I thought and ultra distances that I was aspiring to were just around the corner...

Then came 2017 and I had a brief patella tendon issue after some time in the Abel Tasman. That didn't last long but in June that year it came back to stay. At its worst I couldn't walk more than 500m without a lot of pain. Queue physio and rehab and I got back into it.

I've had injuries before but this one niggled. Every time I'd try and step it up it would flair up, I was still running, but my ambitions were curtailed. It started to weigh on me and the voice at the back of the brain started to whisper things like "this might be it", "you're getting a bit older now". Try as I might and through a couple of different physio's over a couple of years, I just couldn't shake it.

Then by chance 2 things happened at the same time, a 24km run in August 2020 (3 years into the injury) caused a flair up and I decided to see a different physio people had been recommending and at the same time I accidentally fell into having a running coach (too long a story for here).

The physio had loads of experience with running form and helped me improve mine as well as treat the injury. But more importantly he had a "don't worry, we'll get you moving" attitude that was infectious (he's also the only one that put me on a treadmill, which I've come to regard as "table stakes" for physios dealing with runners). At the same time the coach broke down and rebuilt my training in a way that has redefined what I believe I'm capable of. On one recent progression run (up and downhill) I set a 20km, 10km, 5km and 2mile PR in the same run and while I might have cursed the coach's name in the "20min Hard A-F" as it said in the spreadsheet, I remain blown away at how well he knows what I have in the tank. It WAS downhill for the fast stuff but I'm claiming all of it :)

Fast forward a bit over 12 months, I've nearly run 2000km this year (double the total for the last few years) and I've just had my greatest run ever. The run itself was a fabulous day out, 43.5km up over Dun Mountain in behind Nelson. 1200m of climbing, beautiful weather, native beech forest, birdsong galore from the Waimarama sanctuary, views for miles, awesome running mates to share a stunning day with (oh, and the joys of cold, flat Coke at 36km in a car boot aid station). By the time the knee started to get a little tired it was 41.5 km in and I was able to smile and carry on without letting it weigh on my mind. But the part that truly makes it the greatest run ever is I'm back to believing that I can do anything I set my mind to now.

I couldn't be more grateful to both Chris (Physio) and Ben (Coach) for having my back and also my awesome family who let me get out and adventure. My running buddy and I have made plans to run the Paparoa in March. Bring it on.

December 8, 2021

Ryan Tait

Listening to many DCR Podcasts and therefore many Greatest Run Ever’s, I have often felt guilty for not having submitted my own. But that’s because I have never been for a run that gave me such a strong urge to sit down and write about it as my run tonight did…

Every show I hear you say that a Greatest Run Ever doesn’t have to be a race or a mountain summit, it might just be a run around the block. Well, mine definitely fits into that category.

A couple of weeks ago, I competed at the Motu Challenge multisport race (which is similar to Coast to Coast for those who aren't familiar). But unfortunately I DNF’d during the kayak leg, with 150 kilometres of racing under the belt and only 20 to go. I was pretty gutted, having put in many hard hours of training to get race ready. But I took the learnings and moved on, looking forward to a week of complete rest before getting back into training. However during that week, I came down with a cold, immediately followed by a nasty stomach bug and then receiving my 2nd covid jab. When it rains, it pours, eh.

Anyway, that all led me to the present day, with 12 days of absolutely zero exercise of any kind (I  know that doesn't sound very long but anyone who trains or exercises regularly will know the feelings of withdrawal). After a day of work, nightschool and running a couple of errands, I arrived home feeling like I finally had some surplus energy I needed to burn. So I scoffed a banana, laced up my shoes and got out the door.

Warming up on the flat, I was intrigued by the feeling of complete rusty-ness! My stride felt awkward and arm swing unnatural. I wondered what people driving-by would think about the sight of this baby elephant prancing down the footpath. But before long, the rust brushed off and I was hit with an overwhelming euphoria of simply having fresh air moving through my lungs. I hit the one ‘big’ climb on my route and decided that I wouldn’t hold myself back like I usually try to. My heart rate climbed but I didn’t care. This is my “unstructured” training week after all! Expecting to run out of steam and have to start walking at some point, I was shocked to find that my legs actually had more to give. They dutifully propelled me up the hill at a great pace, towards the fun part of the route - a nice bit of neighbourhood trail. I considered stopping at one of the bench seats where I could watch a beautiful sunset over Porirua Harbour and Mana island.

But I didn’t want to. The endorphins were flowing and I wanted more. I carried on along the local walkway, which somehow consists of a clay 4wd track, gravel singletrack, wooden boardwalks, a concrete pathway, a muddy bog and a set of stairs, all packed into about 1 kilometre! I felt like a kid at a playground. Anyway, galloping back downhill (and through a secret little trail short-cut), I reflected on how good it felt to be moving again. Often I, like many, take for granted my ability to get outside, to exercise regularly and to work towards goals. So it is great runs like this that enable us to realise the deeper reasons behind why we partake in sports like running. Even a short 30 minute run around your neighbourhood loop can be your highlight of the week and also, of course, your Greatest Run Ever.

December 1, 2021

Eve Southan

I have been thinking about my GRE for a while now and although I have run quite a bit, I didn't have any runs that were jumping out as being exceptional. I have had lots of challenging runs, where the wheels have fallen off, tears have been shed and I am never doing that again moments, some cool events and beautiful trails and achievements, but none of them felt like my greatest run ever. 

Then I had it, my GRE. 

It started off as a regular Sunday run, actually not totally regular as we were road running, I love me a good trail run so this was a little unusual. I met a friend at Plimmerton to run 10km, before meeting our run crew for our Sunday group run. We opted for a pre run to add some distance as we are both training for some events. 

It was a cold calm morning and we set off from Plimmerton towards Mana. Chatting away and settling into a rhythm we trotted along the coast. About 1km into the run we noticed something in the water on the beach close to the shore. Holy shit, it's a dolphin and it's floundering in the shallow water. 

We jumped down off the footpath and onto the beach. My friend rang DOC (Department of Conservation) and I ripped my shoes off and ran into the water. It was an instant reaction to go help, but then I realised once I was out there I had no idea how to refloat a dolphin. 

I put my hands around it to stablise it from the waves and noticed straight away that one of its fins was stuck in the sand. So I wiggled it slowly up and out of the sand and then once it was free guided it forward to the deeper water. At this point the dolphin blew out at me through its blowhole, it gave me a fright, but I was also in awe that I was actually holding a dolphin!

I don't really know what I thought a dolphin would feel like, but I was surprised by how smooth and solid it felt. It was also quite heavy, although not a big dolphin, it was an effort for me to get it out from the sand. 

In the deeper water the dolphin moved away and was swimming on its own, so I got out of the water and watched it for a bit. Unfortunately it went along the beach and got stuck again. So out I went for a second time, into the freezing Wellington water and guided it back out into the deeper water. This time I took it further out and sent it on it's way, willing it to go out and find it's pod.  

We stayed on the beach to watch it for a bit, DOC were sending someone down to keep an eye on it, so I put my shoes back on and we decided to carry on running and circle back past the beach on our way back to meet the crew. I think I was running on a bit of adrenaline at that point and I couldn't feel my feet or legs from the coldness of the water. 

We came back past the beach after about 10min and the dolphin was still out in the deeper water, yay keep swimming!

The rest of the run was with our Sunday run crew and Jem, my awesome Hunterway, lots of chats, no more dolphins and a cuppa at The Big Salami to finish. 

Later that day the Whale Rescue team contacted me and there had been no more sightings of the dolphin I rescued. They think it was a Dusky dolphin and could have been part of the pod that they rescued a couple from the day before. 

So my GRE is far from an extraordinary running experience and more of an extraordinary experience that happened while out on my run. I don't think I am ever going to be able to top a dolphin rescue run anytime soon!

November 24, 2021

Jenny Hirst

Another greatest run

This is an account of a rather special and stand-out run, and also a bit of a love letter. Not to DCR, as fond as I am of you guys, but to my best mate and partner in adventures – my husband Pete (known to some as Batman).

Although I had dabbled in running at high school, it was supporting Pete at his first Rotorua marathon when we were 21 year old university students that provided inspiration to run long. The following year we both signed up for the Cathay Pacific half, my first 21km. Shortly after that we moved in together. As they say – the rest is history!

For a few years work and kids took priority, but we resumed our running careers in our 30s and have been running strong (mostly) for over 20 years since, with many ultras and trails and marathons between us.

In recent years, as empty nesters, Pete and I have had some great camper van trips around Aotearoa, just the two of us. These have been combined with running trails in some beautiful locations (we can thoroughly recommend the Wild Things trail directory for adventure holiday planning).

In January 2019 we were in the South Island. For our 30th wedding anniversary we camped at Nelson Lakes, in the Kerr Bay DOC site at St Arnaud, on Lake Rotoroa. This was a return visit - the year before we had run around the lake, however this time time we had some elevation in mind.

Above the lake is the St Arnaud Range, with spectacular views to be had of the lake and surrounding mountains. The trail up to the ridge line is not long, only about 11km return, but it reasonably steep for us flatlanders! The morning of our wedding anniversary dawned cloudy with no view of the top of the range, and we thought it might not be the day, however by early afternoon the clouds lifted, the forecast was good, and we set off. The trail goes along the lake a short distance, through tall beech forest, before heading up, winding around trees on increasingly steep, rocky and rooty terrain. Every so often we would have to scramble over rock-strewn moraines formed by glaciers. There was even a couple of spots where avalanche damage was apparent. So very different from our usual Auckland trails! After a few kms, the zigzags of the track became narrower and steeper, and the trees became stunted as we approached the bushline. Soon after, we paused at around 1400m on the Parachute Rocks, an outcrop above the tree-line, with great views of the lake.

From there the track was marked by poles, through rocks, tussock and alpine flowers, and very steep. Pete was up ahead of me, scrambling towards the ridgeline, at over 1700 metres. The last few hundred metres to the summit took a good 20 minutes, but it was so worth it! The ridge line at the top was narrow, with St Arnaud village and the lake behind and way below us, and the Buller Valley and Kahurangi National Park beyond that. To the other side were views of the Wairau Valley, and back to the Richmond Ranges. Valleys, tarns, and more mountain ranges as far as we could see. No buildings, no roads, no cars. A plane flew by at one stage – seemingly lower than we were. Silence, blue sky, sunshine, a brisk breeze – and just the two of us on top of the world. After snapping a few photos we tackled the descent, a little faster on the return journey, finishing with a dip in the lake with a good view of the mountain range we had just climbed above us.

It was not our longest nor toughest run in any way, but it was spectacular. I felt so incredibly lucky to spending an afternoon adventuring with my favourite person, 30 years after our wedding day, in such a beautiful location. Writing this in lockdown is especially poignant, as we long for the freedom of trails and hills.

Pete injured his knee last year (torn meniscus) and is due to have surgery soon. He is determined to make a good recovery. Due to lockdown this has been delayed, but I hope he will be back to adventuring again soon. The campervan is booked for January 2022, the wilderness awaits!

Having a partner in life who loves to do what I do is something I never take for granted, and I am grateful for all the support and encouragement he has given me over the years. I know we have many more greatest runs to come, watch this space!

November 17, 2021

Laura Richmond

I’ve been listening to DCR for a while now and love all the different guests you have on. But I also love to listen to the greatest run ever stories. I wanted to share mine. 

A bit of history… back in 2019 I ran the Dunedin Marathon  and came in around 4:20 I was gutted! I had a great first half and then the back end of the race didn’t go well. The cold wind in the commercial area and the out and back loop past the stadium to the  finish line got me beat. After the typical marathon finish line cry and laying sprawled out on the infield. I made my way back to the air bnb shared with my Glen Eden Harriers family for a post race heat rub, foam roll and shot of whiskey. A GE tradition.

I said my goodbyes to my running family and returned to Christchurch where I had recently moved to. I spoke to my running mentor Bushman Barry and asked him if he thought I’d ever get my sub 4 to which he replied “Nope”. I was heartbroken. So I said “bleep you!” to myself and set a goal to run that sub 4! I started to train with Jamie Hawker (Scotty’s dad) and told him of my goal to beat 4hrs. We chose the Chch marathon in 2021 as the 2020 had been cancelled. Jamie had me working hard! Speed work, tempo, long n slow, bike and weights. I was ready!

The morning of April 11th 2021 came and it was HOT but I was determined. The heat eventually got the better of me and a lot of other racers on the day. No sub 4 that’s day! I was gutted and pissed off! A week later Bushman called me to tell me of his recent diagnosis Stage 4 Lung Cancer!!! I along with my Glen Eden Harriers family we were devastated. I jumped on the phone to Jamie and told him “I have to get that Sub 4 and prove Bushman wrong!” We made a deal to keep training and in 6 weeks we would attempt it again. On a quiet, perfect run conditions morning in June, Jamie myself and a training buddy Paul set out on a cheeky marathon up the Chch Northern motorway. First half was awesome chatting away the kms (well Jamie anyway - inside joke!) we hit Rangiora and turned back, home straight! I started to tire but Jamie and Paul kept pushing me, reminding me of what I was doing and more importantly WHY. It wasn’t until around 38km I knew I was going to beat 4hrs but by how much??? I headed down the last golden mile by myself trying to hold back the tears.  I had done it it! I did my sub 4 for me, for Barry and with my buddies. I was overcome with emotions. I always thought my best run ever would be a sub 4 at a race, but no. It was in my own backyard with my running family. I’ll never forget that run. No medal, no race number, just me, the road and my pals.

November 10, 2021

Dr Lindsay Twiss 

Greatest most mundane run ever. 

This title could go to any number of lock down runs, but this one was on a recent Thursday morning a couple of weeks into level 4.  I hadn’t intended to run that morning, but thanks to some stress mediated early wakening I’m up at 5 so might as well.  

Now there was nothing sexy about this run, no personal best, no majestic views, no rugged technical section, no race vibe, no superb company, but quietly special none the less; just me in the early morning light, quietly running around my city neighbourhood as the sun rose.  A 50 minute reprieve before the lockdown impossible juggle of front line healthcare work whilst also home schooling the kids.  

There is something inherently optimist about the dawn and I feel grateful to be out and moving my body.  Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it the endocannibinoids, maybe its the rhythmic breathing and repetitive movement but for 50 minutes I find my calm place.

Life feels very narrow right now.  Run, work, kids, sleep (not very well), repeat.  But how lucky am I to have running on that list.

October 27, 2021

Shaun

My greatest run ever is one that started a love for the trails and a tool to fight off depression and other destructive thoughts.

2019 was a horrible year for me, a major anxiety attack with all the pain and confusion that that brings, as well as many destructive alcohol fueled nights and the dark places the hangovers take someone battling with depression.

My drinking has always been an escape, something to help me cope with social situations that make me uncomfortable and helps the real 'Shaun' come out.

After an end of year party December 2019, that was taken too far by my drinking and a hungover that had me in the darkest of places that I wanted to end every thing, I decided to go for a run. I drove to the newly constructed He Ara Kotahi bridge that goes over the Manawatū river and ran. It was very difficult. hungover, tired, struggling to breathe I forced myself to go on towards the Linton military camp. All this with a heavy heart, tears in my eyes and feeling deeply ashamed and sorry for myself I ran into a sprint, running the pain away (at least trying to). The feeling was incredible, it was truly transformative. I didn't make it all the way to the end of the track but it didn't matter, that wasn't the goal. I jogged back to my car (no more sprints) feeling lighter and with a sense of accomplishment.

I had new plans, new goals. A small running group was formed and we committed to at least one run on the weekend, sometimes that was all that was run for the week but that was okay. 

Fast forward to lockdown 2.0, running had become a big part of my life, I had formed deeper friendships, meet some amazing people done a couple of crazy runs I never thought would have been possible and devoured a whole lot of DCR content.

I will always have a relationship with anxiety and depression and I know dark days may slip in again, they did during lockdown. On one grey afternoon I was in a slump and heading to the supermarket for a few things. Thoughts of 'stuff everything and everyone' pop into my head. It was at this point I saw a couple of runners down the street 'f...(stuff) running', I said to myself in the car. A smirk appeared on my face. I said it again. 'F... running'. A goosebump feeling goes down my spine and a tear wells up in my eyes. 'F... running' I say quite loudly with a massive smile on my face. 

I will always remember that, the thought of turning my back on running was laughable. I know injuries and setbacks may keep me off the tracks and trails one day but the beauty and love in the running community and the kaupapa that you gentlemen so honorably live by and preach, means I know I’ll be alright supporting the community (but for now I’m sort of injury free, so lets not think those thoughts).

October 20, 2021

Tony Aston

I’ve already sent you a Greatest Run Ever, but I recently had a run that was possibly even greater!

The main reason that this latest run felt so amazing is that it was my first run post-Covid. First of all, let me say that I am extremely fortunate. I am lucky to live in a time of unprecedented vaccine development, and I’m lucky to live in a place where those vaccines are readily available (the good ol US of A). Being a nurse, I was fortunate enough to be able to get my first dose of the vaccine back in December! I am also lucky to be in fairly decent shape with no major underlying chronic health issues. But, despite the vaccine and being one of the weirdos still wearing a mask at the grocery store (thankfully, they are becoming more common again), my luck briefly ran out.

My symptoms were mild and nonspecific: dull headache, mild nausea, maybe some soreness… am I sick, or is this just what being an adult feels like?? “Well,” I thought, “I have a 5k to host and run this weekend (HotterThanHaiti.com if anyone wants to donate to a great cause 🤙), and I’m flying to Denver for my friend’s wedding next week, so maybe I should just go get tested for the hell of it.” Spoiler alert: I tested positive.

What followed was 10 days of misery, not due to my symptoms, but the misery of quarantining with depression. To be clear, I was extremely lucky to have mild symptoms and no serious threat of being hospitalized or worse. The insidious nature of depression, though, is that it doesn’t care if your life is objectively pretty ok. Having all my basic needs met almost seemed to give my brain more space to wallow in self-pity. I was too depressed to read or do much of anything constructive. On top of that was the nagging feeling of being a spoiled brat; all I have to do is sit and home and chill for a few days, why can’t I just be grateful without turning this into a pity party?? I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but, in short, I was not feeling super jazzed about the prospect of being alive.

Finally, though, on August 21st, one day after I turned 36, my quarantine ended, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I laced up my shoes late that morning, and started a slow run with my dog, up and down the hills of my neighborhood. It was 85 degrees that day (almost 30C), and the sun seemed brighter than usual. After a couple of miles, my dog was done, but I was just getting started. Believe it or not, this is my favorite running weather, so I dropped my dog off at the house, and went right back out the door. I promised myself not to go TOO far that day, but a slow 8 miles meandering through town gave me a taste of the feeling of being able to run endlessly. I felt alive again, like life was worth living again.

I don’t know how to end this without sounding super dramatic, but let’s just say I’m glad it was so hot that day… maybe those tears just looked like sweat to the casual observer.

PRO-TIP: I am not a stranger to depression, but this episode definitely caught me off-guard. I’m in the process of making a checklist for when this sort of thing happens again. I’m a huge fan of checklists. It’s way easier to go through a tangible list of things that tend to help (“what are 3 things you’re grateful for?” “Breathing/meditation for 5 minutes.” “What are 5 green things you see around you right now?” “Donate at least $5 to a cause.” Etc), instead of just flailing around for answers when you’re already in crisis mode. Do y’all have any non-running, go-to things like these in your proverbial toolkit?

(IG: @grand_teetone, @coach.tony.bs)

October 13, 2021

Sarah Kraayvanger 

I had lost my groove. The last two weeks have been an emotional blur. With the passing of two of my Nana’s 3 days apart, then also our dear friend’s nana passing also. Unexpected cars bills and three vet call outs during lambing session for one ewe. (On our lifestyle block). I felt like I was dragging a chain even with a few small runs here and there, I just felt emotionally and physically drained. Then came the announcement of Level 4 lockdown. As a mum of three and wife working within our own business. I knew what needed to be done once again.

As I fast forward to day 5 of lockdown. I wander out to the kitchen in my dressing gown thinking about breakfast. My phone buzzes, it’s a dear running friend sending me a picture with the caption “I’ve almost ran to your house”. Wow dam. With a quick reply checking to see if she was all good and needed anything to be placed at the mailbox for her, i.e. water. She messages back to say she was all good and would message me when finished. She finally contacts back with details on the 14k loop she completed.  Throughout the day it pondered in my mind how I needed to get out there again. And with that note, my mind was set. That night I set out my running gear and placed my pack and run gloves out on the kitchen table. Check out the details of the loop, then head to bed.

That morning I was up before the alarm. Knowing what I had to achieve for the day. Run, schooling, work and AG Day animals with the kids. As I geared up, warmed up and flicked a quick Birthday text to my mum and headed out the door. As the first 3.5ks was down a road I had experienced many times before, I knew what was expected. As the sun was breaking over Mount Maungtautari in front of me. I felt blessed to be able to experience this beautiful sunrise. As I continued, I could hear the quiet rumble of the main road. Normally buzzing with busy vehicles going to and from work. I crossed the road and head into unknown running territory for me.  Rolling hill, heritage church and active farm life all around. 8ks in with a slightly tight right quad muscle. Due to missing my Physio appointment for my right hamstring. That I had ruptured nearly 3years ago during a Trail running event. Which required surgery and long recovery. As I slow down the pace and slightly rubbing out the tightness within my quad. I head onto a track which we used for our summer 5k running loop with my local Running Club the Road Runners. Mount Pirongia and Kakupuku stood proudly in the forescape surrounded by the morning blue sky. As I ran toward a now sleepy country town, my watch buzzed 12ks. As I look up and smile to myself, I am feeling great, no more than great… Fantastic. I passed the normally lively local Sports ground and headed around into the sculpture park. As I drive around the bends of the town, I head out on the final stretch back out into the rural country for home. As I take this last few Ks, the time to think and look back on what has happened over the last few weeks. The memories and good times with the kids and Nana’s. And how life can catch you up in a blink of an eye. I turn into my road for home , on the last small but mighty hill. I put my head down and do that final push. As I reach the top there it is ....home. Quiet but peaceful for now. What a run, it was nothing impressive but to me it is what I needed. The country air, time for me to prepare and get back into life and the day ahead.

September 29, 2021

Andrew Tait 

Thirty years ago today, on August 22nd 1991.  My greatest run ever.  I ran the Senior Guides race at the Grasmere Lakeland Sport Day in England.

A little background…my best mate Phil ‘The Beast’ Lindsay and I knew from the age of 16 that we were going to finish school, go to university, then set off to the UK for a bit of an adventure. 

We left two days after graduation, landed in London, and quickly ended up in the Lake District to work in hospitality where a bunch of NZ friends were already well established.  We quickly took to the fells and explored many in and around Grasmere (our home base), a small tourist mecca in the heart of Cumbria. 

Someone had a bright idea to enter us in this race so, with a bit of training, in and amongst having the time of our lives (we were 21 after all) we lined up on the start line. 

We had no idea at the time of course but the Grasmere Games was, and still is, a big deal.  People come from far and wide, and the race itself has a history which goes back to 1868. 

Our generous employers at the time (The Red Lion Hotel) had us both wearing special T Shirts they had printed for the occasion (I still have mine), and we were even interviewed on a radio station pre-race. It was all getting a bit too serious.  Although we could get up and down a hill OK we were just having a lark. 

The race itself is basically a hillsprint. An up and down loop.  A short bolt across a park and a busy road, then straight up a grassy, ferny steep beast called Butter Crag and a hair raising hurtle down to the start/finish.

I remember setting off slowly knowing the wall of pain would come early and be my best friend for 20 minutes.  Somehow, even with my pre-frontal Cortex still years off completion, I knew that ‘slow and steady’ up could give me a bit of gas on the down. 

After two minutes I was in oxygen debt but got up the steep initial climb, doglegged left, found the well-worn ramblers’ path, jumped a few stone walls and then ground up to the peak.

It felt good up there, confidence was growing.  I do remember making the turn at the top and distinctly telling myself that I had gravity on my side and should just go flat out. 

The tricky thing is that the downhill is a zigzaggy, grassy, rooty, muddy, slippery mess.  A route not a track, and one careless step would mean an ugly cartwheel.  So down I went as fast as I could.  The biggest memory is coming off the hill, crossing the road again, and with lungs and legs completely shot, dropping like a stone over the line. 

In all my years of running events and training for them, slogging through mud, up hills, down rivers, through horizontal rain and battering wind I have never experienced being totally and utterly spent like that.  What a great feeling.  Over the other side of the world with my best mate, having a great craic.

And it was all over for me in 17 mins 10 secs.  The real guns go under 14 mins and the current record is 12.21 – ridiculous.  For the record our high-tech post-race recovery included about three pints of warm British ale and an evening shift in the hotel.  Maybe one day I’ll get another crack…

September 22, 2021

Anthony Eyles

Well, it finally happened – my Greatest Run Ever. After dwelling on it for a while and not being convinced I had one - it was recently delivered to me by Wānaka.

We live in Dunedin but travelled to Wānaka in early June for my son Henry to have a crack at the under-11 Parkrun record (his 4 th record). He hadn’t run the course before but was pretty confident he could do it.

My wife suggested when we woke up that I should do my long run that morning as well. After not being organised and doing any prior planning, I quickly jumped on Wild Things Trail Directory and boom – Roy’s Peak/Mt Alpha was right behind where we were staying. I quickly packed a bag before leaving for Parkrun and we all headed down. There was a bit of a breeze coming off the lake but Henry still managed to beat the old record by 22 seconds – job done! I run too and went alright, in the 22’s and only a minute or so behind my 10 year old?!

Grabbed my run pack and left from there – good to ease up the pace and explore up the lake. Found the track over to the carpark for the slog up to Roy’s. It’s been refreshingly quiet on that track for a year or so now... There had been the first decent snowfall of winter recently however the ascent side was clear. Hitting the summit was very windy and equally cold so on with the thermals and jacket and away into new territory having been up Roy’s before.

Far steeper than expected and also the track was filled with snow since it was south facing. Interesting descent and then an awesome climb through the rocky bluffs. On checking my topo maps on the phone I only realized then that Mt Alpha was actually higher than Roy’s Peak! I thought it was going to be not much more than a blip on the ridge heading down.

Excitedly then was heading up for another summit which was really quite windy and clagged in but nonetheless awesome. Heading down for keeps now with some gale force winds making running difficult but improved as altitude was lost. A nice long descent down tussocky farm tracks into Spotts Creek which eventually turns to a boggy farm track run for yet another terrain change. By now the forecast rain had started and was getting quite heavy. I hit the Cardrona Valley Rd and phoned home for a pick up having done the best parts without needing to complete the loop (this time anyway). 3kms of flat road running in the rain was a weird way to finish after such an adventure but the sum of all the parts really made it awesome. 

Cheers Wānaka!

September 15, 2021

Sheryl Lewis

I’m more of a listener, a watcher...stalker my teens would say, than a writer, and I have a pleasant midweek routine of your podcast with coffee in hand. However, I often find that your ‘greatest run ever’ is a description of epic races, of the struggle and then success with all the learnings that go with it. Interesting and admirable of course, but what came to mind today for me wasn’t that at all. I don’t even see myself as a real runner and my background is chequered at best. I did run in an average way through college, stopped and then thirty years later (yes, life happened between) had a short journey to the fringe. It opened my eyes and fuelled my heart until I was stopped in my tracks when surgery, separation and sole parenting CONSUMED me. 

So…fast forward again to 55, older, wiser I hope and thinking about a more holistic approach to life, the wellbeing of friends and family and the all-too regular reminder that life is short. Today, with sun shining,  I head out locally (in Wellington) to Otari-Wiltons Bush. 

It’s cool, gloves and beanie cool,(so that is Auckland freezing)  and I park in the bottom carpark and drop onto the lower track with the temperature falling further and the familiar, almost comforting  smell of damp NZ bush. I wind along the new track of the valley floor (well it wasn’t here 40 years ago) before popping up via the bridge and steps to the spotlight brightness of sunshine and the warmth it brings into Karori cemetery. 

After a moment’s reflection and contemplation to mark the sense of place, to recover from the climb and just to breathe…I follow a tar-sealed loop amongst the graves before heading back via what I call my keyhole route, dropping down to be embraced again by the cool and dark of the bush. I’m feeling good, head clear, numerous to-do lists fading and reminding myself to look at where I’m going so not to trip or slip but also to look up, to be brave. That concentration pulls me into the moment and I feel the bush streaking past, gathering me up and as I trot along and out into the grass clearing, I realise I’m smiling.

No Olympic marathon or 3min kms, although that was truly inspiring, in fact no watch at all, just a bonus midweek outing for a middle aged runner…yes, as get back to the car, I do feel like a runner. One with a sense of calm and appreciation that this place is on my doorstep, waiting and then delivering pure joy…. making it today's best run ever! Well….until Saturday when the Skyline walkway beacons and I may need to edit this to describe an epic struggle and then success in the Wellington Hills!

September 8, 2021

Joel Kearney

I'm writing in to tell you about my greatest run ever. But firstly I'd like to fill you in a little bit with a small back story.

Approximately 5 years ago after a stint in hospital I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. In the years since I have battled to find my own version of healthy and at times succeeded whilst other times I feel like I have failed miserably.

Exercise, sport and fitness has always been a part of my life in some way or another. 5 years spent in the army kept me pretty fit, social sports were a good way after that to maintain a base level as well as a passion in MTB. However after finding myself in yet another hole mentally late last year and early this year I realized that although my job was fairly physical it had been quite some time since I regularly exercised for my own purposes.

I decided to put my shoes on and go for a run. No plan, no goal, no expectations. Over the next few weeks a habit was formed. And slowly I began to get a little less slow, run a little longer and drag myself out of the depression that had consumed me for quite some time.

By now you are probably just wanting me to get to the point. Well, in April I decided I had worked up enough of a base (albeit rather small) to venture into the trails.

I looked up some tracks in the Kaimais and set off to explore. Meandering my way through the trails in what was a rather short 6 odd kilometers I found myself running alongside a stream. Nearing dusk I could hear the birds chirping, like my own uplifting choir. The combination of that with the sound of the stream flowing gently beside me whilst the day was slowly turning to dusk I couldn't help but run with the biggest, most cheesy grin all over my face. The beauty in that moment not only in my surroundings but also the sense of joy and peace within myself is something that I hope I will never forget. It's safe to say that run has kicked off a new love for the trails that I hope will last many many years.

I am pleased to say that my health is heading in a positive direction and I believe a big part of that has been finding joy and purpose in my quest to create a habit of running.

September 1, 2021

Daniel Seller

I’ve never been a particularly quick runner, nor run with any particular endurance. Up until I was nearly 30, my longest run was a painful, reluctant 10km. Running was something I drifted into as a second sport behind cycling, after my shoulders decided that they’d had enough of tennis. I got talked into training for my first marathon by some friends after I beat my target time for Melbourne’s 14km Run for the Kids – my goal was to “beat” Beethoven’s 9 th Symphony on my iPod (70mins). Since then, I guess I have thought of myself as a runner.

I’ve had many forgettable runs, but many memorable runs also. Many of these runs are memorable because they open my mind to something new. My first, horrible, marathon, which showed me how despite hitting the wall HARD at 30km, and a diabetes tech failure, I still smashed my blood sugar management; I realised that while diabetes can be a challenge when running long distances, this doesn’t make it a barrier. My first ever trail run – a recovery run with my Melbourne running group – was such a physical revelation compared to my previously exclusive road-running experience.

My first WoRM runs after moving to Wellington, exploring Mt Vic on a Tuesday night – my partner Ruby suggested I join up “to meet some people” (and get out of the house); there was such an amazing sense of welcome, and community, thanks to people like Ewa and Brent, Stu Milne, Tom Frentz, Mike Brown, and so many others. My many exploratory runs, where I just head down an unkempt old trail to find out what’s down it (the answer in Wellington is inevitably gorse). My pram half-marathon, watching the conflict between “well done!” and “crap I just got passed by a guy pushing a pram” on tired people’s faces as I passed them. My attempts to heatmap Wellington (thanks Strava), leading me to do more and more ridiculously convoluted commutes just to get that ONE missing street. My silly themed runs, like visiting all of the Wellington cinemas in one run (once pushing a pram, once without), or running through all of Wellington’s tunnels, or do a trail half-marathon dressed as Snow White (one of three Snow Whites). Right up to my most recent Wuu2k, marshalling in the middle of the wet and windy Red Rocks Track, getting weird looks from people as I warned them not to step in the “big puddle” (it was deeper than it looked). These have all been memorable, and many more besides.

My greatest run ever combined a few of these elements, plus one unique element. It was in preparation for the first Wuu2k, with two running mates, Pete and Matt, providing the elements of community and banter. We met up at Karori Park, for coffee and planning – we were aiming for 35-40km. While I was training for the marathon, Pete and Matt were both training for the 63km, so we chose a section in the middle of the long course, combining two of my favourite elements – route-following, and gorse. After coffee, we headed up to join the end of Skyline Track.

From there we weaved our way through the Makara Mountain Bike Park section of the course, where I learnt that even if you think you’re going fast, you shouldn’t try to run around a berm like you’re on a bike – you’re not going THAT fast. Matt and Pete learnt that I’m not very good at physics. Through Wright’s Hill and then on to the Fenceline section, where Matt and I learnt that Pete either really likes going fast up hills, or that he just didn’t like listening to us talk so much crap.

From the Turbine we headed along Barking Emu to the top of the Tip Track, where we finally stopped Wuu2k-ing, and started our journey back towards the start, via Polhill. As we neared Polhill, Matt learnt that paying more attention to your feet and less to the conversation is sometimes wise.

We quickly decided that there was no shame in bailing out in Aro Valley – we’d done nearly 30km at this point, so we headed to the nearest café for breakfast. And a very leisurely breakfast it was too, reliving the glory of the last 3 ½ hours of the Wellington trails. From there we wandered into town to catch a bus back to our starting point to collect our cars. It wasn’t until we got back to our starting point at Karori Park that this run became unique for me: we unanimously settled down for a second breakfast. Not a quick snack; not just a muffin or a scone. A complete second breakfast. While I’ve had many incredibly memorable runs, it is the guilt-free, judgment-free, second breakfast of this run which makes it my greatest run ever.

https://www.strava.com/activities/597644028

August 25, 2021

Simone Michaux

For the last six months, running has had to take a backseat to life and it has sucked!

I was just starting to really get into my stride and clock up the K’s with trail running when the perfect storm of moving, work and parenthood sidelined me. My husband and I had planned to relocate from the UK (back, in my case) to NZ shortly before covid hit, but with a pandemic an already complicated exercise became all-consuming.

Six months before our hoped-for but never guaranteed departure date, work as a freelancer in film picked back up for me, although Covid ended up delaying it by a couple of months. Once I got into it properly, the 12 hour days on top of parenthood and life admin meant that the little running I had been managing had to be dropped completely. I know some superhumans can manage all that and more, but I quite happily admit to not being amongst them!

Fast forward to the other day – we’d driven out to Te Rau Puriri Regional Park and I’d come prepared for a run. What I hadn’t come prepared for was the sweeping view out to sea, the vast expanses of green grass against blue sky, and the feeling of surprise as my feet and body remembered exactly what to do and my lungs held it together. After 18 months of stress, anxiety and gruelling loneliness, the relief and gratitude hit me like a ton of bricks and I might have had a little tear or two in my eye – although that might just have been the wind on the ridge! I felt like I could have run forever, but reeled it in at 2k and it really was the most beautiful 2k I’ve ever run, on so many levels!

August 18, 2021

Chris Morresey

I can't exactly recall how I found out about the podcast just over 1 year ago but I can recall all the amazing episodes where I have been inspired by other runners' stories and greatest runs. Have found out about new events. And learnt tips and tricks to improved my running and make it more enjoyable. And I can't forget the gear reviews too. As one of those pieces of gear is what helped in making my run yesterday my greatest run ever.

I'm relatively new to running having only started at the tender age of 35. I had some life changing stuff occur in my life due to the death of my Big Pop and it spurred on the process of cleaning up my life and start living without the confines of anxiety. So with that process in place I read a book Can't Hurt Me by David Goggins. 

So Dec 2019 I started running on the roads around home 6 months later I started running trail and listening to Dirt Church while running in my Scott Supertrac Ultra RCs. I have since run the Valley Ultra 53km as my first race then Mt Oxford Marathon and along the way met so many amazing people that make this trail running community so awesome. 

One person I met at Mt Oxford was Aaron Shaskey. I'd been following him on IG for awhile and seen some of the great mountains he had run with his coach Scotty Hawker. So meeting Aaron at Mt Oxford and watching him take off and around midday finishing in 4th while I still had another 4 hours to go. His result and short yarns prior to the race inspired me to ask him about some help with training as he is a Personal Trainer. 

So he set up a meeting and showed me around the Gym which is something I've never been familiar with. Over the past 8 weeks he has been helping me build strength in all the right places and a carefully tailored run plan around my busy work schedule and family life. 

Yesterday being the second mountain run with Aaron. We set off at 6am from Christchurch and headed towards Mt Somers about 1hr20min south west. While driving there we watched the outside temperature drop down and down to minus 4. We very quickly geared up and carefully left the icy carpark and onto a very steep climb thru native Beech forest ( my favourite kind ) and worked our way up to the bushlines where we got to a junction and took the turn to the summit. We then stopped and I took off my newly purchased highly raved about on DCR Ultraspire Zygos 4.0 from the amazing team at Further Faster and I removed my new Salewa Micro Spikes. Easily fitted to my now 1 year old 1200km Scott Supertrac Ultra RCs. With poles in hand we hiked up with ease on the steep slope of ice topped deep snow and summited Mt Somers with the most amazing views of the Canterbury Plains and the rest of the amazing mountains north and south of us. We turned around then made our way back to the Junction and took off our spikes and jackets and then turned right again and made our way towards Woolshed Hut. The pace was quite slow as most of the track was covered in ice where it wasn't super soaked. But we made our way in and out of the bush and down into a gorge we came across the most beautiful waterfall that was surrounded by snow and massive sections frozen.

I was in awe of this beauty as we both quickly took a photo of each other in front of it then carried on our way. Then there was a cool wire bridge we crossed where we finally got to Woolshed hut. I downed a can of Red Bull for my efforts and a sushi roll and we continued on. Up and over another pass which took us down towards Pinnacle Hut. We were spoiled along here in the sun with amazing rock formations and snow melt rolling down some great rock walls. Then back into the bush where we passed the hut and then had to work our way through a flood damaged final few km of washed out frozen trails. 

Then the last 1km was a beautiful flat trail which I pushed and ran really quick on tired legs and felt strong and so alive ! Back to the car where we quickly changed and a 30 min drive to where we got ourselves some hot salty chips. 

I don't think it got above 5 deg all day but I felt warm the whole time because my stoke was so fired up from the amazing scenery and frozen landscapes. Sharing an adventure with someone who has helped my confidence in this thing I really enjoy now and hope that maybe in 3 weeks time at the Resilience Ultra in Reefton will surpass this run ?!

August 11, 2021

Emily Marfell

At the moment, my greatest run ever is the Old Ghost Ultra 2021.

I’d probably describe it in the image of a Great White Shark or a Great Escape. Or my Grated Run Ever, and we’re not talking carrots.

I know I’m fortunate with my lot. A 42 year old mother of two live wire littlies, who I grow with my cool husband Stu. I am a GP in the wee town of Blenheim (Waiharakeke). It’s a privilege, this job, helping inside people’s lives, but it is an energy sponge. Some days I get home and I’m not all there for my family, a bit dehydrated of goodness.

Running helps. It prised its way into my life after a rowing coach told our teenage crew that real athletes can run, even rowers! I determined to persevere with something that didn’t seem enjoyable or even natural. Over decades it has become a comfort and a constant. I find my mind refreshed on early morning runs, watching the sun rise out of the sea, while the family are still nestled in bed.

The story I’ve told other people and also myself over decades, is that I’m not an actual runner. I do really believe that we become the stories we tell. It wasn’t until DCR snuck into my world and I heard you guys chat with Scotty Stevenson about the Old Ghost Ultra, that I wondered if I could do something like that, a race firmly in the domain of actual runners.

Leap to 5.45am on a West Coast Saturday and that curiosity had travelled a spectrum through trepidation, to overt fear. However the excited mass of strangers swept me over the start line and we were on our way to Specimen Point, 17km away. All went smoothly and quickly. I regretted taking my son’s toy head torch that poked holes in the darkness like a toothpick. Soon enough however, dawn arrived with the first aid station. It was a surprise to be there so quickly. I set off bushy tailed and energetic into the next longer section, possibly overconfident.

Time warped through the meandering soft bush track up the valley and soon I was sharing life stories and endorphins, thinking I just needed to keep doing this all day and it’d be a piece of cake. You know what they say about pride and falling though!

Suddenly a low root on the track caught my foot and I hit the ground. It was fine, I just took bark off a few extensor surfaces and got a bit of a fright. After a stat dose of soft jubes and some friendly words from others, I was on my way. The only perturbing thing was that I kept stumbling a bit. My feet felt like fish slices.

Some time later we opened out into the bright morning sun and began the Hanging Judge climb. It must have been about 9am by now and I got a real sense that a hot day and magnificent country awaited.

Bang! I was on the deck again. This time there was no soft underbelly of bush. There were harsh white toothy rocks. This one hurt, in lots of places. As I picked myself up off the ground, a group of honest Blenheim runners rounded the bend. We simultaneously noticed the puddle of blood collecting on those rocks below me. I had managed to slice my elbow open like a surgeon. The cut was about 8cm long and right down to fascia, an inch or so in. Anyway, we set to and wrapped it up. The mandatory crepe bandages were handy in triplicate.

I was mindful that I was holding all these lovely people up. So I told my new story. I had all day to get to the finish, and get there I would, I said confidently. They reluctantly set off; their eyes said something different.

Here was that moment where that story I had told became my reality. I was going to finish. Game on. My first task was to be smart, look after myself and pass inspection when I got to the Stern Valley aid station in 15km time.

On I went, buoyed by the encouraging train of runners, who noticed my pummelled affect and blood. It seemed I had roughed up most standard surfaces like my hands and knees, plus a few bonus spots like hips and my ribs. Running was possible and I got back to a gentle pace, soon pattering down the trail through the menacingly peaceful Boneyard.

The Stern Valley aid station at halfway was sensory overload. Helpful, smiling volunteers demonstrating that ubiquitous elbow hold, ushering tired but buzzing runners. Places to sit on wood stumps, gear bags to delve into like Santa sacks, cups of fluids standing to attention, helicopters overhead, cameras, tunes. A runner walked past with a happy meal. I found a seat and waited.

The medics were busy and I was in no hurry anyway. We had a look at my elbow but it wasn’t something to tackle right now. They wrapped it up nicely to be out of sight and mind. I was good to go. My eyes pricked a bit when I found a note my daughter Nina had left in my drop bag that said ‘Run like a cheetah, Mumma!’ So off I went, the mind of a cheetah but the body of a paperclip.

To be honest it wasn’t that much fun for a long time. I had angry ribs now. I ran ten steps, then walked ten steps, over and over. Eventually I climbed the staircase to the magnificent open ridge and the baking sun. Ghost Lake Hut was a distant cube with a gaping chasm of air before it. I passed a bloke lying in a teeny patch of shade, discarded like a colourful takeaway wrapper. Surprisingly he was chipper and chatty. ‘Just taking a break’, he said. Fair enough.

As I’m in charge of this story, I can breeze over the long, important but tedious bits. It is great how memory also winnows away a lot of the monotony and discomfort. So imagine a very slow montage of me shuffling and walking through that big country, absorbing courage and smiles from the characters around me, eating cut oranges and chip sandwiches.

There was a new problem though. I kept tripping. This had never happened to me before. Perhaps a dozen times I fell on the deck and it’d come out of nowhere, like a wakeboarder catching a front edge. My fish slice feet were scooping anything and sometimes nothing.

I got scared. I told a lovely volunteer at the final aid station about it, with 18km to go. I wavered on my finish line story and started to talk about helicopters. However, I had lucky save! The volunteer said cheerily that a chopper couldn’t land in this dense bush but not to worry, even if I just walked it’d only be four hours to go!

There wasn’t much for it but to carry on. I ran out of the aid station determined not to make a four hour job of it. A corner or two later I caught my best wakeboard edge yet. As I picked myself off the dirt I realised my elbow was dripping a decent flow of blood despite the crepe bandages. The next person to round the corner was another Emily from Blenheim. She sensibly said to hold it up. So here we were, standing in the bush with my arm high in the air, wondering what to do next.

We bound my arm with more crepe bandages, and then I had a glacial 18km or so to the finish. I know I covered the course but I sometimes wonder how!

It was a quiet person who arrived at the finish. I had a few tears but not many, there wasn’t enough energy for that. I just wanted to hold on to my super calm husband Stu. He was intrigued and patient, and we found our way to the medic tent. I got VIP treatment, again, with a ginger beer, a squashed ham sandwich and some enthusiastic irrigation of my gashes. This was followed by good meaty sutures into my elbow as I relaxed on Stu’s gran’s picnic rug. I was so grateful to John the medic, for sorting me out on the spot. It was typical Old Ghost pragmatism and care, which I had been a recipient of, over and over.

For a while I wasn’t sure what to make of my run. I felt a bit silly, like I’d perhaps bitten off more than I could chew, or that I’d made a spectacle. The skin wounds healed first and cracked ribs second but I mulled over it for longer.

However I’ve come to realise how spoilt I was on this day. The people who make the Old Ghost Ultra gave me the chance to complete my own adventure. There’s a difference between discomfort and danger and I don’t think I ever crossed that line.

I guess then maybe I’m an actual runner. Now I run the hills before dawn and sometimes my mind wanders to how I will feel at 5.45am one Saturday next February. First I get a bit scared and shut it away. Next minute I’m in planning mode. I will leave the fish slice feet at home but I’ll take a solid crepe bandage, my good head torch, lots of ready salted chips and a vest full of grateful smiles and stories.

To have these things to get worried about is a privilege. I know I am super fortunate to be a runner.

August 4, 2021

Ben Bergan

I've had this in my back pocket for a while and it's taken being called out on the pod to finally submit it. My greatest run ever is not my most recent race, it's the 2019 edition of the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail 100 miler. I had a DNF at this race the previous year so this event was all about redemption.

To be honest I'm still amazed how the day transpired. I knew that I had done the training, running approx 1100km and spending countless hours on the BVRT in training. I focused on getting a stronger body for the race, I didn't hit the gym but instead increased lower leg strength exercises and hip mobility.

The race started out in cool temps in Yarraman, the run into Linville (42km) was uneventful, I was lucky enough to run with some friends in the early stages. I held back the pace and just tried to take in my gels and drink enough water. I had a strategy of forcing nutrition early as I know it gets hard to take as the day goes on. This is also the first crew point, seeing my super crew to top up gels and swap gear.

The section to Toogoolawah (76km) was long and I was lucky to catch my crew at Harlin to top up fluids as it was starting to get warm. I was still running easy at this point trying to take in regular gels and other nutrition. As the field had already started to spread I ran most of the next 50km solo.

The section to Esk (96km) was probably the low point of the day, I started to have some trouble taking in nutrition and took some longer walk breaks to make sure I was eating. I could still manage a constant running pace but was working a little hard. I ran my fastest split of the race coming into Esk, a blistering 5:30km.

Leaving Esk I had the company of my first pacer Rapheal, we ran together to Coominya (120km). I knew this section would be tough as it's very rocky and we'd be running under headlamp. I have a history of breaking people in races and this happened again, (sorry Raph) so I was very lucky to have a good friend Dan (who was crewing) jump in to pace me next. By now it was getting cold, leaving my crew at aid stations was tough.

The leg into Fernvale (140km) went quickly, Dan and I were sharing jokes and generally having fun. I knew I'd see my Brisbane Trail Runner family at Fernvale so wanted to get there in good shape. Coming into the CP I was greeted by my good buddy Geoff who gave me a big hug. After some food and stocking up nutrition I was on my way. I was told I was now in 4th place and 3rd was 15 mins up on me. Game on!

The final leg into Brassal (163km) was amazing, It was during this section I saw a meteor fly across the sky (it happened, I wasn't going crazy). Dan and I managed to catch 3rd place and pass him, briefly. He passed again and we stayed close for a few km's before we lost touch. The final few km took forever, running on the Brassal bikeway was brutal. Just after 1am I ran under the rainbow finish arch! I had done it, I had become a miler. 4th place in 19:08, 7 mins back from 3rd place.

My crew were there to see me home, without their support this day would not have happened. This is my greatest run ever!

July 28, 2021

Nick Sheppard 

I have been meaning to write in my ‘greatest run ever’ for quite some time, but I too could only think of various great moments within the runs, such as: the tear-filled moments of crossing the finish line of marathons in the Swiss Alps; or the time I shared a section of country road with a badger in Surrey. Recently, I ran my greatest distance, a 50km trail run along the northern edge of the Swabian Alps, here in southern Germany. This was a conciliation-run due to the inconvenient postponement of what would have been my first ultra-marathon. The run contained all the elements of a ‘greatest run ever’ story, such as: running out of water ⅔ of the way and being forced as a vegan to buy numerous little cartons of ice tea from a butchery, then finding an ammonite fossil, and most importantly, having the alone-time to realise that finally I was beginning to love my new life in Germany, finally rounding off the day with my beautiful family waiting for me at the finish. I was so convinced that this was my ‘greatest run ever’ that I started to formulate it in my head, only for it to be thwarted by the tide of procrastination. Then something strange happened, this morning I had my real ‘greatest run ever’. Although a simple little 6 km local loop, it was the rain that had me beaming throughout. So much so that for the first time in my life I wrote a poem about it.

A Mourning Run

Pitter patter, my feet dance around its puddle,

pitter patter, its beat dances trouble.

Like a steel brush through the air, 

the fall streaks its body into sodden grey hair. 

Only 

to be smattered 

by matter.

As its body pools and wells the crevices in its rapture, 

its dark forbearer brings the world into sombre aperture. 

And from the heft of saturated mono-chrome, 

come the saturated hues of its rejuvenated home.

For today is the run of the rain, 

as I rejoice in its sorrow filled day.

July 14, 2021

Rhys Johnston

An unexpected Victory

Standing on the starting line of Tarawera Ultra Marathon this year I was full of excitement and anticipation. 2020 had been a year of injury for me, from January’s hip injury, to March’s stress fracture that plagued me through to October, a torn ligament in my ankle, that was followed by November’s mountain bike crash resulting in a broken rib and busted shoulder. Oh, I nearly forgot about the muscle I tore in my left forearm at work during the year. Finding out a few weeks before the event that my spine has the bone density of an 85 year old. Being stuck in a contract that was running at a loss and 2 staff members deciding not to turn up for 2022. My race Shoes blowing out 2 weeks before the event and not being able to get a new pair until the day before the event. It would be fair to say my training through 2020 was patchy at best. BUT - with super involved coaching support by Ali @Squadrun I stood on the start line in the best possible shape despite an extended period of ‘less-than-ideal’ physical and emotional stress. This left us all unsure of what I had to offer on race day and how things would unfold. At NO POINT was a top 3 place ever considered!

Kerry Suter counts down the last 10 seconds on the mic and just like that we are off. I love this bit, the first few K’s of settling into a race, In fact I love all of the stages of a race. The build up, the night before, the start, mid way through the last 3 rd , and especially finish lines. They all bring a different emotion and feeling. For me this TUM 2021 I couldn’t wait to get racing and once that gun went I fell straight into that place I love to go “The Zone”.

What’s “The Zone”? I think we all have a different “Zone” we go into when we race. My Zone is all about focus and every tiny small thing that I can control. It starts at each breath, Is this a good breath? Was that breath deep enough? Am I breathing too fast? Do I have good posture? Is my form efficient? Is my HR too high? How is my Rated Perceived Effort? Is this sustainable? Where am I on the course? How is my Fuelling? Etc… The internal dials are constantly being checked and adjusted by the tiniest of adjustments, the more race experience I get the smaller the adjustments seem to be getting. Once I found myself on my own in the race I got much more freedom to control external factors. Can I run in more shade? Am I running the shortest line possible? Will it use less energy to step up this with one or two steps? Am I keeping clean momentum? Acceleration is the killer of energy.

So…… I’m happily racing away at about 25 to 30km (in the Zone of course) and I started to experience one of those very rare moments. I felt like I was floating effortlessly down the trail, being pushed through the forest by something else. Almost an out of body type feeling. At the time I could only explain this as a couple of things and it definitely wasn’t my morning coffee, as I always skip this on race day.

1. Was it some Maori spirit from these lands that was guiding me through for a safe journey? The pre-start Haka and Karakia had touched me deep and I had felt honoured to be going on this journey through their lands.

2. Was I getting the piece of my soul back that I had left out there in 2017? That was the year of my first ever 100k race, it was run in the reverse direction back then and I was around the spot where I had started to lose it. With a huge amount of determination and a lack of knowledge I had bonked hard, Like real hard, Definitely the worst place I have ever physically been. I had always joked about running in the new direction so I could go get the piece of my soul I had left out there and bring it back. Maybe this was it?

Anyway, all good things eventually come to an end, and so did this. Not like a tap being turned off but it just slowly faded away.

I come into the outlet (41km) a bit behind the lead pack, I hadn’t seen them for quite a while. I had decided to carry enough of my Infinit nutrition to get me to the 58km mark. This turned out to be gold. As the front pack were scrambling through their drop bags, I just got my two soft flasks filled by the epic volunteers while I scoffed down some banana and oranges then ran out of there on the heels of the pack. Free gains, no energy spent to be back with the lead group and I knew that they had run hotter than me to get to this point.

This put us into 17km of the most technical single trail of the course, my favourite type of running. I could see a few of the runners in front of me were either fatiguing or not running as cleanly on this terrain. I knew this bit of trail well and that it can eat away at your energy levels without you noticing. I had respect for this bit of trail but also knew there was a good possibility of some good gains with not too much of a spend in energy. This section was always going to be about finding the right balance. It was time to start making some moves. I slowly asked to pass each one as the pack started to fall apart. This got me on to the heels of Ruth Croft while climbing the biggest climb on Northern Tarawera. She politely asked if I wanted to pass but I had met my match on this terrain and said “I would just be honoured to be following in her footsteps” #fan. I knew this chick could run and do it smart. We had dropped the others and I was happy with the spend rate I was at. We chatted for a bit which was cool #fan eventually her shoelace came undone, or so she claims, or was it something I said? #stillafan. This put me on my own for the descent on Northern Tarawera. The next time I saw Ruth was as I was leaving Humphries Bay at 48km. The kids volunteering here were awesome. They were full of energy, excitement and the LOLLIES, they mention I was in 2nd place and were big on offering the lollies, they seemed a bit surprised I wasn’t taking up their offer, which I totally got, they did look good. It was just that I was still in “The Zone” and the lolly dial unfortunately was turned all the way down, Damn it! Maybe next time. My bottles were filled and I was out of there to run the next 10km on Eastern Okataina.

Wait! Did they say I’m in second, Holy S#!T!

I knew I was doing well but thought there were a few more guys still in front. Maybe she got it wrong? I just settled back into the “zone” and pushed on through this familiar bit of trail. Ruth pulled into me about half way along Okataina and we ran a chunk of this together. A few km’s from the boat ride I felt the energy levels start to drop and the fuel and lolly dials go up. Damn it! If only that was up back at Humphries I could have feasted on bowls of lollies. Luckily I had a few snakes in my pocket for moments like these. I ate half a snake and upped my Infinit custom, water intake, and dialled off the gas a bit. Ruth passed me looking good. I had a feeling this was the last time I would see her so I wished her luck and said “go smash it”. Her boat was just pulling out when I got to the beach, maybe it was something I said? #stillafan

The boat ride to get around the slip that had blocked the track was actually a really nice experience. I usually never take the time to stop and regather myself in a race. I stood on the boat chatting to the driver as my heart rate came right down. Did some stretches as the legs were starting to hurt a bit. While I’m doing some stretches and chatting, the driver casually mentions that I’m second male (the lollie girls did know what they were on about) and that the leader Michael Voss spent about 7min in the medic tent and his leg wasn’t looking good. OK, WHAT THE HELL! At that moment I knew there was a chance I could get a sniff at the lead. Michael is an extremely good runner and has speed that I could only dream of. I knew before the race that the only way I could beat him would be if he blew out his first 100k race.

The boat pulled up to the jetty at Okataina Aid station and I got a sense of the scale of how my day was unfolding. There were so many people there and damn they were cheering and yahooing a lot, it was crazy. That’s when I saw Murray Sparks, a mate who was out supporting people all day. He looked seriously pumped and excited to see me. He was a great asset at this aid station getting my drop bag and sorting out the nutrition I was going to take with me while I scoffed my face on some more fruit. The media team was there with cameras in my face and wanted to know how I felt about the big hill (WOW) I was about to climb over. I wasn’t too bothered about it to be honest, my legs were hurting a bit but I had run WOW plenty of times and had just planned on running my own pace up it, this was going to be easy out there on my own. The top seemed to come reasonably quickly and the energy levels had definitely dropped and the legs were hurting more at the top, but it was time for my specialty, some down hill trail. I just settled into a good rhythm and started doing my thing. I had run quite a few km’s of down hill and came around a corner to see Michael struggling to run. I really felt for the guy. I pulled up next to him and checked in on him. He was having a hard time keeping his nutrition down and the leg didn’t look good. I shook his hand and told him that I really felt for him. This was a great stage for him to launch his running career and I really felt sorry for him. I had my money on him to win this thing. There was nothing else I could do but run on.

The Lead!

I now found myself with 35km in a place I could have never imagined. I had a moment of joy but knew there were some very classy runners behind me and a long way to try to defend it. Any excitement was swept under the rug and buried straight away. I told myself a few times “just don’t mess this up”. I knew all I could do from here was to keep running my own race, in my Zone, making all the small adjustments to suit my needs and my body. I had to make sure I stayed extremely focused.

WOW leads you into Miller Rd. I have great memories of Miller Rd as last year with the hip injury I had to pull out of the 50k race and as my kids school was running the aid station I put my hand up to take the lead in running the station. I was there for every runner that came through and what a cool experience it was to be on the other side helping out all these amazing people. If you had Spiderman help you out, well that was me. This year my wife was there for the first shift so she could catch me coming through and there were so many familiar faces of kids and their parents. It was an amazing lift to see everyone here we were all excited to see each other. They got me sorted really quickly and I was out of there in a flash.

As I was passing the shores of lake Okareka about (75km in) I found myself sinking into a bit of a physical hole. The legs were really hurting now and my energy levels were starting to fade. It was at this point the finish line felt unachievable. To run 27km in this state was going to be impossible. I had been here before and knew the dails I had to start turning to make sure I got the thing done. This is one of the parts of racing I really like, not enjoy but like. I have always run a little through my life but did not start racing until 2016, my whole life I have been curious to know what I was capable of, not just physical, but more mental. Trail running turned out to be the sport to get some answers I had been looking for and the last 3rd of an ultra is always the place to find out. You get so stripped down here that there is no place for any ego. It’s just you and your mind, this is where you find who you really are and you come out of this place a better person for it. I always view my body as two things in a race, my Mind and my Body. This makes it far easier to detach from any signals and messages the body is trying to send upstairs to the management team in the mind. The body gets to make NO decisions and because of the stubbornness of management the body sometimes gets quite pissed off but cant do ANYTHING about it. The first thing I gave myself when I hit this hole was a nodoze, a hit of caffeine in a pill. This helped both mind and body a little. Then I upped my Infinit fuel intake. I also gave my mind some motivational fuel to help block out the annoying messages that keep coming from the body. I thought of my coaches, my aim was to make them proud today and I had been given an opportunity to go beyond that, I wanted this win for them. Ali and Kerry had played a huge part in my life through 2020 helping me through some depression, supporting me with family life and of course my running. Both of them helped so much to get me through a very tough year. I also wanted Ali to get the credit she deserves as a coach. She had given me one on one coaching into TUM and I wanted this win for her. I now had the mental fuel my mind needed to give this my best shot and push through some dark places.

From Okareka to Blue lake the legs just started to hurt more and more the energy levels were just manageable and I could feel the day heating up. As I came out of the bush to enter Blue lake aid station (16km to go) I first saw Murray again, I already had my bottles out ready so gave them to him and he sprinted off to fill them. The next person I saw was Ali standing up at the aid station. In my head I’m like “why is Ali here? shouldn’t she be at the finish line MCing”. As soon as I got there I could see she had her game face on. She had all the stuff from my drop bag layed out and was ready to get me out of here as quickly as she could. As things were handed to me and Murray showered me in cold water with sponges my legs all started to spasm and cramp, calves, quads and hammies. It was like fireworks going off in my legs. Little did she know that she was my mental strength, the thought that was pulling me through this, I had been carrying her in my thoughts, every time I wanted to slow down I would think of Ali and Kerry and how much I wanted to give them this win. I always try to have some 3rd party mental fuel for the backstage of a race. I find it so much harder to quit on someone else than quit on myself. To have her here now was just awesome. I didn’t want to stay still any longer than I had to as my legs were locking up. “I’ve got to keep moving” and so off they sent me into my most well known bit of trail, the Whakarewarewa forest.

The day was really heating up now, I had no idea what was happening behind me. I had thought of asking at Blue lake but decided I didn’t want to know. I was just assuming that I was being chased down and was running everything at as maximum as I felt I could. It really feels like running on thin ice at this stage of the race the spend is always on the verge of too much and you know a wrong foot and you will crash through the ice. There was one last climb in this section, a short punchy one up to Tokorangi Pa. Once at the top I knew I was in with a fighting chance as there was no sign of the pack behind me and the down hill into Rotorua would play to my strengths. The first section of down hill is steep and very washed out. As I started the descent I realised my legs didn’t want to bend and the fireworks of pain started up again. I looked down the slope and wasn’t actually sure how I was going to manage it. Thoughts rushed through my head, “do I go down backwards” “F*$K it, pain is only temporary” I just started legging it down as fast as I could, it felt horrible and must have looked really odd. I couldn’t keep quiet in this section, the messages coming up from my body started to be released out of my mouth. I’m not sure exactly what I was yelling but I’m glad there were no kids around. The trail soon became more runnable for me. I managed to find some form and speed again. As I turned a corner I saw Matt Rayment (from Dirt Church Radio) He looked full of energy and excited for me. He told me that Kerry had already cried. This was amazing to hear, I had him and Ali in my thoughts through the day and in the back of my mind I knew they would be riding this journey with me. I tried really hard not to let the emotions creep in as I knew the job was far from over.

Redwoods, the last Aid station, 6km remaining.

The location of this aid station is magical, it is set in amongst the most beautiful huge Redwoods. The reception I received here was massive, there were so many familiar faces and I could start to feel the scale of what I was doing. Out on the trails I wasn’t getting this emotion, I was on my own and these were my local trials, It felt a bit like another day out there but just hurt way more. Once surrounded by friends I could see it in their faces, I was actually doing this thing. Ali was there again to get me through as quickly as she could. She mentioned I was up 10min at Blue lake. That was 9km ago. ”Have they pulled in?” I asked,. I don’t know, just run your best from here,” she replied. I could hear a real uncertainty in her voice. I really wanted this win for her and we both knew this thing was far from over, I knew my legs were letting me down and there was a high chance the guys behind were making time on me. The last 6km to the finish is all flat and hot without any tree cover. From this point it is 95% mental and 5% physical. I set off 500m from the Aid station. I checked my pace on my watch, I was sitting at 4:30 per Km. This was good, like really good, I knew if I could hold this pace it would help to seal the deal. The danger was the candle was burning really hard and there wasn’t much left of it. The urge to stop or slow down was overwhelming. Each Km closer to the finish my pace was slowly dropping and my effort was going up. I knew I was running at an unsustainable rate and the heat was really taking its toll, the finish line couldn’t come soon enough. Any sharp turn I would do a quick check to see if anyone was chasing me and to my relief each time I looked it was clear.

With about 1km to go I saw a guy that looked like Tim Day running towards me. “holy S**t! I thought as we got within eye contact, he looked over the moon for me but had a serious energy about him. I felt honoured he had come to run me in. He was so encouraging but had a real sense of urgency in his voice, he never let on but he knew my lead was being eaten away at and with 1km to go this still wasn’t done. He ran in front of me and set the pace he was trying to get me to run at.

Well we were both trying to run at, I have no idea if I actually sped up with Tim. I thought I had the foot flat to the floor but while trying to sit with him for that last Km the internal alarm bells were going off like crazy. All I could do was just keep trying to hang on with him.

Then I could hear it! The finish line!

It was the best sound in the world. Tim looked back behind us and said “there is no one there, you’ve got this”. The relief as I entered the finishing chute was exhilarating. It was not until this point that I felt confident to keep the lead, I had been running scared for well over 3 hours. I could hear Kerry’s voice down the mic, there were so many familiar faces that I knew, hanging into the finish chute. I stepped across the line with so much joy and disbelief that somehow I had managed to win the 2021 Tarawera 102km Men’s Race.

July 7, 2021

Malcolm Barr

June 30, 2021

William Henstock

I’ve long been mulling over a run to send through to you guys, I’ve had a lot of runs that I’ve enjoyed, but I could never really pin down a GRE.

Although I had an epiphany over the weekend, while lost in the hills somewhere. My greatest run ever was Kepler last year, my first ultra.

Kepler has long been special to my family, with my grandfather and my father both running it multiple times. A few years ago, we walked the Kepler as a family  (I told myself that I’d run it one day) and (don’t report me to DOC) buried some of his ashes just down the track from rainbow reach and sprinkled some off the bridge.

The going was very tough last year, with sore ankles and chafing caused by my bottle of anti-chafe (ironic I know). But I managed to have a special moment with dad (and grandad) at rainbow reach, with just under 10 kms of shuffling to go. After hugs and a few tears shed, I soldiered on to the control gates. 

However, the ties to my family are only half the reason why I consider this my greatest run ever.  I did this run in memory of my grandad, something to make him proud up there in heaven. But in doing so, I was introduced to the fantastic world and community that is trail running. The race awakened a fire within me, a desire to get out there onto the trails. It’s led to me improving my hauora by developing healthier habits, drinking less, eating better and exercising more. Trail running has given me things to strive for outside of work, tangible goals that I push towards with every step I take and I have the Kepler challenge to thank for that.

June 23, 2021

Nathan Parry

It’s hard to know how to start this. How to even know what to say or how much I dare to share. I live in Salt Lake City, Utah, and I’ve been free for about six months. 

Before that I spent just under 2 years locked in jail. I’m not a repeat offender or some life long criminal. It's the only time I’ve ever been in any kind of trouble. It doesn't even seem real to me now. I was depressed. 

Me and my girlfriend were both suffering horribly with depression and alcoholism. Bad enough we attempted suicide. She died. I was charged with her death. I then spent 2 years fighting for my life in the US legal system. 

I decided in there I would never smoke or drink again. I also decided in there I would run 100 miles. I can’t really figure out why I decided on 100 miles to be honest. For the last six months I’ve been running. Trying to build myself into someone I can respect. Trying to learn to love myself. The miles haven’t been the answer. The struggle is more my thoughts.  The time locked away was the struggle then and the miles are a totally different kind of struggle now. Anyway. Now we’re caught up.

Sunday was my long run. My first 20 miler on  trail and it was great. I felt strong and had tons left in the tank.

Monday’s recovery run though-was the greatest run ever. I was slow. Blissfully slow. I was almost giddy while rambling up the side of a mountain trying to get lost. Trying to find the end of this deer track and that. 

After a while I dropped down into a steep canyon with cliffs on both sides.  Boulders and snow up the middle. I climbed my way up. Got myself nice and boxed in and sat down. Hung my feet off the boulder I had climbed on top of and listened to the snow melt rush underneath me and cried. 

I’m free, boys. Sitting up there it hit like it hadn’t over any of the 600 some odd miles I’ve run so far this year. Like it hadn’t hit me since they took off the chains and let me out into the falling snow.  I’m free and there is no better feeling in the world. It was the greatest run ever.

June 09, 2021

John Onate

I wanted to report I had “My Greatest Run Ever” since the SARS-COV2 pandemic began. 

The run was on the Western States 100 Endurance Run course between Foresthill and the river crossing. It is about an 18 mile point to point that starts with a jog down the main strip of Foresthill and then dives into wooded single-track and opens up to exposed fire roads along the river. 

The run took place during the Western States Official Training Camp. As part of the medical team I am so happy to report over 90% of the participants were either vaccinated or had natural immunity. All of our volunteers and staff were vaccinated as well. 

As I ran, I felt a weight lift, that perhaps because of the constant stress of the past year, that I did not realize was there. I hugged and chatted with friends, some of whom I have not seen since the pandemic. Seeing runners and volunteers coming together in a way that was so contrary to the past months of social distancing, mask wearing and avoiding crowds was cathartic and a healing experience for me. 

I hope that some part of what I experienced will happen for the rest of the world soon. All pandemics end and at least in the USA we are seeing the end of the worst part. I hope my view, admittedly privileged from living in a wealthy country, gives hope to the rest of the world that we all can come together soon.

June 02, 2021

Kirsten Webber

Hey guys, 

I have resisted sending in a greatest run ever because really, how do you choose? But today I’ve decided to bite the bullet and pick one. 

My family was visiting the in-laws in Melbourne and I was training for a 100km adventure to be held in the Victorian High Country (the Oscars100 Hut2Hut) and I had a long run to do, with elevation being the brief but I needed to stay in Melbourne - not wanting to stretch the friendship too far with my family. 

I wanted to do the RollerCoaster Run course at Mt Dandenong and my gorgeous friend Jen was up for a trail running adventure. 

So I ditched the husband and 4 kids and made a date to run with a friend I usually only get to hang out with online. 

I had downloaded the course onto my watch (so fancy) and being 2 days before Christmas, Jen bought the Christmas hats for a photo op before we got going. 

On the morning we were meeting there happened to be the most beautiful full moon setting over the back of the mountain - as we got to the car park we were met with the stunning view of the sunrise over Melbourne and the moon setting behind us. 

Laughing and carrying on we wandered around like lost souls trying to find the start of the course, with me using the mapping function on my watch for the first time. Maybe should have practiced. 

We got going eventually and what followed was 4hrs of laughter, swapping life stories, solving the world’s problems, discovery of nature, and wonder that this fantastic playground was in Melbourne’s backyard. But most of all it was filled with joy. 

Finishing up with 24km and 1000m elevation gain, we completely underestimated the course and had a laugh at ourselves afterwards as we had a well earned can of fizzy, and we watched a couple get engaged at the Giants Chair (I’m pretty sure she said yes!).  

What an unforgettable morning with a dear, dear friend. Just writing this I’ve got a smile on my face from reliving that morning. 

May 26, 2021

Jennifer Watterson

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would be an ultra runner, I would have laughed at them while still juggling my beer and chips while sitting back in the recliner. Now I am exactly that, the dedicated long distance hauler, clocking up big k’s with big vert over long hours and loving every minute of it. 

But I have an amazing story to tell about my greatest run ever which is just a little run out at my home trails near Bundaberg Qld in Australia, just across from you guys as the crow flies. I’m just going to highlight that this was the best 33mins over 5k of my life sharing the Journey with my beloved pup, Tanner Manic.

On 23rd of February I brought home our new fur baby, a beautiful rescue pup who is Kelpie-cross-Australian Cattle Dog-cross-Border Collie AKA “the tipple threat pup”(JESUS CHRIST) His name is Tanner Manic and he has been helping to heal our hearts after losing our longtime buddies, Texas the Blue Heeler and Coota the Border Collie. We were aiming for the energy of breeds for a good running dog and we have got that and more. He is black all over with a lightening strike blaze of white across his chest and silver blue tips on his toes. He believes that his main purpose in life is to be my protector and guard and makes sure those around us are aware of that. He has the best personality and I have loved watching him become established in his world around him. I have never known such a connection with a pup before and I have had few. 

On 5th May this year I took Tanner out to our home Trails for his second off leash trail experience of 5k. As soon as we hit the gravel he was already expressing his excitement in the car and as we pulled up it was pretty evident that he was ready to go. This was not his first run, we have been practicing on 5k stints for a while now. Just like any running training, I have been increasing his k’s bit by bit over the weeks and let him decide if he wants to run or walk. We have now added some cues and he takes this running business very seriously. We headed off down the trail which was a nice descent and I was about to rediscover my well known home trails in a new light. I was re-introduced to these trails through the eyes of my pup, noticing things I had been oblivious too. His fascination with the sprinkling light through the trees, listening to the bird life and taking in the smells of his new environment. He kept just in front at a good pace and would look back at me often, just to make sure I was still there.

He was leaping for joy at times which was glorious to watch and I found myself giggling and filled with so much joy. He was so engaged with me and actually sharing his experience with me, not just moving beside me or in front, we were on a journey together.

When we got to the first couple of hills he would run back to me and nudge into my leg. At first I had no idea what he was on about. The third hill he did this I grabbed his harness handle and he pushed into the hill and helped me up, stopping momentarily till I let go and he would take off. He then looked back at me as though to say “Just trying to help and you finally got it!”. He did this on all the climbs and zoomed his way down the descent.

He came across a puddle and when he landed up to his belly he looked at me as though to say “What the?” and from here on in he would check the depth of each puddle with his paw, kid you not! What a clever pup. At the intersections he would wait till I caught up so that he knew which way we were going.

I’m not sure who had the most fun as we were having a shared experience, emanating the same joy. When we got back to the car we sat down together, he had a big drink as did I and he leant into me looking up with his smiling face with a look of “was that the best fun eva?”

The distance was nothing I know, and I have run some amazing Ultra’s and trained on magnificent trails but the experience with my Tanner Manic pup was life changing and I believe this is my greatest run ever. Of course for Tanner, his greatest run ever is the one he just did on any other day.

May 19, 2021

Mark Morrin

Having competed in a number of half marathons and a single full marathon albeit at an extremely mediocre level I was sure I would never be able to have a run which was capable of inspiring others like the previous contributions.

This all changed last week when I finally had a run which I can call my greatest run ever.

It started like so many other Sundays setting out for a long run of around 30kms with my partner, Agnes, on our usual route taking in the sights of the beautiful beaches and harbour of Newcastle. It was a wonderfully clear crisp autumn day so we decided to sleep in and go in the early afternoon as we celebrated Agnes’s birthday the night before. It soon became apparent that today was not

going to be my day, whether it was the slight overindulgence the night before, stiffness from the previous day's boot camp or just a lack of mental resilience. I mentioned that I was going to return home at the 5 km mark and that she should continue and have a great run and I would be at home awaiting her return. I sensed a small amount of disappointment and judgement in her glaze, but being a supportive partner she hoped I was feeling better and trotted off in the distance.

Running back with a sizable amount of guilt and lamenting my lack of mental fortitude I ran past our local pub. As I was passing two mates called out to me from the balcony that I should come up and say good day. Not wanting to offend I entered the establishment and sat down for a quick beer to hydrate.

Anyway, I had plenty of time before Agnes returned from her run. Out of nowhere other people appeared and I was suddenly in that sacred of Australian tradition of “a six person shout”. Again not to offend I completed the shout and was about to walk out the door still with plenty of time to return  home before Agnes. 

Little did I realise there was to be a further escalation with a round of Margaritas appearing. Just as the thin stemmed cocktail glass hit the table I thought I might check Strava to monitor Agnes’ progress. To my horror she was only just over 1 km away and closing in fast.

Knowing I had around 4 and a half minutes to reach our front door I could easily have given up and accepted my fate. I’m not sure if it was adrenaline or pure fear but I inhaled the Margarita without a single drop of the delicious liquid touching the lightly salted rim of the glass and down my throat. It was now time for goodbyes choosing the Covid safe and efficient communal wave rather than the customary individual elbow tap.

I was now out the door and the race was on. All the training I had done was now going to be tested on the 500m sprint to home. It started well with the adrenaline pumping, form was good and there was a real expectation that I might pull this off.

Around the 300m mark it was evident that I had gone out too early in the initial burst. One more road to cross so I stopped waiting for a break in traffic, my lungs were burning and I was regretting the quick consumption of the Margarita. One last look behind and Agnes was nowhere in sight.

What happened next was most unexpected. I have heard other runners referring to “being in the zone” although have never had the experience myself until this day. I set off across the road, getting stronger and stronger, faster and faster. It was best described as an out of body experience. Wind flowing through my hair and the Chariots of Fire theme song playing in my head.

I raced to our front door, fumbled slightly with the keys and I was inside. I did the customary call out to make sure she hadn’t arrived before me and the silence was my prize. I had overcome incredible odds and hardships to achieve my quest. I had only just removed my heart rate monitor and one shoe before I heard our Bernese Mountain Dog “Moose” announce Agnes’s arrival.

Rather than live a lie and spend the rest of my life racked with guilt I came clean and disclosed where I had spent the last two hours. Agnes never fails to amaze me. She said that sounded awesome and I should have just text her and not rush home.

My greatest run ever means different things to different people. This was my greatest run ever because I found out what an extraordinary partner I have and how lucky I am to be with her.

May 12, 2021

Brook van Reenen (2021)

While I have already sent in a greatest run ever, I have ran a fair amount of trail since then so thought it must be time for an updated version! You don't really know when the great ones are going to come but for me Easter weekend’s run is at the very top of that list!

Runs don't get much better than our mission on the Milford Track in Fiordland National Park. Regarded as one of the best hikes in the world it has always been on my to do list so I jumped at the chance when James Brewer invited me to tag along with 11 others.

Arriving in Te Anau on Friday,  we were told of Saturday's plans.

Saturday rolled around and we all got in 2 vans at 6am and started the drive to Milford Sound where we were going to catch a boat to our start at Sandfly Point. In most cases it is the end of the walk but as we were running it, it is recommended to go the opposite direction so the hikers don't get annoyed!

The drive into Milford is epic but this time around it was dark! However there was excitement all around as we drove through the Homer Tunnel and into The 8th wonder of the world!

We caught the boat at 8 am which took about 15 minutes and as we are all so differently paced it was going to be hard to stay together so the 2nd boat load had the fast crew!

We took a few photos and then got stuck in to warm up just as the sun started coming up on a cold crisp bluebird Fiordland day!

We totally lucked out with the weather and couldn't have had a better day! As we got going the groups quickly separated out and soon enough I was cruising by myself until I caught up with Rachel Bridgewater & James Brewer. As we passed the highest waterfall in NZ (Sutherland Falls), we didn't make the side trip because we only had a 10 hour window before we had to get to the other side to get our boat back to Te Anau Downs so we thought there wouldn't have been enough time!

We then started the climb up to Mackinnon Pass where we were rewarded with some of the best views that we had ever seen!

As a cold wind blew on the tops we didn't hang around long and started the long 25 km descent to Glade Wharf.

After splitting my knee open earlier in the year on the Heaphy these days I am a lot more careful on the rocky stuff so took it easy and eventually made my way down. By this stage I was by myself and about 40 km's deep heading into a hot afternoon.

Eventually I caught up with James and Rach and was feeling good so passed them. More often than not on these big missions I hit a wall and it's hard to get back into a nice rhythm once that happens but this time around I was having an awesome day out there and everything seemed to click. The scenery probably had something to do with that! Gradually I made my way along the Clinton river to Glade House the normal start of the great walk. Soon enough Rach & James caught up to me and we ran the last km to Glade Wharf where our water taxi was waiting for us after a 56 km, 8 and a half hour day. We were the first to arrive so hung out with the sandflies and waited for everyone else. In hindsight we could have visited the falls as half of the group did! But hindsight's always 2020 right! 

Everybody gradually arrived, some more broken than others! And as the sun started to set we made our way across a bumpy Lake Te Anau back to our vehicles which had been relocated to Te Anau Downs where it was a short 20 minute drive back to reality!

Running through iconic Fiordland bush next to giant waterfalls, surrounded by giant mountains, it's going to take a lot to top that! Bucket list stuff!

May 5, 2021

Mitchell Hunt

 Running to me has always been a means of escape. A place where I disconnect, often feel untouchable and free from the chains of a clouded mind. 

Like many people who begin running, it was done so with the intention of losing weight - and lose weight I did. From around 107kg to 85kg in approximately a year. It may not seem like a huge amount in the scheme of things, given the incredible journeys some people have been on - but for me this was my journey and I was immensely proud of myself although I never really respected myself. This was my next task. 

With the confidence I gained through improving my fitness and health I signed up for the 2021 Tarawera 102km. A challenge that caused a little butterfly in my stomach to really start partying over the coming months of training leading up to it. 

My brother in-law and I set off on February 13th at 5am out to Kawerau. My sister (who completed the 21km event that day) gave me a bag of notes and a quartz crystal the night before. 8 notes for 8 aid stations. 8 notes of encouragement from the people I care most about in my life. 

I had no idea what to expect from this challenge.. as the race began and we all meandered across the start line and settled into a smooth stride I thought how lucky I was to be out there and carrying a body that could potentially be capable of knocking this bastard off from where I came from. 

Brought to tears at Mangawhio with the opening of the first note, I continued on feeling like I had the strength of all my friends and family supporting me. 

A special moment came when my uncle brought my sister, her partner and their 1 year old child over to Humphries on his boat. My nephew has only ever known, in his short but incredible life so far, how to fight and push through any challenge ahead of him. I think we can probably all learn quite a lot from the way he smiles his way through whatever complications may arise. 

On I went, tripping and stumbling my way around to okataina with a smile on my face singing at the top of my voice when I thought no one was around.. 

Welcomed at the aid station by a posse of friends and family holding up signs and cheering for me, I had my little rockstar entrance to Okataina and was treated like a king by my crew before the climb I had been thinking about all the months leading up to the event. 

Battling on, this was unknown.. I’d never gone this far before. My body is in new territory and all I can think to myself is how damn grateful I am to be there. How much everyone around me cares. It’s incredible what we’re capable of beyond our comprehension if we smile and believe. 

I continued on and met crew again at the Tikitapu aid station, fell into a dark place in the redwoods but nearing the end I had my family bring it home with me. 6 legends and myself hobbling the sulphur flats all the way through to the finish around 2am where I was greeted by the commentary of Matt Rayment complimenting my moustache. 

It sounds selfish to a degree, this run that gave me so much respect for myself, reminded me that I have a lot of beautiful people in my life, and that I have a lovely moustache. All fitting with 2021’s theme of gratitude and this was my greatest run ever.

April 28, 2021

Kimberley Gilmour

I often thought that doing the Kepler Challenge would be my greatest run ever, and it was, but for quite different reasons than I would have imagined.

By the time I got to the start line in 2020, I’d been wanting to do this run for about 12 years.  When I first heard about it, I was fit and (relatively!) young, at 30.  I’d just done the Motatapu marathon, I was training for Coast to Coast, I loved tramping and I was excited by the idea of running a Great Walk.  Unfortunately though, I missed out on an entry at that time and then I guess the momentum dropped away. Along with that level of fitness.  

Life rolled on. I changed jobs, moved cities and I didn’t have my crew of running buddies nearby anymore.  I didn’t stop running but in the years that followed, it became much more of a pleasant hobby than an athletic pursuit.

Some years down the road, I met an intelligent, funny, kind, gentle man, Angus and we started to build a life together. Much of the time things were great but at times, they were pretty hard too.  Angus struggled with depression and anxiety, it was a lifelong battle and one he fought incredibly hard to overcome.  It still hurts to say this: at the beginning of 2018, Angus took his own life.  

Losing Angus broke my heart.  For many months I wasn’t sure if or how I’d get through the day. The grief, the sadness, the intense feelings of guilt and regret. The numbness, the tears, the meaninglessness of everything else.  It was only with the unwavering love and support of friends and family that I was able to hang in there. 

During challenging times in the past, I’d turned to running, but this time I wasn’t able to.  Even on days that I had enough energy to want to  run, my heart rate shot through the roof minutes after getting started. It seemed like my heart was broken in more ways than one. I felt like running would help me cope emotionally, but my body wasn’t responding so frustration was another emotion to add to the list of tough ones. 

In time I started to re-engage more with life, and a little over year after I lost Angus, I moved back to Auckland, started a new job and spent more time with friends, both old and new.  I was feeling much stronger mentally and emotionally but I still couldn’t run without my heart rate spiking. After trying for a while to “fix” it myself by just running through, I finally went to a coach and with a mix of slowing right down and introducing some tempo runs, things started to come right.  

I was soon able to run regularly and comfortably again and it felt really good. And then, you know, 2020 happened with COVID and all the uncertainty and restrictions that came along with it.  It was also around this time that a lovely man, Mike, came into my life, with his beautiful daughter, Georgia, and their crazy but awesome little dog.  2020 sent a lot of wonderful my way, but let’s be honest, there was also quite a bit of shitty stuff we all had to contend with. I was relieved that I was now able to get out for runs, to get some moments of freedom and to help process and navigate the many and varied feelings I was having.  It was somewhere in amongst all this that doing the Kepler Challenge popped back into my mind.  I started off just increasing one run a week by a single kilometre and soon enough I was comfortably able to run 20km+. 

In July, I was lucky enough to get an entry to the Kepler Challenge but honestly 60km seemed almost laughingly impossible. I had heard Brad Dixon on this podcast some time before and I liked the sound of his approach to training.  I contacted Brad and under his guidance I increased my kilometres and built up strength and stamina.  Brad’s philosophy really worked for me, it wasn’t all about numbers and times, it was about training efficiently, keeping the joy of running, and preserving time and energy for the other important parts (and people) of my life. Mike and Georgia were really encouraging of my running, often joining me on trails including entering some Xterra events. It was nice to feel so supported. 

On the 5th of December 2020 I completed the Kepler Challenge (alternative course so you know, I will have to go back to run the original route!).  On the day, I had the enthusiastic support of Mike, and some good friends were in the race as well. I wore Angus’ Garmin watch and when I tired, thinking of him gave me strength.  The course allowed us to see fellow runners and supporters several times throughout the course which lifted my spirits.  And at about the 40km mark, I came across a fellow runner cheering and high fiving other competitors.  His energy and support made me smile. I caught up to him and we ran together for a few kms traversing a range of topics both deep and light.  That runner was Matt Rayment and our interaction gave me an even bigger energy hit than any of the caffeinated gels I was by this point knocking back. I reached the end with an aching body, some quiet tears and a big smile. 

I’ll never know what it would have been like to have run the Kepler 12 years earlier.  Almost undoubtedly I would have been faster (and less sore!) but I don’t think it would have been as much of an achievement.  It wasn’t just me that got me to the start line of Kepler 2020, and it definitely wasn’t just me that got me to the finish. 

April 14, 2021

Carolyn Orum

Hi Matt and Eugene,

After many false starts, I finally have a run worthy of the title “My Greatest Run Ever” – though I would like to formally petition for a name change to my greatest run ever, to my greatest run yet. If feels so finite to call something my GRE when I (hope to) have many runs left to run…

It started just like any other event. Alarms went off far too early for my liking and no one had much to say as we completed our pre-run rituals, affixing bibs to race belts, final gear checks and all of us going for one more pee before leaving the house.

By 07.50am we were on the Lake Wanaka waterfront start line, no time to back out now. After the karakia, there was a brief pause punctuated by beeps of watches finding signal then the race director began the countdown and we were off on our way towards Glendhu bay for the first leg of the marathon.

But this was no ordinary marathon, it was a bespoke event for four, Claire Bartholemew, Pelin Fantham, Leigh Sturgess and me. It had been conceived over a flurry of messages 6 days earlier when we learned that NZ was heading back into lockdown due to an outbreak of community COVID 19 cases, followed by the news the next day that the 2021 Motatapu marathon and ultra run was to be cancelled.  After the initial disappointment, especially for Claire who had worked so hard over summer to training for her first marathon, we got to business.

It hadn’t take long to agree:

1.       that we were all still keen to travel to Wanaka (as long as it was safe to do so)

2.       we all still wanted to run a marathon on Saturday 

and crucially, 

3.       to appoint Heather as Race Director and event manager.

Thanks to this stroke of genius (appointing Heather), by Monday night we had a course mapped out and the big MACC (Motatapu Alternate COVID Course) marathon was born.

(I spent the next few days trying not to worry too much about the fact that I've been training for the last 3 months to basically hike for 53km as the ultra-course has over 3000m of elevation and suddenly I need to run a veritable flat 42.2km... eek).

On Friday night the race director conducted a compulsory briefing where we were issued with course maps, race bibs and location of aid stations along with some directives. Many of the usual rules applied such as carrying course maps, following instructions of RD and then there were some new ones, apparently jump shots were mandatory and we would be assessed on our selfie photos at the end of the day, challenge accepted.

We ran as a team, especially for the first 20km which was 10km out towards Glendhu bay then returning along the lakefront to where we started. I was expecting this section to be flat but was pleasantly surprised how much undulation there was. At a particularly lovely spot we completed our first assignment and practiced the fine art of the jump shot.  As we returned we began to be greeted by other runners and walkers who let us know that the upcoming aid station was something to look forward to, and oh girl, were they right! Music blasted from the van and not only were we greeted by a volunteer in a tutu and pom-poms but the RD had put on a spread to rival even the best Tarawera aid station.  The next section was a long flat section around the lake to Albert Town, and we were delighted to be escorted by our wandering marshals, photographers and general mood improvers, Kimberly and Joe, who took turns keeping us company for the remainder of the race. Joe must have nearly ran the distance of a marathon on his own as he flitted forwards to take photos of us, then ran to and fro to make sure we were all doing OK as we had slightly separated over the course.

Before I knew it we were running along the Clutha/Mata-Au river and there was just the wee obstacle of Mt Iron to overcome before we would be able to open the champagne waiting at the finish line.

The last aid station was a relief to arrive at. We all gathered for a group shot before beginning the accent up Mt Iron, it’s a sharpish climb, but nothing a group of Wellingtons couldn’t handle and the view from the top was well worth the effort. Unfortunately by this time, the wind was just beginning to pick up so we took a very quick selfie or two and headed down the other side of the hill towards the champagne… I mean finish line!

The wind was joined by increasingly persistent spits of rain as we descended the hill, a great motivator to get this job done, and after our last regroup at the bottom of Mt Iron we all put our heads down and pushed through to a finish line fit for the queens we were. We all got to break the ribbon and were rewarded for our efforts with epic finish line hugs and, of course medals to mark the event.

It is hard to put into words what finishing this marathon with my three trail sisters felt like. We did separate a little over the course, but finished within moments of each other. Competing in a running event can become a lonely thing, and it is easy to get caught up in the competition and forget to actually enjoy the thing that we’ve worked so hard to be at. This event was different, we were not competing, we were collaborating and while we all pushed to get the job done, we also took plenty of opportunities to be present in the moment and really enjoy each other’s company and the incredible place we were running and to me, this is what made it my greatest run ever. 

Extra shout out to our dream team of supporters – Heather McDonald – Race Director, Paul Fantham, assistant RD, Kimberley and Joe Welsher- photographers and wandering marshals/pep team, Jill and Peter Fantham – aid station volunteers and best looking tutu models in Otago.

April 7, 2021

Samuel Goodwin

I get super inspired by the greatest run ever segments.

I thought I would submit mine, a challenge I done last June in London, virtually with 7-8 others (mostly kiwis) across the city.

I’ve never had to set an alarm at 4pm on a Friday before, come to think of it I don’t actually think I’ve set an alarm at 4pm ever before.

A couple of months had past since I introduced a colleague of mine to a certain bloke.. a bloke we both didn’t know personally, a lot of people don’t know personally, but a bloke who has certainly impacted almost everyone that has witnessed his presence on this planet.

“Forget doubling down on your strengths, triple down on your weaknesses”, “We are going to do something every day that sucks”, “Suffering is a true test of life” and more famously, “Stay Hard”.

David Goggins.

My colleague Michael, slipped an idea to me one Friday after work that himself and some friends were going to attempt David Goggins’ self created 48 hour challenge.

Run four miles, every four hours, for 48 hours.

If you can’t run, cycle or walk, or do a 30 minute activity that would callus your mind.. the whole idea of what this challenge is about.

Before I could say yes, I’ll do it - Michael has already added me to the chat group. So with learning I wasn’t the only one doing it, it made me more comfortable to say yes. 

The following week it was scheduled to start, which was nice in a way - it had that nice “thrown into the deep end” approach to it. I ran it by my partner and she was nothing but encouraging and supportive of the idea, offered to make loads of amazing foods and drinks, offered to sleep in another room to make it easier for me, but also quickly reminded me I had committed to running a 10km run with her on the Saturday morning.

So why not incorporate both!

The group had agreed to run a 5km run instead of the 4 miles, which I was happy about.. but still darn petrified!

Work week done, alarm set for 4pm.. I actually didn’t finish work until 5pm, so quickly scooted home, told my partner I loved her then set of for my first set at 6pm.

A 5km run around Battersea Park at 6pm on a Friday, one mental challenge battling through already, people about to start enjoying their weekend under the gorgeous sun. Cruising along at a 5.27/km pace and constantly thinking of what have I got myself into. Wrapped that session up and 11 runs to go.

I decided to start the second leg at 8pm, to get back into sync. The sun was still out but slowly setting, the park was busy as ever, and of course I had to run past a friend of mine so stopped quickly and said hello. My slower 6.03/km pace had me wrap up just after the 30 minute mark.

The third leg started at midnight, and with the park being shut I was forced to stay to the streets. I ran a narrow block run which consisted of two and a part laps from Albert Bridge Road down Battersea Park Road, left along Queenstown Road then left again to Prince of Wales Drive then back around to home. A few people around but running at midnight started to make this challenge a real thing. Pace and not blowing out was important to me so a 6.00/km pace it was. 

Leg four. Mentally challenging as far as it got (I thought), 4am start it was, the moon as beaming some light onto the streets and the birds were chirping. I decided to do the block run again and had it wrapped up in 30 minutes. The body started to reject my ideas but I had no choice but to start hacking into my mind.

My partner was sleeping next to me through out that night shift, which I loved but was also difficult for me knowing I was waking her up each time. Not being used to eating over night I put a foot completely wrong and rarely had any food. A couple of litres of water, a couple of bananas and some small nut bars was all but it.

Leg five kicked of at 7.30 in the morning. It was a comfortable (am I kidding?!) 10km run, the thing is.. I promised my better half Laura to help her through her own challenge - the May 10k on Strava. So off we set, off down the outside of Battersea Park on the south side, around and over Chelsea Bridge, west along the embankment to Battersea Bridge, over there then west along the south of the Thames, then swung back around to wrap up the 10km in the park. After a well deserved rest and celebration with Laura it was time to get home to prep for the leg 6.

Michael texted me just after midday to say he will be down outside my house shortly. We met one of his friends (not doing the challenge, but a fellow runner) and headed to the park for a cruiser of a 5km. Tell yah what, running with company, even if you don’t chat to much, is bloody helpful. Michael set the pace and off we went for one and a half laps of the carriage drive, before wrapping it up just after 5km in 23 degree heat, quiet dry, really sweaty and man, was I parched!

I linked up with Laura and her friend after that run - legs were burning. Actually burning. But that was the 6th run, which spelt one thing.

Halfway. Halfway. Halfway mate.

It was about now the mental task has been accepted by my mind, knowing what I was going through was nuts, and the physical side was starting to take relative control.

It was me vs my body. Everything I do from here on through is all on my mind. 

If there was any hope of me making it, I needed to take advantage of David Goggins allowing alternative activity’s into the mix.. given it was 30 minutes long, it was all ok.

So leg 7 consisted of a 11.5km cycle ride from home and around Chelsea. It was still tough, dodging buses, taxis and Boris bikes, but was nice on the body as apposed to a 30 minute run. A definable decision in the end as it felt as if I had a decent rest - even when on the bike.

8pm Saturday night comes around, the sun is at a gorgeous level, and some punters on my planned route had just set up for a bbq in their front yard. Perfect for me to monitor their progress as I start my second night shift. 

The physical toll is well and truly on, but the mindset went into a new and different realm, with the words of Laura pushing me forward, and her absolutely amazing vegan lasagna, the 8th leg was done at a 5.40/km pace and was home with my feet up in what it felt no time.

Snack, shower and sleep became the regular and normal every few hours, and midnight soon came time to lace up for round 9.

The eye lids barely opened, the body didn’t want to get up, my thighs were near on non existent, but I just had to get going. The thought of seeing how the BBQ punters were going was a weird push for me out the door, I won’t lie about it.

Turns out they had finished their meals well and truly and were well into their drinks and dancing which made me smile. I carried on down the south side of the park and then over Chelsea Bridge, Embankment, Albert Bridge and around to home.

Had worked out a nice 5km circuit but now, so thought I would do it again, but reverse come 4am.

4am actually came around quicker than I thought.. oddly enough! After the midnight run, it was home for a quick snack, message to my parents back home in New Zealand, shower then straight to sleep.

Laura was sleeping in the spare room on this night so I slept a lot better. A deep sleep came straight after the midnight leg and 4am came around faster than a squirrel climbing up a tree.

I was determined and prepared to get it done, I even think I laced up with my eyes closed. It was all coming naturally to me, and I had come to far to quit. To be honest, the nasty Q word never crossed my mind once.

My BBQ buddy’s were down from a party of about 14, to a party of two, swirling whiskey of sorts around a glass talking about the universe. Good on them! Thank you for the laughs to myself, you complete strangers. May you go well!

Once I got passed the barbie party I hit the outside of the park and went the opposite way to what I had been doing. It felt nice, and as I was running down the west side of the park on the outside, I noticed the turnstile gate was operating whilst all the other gates were padlocked shut.

So screw it, I nipped into the park through the turnstile and enjoyed my 10th leg through Battersea Park all by myself. 4am on a Sunday morning. Probably no quieter time around, especially for a near central London Park. 

I even bet the street sweepers out that morning. Man I enjoyed that!

Home, snack, shower, sleep.. “repeat”.

I woke up pretty close to 8am with the pleasant surprise from Laura. “I’m coming with yah”. Couldn’t have been happier. Couldn’t have asked for anyone better to come with me.

I needed carrying so to speak. Her mental clarity and wellness was everything I needed. Even the small words, “you got this”, “only two to go”, even using Goggins quote “stay hard”.

We set of at 0800 in Battersea Park, ran the south side, up the east, done a loop around the Thames side of the power station, back out over Chelsea Bridge, Embankment, Albert Bridge, Battersea Park finish. Perfect!

A long and uncomfortable but needed stretch in the park under the morning sun then home it was.

Smoothie, snack, shower, sleep, snore, sleep, sleep, sleep.. boom. Midday.

The victory lap.

“I’ll come again!”. Even more perfect than before. In these challenging times in need, I could, not, be, happier. Laura has now gone from daily yoga, breath work and dancing, a girl getting into running, to a “smash out 20km in one weekend”, whilst maintaining daily yoga, breath work and dancing. I know I’m going through hell physically and mentally with this challenge, but if I could take some time from this write up to praise such a magnificent woman, wow.

Thank you darling for the support, words, kindness, cooking, space, time, offerings, life.

Everything, means everything. You are the best x.

She made the 12th lap a breeze.

We laced up, started running from our front door and cruised around the park. Loads of breathing, loads of laughs, a lot of fun. Chucked it down past the Peace Pagoda one last time, looped around the carriage drive and finished up on the south side of the park.

A shit load of smiles and laughs, a big sweaty hug, a few swear words of dis belief, excuse me but “fuck me, I am fucking done. I’m done, the challenge is complete.” 

I could not believe it. 60km of running in 48 hours and one 11.5km cycle, done. Sleep no longer than 2 hours at a time. Weird eating times, sore bones, joints and muscles in places I didn’t think I had them, a sweaty and smelly body but a mind accomplished, a heart beating and two legs I owe so much to, it was done.

We took a moment at the park to reflect, what I felt grateful for, and what are my immediate thoughts.

“What is the next challenge?”.

I was ready. I can see the addictive tenancy in victory. One win is never enough. 

If you have run a marathon, you want to run another. 

If you have painted a piece of art, you want to paint another.

If you made someone smile, you want to make someone else smile.

If you released a piece of music, you want to release another.

If you had a piece of chocolate.. yep, you want another!

The reality learnt, taste that success. Fight your way to the top and done let anyone stop you. 

If you want it, you go get it.

Your mind is the most powerful thing you own. 

And I’m not telling you, I’m reminding you.

Your mind, is the most, powerful, thing, you own.

Create your own challenges, callus your own mind. It’s not supposed to be easy.

Grab your best friend, tell them you love them, then make them come on 5km runs with you! 

It’ll be challenging, fun, full of laughs, tears, sweat, hunger, deprivation from almost everything, but that feeling on the other side..

.. 100% worth it.

Thank you David Goggins, for the man that you are.

Thank you Michael for pushing me to this position.

Thank you Laura again for everything you do

And thank you to my friends and family for believing in me.

I.

Will.

Not.

Let.

You.

Down.

Ever.

March 31, 2021

Dan Ross

Hi Matt & Eugene,

My greatest run ever was yesterday – the Sixfoot Track Marathon from near Katoomba to Jenolan Caves. The race features stairs, single trails, a river crossing (up to the armpits) and some brutal hills. Massively brutal hills. It is described as Australia’s toughest marathon and it sure is, from the qualifying time needed to get a ballot spot, to then getting drawn from the ballot and then running the race. (Not to mention last year's cancellation due to bushfire, then floods destroying the road into the finish line).

My plan was to keep moving. One step forward. March the hills, run the downhills and flats as best I could. 2 hours in we hit the first of the 2 mega epic 4km plus climbs. I was feeling it pretty early. A nice warm humid day had greeted us, which is not my preferred conditions. I kept marching and marching, and being overtaken by many wonderful runners. After a short downhill we hit the next big climb. By the time I hit the magical Pluviometer I was spent. I would’ve loved to have sat down and called it a day – but this event is one of my Unicorn events when I started running 3 years ago. A glass of coke, and cold icy water dunked on my head and I continued on my merry way.

More hills up and down, more flats and a very sharp downhill section where you can see the finish and hear the atmosphere which is second to none. I finished in 7 hours 15 for my 44km and I could not have been happier. I got to stick to my plan and never gave up when I just wanted to walk those flats. I’ve never been happier in a run and frankly the time could’ve been anything. It didn’t matter. It was the run, the experience and what I learned about myself which was more important.

Topping it all off my running gang was at the finish, whether competing or volunteering - I got to see all their wonderful faces. Such a magical day. This combined with being able to stick to my plan on a brutal course, makes this my greatest run ever.

Keep up the great work and hope to make it across to Tarawera in 2022 after not being able to this year.

March 24, 2021

Kaitlin Pickett

Dear Matt and Eugene,

Like thousands of others on the 13th of February I lined up in Rotorua to run my first ever Tarawera 50km race. 2 friends and I had signed up after lockdown 2020, however both had pulled out due to various reasons so I was lining up by myself but had my mum, my boyfriend and some friends there to cheer me on. I had completed this distance before but never at an organised event. I was feeling nervous/excited and especially grateful to have the opportunity to be there when the rest of the world is in such chaos. 

I was stoked to hear Matt on the loudspeaker at the start line, with Dirt Church Radio being one of my favorite podcasts (I had a few of my favourite episodes downloaded just in case I hit a rough patch). The weather was perfect, the starting horn sounded and away we went, heading off through the steamy atmosphere of Te Puia. I didn't want to get carried away and head out too fast so I focussed on trying to run at my own pace and quickly settled into my rhythm.

Before I knew it, I was passing through the first aid station where I stopped for a quick bite to eat. My boyfriend was meeting me at Lake Tikitapu aid station so along I trotted. The shores of Lake Rotokākahi were around the next corner and took my breath away. The sun was beginning to come out from behind the clouds and the surface of the water shone like a jewel. My feeling of gratefulness was amplified. 

Getting into Lake Tikitapu and with only 16km to go, I was feeling relatively good. I had managed to keep a consistent pace and maintain my nutrition, although I knew the last 7km along the flats was going to be the hardest part for me. With a water top up, some words of encouragement and a hug for the trail, away I went. 

I put on my favourite music for the descent down into the Redwoods aid station and I was having a blast, feeling like I was flying, although probably a bit too much as I took a little tumble but thankfully only bruised my pride. I managed to push through the last tough bit to come into the finish line feeling strong and achieving a personal best time of 6.16. A big hug and some tears from my mum and my boyfriend, I was feeling so proud not only of what I'd achieved but what everyone there achieved. I am extremely thankful to have spent the day surrounded by others who undoubtedly felt the same that this has made Tarawera 2021 my greatest run ever.

March 17, 2021

Brad Geen:

Kia Ora Guys,

My greatest run ever was my first half marathon. The Tauranga half back in 2013. A bit of background, I was fit as a fiddle in my late teens, but an apprenticeship full of bakery visits, an unhealthy lifestyle and a denial about fitness was all too real. A visit back home for Christmas in 2012 I was confronted by my loving mother "Brad you're getting fat". She challenged me to do a half marathon with her and said she would even pay the entry fee if I beat the decided time. We decided on 1 hour 35 and I began training. I roped in a group form work and the next few months ran by. The race itself was the culmination of months of fighting excuses and a lot of changes in mental and physical states. 

The day arrived and it was a beautiful day in Tauranga, with perfect running conditions. Everything was going to plan, and I was on target (just). I saw my mate was at the top of a hill with 7km to go. Now we're racing (well I was anyway). I picked it up and chased hard. I didn't see him again and had almost given up on chasing him down and was starting to feel the pain (run your own race). As we turned into the park and the last km he was the next person in front of me. I talked myself into a big finish and passed him without turning to look or say anything. I heard  "Oh bugger" or something quite similar. We raced around the edge of the park and into the finishing shoot. A sprint finish, with the crowd cheering hard. I pipped him at the line and had to hold back a lot of emotion. I found this a crazy concept getting a bit overwhelmed by a run, but I emptied the tank and felt on cloud 9. Only later did I tell a seasoned running friend about this and he just laughed and said that's the runner's high, embrace it. I cheered the rest of the group and Mum in. I came in at 1 hour 33 minutes but didn't want the entry fee.

 I went on to fall in love with running and now consider myself a real runner. Most finish lines I reminisce about that day and where this running journey began. Thanks Mum =)

March 10, 2021

Pip Guthrey 

I wrote to you about my 'greatest run every' nearly a year ago now, when I was recovering from Sarcoidosis and my running group got together for a bit of an adventure when RoF was cancelled due to COVID-19.

Well, the lock down ended up being great for my running as I was able to return to a regular training programme. By the end of 2020 I had signed up for Tarawera again, having run the 21km in 2019 before I became unwell. I opted for the shorter distance until I was absolutely certain my health was stable.

This year I was one of those people cheering at Tikitapu as Jonathan came through first in the 50k event. I was there wearing my Zeenyas, taking part in the ' 21k party run'. Gratitude became the theme for the day for me as well. By the time I had run around the lake I knew it was going to be a good day. Every kilometre was validation. My body and brain were strong, and I felt increasingly joyful as the race unfolded. I got a bit tearful as I ran into that Redwoods aid station, knowing I was hitting all of my goals for the day. I'm sure I drove a few people crazy as I urged them on in those last hot, smelly kilometres around sulfur point. 

I didn't realise you were on the mic at the finish line. I don't think you were on when I finished, and if you were I'm kicking myself for not recognising you. I was the one running down the finish shoot waving my arms over my head and cheering. I wasn't fast, and I will probably never be even in the mid of the pack, but I was so proud of what I achieved that day. I knew people running every distance this year, and we all did well. 2021 was so special for so many reasons.

This is now  officially my year of trail running. I've set myself up to run a minimum of a half marathon every month. I have some lofty goals but I'm not going to speak them out loud just yet. I won a half price entry to the 25km Loop the Lake round Lake Rotoiti in St Arnaud  this year (on my birthday) thanks to my Wild Things VIP membership, and I've entered the WUU2k 21km distance. Aren't we just so lucky to be living in this country, and to be able to do this thing we love?

March 3, 2021

Aaron Eyles

The early morning had begun, 7am, the sun was rising and the birds were awake.

A surf at our local north coast point (with a pod of dolphins no less!) and a coffee to follow and my wake-up process is complete!

My wife Kristy (the star athlete of the partnership and previous greatest run everer) dropped me at Waitati on our way home. Shoes, socks, shorts, and optional t-shirt were simply all I needed for the next couple of hours and believe it or not the Dunedin day was heating up.

The next few kilometres were a trail runner’s dream land!!! Sleepy roads and onto an almost tropical looking beach, through a cave and another beach with the only habitants being wildlife and a lone walker.

I drifted up and over a head land and on towards the prominent cone shaped Mopanui. A gravel road took me around an estuary, dodging low flying Kereru and being heckled by the Kingfisher on the powerlines above, I came to the base of the track leading up into the forest. Loosing myself (kind of literally) in the shade of the trees was a nice reprieve from the heat that was setting into the day, a wrong turn or two didnt seem to matter, I just wanted to be lost in here forever but I was still heading up which was a good sign. Topping out above the Orokanui Ecosanctuary with views to the rugged Silver Peaks, the infamous Mt Cargill and all the peaky wee gems Dunedin runners call their own!

A sealed road under my feet and now Otago Harbour and Peninsula views took me homeward, my stride freed up and quickened and I relaxed into it as it flattened off. Stopping at a local water spring for a natures aid station of crisp cold water, fuchsia berries and some early black berries from across the road. I rounded the corner to see my west harbour home a few kilometres away in the valley below and a large container ship slowly sliding out to sea with a thud thud of it's engine. As I float the last section of down hill I felt so lucky to be here and now and free and living in this beautiful country, Aotearoa.

That’s my greatest run ever!

P.S. This day was more than a great run. Left over pizza for lunch, gardening with wife Kristy filled in the arvo and then as we sat at our local Careys Bay Hotel in the sun with dirty gardening clothes and jandles sipping a pint of Panhead after a long hot day of mahi, people started arriving in fancy shirts and dresses and heals it dawned on us what day it was, Valentine’s day, not something we would normally celebrate but hell I think this time we accidentally did. We smiled and tipped our glasses.....

That’s our greatest Valentine's day ever!

February 24, 2021

Matt Bailey

Hey Matt and Eugene,

I can tell you that I have wanted to write “a greatest run ever” forever but I just haven’t had that incredible tinglingly great run to email about.  Don’t get me wrong I have had some pretty special runs and some epic adventures but as you say not “one that just sung to you”.

This weekend was different the journey is long and it involves many spoonfuls of lots of people and a truckload of inspiration, admiration and privilege.  I am more of an excel guy so bear with me as I try and do this justice!

The day/run started with a 3am kick off.  A check of gear and few words with Andrew (the runner I would support) before we made our way to the Tarawera miler.  The starting ceremonies began and the emotions were already starting to run high.  This wasn’t FOMO, it was admiration and humbling inspiration as I watched these hardy souls cross the line to start a journey which would impact on their lives and the lives of anybody anywhere close to them.

I watched the lights trail away and readied myself to get to the first aid station.  The lights at the aid station started to precipitate through; little twinkles of light under which were still smiles, nerves and strong legs.  So Andrew came and went and further behind Fiona and Katie came and went; the day was on!  OK, quick on to next station. We press repeat, things are going well but maybe Andrew is a little quick.  It’s getting light.  This pattern repeats at each aid station, with an added sense of excitement, nervousness and a battle unfolding at each station.  Plus add in a day of sharing with other supporters and some general goofing off.  Meant my emotions and excitement are were riding high.

A boat crossing, attention a few things in the aid station and here we are, Andrew is ready to be paced; there are only minutes between the runners but day and night to the finish.  We go up the first hill and my chatter is high but worse with our closest known competitor (Louis) is with us (damn it, that wasn’t part of my plan!).  Andrew can’t go harder at this point it’s tough going after over 100K.  “How’s the stomach and the knee” I ask “yeah, alright, knee hurts a bit down hill” comes the reply (code for OMG I’m suffering, why I am I doing this, I want stop but I want to finish”.  Louis goes ahead.  “Damn it” I say in my head “OK how do I get us going faster, but not overcooked”.

My really privileged role is kicking in “OK let’s trot this bit out then we walk” and again “OK, my pace, we trot out a bit more”.  We’re moving but not as fast as I would like.  I can feel the pressure of the next competitors (who I know from the Whoop Whoops is Katie or Fiona).  “OK here we go trot this bit, good, going well” and we repeat and repeat.

We hit Millar aid station and by now it’s dark and our world is as big as the headlamp spot (I love this).  The “Aid Station Angels” sort us out, were on our way.  Some easier downhill “not too fast, steady pace, you’re travelling well”.  We carry on then we hit the Blue Lake.  “wooah hello” it’s Andrews partner.  This brief stop, hugs, encouragement and the coke from the last aid station all kicking in.  We’ve got a boost.  We quietly roll through the Blue Lake trails giving words of mutual encouragement to fellow runners and volunteers (those other absolute legends).

Soon we are welcomed to the aid station, by claps, cheers and head torch lit faces. We refresh, gather ourselves and then Holy Moly. It’s the mighty Katie Wright coming in.  We’re gone! We’re pushing now and we are running scared; scared of going too hard and scared of not going hard enough.  We’re overtaking runners but are we going quick enough?  Back in the forest “I can hear them” Andrew says “Just keep trucking; we’re running your race” I reply.  Secretly wanting to grab a pole and pull him up the hill; tension is high, but the effect of last aid station fuel is kicking in.  The downhill trot is closer to a run and those niggly inclines are not so niggly any more.  We’re moving! 

Down the steps we go, passing more runners with encouraging words.  Hold on “you’re a miler pacer?”, “well done keep it up” I shout as we pass.  But immediately round the corner I tell Andrew “you’re in 5th now”. Spirits and knees are lifting higher.

200m to the Redwoods aid station. I run ahead to prep the volunteers for our smash and grab as we raid the oranges and coke.  We feel like we’re flying but where are the others?    “Ok not too quick we still got 7km to go” I say.  Our noses tell us we are about to hit the sulphur strip.  We weave in and out of turns I don’t look back, Andrew is on my shoulder, our steps in time.  Beeeeeeeeep, goes my watch, another K done. I look down 5.10 minute Ks.  “We’re OK Andrew you’ve got this” I don’t mention how quick were going.  Step, step, step; we keep on going. 

Finally, we enter the chicanes, we can hear the noise, only a few 100m to go.  Andrew quickens the step (he’s spied another runner and he’s on fire).  I watch as he overtakes and crosses the line.  First Miler; 8 mins outside 20hrs.  My job is done! I am so pleased, privileged and proud, what a run!  But wait there’s more excitement still to come as we get to watch the 2 legends of our sport dual to the end.  Wow, what a run, what a community!

February 10, 2021

Elly Arnst 

I’m a GRE repeat offender of a previous post-injury 1km lap around my local park, but I’m going to the far end of the spectrum now with a ultra DIY adventure that Katie (Wright) and I completed and we’re still buzzing, so it probably fits the criteria!

The Ruahine Main Range Traverse from Comet to Limestone (aka CL) came on my radar at the end of February. It is a similar concept to the Tararua SK’s, but longer and with a lot tougher terrain, being less travelled. Of course like most things this year, Covid disrupted plans of an April attempt, and so from November I had been patiently waiting for a 48 hour weather window. In the meantime I managed to talk about it excitedly enough that Katie was keen to join me when perfect weather and low river levels presented mid-December.

Together we tackled the rugged terrain of the Ruahines, starting at 1030 on Monday morning in a random carpark and running and hiking non-stop for 39 hours until we finally climbed over the stile at 0143 on Wednesday into another random carpark where my Mum surprised us by appearing out of the dark. Aren’t mums awesome?! There was no fanfare or medals or finishers photos (apart from one tired looking selfie by the sign), but we received so many messages from family and friends and workmates throughout the whole adventure. Everything went so amazingly well it still feels surreal. It was such a special experience to share with a friend in the place I love the most. Definitely one I will remember for a long time to come!!

February 3, 2021

Chantelle Doulis

Hi guys,

My greatest run ever was on the weekend and it was my first ever 50km run and longest run I've ever done by 20km. At the end of June (between our lockdowns here in Melbourne) I started running again. As the mother of two pre-school aged kids I found I needed some space and time alone and so I started running again.

Several weeks later I found myself accidentally running a half marathon on my Sunday long run when I ran a different route. I felt so good I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze an ultra marathon in this year - something I had been interested in for about 18 months after reading Adharanand Finn's book.

So 8 weeks out from the Surf Coast Century in Anglesea I took a deep breath and signed up for the 50km trail run through the beautiful Otways thinking at worst, I knew I could walk the whole race and still come in under the cut off. Having never run on trails before I stocked up on all the gear and a couple of weeks out I went and did a couple of different trails with friends and quickly discovered how very different this was going to be to my normal road running. I had a couple of niggly little injuries, but as so many of us do, I completely ignored them and hoped that my taper period would be enough to heal up.

On the day of the race I drove down to the coast and wandered around by myself - I didn't know anyone at the race and due to COVID there were restrictions on crew and spectators. With two little kids it would have been a bit tricky for my husband to crew the whole day so I decided to just go it alone. Luckily, I quickly discovered how friendly the ultra scene is and met a bunch of wonderful people who made me feel welcome and calmed my nerves as we lined up at the start line. 

I started in wave 4 (the back of the pack) expecting to finish in around 8.5 hours. The horn sounded and we were off. At first I was worried about being at the back and being dropped by these other people who took off a bit faster than my normal plodding pace. But I reminded myself to just run my own race, there was 50km to get through and it would do me no good to knacker myself out in the first 2 trying to keep up.

I got chatting to several really beautiful people as we jogged through the stunning trails of the Otway National Park. The first 19km absolutely flew by, I couldn't believe it when we got to the first checkpoint. I also couldn't believe I had only tripped over once so far, my first couple of trail runs ended with a donation of knee skin to the track and sore ankles owing to the rocks and tree roots.

The big scary hill everyone talked about wasn't that big or scary and I felt great as I made it to the second checkpoint at 27km. It was between 27km and 35km that I struggled most, this part of the course with its gentle undulating hills - going downhill really scared me with the slippery rocks and (in my mind) steep tracks. But when I hit that 35km mark I knew nothing was going to stop me now.

I made it through and we were on the beach, completing 3-4km right at the end on the sand. I kept waiting for the pain to hit, for that mental negativity to come into play where I'd have to battle my mind to keep pushing on, fighting to keep on going - we've all experienced it, even on training runs. But it never came. Instead my husband and beautiful girls surprised me at the 45km mark on the beach and in tears I started running more and walking less again as my big girls ran beside me and egged me. And then something weird happened! In the last 4km I started passing people! 

Don't get me wrong, I was hurting and in no way was I fast (I was 138th over the line and averaged around an 8'40" pace) but I felt so strong. My 5 year old daughter met me at the finishing shute and she held my hand and sprinted for all she was worth, so I did too, and we crossed the line together in 7:20:57 - an hour faster than I thought I was going to take.

I'm so proud of this run for so many reasons, but the biggest was that I was able to show my kids (and to be honest, myself) that you can achieve anything if you set your mind to it. I went from 0km to 50km in 5 months, had only 6 weeks of build and 2 weeks taper from signing up for the race, trained in the middle of a pandemic when we were allowed no more than 5km from our homes, fitting training in whenever I could during a curfew whilst parenting two little kids and working four days a week. I am so proud of myself and that's why this was my greatest run ever.

January 27, 2021

Nicola McCarthy

Kia Ora Matt and Eugene,

Like many kiwis, I joined the exodus to the UK a few years back, and have dabbled in running here and there, but have never been close to calling myself much of a runner. Even so, as many people over here do, each year I would put my name into the ballot for the London Marathon for a laugh, knowing that the chances of being one of the chosen few was slim to none. Unfortunately for my workmates, one October afternoon in 2019 their innocent ears were exposed to some choice expletives as I opened my emails to see a congratulations message confirming that I had somehow nabbed a spot out of 84,000 applicants. 

I’m a bit of a perfectionist and not a great loser at the best of times so if I was going to run this thing, I sure as hell was going to do it well. I dived head first into training, and gave myself a lofty goal time, especially considering I hadn’t run anything longer than 10km before. I battled dark nights, adverse weather, and niggly injuries throughout the dismal UK winter. A group of mates from home had set up the antipodean ‘East London Running Crew’ who are all keen listeners of the show and love a flat white post run, and over time they wore me down and convinced me to join in them on runs, which I’m pretty sure was also part of their plan to up their diversity points with a female member.

Then came March, when the proverbial shit hit the fan. The race was postponed to October, and all bets were suddenly off. Training was put on the  back burner while lockdown was in full force. There were fierce debates on whether the race could and would go ahead in October, before the news came that like so many other races it would be deferred to next year, but there would be a virtual version. I thought this was my out for another year, but one night the rosè got the better of me and the allure of getting my first running medal sucked me in. 

The days leading up to the virtual marathon were just what you wanted - overcast, no wind, and dry. This is London we’re talking about though, so of course it rained steadily the night before and day of the marathon. My boyfriend Nick had designed a 8.5km loop, and had roped in support runners with the promise of beer and pizza at the end. Soon after 10am we set off, a class ultra runner, a Bob Graham finisher, a cross-code natural athlete, and me, feeling pretty confused how I’d ended up in such stellar company. As we rounded the corner into Victoria Park we were greeted by a mass of people, all out with their race bibs on, slogging away at their self designed marathon route. London transformed from somewhere where people generally wouldn’t say hello or make eye contact if their life depended on it, to a continuous stream of greetings, encouragement and cheering from other runners, passers by and supporters with make-shift aid stations dotted around the pavement. We picked up Alison as we came down the straight who unbeknownst to me at the time had just finished her successful FKT Smog Graham attempt, before looping back to finish lap 1.

On we trudged loop after loop in the rain, picking up more mates who had braved the elements to support me while others peeled off for the warmth of home after their loop was up. We continued on, with Mitchy being an absolute legend clearing the aggressive geese off the path and doing the better half of the full marathon with me when his own training plan was an easy 5km, Nick racing ahead to get the emergency pickle juice to help with cramping toes and the calming tunes of Dan coaching me through the last 5kms and helping count down the milestones to home. As I rounded the last corner, with the warmth of home in sight, the worst possible thing happened - my official marathon app said I had finished but Strava had other thoughts! There was no way I was going to deny myself the glory of hitting a marathon on Strava (if it isn’t on Strava it didn’t count right?!) so off I went for another length of the road, before finishing and being presented with a homemade medal in an impromptu ceremony. 

This certainly wasn’t the race I thought I had signed up for, but in the end it was still London’s great race, and in my books more special than if the marathon had gone ahead as usual. I got to run with a bloody great group of people who I feel privileged to call my mates. The spirit of London marathon was well and truly alive in East London, and to say I couldn’t have done it without all the support I had would be a huge understatement. A massive thanks has to go to the East London Running Crew of Michael Mitchell, Nick Naylor, Dan Begley, Ben Adams, Joe O’Connor and Holly Hayne who all turned up and ran with me, as well as the London running royalty that is Dave Bone and Alison Walker. Every single one of them helped me more than they know and I’m bloody chuffed we got to all do a final run together as the ELRC before some members of the crew head back to the beautiful shores of Aotearoa. 2020 sure has thrown us some curve balls but I never thought that at the end of this year I would be calling myself a runner, let alone a marathon finisher, who listens to running podcasts and gets excited to watch documentaries on fellow runners. I feel bloody chuffed to have found a love for the sport and now every time I enter Vic Park I’m reminded of only great memories of an epic day out with some of my favourite people. 

January 20, 2021

Claire Whittle

After much deliberation I have narrowed it down to the Taupō 100km Ultra.  I took part in 2019 and many elements make it special for me.

It wasn’t my first 100km but my first for a number of years.  I am originally from the UK where I have been a regular runner for upwards of 5 years before heading to New Zealand in 2018.  New Zealand reignited my passion for trails and after running the Auckland Marathon in 2018 in celebration of my permanent move to the country I got to gradually exploring more trails and finding like minded individuals to share them with.

One of the things that I value most about trail running is the camaraderie and strength of spirit. The shared sense of why, and the celebration of thrills and spills.  I often liken a long run to a kind of speed dating friendship experience.  All of a sudden you can find yourself spilling your darkest or most intimate secrets to an almost complete stranger!  After the run you decide whether you will ever see each other again and often when you do it makes for some of the closest friendships.

I had got to know a small group of other runners originally though a running chat group for those running at Taupō. Through the group we shared tips. tricks, encouragement, nerves and a great deal of banter. Many people I had met in person through self-organised training runs but some I knew by name only.  As I came to New Zealand not knowing a soul it felt extra special to hang out with these people at the registration and on the course, sharing the experience.

From the outset Taupō was a little daunting.  I got told off for the lightness of my lightweight jacket during the kit check. The woman in charge of checking informed me that it was going to take a very long time and that I would be very dark and cold by the time I finished. Nothing like a little pep-talk! Nonetheless she cleared me to start, stamped my hand and sent me off to be weighed in. My goal was to finish in daylight if possible, between 14 and 15 hours. The race briefing itself was thankfully succinct and then myself and my wonderful partner, support crew of one extraordinaire, were off for pre-race pizza and an early night.

The day itself started with a rude awakening at 3.15AM, not a favourite time of mine to be awake. However with a giant bowl of porridge to consume, coffee to drink, manic rechecking of kit and a one hour drive to the start…. needs must. The race started in the dark with 130 competitors lining up for the 100km. In total over 1000 participants took part over distances varying from 74km to 24km, quite the crowd!

The first quarter of the race was on the western shores of Lake Taupō through twisty and turning trails. I was pleased that I had chosen to wear trail shoes for this part. It was slow going with a frustrating chain of runners winding their way through the single track bush.  By 25km my hips were aching and I realised that too much of my training had been on the road and relatively flat ones at that. A good race should always teach you a thing or two! At the 44km checkpoint I changed from trail shoes to road shoes to tackle the next section of tar-sealed road and farmland. It was a real relief to make the switch and I stuck with the road shoes for the rest of the run. Next up there was more farmland before an out and back loop at Kinloch took us through woodland and tiny bit of suburbia. Finally came the K2K and W2K trails to the finish-line. All together a great mix and more than enough to keep you on your toes.

There were a few bits about previous ultra running experiences that I had conveniently forgotten. Fact number one. When it’s over I get sick. This has never happened so far during an event in the way some people experience.  I seem to tolerate food of all kinds well during the race. This last until approximately 30 minutes afterwards the end point. It is like my body is sending me a message saying, “since you keep ignoring me I am going to make you listen”. Anyway long story short, I crossed the finish-line, weighed in, made it make to the motel, straight to the shower (which by a stroke of luck had a disabled shower with a seat installed) , showered, threw up, ate some popcorn, threw up, ate some instant noodles, lay down completely flat and then passed out. Magic.

All of the people I knew involved at Taupō set out to complete our individual challenges and frankly we all nailed it! I finished in daylight which made me very happy, I ran the vast majority of the course and I ran it my own way. I got talking to other runners at different points but ran using my own judgement. Mentally I felt strong.  My fitness and muscles felt good. I can honestly say that during this run I did not have a “why, why, why, never again moment!” My partner paced me for a portion of the run and then again to the finish. As an avid non-runner until about 6 months previously this meant a huge amount and I was proud of us both.

Post Taupō I now run weekly hills sessions with a runner who had become a firm friend thanks to the Taupō 100. I have gone on to run with many of the original, and still growing group now dubbed Ultras Anonymous. More running buddies means more exposure to even crazier endeavours.  I wouldn’t change a thing!

January 13, 2021

A Kiwi Living in Melbourne

Hi Matt and Eugene,

I have no idea why, but I’ve always liked the idea of running. Up until recently, I never got into it. After a breakup with a long-term partner and an especially turbulent few months of what could only be described as a pity party implosion. I decided I had to move. I started with swimming and extremely short jogs. I was hooked. 

I’m a masochist, so trails and hills have always appealed to me. After a year of training, I was fortunate enough to have my 30th birthday in Queenstown with my best mates. I’d been multiple times before, even getting engaged the trip prior. 

As soon as I landed in Queenstown. I’d look at the surrounding hills and think, ‘I wonder what the view’s like from up there’ or ’S***, that’d have a pinch’. I was plotting ... planning. I’d heard of Queenstown Hill. But on all my previous trips it just seemed like too much effort. 

This trip was different. I was going to do it and even crazier, see the sunrise. I got up at stupid o clock, quietly leaving the motel room and friends in the warmth. It was dark, cold and windy. After a short walk and temporary confusion, I found the base of the track. After whipping out my torch, I thought ‘Take it slow but also, how hard could this be’…. After a few minutes and instantly being shot into tempo, I realised how hard it was going to be. ‘Why am I doing this, alone and in the dark’, I didn’t know. But I kept moving. After what felt like an eternity of weaving through a dark and hilly forest, I reached a clearing. Oh, thank god the summit… nope, I wasn’t close.. ‘keep moving’. 

As I finally reached the top. First light hit. it was partially overcast. Which meant I was in for a show. I found my seat and did something I need to do more on runs, soak it up. The natural beauty mixed with the elements sent me into a state of euphoria and the realisation that ‘Everything’s going to be ok, just keep moving’. I ended up running a number of other climbs on the trip including Roys Peak in Wanaka. But my first time ‘knocking the bastard, Queenstown hill’ off was the best.

In these Rona filled days, I like to remind myself of that moment. Everything in life is finite, the good and bad will come and go. Things have a funny way of working themselves out. We just have to keep moving.

December 23, 2020

Anonymous

After the initial exhilaration of a fast time and sore muscles faded, so too did the sense of success of finishing my first marathon. What remained was something more enduring: the accomplishment of even competing in this race at all. 

That sounds melodramatic, sure. But let’s also consider for a moment the world us runners live in--one that is mostly characterised by masculinity, physical prowess, whiteness, and money. For anyone who defies some [or all] of these dominating characteristics, simply getting to the start line of a race requires (at the very least) as much determination, fearlessness, and resources as an ultramarathon. And even then, I’ve yet to hear of a race advertising trails dotted with obstacles called “systemic injustice” like so many marginalised runners have faced inside and outside this sport. 

Fortunately for me I have the privilege of being able-bodied, a family of mixed (mostly white-passing) background, live in a country where my identity is not criminalised, and a job that can pay for food and a pair of sneakers comfortably. However, I do content daily with the fact that I am a transgender runner. And with this brings challenges that are enough to side-line me even on my best days. 

What challenges am I particularly talking about? There’s too many and some too personal to put on this page, so I’ll offer you a few to taste: I’ve had hateful words and beer cans thrown at me on runs from passing cars; if I Google (and I challenge you to do the same) “trans runner” you’ll find more hateful articles bent on policing trans people’s ability to compete than positive affirmations on their undying strength and stamina; never have I seen a race registration that represents the vastness of my gender beyond two boxes “male” and “female”. And let me also not forget the fundamental struggle to simply be seen by society as the person I know myself to be-- something that for years kept me from thinking I was worthy enough to have a body I could run joyfully in. 

It's no wonder that at kilometre 26 or 32 my mantra was "you've done things so much harder than this" because I have and will continue to do harder things because accepting trans athletes is not a battle I see the running community championing any time soon. The starting line was never a level playing field. And there is serious work to do if us runners are to create fair and equal starting lines in the sports, let alone running. 

So today, I'm lacing up my shoes, hitting the trails and thinking about how this run is part of perhaps my greatest and longest run ever--my run at making this sport a bit easier for every body and every gender.

Here's some articles that might help: 

https://everydayfeminism.com/2016/08/transgender-101/ 

https://www.aclu.org/news/lgbt-rights/four-myths-about-trans-athletes-debunked/

https://www.runnersworld.com/runners-stories/a34701669/trans-running-community/

December 16, 2020

Wyatt Stevens

Hey Matt and Eugene,

As I’m sure a lot of us do, I listen to DCR on my long runs, get inspired by the Greatest Run Ever and have devised many paragraphs of seemingly brilliant prose in my head only to return home and forget to put pen to paper. 

I feel compelled to share some story from Aotearoa and while many of my longest, most challenging, and most joyful runs have found their home here over the last year, my true greatest run ever was much closer to the place I was born.

I grew up in the heart of the Bridger Range, outside of Bozeman, Montana. The range is a single sharp ridge-line that stretches North-South like the arrows on a compass rose. As a high-school cross country runner I had scoffed (perhaps with some envy) at the folks who did the “Bridger Ridge Run” each year, a longstanding and infamously technical trail race that ran along the majority of the ridge. Running found its way into my heart during university and I gifted myself an entrance to the Vancouver marathon (my first) for graduation. After finishing, I swore off road running for good and drove back to Montana with dirt and mountains on my mind. As I came into the Gallatin Valley, there the Bridgers were tempting me to try my own interpretation of the “Ridge Run” - unlike the race, I wanted to ride the true ridge the whole way; more summits, more technical terrain, unsupported.

So, next thing I know, I am bushwhacking alone up North Cottonwood Creek at 2am, and I’m singing at the top of my lungs to avoid a face-to-face with a bear. I was puckered. Despite my loud progress, just before the ridge a pair of feline eyes met my headlamp beam; a mountain lion. It stared and then eventually moved along, slinking low and skittering shale down towards me, apparently disinterested. My heart rate spiking ever higher, I relied on the tried and true “when in doubt go up” to guide me to the ridge. As I hit the first peak out of eight, a blur of purplish light entered the sky and I could see a thick inversion of clouds on one side of the ridge sloshing around like milk in a cereal bowl, threatening to spill over the edge.

Between two of the peaks, the ridge narrowed to a meter wide fin of limestone with vertigo inducing drops on either side. I found the rock alcove I’d huddled in as my parents tried to coax a seven year old me to the summit of Ross Peak. Running across the tops of Bridger Bowl Ski resort, I could name all those technical runs I’d ticked off in high-school, and the bunny slopes below where I’d strapped into a snowboard for the first time. Off the other side, I could see down Truman’s Gulch, to the meadow that blossoms with wildflowers in late June, and farther still to my childhood home; a white farmhouse nestled in a basin of creeks, trees and pastures. Seeing it from up there, for the first time in years, I could feel my sense of home migrating from the house I’d grown up in to the skyline of this mountain range. 

As I descended the final section of ridge and passed by throngs of hikers on our local grunt called ‘the M,’ I was euphoric. The quiet, inglorious finish, coveting the secret knowledge of all the miles and peaks I’d covered under my own power and motivation, was worth so much more at that moment than the shouting crowds lining the finish of any race. I called my grandma, she came bearing water and chocolate-covered cherries, and drove me back around to my vehicle. It was the greatest run ever.

December 2, 2020

Kerry Williams

A little over 2 years ago at the age of 49 I started my running journey – after decades of saying “this body doesn’t do running” I attempted to start. I failed dismally! Pulled calf, sore ankles etc but with a good physio and better shoes I persisted. About 8 months into the journey I met 2 inspirational women, and this is where my greatest run ever begins…

Paula Culling-Brown aka Paula Stinkbum (as her father affectionately calls her) and Amy Sutherland were two Bluff women on a mission. Paula had lost 25+Kgs and had made herself at home running Bluff hill on a regular basis. She had competed in a couple of half marathons and Amy had talked her into running the Luxmore Grunt. Amy was rehabilitating after an accident that saw her shatter her heels and was told she would never run again. (Never say never to Amy).

Amy had got a place on the Kepler 2019 – it would be her 3 rd Kepler. Amy’s from running pedigree – her father Neil (Sub) Sutherland a veteran of 20+ Keplers and her brother Craig had competed in multiple Keplers and was returning from Canada to compete in 2019.

I joined Amy and Paula on many of their training runs around Bluff hill, often in the cold and dark with head torches. Every day is different on Bluff hill and the sights and sounds of the bush would make it a great day to be out running. As well as the tunes from the beautiful bell birds, tuis and Kereru we’d come across Moreporks and keep our eyes out for whales off the coast. As the training and talk of Kepler continued, I knew I wanted to be there on race day for my friends, so I offered to pace the ladies for the end of their races.

As you know it had rained epically and the normally beautiful Fiordland forest had been transformed into a river flowing through some of the lower parts of the course.

The morning of Kepler dawned with more heavy rain. Amy had started and I dropped Paula off for the start of the Grunt. Pre-race nerves were happening. I knew she’d trained well and would be awesome. In true Paula style she took her snorkel and goggles in her pack and got a photo at Luxmore Hut with the volunteers. From there she texted me and I started making my way towards Brod Bay to meet her.

This is where I became so inspired. Walking in I was meeting all the Kepler and Grunt runners coming my way and I was able to clap and cheer them on. I met Amy about Dock Bay and gave her a hug, told her she was amazing and that her Mum was just up ahead… she said she was dying but I could tell from the determination on her face that she was going to do it!

Truly motivational was a vision impaired runner being guided along with 2 pacers, I came across the elite and not so elite and they were all running their own race.

I carried on through Brod Bay, up the hill and met Paula hurtling down the slippery, muddy track at great speed. She stopped at Brod Bay for some nutrition and we headed towards the control gates.

Her calves didn’t enjoy the transition from downhill to flatter terrain and we stopped to work out some pain points. I was impressed by the consideration shown by other runners as they enquired if we were ok. Paula had one last kick in her as she raced across the control gates, across the finish line and into the arms of her supportive family. Cheering her on as she finished, I admired her strength and tenacity. Hugely proud of all her hard work and achievement the flood gates in my eyes burst with admiration.

After a short celebration with Paula, her husband Clint, took me through to Rainbow reach where I waited for Amy. Here I could see first-hand the amazing work by all the volunteers at the aid stations and the enthusiasm and positivity they put into supporting the athletes.

Amy came through at a power walking, almost running pace and warned me of all the water that lay ahead. Her partner Will was also supporting her, she was physically hurting but mentally strong.

With the end in sight she powered along trying to chase down whomever was ahead of her. The last 5kms in and out of the water that had escaped the Waiau river was hard. In some places it was only ankle deep, and in parts where there was no clear track, we all ended up chest deep, paddling and scrambling to feel the ground underneath our feet. Amy powered on. You can hear the finish line about 2kms out… it sounds close and the motivation and determination to get it done was clear.

As Amy crossed the line her Dad had the honour of placing the finishing medal around her neck.

There was no holding back the eye flood gates again. My running buddies run with heart and determination and I am so immensely grateful to have them as friends.

My love for trail running was cemented that day and the beautiful understanding that everyone has had their own personal journey to the start line and their own race to run.

Run happy

November 25, 2020

Brion Matthews

Hi guys, 

Thanks for doing what you do. Some runs need the 'Deadly Rhythm' (as Matt would agree), but  I love listening to you guys on recovery run days.

To this point my Greatest Run Ever would be the Goat Tongariro run with my sister and her partner a few years ago. I flew up north and got to spend a few days with them (and Mum). Unfortunately the weather didn't co-operate and we needed to run the contingency course straight up the road. Job done. 

On the Sunday however, we decided to run the 'proper route' solo. It was so good being out on the beautiful course and to chat away as we went. While being brutal on tired legs, it was so worth it. It keeps me thinking that it's not always about the race, but the people you share it with. 

As I type, it is the eve of Misson Mt Somers. My sister and her partner are returning the favour and we are making a bit of an event of it. I'm stoked that my partner is joining in as well. Two for the marathon, two for the half, and my two oldest girls in the 5km - all while Mum hangs with my youngest daughter. Thought I better get this in now, as hoping I'm about to have a new Greatest Run Ever.

November 18, 2020

Nathan May

Kia ora Eugene & Matt,

I grew up in the foothills of the Waitakere Ranges and spent most of my weekends as a teenager hiking in the hills or surfing at Auckland’s west coast beaches. As such ever since I first heard about people running the Hillary trail, I’ve loved the idea of one day running from one end of my backyard (the Waitakere Ranges)  to the other.

So back in early 2018 with the looming rāhui due to Kauri dieback and the prospect of the trails being closed, my best mate Alister and I decided it was time to give it a go. Due to a string of injuries, namely a recurring slipped disc that seems to prevent me from running for six months at a time, we decided to split the trail into five separate runs and run it over five weeks.

This particular run was our fifth and final run. The plan was to run from Whatipu to Piha. We had run the other four sections over the previous days and weeks and were excited to get it done. The day before we checked the weather forecast and saw that it was likely to rain at some point on  Saturday afternoon. We weren’t too worried but decided to start early just in case. So, there we were at 10am, (lol) the next day, at Whatipu beach lacing up our trail shoes and beginning the last leg of our adventure.  

 We had a great run out of Whatipu taking in the sights, and enjoying the variety of terrain that the trail offers. We loved the downhill blast into Pararaha Valley and the old rail way tunnel which brought back memories of my first overnight camping trip as a five-year-old with Dad. 

 The weather was perfect, although as we emerged onto Karekare beach we had to battle against a sandstorm as the wind picked up the sand and stung our legs and eyes. Great fun!! Finally, we made it off the beach and back onto the trails as we began the slow and steep climb up out of Karekare towards Mercer Bay.

 It was at this point we started to feel the burn of the 17k’s we had run during another section of the trail only two days prior. It was also, at this point that it started to rain. And when I say rain I mean absolutely bucket down. It was awesome! I felt like Peppa Pig as I jumped in the muddy puddles as we ran along the short road section and then back into the bush for the final 5k. I was absolutely loving it and began to sing aloud as we ran. We were doing it! We were about to, in the famous words of Sir Edmund Hillary “Knock the bastard off.”

As we turned off Piha road and into the short decent down to Piha I started to think about the finish and more importantly the incredible pies waiting for us at the Piha Store. (Seriously if you haven’t had one. You should!). As we raced down the hill towards Piha (and those pies) the rain kept falling and parts of the track began to feel more like a stream. We arrived at what is usually a timid stream crossing at the top of Kitekite falls where you can easily rock hop across, to see that the stream was already quite high. We quickly assessed the situation and found a safe place to cross by grabbing hold of a few branches and made our way across with the water coming up to maybe our knees at the most.

 We continued on for another five minutes down a steep section of stairs and came to the bottom of Kitekite Falls. Here the track usually crosses the steam at the bottom of the waterfall. Although on this day, there was no track! The falls were thunderous and it was obvious there was no way we could get across. It was incredible to see how much the stream, now river, had swollen considering it had only been raining for 20 minutes or so. we continued on downstream, to look for another place that we might be able to cross. We arrived at a place where there used to be a small makeshift bridge only to find that the bridge had been washed away.

 I realised at this point heading downstream was probably a bad idea so instead we decided to head back up the same stairs we had just run down, (facepalm) with a plan in mind to cross again at the top of the falls and head back up towards the road. The pies would have to wait.

 When we got  back to the same stream crossing that we had crossed maybe 15 mins earlier we were shocked to see that the stream/river/ranging torrent had now risen by nearly two meters. The branches we had held onto, to help us cross that were previously at head height were now almost underwater. There was no way we were going to make it across.

 Thankfully at this point my Bear Grylls survival instincts kicked in and I realised the only way to go was up. We didn’t know exactly where to go, but I knew there were some other tracks nearby, that I’d never been on before but would likely take us uphill back onto Piha road.

 At this point we were both physically, but probably more so mentally exhausted. The idea that we were so close to the car and to the end and most importantly to those pies. But yet now  had to turn and run in the opposite direction was just too much. So instead of running we walked. Up and up and up. In the end it was only about a 3km walk and 300m climb back to the road, but it took what felt like forever.

 Every now and then we would stop and try to get hold of Alister’s then pregnant wife who was waiting for us back at Piha, to let her know where to meet us. We didn’t have enough cell reception to call, but occasionally got maybe enough reception to send a text. I had my phone in a resealable plastic bag and it was near impossible to text. With every rain droplet touching the screen and making every text message incomprehensible. Eventually we managed to send a few messages and explained that we would pop out on a track, somewhere on Piha road. we had no idea what it was called and so told her to check each trail head and car park along the road between Piha and Auckland.

 When we did finally reach the road, it took her another 45 mins to actually receive a text message and get in the car to find us. So, we sat their shivering on the side of the road huddling under some trees trying to stay warm (there was no point in trying to stay dry at this point).

In the end she eventually found us and our 2.5-hour run had turned into a 4.5 hour adventure!  We never did get one of those pies. But the toasted sandwiches we had once we got back home tasted almost just as good!

It turns out it was a good thing we followed our noses and headed back up hill. News reports came through that night saying 80mm had fallen in just 4 hours, roads were closed and people had to be evacuated from their homes further downstream from where we were. Apparently is was the worst flooding in 30 years.

Here’s the link - https://www.tvnz.co.nz/one-news/new-zealand/watch-she-s-raging-torrent-severe-rain-strong-winds-cause-flooding-near-falls-in-piha

So, there you go. That was my greatest and most adventurous run ever. I especially love it because now, every time I drive to Piha and drive past that trail head where we emerged from the bush back onto the road. I’m reminded of that day and our epic little mission. I think the fact that the start of the trail is now boarded up due to Kauri dieback like it’s the entrance to a maximum-security prison and most of the Hillary trail is still closed makes the memories of that day so much better.

November 11, 2020

Lewis Marama aka

@fat_dad_to_50k on Instagram

My greatest run ever comes off the back of my first ever 50km ultra back in August 2019. 

I ran the North Range Trio - Catchment Ultra with my best mate Jase. We both came into it underdone and it kicked our asses big time! We got it done, collected the medals and enjoyed the beers afterwards but it definitely left some mental scarring there that took ages to get over.

Fast forward to November and I had signed up for the Tarawera 50km ultra having obviously picked up the ultra bug. My brain however had thus far refused to cooperate and I was definitely at a pretty low point in terms of motivation and drive.

One Wednesday however, I got home from work and something clicked (and no, it wasn't my knee ). I grabbed my trail gears, jumped in the car and drove out to my favourite local trail.

After a short drive I arrived at the Arapuke car park and started my run up the Sledge track. The weather was just right, the birds were in song and the sense of peace was profound. I was in my happy place! Crossed the bridge and up Swing bridge link till I hit Arapuke road. The view was magnificent. A heavy weight seemed to lift off my shoulders right then. Ohh how I've missed being out here. A nice, mostly downhill run down Arapuke road till we get to Back Track, then a downhill bomb back to the carpark!

By that stage I was a sweaty mess, breathing heavy but with a smile like you wouldn't believe. It was not an easy run being as out of shape as I was, but it was one I definitely needed. It reignited my love of running. It was not a fast, nor pretty run but it was a magnificent run and is definitely my Greatest Run Ever.

p.s. Am hoping for a shoutout for my Movember fundraising run (28th of November - 12:30pm start at the Manawatu athletics track) where I will be running 50km to raise money for depression and mental health awareness.  

The link to my event is below:

https://nz.movember.com/events/view/id/OO5l?utm_medium=share&utm_source=dynamic&utm_campaign=copy-clipboard

November 4, 2020

Laura Pfeifer

Kia Ora Team,

This is not so much a single greatest run ever, but rather a greatest event forever... let me explain.

The run is the 100km Taupō Ultramarathon 2020. A bit of background - for the past 4-5 years a group of medical school friends and I have attended Taupō weekend - starting out as first year house officers. We are now far flung around the country in a variety of training schemes and working 50-70 hours a week. However we have made a pact to take leave from work for this weekend each year - to catch up, to challenge ourselves, to tune out and just run in the bush.

Over the years we have had personal battles getting to the start and finish lines at this event. My first ever ultra was the Taupō 50km in 2017 after much arm twisting by my best friend Becks. I finished a week of night shifts friday morning, flew from Christchurch to Taupō, slept about an hour (thanks to nerves and stuffed circadian rhythms) and managed to lose every single one of my toenails during the race. But after two weeks - and not being allowed into the surgical theatre's because I couldn't tolerate wearing covered shoes - I was hooked on ultra life. I even fluked a win in the 74km in 2019 so it seemed natural progression to take on the 100km for 2020.

Per tradition we all arrived to Taupō at various times - but each greeted at the airport with a welcoming crew (see photos attached), we are hosted by the amazing Leanne and Dave's, we eat ALL the treats, visit the Taupō sights and talk a lot of BS. 

We have the most incredible support crew made up of parents, siblings, grandparents and partners who's enthusiasm certainly stands out. Each year a new costume to ensure visibility at the aid stations. 

This year 7 entered in the 24km event (One runner had been in labour exactly one year before, and had her 12 month old daughter at the finish line), 3 entered the 50km, and I entered 100km. Good old Dad, in his late 60's, drove me out to the start line of the 100km. The vibe in the chutes was indescribable - being the first ultramarathon to take place at nationwide level one - everyone was commenting "how lucky to get to run all together". 

The conditions on the day were perfect, the course wicked. The race went pretty well and I was lifted each time by seeing Dad, cheering strangers or support crew at aid stations. The 24kmers had time to see me come through the 50km mark and this was the motivation I needed to know I could make the finish. I was thrown on my backside - shoes and sock changed like a F1 car in a pit stop, and off I went again for the final 50km. I caught Ben (doing the 50km distance) on the loop before the 76km mark where I had hit my first and only low of the race, and he propelled me on for the last push out of Kinloch. 

I finished my first 100km in a time better than I ever anticipated of 10 hours 24 minutes, and second female across the line. To be honest I had rarely glanced at my watch, had zero expectations, I was just so happy to have the opportunity to be out in the bush, alongside 999 other runners. 

To summarise, while I am delighted about my personal achievement - the "great" part of this run is the people that are woven in to the journey. Huge thanks to team Total sport, the Stewart family who are the most outrageous hosts, the fabulous support crew, and life long friends who make this event epic. Here's to 2021.

October 28, 2020

Harold Roe, Age 9.  

(Part 1)

Even though I have been traumatised by running as a 3 to 6 year old, becoming a 7 to 9 year old I was not anymore.

This is my third year of running so yeah, I’m a 9 year old.

Every day before school me and my mum go to the beach. When I’m at the beach I don’t only run or have the sand squelching in between my toes, the beach feels like home.

When my best race happened I was urging to start when I heard the race director say GO I sprinted and it felt like I was flying as fast as a peregrine falcon.But like most people I can’t keep it up for ever. There's probably a question inside your head saying…

(Part 2)

 How did you get traumatised ?

I got traumatised for a stupid reason. I got stitches because of running too fast. 

It hurt so bad if my pain was gas it would be able to make a car go around the world 2 times. 

thinking about questions…

(Part3)

Let's get back with my best  race. When people caught up to me again I sprinted off again.During the race it felt like my energy had drained but I kept on running.I was in a little bit of a pickle.I couldn’t decide if I should sprint off to the end or jog but my brain said to sprint on to the finish.  It was my greatest run ever because I didn’t think about getting stitches in my head anymore.

October 21, 2020

Maurie Abraham

Kia ora

I have a new Greatest Run Ever which I don't think will be replaced. Myself and several of my family members committed to the Rotorua Marathon (various distances with my Mum set for the 6k and others set for the half) to honour my Dad, Bunny Abraham, who passed away last November. He was a member of the Rotorua Marathon Survivors Club and inspired and mentored me to discover a passion for running and racing during my teenage years and into later life.. We were all primed for May but then faced the setback as the race was postponed until September. However, we set ourselves for September and in the meantime I signed up to fundraise for Mental Health.org.nz.

We were dealt another blow when Aucklanders were banned from competing in September (a decision I totally understood). The rest of the family decided if we couldn't all be there then we would postpone our combined effort until 2021.

However, I was aware that I had raised a substantial amount of money for Mental Health and felt a responsibility to those who had sponsored so decided to travel to Rotorua, wear a mask and socially distance and cheer my brother on who had decided to complete the half marathon despite being a smoker and not having done one run in preparation! I was so proud of him completing the event in just over 3 hours and is talking about returning next year!

I woke up on Sunday morning to discover the weather bomb had parked itself over Rotorua but set off at the official start time (though 24 hours late) and started my solo plod around the lake. It persisted down for all but the last 4k and a short 2k bit in the middle. While I felt strong my legs were sore from the first step as a result of some minor injury from decades of imbalance in my running. My old man came into my thoughts early in the run but I had to banish him as I knew later on I would really need his inspiration. And that proved to be true as the heavens opened in the long haul from the airport. I now welcomed him into my thoughts during the lonely haul and I am sure it was his presence which resulted in me finishing with reverse splits. When I crossed the official finish line with only my wife there to scoop me up I was overwhelmed with emotion in a way that truly caught me by surprise.

I believe that somehow my Dad wanted to make it as tough as possible. What I do know is that he is directly responsible for me rediscovering my passion for running and am looking forward to him inspiring me to complete the Auckland Marathon (one he and I competed in and finished together 25 years ago), the Speights West Coast Marathon and my ultimate tribute to him, the Tarawera 102k in February.

 I'll never forget that lonely slog around the lake!

October 14, 2020

Steven Franc

Hey Team,

Long time listener and long time ponderer of my greatest run ever.
In all the time I've spent trying to pick my greatest run ever there have been plenty that stood out, all for different reasons. Parkrun pb's where I find the ability to push beyond where I think possible and the suffering is only outweighed by the satisfaction when crossing the finish.
Mountain runs with new friends where the kms are effortless, the conversation free, the foot placement perfect and the views endless.
Sneaky mountain missions in fresh snow where the sky's are wild, the snow dry and untouched, and the happiness and freedom so immense I grin and laugh the entire time.
Early morning missions in the dark with the pup, with the joy of sunrise from a mountain top all to ourselves.
But though all of the time I've spent wondering what my greatest run ever is I've come to realise that I can't single out just one run. If I look at every run I've been on through the lense of "greatest run ever" there is a reason why they are all worthy. Be it run's when I didn't want to go out of the house and came back feel re-charged, runs when the feet have been sore and I manage a short distance pain free, short runs in jandals to a friends house where the temperature is perfect and the skys full of character or runs where I have simply enjoyed the freedom and privilege of being able to run. They have all been worthy, I've just needed to look at them differently

Thanks for giving me a new perspective on running, I'm off to have another greatest run ever!!

October 7, 2020

Mike Field

Alright. Here it is. My greatest run ever. After listening to so many fantastic stories over the past couple of years, it is my turn to write in. Also I'm up in Riverhead in a couple of weeks and I'm terrified of meeting you for the first time and getting a violent reaction from one of you after saying "I keep meaning to write in..."
Like so many of your other contributors, I found it really hard to choose just one. But I think I'll talk about the time I ran Comrades back in 2017.
Un.Be.Lievable.
It was a totally magic trip all round. My wife Julia and I flew to Durban and spent a week drinking lots of South African beer and wine, eating enormous steaks, putting on too much weight, and doing some freaking amazing tourist experiences. I went diving without a cage with reef, raggies, bull and tiger sharks. We were chased by a huge bull elephant while on safari, our tour guide driving furiously backwards down the road while this enormous animal kept charging towards us. I have a video of it with the sounds of swearing in four different languages from all of the terrified tourists in the minibus with us. I have another video of me swearing while on a different safari with just the two of us in a rental car while a pride of young male lions surrounded the car. The video shows one lion standing with his front paws on the bonnet of the car, gauging huge claw marks in the paint, while another bites right through the right front tyre. Over the sound of the 'hiss' as the tyre is ruptured all you can hear is me saying 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...!'
But to the race...
The Comrades is the oldest ultramarathon in the world, and it is huge. The year I ran it there were about 16 000 entrants. 87kms through the hot African sun, 7000 feet of vert from Durban up to Pietermaritzburg. We even ran through an area called 'The Valley of 1000 Hills'. I think we ran up all of them...
I have been lucky enough to have been involved in some pretty emotional starts to a race, but nothing beats Comrades for pure emotion. Julia and I had learned the words to 'Shosholoza', a hauntingly beautiful African mining song which is sung at the start of the race by thousands of competitors and spectators. By the time we got through the South African National Anthem, Shosholoza and then Chariots of Fire, shivers were running down my spine and tears were pouring down my face. I was pretty embarrassed by the depth of my emotion until I saw that most people around me were crying too!
After the rooster crowed, we were off. Except that it took more than six minutes for me to even get over the startline...
I was keen to get onto the ‘sub-10 bus’ as soon as I could. A specific pace group is known as a ‘bus’, and my bus driver was called Coach Linda. His job was to get us to the finish line in a sub ten-hour time. It took about 15kms before I could reach him as it was impossible to pass anyone for the first 5km or so, but eventually I caught up with him and his two hundred ‘passengers’. It was hugely helpful running up Field’s Hill with two hundred other people chanting “Ho!” in unison on every 4th step! There was lots of singing and dancing, tambourines, banter, laughter, and support from the rest of the passengers. Great fun! Until I dropped off the back up one of the interminable hills, sweltering under the hot sun. Coach Linda didn't believe in slowing down for hills...
Along most of the route there were thousands of spectators, bands, supporters - the whole place just went off! Throughout the race I heard lots of people calling out 'Go Mark!' and I kept looking around for someone called Mark. We all had our names on our bibs in big letters, which is fantastic. (Note to race directors - this is a great thing! It encourages supporters to call out your name as you run along, and gives you a big lift). It took me hours before I realised that people were actually saying 'Go Mike' in a South African accent...!
We had booked Julia in with a tour company, so she went in air-conditioned comfort with a load of Aussies, kiwis, and American supporters, had a champagne and brai (BBQ) breakfast, and met us twice around the course. I remember distinctly coming in exhausted with 18kms to go, seeing her with her beautiful big beaming smile, and feeling a huge lift. Fortified with South African wine, she had organised and energised all the supporters on the bus into calling out the names and encouraging everyone involved with great joy and exuberance.
I will always remember coming into the stadium as one of the highlights of my life. 100 000 screaming fans, and an enormous screen with a video of me running in holding the NZ flag while the commentator called out 'Go Kiwi! Go the All Blacks! 'Go Mark!' The race was book-ended with me crying like a baby at both the start and finish, while my gorgeous wife and number one supporter looked after me.
Then more raw emotion a couple of hours later at the finish of the race, when an official walked to the finish line, turned his back on the finishing shute, and looked at his watch, waiting to fire the gun at exactly twelve hours. The mad scramble as exhausted runners stumbled and sprinted down the finish shute to make it on time, the unbelievable pathos and heartbreak as the gun went off, the security guys walked across the finish line and barred anyone else from crossing. And the complete despair of those who collapsed with just metres to go, without making it...

I found the whole South African trip emotional, actually.  My love for the country began as a young man with the help of Bryce Courtenay and Wilbur Smith, and at uni I had studied the history of the land, its people.  The reality of the land and its history was mind-blowing.  While we did all the normal touristy things, we also went out of our way to speak with people from all backgrounds, and did our best to find out what life was like for all South Africans.  The history of that nation is both horrible and also uplifting.  For the first time I was happy that South Africa won the World Cup against Jonah Lomu and the AB's all those years ago, with Nelson Mandela in the number seven jersey.  I could see the bigger picture, and hear both the suffering and the optimism of the people we met.  At Comrades all South Africans come together - Comrades has a really proud history of integration, with white and black South Africans running together, hugging, crying, supporting, laughing together as one people.  I was incredibly privileged to be able to share in that special race, and at least for the 12 hours of the race it imparted a huge sense of optimism for the future. 

Next year is the centenary year - 100 years of Comrades! They are opening the event to 34 000 runners. Man I hope it goes ahead... (#Covidyoudick)

See you in Riverhead in a couple of weeks!

Mike Field

September 30, 2020

Amanda Roe

If you’ve been running long enough, you know the frustration of being sidelined by an injury. One October, I ran my second to last race of the season, and 2 weeks later I was on crutches, unable to walk, let alone run until February.

I worked hard at my nutrition and physical therapy. I cried, literally and figuratively, on many shoulders as I found new coping strategies to take the place the running held for my mental health.

Soon, I was moving again all the time, and: It. Was. Awesome. That summer, I was so happy, I don’t think I paid much attention that there was something going on with my vision. It was sunny, and I just assumed I was having trouble adjusting from light to dark, running through the woods.

The cloudy months came and went, I trained well and kept up my physical therapy and nutrition to keep my body strong. I signed up for races again. I was so excited to have my body back, I started pushing more. While visiting Sedona, I ran almost every day, and I noticed that I was stumbling a little more than usual, that my depth perception seemed a little “off”. I made a mental note to make an appointment with the eye doctor when we got back.

I ran a 50K a few weeks later. The race day was sunny, and I noticed my vision getting a bit wonky, especially towards the last 7-8 miles. I attributed it to fatigue and electrolyte issues, but made the appointment for 3 weeks later.

I saw the same doctor I had seen 5 years before, during my second pregnancy. I very suddenly lost 50% of my vision in one eye during the pregnancy, and I thought I must be experiencing something related to that episode. I had regained vision after 2-3 weeks, so I wasn’t super worried about my eyes.

I had my exam, and left with a referral to a retina specialist. What the doctor saw on the exam was out of his scope. I’m a doctor. I know what this means. I hate this sort of thing. I don’t mind being a little bit quirky, but at no time is it ever my desire to be medically quirky. I’ll stay medically boring-thank-you-very-much. I already have a moderate hearing impairment, so I rely heavily on visual cues to navigate the world.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I became seized with moments of utter anxiety, on and off the trails.  The morning of the appointment with the retina specialist, I went for a run. I took in the green, the sun, the dirt, the blue of the sky, all of it. And then it was like pre-race jitters, and not in a good way. Multiple trips to the bathroom. Hearing my heart in my ears. Waiting in the waiting room with the geriatric crowd, the people who are “supposed to” have retinal problems. I think about where I’ll run next. I will run every day. I will never take the views for granted. 

I’ve already started thinking this way.

I have my exam, and indeed, there are dark spots on my retinas. The doctor is careful with her words. I know this cadence. I’ve had to give patients bad news plenty of times.

I have her repeat a few of the things she’s said. I’m taking it in as a doctor and as a patient. Yes, we have to test for Retinitis Pigmentosa. I know what that is. I know someone who went completely blind in 5 years. I know what that is. 

I want to get home as fast as I can so I can look at my beautiful babies. I want to kiss my husband and just sit in our garden. I call my two best friends, who are also doctors, and we share a shocked silence on the phone. I call my mom. That night, I cry in my husband’s arms. There are so many things I want to see. I want to see my kids grow up. I want to see my grandkids. I want to see my husband grow old with me. I want to see rainbows after storms. I want to see the sun dunk below the horizon at the beach, counting down the last few minutes of daylight. I want to see the sun rise over the mountains. 

My world changed overnight. It’s never actually reverted because you can’t unsee a future forever altered, once you’ve had a glimpse. 

 I had a women’s trail marathon with a group of my very favorite trail sisters the week before I went to the hospital for the diagnostic test. I hadn’t told any of them yet. The night before the race, we were all camping out, and I decided to go ahead and share. I had made a lot of peace with the possibility of going blind. I would not die from going blind. My life would change, but it would not end.

Sharing my fear and frustration that night lightened my load. My friends said they’d guide me with ropes and trekking poles, keep me on the trails, and make sure to wipe BBQ sauce and mud off my face if need be.

The next day we ran our race. I have never felt so out of my mind happy during a marathon. Twenty-six miles passed quickly. My gratitude for the sheer loveliness of the terrain and the women running carved a deep and lasting groove into my very core. I ran, taking it all in in a new way, the way you linger with a loved one before a long good bye. I love this course. I committed as much of it to memory as I could, and smelled hard to string my senses together.  It still stands as my greatest run ever.

I run because we aren’t guaranteed a single day longer than what we have just done. I run because life can change on a dime. I run for the chance I’ll see my children grow up. I run for the friendship I have in the running community. I run for the deep trust I feel that even if I do lose my sense of sight, I’ll still run. I’ll still have community in trailrunning. The challenges will be different, but I know I’ll still be out there.

September 23, 2020

Lee Stoermer

My first Ultra Marathon - the inaugural Guzzler 50k Ultra in Brisbane in July 2019 was a rollercoaster ride and one hell of a steep learning curve. Being very new to running and with 6 months of training under the belt, I went into the race without a time goal, just aiming to finish, however I certainly wasn’t prepared for what was to come! A very tough and mountainous course, with a hot Brisbane winters day saw over 20% of entrants DNF.
The first 20km flew by and things were feeling great. However with the adrenaline of race day and lack of experience, looking back I now know I’d gone out too hard. Approaching one of the more rugged sections climbing up Mt Nebo, I pulled out the hiking poles to begin the ascent – and found one was broken and unable to properly extend (even though it was fine the night before!). An inconvenience sure, knowing there was about 1500m of elevation again to go – but that was nothing compared to what I was to experience next.
All through training I’d used liquid calories and gels and never had any gut issues – well I was in for a rude surprise. I’d had 4 gels and half a sandwich by this stage, and slowly experienced an onset of a stomach cramp that quickly proceeded to feeling like a physical brick on my insides slamming every internal organ – if you could imagine trying to walk in an upright foetal position – that would be a good way of visualizing it!
I stopped in at the next aid station around the 25km mark to refill the water and hiked on in some punishing pain through until 37km – frustratingly as this 12km section had some very runnable sections – but when I tried to pick up the pace, within 50 metres the pain in the gut would intensify and affect my breathing, the stomach was rock hard like cement – and I definitely don’t have abs! I thought to myself long as I could keep moving forward there was no chance of quitting.
I had coke for the first time at 37km aid station (quickly discovered it is the nectar of the gods!) and the gut was feeling a little better and I was able to get some slow intermittent jogging going for the next 7km. I didn’t realise at the time however that with all the stomach issues, I hadn’t eaten anything since 30km mark, and beginning the final savage Kokoda climb I was feeling incredibly faint and dizzy, at one point a convenient tree I just passed halted a tumble backwards down the hill. There wasn’t far to go and finish line was not far away by now, and with the vision blurring and basically crawling up the hill, I eventually got to the finish line, that final hill section taking over 45 mins itself to complete 2km.
I was elated to cross the line after that experience, and afterwards I was told that it was the perfect learning experience – that with almost everything that could go wrong, going wrong in regards to pacing and nutrition, it will hold me in good stead for next time. So I have some unfinished business with this race and with it coming up on what will no doubt be a hot November day, I’ll be out for redemption!

September 16, 2020

Hannah Robinson

After listening to many greatest runs ever, I'm finally submitting my own!

My greatest run ever was November 3rd 2019, it was my 26th birthday and months before I decided to celebrate by running in the Mount Maunganui half marathon. I had only been running since May and had set some pretty big goals that were unrealistic for a first timer but we all make those mistakes, and I definitely learnt my lesson. So here is the tale!

The night before the half marathon I slept on an air mattress in my big sisters bedroom in Papamoa, and set of early in the morning to catch the bus to the start line. I was a bundle of nerves and felt a bit sick but hearing others chatter I started to get pumped up. I registered and then had a bit of a wait before the half marathon kicked off. I think your heart rate is the highest right before the countdown, and I was sweating a lot. Partly from nerves but mostly because it was something like a 26 degree day which had a big influence on how my run panned out after being used to training in the cool climate of Hamilton. But anyway we all set off and like many I ran way too fast out of the gate because of the excitement, I was wrapped up in it all and pushed back the thoughts that told me to slow down. I felt comfortable, it wasn't too hard. Then I hit 8km, and it all went downhill from there.
My legs were not liking me, I was thirsty, could feel some hot spots on my feet and the heat was starting to become very uncomfortable. I had already passed one aid station and had one more to go, it didn't feel like enough water with the heat and that's all I could think about. The standard negative thoughts came after that, and I started to spiral. I wanted to finish this half marathon so badly, it was all I had talked about for weeks, and the fact that I was struggling and wanted to stop was really putting a damper on things. The hot spots turned to blisters and by the 15km mark every step felt like agony, I cried like I have never cried before and called my family who had just arrived in the Mount to see me at the finish line that I wanted to drop out. I walked for the next km and found a marshal, feeling a bit broken and asked where I could drop out, poor guy was not comfortable with a crying person as he explained the next best place was the aid station at the base of the mount. After this conversation my family found me, Mum shoved an apple and cold water into my hands and my little sisters hugged me as I cried. They walked with me for a bit, (all of them had been my support crew for the Oxfam 100km earlier in the year and were quite equipped in dealing with my emotional self) and told me that they knew I'd be too disappointed to stop when I was so close to the finish line. So my step dad Neville volunteered to finish the rest of the run with me, (for a bit of background he has run a few marathons in his time and is one of those naturally tall skinny folk that have no trouble running, bastard) now remember that it was a hot day, and this man was wearing jeans.
So off we went running to finish the last leg of the race around the base of the Mount, having him there with me helped my mindset so much, he understood how I was feeling, was able to push me and I could forget about the blisters and the heat, just focusing on the finish line. We didn't run the entire way, I'd stop and walk and then say when I was ready to run again and Neville chatted to keep my mind off things. When we got to the last strip right before the finish line he ran off to the side so I could finish alone. He will never fully understand how much him running with me meant to me, we haven't really been super close but he has always been incredibly supportive and I will always be grateful that he entered our lives and took on the step dad role off two teenage girls without any kids of his own.
I got my medal and my Mum and two sisters were waiting with hugs and more cold water which was quickly poured over my head.

If my family hadn't been there I wouldn't have finished this race, and yes it hurt but for those last 5.1km I didn't really feel it. This is my greatest run ever, because it taught me that there is so much more to running, family is so much more than blood and with the right support I can achieve any crazy goal I set. I've now been running for more than a year, and have discovered my love of trail running, I went on to run another half marathon in the redwoods and have the 21km Waitomo trail run coming up in November. I also recently felt inspired to start my own running club called 'The Plodatrons' in Hamilton, after feeling too slow to keep up with the local trail running club. With The Plodatrons I hope to create a community for all of the people that feel too slow to run, who want to run with other people but hate holding them back, and for people who find running clubs slightly intimidating. I can't wait to continue to grow and enjoy my plods and set new challenges for myself, many of which are inspired by your podcasts!

September 9, 2020

Mel MacFarlane

Hey boys

“You will most likely lose the will to live”, were the comforting words provided by Old Ghost Race director Phil Rossiter, a mere 12 hours before the starting line count down of the Old Ghost Ultramarathon in Seddonville.
I smiled, a nervous, excited smile.
I remembered last year, I smiled. He was full of shit. It was beautiful, it was challenging sure but magical, wasn’t it? Oh crap, what have I done?

In 2019 I ran the Old Ghost Ultra for the first time. I loved it and hated it. I loved the community that the race organisers had created and I equally hated the ballast rocks covering the trail.

At the prize giving the following day, a list of the Most Improved athletes was read and each runner acknowledged. The runner with the greatest percentage based improvement on last year's time won a prize from the host of generous local sponsors.
The prize was great but I wasn’t fussed about the swag, this was the first time I’d seen real runners, who weren’t the top 3 of something, acknowledged at an event and I wanted to be a part of it. Then and there, I set the goal of making that list.
12 months later, I was back in the same movie theatre in the small west coast town of Westport on the South Island of New Zealand, hanging on every word of the charismatic captain, feeling a little like I had just signed up for a voyage on the Titanic knowing full well there was only enough space on the door for one!
But I was ready. I’d worked hard (mostly) over the past year (mostly), adding in cycle classes and strength training to my weekly training plan and including more hiking and stair work. Sledge hammer jokes and will to live index’s aside, there was no backing out now.
We boarded the last bus to the start line at the sparrows fart time of 4:25am and just over an hour later we joined lines for registration and the porta loos with about 280 other runners.
There was a slight drizzle as runners checked and double checked their drop bags and mandatory gear.
The first 17km of the course is a lush, green single track that winds along the Mokihinui River. Well at least that’s what I’m told, the first hour all I saw was the circular patch my head torch created on the soft wet trails beneath my feet. With the recent heavy rains, the trail and my feet were very wet. The waterfalls were raging and the air moist.

That lush green forest that is just so stunning and captivating in the beginning became soul sucking and the endless switchbacks sends you up into the Bone Yard. Mentally this section is hard. At 25km, it’s the longest section of the course but it’s quite runnable if you have the mental fortitude. I didn’t and I cursed each ironic sign I passed. (Seriously, Lake Cheerful?! I’ll show you Lake Cheerful)
Leaving the Stern Valley aid station, I smiled and profusely thanked the volunteers, who had to camp out overnight at the remote aid stations and then there it was, a stinging fire of hell at my left ankle. What the actual f? I looked down and there was a giant wasp of some description, attached to my running tights, face or I guess butt first into my ankle. I smacked it away and started to hike out of the aid station.
I could feel my ankle swelling under my compression tights. I’d be Kilian-ed (not sure that’s an actual thing but I’m going with it, for those not paying attention, in 2018, arguably the greatest ultra runner of all time Kilian Jornet was forced out of UTMB in due to a bee sting).
I was a bit worried about whatever had just bitten me (couldn’t be anything worse than at home in Australia right?!) but it actually was a good distraction for a couple of k’s as I started the long, 20km or so, climb up to Ghost Lake hut and beyond.
At the bottom of the skyline stairs, I ran into Old Ghost “original” (completed all 5 Old Ghost Ultras) Geoff Higgins. Geoff was having a tough day out with his Achilles giving him endless grief.

The sun was still shining as we climbed up to the Ghost Lake Hut, fueled mostly on whinging and Geoff’s encouragement.

After the Ghost Lake hut, the course climbs a little more up onto the Skyline ridge across to Heavens door and then back down into the forest, via hundreds of ballast covered switch backs to Lyell Saddle.It was up on the ridge that the weather came in. It started with cool air lots of cloud and turned into a bit of sideways rain.

I probably should have put two and two together at the Ghost Lake but as I watched everyone putting their jackets on but I didn’t and I got pretty wet (again).
Towards the end of the ridge line was n unmanned hut. I stopped undercover and out of the rain to put my poles away and was promptly informed by my new fellowship (Geoff and Ferruccio) that we weren’t going anywhere until I put my jacket on. The boys waited in the cold whilst I got dressed and down we went to Lyell Saddle singing “we’re going to Lyell!” I told them all about going for a PB and we plodded our way down, and down and down.
We pulled into Lyell super excited knowing there was only 17 downhill kilometres to go. Turns out Fitz (the husband) was sitting right there wearing literally every piece of his mandatory gear except the space blanket. He was having a tough day but we told him to join our fellowship to the finish. He declined and told me to keep going.
As we left the aid station, I yelled out to the boys. “That guy back there sitting on the bench, that’s my husband, I’ve never beaten him before so we need to go!” Everyone laughed as we barrelled down the hill.
“Lift your feet”, Geoff yelled back at me, “you’ll be tired, lift your feet”. It was tough but I kept repeating, lift your feet, lift your feet.
Ferruccio tripped and fell a couple of times on his right hip and insisted we go on without him and chase the PB. I felt terrible about breaking up our little group but it wasn’t too long until Geoff started playing mathematician. We need to run 6:45 min/km for the next 12km to get under 13 hours, he said, I’ll set my watch”. What an absolute legend.
Last year, I averaged 9:06 min per kilometre over the last 17km. The bottom of my feet felt like they had been pummeled with a meat mallet. I knew 6:45 would be a stretch but I didn’t want to let Geoff down. I tucked in behind him and took it one kilometre at a time. As Geoff tapped each kilometre marker with his running pole as we passed, I breathed a sigh of relief. I honestly had no idea how long I could hold it for.
With 5km to go, Geoff told me to go, to run a Parkrun as fast as I could go, it’s downhill he added, I’ll try and keep up.
My Achilles and calves were felt like they had fused into one solid muscle and my feet smacked loudly on the rocks. I opened up and just ran. I focused. I lifted my feet.
I crossed the finish line in 12 hours 52 minutes, about 1 hour and 27 minutes faster than 2019 and with an average of 6:36 min/km over the last 17km.

I received my medal and went back to the start line to wait for Geoff, Ferriccio and Fitz.I was so grateful I thought I was going to cry as I thanked Geoff for all his help. I couldn’t have done it without him. I came to New Zealand, I formed a fellowship and went on a grand adventure. Oh and I beat my husband!
Rona permitting, I’ll be back in that movie theatre questioning my decisions in 2021.

Say hi to to Rigby for me

September 2, 2020

Janna Cowley

Hey team!

The easy choice would be my fastest, Paris Marathon. I was super fit by my own standards, it was an incredible experience and I managed to beat my PB by half an hour despite (or maybe because of?!) pausing for a wee Beaujolais at 37k Was a definite upgrade on Powerade and my secret to a PB :)

Another great run was my first Ironman in 2014; it was perfectly paced despite an injury and no running for a month leading up to the race. My time was a lot faster than I‘d expected and I had no issues at all on the three laps other than having to wear a poncho and carry a glow stick in the dark. The rest is a blur!

So it might seem strange that my greatest run ever was my slowest marathon!
The organisers gave me a complimentary entry to Queenstown Marathon in 2016. I didn’t run much that year and I’d just come home from a 3 week trip to South America. I joked that I’d been altitude training ;)
I was very relaxed and totally undertrained. But this was my 9th marathon so I figured I could wing it! The first 10k was so pretty and I stopped for a photo op with a pet alpaca. As you do.
At about 16k I started talking to a girl who was running the same pace as me. She was from Canada and running the 7 Marathons on 7 Continents challenge so we talked non stop after that.
The Air NZ signs were so funny and we took a lot of photos - the scenery on that course was absolutely stunning.
We reached the ridiculous big hill at the 30k mark and encouraged a lady doing her first marathon; at that point she’d run further than ever. It was really neat to be there for her and assure her she’d finish.
As we reached the lakefront and headed back into town, I realised that we had better put our foot down. We were hot and tired and starting to freak out a little. My bossy streak appeared and decided what pace we needed to do (better late than never!)
We ran the gauntlet of Queenstown bars and made our way to the best ever finish chute - it’s a runway! We charged down to the finish line, right in the middle of Prizegiving - whoops!
So I came away with a medal, some amazing photos and a great friend - winning!

Cheers
Janna Cowley @kiwijanna

August 26, 2020

Anthony Preece

My greatest run - not sure how to pick one. I've been running properly for 10 years now as a way to manage my mind and life battle (side note I've lived in 47 different places in 47 years, very unsettled person). I moved to wahi 6 years ago and stepped it up running 5 km a day plus 150 to 200km a week on the bike (absolutely obsessed bike rider). Moved up to management role and as a confirmed workaholic I hit a very dark patch. Not sure how I am still here - probably the fact that every chance I got I would run or ride (incidentally my best ride ever was riding from Waihi to Tauranga over the Kaimai Range and back to Waihi via Te Aroha, amazing being top of the Kaimai road at 8am).
Anyway now living in Blenheim (got transferred here) my fitness life really stepped up (been here nearly 3 years now) as of September last year I was riding 250km a week. Every now and then I would bike to Nelson and back, at the gym 6 times a week, and running 100km a week. If a truck or loader had to be delivered somewhere I’d do it and run home from the drop off point always looking for a run.
But 30th September last year my dad passed away, my rock, the only opinion that mattered to me and the wheels fell off. I stopped dead, didn't run for 4 months, didn't do anything ( I did do one half marathon, but struggled so much mentally, never felt so low as I did in that run). So I did nothing for four months. Then thought this hole is getting deep, so back to the gym, riding and running routine pushed by my wife, boss and a couple of mates. Slowly getting there (had a great run this morning 12km at 3am not particularly fast but felt strong and my dog who always runs with me was on form).
My greatest run ever was on a frosty morning. Left my house at 3am and headed up Wither Hills via dry hills access then up past the radio towers all while the fog thickened (do 99% of my riding and running in the am in darkness). I wasn't running great but by the time I got to the top of Quail Stream track, then up Twin Tanks to Witches Hat and down and around to Taylor car park then hit the road up to Taylor Dam then down the river, the pace setting in, feeling fast. Then a funny thing happened - I passed another runner doing short sprints and I felt so good. In an instant the sun popped up to this amazing sunrise. Still another 10km to go round Taylor to Blenheim central ( the odd person out and about, couple of whom were, I think the time keeper for parkrun and yelled out, ‘You won!’, jokingly). Then out to Alabama Road, then home. No crazy excitement, just felt fast and strong, and inner contentment like I was finally a real runner.

August 19, 2020

Alisha Kraettli

Hey Matt and Eugene,

I am still experiencing the high that came from my Greatest Run Ever... last September! Since being diagnosed with Fibromyalgia when I was 16, I have struggled to gain any real momentum when it comes to training. Caught in a cycle of flaring up, I've learned to value the moments in between when I am pain free and have enough strength to walk, let alone run. Last year I was determined to make my few months of good health last and finally make some progress.

By September I was going for a run after work most days and enjoyed getting out on the trails. My friends planned a trip to the Tama Lakes that month to take some photos at sunrise and I decided I would take this opportunity to see if I could join them and run it. We arrived in Whakapapa at 2.30 am after a long drive, the sky was completely clear, there was no wind and the full moon lit up Ngauruhoe and Mount Ruapehu. The crisp air and music in my ears put electricity in my veins and I was raring to go.

I began running around 3 am and reached the Lakes by 4:30 am. As I ran, tears would not stop streaming down my face. I was a messy mixture of emotion; pure joy at being able to do this pain free, overwhelming awe at the beauty of the landscape and the feeling of humble perspective you get when you look up at the galaxies and remember your place in the world. I had no concept of time passing or pace or distance, I was just completely lost in the pounding of my legs and the beating of my heart in my ears.

This run has been my joy in the moments I wish I could be out there again, and fuels me to continue taking the opportunities whenever they rise, no matter how much time I have between flare ups.

August 12, 2020

Tony Aston

Hey guys,
I’ve listened to you for a while now, and I’m finally (better late than never!) writing you with my Greatest Run Ever.  This wasn’t my fastest run, or most beautiful, but it was beautiful in its own way.
Several years ago, I moved to Savannah, Georgia, an old port city with beautiful architecture but ZERO mountains for hundreds of miles.  I moved there, frankly, to try to escape the despair of a relationship that ended badly.  Let’s just say that it was all my fault, and I was trying to pick up the pieces of my life and to start again from scratch.
A few months after moving there, a friend tried to convince me to run a half-marathon with her.  “A half-marathon??” I thought.  “I can barely run 2 miles!”  I had been running for a few years at that point, but I hardly considered myself a “runner.”  It was recreational for me, for stress management, not something to do in front of others.  I didn’t even particularly enjoy running; I just knew I felt better afterwards.  And runners...  I’m not tall enough to be a runner.  I drink too much beer.  And, if I may say so, I have MUCH better fashion sense than the runners I generally see (or so I thought).
Sitting in my tiny kitchen that night, though, I kept thinking about it.  “You know,” I thought, “you moved here to do something different...  to BE someone different.”  So, I signed up for my first race ever, the Rock-n-Roll Savannah Half-Marathon.  At least it’ll be flat!!
Several weeks later, I was only a couple weeks away from race day.  According to my training plan, my run that day would be 10 miles, my longest run before the race.  I woke up early that morning and started running, up and down the the street grid of downtown Savannah.  It was unseasonably cool that October morning with a light rain (being just north of Florida, most of my runs that summer were sweltering and sweat-drenched before I got to the end of the block).  I kept running up and down the streets, through an old cemetery or two, past mansions and dilapidated structures, past rich tourists on their way to breakfast and people just scraping by selling art or bags of boiled peanuts.  Savannah is beautiful, but it is not known for its equality.
I was still just chugging along at my slow, easy pace at mile 9 and thought, “hey, I’m almost to 10 miles!  I can DO this!  I can definitely do 13.1!!”  So, instead of turning home, I kept bouncing along, probably listening to a great podcast (sorry, guys, I don’t think I had heard of you yet!  It was probably “WTF with Marc Maron.”), until I hit the half marathon mark! 
There was no one to cheer me on, of course, besides some oblivious art school students, but I felt like I had finally DONE something.  It was one of the greatest feelings ever, and I couldn’t wait to do it again!  As you have said on previous podcasts, running is therapeutic, but it isn’t therapy.  I had done plenty of therapy at the time, too, but this was a time I finally felt empowered.  IT.  FELT.  INCREDIBLE.
That said, please keep up the great work of your podcast, your running, your nursing, and all the great stuff that make you guys you!  You provide so much great insight and entertainment, and you’ve helped me through a ton of beautiful and grueling runs since then!  Say hi to Rigby for me!
P.S., if you have a moment, please mention the nonprofit I work with, Consider Haiti (considerhaiti.org, @considerhaiti).  We work with our local Haitian teammates to build clean water and sustainable nutrition solutions to at-risk rural Haitian children and their families.  We’ve been struggling to maintain funding the last few years, so ANYTHING (even $5 or $10) would help!

August 5, 2020

Tanya Lee-Parker

Hi Eugene and Matt,

It has taken me lots of episodes to actually put "pen to paper" (so to speak). I live here in Singapore and are from Rotorua originally. A friend of mine - Kat Webb aka Teenage Turtle put me on to you guys when we went into our version of lockdown. Over here it is called CB: Circuit Breaker. We did 8 weeks at Level 4! It was challenging - especially as I live in an apartment. We are currently in NZ's equivalent of L3. Have been in this for 2 weeks and probably got another 2 to go (fingers crossed).

Anyway, on my afternoon walks - after work - I am a teacher (so have had 10 weeks of online teaching from my living room) - tomorrow is our LAST day of the school year - then we have a 7 week long summer holiday, except we can't leave the island, as our work passes won't get renewed so we are all stuck here with nothing open - museums, parks, beaches, pools, art galleries, shops NOTHING - oh and it's hot every day +35degs. 

During online teaching, I would get out and walk my neighbourhood listening to your podcasts at the end of the day. I started at #1 - I am now at # 58. Each walk I listen to the Greatest Run ever stories - they are so amazing, and many bring a wee tear to my eye as I walk my concrete jungle neighbourhood. (see photos attached) (think Crazy Rich Asians and you'll be close to what some of the places are like)

Well onto my Greatest Run ever. Living overseas I have been in lots and amazing races in Vietnam Trail races, Saudi Arabia - Jeddah Road Runners; Taiwan and China - won a few (I am not fast in NZ standards but when you are in Asia you come up looking good - actually won the Great Hakka International Marathon in China when I was 50 and then went back the following year and defended my title as a 51 year old it's a marathon that is off road and through the middle of houses, absolutely STUNNING - the Hakka people are related to the Māori) I grew up a swimmer, basketball player and a gymnast. I ran at school just because as a swimmer I ended up being an ok runner  and it was another School team I could be part of and have more days off school, I didn't really train too much specifically at High school as most of my time was taken up by swimming or basketball training. But my dad was a runner and was part of the Ngongotaha Track Club, and so occasionally he took me out into the Whaka forest for some runs. At the time, I used to moan and groan as he used to always take me on the Purple Track in the Redwoods. This meant going up Tokorangi Pa Track and then back down the other side by the stream before navigating back around Nursery hill and back to the car. As a teenager I hated going UP Tokorangi Pa - but when we got to the top the view was always stunning, Dad would make me stop and just breathe and take in the view out over Lake Rotorua and Mt Ngongotaha - no matter the weather we always stopped up there. But then came my favourite part of the run the DOWNHILL on the other side of the mountain. I loved it and used to hoop and holler as I raced down to the bottom and down to the stream. Dad was always behind me on the downhills. Once back at the car I always felt good after the run. As you do. 

In my 7th form year (Year 13) my dad passed away from Cancer - and his wish was to have his ashes scattered at the top of the Pa. So we took him up there. Now everytime I come home at Xmas time, on Xmas morning I run to the top of the Pa to say hello to Dad and then to breathe and look at the view just as Dad taught me to appreciate, all those years ago as a teenager. 

July 29, 2020

Chris Kent with Lucas Kent

Hi Eugene & Matt,

Over lockdown, over here in Australia my son and I have been going for a simple 2 mile, 3.2km easy run every second day. We live on the edge of the suburbs on the outskirts of Melbourne and staying within lockdown guidelines, running with a family member we have gone for a run through the local orchard and trails. My son is 12 and has just started high school, I thought it would be a good idea to keep him active and outside, with all of his regular sport being cancelled and keep him fit and ahead of a lot of other kids when sport resumes.

I wanted to keep it short so it wasn’t too tiring, as with the uncertainty around Covid 19 I didn’t want to be overly stressing our bodies. For me it was also a good way to keep the body somewhat ticking over with the cancellation of UTA where I was going to be running the 50km for the second time.

It has turned out to be a fantastic time that I really look forward to every second day. If my son, Lucas is in a bad mood, he may have needed to be dragged out the door a few times but once he has started running his mood has quickly changed. Throughout all of our now 37, 2 miles runs we haven’t missed a day once, we have run before sunrise and watched the sun rise, we have run in the pouring rain, howling wind and more recently after dark with head torches as we move into winter. Throughout each run as I have struggled along not being a natural runner, my son has barely raised a sweat and been able to talk non- stop. It has been great hearing about what he is thinking about, how he looks forward to life becoming more normal and generally watching him slowly grow up.

These runs have been my Greatest Run Ever, I think there have been many positives of being in lockdown with families slowing down and doing things together with all the normal activities on hold. Obviously many people have suffered with illness, job losses and uncertainty about how things will look going forward. But for me seeing the power running has to improve people’s moods during lockdown and allow an opportunity for my son and I to talk regularly has allowed this series of runs to be My Greatest Runs ever.

July 22, 2020

Logan Cane

Hi Matt, Eugene and Rigby!

I’ve been listening to Dirt Church Radio for quite some time now and honestly, it’s one of my week’s highlights, so I have been racking my brain for a greatest run ever, but until today, no single run really sung to me. Today’s run, however, did just that. It was a routine run for me. Nothing was supposed to be special about it, but I ended up coming away with a new perspective. Here is the story.
This is possibly the last run for a little while. Pressure is closing in on me from all sides. Work has been hard and labor intensive. The university study period will begin tomorrow. It’s been a week since I last ran and it could be another week or two until the next time, but I remind myself that many have it worse than me. A storm might be settling in over Christchurch tonight, but I need to get out, if only for a little while. So, in an instant, my mind is made. Grab the earphones, grab the raincoat, it’s now or never.
Now I’m not much of a road runner usually. At times like this, when I’m time deficient, I do it more out of necessity. If it were up to me, I would be on my way to the hills, testing my grit, grinding on the up, or dicing with death on a dodgy decent down, but with the extent to which I have gotten behind in my study, the deadline is near impossible as it is. I feel like I’m about to run an ultra. But it’s an ultra of the brain. I am already exhausted. And right now, I feel as though I am in the eye of the storm.
I step outside, a light shower, but I don my jacket anyway, the hood will protect my earphones, they aren’t so waterproof. It’s 4:45 in the afternoon and since it’s cloudy, it’s getting dark. Straight away, I can feel my legs are fresh! Ok, 10km today, it’s not what I would consider an expedition, but today I will enjoy this run. Don’t worry about form, nor recovery adaptations, I’m just going to run free.
About 3k in now and I’m warmed up. I round the bend and I’m on Riccarton road, one of the busiest in Christchurch and its rush hour. Wow, what excitement! I’m sucking in the exhaust fumes, not so great. But the path is slippery; slippery like mud. There are people and parked cars, sitting there like trees. There are little gutters and driveways, sticking out like roots. It’s an urban jungle! The fresh air and greenery are replaced by flashing colours and interesting food smells. I wind up the legs and get up on my forefeet. Now I’m moving! Shopfront windows flash by. In my peripheral, a guitar, some shoes, a waitress carrying plates of food. I feel like I’m moving at light-speed and the feeling that this will be a run to remember is starting to simmer inside of me.
6k in, and the commotion has given way to a dark and empty suburban street. Everyone has retreated inside after a long day at work and to escape the weather. They say running can be a tale of two halves. The things on the outside and the things within you. The things outside are diminished, nothing to see here, but I have my music. Since my early teens, I’ve had the same favorite song. It’s called “Alien”, written by an aussie band hardly anyone knows named Dead Letter Circus. I used to play bass and to this day it still has my favorite bass line, but that aside what I love the most is that it has this slow build up that never fails to pull me in and transport my mind to another place. Today, that place feels like a rainforest, somewhere far away. The song slowly builds and then the bridge hits.
An explosion of emotion! I hit the gas, and launch into a sprint, puddles splash beneath my feet but I feel entirely within myself. The song ends and another starts. Pink Floyd’s “Another brick in the wall, part 2”. I button off a bit, but it’s a song that makes me feel emboldened, so I keep the pace high. This time I imagine I’m in the desert, racing towards a sunset. Then another great song by another lesser known band. “To be alive” by Brother and Bones. This song is much lighter and uplifting, so it pulls me out of this weird state and back to the dark streets of Christchurch. I can start to feel the burn now but screw it! This is freedom! The feeling that this will be the greatest run ever is staring to simmer inside of me.
9k in. 1k to go. I pass the university and around the next bend I know my street will come into view. I look to the sky and it seems the clouds are getting darker. I feel a sense of dread. “Oh well” I think “Time to face the music”, so for the last time I up the pace. Faster and faster, by the time I’m on my street, it is an all-out sprint to the end. I stop at the letter box and endorphins rush my brain. Yep. This is my greatest run ever!
This run was just what I needed. It gave me hope. As I sit here writing this, I wonder if the storm will come. But I know that if it does, my home will stand up to it. And yes, the next couple of weeks will be hard, but so have been the last couple. In fact, the last couple of months have been hard for the entire world, but I remain optimistic. I think we can stand up to that too.

July 15, 2020

Jasmine

Hey Matt and Eugene,

I had my greatest run ever yesterday so after listening to your latest podcast today I thought I might share it with you. I had fallen out of love with running recently and it became more of a chore. I don't really know when it happened, whether it was training for Ironman, all our events being cancelled because of coronavirus, or because I just can't seem to get my fitness back post injury. 

At about 5pm I figured I should get out and go for one even though I really didn't want to, but I figured I could just head down to the end of the road to the 3km turn around. But today when I started running something was different and I felt good, pre injury good. I switched my watch to a new screen so I couldn't see my data and decided to just have fun with it today rather than following a plan. There were still a few people out and about in our sleepy neighborhood, cycling, walking their dogs or running themselves. 

I had been listening to music, then a new song came on, Bobby McFerrin was advising 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' it kinda made me chuckle a little because it suited how I was feeling. It was just what I needed. A reminder that while I'm running it's where I don't need to worry about the world and what's going on, where I can go outside and connect with nature and be oblivious for a while.  Running is my escape and my happy place which is important right now, I may not be able to hit the trails but that doesn't mean I can't get out and do what made me happy so long ago.  I got back home after 6km, looked at my watch and had run under 6 minute kms, something I struggled to do since spraining my ankle before Christmas. 

So that was it, running down to the end of the road under the setting sun, a run that reminded me why I loved it in the first place and you know what? I can't wait to fall in love all over again. 

Say hi to Rigby for me!

July 8, 2020

Jodi Shanks

I am absolutely no runner, never have been and probably never will be, but I absolutely love running. It is something that has given  me mental respite and enabled me to keep a healthy (well in my terms lol) mind. I have run all my life for fun and have run a few marathons, half's and off road runs, but nothing more than 21 kms. I am very keen to do a few ultras.

As I recall my best run ever, I always come back to a run I did as I trained with my father back when I was maybe 10 or 11 years old. I lived in a small rural hill country community south of Gisborne and the competition was on! Who was going to do the quickest 1/4 marathon. As I think back, I laugh about the term 1/4 marathon, but this was huge.  Dad and I trained for weeks running mostly hills and off road. Closer to the race we did a training run on the road, mostly flat with a number of others from the community. I was the only child running this training run, and with a group of men all out to beat each other. We started out as a group, but within what seemed like minutes I was on my own, running on this back country road alone. I can still vividly remember a feeling of fear and being alone coming over me, but then in what felt like within seconds it was gone and the freeness of being out there doing something I loved took over. I can still remember the sound of the birds, the wind in the long roadside grass and the feeling of absolute joy that running gave me.

I still get those feelings of joy running and those memories are something that I cherish.  I feel grateful that I still have something so simple in life that gives me joy, encourages me to get out in nature and spend time with friends.

July 1, 2020

Malcolm Barr

I have been a bit of a runner on and off all my life but a lot more off than on in the last few years. My last event that I trained for was a marathon in 2011, but I didn't follow the training plan and ended up walking most of the last 10km. Turning 40 last year and with the unfortunate ability to put on a kilogram just by opening a can of (craft) beer, I really wanted to get fit again. I started running but could barely get through 3km without tweaking a calf, hamstring or Achilles so it was a case of 2 runs then 2-3 weeks off. 

I decided I needed a goal and wasn't really interested in another marathon and had been looking at the Riverhead ReLapse as a cool event (disclaimer - Madeleine Collins is my sister). When the entries were announced at the beginning of September my wife suggested I enter and I was into it like a rat up a drain pipe. Running slower so I didn't keep injuring myself I set about 7 months of hard work to go from 0km/week to running an ultra. I spent hours talking to Shaun and Madeleine getting advice on training, technique, gear, etc. and started building the k's. I spent more hours researching nutrition and how to approach these kinds of events - the hourly format and unknown race length was so difficult to get my head around. I had some amazing summer runs in the trails (saving the DCR podcast to listen to while running these) and was really getting excited, my 3 brothers were coming from Wellington and Auckland to crew, although they considered it an endurance beer drinking event with me as their support runner - they even brewed a 6.7% beer to drink! 

Then CoVID-19 stopped everything and the ReLapse was postponed. I was so disappointed, but I know my disappointment was nothing compared to that of Shaun, Madeleine, Matt and Rebecca. I dealt with it by having an angry run up Mt Kakepuku without warming up - 4km of uphill trail - and really hurting my Achilles again.  

On Facebook Dave Proctor and the guys at Personal Peak Endurance Coaching announced the Quarantine Backyard Ultra on the same weekend the ReLapse was supposed to happen and I looked at it with passing interest - not really thinking it was for me, but 10 days later my wife and I set some rules and I entered. My rules were simple: 1. Stay local - my loop started and finished at home and was a simple 6.71km circuit; 2. Keep the bubble intact - I chose a route using main roads with wide footpaths and would run on the road to avoid pedestrians; 3. Don't push too far - as soon as I felt like I was flagging, I had to quit so I wouldn't require external help at all.

So at 2am on Sunday 5th April I had the Zoom all set up for the virtual starting corral and I set off on my first loop along with over 2400 other runners worldwide. An hour later - at 2am again because of daylight saving ending - I started again and the routine was underway.  I had a rough hour on lap 4 with stomach cramps, difficulty maintaining pace and keeping my heart rate below 160bpm and thought this was going to be another disaster but things got easier during lap 5 and when the sun came up late in lap 6 I got a real boost. Completing lap 7 I had ticked off my longest run ever. Then lap 8 ticked off 50km and lap 9 60km. At the end of lap 10 Maggie Guterl quit and I had beaten one of the world's best! Throughout the morning, word of my run was spreading (from my wife) and friends and family living in the neighbourhood who had had nothing to look forward to for a couple of weeks came out and cheered me on lap after lap (from the other side of the road). I had people all over the country watching nothing on the live stream for 50 minutes each hour then 10 minutes of action before I set off again. I got lots of texts of support and had some really good phone conversations while out there running - including an inspirational chat with the Collins family early in lap 10. 

During lap 12 I got the wobbles in the heat of the day and decided based on my rules it was time to finish. I had an energy gel and actually felt quite strong at the end of the lap finishing in 53 minutes but I wasn't going back on my decision to quit - that would break my safety rules and would be irresponsible during the lockdown. 

Having completed 80.1km this became my greatest run ever. I had far exceeded what I thought I was capable of in an unexpected race both physically and mentally. I did it with my wife and 3 girls supporting me every hour. There is a little bit of "what if ..." knowing that I could have gone out on another lap and would have continued in different circumstances, but that will have to wait for the next event (hopefully a rescheduled ReLapse)!

 And during this lockdown I have now well and truly "caught the bug" for ultra running.

June 24, 2020

Campbell Willis

Knee Knacker, Vancouver, 2008
I can happily say the 20th Knee Knackering North Shore Trail Run (KKNSTR) was everything I dreamed it would be. Thanks to the countless hours put in by the organising committee and amazing bunch of volunteers, the day went off without a hitch. There was support all along the trail and well stocked aid stations, with a variety of gourmet delights (can’t beat boiled potatoes rolled in salt). We were in for a great day, with beautiful weather and of course the spectacular setting of Vancouver’s North Shore Mountains.
So without further ado, here is a detailed account of my Knee Knackering experience…
After a restless night of little sleep and analytically breaking down each section of the course, the day kicked off in the wee hours of Saturday morning. I hitched a ride with Mike and John to Horseshoe Bay and after plenty of nervous banter, we were on the start line ready to tackle the 20th KKNSTR.
My game plan had always been to start out easy and slowly build up throughout the race and I was determined to stick to this. I hooked up with my training buddy, Jonathan, and started the slow but steady climb up Black Mountain. The pace was perfect and I still had the time and energy to take in the spectacular views and chat about rugby union… trying not to think too much about the All Blacks’ loss to the South Africans :(.
The first minor aid station was right up the top of Black Mountain and notorious for mosquitoes. Dedicated volunteers were decked out in full beekeeping suits, so they could still remain sane while looking after the runners, a job they did well. I made a comment to Jonathan as we came to the station that the mosquitoes weren’t that bad, but after stopping for less than 5 seconds, what did I know (not much)!
We then started the descent down into the first major aid station at the Cypress Ski Field carpark. This is a fun section of steep scree trails with lots of switchbacks. Not being able to resist, I took off. I got to the first checkpoint in 1hr 52, in 67th place – nothing earth shattering, but happy at where I was. A quick hi to Tanya and Pricey (my trusty support team), a switch of bladders for my Camel pack and I was on my way to Cleveland Dam.
With over 7 miles of downhill in the stretch to Cleveland Dam, I felt it was time to up the ante. I knew the majority of this section well from my Wednesday and Sunday training runs, so felt confident I could pick up some places and make good time.
I ran into Cleveland Dam (halfway point) in 3hr 12 minutes – 55th place, so had managed to gain 12 places – so far so good! Another bladder change, a bite to eat and I was on my way up Nancy Green Way to the Grouse Mountain carpark.
This next leg from Cleveland Dam (Capilano River) to Lynn Valley is renowned as being one of the toughest on the course, both mentally and physically. You come off a long stretch of downhill from Cypress, where the quads have copped a pounding, only to then start a long climb up Grouse, with some technical sections thrown in for good measure. I ran/walked up the road to the Grouse Mountain carpark, took traffic control in my own hands, fought my way through the hoards of people heading up the Grouse Grind and was finally back on the quiet Baden Powell Trail.
All was going well, then I started to feel the calves tightening and the odd twinge of cramp (not a good sign!!). I caught up with John A (it would never have happened in a road race!), had a quick chat which lifted my spirits, and kept on putting one foot in front of the other. The next hour or so was the toughest part of the race for me. I kept telling myself I would get through it and knowing I was not the only competitor struggling kind of helped. I hooked up with another training buddy, Derek, and ran the last few ks with him into the third and last major checkpoint, arriving in 4hr 50, in 47th place. Along with giving me some salt tablets (which were a saviour), Derek really helped me pull out of a trough, so by the time I saw Tanya and Pricey again, I was able to smile and was ready to tackle the fourth and final leg.
Having run this last leg many times, I knew what was in store and was confident I could go well. After leaving the final major checkpoint, I was able to really lift the tempo and felt surprisingly good for this far into the race. There was one more decent climb up the Seymour Grind and I knew once I was at the top of that, it was literally all downhill into Deep Cove. I passed a few more training colleagues along the way and hit the top of the Grind in 35th place – with 35 minutes left to break 6hr 30. I knew it was possible and being my favourite section of the course, I was going to leave nothing to chance. I don’t know where it came from, but I was able to fly down the trail. I had a couple of intense emotional moments, knowing that I was running the race of my life and all the training was paying off. After bit of self-imposed pep talk to pull myself together, only the final 2km of some up and down trail lay between me and the finish line. That last section was a bit of a blur, but I finished hard and crossed the line in 6hr 24, in 32nd place, well beyond my expectations. Of the 190 runners, I ran the 10th quickest last leg, something I am very proud of.
To have Tanya at the finish line was so important to me and I could see that she was proud of what I had achieved. My heartfelt thanks to her for putting up with all my trail talk and periods of exhaustion and bad moods. Also a big shout-out to Pricey, for giving up much of his Saturday to come and support me and make sure Tanya got to the checkpoints & finish line on time!

June 17, 2020

Eve Croskery

Mountain tops and sunrise adventures; spectacular trails and finish lines; missions with friends filled with hours of deep conversation in which you grow closer than when you started – I count myself lucky to have had many magical runs.

But oddly, when I think of my greatest run ever, I am alone; not on a mountain peak, but running out my front door on a Sunday afternoon and off through my local bush track.

I am 8 months postpartum. Exhaustion - the kind I didn’t even realise existed – racks my body. Knotted muscles, heavy eyes, foggy mind and unwashed hair. The marathon of motherhood in equal parts breaks me apart and puts me back together again. Who knew such a tiny being could fill my cup to overflowing and empty it all out simultaneously?

I feel like a stranger in my physical body. I’ve had no desire to run. Walking, yes; many miles of walking. From the first painful, slow shuffle around the block, to hours of baby-wearing and pram-pushing to comfort a baby who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, otherwise sleep. But running? I was no longer a runner.

After a particularly long and taxing day, my motivation returns out of nowhere. My whole body is craving a run. Craving the feeling I know a run can bring me. I have to dig my gear out of boxes, stuffed away at the back of the wardrobe in those early months, so sure was I that my running days were over. My shoes slide onto my feet like old, but long-forgotten friends.

Out the door, I try out a slow jog. My body stiff and awkward, the motion foreign. I head for Le Roys bush, a trail I’ve walked countless times with bub strapped to my chest. Without the extra weight and responsibility, I feel light. Free. I pick up the pace. Weaving through the lush bush, I feel as if I could run like this forever. I breathe in the cool, bush air. Exhale. Sunlight trickles through cracks in the canopy and dapples the track ahead. I revel in the quietness, punctuated only by distant bird song and my muffled footfall.

Heart pumping, muscles firing, breath heavy, alive. My mind is focused on placing my feet between the tangled tree roots. As I fly along the track, I feel myself coming back. My body feels different, but in many ways it’s stronger now. That familiar, but distant memory of the endorphin high running gives me floods through every cell of my body. It is pure magic. I reach the bay at the end of the trail and stand, breathless and exhilarated, as I gaze out over the Auckland city skyline. The sun is low in the sky and I turn to head back – the bedtime routine awaits – but take a moment longer to savour this feeling of having found myself again.

June 10, 2020

Amber Wood

A month or so ago, my greatest run ever would have been the Tarawera 100 mile run. It wasamazing, not only for the shared experience of running such a wonderful, friendly and beautiful event with my brother, who I am lucky enough to have been able to share countless amazingrunning adventures with, both here in Australia and overseas.

I also happily got to spend many hours of the night running with one of my favourite podcasters and his equally lovely and kind friend and pacer Gene. And Dougie, crazy enough to take on over 160 off kms in barefoot shoes! I have fond recollections of running in the wee hours of the morning, through the streets of Lake Okareka, feeling like jaded revellers who’ve stayed out too late, slipping quietly home past the sleeping houses.

Tarawera was also a landmark occasion for me, as it offered an opportunity to reflect on how much I have grown as a person since leaving New Zealand almost 20 years ago. At that time, I returned to Australia after 5 years away; slightly broken, lost and having to rediscover who I was and what I wanted out of life. I slowly rebuilt myself – went to University and got a degree, made new friends and ran. I had always run a little but never saw myself as ‘a runner’. After running a half marathon in Iceland, I realised that it was a fantastic way to combine my love of travel and adventure, something I have indulged in ever since, and running has become a key aspect of my life that I love. Over the years I have been so lucky to have run in many beautiful places of the world and running has shown me that I am capable of far more than I ever believed possible, as evidenced in that beautiful moment when I stumbled painfully across the finish line at the Lakefront Reserve in Rotorua.

Moving forward one month however, it has to be said that in a world seemingly gone mad, mygreatest run ever is every time I lace up and slip out into the bush near my home, where I can go to run away my cabin fever and get away from the noise and fear. Where every run reminds me to be grateful for my health and for that of those around me.

May 27, 2020

Matt Hopkinson

Kia Ora Dirt Church Whanau,
Like a lot of runners, I’ve spent many lockdown hours reliving past runs, coming to terms with races that have been cancelled and planning future adventures to
take their place. There have been so many great runs, each great for different reasons, but the one that stands out above the rest is the 2016 Wellington Marathon.
In early 2016, I noticed my Mum was starting to rack up some big k‘s, building up long runs in a way that looked suspiciously like a marathon training plan. Having
never run a marathon before, any mention that this may be the case was vehemently denied. And yet, the Sunday runs kept growing. So it was no surprise
when, a month or so out from the Wellington Marathon, she announced to the family that she was making her debut.
Given that Mum is the diligent Chairwoman of my personal fan club, it was a no brainer to book flights down from Auckland to support. However, as race day
approached and the taper monsters took hold, her self-doubt was real and getting to the start line seemed as big a challenge as getting to the finish. “What if I ran it
with you?” I asked, and 48 hours later found myself standing on the start line, the scene of my first marathon 7 years earlier, next to Mum at the start of hers.
Anticipating plenty of early adrenaline, the entirely unoriginal plan was to hold a steady pace for as long possible, then see where that got us. The marathon course
takes you through Wellington City, along Oriental Bay then hugs the coast until it’s time to turn around and come back. We settled in and headed out through a
city so quiet it might as well have been in lockdown. By halfway, as the course headed around the Miramar Peninsula, we had found our rhythm and were
having a great time. This quiet coastal road had been my go-to training route when I first started running and held so many memories because of it. It struck
me then how cool it was to be able to share this, while adding a pretty special memory in the process. No time for sentimentality though, as the rest of the
family came into view for a quick resupply, some words of encouragement and a chance to drop our warm layers. Isn’t hindsight is a wonderful thing.
Although we’d started the day with perfect conditions, with 10kms to go the famous Wellington wind had arrived. We put our heads down and grinded our
way around the bays until Wellington Stadium, the finish line, was in sight. As wemade our way along the city’s waterfront, a downpour of freezing, sideways rain
greeted us. It was at this point that Mum passed me an earphone. “Hey Jude” playing at full volume. To this day, whenever I hear the song, I’m transported
back to that home stretch, in the pouring rain, rocking out to The Beatles all the way to the finish line.
To witness the elation of someone who’s just smashed a goal they hadn’t imagined possible is pretty special. To cross the line together and share that with
them is even more so. It’s definitely a run I’ll never forget.
Our unrelentingly steady pace even got Mum a surprise first place in her age group. Proud as punch.

Hilary Hopkinson

Hi Matt and Eugene

Last weekend was Mother’s Day. I am lucky to have 2 beautiful adult sons, one living inWellington and Matt our older son living in London. The distance feels so much greaterright now but our strong family bond holds us as close as ever.A sheet of A4 paper was presented to me last Sunday, a Mother’s Day card - My GreatestRun Ever, by Matt Hopkinson.

Tears welled, and rolled down my face as I read his beautiful letter. His greatest run, wasmy greatest run. His letter could easily have been mine. Like the many Dirt Churchfollowers, I’ve written this letter many times in my head. But Matt you have said it all soeloquently.I can only add that as a Mother, as a parent, what total joy it is to run 42.2km with your sonat your shoulder, patiently running Mum’s pace and encouraging with his words.

And yes after 4 and a bit hours we sang Hey Jude, loudly, in the pouring rain, drenchedto the skin and smiling like winners.

My greatest run ever? One of the greatest days ever!

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, Hey Jude.
Thanks
Hilary Hopkinson

May 20, 2020

George Fisher

George is 7 years old and this is the story of his favourite run ever as told to his mum: 

My favourite run ever was the 2019 Taniwha. I ran the 7km race. It was awesome.I like trail running especially when I go around a corner and find some bumps to run over. There were lots of bumps at the Taniwha so I had lots of fun. 

I went to the Taniwha with my whole family and my pop. My dad was supposed to do the marathon but he got injured so he did the 87km mountain bike instead. My mum ran the 7km with me, but not with me because she decided she wanted to race! But she did come back to finish with me! My brother, baby sister and my pop were at the finish line to cheer me on. 

At the start line I felt a bit nervous because I had never ran on the course before. I knew I could run 7km but I wanted to go fast. It was a hot day. I started running and I felt good. I got a stitch but I kept running. I was catching some people but some were too fast to catch. After the aid station my stitch had gone away and there were two kids behind me. I was starting to get tired but I saw the cliff near the camp where the finish line is. I said to the kids, "we must be close".  One of the kids said he could hear the finish line announcer. But it was still about another kilometre to go. A bit later I saw my mum standing near some trees waiting for me.  Then me and my mum ran along the bridge, round some trees and into the finish. My pop and brother and sister cheered for me. I was happy because I tried really hard and beat the kids behind me. 

The Taniwha was also my favourite run ever because I raced it and there were activities at the finish line. I got to go kayaking, fired paintballs at targets and went on an obstacle course. They were so much fun. I was terrible at the paintball and kayaking was my favourite. I even got two goes and a bit later my mum and dad got me a kayak of my own. 

This year we are going to the Taniwha again. I am going to race the 14km mountain bike. This year my pop is going to ride as well. I want to beat him. 

My mum listens to your podcast while she makes dinner. Hopefully you will read it out and I will hear it one night when my mum is making dinner. 

From George

Rowan Cassidy

Kia ora Matt Eugene and Rigby 

MY training was going well towards my first ultra for 2020 The OLD GHOST ULTRA not my longest race but my first 50 miler. To add to the complications of even running an ultra it was my first race across the ditch flying in from Brisbane. 

Flying across for the race solo was a task in itself leaving the wife and kids at home for weekend wasn’t something I was not used to as we travel everywhere together. I finally got into Westport, got checked in and headed over for gear check and race brief. I sat down at race brief and got talking to Bernard Robinson, one of the originals of the old ghost which was awesome to get the low down on the course. Phil the race director delivered the best race brief I ever heard and I already wanted to come back next year after hearing that hilarious but informative speech. 

The next morning came around quick, jumping on the shuttle bus at 4am. We get to the race start and before long we are off at 4:30 pace ripping down to the old ghost trail head. Cruising along a few k’s in I say “let me know when you want to pass” and the response was “all good we are travelling along well” and before long we were chatting away. What your name I ask “Doug” nice to meet you mate my name is Rowan and then we ran along together to the first aid station 17Km. Coming into the first aid station and Kerry Suter is there so I give him a high five and fill up my water and off I go. 

This leg was 25km and found some rough patches where a few people were running past and my legs just didn’t seem to have the pace but I pushed on and stuck with a group for as long as I could. We start to climb about 35km in and I catch up to Jim one of the race directors which was awesome to share the trails with one of the guys that helps put this race together. As we get into the bone yard Jim drops me and I’m having a bit of trouble through this section as my abdominal muscles are taking a lot of the pressure from the hard surface. I get through there and into the second aid station 42km yes halfway. I load up enough spring energy to get to the finish. 

The next section is basically 12km and over a 1200m meters of vert as we started to climb I was feeling better, got some good nutrition in and started to catch people. Once we clear the tree line words cannot explain the view you see from this trail. As I come into ghost lake I spot Jim on the other side so that motivates me to push on to the aid station 55km in. I fill up my water and have a cup of coke and head out. The next 12km section was up for about 2km and levels out along a spectacular ridge line with views that go forever as I hit the 60km mark it starts the descent  to the finish. As I’m running down about 7 min pace which was doing me head in because people where passing me and I just didn’t think I could go any faster then all of a sudden Doug runs past and yells out “Jump on the train  we are running sub 10 hours” in my head I’m thinking no way but I quickly tell myself come on legs lets do this so I jump on and dial into 6 min pace with Doug. 

At this stage talking was tough so breathing and nutrition was key for me to hang on. We roll into the last aid station 67km I quickly fill up and have another coke turn around and Doug is gone  so I head out thinking there is no way I'll catch Doug now and 2km down the trail I see him walking I said “what’s happening” and he says “my quad are destroyed” and tells me to go he will catch up. So I head out running as hard as I can without blowing up and I catch up to Femke who dropped me earlier and I ask can I tag on and roll down to the finish with you and your pacer which I got “yeah no worries” so I tag on. 

At this stage all of our watches are out and the end seems a lot further than we think I see a 5k sign and yell out “only a parkrun to go” so our spirits lift and we push on and at this stage I’m feeling good so I said can I pass and I push on as hard as I can to the finish line finishing in 10hrs 20min so excited to finish and thank Phil for his amazing race. I see Doug come in 5 min later then we catch up and grab a burger and a beer chatting all about the day we just had. The bus turns up and we head back into town. 

We part ways and I head off get cleaned up and head out for dinner as I’m walking down the street a car load of people pull up and notice my old ghost HOODIE and I notice there funny walk that most have after an ultra and they invite me to join them for tea so shout out to Jason Emma Cameron and Laura and we shared our stories of the day. 

The next morning I catch up Doug and Bernard for coffee and chat more ultra talk before prize giving. Prize giving was fantastic, especially seeing Ruth Croft take the win. After the prize giving Doug needed a lift back to Christchurch so we headed off and listened to Dirt Church Radio for 4 hours.

The whole weekend I was blown away by the kiwi hospitality which made my experience of the race weekend  to be my greatest run ever.

May 13, 2020

Pip Guthrey

Hi guys,

Like many of your listeners I've been pondering on my greatest run ever. I'm not a fast runner, nor an I an ultra-marathoner. I was born with Hydrocephalus and so wasn't allowed to be active when I was a kid, and lacked coordination to the point my parents joked I couldn't walk along a curb without falling off. I only discovered running in my 30s,  and only after being diagnosed with three autoimmune diseases - Addison's, Hypothyroidism, and Pernicious Anaemia in rapid succession. 11 years ago brain surgery resulting from the Hydrocephalus left me with vestibular issues which took a couple of years to come back from, and , like many of us, I've had a series of running injuries that kept returning me to the sidelines. All that to say I've faced a lot of hurdles and never really felt like I've been able to reach my full potential as a runner. 

Last year things were on the up. I was still very slow and unfit, but I ran the Good Home trail half in New Plymouth, then Tarawera 22k, and finished that up with the 22k at UTA. UTA's finish line ruined me for smaller races forever! I was thinking about perhaps signing up for the Taupo 50k in 2020.  

All that went out the window when at the start of September I started experiencing constant nausea. Over the next few months I lost 10kg, which I needed to lose, but not that way! My GP, and the staff at Wellington hospital, were fabulous. After blood tests, x-rays, an ultra-sound and a CT scan, right before Christmas I was diagnosed with Sarcoidosis, another auto-immune disease, in my lungs. Well that explained why the Furber steps felt so damn hard!  

By some miracle over the Christmas break I started to feel a bit better, and my blood calcium levels returned to normal. I started getting back into some small runs again.

While I was sick my women's running group here in Wellington (shout out to Duck Patten and the Jog Squad) had signed up for the Ring of Fire relay. I didn't join a team as I didn't think I would be well enough. Now, even with a  flare up of runner's knee, I was feeling well enough to run more, and the old FOMO was kicking in. I still hadn't run anywhere near 24k, which I'd need to do to be on a relay team, in fact I still hadn't run anything in double digits, but I figured I could just walk if I needed to and hey, what was the worst that could happen? When one of the teams needed a replacement runner for the third leg I said I'd take their place.  

By now we all know what ended up happening. As the weeks ticked by COVID-19 reared its head, and RoF ended up being cancelled with a few weeks to go. Duck and our other trainers knew we were all disappointed, so at short notice pulled together a local adventure as a last chance to get together.  On the day of the RoF we met up at Burden's Gate at the end of Eastbourne, broke up into small groups of 3-4 runners, and set off on a Rogaine. I teamed up with three other back-of-the pack ladies, and with Duck, we jogged the four km along the flat gravel road to the trail that climbed steeply up the hill to the light-house, our first check-point.  We moved slowly along chatting, enjoying the absolutely sublime weather Wellington had put on for us that day, and walking the steeper hills. At the lighthouse we took our first group photo, then set off again for the second checkpoint, with a panoramic view over the harbour on the edge of a cliff. Second photo down we ran down the hill towards a hidden lake, being charged at by two startled hares along the way. We then climbed again to a third checkpoint, where, with a view of the swans swimming on the quiet lake, one of our team pulled out a sheet of paper and read us a poem, “The Lake of Beauty”, by Edward Carpenter. 

Now you have to remember that this was in the days before we went into lockdown. Everyone was full of uncertainty and a degree of fear about what was ahead of us. We were all wondering about what would happen to our families, our jobs, our lives, in the weeks to come. Here we were, on this beautiful day, in this beautiful place, with these amazing women, listening to this poem that spoke of being quiet and calm, and the beauty of the world. It would be a hard person who didn't shed at least a few tears. 

Once the poem was over we stood silently for a few minutes, before we pulled ourselves together and headed slowly back the 6km to the start. We finished with 18km under our belt, 11k more than I had been able to run in over six months. We were there to cheer on the rest of the teams as they all returned, with some having ticked off more check-points and run nearly 30k.  Once we were all back we shared a low key social-distancing picnic, including some sneaky bubbles. I was feeling a little euphoric, having not at all anticipated how well this day would turn out. I am so grateful to our trainers for organising the perfect activity for us when everything was being turned upside down. Not long after we were in Level 4, and we haven't been able to run together again, although we've continued to check in via our Facebook Group. 

This was my greatest run ever, not just because I'd comfortably run much further than my recent health should have allowed, and obviously not because I'd run some mega-distance, but because I got to spend it with some really amazing women who all shared a heightened awareness of the significance of the day. In a time of uncertainty we were able to come together one last time to celebrate running, and each other. Running has given me so much, and some amazing adventures. I'm looking forward to the day we can all run together again.  

Pip Guthrey  

The Lake of Beauty

by Edward Carpenter

Let your mind be quiet, realising the beauty of the world, and the immense, the boundless treasures that it holds in store.

All that you have within you, all that your heart desires, all that your Nature so specially fits you for – that or the counterpart of it waits embedded in the great Whole, for you. It will surely come to you.

Yet equally surely not one moment before its appointed time will it come. All your crying and fever and reaching out of hands will make no difference.

Therefore do not begin that game at all.

Do not recklessly spill the waters of your mind in this direction and in that, lest you become like a spring lost and dissipated in the desert.

But draw them together into a little compass, and hold them still, so still;

And let them become clear, so clear – so limpid, so mirror-like;

At last the mountains and the sky shall glass themselves in peaceful beauty,

And the antelope shall descend to drink, and to gaze at his reflected image, and the lion to quench his thirst,

And Love himself shall come and bend over, and catch his own likeness in you.

May 6, 2020

Peter Armstrong

Hey guys,

I love listening to your podcast and don’t think I’ve missed many over the last few years.

I am guessing you get lots of these emails but just in case you want to hear about it, here is my best run ever. 

It’s difficult to pick one but I am going to go with the Crater Ultra 53km last year. Having had surgery on both knees through my 30s to deal with meniscus tears I had been told by an orthopaedic surgeon that I should stop running completely and basically give up and expect a knee replacement in 10 years.  

Well, as you guys know, running is pretty addictive...  and as such I kinda just kept going and found some ways actually train properly, found a great running doctor (check out runningmedicine.co.nz for Dr John Molloy’s approach - he’s an interesting person) who helped me understand that running is actually therapeutic if done properly (I wish I had cared more about my core when I was younger!) and it culminated in running the Crater Ultra and then the inaugural Valley Ultra a month later. 

It was amazing to get into ultra mode (albeit it a mini ultra) and spend an amazing day on the trails with a whole lot of friendly, interesting people. I was joined at about the 40k mark by my sister and her daughter who helped keep me going to the finish line and then eventually crossed the line with my kids. My family was there supporting me and the feeling of emotion and satisfaction and achievement was like nothing I had never experienced. 

Best run ever... but I reckon there are even better ones coming!

April 29, 2020

Kristy Eyles

My greatest run ever was the Kepler challenge 2017, not because I achieved the time I wanted or executed a great race. It was the fact it was a total disaster, that turned out to be the best day ever. 

2017 my husband Aaron and I finally plucked up the courage to enter the Kepler and got in. Being runners for many years with a lot of races and outdoor adventures under our belt we were sure we could conquer the 60km no trouble. Albeit we both trained, raced and enjoyed runs that were most of the time half marathon distance or less. 

As we stood at the starting line, we lined up beside our estimated run finish times. Aaron 6ish and me 7 ish hours  The gun went off and we both set off conservatively into our run ( I studied Matt Bixley’s advice online and we both wanted to be conservative on the way up to Luxmore and way down to Iris Burn like he said) however that didn't really happen.  

First half of the race went ok for both of us. We both probably went a bit too fast to Luxmore and over the tops, I knew the down hill to Iris Burn was a killer on the quads so i took it very easy. About half way down I spotted Aaron. I thought omg! I'm going to pass my husband how cool! However Aaron was clutching his hamstring and in alot of pain with cramp and had slowed to a walk. I jogged with him for a bit and felt really upset for him that his race was over. I told him to just get to the aid station at Iris Burn and re assess or pull out, and I carried on my merry way. I got to Iris Burn and told the aid station that my husband was coming with really bad cramp, not in a good way and probably can't continue.  

Assuming Aaron was pulling out I skipped away from Iris Burn happily  knowing at least one of us would finish. A few kms into the flat I felt a terrible pain in my right knee....oh dear ITB flair up again! ( I had been previously out of running for around 5 years with ITB issues on my left knee). I tried to run through it until I got to Rocky Point where I couldn't run any longer. With tears running down my face I said to myself I will just get to Rainbow Reach where my brother and sister and law were going to be watching and I will be able to get a ride out and be reunited with Aaron wherever he may be. Really upset, walking with a peg leg with people with tramping packs walking faster than me, I got to Rainbow Reach ripped off my transponder and my number and called it a day. I couldn't see my brother in law so I sat down and organized a ride back to the control gates with a random spectator. As I was just about to hand my transponder and number over to the aid station, I see my brother in law Jason and then at the same moment Aaron comes limping down the hill to the aid station. I couldn't believe it, I didnt even think he would still be on the course, he was still going!. He said.... Kristy what are you doing! I explained my knee was busted and couldn't run so what was the point of continuing, I couldn't bend it and I had to walk down the hills backwards!.... It's my ITB I said sobbing. He said me too!  He had been walking since Iris Burn, the cramp he had went away, but his ITB was also playing up and he couldn't run either.  Assuming we were both calling it a day I was grateful Aaron's brother Jason was there to give us a lift back. I thought wrong.....Aaron told me to get my act together, your not a quitter he said, I'm walking out and your coming with me, get your number and transponder back on! 

Actually he was right, I'm not a quitter so why would I pull out of this amazing race and experience just because it didn't go to plan. 

I put my number and transponder back on and off we shuffled with a wee cheer from the spectators, walking hand in hand with an in-sync peg leg limp. My right leg, Aaron's left leg. We were a real sight. 

The last 10kms were brutal, the pain was excruciating for both of us,  but honestly was the most fun I have ever had in a race. We chatted to other people who were Injured or who's race didn't go to plan or just people who were out there doing it. We all gave each other encouragement. Aaron and I set a new target to try and get to the finish in under 10 hours. A few hours shy of our predicted 6 and 7 hour times. We started walking as fast as we could as the clock loomed closer to 10 hours. Finally we could hear the announcer and knew we were getting close. We walked hand in hand for the whole 10kms and shuffled down the finish line with the announcer giving us a hard time about our matching injury. I was laughing so hard I was crying. We finally crossed the finish line in 9 hours and 54 mins and I was handed a first aid kit as a spot prize. Haha! I was so grateful Aaron made me finish the race. It was the greatest race ever and I will never forget it.  

Ps .  We went on to race the Kepler in 2018 me in a time of 7 hours 23 and Aaron 7 hours 37 we both got the prize for the most improved times. And I so went on to race the alternate course in 2019 in 6 hours 10.

April 22, 2020

James Styler

Hi Eugene & Matt, 

Warm regards from down south, Christchurch to be exact.

After many months of listening to your podcast, yesterday's run prompted me to finally put digits to keyboard and write into you. It was a memorable day with two of my good friends joining me for 20km of a 53km road and trail run. 

The morning began with the familiar beeps and buzzing from the alarm on my Coros Pace just before 3am on Sunday 15th March. I blindly made my way downstairs, got dressed in the dark and poured myself a generous bowl of muesli with an equally generous handful of homegrown raspberries. No coffee unfortunately due to our old Nespresso machine having the equivalent volume of a plane taking off - needed the kids to remain asleep. By 3.34am I was on the road and after a few easy km's I had settled into a nice rhythm; I ran the initial uneventful 22km loop out and back to my house whilst enjoying your 'Scotty' podcast, no doubt the couple of Police cars that slowed down and then passed me between 4-4.30am wondered what on earth I was doing and where I was going. Back at the house I filled my pockets with PURE gels (sorry, have yet to order some Spring Energy but I have remembered your discount code), replaced my empty 500ml soft flask with a full one and just before 5.30am was off to Hagley Park to meet two of my running buddies Nick & Stuart. We're part of a small seven member running group that goes by the name of 'Bubba Gump Run Club'.

 We sedately made our way down towards the Port Hills with Nick informing us that he had loaded up a few surprises for us on his watch. At around the 35km mark we found ourselves on gravel and shortly after that we took a hard left onto a tiny track that would have made a sheep track look like the size of a motorway. All of us managed to cautiously but continually move forwards and upwards, our road shoes somehow finding grip from somewhere on the rocks and dry mud. By the time we had caught our breath the darkness had lifted and we could turn off the single headlamp that we had. We stopped to take a few photos before descending, an earlier fall provided the opportunity for me to photograph my hand; landing heavily on a rock had broken the skin, I'm sure the bruising will replace the blood over the coming days. 

We cantered back through the city at a steady clip, in good spirits with fatigue not yet revealing itself to any of us. I said goodbye to Nick & Stuart at 47km and ran the 6km back home at sub 5min/km pace (the fastest km's of the day), possibly spurred on by the thought of espresso's and my girls being awake. I'm sure this won't remain my 'Greatest Run Ever' forever, but right now I think it is. I'm targeting a 4hr 50km at the Sri Chinmoy race in early May and I'm grateful for every day that I'm able to get out into our beautiful country and experience things that most people either don't or can't.

 https://www.strava.com/activities/3183538693 

Nga Mihi

April 15, 2020

Emilie Wintle (Fuller)

Kia Ora Matt and Eugene,

I’m a kiwi lady, living in South West England. My work takes me all over the place so I get to listen to you and your guests whilst I’m running the gorgeous trails in whatever corner of the world I find myself in. Nowhere is as special as New Zealand though so your weekly podcasts bring me so much happiness.
I’ve been pondering writing one of these for a while. Now, having torn my ACL whilst skiing last month, I find find myself with A LOT of time to think and write. Right now, post surgery, a bit sore and maybe still a little smashed on Morphine, every single run I’ve ever done feels like the best! But, the run I keep coming back to has to be a race which I ran with my husband last year.
A little back-story that I’ll try to keep brief. I was introduced to trail running by my husband when we first met. I hated running, only ever ran on the roads and saw running as something that was cheap and convenient. A necessary evil that somehow, bafflingly had become a part of my daily life. Jon had already discovered the fun of running long distances on the trails and very gently encouraged me to give it a go. So I did and over the years I’ve grown to love it-increasing my distances and exploring so many wonderful places along the way. Unfortunately about 3 years ago, Jon had to have several operations on his ankles which of course was followed by years of being confined to rehab whilst trying hard to develop a love of cycling. During this time he showed me never ending Support and enthusiasm whilst watching me skipping out the door in my trail shoes and always welcomed me home keen to hear about my runs. Over these years my love for our great sport grew but, with Jon not being out on these trails too, the buzz was never as big as it could be. I missed my running pal and I knew my running pal missed running.
Finally, last year, he was ready to commit to his first race in years. So, together we signed up for the duo etoil-a 23km evening race, to be run in pairs which started and finished in Chamonix. A special part of the world we are lucky enough to consider our second home.
So, on the evening of June 26th last year, we found ourselves on the start line. Emotions were high, for Jon, this had been a long time coming. As the sun was setting and the mountains were turning pink, the count down begun and I looked at my husband and told him I loved him. I was taken aback when his reply was “we need to go out hard and pass people early before the narrow climb begins.” Shit! I’m not used to going out hard, I’m not even sure what that means. I’m used to the ultra distance races where my mantra is to start out slow. I thought this was going to be a fun jolly, chatting, taking photos and having a nice time. But now, with his race number pinned to his chest, Jon had other ideas.
Off we went, chasing Jon meant running as fast as I could manage. Whizzing through the streets I could see my future and it didn’t look pretty. We left Chamonix behind, I desperately wanted to walk. But, as we hit the first climb and the possibility of slowing down, The Webbs came into view. Family running friends who’d come out to cheer us on. Damn it. It was clear that walking wasn’t on the horizon as Jon waved back and sped up. Up the road we went, passing people. I never pass people, ever. I felt like I was in deep deep trouble.
Then, like an oasis I caught a glimpse of a kit check table. Fantastic! I can catch my breath while they have a look at my kit. I tried to catch their eye and to look like the sort of girl who broke all the rules of kit-requirements but ended up solidly gutted when they waved us past onto the steep, single track path which wound its way up the side of the mountain. I thought we’d naturally slow up as the queues of runners usually bunch up at these points. But, no!, everyone was pushing hard. Urg.....how was I going to get through this? But! 1000m of climbing flew by and as we approached the aid station at the top I had two thoughts-Thank god that’s over and even more overwhelmingly I was wondering whether I could pull out? I felt close to being sick and had to pretend to eat the piece of cliff bar Jon shoved in my face. Here, eat this and go faster he demanded. He denies this.
I caught my breath, had a serious word with myself, pulled myself together and this was where the fun really started. The run along the balcony was fun, fast and beautiful. 8 km of passing and being passed by other twosomes. As we approached the trail which would deliver us back to the valley floor the sky was now completely dark. The stars and head torches twinkled brightly and the lights of Chamonix far below called us home. I’d learnt my lesson, there was no time for sentimentality tonight and so down the trail we danced. This was my turf now, a path I had run down 100 times before so we flew down that trail, Chamonix getting closer and closer with every hair pin.Eventually we arrived at the valley floor and ran towards the sounds of the finish line celebrations. Cheered on by the amazing Chamonix community as we passed through the town.
Crossing the finish line together was emotional and a massive relief. I’ve never pushed so hard on a race and I felt exhilarated and utterly broken all at once. But, mostly I was just so happy to be back in the mountains with Jon. He introduced me to this amazing sport to which I’ll be forever thankful.  So, to see him back out on the trails having a blast made this my greatest run ever. 
Now, with a year of rehab and cycling ahead of me, I’m going to work hard at being just as supportive and enthusiastic for Jons running adventures as he was for me.
Emilie Wintle (Fuller)

Sussex

England

April 8, 2020

Natalie Waugh

In 2019, I was lucky enough to have two runs that I would class in this category. The first of which was WUU2k, that I have already written in about. I thought nothing could top that. But then I ran the New York City Marathon…

 To run the New York City Marathon was the very top of my bucket list. In my mind, to visit New York was the ultimate destination. I had wanted to go there for as long as I could remember. My parents owned a video store when I was growing up, and so many of my favourite movies were based in NYC. I knew one day I had to go there and when I started running long distances, no marathon appealed to me more than NYC. On the 3rd of November 2019, I finally got to tick that off my bucket list. The weather was perfect and the excitement was unreal, I couldn’t believe I was actually in the start village of this iconic race. The village was filled with an electric energy, nerves, anticipation and people making their last preparations. Finally after a couple of hours of waiting, 45 minutes of which was spent standing in line for a port-a-loo, my start wave was called. I went into my corral and was surrounded by thousands of other runners that merged with even more runners from other corrals to make our way to the start line. Today I was one of the 54000 + runners that would run through the five boroughs of New York City!

 I have never been surrounded by so much happiness as I was on this day. The start line vibes didn’t even seem real. Everyone was just so pumped! When the American national anthem started to play and the cannon went off, it was go time… we started our adventure. Taking off to Frank Sinatra’s “New York New York” and off over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.. my smile was ear to ear and I remember yelling “YES!! I’m actually doing this”, someone near me yelled “Hell yeah you are!”

 The first mile ticked by so quickly, then all of a sudden we were turning off the bridge and into the second borough… Brooklyn. Around 19km of the race is in Brooklyn and it was like the biggest party I have ever seen. People lined the streets the whole way, I often heard strangers calling out my name as they read it on my NZ themed top, lots of people even recognized the silver fern and yelled out “Go New Zealand, go the kiwis”. By 5km, my face was hurting from smiling so much. Every block there was a band, or a musician or a DJ jamming out the tunes, every mile there was a drink station, every 200m or so there was a police officer also enjoying the party and every step I took, my smile got bigger.

 I will never forget the feeling of turning onto First Avenue and seeing the amount of support lining the streets. They say First Ave is the stretch of the race where the elites tend to make their moves. It is a long undulating straight, so an excellent spot to do so, but for us every day runners - It’s usually where the hurt kicks in. For me, this definitely happened and the atmosphere is truly what kept me going. I have never seen so many people and had so many strangers cheering for me like I was their friend.

 By this point, Staten Island, Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan was ticked off.. only one more Borough to go. The Bronx!! Who definitely did not disappoint with their good vibes! One beautiful lady was giving out orange slices and I asked her if I could have one, to which she replied ‘Take as many as you want sister, you earned it.” The whole city gets into Marathon day, that’s for sure.

 Then the last part of the marathon was in sight, normally this would be a moment of sheer relief, but I actually started to feel a bit sad. I never wanted this moment to end but of course I also wanted that gorgeous NYC marathon medal. Running into Central Park that energy continued, people cheering us on and telling us that the finish line was only 2km to go. Having my name on my shirt was such a good idea as I felt like I had so many friends there to support me, even though I was thousands of miles away from home. It was truly magical. Then I saw it, the epic finish line… past the 26 mile marker… the adrenaline kicking in even more…. A final push and bam, I had crossed the finish line of the New York City Marathon in 4:08:59. I couldn’t stop smiling! When my finishers medal got placed over my head, the tears flowed. My ultimate goal ticked off. I had dreamed of this moment and here it was. I couldn’t have been more proud. On the 3rd of November 2019, I was one of the 53627 finishers of the New York City Marathon and it will forever hold a special place in my heart.

April 1, 2020

Anon

Hi guys, 

This weekend just been my neighbours sadly lost their son to suicide.

Their grief is surely overwhelming at this time and the pain & loss flowing thru them hard to imagine. My small challenges & self-centered worries seem to pale in comparison, however having lived many years in an emotionally abusive relationship I know what it’s like to feel devastatingly lost and unloved.

In recent months I have fallen off the band wagon of healthy running habits and despaired for the future. But finally today after sharing tears & love with my neighbours I pulled on my running shoes and got out the door. Half an hour of pain, cleansing, heart beating, sweating, hardly running and my body was done.

Not long after returning home the hearse pulled up our shared driveway, the tears of many people flowed as the young man was brought home to his family and they carried him a step further on his final journey. 

For me day 2 has now dawned and with it the determination to pull my arse out the door and run, to step forward and live even when it’s hard and to be compassionate for the lives of those around us who can’t run today. And to share a small story with you, to hopefully help someone else get outside & take a step, start running, & make each run the best run ever. 

Anon (in respect of lost souls)

March 25, 2020

Ross McLean       

Much like other contributors, I've spent time each long run pondering what has been my greatest run ever and its taken a while but I think it has now dawned on me.

Not that I can put an exact date on it but somewhere around 6 or 7 years ago at 40 years old and after 5 years of no sporting activity (having spent most of my life previously playing baseball and trying to avoid running) I actually went for a run, I think it totaled 3km. 

Why did I run that day? I'm still not quite sure

How did I run that day? From memory, terribly, like I was blowing out candles all the way

What’s it done for me? Countless changes, but it has changed my life for the better. Yes, I've worked my way through Personal Bests and distances but they all sort of blend in together after a while and ultimately aren't that important to me . Running provides me with an outlet from the day to day world, it’s my meditation, it’s a step away from the day to day stuff, but in a way, it’s become part of my life that I can’t see leaving. It’s the comradery of chatting to another runner during an event, giving or receiving someone some words of encouragement whether it be from other runners or spectators. Handing out high fives to kids. At the finish line catching up with the runners that you seem to yo-yo with over the distance and lose track of how many times you see each other. The anticipation and excitement of turning up for the next event. I just love that stuff and not that I want to stop running but I already contemplate moving to the volunteer roles when the legs don't want to take me around any longer So my greatest run is the short one that got my running journey underway.

All the best

March 18, 2020

Matt Girvan

Becoming a Runner: A new pair of legs, a bone stress injury and a hungover personal best

Dear Verrt Church Rodeo, my second favourite mental health and Majell Backhausen podcast. I must preface this Greatest Run Ever by warning you that it’s about a race. And a road race, at that. I totally understand if you don’t read beyond this point.

Though my friends would probably disagree, I’ve never considered myself ‘a runner’. Running is something I’ve learned to enjoy gradually over the last 10 years, but it has never been a core part of my lifestyle, or my identity. I’m the kind of guy who’ll spend two months training for an event, then four months hardly touching my running shoes. I’ve fudged my way through three road marathons over the years, each time slightly less blasé about the training and with slightly better results to show for it. Though I prefer the sense of adventure that trail running brings, there is definitely some appeal in the universality of a road time, and the once-unthinkable sub-three hour marathon wasn’t feeling quite so far-fetched anymore.

In August last year I moved to Edinburgh after four months hiking around Europe. I was the fittest I’d ever been, after walking 1,800 kilometres through seven mountainous countries, and was chomping at the bit to get back into some running. Part of me wanted to build on this base and train for another marathon, but I also didn’t want the training to take over when I knew I had to dedicate myself to starting a new life in a new city where I didn’t know anybody.

So I let my legs decide. On my third run back I got a little carried away and ran 21 km, in a time I would’ve been pretty happy with a couple of years ago. It felt like I’d been given a new pair of legs for free and I couldn’t let that fitness go to waste. So I set my sights on the Amsterdam Marathon – three months away, on a fast, flat course, with the added motivation that my brother Josh would make his marathon debut in Auckland on the same day. Then I hit the pavement.

I gave myself over to running in a way I never had before – following my training programme to the letter, running six days a week and quickly building up to my first ever 100 kilometre week. I finally let myself become ‘a runner’ – devouring the DCR back-catalogue and watching documentaries about greats like Lydiard, Snell and Halberg for inspiration.

I had worried about running being a distraction during my fresh start, but in reality it was exactly what I needed to get me through a tough time. I was going through the back-to-reality come-downs after a year and a half of travelling, I’d just broken up with my long-term girlfriend, lost a close friend to a motorcycle accident, wasn’t having much luck finding a job and was doing my best not to exhaust the last of my savings. Running became my distraction, my focus, my purpose in what could otherwise have been a very difficult time.

A month into my training I lined up at the start of a local half marathon to really test my legs. I’d never quite managed a 1:30 half marathon before (in fact the closest I’d come was during my previous full marathon) but I knew I’d have to be able to do it comfortably to have a chance at a sub-three hour full marathon. I knew exactly what I had to do – start off at 4:15 per kilometre (a pace I normally struggle to hold for one kilometre) and hang on for 21.1 kilometres. Despite the course being hillier than expected and losing a few seconds in the middle section, I was able to claw back some time with a long, gentle downhill to the finish. I crossed the line with 24 seconds to spare, knowing I couldn’t have kept going, but that I still had a month and a half of training to get to that point.

Two weeks later and I was attempting to do the same again, this time at the Scottish Half Marathon near Edinburgh. I wasn’t expecting much – mildly hungover from birthday Long Island iced teas the night before, and with fatigued legs from a big training week – I thought I’d be very lucky to sneak under 90 minutes. I let my expectations go and told myself just to enjoy the ride. And something majestical happened. In contrast to my textbook run two weeks before I did everything wrong – I ignored my watch and let my legs run how they wanted to, and let myself get carried away in battles with other runners. I glanced at my watch and told myself that four minute kilometres weren’t sustainable, but kept running them anyway.

Approaching the halfway point there was a short out-and-back section, and I got a huge boost seeing the leaders – including eventual second-placer and ‘friend-of-the-show’ Sam McCutcheon (who’s since become a poker buddy) – gliding past in the other direction. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to keep this up, but suddenly I was halfway through and all I had to was hold on for another 45-ish minutes. I said to myself ‘even if Amsterdam doesn’t work out, it’ll all be worth it for this run.’

Then, out of nowhere, a crippling stitch at kilometre 17 reduced me to a hobble. My Greatest Run Ever shattered before my eyes as fellow runners cruised past me. I resolved that I’d have to be content with 17 of the fastest kilometres of my life, knowing deep down that risking that sort of pace was never going to pay off anyway. But, just as quickly as it had appeared, the stitch dissolved.

Relieved, I launched my final attack – surprising those who had recently overtaken me – figuring I was probably still on track for about 1:28 and another personal best. Sprinting down the finishing shoot, I couldn’t believe the time on the clock – 1:26:38 – almost three minutes faster than my previous race. Not only was it my fastest 21.1 km, but my 10 km personal best as well. I celebrated with a punnet of hot chips then, surprising myself with my quick recovery and dedication to my training programme, walked/ran the 10 kilometres home.

Five months later, that race seems like a distant dream. Though I didn’t realise till a few days later, I’d given myself the runner’s worst nightmare – a bone stress injury. A piercing pain in the shin bone from impact and overuse. I’d made every mistake in the book – building up the mileage too quickly, not resting enough, not replacing old shoes. I thought I was young and invincible, and my naivety caught up with me. It was with mixed excitement and frustration that I watched the Amsterdam Marathon from the sideline a month later (on the other side of the world, Josh smashed the Auckland Marathon in 3:09:50).

Just when I’d come to rely on running so much, it was ripped away from me. But at the same time, things were finally falling into place for me in Edinburgh – I got a job and a flat within days of the injury. While it was tough to watch all that fitness fade away, I was able to channel all that frustration into the motivation to build back up again. After six weeks of rest I progressed to two kilometre walk-runs twice a week, adding 10 per cent each week. I was even more dedicated with my recovery programme than I had been with my training, knowing that any missed mileage one week would prevent me adding more the following week.

Next Saturday, exactly five months after that unexpected race and the subsequent injury, I’m running a trail half marathon in northeast England. Though I’ve been careful not to get carried away, I’ve been injury-free for a couple of months now and, if the race goes well, I’m excited for a big northern summer of adventures. I’ve learnt a lot about my body, my limits (including when to ignore them), what running can do for me and what it can’t. I guess that means I’m a runner now.

March 11, 2020

Joe Benbow

Hi Matt & Eugene

I’ve been an avid fan and listened to all 80 of your podcasts to date. But I’ve held off sending in my Greatest Run Ever until now, and I’m glad I waited.

After 20 years of running on roads, I was feeling it in my knees and needed to change things up. So this time last year, I set myself a rather arbitrary new year’s goal to “try trail running”.

I signed up to the XTERRA Wellington festival and instantly fell in love with the trails, hypnotised by the stunning scenery and oxygen. Just a few months later I ran the WUU-2K 43k event, then completed my first ultra in October – the Taupo 50k. By that time, I’d also discovered the local WoRM group and found my place amongst a wonderful community of friendly and like-minded crazies….

I finished Taupo strongly, but on the finish line said I would never run that distance again. And yet, in true fashion, just 3 days later the opportunity came up to enter the Tarawera 102k from a friend who had to pull out. And that was that. I had 4 months to get prepared and I set straight to work.

It was a tough 4 months, but I made a plan and stuck to it, running in the heat of the day, the dark of the night and sideways into the wind during days when the weather (even for Wellington) was bonkers…

I also binged on all the books I could get my hands on about ultrarunning, and learnt so much from the likes of Scott Jurek, Jason Koop and Adharanand Finn.

Fast forward to Waitangi Day 2020 and I arrived with friends in Rotorua, feeling prepared and buzzing with excitement at the prospect of all these trail running geeks taking over the city for the weekend. Yet it turned into so much more than an ordinary running weekend.

Starting on the Friday morning with a stirring powhiri, it was clear that this event was going to be something different, with the blessing by Ngati Tuhourangi and Ngati Rangitihi highlighting the cultural significance of the land we were going to run through. Shortly following this, I did spot Eugene ducking into the kiwi house at Te Puia, but I was too starstruck to say hi!

Then on registering and attending the expo, my shyness diminished and I got to meet two legends I’m truly inspired by – Lucy Bartholomew and Mal Law. The elite runners were happy mingling, posing for photos and sharing advice. It really felt like a global community coming together to party!

7am the following morning at Kawerau, I hunted down Lucy again for a pre-race high five, then we were off. The weather had turned in our favour, with a cool breeze, cloudy sky and some dampness in the moody morning air. The first 30k flew by effortlessly as I chatted to runners, both local and from overseas, about their backgrounds and goals for the day. The trails were soft and I was running with ease.

The next 10k through to the Outlet aid station passed by the majestic Tarawera Falls, which were one of the highlights of the day. A place I’d never been to, and probably never would have done if I hadn’t become a trail runner, and a reminder that we are so lucky to be able to enjoy these moments. It was a no-brainer to stop and take some video footage, but it took a lot of willpower not to strip down and go for a swim in the crystal clear waters.

Things became harder from there and it was a long slog over technical sections for the next couple of hours. By this time, the hot afternoon sun was bearing down, and my nutrition wasn’t going to plan. I could no longer stomach the bliss balls, clif bars or Tailwind I had with me, and I was hanging out for the Okataina aid station at 58k where I could try something else.

After what felt like an eternity, I emerged from the solitary forest to a cacophony of noise, cowbells and cheers from complete strangers. Two friends, who were waiting to crew and pace for Vlad Shatrov, the leading miler, had time to take me under their wing and get me refreshed and back on track. I discovered that ginger beer and watermelon (thanks for the tip Lucy!) did the trick and they were my go-tos from then on.

The poles came out and I powered up the steep Okataina hill, and at that point I knew I was going to finish the race, it was just a matter of relentless forward motion. I got my second wind and was able to start running more and more, and by the time I reached Blue Lake at 86k I was still feeling both physically and mentally strong.

The final descent through the majestic redwoods was enriched by a beautiful purple sunset and moonrise over Lake Rotorua, and by the time my headtorch was switched on at the last aid station, there was just 7k to go.

By this point, I had been on my feet for 14 hours, running twice as far as I had ever run before, but feeling stronger and more alive with every passing kilometre. As I crossed the final sulphur flats coming into the finish chute, the adrenaline coursed through me and I sprinted across the line, into the arms of Tim Day, who was graciously welcoming every athlete arriving home.

This goes down as my Greatest Run Ever as I was so completely prepared for any eventuality, I could just relax and enjoy the moment, the surroundings and the company. But it was so much more than a run. It was one of those multi-day experiences that I will always look back on fondly. I followed Lucy’s advice – to be smiling, eating, proud, embracing and making memories.

Finally, I look back on all the wonderful athletes and trailblazers I’d heard and seen online but finally got to meet in person – those who have and who do inspire me, Paul and Tim whose leadership fuelled such an amazing event, the volunteers who tirelessly gave of themselves to help others achieve their goals, and all those runners from all the corners of the world, who I got to meet and share this unforgettable experience with.

He aha te mea nui o te ao. He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata

What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people

My TUM 102K video diary:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlvK6ogzfKU

March 4, 2020

Pete Wilson

Hi, when you mentioned this segment on the podcast I immediately thought of a 3rd form school trip in 1988. My class stayed on Ruapehu for a couple of nights, and one morning we hiked the Ngauruhoe saddle track. For some reason on the way back to the hut, my friend Adrian Rumney and I just decided to start running - and we took off. I was a skinny, unsporty kid but that morning in the cool thin air I felt like I could run forever. The focus of placing each step and the joy of moving swiftly across uneven ground is still a vivid memory. We got back to the hut puffing but energised and couldn't really believe or explain what we'd done. That night I ate an entire packet of spaghetti and had to visit the long drop the next morning, which was memorable for other reasons, and probably need not be explored further. Suffice to say it was a mistimed and disastrous early attempt at carb loading. 

 Adrian continued with adventure sports to this day, but I gave running a rest for a while. Okay, a long time. Okay, 30 years or so. However last weekend I did my first run of any great distance in the Tarawera 50k, 45 kilometres of which was ground out in pretty severe pain. While this is by far the biggest and hardest run I've done so far, that first spontaneous trail run will always be the most magical.

Cheers,

Pete Wilson

February 25, 2020

Michael Mitchell

Tena Korua Matt and Eugene

Like many DCR listeners I have spent plenty of time pondering what I would send in for my Greatest Run Ever. I have finally been inspired to write to you while presently listening to the Dwight Grieve episode. Dwight’s coach Shaun was my high school coach and calculus teacher. I also spent a summer fencing with my mate Jade, the fencer Dwight spoke about. I was awful at building fences.

I grew up in Te Anau and have lived there periodically ever since. I feel proud, but most of all lucky, to come from such a special place. I get a little excited every time there is a mention of the Kepler on DCR.

My Greatest Run Ever came in April 2019 during the latest chapter of GODZone. I am conscious that it doesn’t fit the run around the block the theme like so many other beautifully written submissions, and am wary of trying to come across like a hero as I am by no means an elite athlete.

But I digress.

The race is done as a team of four where each member completes every part of the race together. Our team, the Roving Tukies, had the goal of finishing the long course. However this goal was secondary to sharing an epic adventure. It was day four of the race which followed a wiggly route between Arthur’s Pass and Akaroa. We had trekked, mountain biked, and packrafted to this point. This stage was a modified trek from Lake Clearwater to Double Hill via Lake Heron. We had been in the hurt locker for about 36 hours with no sleep, a few hallucinations, some un-hydrated meals, misplaced team mates (me), sideways rain, and attempts at morale boosting Waiata.

Each team in GODZone is fitted with a live tracker, giving the race a real hunger games feel.. So when it’s 3am and you are wandering around in the dark, in the wopps, like a pack of morons, your Whanau are back home screaming at their computers ‘Not that way Tukies!!’.

But I digress.

This was the crux of the race because the following cut off times were relatively manageable. We were left with equation of 10 kilometers in about 90 minutes. Easy. The tricky part was that instead of legs we had double cheese sizzler sausages, and instead of feet we had blister flavoured haggis. We linked up with fellow battlers one direction featuring Denis Woods who were chasing the same goal as us. It appeared that their legs could also be purchased in the processed meat section of the supermarket.

The Mid-Canterbury clouds peeled back and we had to up the pace. The raw emotion started to overwhelm me, and I’m a huffle puff at the best of times. Tears of pain, joy, and delusion started to fall down my face. But because I’m a stoic kiwi male I luckily managed to hide them from the team. ‘You all good Mikey mate?’ Maty asked. ‘Yip’ i yelped back. He had no idea...

The end of the stage came into view and we spied our families waving the team flag. They had been through this campaign with us the previous year, and knew how much it meant to us. Their presence let me see one of the real goals of doing this wacky race - make mum and dad proud as. Probably didn't need to do a 600km race to do that - but I digress. As we rounded the final corner it felt like Kipchoge would have struggled to keep pace with us. Video footage later revealed that the growth rate of the roadside lichen was a more suitable comparison.

We just made the cut off and went on to finish the race. Phew.

Maty Haworth, Katie Bryan, and George Kool are champion team mates, and mates. We are currently UK based and doing some racing in Europe before returning to Rotorua for the next chapter of GODZone in November.

Shout out to the East London Running Crew too.

Chur Michael

February 19, 2020

Julie Gibson

Comrades........

Not sure that I really need to say more? I ran Comrades in 2011, in hindsight totally green and having very limited knowledge about the world of ultramarathons. Yet, without hesitation I can say that this is the most amazing event that I have ever been lucky enough to be part of. The support along the entire course is like nothing I have experienced elsewhere and the atmosphere, especially at the start, is something that has to be experienced to understand. To top it all off I managed to come away with a Bill Rowan! 

Excluding Comrades and looking more to the trail running side of things, my greatest run ever is the race that never happened. My friend and I signed up for last year's Wild East Coastal High 50km event - well actually she signed us up whilst I was training for a 20km swimming event we have on the west coast of Australia, letting me know that I had something to look forward to in the future, but not filling me in on the details until after the swim was done and dusted (fyi - I dont recommend endurance swimming - stick with running!!!). We had not really done any trail running prior to this and this was also to be my friends first 50 km.

The day before we fly to Brisbane from Perth we heard the news that there were bush fires in the near vicinity of the race. No worries at this stage, plenty of distance between the two locations. Once we were in Brisbane conditions however worsened and, just as we were about to set off to the hills, we get the news that the race had been cancelled! It was a tough decision at the time for the race organisers but it became apparent very rapidly that this was the right decision as in the end the area of the race got completely burnt through.

Having just eaten rather large bowls of pasta we felt that a run still had to occur, so after some google searching we set of to find a local Trail Running shop and get some advice. We found a race nearby that had been run a couple of months prior which, at this stage, seemed to be still open and not closed due to high fire risk. The shop even had a few race singlets left over so we loaded up on the gear and the next day went off to do our own Guzzler Ultra. Whilst we had to check our gps quite frequently to ensure we didn't stray too far off course, we had a great morning, running somewhere totally unknown to us. Best of all was seeing my friend get through her first 50 km. She had not had the best lead up due to calf injuries, but she just kept on going and hit the self made finish line looking great! When she finished I actually said that we should send this in for Greatest Run Ever, and finally, I have gotten around to it. A day out that will always be remembered!

We now have UTA100 in our sights and are training away for May. Hopefully the current bush fires will not have done too much damage to the course and the race will be able to go ahead as scheduled. Though really, if the race is effected, well that is a minor inconvenience to us in comparison to the devastating impact it has had to nature and wildlife. It was nice to hear you guys make a comment regarding these fires in one of your recent shows.

 Jules

Perth, WA

February 5, 2020

Craig Watson

 This is my 2nd contribution to my greatest run ever and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so new to running that any run where I don’t pass out is my greatest run or weather I’m just lucky to have had many opportunities to run with fantastic people in beautiful locations.

Running isn’t something that comes easy to me and I’m definitely don’t have the physique of a runner but I am committed to running for mental health and relationships that help me become a more positive and confident person, I can’t thank people enough for the belief and acceptance that is shown within the running community and I believe that I can repay others belief by setting an example for many others that don’t classify themselves as runners and holding my head high as a proud runner.

My next chapter in my greatest run journey came on the 28th July this year when I travelled to Rainbow Beach Queensland for the Rainbow Beach trail marathon. I was fortunate to have my neighbour join me who in my eyes is an exceptional runner and 1 of those people with belief in me even when I don’t have it in myself, for context to this run Trev ends up finishing 5th in tomorrow’s race, we decided to stay in the local Backpackers which must of looked a bit funny 2 middle aged guys with bags of gels and shoes stretching and rolling where ever we could find some clean floor space not your typical Rainbow beach tourist.

Race morning starts off with me locking myself outside our room at 4am while getting up to start my strenuous pre-race regime of food, stretching and bowel movements. Trev was sound asleep with ear plugs in while  his alarm began to wake up all our neighbours as I tried to wake him by banging on the door, cringing every time glad that we weren’t coming back to face the wrath of the youth.

Race briefing starts at 05:30 just prior to sunrise this was a time to catch up with the other half a dozen runners from our local Tannum Wild runners group who had also made the trip down to enjoy what we were anticipating to be a fun day on some beautiful trails and beaches, Rainbow beach is one of the most visited and pretty places in Queensland being the step off point to Fraser island and only a short drive to the sunshine coast. As we nervously step back and forward we go through the usual best wishes and don’t drink too much while you wait for us at the finish line because u r driving home to the faster of the group, we all find our spots in the pack of approx. 100 runners.

This is my first time attempting the marathon distance and I’m using this race as a long run for a 100km race coming up in a few months’ time, it is also the first time I plan on running from the start instead of walking to warm up  and hoping the pain and discomfort doesn’t last for much longer than the usual 45 min that’s being my past 12 months experience I’m surprised to hear my phone ring in my pocket 2 min into the race and fumble around in my pocket to find it’s my youngest son ringing to wish me all the best for the race, I only stutter a few words of thanks and love u as I struggle to breath as the race heads straight uphill of the start line.

The first 2km is pretty brutal with a heap of climbing before running across a large sand blow approx. 400m across, once we climbed out of there things settle down a bit as we enter the trails this is where what would come to be my greatest run actually started. I meet up with Sarah who is an amazing lady that I run with at home and just the most positive person we know I was so happy to catch up to her and asked if we could run together, obviously she said yes and off we went stride for stride.

The next couple of hours was spent meeting and talking to other runners as they caught and passed us or we caught up to others, I find conversations generally start with a comment from the unknown runner along the line of Holy crap I’ve never seen calves that big before!! I'm not quick enough to have a decent comeback unfortunately but I was blessed to be given a pair of legs that wouldn’t look out of place on a All Black Prop.  The race spends the first 18km running along 1 of Queensland’s great walks before dropping down onto the beach for the 1st section of beach running which is approx. 8km’s we worked a run walk strategy as we worked our way along the hard sand on what was a perfect day on the beach with calm seas an amazing surf swell rolling in and yachts on the horizon we also had about 200 4wd’s steaming up the beach in both directions to break the serenity.  Sarah did an awesome job keeping me moving as we approached the 3hr mark constantly encouraging me to keep running as my energy levels started to dwindle. At the northern end of the beach we crossed up over double island point headland stopping for a few seconds to take some photos and quickly ring my wife to say hi, I was later to find out that Trev (who previously mentioned came 5th ) did the same thing, after I had time to reflect back on the race it was a turning point in my mentality that we are all out there doing exactly the same thing, be it the leaders the middle of the pack or the back of pack my race was the same as his we both put in 100% we both enjoyed a wonderful day living the only difference is some finish quicker than others.

The next 15km to the finish line was brutal and I think everyone I spoke to said the same thing it was just energy sapping with some soft sand hiking before climbing back up into the sand hills which had relentless ups, I don’t remember any downs only ups, during my fits of  whining like a banshee I thought Sarah would finally give up and leave me to suffer on my own but she politely told me to put on my big boys pants and get moving we had a goal to achieve and a race to finish so with flasks of coke and a handful of watermelon from the aid station we started running down some racers and attempted to get them to join our train as we yuped and yahooed our way up and down the hills. Crossing the sand blow again to claps from random tourists out for a day sightseeing. The final KM gave us nothing for free as we have to climb a few more rises before running flat out down the hill to cross the finish line hand in hand and to the cheers of friends and co runners, collapsing on the ground it was so wonderful to be part of such an amazing way of life that was until 1 of my calves decided to cramp and turn itself inside out which put a real dampener on the festivities until we could get it to release. I was on such a high and proud of all our friends for achieving some amazing results but I was most proud of Sarah and myself for achieving my greatest run ever and spending every minute of the day together as an unbeatable team.

January 29, 2020

Ed Scott

Dear Matt & Eugene,

I know you point out that a 'Greatest Run Ever' doesn't have to be a race or a mountain summit, but in my case, it just so happens to be both. Okay, not quite a mountain - but a big hill, for sure.

Context

First, some context: my partner I - both Brits - moved to New Zealand back in February for what was initially a three-month working holiday off the back of time spent in Southeast Asia. These three months eventually spiralled into a year, and whilst we have fallen in love with the landscape and learnt so much from the Kiwi lifestyle, I'd be lying if I said this year hasn't been without its challenges. 

Like many OE workers, I initially secure a job as a barista, but when we decided to stay in New Zealand longer than initially planned, I went out about finding more traditional employment. I have always wanted to work as a writer, but never got my career off the ground back in the UK. However, I managed to land a writing job here in Auckland, and was immensely excited.

Unfortunately, not everything works out for the best. Without going into too much detail, my workplace was a nightmare. The work itself was interesting and engaging, and allowed me to develop and make use of my writing and researching skills. But office tyrants, unbelievably corrupt management, and a general atmosphere of stifled tension meant that most evenings I headed home a bit of a mess. The terrible pay only made things worse.

And yet, I had to listen to that small voice inside of me, which told me that, if I just persevered, this would all be worth it. It would open doors for me, and allow me to return to the UK with far better employment prospects than I had when I left. I just had to stick it out.

Running became my way of coping. I have run for a few years now, and whilst I've always known I had some potential to run at least somewhat competitively, I've never managed to nail a training block and go into a race feeling fully prepared. This time, it would be different.

The Race

I signed up to the Rotorua Running Festival 50k back in July. Motivated by a complete refusal to give in to the negativity and corruption of my workplace, I set about training harder than I ever had before, running up Mt Eden almost every day for a month, going to the gym to build some much-needed muscle onto my string bean body, and dialling in my nutrition. 

When the race finally rolled around last weekend (hosted by the good folks at Event Promotions), I felt like a coiled spring. I had months of decent training in my legs, and had nailed my three-week taper. Some back-of-the-envelope calculations told me I might be able to run 5:18, which seemed too fast, but I kept it in the back of my mind nonetheless as a 'best case scenario'.

The race started with around 5 flat kilometres on the streets of Rotorua leading out to the trails. I kept my pace conservative, letting my legs warm up and enjoying the feeling of finally 'being there'. By kilometre 16, the pack of four I had been silently running with started to drift apart, and I found myself maintaining the pace and pulling ahead. 

I kept telling myself not to get over-excited, to hold back, but somehow I seemed to keep overtaking people. I couldn't tell if I was pushing too hard or they were just fading, but when I rolled through the 25k mark I had to do a double-take when I looked my watch - 2 hours and 20 minutes. At this rate, I was going to smash 5 hours! But I still had the biggest climb of the race to go.

It was around this point that I started to have some digestion issues, which I think stemmed from being a little over-enthusiastic with the Nuun tabs. It wasn't pretty, but with a little strategic belching, I managed to keep things in check for the remainder of the race. 

After running alongside the stunning Green Lake and completing a lap of Blue Lake, the race reached its significant climb at the 29km mark. All those runs up Mount Eden appeared to have worked - for the next 15 minutes, I marvelled at my legs as they carried me up the hill at a steady, comfortable pace. I overtook five runners on the climb, not stopping to walk once, and when I reached the top, the aid station volunteers told me that I was a couple of minutes behind two other runners, and I looked far stronger than either of them.

"This is it," I thought. "Now or never."

With one-third of the race left to go, I let loose and ran the next 5k downhill section at sub-5 minute kilometre pace. My plan had been to rely on the anger and frustration I felt towards my workplace when the going got tough, but I found that, in the end, I didn't care about any of that. I felt like I had transcended it. 

Instead, I ran truly content. The long downhill on wide-open forest roads offered plenty of stunning views of hills around Rotorua, and I marvelled like a blissed-out hippy at the panorama before me. I had never felt this good so late in a race, and whilst I knew I had a long way to go and things could turn ugly, I let myself enjoy the moment for what it was. I've heard someone say that racing is the gift you give yourself for all the hard work you put in in training - this was definitely a gift.

With 12km to go, the race headed back into the infamous Rotorua Redwoods. At the penultimate aid station, I saw the 50k runner I had been chasing, and I decided to let him pace me rather than outright overtaking him - far better to be the hunter than to be the hunted, I told myself. 

For a few kilometres, unbeknownst to him, I stayed on his tail, eventually passing him on a climb at around the marathon point, not looking back and allowing myself to run scared. It felt absolutely fantastic, in a masochistic kind of way, to be pushing hard and racing someone else this late in a race. You hear a lot about the community aspect of ultrarunning, but I think an often-overlooked part of that community is the amazing power of real competition. We need other people to bring out the best in us, and without this runner, I wouldn't have been able to push as hard as I did in the last 10k.

I ended up finishing in 4:38, a full 40 minutes faster than my best-case scenario time. The race turned out to be a bit flatter than expected, which definitely helped, but nonetheless I was overjoyed and slightly overwhelmed by what my body had done for me, running non-stop for 50km without a hitch. I felt like I had run the race I'd been longing to run ever since I started running back in 2016, and in a funny sort of way, the difficulties I'd experienced at work only served as fuel to my fire.

Thank you for all that you do in putting together your podcast. As mentioned, this year has not been plain-sailing, but the trail running community in Aotearoa is outstanding and I wouldn't change my experience for the world. I'm a stronger person physically, mentally, and spiritually than I was when I arrived, and listening to your podcasts on long runs has given me that connection I so often needed to the wider world, reminding me that this too shall pass, and that I am part of something so much greater than the pettiness of a stale workplace. 

All the best, and sorry for the mega-long email!

Ed Scott

Race report to follow, for those interested:

www.edscott.blog

January 22, 2020

Marcus Daws

Hey guys,  I’ve been enjoying your podcast since it kicked off and have been meaning to write in with my greatest run since then. Seventy-something shows later I’ve run out of excuses to procrastinate further. The chosen run has changed a couple of times but there’s been a common culprit in them all, running with my brother Tristan. 

While growing up, my younger brother and I weren’t all that close, there was brotherly love but we were very different personalities and clashed plenty. In our late teens we took the opportunity to go travelling through China and SE Asia, it was here that we realised that our differences were important and what make us unique but there was plenty of overlap that has become the focus of the strong relationship we enjoy today. We love travel, hiking, certain bands or films but one of the greatest gifts we share is a love of running. 

I moved to NZ ten years ago from the UK and we meet up every couple of years to find an event or plan a mission in the hills and get out to challenge each other and catch up. We recently met up in France to crew for the NZ team at the 24 hr world champs and got the chance to sandwich the event with two epic adventures in the Pyrenees, in preparation for his first ultra back in England and the Kepler for me the following weekend. 

However, I’m going to go back a bit further to our first race together in New Zealand back in 2012 (I think). The Kauri run out of Coromandel town is a fantastic run event and we picked to 32k run which would be our longest run to that date. I’d become pretty fit at that time, training for an Ironman and running with the Hamilton hawks but this was a big step up for Tristan. We set of steadily across the beach and soon got into some winding single trail with a few water crossings to navigate, each time I had to wait on the other side having splashed through as he nervously tried to rock hop across and keep his feet dry, meanwhile a queue developed behind him of impatient runners chomping at the bit to get past and on with their race, it was quite hilarious and inevitably futile. 

A steep ridge takes you up to the tops where you run across farmland with views to either coast on a perfectly bluebird day, this was running nirvana and we ran, walked joked, put the world to rights and caught up on the previous few missed years. We stopped and chatted with the awesome aid station crew and demolished their stash of lollies then cruised to the road end overlooking the finish in coromandel, or so we thought.

Then the race kicks up a gear, a steep road climb to a radio tower then a right turn into some very gnarly rooted track, the adventure really begins. Tristan was seriously flagging by this point and was really going beyond his comfort zone, it was great to be able to be there and help home find those limits which would now seem like a normal Sunday long training run. The track eases off and a steady cruise down to the finish and welcoming cheers through the town meant job done... well not quite.

Brotherly rivalry kicked in and as we rounded the playing field, 50 metres from the finish we needed a fierce sprint finish to claim glory. We adopted the proper crouch position, eyed the goal line... Ready.... Set... he was already off, the cheating swine, long before the gun fired and took the finishing line victory, a hollow victory but I think we both won that day. There were no records but one to remember forever, Kerry Suter had been long finished after winning the ultra distance event and came up to me with an unforgettably tongue-in-cheek wrap up of my efforts, he said “well done, your either a really good brother, or a really shit runner!” Cheers brother! Tristan and I have both stepped up to ultra distance this year and have shared some incredible adventures but it’s a sunny day in the Coromandel that still brings a grin to my face when I think about the journey we’ve taken to get here.  

Thank you both for all your hard work and passion you pour into this awesome community. 

Marcus Daws

Hamilton

January 15, 2020

Carolyn Knights

How do I begin to describe my #greatestrunever. Up until Saturday 7 December 2019 I would have definitely said UTA100 2017, however along came The Kepler Challenge.

In 2017, the UTA 100 and 50 races were changed due to torrential rain in the few days leading up to the race and overnight. The night before the race the course was changed for the safety of the runners. And I got to run my first 100km race. 

Then along came Kepler, again with torrential rain, this time throughout the South Island of New Zealand and a course change on the Thursday. Wow this posed some interesting head space as I had never done a race in these conditions in my 43 years of running. My reckoning was that I could get to be a kid for a day and play in mud and water to my heart’s content. Well I got my way.

The day started with excitement and trepidation of how I could handle the conditions. You see I get cold, really cold very quickly and to say it was cold would be an understatement. Going through the first body of water, actually lake, was above knee deep and oh so cold. Up to Luxmore we climb through the forest to pop out on the top of the mountain with a freezing ‘slap to the face’ wind. I added a thermal and headed to the Hut. I was so very cold and the winds were fierce pushing me every which way. When I arrived I couldn’t stop shaking and shivering and needed help to fill my water bottles and remove my shoes to see if my feet were coping. The medical team were amazing, even though they were really wanting to perhaps exclude me from the rest of the race. Clothes put in front of the fire and a warm hot sweet cup of tea allowed me to continue and regular check ins at each aid station was brilliant. 

This race offered it all and more, runnable wee sweet NZ Hobbit type trails with great aid stations and volunteers who were so helpful and supportive and innovative. Water up to my armpits in some water crossings, mud above my ankles and slip slidy up and downhills to challenge my ability, but what a day. The best run ever was had to prove that age, ability and speed were not a factor on the day. 

And thank you Eugene and Matt for saying hi along the out and backs, what a day.

January 8, 2020

Jack Wilson

Hi Gents, 

I've often thought about what my greatest run is and have never had a clear answer. While listening to your chat with Chris Bisley, I really resonated with the very early morning run discussion and I realised that my greatest run is one that I do a couple of times a week, every week, and often take for granted. To use your very apt term, it's the Perfect Crime Run. I love the satisfaction of getting up, running for an hour or so and being back home before my family wake up. Being able to do something for myself whilst not sacrificing any time with my wife and children is such a privilege and one I will no longer take for granted. 

Cheers

Jack, Castlereagh, Sydney

December 18, 2019

James Hinz

Hello Dirt Church 

You’ve asked so I shall deliver. On the 5th of October I was lucky enough to run the inaugural Rakiura challenge, you may remember me from earlier email about weightloss journey and raising money for Landsar NZ. Well the weekend started with a bumpy ride on a packed ferry from Bluff to Oban which mixed so great with the nervous butterflies I already in the pit of my stomach as this was to be the longest distance I’d ever considered walking let alone running and first big trail event. 

After absolutely bucketing down on Friday night, Saturday morning dawned nice and sunny but not too hot, perfect running conditions. After a bus ride to the start line and a nervous wait spent talking to follow friendly runners who recognised me from my fundraising efforts we were under way, the track had it all gravel, mud, sand and tree roots with stunning views everywhere and plenty of ups and downs and lots of great chat between the runners. I had underestimated just how many ups there was. 

But 12 months of work paid off and I made it to the end. It was by no means a fast time but I finished and that was what I had wanted to do. What made this my greatest run ever? It wasn’t the great community spirit or the magnificent scenery or the comradeship of the fellow runners, how well the event was run or even that I’d set myself a huge goal which I thought was unachievable. Those things were all great but it was the feeling I had the whole way round. It was just great, everything felt and went great. There was no dark holes, from the very start I knew I was going to get through it and get it done so I just had fun and enjoyed myself. The only problem is I think I may now be hooked and have started lining up events for 2020 lol

Cheers James 

P.S. I managed to fundraise $1700 for the great volunteer organisation Landsar NZ

December 4, 2019

Andrew Rowe

Heya, I’ve wanted to write in with my greatest run ever for a while. It’s been a hard question to answer, but one that stands out was an out of the blue run to my friend’s place, after work and after a long absence from running. 

I wasn’t sure how long the run would take me, or what route I’d need to take. That filled me with real feeling of adventure and unknown. 

It was a cool black night with a clear white moon. And the hills above Wellington filled me with views and cool night air, I followed the path in front of me, to where I figured I should be heading. 

Taking occasional left and right turns by feel. I went along a section of the WUU2K course in reverse, I ended up in an unfamiliar part of Karori, still unsure which direction I should be going, I simply enjoyed the moment. 

Then eventually arriving at my destination, I saw my mate, and found myself talking louder than even what my normal outside voice would be, and the smile on my face stayed on for the rest of the night. 

It wasn’t a race, or a peak or a pb, but it was probably my greatest run ever.

November 27, 2019

Hazel Harrison 

My greatest run ever has got to be the Surf Coast Century 2019. The run up to this race was perfect this was my first 100km run and my training had gone really well, no injuries, and I had completed the WUU2K 62km 13 weeks previously and had learnt a lot from that. 

The weather was perfect for a Wellingtonian damp and a slight breeze - the local Aussies were not too impressed. The race started on the beach and pretty much stayed on the beach for the first 21km. I stood at the start and was able to see most of the first stage which was great for me to visualise myself running on the sand. 

Everything was going to plan my support crew were so tight at the checkpoints it was awesome. My nutrition plan worked a dream with my homemade endurance bar and of course jelly snakes. 

I tripped over a tree root at 33km and grazed my left shin, cursed myself and got on with it.  At 55km I was feeling strong physically but a bit of self doubt crept in. So I gave myself a talking to and permission to feel like shit for 2k. At 77km I took another tumble this time over over a rock and broke a rib. A lovely Australian guy held out his hand and helped me up and we carried on running, as you do! 

At around 85km, it was getting dark so on went the head torch, by the stage the field is so spread out that there really isn’t anyone around you. At 93km the route went back down into the beach via some huge boulders that were like natural steps. I could see they were sloppy so was walking down, when I lost my footing and slipped, landing on my knees and then bouncing down another boulder. It was a pretty heavy fall, so much do that my watch wanted to send an SOS to my partner. Luckily I managed to cancel it. So there I was still on my knees, not sure if I could stand or not , I sat back and cried for 30secs. Thinking only 7km to go, so worst case scenario I hobble home and still finish but not in the time I wanted. I stood up washed the blood of my knees, wiped the tears away and carried on running. 

The last 7km on sand on the dark went on for what seemed like ages. Eventually I crossed the finish line, and in spite of the falls I felt really good. Not only did I finish under my 15hr target at 13hrs 28 mins I  came first in my vintage age group. 

Such an amazing experience.

November 20, 2019

Paul Turner

Hey DCR crew, 

 First of all, thank you guys for providing an entertaining and informative podcast on my favourite subject – you guys rock! 

 My Greatest Run Ever was my latest – the Taupo Ultra 50km – this was my first ultra and what a stunning location to run one in.  However, it was not because of the fact it was my first ultra, or that it was in beautiful Taupo, but because of my running partner, Olivia. 

She is a single Mum of two who struggles to fit in training around her hectic work/life schedule, and if that wasn’t hard enough she had multiple hiccups along they way, including a foot infection that lead her to having an operation on her ankle.  This laid her up for 6 weeks on an IV drip – and this was only weeks out from the event. 

Yet despite all this she fronted up to the start line with perhaps only half the training km’s she wanted to have…..and she made it to the finish.  At times it was not pretty, there were quiet moments when I could hear her digging deep for that extra reserve of energy that you only find when you are truly challenged - and moments of verbal outbursts that would make a sailor blush. 

The smile on her face when she crossed the line said it all.  I am in awe of her courage and her willpower and the fact that I got to witness the first hand is what makes this my Greatest Run Ever.

November 13, 2019

Tina White

Hi Eugene & Matt.  I've been hesitant to send in my GRE, because there have been so many amazing runs and I feel there are so many more to come! 

It was one of those sunny spring mornings, the birds were chirping & I was feeling full of excitement for the adventure ahead.  Dropped the kids of at school & kindy and headed out to the trail head.  

 I ran, skipped & climbed my way along the cliffs of Te Henga for an out & back.  I was taking it easy as I knew that I had a big day ahead of me, and I expected my body to tire before my mind wanted it to.  The views were breathtaking as usual & the wild west coast waves were smashing the rocks below. Usually a tourist highway, there were only a couple of other people out on the trail, so I felt I had the place to myself.  Could it get any better?  

 Well it just did, I met up with my friend Stu and we enjoyed the return leg together.  Stu, with the pace of a cheetah and the stamina of a wildebeest kindly let me set the pace, which of course included some shuffling & photo opps.  I thought that by now surely my legs & lungs would tell me to stop but I was feeling surprisingly good.

 After having a bite of food out of the car boot we trotted off down the hill to Goldies Bush.  It was just magical, straight into the lush bush under the shady canopy which was so welcome, as it must have been around midday by then.  The compulsory swing bridge photo was taken before we pushed on to the gem - the Mokoroa Waterfall. While climbing over over a fallen tree which had blocked the trail, Stu gave me a look which I can only imagine translated to WTF?  I think we were both feeling the effect of the k's and the vert but all the while I was feeling like a pig in shit. This was my happy place.

 There were deep convos, light laughs and the shared enjoyment of what were experiencing.  How lucky I felt to be doing this and how amazing our bodies were that they can take us to these places.  Of course there were moments when I felt tired, but I was surprised & stoked when I realised, shit, I feel like I could just keep going.  After a final race up the hill back to the car, we enjoyed a picnic in the boot of my station wagon reflecting on what a beautiful place this was.

 Covered in mud, scratches & sweat, I put my mum hat back on and headed off to kindy & school to collect the kids, still buzzing for the rest of the day.  

 This was my greatest run ever.

 Thanks Stu!

November 6, 2019

Tracy Elley

My greatest run ever was a life-changer for me. It came about completely by accident. 

Our overseas friends had entered the Tarawera Ultra in 2018. I had never heard of it and didn’t really understand exactly what it was. Our friend had entered the 102km and his partner wanted to do the 62km relay event. She was looking for a teammate to run the first 22km. My husband said he was keen, so the team was entered. 

A few weeks before the event my husband pulled a hamstring and by race week it hadn’t improved too much. I lined up with him during the registration and he was still humming and harring whether he could run it. While in line I quietly said that maybe I could do it. We didn’t want to disappoint our friend who had flown so far and not have her race. With a quick scramble to arrange a gear bag, all of the sudden I was doing it. At this point I had been running 5km parkruns. My biggest run was just 8kms. I had only just started back at running due to recurring injuries from being a hard out road runner and triathlete. I literally gave up running for 10 years and just stuck to mountain biking and swimming. 

So there I was on a cold, dark, rainy morning boarding a bus that wound its way into the middle of the Tarawera forest and left us there. It was quite surreal and magical. While waiting to start, there was a traditional Maori ceremony to start the event and ......we were off. 

Immediately we started on a single trail and everyone (towards the back) was walking in a long train of people. I was completely confused by this . No one seemed in a hurry or wanted to run! You see, I have a triathlon background and you never, ever walk unless you are dying. I was a little impatient to get going so politely one by one skipped passed people. All I could think about was that I had to get a move on as my teammate was waiting for me. I remember people actually stopping and taking selfies at the waterfall. It was an amazing waterfall. I had a quick glance but I just couldn’t believe that people would actually stop and take pictures in the middle of a race. After a few more k’s I needed a drink. I was carrying a very mini camelback backpack which contained a water bladder plus all my compulsory gear. For the life of me I could not suck any water through that hose. It had always worked in the past on my mountain bike but this time too much stuff was jammed in that bag and must have squashed the hose. So I didn’t get a drink until the first aid station at 13km. By this time I think that most of the people I passed in that train at the beginning were now passing me. I continued on but much slower than before. The 100k’ers and 87k’ers were effortlessly gliding past me like they were in their first 5km. There were loads of fallen trees we had to climb over and in the end my quads were killing me from jumping off them. At one point I was running by myself and thought I’d come to a dead end and gone the wrong way, then another runner came by and scrambled up a set of rocks. I couldn’t believe it. Did we have to climb up there? The rain was falling and there was lots of mud and roots. Eventually I made it to my teammate. I had initially told her I would take between 2 to 2.5 hours tops. I staggered in, wet and in pain at 3.04hrs with the biggest smile on my face. You might think that my account of this run sounds negative but I loved every minute of it. Being in one of the most beautiful forests the world can offer, enjoying the challenge of the trails, but best of all was meeting amazing people that all seemed to be enjoying themselves. They were the most relaxed bunch of people I have ever met. My teammate didn’t even grab my race chip off my ankle and run immediately. Instead, she gave me a big hug, asked my how my run went and took me to the food table. I was very confused by this behaviour in a race. Can you actually have fun while racing? This was completely new to me. And then she set off on her 40km run. I joined her for the last 5km to the finish and thought to myself, this is not the finish but just the beginning. 

If my husband had not got injured I would not have had this opportunity. Just last week I did my first 50km at the Taupo Ultra and I loved every minute of it. I couldn’t stop smiling just like my first time in Tarawera.

October 23, 2019

Steve Bain

I really enjoy the podcast and I thought I’d chime in with my greatest run ever. It was the first year of the Kokoda ultra marathon and my friend Anthony Thompson was the shiny new race director. Anthony was a long time friend and the person who first got me into ultra running a few years earlier training with me in the blue mountains every Sunday for months for various 50 & 100km races. During a training run for UTA100 He told me about this race he was organizing across the Kokoda track. He will insisted I was a perfect fit and I should come and run it. He reeled off the names of the elite runners he had lined up so far. This made it worse as I saw myself as a substandard weekend hack who would only hold everyone up. I just compared myself to the truly elite runners which had signed up so far and thought I’m going to be the last one in everyday and that was that. In the meantime I had been training for a 24hr obstacle race with good friend and running beast Jason Reardon ( just won La Ultra 555 km ) who helped me realize I was stronger than I thought helping me get a top 10 finish in that race. With this new level of fitness and confidence I succumb to Anthony’s constant nudges and signed up for Kokoda. 

 Before I knew it, I was on a plane to Kokoda  to do this race. I got a chance to meet all the runners and chill at our hotel before hand eased my nerves. Finally it was the morning of the race. We were piling in last minute calories from the buffet when we were told that we were unable to fly to Kokoda to the start line due to some domestic trouble with airports being shut and a few other issues. It was suggested that we run reverse the course going from owners corners and run to Kokoda instead. In true trail runner fashion everyone just nodded and agreed with a smile accepting that shit happens and this was a good solution. After a bus trip through the Owen Stanley range looking nervously up at just how big these mountains were it was go time. We were on the start line taking obligatory selfies then we were off running. I was feeling great cruising along on that race day high until I started the climb up to Iorbaiwa Rigde. I could feel my back aching and I was feeling every bit of the 12.5 kg on my back. I had trained hard and this was not part of the plan. I was the mayor of struggle town. I finally made it down to ofi creek and Anthony who was sweeping had well and truly caught me could see the misery plastered all over my face and he helped my calm down a bit by taking 5 minutes to chill in the creek which was awesome and brought some me temporary relief. I put my pack back on and started trudging up the 1300 m climb to camp.   Within 20 minutes the cramps were back. There were some discreet tears and a few moments of frustration as I had to constantly stop and stretch my back which was seizing up after about 10 steps. Negative thoughts engulfed my mind. I just kept thinking you should not be here !!. This is the easy day !! Tomorrow is almost 3,000 m of climbing !! Your screwed. After finally getting into camp in the dark I just went and sat quietly. Everyone had already changed we’re chatting amongst each other. To my surprise everybody in camp gave me a pat on the back and offered some advice. Kellie Emerson giving me some specific stretches and a stick roller insisting that I do these and get some sleep and it would help. I took this advice onboard but was still feeling very down hearted with very little hope for the next day. 

The next morning I woke up a little stiff but otherwise ok. I started off positively but waiting for the inevitable back cramps to come. To my amazement I warmed up and was running freely with no back issues. I was finally running without the constant distraction of back pain. I was on cloud 9 taking in the history of the battle fields, imagining the fear of the young diggers as they marched into the unknown through dense vegetation not knowing where the enemy was. I was now taking a few minutes to read the plaque scattered along the track. 

I got into camp that afternoon feeling fantastic and as I came over the bank into camp everybody was on their feet cheering. That was the most amazing feeling to experience how happy everyone was For me !!!! 

 The third day was a handicap start with the race horses being left in the stables for a bit whilst we got a head start with the plan of everyone finishing a bit closer together. This had an unexpected bonus when they caught up to us after a few hours was a quick chat and then a master class in technique as these beasts either went trotting uphill like mountain goats or flying effortlessly down the gnarliest piece of single track you’d ever seen into the distance. I was just running carefree totally absorbing everything the track had to offer from interacting with the local vendors selling the most refreshing room temperature $5 coke’s I’d ever had to the little girl who’s eyes lit up when she notices a bags of snakes ( candy ) in my hand. She was beside her mother and I stopped and offered her one. She stared straight at me never breaking eye contact, reached out slowly and gently tugged the corner of the bag taking the whole bag much to her mother’s dismay. All I could do was laugh and move on knowing I’d never forget that moment. 

 This race taught me that tomorrow is a new day and no matter what level runner you are, everyone has the same goal and everyone still genuinely cares how someone else is going. That is why it’s my greatest run ever.

October 16, 2019

Jenny Hirst

This is cheating a bit, as my greatest run ever was read out on episode 2 or 3, an epic tale of crewing and pacing my mate through the mudfest of the inaugural Tarawera 100 miler in 2018.

The title of this run should be “My first greatest run”. This is a tale of a very short, simple but particularly life changing run that happened many years ago, before most listeners were even born!

I will set the scene – Rangitoto College, late 1970s. I was a skinny nerdy 3 rd former, and I hated school PE classes. I considered myself terrible at sport, but with the distance of years, I can be kinder to myself. I was fit, had a free-range childhood, and had spent many hours in the water and up mountains, courtesy of my dad. Organised team sports were my challenge.

Our 3 rd form PE teacher was a guy called Terry Valder, and he was pretty cool, PE had improved a bit on previous years.

However come winter it was cross-country season, and I was not looking forward to this. Cross-country had not featured in my earlier school years, athletics was something I dreaded, every race saw me bringing up the rear. Apparently, I was someone who “could not run”. Going on previous form, I could not imagine this turning out well…

It was a typical wet Auckland winter’s day. We were all barefoot, shivering in our compulsory PE uniform, which for the girls involved hideous blue and white checked rompers – a particularly unflattering and outdated item of clothing. The course crossed a soggy sports field, entered the pine forest bordering the school, and then followed a bush trail around the perimeter of the grounds, and through some of the land where you now find the Millennium Institute of Sport. In those days the college was on the edge of suburbia – to the west was bush and forest, farmland, and orchards.

The sports field was swamp like, and the trail was slippery clay. There were tree stumps to avoid, pine needles underfoot, and the track wound up and down, looping around the trees. Very quickly, we spread out. I remember being all alone and wondering if I was lost, or had taken a wrong turn (this still happens to me regularly). It seemed to go on and on, and bizarrely I did not mind. I was running as hard as I could, relishing the mud between my toes – it felt almost subversive to be getting so dirty in the middle of a school day.

Eventually I popped out of the trail onto the rugby field, and ran back to the gym. To my complete surprise, I was the second kid back and first girl in the class. Mr Valder was suitably impressed and told me to sign up for the school cross-country team. My parents were disbelieving – I vividly remember them saying “but you can’t run!”

This is the run that flicked a switch for me, turning me into someone who could run, indeed loved to run. It probably would have happened eventually, but for me this was the moment. I did join the school cross-country team, and ran 800 and 1500m in the athletics team. No great victories, very much a mid-pack runner. But a runner never the less. I ran my first half marathon in my early 20s, and after a break came back to it in my 30s. Over the last 20 years I have run roads, trails, parkruns, marathons, ultras, all terrains and in all weather. Sometimes I run fast, usually I run slow. Trails are my passion, even linking the green bits we have around our cities for urban trail adventures. I still relish running in the mud, it feels like being a kid again. However, the best part are the friends I have made over the years, the inspiring speedsters and back of the pack battlers, and all those in between.

I guess I should thank Mr Valder for sending me out on those muddy trails over 40 years ago, and turning me into someone who could really run.

(Attached is a pic of me in the Rangitoto College 1980 Athletics Team. The coach on the left is the legendary Dave Norris who competed at 5 Commonwealth Games, winning silver and bronze in triple jump. The guy next to me is my mate Brian. We are still running today – see the other photo taken 38 years later of us with my husband Pete. Not bad for a bunch of nearly 55 year olds!)

October 9, 2019

Liz Mackevicius

My greatest run ever (or at least the one that sticks in my mind most clearly) was on the first day of an epic 6 day adventure in Colorado in September 2018.

A year or so earlier, on a bit of a whim (airline sale emails clearly to blame) I'd booked a trip to the US, figuring I"d find something similar to the Tanawaha trail camp I'd done with Sally McRae the year before. A quick google search pointed me in the direction of Rickey Gates' HutRunHut - 100miles across the Continental divide in Colorado - 'prioritising fun over fast, running between the 10th Mountain Division Huts with some serious altitude'. As Rickey says: If you believe that you can run 100 miles through the Rockies, then I do too!" I was signed up!

My coach got to work planning how to approach training for this multi day, crazy adventure.

I spent months training, seeking out altitude training, upping my strength training  and backing up Sunday 50k races with Monday runs. I was pretty scared of the combination of altitude, climbing, and 6 days.

Spending a few days in Denver I realised this was going to be every part the challenge I'd thought it would be.

The drive to Aspen was spectacular, mountains rising and the air thinning.

We gathered bright and early in central Aspen, the mountains and set off. Running through town, bundles of nervous energy, we left the concrete, which we wouldn't see again (save for a single road crossing on day 5) till Red Cliffs a week later.

The first trails were green and lovely, a favourite with local dog walkers . When they asked where we were going and we said 'Red Cliffs' they took a moment to realise this wasn't a casual amble

Soon the other trail users thinned out, and we were on our own. The trail climbed, and the group had spread out a little.

We were in the dense forest, seemingly miles from anywhere when the slow gradual climb reached a small peak and we started the descent. Floating easily (it was the first day, after all) over the rocks and tree roots, I shortly realised it was Rickey behind me, holding up the back of the pack. We got chatting, him expressing a bit of surprise someone would travel all the way from Australia to go on this camp, and me trying not to be a bit starstruck by this trail running royalty I was sharing the single track with.

The rolling downhill went on, the flora becoming greener and the conversation continuing, for a good half hour. All the training had paid off, the boring solo weight session were worth it, and the months of slight nervousness were all behind me.

Any trepidation I felt about the challenge ahead had dissapeared, as I realised it I was capable of getting through this by taking it one step at a time. All I had to do was keep moving, and appreciate the opportunity to be in such a beautiful place surrounded by interesting people.

Suddenly we reached a flat, and caught up to the rest of the group. I was a bit overwhelmed, not up to sharing my lightbulb moment with my new friends just yet, but also please that I'd gotten my self in to a mindset that was about enjoyment and appreciation. One of my greatest runs ever.

October 2, 2019

Olivia Manning

Hello Matt, Eugene, and all DCR fans,

 First things first, I absolutely love your podcast, and as I have read and heard from other contributors of Greatest Run Ever, it is truly wonderful to have such a wonderful podcast from good old little New Zealand about running - it's like having a podcast to come "home" to - so thank you for the laughs, the good chats, the bants, and for your Kiwi contribution to the running podcast community.

 My greatest run ever is one of those humbling, unintentionally great runs that you don't know is going to be amazing until you reach the end. Mine was just an 8km run in Whangamata in May this year. I was visiting Whangamata for the first time on a weekend away with friends, and my friend Lester and I decided to get up early on Sunday morning and go for a light 3km run. I say "light" as neither of us had done any running for a good few months (due to injuries)! We ran through the streets, which were still quiet, towards the beach for 3km. At 3km, we walked for a little while, then realised we felt strong enough to keep running. We ran along the beach and just reveled in the crisp morning air, the beautiful weather, and the peacefulness of the beach at that time. Our 3km turned into a solid 8km run. I was so surprised at both the distance we ran, the pace we kept, and how easy it felt. What's more, I had a second wind and absolutely boosted the final 2km and it was so freeing to feel like I was just flying down the streets and far surpassed my own expectations.

 This is my greatest run ever because sometimes, it's the small steps we take in the journey that have the most meaning. I love racing too, crossing finish lines with cheering crowds, and the adrenaline you get in an event. But this run encompassed everything I love about running - I love being outdoors, feeling fit and healthy, enjoying our beautiful NZ scenery, and running with good company, and community. Best of all, it wasn't a gruelling run, but one of those runs where you feel strong and competent - and all it was, was a Sunday morning run. In hindsight, probably should have eased into the distance - but that morning, everything clicked into place and it was my greatest run ever.

 Thanks team, keep up the good work - hope to see you and other DCR fans on the trails in Riverhead, or at an NZ event, in the future.

September 25, 2019

Natalie Waugh

When I signed up for the WUU2k 2019, I had no idea it would become my greatest run ever. To be honest, I really questioned my sanity in entering it when I began to truly understand how tough it was going to be, nevertheless, I continued to train hard and long in preparation.

 The real reason I decided to enter this ultra marathon was to conquer a very negative view I had of Wellington. In 2011 when I was fresh out of high school, I moved there to study and hated every second. I fell into a deep depression, was unmotivated to go to class, study or run, I cried all the time and put on weight and couldn’t stop eating hot cross buns. After 12 weeks of this, I dropped out and headed home to New Plymouth and since then couldn’t stand the thought of Wellington and if I had to visit, I would count down the minutes until I could leave again.

 So on July 13th 2019, I faced my ‘fears’ of Wellington and stood at the bottom of Mount Kaukau with 62km lying ahead of me. Bang! Off we went- single file up the mountain surrounded by the excited energy of all the runners around me. Before I knew it, we were at the top of the first climb, I looked ahead along the skyline to see a sparkly stream of lights from the runners headlamps in front of me. They were glistening along the ridgeline and lighting up the way which I had to run. It was stunning and easily already stretching a kilometre. The lights of the city were to the left, wind turbines on the hills to the right and the glow of the sun was just cresting the horizon. Suddenly Wellington was beautiful to me.

 Eventually I forgot I was even in Wellington as we twisted and turned through the trails and conquered climbs with epic views! I was taking in the day, breathing in the fresh air, admiring the beauty of the nature around me and bantering with other runners. When I came into aid stations I was always smiling and was blown away by how helpful the volunteers were, plus the fairy bread on the food tables was just amazing!  

 I couldn’t believe the incredible views of the ocean and the South Island after the wind turbine but I also knew every step I took I was getting closer to the dreaded Tip Track I was told would destroy my soul... luckily, even with the Grim Reaper at the top it didn’t and I made it through. However, the final 10km of the run seemed to take forever and the fatigue was starting to set in but I knew that every step I took, I was getting closer to conquering WUU2k and of course conquering Wellington.

 When I finally stepped foot on Mount Victoria the adrenaline of how close I was started to make the fatigue fade slightly and after a few more kilometres I heard someone call my name “Natalie!! You’re almost there, strong finish, strong finish.” A friend from the trail running group back home was cheering for me... and then I saw it.. the finish line. I could see my partner and some friends and every step I took I got more and more emotional. Over 9 months of early mornings, hill repeats and countless black toe nails, I had done it, 10 hours, 14 minutes and 22 seconds later!!

 This day only ended up getting better as when I got back to my hotel room later that night I found out I had won Taranaki’s Wedding Photographer of the Year... In a city I once hated, my two passions, came together to make one of the best days of my life, and my greatest run ever. Wellington, I conquered you.

September 18, 2019

Elly Arnst

Hi Matt, Eugene (& Rigby)

If you asked me four weeks ago what my BRE was my answer would have been 'The Goat 2014'  for the journey it took me on. In fact I'd started writing in saying as much. Then I had a not so great run on Mt Taranaki while training for this year's Goat - rolling my ankle and tearing the ATFL. I managed to get myself the 3.5km back to car, before driving home in a haze of pain, trying to distract myself by listening to the podcast with Scotty Hawker. 

His message of finding the positives in seemingly bad situations stuck with me and for the last four weeks I have tried to keep a positive attitude, starting by accepting my situation - my motto being "it is what it is", and all the while doing as much as I could to rehab my ankle. I've had months off running before - two pregnancies and hamstring tendonitis, and struggled with the mental side of not being able to run. This time my approach and attitude has been different and it's been a lot more bearable.

Today I was given the all clear to try a gentle 5min run. Super excited, I drove home and immediately shoed up. There's a nice grassy park full of big trees 50m from my house about 500m long. I jogged slowly down and back. It felt a bit unnatural and awkward, but so amazing to be actually running again. Today was a part of my latest journey of overcoming obstacles - a very slow, slightly stiff 1km through the park over the road. Probably my shortest run ever, but it felt like a small victory - definitely my BRE.

Cheers guys for your awesome interesting conversations. Keep up the great work.

Elly Arnst

Update: I ran 24km at T42 and 25km at NRT.

September 11, 2019

Ginny Dodunski

I have just finished listening to your interview with Kathrine Switzer. I’ve been listening to your podcast since the start and have taken so much wisdom from the many amazing guests you have interviewed.

However the things Kathrine said cut straight to the chase of so much in my life; professional, personal, and in running; I had a huge smile on my face for most of the interview, and it made me grab the green number 257 from my wee pile of race numbers, put it down in front of me, and start to write about my greatest run ever.

My greatest run ever is the Taihape Half Marathon 2018. Bet you never saw that coming! Who ever talks about Taihape right?

I’ve ‘run’ to keep fit for a long time, but until fairly recently I’d never run more than about 5km, and at a stretch, the odd 8 or 9 km leg of the Taupo relay.

But then a couple of years ago, my life changed hugely, with the end of my marriage. I found myself in a farm cottage, feeling weirdly like I was starting my adult life all over again, but suddenly, with shared custody of our kids, a bit more time on my hands a couple of days a week.

I remember the first time I went out for a run and realised I didn’t have to rush back, so I just kept going. Figuring out that a Camelbak was a good idea was a huge step forward - once I had something to drink I could keep going even further.

A friend told me I needed an event to aim for, and because I am a rural girl, the idea of a city event didn’t appeal. Cue the Taihape half marathon. An hour and a half down the road, I’d heard it was hard because a lot of the run is on unsealed roads, but I thought that sounded right up my alley. I would no doubt see some sheep along the way. I downloaded the training programme and followed it semi-religiously.

I turned up on a chilly March morning, no idea what I was doing, asked some entrants who looked like proper runners whether I should wear my trail shoes or my road shoes. Road shoes would be fine, they said, so on they went, with my Camelbak, a few sherbet lollies and a little bottle of pineapple juice. (LOL)

And off we went. I’m a slow runner and I let everyone get off ahead of me. I think I was about 3 rd from the back. The course website said there was a tough hill at the beginning, we were going up one but it wasn’t really that steep and I was passing a few people. The bigger hill must have been round the corner.

But then we were heading downhill. For ages, on the tarseal, I dislike running downhill! I ran on the verge for a while for a bit of variety. Then we hit the metal. I know how to run on this, little steps, shuffling along, but going at a good pace. Passing a few more people going up each hill.

At about 14km the course doubles back on itself and I realised only a handful of women had come back past me. I turned for home and decided I was going OK.

Drank my pineapple juice as I was passing a marshal beside a bridge, he asked what it was and I told him it was a Pina Colada.

17km on the metal and my quads were getting tired. Thanks goodness for those squats you do, I told myself, keep going.

Then all of a sudden we were back on the tarseal, 1km to go, I’ve still got gas in the tank, so I hammer it down the hill, past a couple of people and sprint through the finish line. The name of the girl I’d just run past is read out after mine and I realise it’s someone I know and haven’t seen for years. I turn and hug her and within minutes my old acquaintance (nowadays firm friend) is asking if I want to join a team for the upcoming inaugural Ring of Fire race.

I check my race time and can’t believe it… I am the third woman home, in 1 hr 57 minutes. I had secretly hoped to do 2 hours, and am beyond stoked with that time.

I take off my green Taihape Half Marathon number 257, and decide it’s going to be an important thing to keep.

This, my first half marathon, taught me the value of proper training, of running your own race, and showed me that I am capable of far more than I thought I was. It was the beginning of a new phase of physical capability for me, but also of mental strength and self-belief.

In no way has running alone helped me navigate this current chapter of my life, but it has been hugely helpful, and I will always look back on the 2018 Taihape Half Marathon as a day where I learned that our limits are only those that we impose on ourselves.

September 4, 2019

Iain Falconer

Every time I listen I think about my greatest run, and finally decided to send it in. If it does make the show it will be a fun surprise some time in the future when I'm running along looking forward to another interesting conversation.

 So my greatest run starts with dinner with friends when someone mentioned The Goat. I loved the idea and after a few glasses of wine made the bold statement 'I am going to do that this year'. Fortunately for me it was early in the year. I put 1st July in my calendar as a reminder to sign up. 

 At that time I had recently separated from my wife of 17 years and it's fair to say, struggling a bit with a significant change in life. I had 2 fantastic kids and was spending a lot of my time focused on them, changing my relationship from a parent team to a single Dad. With the kids spending 50% of the time with their mum it did also mean I had more time by myself.. which can be good and bad.

 I had never been a runner, had spent more time mountain biking, and loved tramping, so the idea of trail running.. or 'tramping at pace' as I like to call it, had an instant appeal. I had completed a few fun runs and struggled through a couple of half marathons over the years, but as I researched The Goat I realised it would be significantly different from round the bays along the Auckland waterfront.

 I started training on and off road and with a growing level of fitness and connection with the outdoors life began to stabilise and I found a new level of happiness I hadn't felt for a while.

 The first Goat was the alternative route from Ohakune, ticked that off but of course felt I hadn't yet done it. So back again for the next year. Which gave me another year of trail running further increasing my enjoyment. I was still tramping at pace. I was never going to break any records, however I got satisfaction from knowing I could pop out for a 10, 15 or even 20km run/walk at the weekend and get lost in Waitakere ranges for a few hours.

 The next attempt at the Goat arrived, the conditions were perfect. Clear skies, not too warm (obviously), nervous for what lay ahead, but excited too. The waves started and soon I was heading down Bruce Road and onto the trail. I was expecting a path, like many of the trails around Whakapapa village, I soon realised it was not going to be like the trails I was used to. After about 7km I found myself happily singing to myself as I traversed the wonderful, rugged landscape, thankful for the life I have in New Zealand with so much access to the great outdoors. As I pressed on I started to get twinges of cramp, and although I had been warned about the waterfall, I had not prepared well. As I descended the stairs to the boardwalk, twinges became full on thigh cramps. Not so much fun anymore. I slogged up and over the waterfall and up onto Mama's Mile, to be met by a Yetti (not an hallucination) who game me a big hung, enough to boost my spirits for the final push to the end.

 It was the end that sealed it as my greatest run ever. As I crossed the finish line, with Adele playing in the background, I had a massive, involuntary, emotional outbursts. I cried like I had never cried before. I had always struggled to connect with my emotions, and this journey I had been on, to achieve the goal of running 20km round a mountain, was so much bigger for me that I had realised. The physical and emotional connection I get from trail running has brought so much value to my life. That was 5 years ago and I still love the freedom running on a trails gives me and the balance it brings to busy Auckland city living and Office working.

August 21, 2019

Alec Rice

Greatest Run Ever—It’s a process.

 Marathon training in Eugene, Oregon has a certain ring to it.  The “je ne sais quoi” of running under the canopy of massive and ancient trees and in the footprints of legends of the sport.  The history of runners who have trained in this valley is as rich as the soil. From the renowned coach Bill Bowerman and Steve Prefontaine to Galen Rupp, Ashton Eaton and Laura Roesler.  Olympic medalists train on the same bark-mulch paths that line the rivers as weekend warriors and mums toting strollers. 

After running my first marathon in 2018, I was by no means “hooked” on the whole running thing, but I felt I could best my first attempt if I stuck with it.  And besides, what better a place than “Track Town USA” to train, I thought. So I set my sights high—Boston—and with almost 30 minutes to cut off my previous marathon time, it was an ambitious goal.

It is the elite athletes in Eugene that got me out of the house in December and the cold mornings in January.  As the rain and sleet turned sideways and the notorious Pacific Northwest winter dropped torrents of rain and snow, I plowed on.  Determined and steadfast in my goal of a BQ. “Fall in love with the process” they would tell me, “Consistency lends itself to improvement.”  It’s about the “comprehensive experience from beginning to end,” I heard on podcasts and read in books. But when its DUMPING rain and 40 degrees, a long run is not something I am “falling in love with.”  To be honest, I wasn’t that much of a fan. I found myself pushing too hard and running too quick of a pace so that my run would be over sooner. “Just show up” I repeated to myself. Boredom crept in, twinges of worry and inadequacy tested my fortitude, and my resolve weakened.   But as the weeks crawled by, I began turning my 4 day training weeks into 5 and eventually 6; weekly miles crept from the low 30s to the mid 50s. My feelings of dread about the days run dissolved into a desire to run. I had a feeling of really missing out on something if I had a zero day.  I began to embrace what all those runners were talking about when they said to fall in love with “the process.”

What I discovered was that I became less fixated on the miles I was mashing, and more excited about the TIME I was afforded to have running.  The time for thoughts to ping around my head, fizzle out, spark up again, and develop into a resolution. What it took was a lack of stimulation.  A focus on the single goal of finishing the run. The clarity of my thoughts was incredible. The freedom to not be distracted. To be lost in the sounds of the season, the smell of river air, the sound of my heart beat and my breathing and the air rushing past me.  It wasn’t the gear I had, the distance I went, or the speed of my turnover, it was simply the time and action of running that I have fallen in love with. Gratefulness oozed from me during my runs. I thought to myself, “Is this what the crazies were talking about when they said things like “flow,” “smooth and easy run,” and “fun-run?”  I found myself finishing runs not struggling with brow furrowed, but smiling like a butcher’s dog. Grateful for my ability, grateful that I was injury free, and grateful for my senses and the world around me. 

Maybe that is a selfish thing, using precious hours to wear away the soles of my shoes.  Time that could be spent developing relationships, cultivating friendships, or earning money.  But in our time of ultra-connectivity, instant answers, and Strava leaderboards, I think it is justified and even desirable to have time alone in silence.  Time to not be inundated with information. Time to relax. Time to breath. With only the thought of placing one foot in front of the other (albeit, quickly).  Introspection does wonders for relationships and it does wonders for personal development. 

Which leads me to my “greatest run ever.”  The 2019 Eugene Marathon was placed on a pedestal for over a year but as the date loomed, came, and went, it seemed that I missed the point of the race.  My race plan fell apart, my body did not respond well on race day, and I missed my goal (although I PR’ed by 15 minutes). No it was not my greatest run, and no I have still not hit the “BQ.”  But my greatest run was a combination of all of my shitty, rain-soaked, downcast, solo slogs. Those “character development” runs that show you have the drive to continue. The runs you look back on when the mile 24 cramps set in and your body is screaming at you to stop.  The runs when no one else is around. The workouts that left me shivering cold in the rain with wobbly legs and a wide grin.

So no, my expectation of having my “Boston qualifying race” be my greatest run ever did not turn out that way.  But that’s one more thing that I have come to learn through this strange sport of running—that moments of impact that leave an impression are often not pleasant.  But when you embrace the process for what it is, the process looks and feels pretty damn good.

August 14, 2019

Lee Barrowman

Hey guys, thought I'd try to put into words my greatest run ever for your show. Love it by the way and find the guests you have on, always inspirational.

Firstly a little context, I'm a shift worker and fit running in around work and family life as I'm sure many people have to. This also means I spend most of my running going solo on the trails around Wellington. 

For a long time I've admired the ultra distance side of the sport and wondered if I could finish a long event. This year I turned 40 and decided it was time to stop putting it off, ( mid life crisis says the wife, cheaper than a Harley says I).

So, I found myself stood alone in a crowd, in the dark, at the foot of Mt KauKau last weekend with the WUU2K 62km ahead of me, thinking 'what have I gotten into?' No backing out now, especially as I'd decided to raise sponsorship for a local charity, Porirua Sing Your Lungs Out, who do sterling work with a choir for sufferers of respiratory disease, where singing can help with lung function.

The countdown from 10 and we're into it, slowly climbing in single file up to the skyline and the nervous energy was bubbling away as I just wanted to run and tame the apprehension, it wasn't long though until we were heading south on the Skyline walkway and I was part of what is surely an iconic scene of race, twilight before dawn and a string of lights ahead, dancing across the landscape. A definite highlight of the day and the apprehension turned to excitement. 

Feeling good, I only stopped at the first aid station to remove and stow my headtorch and planned a longer stop at aid station 2 where a co worker had kindly said he would pop down on his way home from work to say hello. 

The faces around me were becoming familiar as we settled into similar pace and the sporadic chat and banter started, usual stuff I guess, experience, expectations for the day, great weather!!

Running into aid station 2, I was greeted by many smiling and encouraging volunteers, part of the volunteer team who really make this event special and can't do enough for the runners at every aid station and Duncan, my co worker waiting too. It was great to see. After sorting out water and food we had a quick chat and Duncan surprised me by saying he'd see my at AS3 as well. What a good fella I thought as I hadn't expected him to make the effort to see me there. 

Sure enough he was at AS3 too, and by this time I was starting to feel the terrain in my legs. 'I owe this guy a beer' I thought and when he'd helped me out he said 'I'll see you at Owhiro bay', AS4! It didn't end there either, Duncan finally said goodbye at the foot of the tip track, an absolute gentleman who gave up half of his day off to make sure I had a familiar face to help. What a guy! 

By now the legs were jelly but it was the downhills where I was really suffering. Everyone passing each other on the tip track had nothing short of encouragement for those going up and I tried to pay it back when I hobbled down. 

Tip track done! On the home stretch! Through the last aid station and more walking than running here!

A quick text to my wife that I'm nearly at the finish, as she had flown back from the South Island with my son to be there and 'If only I can just keep those two guys behind me, then it'll help push me home' I thought!

Effort was enormous at this point, the elevation of the course taking its toll, cramps coming in waves, sore feet and although on the home stretch I started to really struggle to keep moving forward, 'still, the guys behind haven't caught me yet so keep going'! 

Into the 'urban' parts and a road crossing into Mt Vic for the finish, waiting to cross I was caught by the two fellas behind and was really struggling at this point. A big slap on the back and a friendly 'we've been chasing you down for ages' said none other than Matt Rayment and I, Matt and Eugene entered the last few Kms together. 

After running with you guys for a while, the banter and good natured cursing of the course lifted my spirits enough to pick up the pace a little and with encouragement I pushed on ahead to the finish. I could hear the cheers as I crested the last little hill and waiting to run the last 50m with me was my son Noah. What a special moment, crossing the line with him. Unforgettable. 

The emotion at the finish got the better of me, a bucket list achievement ticked off and a fantastic day and a perfect finish. 

For a solo runner, the community vibe of this event was intoxicating and I can only thank all of the organisers, volunteers and runners who make WUU2K what it is, a very special race. I'm looking forward to 2020! Definitely my Greatest Run Ever! 

August 7, 2019

James Goodwill

I kept thinking about what mine would be after listening to your show, and whether it would be acceptable as it wasn't in New Zealand, however I've heard some epic ones involving vomiting at UTA for example so figured I'd submit mine. I've had my fair share of vomiting, including the inaugural Ring of Fire at the first aid station, and even at my spectacularly bad end and early exit at the truly incredible Riverhead ReLapse - but this one doesn't involve regurgitation of any sort, or in Aotearoa, which is why I have been in two minds about submitting it. 

Rewinding to the muddy-as-hell Tarawera of 2018, I had just completed the 87K option, and was chewing the fat with a lady who'd just rocked the 100KM as we indulged in beers through the non-stop rain. Realising we were both from a similar part of the world, we discussed a 100 mile event we were both interested in, the Pennine Barrier 100 Miler, over the Yorkshire Three Peaks, and that maybe we'd be at the same start line. The next morning I witnessed some serious stoicism of the inaugural 100 mile finishers who'd trudged through driving rain and endless mud to finish in close to the 36 hour mark. it was one hell of an emotional outpouring, and incensed me to do a 100 mile race the same year. 

Preamble complete, after Tarawera, I'd partially engineered the family holiday around the Pennine Barrier, and had roped in a couple of my old housemates and drinking buddies from university days, one to run the first lap / 50 miles with me, and the other to crew us both. Obviously, we shared a drink or two in a local hostelry the night before the race, along with Kelley from Riverhead.

I won't go into every detail of the race, and made some significant blunders, lessons to be learned, and blunders that I will no doubt repeat in the future. The race was however two 50-mile laps over a good amount of climbs, with me completing the first 50 mile lap feeling remarkably OK, and was stoked to see friends waiting for me, and sadly. The only downside was seeing my old housemate there after DNFing after falling and taking on significant damage on a gnarly skeet section of the course.

I set off on lap two in good spirits which lasted right up until the sun started to go down and the temperature plummeted. Around this time I had my first, last and only thought of "why am I doing this course again. In. The. Dark"  before I remembered I had no sufficient excuses to quit - I couldn't be at the finish-line and tell my son that I gave up "because I'd had enough" so sucked it up and completed the second lap with no mental whinging to be had. 

Up until about the 120K mark I was still feeling unexpectedly OK and was still able to run the flat and downhills, But then, and only then, my feet started to hurt, coupled with the sun rising on what was day 1 of an unexpected heatwave in the UK, at which point I realised I'd left my cap and sunnies at the half way mark. So a sun-glaring, head boiling (I had to keep my beanie on) achey footed shuffle to the end ensued.

But I did it, and at the finish line there was my 5 year old son to run across the line with - which was basically what I wanted more than anything else - to cross the line with him. It  took 29.5 hours from setting off to getting to this moment, and this bit alone made all the suffering worthwhile worth it. I didn't care that I sacked off a 9th= place to cross the finish, it was irrelevant - it was only ever about crossing that line holding his hand - a boy that both unwittingly got me into ultra-running, and got me through the bad patch of the night's. And that's why it's my Greatest Run Ever.

July 31, 2019

Alex from Wellington

Kia ora Matt and Eugene,

My name's Alex, I'm a 22 year-old Wellingtonian and (more importantly) a dedicated listener of DCR. I love your down-to-earth-ness and have learnt something from every episode. I thought it was about time to share my Greatest RunEver with you--feel free to share it on the show/website!

My Greatest Run Ever is completing the Aorangi Undulator last year, the 33km wilderness/backcountry adventure in the southeast of the North Island. 

I decided to tramp the first part of the course with my dad the weekend before the event, mainly to get an idea of what I’d be in for. I’m still not sure if this was a good or terrible idea, as the reality check of how challenging the trail would be instilled some serious doubt in my mind. I remember getting to the first hut (after only the first undulation) and wondering what on earth I had got myself into. But there was something about the thought of tackling a seemingly impossible challenge that made the event even more enticing. 

On the morning of the run, we gathered at the riverbed where the run started in the Mangatoetoe valley. The gentle rain had already started, and wouldn’t stop for most of the day. We moved steadily along the riverbed, past the dead cow we had been warned about, hopping across the river a few times, through a fairy-like forest, until we hit the first climb. The terrain in the Aorangi ranges is technical and unforgiving, but the beautiful native forest sheltered us for a lot of the course.

I knew how easy it would be to get lost if we didn’t follow the orange flashes. It was as much of a concentration game than anything: watch your footing, look out for the flashes— and the ongaonga (native bush nettle)! My hand was still tingling from the weekend before, when my hand was attacked by the poisonous plant. 

I quite enjoy the challenge of climbing hills (not so much the downhill part though). There was no shortage of both up and down on this course, to say the least! For parts the run I bush-bashed, slogged and crawled with other runners, and at other times I found comfort in my own silence. 

There were moments when the bush got pretty dense and then the next hut would appear, marking the beginning of the next climb, each a bit further than the previous one. The most memorable moment for me was arriving at one of the signs of encouragement, handwritten on a piece of cardboard tied to a tree in true grassroots fashion. It read: ‘Find your happy place’. In that moment, I realised I didn’t need to find it—I was already in it, in the thick of Aotearoa’s native forest. 

High on endorphins, I made it to the top of the final (seemingly never-ending) undulation and enjoyed fresh water and strawberries before making it down with the little I had left in my legs, past the Putangirua Pinnacles, to the finish line. I felt so grateful to have a body that could carry me over these hills. Finishing this run without getting lost or injured made me realise that running is such a privilege that I too often take for granted.

This run sticks in my mind as it was the first time I had overcome real doubt about such a mental and physical challenge. More importantly, it was a day spent with such supportive people in our unique natural environment, and I can’t think of a better way to spend any day.

Thanks for reading!

Ngā mihi nui, nā

July 3, 2019

Mike Monastra

Hey Guys,

 I want to start off by saying you have an awesome thing going with DCR. I stumbled on it by randomly searching for trail running pod casts to load up for a long drive. I wasn’t really expecting to find anything, let alone one produced in NZ! Its uncanny and strangely satisfying listening to a show discussing trails and people I run on and with (respectively!).

 My greatest run was on a stunning day in December just outside of Rotorua. Somewhere around Lake Tarawera I think, I can’t actually remember and I think that’s part of the magic of the memory. I was in town for the day for a work trip so following my site inspection I popped into the I-Site in town check the maps for a 10-ish km trail to explore before the drive back home to Wellington. I found a section of trail that looked suitably scenic with a lookout marked at about 5km. I figured I would drive there, do 5 kms out then turn around and come back.

Setting off with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, the shoes on my feet and the watch on my wrist I felt so unbelievably free, and that feeling only escalated the further I went. I made it to the look-out but definitely wasn’t ready to stop. I thought I’d do another couple of kms, and when that came, thought I’d do a couple more. In the end I rode that high right up to the tallest lookout on the route about 13kms out. It was Summer and sitting somewhere in the high 20’s so for the run back I wore my t-shirt on my head, stopping at every stream and creek to soak it in the cold water to try cool me down. Thick native bush all around, single track underfoot and views out over the gorgeous lakes and landscape. It doesn’t get much better than that!

I finished the run absolutely spent and headed straight to the Fat Dog Café in Rotorua for possibly the best burger I’ve ever had, before the drive home.

I’ve had plenty of amazing runs but this one stands out to me for that transcendent feeling of freedom and joy. I think of it fairly often. It makes me remember why people love this weird sport, and motivates me to keep getting out there and discovering new trails to chase that feeling.

Maybe a bit wordy, but I’ve tried to capture the feeling of a great run that you can’t really describe - well my words can’t anyway.

June 26, 2019

Malcolm Kerr

Hey guys, I am an avid listener of your interviews (favourites would have to be Lucy Bartholomew for always coming across as being super happy, and Camille Herron just because she is quite simply badass).

 Is it possible to put forward a recommendation for future guests as I would love to hear an interview with Gareth Thomas, which times quite well with Wuu2K coming up in July and his other crazy race that he is on about putting out there for 2019.

In terms of my greatest run ever, I recently came back from competing in the Tenzing Hillary Everest Marathon. The run itself could only be described as brutal and broke many a seasoned trail runners; my quote to a fellow competitor (Richard Morris – British Ambassador to Nepal) was “during ultras there is normally a point during the race where you question life decisions and wish death upon yourself… With the Everest Marathon you have those thoughts before you even get to the starting line’.

The scenery could only be described as being spectacular, and was something that you had plenty of time to enjoy it as you slowly meandered up to basecamp over the course of a couple of weeks to reduce chances of altitude sickness, which was a good thing because I was soo busy watching my footing on the run back down that all I saw in front of me was glimpses of a friends thighs peeking out from his short shorts.

Not many people can say that they have camped at Everest basecamp let alone started a marathon there – I just pity the poor people who made the daft decision to sign up to the 60k race… I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid.

After spending the best part of a year building up my training in preparation for this event, the inevitable happened and I went over on my ankle three weeks before I was due to leave and with a prognosis of a grade three rupture of the ligament, it put serious doubt on whether I would be able to fly out for the event. Thankfully due to some wonderful support from a number of physios (big up to Hazel Lund) I managed to head out with my ankle heavily strapped and me promising that I would take it easy and walk it if needs be.

I left the icy basecamp on the first little climb over around 100 meters up along the skyline, where I picked up a fellow runner from Ireland who I stayed with for the next 8 hours with us completing the race in a fairly respectable time of 8:21.

Cheers for all the work you guys do in raising the profile of trail running in NZ.

June 19, 2019

Dan Eldridge

Hi Matt and Eugene,

The journey to my greatest run ever started about 8 weeks ago when the company I work for came together on a Friday afternoon to listen to a few staff talk about something they were passionate about.

One person spoke about rock climbing and being a dirt bag in Yosemite Valley, another spoke about mental health, and another rated his favourite pizza joints in Adelaide, but the seed for the idea that would become my greatest run ever was planted when one of the team started talking about her journey living with Multiple Sclerosis. She finished her presentation by asking the team to support The May 50k, a fundraiser that calls on participants to run or walk 50k during the month of May.

I honestly can't remember if beers were involved or not but within an hour, two of us had decided it would be a good idea to run the 50km in a day. We wanted to make more of a spectacle out of it to raise more visibility though so we thought we could just run around our office block on a Friday afternoon. The block turned out to be 214 meters so we had to complete 235 laps to get the distance.

We asked other team members to get involved during the month and to save a few kms to run with us on the last day. We thought it would be a good laugh and a bit of an adventure but it turned out to be so much more...

On the last day of May at 11am we started our first lap, but it wasn't a silent affair. The team mate with MS joined us planning to run the first and last 10km, and surrounded by the full company we were cheered off the line.

For the next 5.5 hours we were cheered every single time we passed our office door. That alone would have been amazing, but it got better. We had people from the company join us to run throughout the day, about 20 different runners all up. The team member with MS got caught in the moment and ended up covering around 30km, more than twice her previous longest run. We had another team member with MS join us and we walked together for a lap giving us a chance to reflect on just what we were in the middle of.

For the rest of the day we enjoyed every moment. Team mates that didn't run got involved by guessing how long it would take us to run a lap carrying our kids, or how long an egg and spoon lap would take. They guessed the time taken for someone to eat a burger, run a lap and then eat another burger and they tried to guess how fast one of the other 20 runners could complete a lap.

As the laps ticked off the support got louder, businesses on the block brought us food and drinks and joined the cheering, and the office PA system was used to count down the number of laps left.

As the three of us who began the run joined together once more and broke the improvised finishing tape made out of toiler paper, we just couldn't believe what we had experienced. Our entire company had come together to support each other and we raised money for a very worthwhile cause.

Running has provided me with some amazing experiences and memories but spending the day running laps of the block has to be my greatest run ever.

I've never felt prouder of the place I work or the people I work with, and I know it's a memory that will stay with us all for a very long time.

Cheers,

Dan

June 12, 2019

John Simkiss

My Greatest Run Ever

The Old Ghost 85

The Conquest of Rainbow Bottom!

I do not sprint. I leave that to the Olympians. I do not run. That is the privilege of the Jim Walmsley’s

and Vajin Armstrong’s of this world. Then there is jogging, which if sustained, represents my athletic

ambition. But my reality says there are only two speeds. There is walking and, only fractionally above

that in tempo, shuffling. I did my first marathon 4 years ago at age 54. 4 hours 34 minutes of

shuffling. I have improved on that by only 6 minutes since then. Yes I am a sub 4 hr 30 marathoner!!

which qualifies me for, well nothing much really, but I am happy!

The Old Ghost Road 85 would be the longest event of my life and easily the one with the most height

gain. I haven’t yet come last in any of the events I’ve entered but this could be the one. I wouldn’t

mind at all. 16 hours cut off they said. I would be overjoyed to finish inside the cut off time whatever

my placing. Even ‘finishing’ after the cut off time would be OK, just as long as I did it. I set my

thinking to this. I start in the dark and 16 hrs later it would be dark again. So keep moving John I tell

myself as long as there is daylight.

We start and within a minute we are forced to walk. Too many people for the track. I like this. I am

surrounded by people who are faster than me but for now (apart from the elites who are already out

of sight) we are all the same. I belong in this company. A nice feeling. A few athletic types pass me.

‘Good on you’ I think to myself. I get the impression that everyone wants everyone else to do well, I

like that, so I practice warm thoughts toward those more able than me. As the light overcomes the

darkness and I finally switch off my impressive 300 lumens. I feel really good. My shuffle/walk

strategy is working a treat. I decided I would walk every up hill. Even the small ones. Though I watch

others press on through them I stick to my plan. Walk the ups and shuffle the rest. The stronger

people can pass me. Good on them.

First aid station comes and goes. The volunteers were so nice. I stand and nibble at something but

am suddenly aware of an urgent need of a number two. I make my way down to the portaloo and

take a seat, do the necessary and reach for the toilet paper. There is no toilet paper. What do I do?

Open the door and shout for help? The health worker in me says yes, but the embarrassed

Englishman in me says ‘no’, ‘no way!’ I wiggle. I stand. I pull up my shorts, I push open the door and

go. All part of the ultra experience I tell myself. Yes to carry on regardless is totally authentic. I join

the other shufflers hoping they can’t tell. Specimen Point is behind me. An appropriate name under

the circumstances.

I am a little nervous. I have learnt from 15 or 16 marathon plus events in the last 3 years that

distance running involves a lot of bottom watching, unless of course one is Vajin Armstrong. Its

impossible to avoid. My wife once told me I had a ‘pert’ bottom. I was delighted of course, but the

sample of bottoms from which my good lady made her assessment was not at an athletics club. The

pertness of my posterior is truly humbled at this event. And such an array of coverings too. I wonder

if my secret is evident from behind. Luckily there are not too many people behind me to offer an

opinion.

At half way I am on schedule. Still feeling good. 6 hours and 36 minutes. Quicker than I thought

because my uphill walking has been strong. Thankyou Christchurch Port Hills for training me. My

personal experience has definitely been to slow significantly on the second half of events. But even

with significantly more walking I’m beginning to feel hopeful about making the cut off.

But leaving the half way aid station at Stern Valley I find myself wanting to walk and doubts begin to

creep in. Some people pass me and I doubt a little more. Then I hear footsteps behind me again so I

think to myself, ‘time to shuffle’. Come on John you can do it! Conveniently there is a little down

slope and I pick up my legs and shuffle. The sound of footsteps stays with me, they are light

sounding, a spritely young lady I think. Perhaps my secret is safe. Surely if anything was visible she

would have made every effort to pass me! But no she stays in my wake for kilometre after kilometre.

When I shuffle she shuffles a few metres behind. When I walk she walks too. But I never look round.

That seems impolite. The hardest part of the course followed. The sun was out and strong. I thought

we had reached the top a few times before it actually happened. I had worried about the heat and

sun zapping my energy on the tops but the breeze actually made it a pleasure, and the sun dried my

sweaty top. Somewhere during this climb the spritely young lady following my footsteps finally

picked up her pace, and when I slowed from a shuffle to a walk, she carried on shuffling and away

she went. As she impressively left me behind I didn’t get to see her face or her bib number. But I did

see her bottom. Unavoidable. I don’t think I have ever seen lycra quite like it, so many colours. Quite

dazzling! I saw her more distantly a while later passing someone else, I think she was actually

jogging! I decided to name her ‘Rainbow Bottom’. ‘Go Rainbow Bottom’ I said under my breath,

‘You’re a star! Go girl!

Ghost Lake Aid Station came. Once again I am cared for and feel very grateful. I’ll have to volunteer

one day, pay back their kindness. It was there that I discovered I liked something that usually I can

leave quite happily. I thought Bundaberg Ginger beer was the greatest fizzy drink in the world. Easy.

But spread out on the table was coca cola. A kind soul replenished my supply of Tailwind while I

downed some of the brown stuff. WOW!!! Three times over! For one, it was cold which released a

loud ‘ah’ deep from my gut, for two, it was very fizzy which tingled and invigorated my senses and

three well…in some way previously not experienced it tasted great. My body craved it and had to be

obeyed. I had a second and a third and opened a fresh bottle so I could have a fourth. WOW!

I note that there are quite a few people around. I have deliberately never looked back but I reckon

there’s a few behind me. Well 2 or 3. Things are going well.

I deliberately don’t ask anyone how far inside the cut off I am. I am really enjoying the freedom of

choosing when to shuffle without the pressure of knowing the details of my performance. But I

reckoned I was inside the cut off. There is quite a few runners around and they don’t seem worried

and nobody is telling them they need to rush. Back out on the trail I Shuffle, walk, shuffle, walk. I

realise I can keep going without getting out of breath. I get no leg burn on the ups and quads are

surviving the down bits. What was in that coke I thought to myself? I want more!!

Final aid station at Lyell Saddle approaches and there are lots of people just sitting around. I decide

to do the same. As I arrive, ah! There she goes! Rainbow Bottom leaving the aid station. She looks

strong. Well done lady. I linger at the Aid Station just to enjoy the experience. I have been popping in

a gel every hour to supplement the Tailwind, but I’ve had enough of them now. I fill my pockets with

candy and down a few more cokes. So good!! 10 minutes later I leave to make the final push.

The last quarter of an event is always tough for me, I usually end up walking a lot. But I am aware

that the rest of the run is pretty much all downhill. I set off really happy. My legs are good. I wonder,

if its downhill, maybe I can shuffle most of it. ‘Go easy John’ I say to myself ‘don’t get ahead of

yourself’. But I really do feel good. It must be that coke! Incredible. I shuffle easily. Then the

unthinkable happens. I am actually gaining on a couple of people. This is new territory. I keep at the

pace I’m going and expect them to move ahead. But they don’t. Oh my goodness. I think I’m going to

pass them! And pass them I do. And then another. And then another. I actually chuckle out loud!

This is really funny. I really enjoy the switchbacks. Occasionally I stop shuffling and walk. More or less

out of duty to my strategy, but never for more than a few seconds before thinking…’actually I’m

good’, and I get back to shuffling!! I feel like I’m on Km 15 not 70 or 75. I see a man ahead of me. ‘He

looks good’ I think. And then it hits me. That guy isn’t shuffling, he’s jogging and I’m keeping up with

him. John you are jogging!! Another chuckle out loud and I pass him too. I reckon I’ve passed 6

people since the last aid station. But there would be one more.

I know I’m closing in on the finish. The sun is still up. It’s still light. I’m actually going to finish this in

daylight. Leave those 300 lumens in the pack. Not required! Maybe I could break 15 hours. I walk a

little thinking, ‘don’t want to spoil this by tripping and injuring myself’. But again I am back to a

shuffle/jog after a few seconds. And then my final triumph. A flash of colour out the corner of my

eye. No face. No bib number just a swathe of lycra. ‘Rainbow Bottom it’s you!’! I pass her. Jogging. I

don’t look at her face. I don’t turn round to catch her eye or bib number. Just doesn’t seem right. I

voice an acknowledgment of our mutual toiling against the distance, in the form of ‘uh’uh’ or

something like that, and gradually put some distance between us. I wonder if she recognises my

bottom?

Just a few km to the finish and the countdown begins. 5, 4, 3, 2. I don’t remember seeing a 1km

mark. I see some people gathered ahead and a bridge inviting me to join them. I cross it and receive

the warm plaudits of a group of people. I acknowledge them. Thankyou. Have you been there for

hours welcoming runners? Bless you! I walk up the few steps to the finishing chute. I don’t look at

the finishing clock, not at first. I’m actually delighted just to be here, in one piece and actually feeling

good. I allow myself to wonder. I’ve finished really well. Who knows maybe I broke 14 hours 30?

Finally I lift my eyes to the clock. I can’t believe it, I really can’t. 13 hours 10 minutes. My mouth

opens wide in disbelief.

A broad smile rises up and spreads itself across my face. A finishing medal is put on me. I don’t like

finishing medals normally. Feels like I’m some gross medallion man from the 80’s. But I’ll leave this

one on for a while. I accept the cold beer. Not even my pursed lips taking the beer in can conceal my

smile. I walked, I shuffled, for goodness sake I even jogged!

That was the Greatest ‘run’ of my life. The grin stays with me all the way back to Westport to meet

my good lady wife and the next day to Christchurch. I did 85k.

Within 24 hours I’m signed up for the South Island Ultra 100k.

I hope they have coke!

Might see you there Rainbow bottom, whoever you are.

June 05, 2019

Adam Carlson

Greatest Run Ever - Getting back

Two years ago I found an injury 4 years after becoming an ultra runner. About 6 years ago a broken scaphoid got me in to this mess, into this community, into this whanau. I had been in a cast for 6 weeks and still had another month or so to go. My wife was sick of my moping, my disgust at life and not being able to get on my mountain bike or do anything useful with the climbing shoes. I bought running shoes, the cheapest Nikes I could buy. They were blue and looked fast. They started me down the rooty, rocky road to being a runner.

I did a marathon and a half, oddly in that order. Then the Great Naseby Water Race, Ailean and Jamie opened the door to the ultra cupboard. They throw it wide open over there, with open arms and hearts. The cupboard is hidden in Naseby. It’s a sleepy town and on Wet Gully Road the cupboard door lies amongst the tents, campervans and gazebos frozen in to the tailings of long gone gold miners. It is its own little secret world, it’s not Leadville, it’s not Silverton, but it’s mining and it’s

ultrarunning.

I tentatively ran through the door, I carried on for 50km. I was in.

50km at Naseby lead to 47km at a special edition Big Easy marathon, to 52km at the Motutapu Ultra, back to Naseby for 80km, 60km at Kepler, 100km Ultra Easy and a trip over Mt Difficulty.

It was going so well, I had been running for about 4 years, I was in this community. I loved it. I was mostly running by myself. All my ‘training’ was by myself. I hadn’t joined a running club, a run group.

I enjoy running with people in races, but family life, mountain biking life, work life, it’s just easier to run alone.

It was just what I did. In retrospect this wasn’t great for the learning. I was still punishing myself, adding vert, going hard, every time. I wasn’t thinking about what I was eating other than I wanted to eat good stuff so I didn’t get sick. I ate for calories and not being hungry.

I was listening to Ginger Runner, listening to Mountain Outpost. I was getting to know what people were doing. I followed Wild Things Facebook page.

Then my ankle hurt. I shook it as I ran to get the pain out. It kinda collapsed when I got out of bed some mornings, but it came right within a few sleepy steps. When I was heading up hills it really hurt. I kept running and biking and ski-ing.

It got worse. I kept running. I ran 35km to my mates house for a pot luck dinner. When I got there, Icouldn’t stand on it.

The worst had happened. I had wondered what this would feel like. To have to stop.

The physio assured me it would be a few weeks. Weeks went on. I pulled out of a coveted Kepler entry. My Strava started looking sad. I was struggling with the loss of this new found love. I wasn’t healing. I wasn’t getting better. A couple of months later the physio decided that she needed more help.

Specialist, imaging, diagnosis. Contusion to the talar dome. We’d found the problem. The specialist assured me there was now a light in the tunnel, showing the way to its exit. I wasn’t sure. There was a dim light, so I believed her. I was in a moon boot for a few weeks, I wasn’t moon walking, neither was I walking on sunshine (why call it a moon boot? Everyone wants to go to the moon, no-one wants a moon boot). There was a dim light, a flickering candle a long way off, but it was light.

New shoes replaced the moon boot, running shoes. Walking started. Then walking and running. Just 6 min of running in a half hour walk. Oh, but what a minute. It was so good. The light just got distinctly brighter.

12 minutes of running in a half hour walk and we are on track. Trust the science. Trust the process. Trust the experts. Trust the good feelings.

And the time passed and it kept getting better. My trust in the process grew. I followed the process to the letter, ‘return to running programme’ time frames were followed to the second, I used the rules to give me control and a goal. Milestones came and went, the first 5km, the first run to work, first 10km, first 12km, first run out to my happy place. I was now able to listen to running podcasts again. The blue days were fading. I could talk about running goals again, I could think running again.

I started running with a run group. Just occasionally. Beers and loaded fries after an evening run.

Opening more doors to more people. Deeper into this odd society. Parkrun with my family. I was back in.

Then finally, I was back at a race. The excitement and thrill of entering the first ultra after almost 2 years of recovery, if we could spread that feeling of happiness across the world we would be in a better place.

So, I found myself sitting in the boot of the station wagon with my sleeping mat spread out behind me. The stove boiling water for the Aeropress at 5:10am. A bowl of muesli and cream on my lap. A warm breeze washing across my face telling me we wouldn’t need to start in warm clothes this morning. Northburn 50km. It was a good place to return to ultra. It wasn’t going to be easy, it was definitely going to test my ankle, my recovery.

Start lines in the dark are the best. The visual stimulus is lower, it heightens the other senses. I love the sound of 100’s of feet on dirt, padding their way out into the unknown. Stealing Bernd’s words, we are ‘all collectively going out on the hunt for the antelope’. I’d love to say I could smell the fear of some, and the anticipation of others, I couldn’t, in central Otago you can only smell the Thyme.

Remember that Thyme at Northburn?... Ah, don’t worry.

The home loop comes and goes faster than you’d expect, the sense of anticipation for getting stuck into it is there though. Let’s get into that hill.

Watch watching as the sun rises. As we rise into the cloud. The view isn’t going to show its face this morning. The cloud wraps us warm though. The dew is heavy but the cloud is warm.

Uphill kms early in a race seem to move quickly. I’m always too busy thinking. I’ll be honest, I don’t know now what I was thinking about, but at the time it was important. Was it my pace, my feeling? I dunno. I do know it’s the first race I haven’t done full body check-ins. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Feeling my way through rather than trying to quantify it.

Off trail, running through soft moss, down a creek, up a creek, across the moon. Then down. The lake appears through the cloud.

The time is looking good, the last 10km ‘Loop of Deception’, it’s deceiving in so many ways, not least because it isn’t 10km, more like 12 or 13 Terry.

Still the time is looking good. 7 hours was the target and I’m into the last ‘4 km’ (it was 6km Terry) and it’s not yet the 6 hour mark.

The last few km’s of any race are always hard, they should be, you should be leaving everything out there, and if you haven’t, now is the time.

I can hear my wife and kids calling me in. The tears are welling up in my eyes, the grimace is a smile, the pain is good. I cry my way across the line in 6hr 15 mins.

I cross the line and the pain is so good. The satisfaction is so high. Terry gets me a beer. I sit on the grass grandstand hill beside the finish and watch the finishers come in.

It’s done, the recovery is over. I can see the 100km and milers run in to the tent and out the other side. It’s hot now and it’s hard work out there.

Was it the best run ever? It was mine, so far. It paves the way to the next best run ever.

May 29, 2019

Zane Adams

Hey Matt, Eugene and Rigby,

I’ve been thinking about this one for a little while, but I think I’ve finally decided on my #greatestrunever.

Compared to a lot of people in this scene, I’m a relative rookie. 12 months ago I ran my first ever event on a bit of a whim. Having disliked running for as long as I can remember, I entered the Wild Kiwi 15km as a huge challenge to myself.

I mean, I was fit and active - but more in a moving heavy things around the gym kinda way, so I knew it was gonna be tough.

(For context, this event takes you around some gorgeous Northland coastal trails, and up 1000+ stairs for 700ish metres of elevation gain over the first 10km).

I had a few weeks of lacklustre training under my belt and grinded through the run, pretty much collapsing over the finish line.

Despite the expected mediocre performance and world of pain that lingered for days, I was somehow hooked on this trail running thing. The mental and physical battles,  followed by the elation and sense of achievement had sparked a fire.

Fast forward 12 months - a fair few early mornings, weekend long runs, and three ultras thrown in the mix, and I was back at the start line to traverse this little maunga at Whangarei Heads again this past weekend.

Only this time it was for the win! (With what looks to be the 2nd fastest time since the event started).

While I’m stoked with my 2019 result and my progress over the last year or so, I’ve decided that last years Wild Kiwi was my greatest run ever.

It was the toughest thing I’d ever done, sparked an undiscovered passion, and set me on this journey to testing my limits, meeting awesome people and exploring amazing places.

Keep up the solid mahi boys!

May 22, 2019

Katrina Gurnick

Kia Ora guys,

I’ve been wanting to send in my greatest run ever since the beginning of Dirt Church. Unfortunately I just couldn’t think of anything that I could give that title too. Sure it could’ve been my first marathon, or taking on the west coaster 30km in 2017 as my first trail run or even conquering Tarawera 50km in February this year...but I just didn’t feel like any of those truly deserved the title.

But fear not gentlemen, I won’t waste anymore of your time reminiscing about what could’ve been because on the 13th of April 2019, I finally had my #greatestrunever!

I had entered the Waitomo 35km Trail run as something to focus on between Tarawera and Hawkes Bay marathon. It was never going to be anything other than a run to keep my legs ticking over the kms. And everyone seemed to claim it as such a ‘must do’ event that I figured why not give it a nudge. By the way they’re right, you really must do this event as it’s the only time you can run these trails.

I had a pretty average training leading up to the event and a week out suffered from the worst case of muscle fatigue imaginable. I ended up taking 3 days off running with the thought it might be easier just to pull out of the race but I didn’t. Race week saw me only getting a 5.5km run in and I essentially went into race day with no major expectations. I just wanted to finish and if everything went ok, I hoped to cross the line at the 6 hour mark.

The bus ride to the start felt like an eternity but upon arriving and walking into the Mangapohue Natural bridge I was speechless and extremely worried that it would pick this moment in time to collapse on all us unsuspecting runners. Thankfully it did not and it provides one amazing start line!

The run takes you up hills and into some technical trails through bush, over and under logs before crossing a stream at 3.8kms and getting your first look at the Marakopa natural tunnel. This is a reason to do the race in itself! I entered with four other runners and as I was the only one with a headlamp, lead them through the otherwise pitch black tunnel.

From there it was over more farmland, through streams and up and down hills that felt like mountains at times, all the while admiring the karst formations scattered throughout. I ‘pottered’ along eventually crossing a road and heading through a large downhill section with plenty of wonderful running to be had.

From here, we had to follow a gravel road back up to a bush trail that lead us down to the Waitomo Trail and onwards to the Glowworm visitors centre and the finish line at the top of the stairs.

At this point I need to apologise for my rambling and feel, just in case you haven’t picked it up yet, that I should elaborate on why this is my greatest run.

I did this entire event just living in the moment. My phone stayed firmly in my pocket once I crossed that start line. I never once stressed about how long it was taking me. I didn’t feel any need to push myself to try and beat an unrealistic time. I didn’t once feel like I needed to prove that I could do this, because I knew deep down that I could. There was no justifying myself to others on why I ran it like I did, because I didn’t need to. I laughed, I stumbled, I grimaced and I slipped over. But I smiled and chatted my way through the entire race and it felt amazing! I didn’t get any photos to share with others of the wonderful things I saw, but I have them firmly sketched into my memory, along with the smells, the sounds and the emotions that I experienced. I also made it across the finish in 5hrs 6mins which I am absolutely stoked with. Paul Charteris and his crew really know how to put on an epic event.

Living in the moment and just letting myself be free to experience the wonders around me is why this is and will be my #greatestrunever for a very long time.

Katrina Gurnick

Gordonton, New Zealand

May 15, 2019

Sue Lowe

Hi Guys, love your show and guests, here is my greatest run ever...

My greatest run ever was a run last summer with my daughter Caitlin who is studying in the States and was home for Christmas.

It was a typical hot and sunny Central Otago afternoon with the temperature climbing into the 30's.  I was training for a half marathon and had an 18k to do so we thought the river track would be the best.  It follows the river between Alexandra and Clyde and is shaded with willow trees, a nice place to run when it is hot.

500 metres from the end of the track is a rope swing into the river, just a knotted piece of rope hanging from a willow.  It's a popular cooling off spot with kids after school and I often run past there and think boy that looks so nice! When we got to the swing Caitlin said I am going to jump in and you are too Mum!  I looked at her and thought really? I don't know about that! Caitlin went first and yelled from the river come on Mum you can do it. I was a bit hesitant but I was so hot and it looked so inviting I didn't need much persuasion. I grabbed the rope, swung over and plunged into the cool water.  It was just magic! Caitlin took a photo of us dripping wet, grinning from ear to ear and to record the fact that her old Mum had swung into the river!

I often run past that swing, have a wee smile and think to myself that really was my greatest run ever!

May 8, 2019

Katie Wright

(Ed: this is a Greatest Run Ever special. This GRE featured on our show last year when Katie sent it in. Posted here in honour of her victory at the Riverhead Backyard Relaps Ultra)

Hey guys, Firstly huge thanks for the podcasts so far really enjoying them, keep up the good work! Here's my addition to greatest run ever...

 In September 2017 I set out on a run around the perimeter of Wales. I'd never run further than a marathon. I'd only ever really run on roads. I didn't have any trail shoes (that soon changed).

 Everyday was different and any of them could contend for my greatest run ever but one day in particular sticks out.  I'd stayed the night before at an old school British B&B -Think china tea sets and a fourposter bed -  I looked just a little out of place in my muddy run kit that hadn't been washed for a week.

 I tried to explain my plan for the following day to the owner. I was aiming to set out at 7am for a 37 mile (60 km) route over some pretty rugged coastline. There was silence in response followed by a grilling about how this was 'utterly impossible' and breakfast wasn't served until 9am at the very earliest anyway.

 Needless to say I snuck out at 7. The weather cleared as I reached The top of St Ann's head in Pembrokshire and I had this briefly hysterical moment of joy at being out there. 10 minutes later the heavens opened and I was soaked for the rest of the day. There was absolutely no way I was going to give in and accept the impossible. So head down, run on.

 I arrived in town to where my hostel should have been just before dark. Google had lied. The hostel was actually 7 km inland. My phone died and I had no map. I went into the village pub to ask for directions and with impossibly perfect timing I asked just as a lady was approaching the bar who happened to be staying at the same place. Her and her partner kindly agreed to drop me off. After a few beers, and all of the food of course.

 The day just completely encompassed everything that trail running is about for me. In a single run you can experience every range of terrain, weather, emotion and the kindness of strangers! I've been hooked on the trails  ever since.

 Katie

May 1, 2019

Steve Bayliss

I’ll start with a confession.  I have a long list of bad habits, and a very short list of good habits.  One of the few in the latter group is running. I didn’t start running until I was 30.  At the time weight gain, good health, etc., dictated that it was time to take action. For most of my early thirties I ran six times a week religiously.  Around 35, I noticed I was slipping in ‘rest days’ more often. Six days had routinely dropped to five. When I hit 40, this suddenly dropped again. Four times a week was becoming the new norm. Travel, work, kids, social events just seemed to be getting in the way more often.  Deep down I also knew this was rubbish, an excuse for allowing one rest day a week to become two or three. It also didn’t take a statistical genius to spot the trend and where it was heading.

So, halfway through my fortieth year I decided to join Streak Runners International (runeveryday.com).

Here’s the rules as they were when I started (and as I have followed them, with the exception of setting a minimum personal distance of 3kms – largely reserved for ski days):

The official definition of a running streak, as adopted by the Streak Runners Association, Inc., is to run at least one continuous mile within each calendar day under one’s own body power (without the utilization of any type of health or mechanical aid other than prosthetic devices). Running under one’s own body power can occur on either the roads, a track, over hill and dale, or on a treadmill. Running cannot occur through the use of canes, crutches or banisters, or reliance on pools or aquatic devices to create artificial buoyancy.

To get a streak listed you have to achieve a minimum of one year of continuous running.  Then to maintain a streak, you can’t miss a day. Ever. No sick days, no travel days or other excuses.  I’m now well over eleven years and aiming for my next goal which is 5,000 consecutive days.

My greatest run ever was about half-way through the tenth year of my Running Streak.  It was also the day I feared the whole effort could go upside down. I had a surgery to deal with.  A general anesthesia level surgery with an overnight stay ahead of me. The day of the surgery wasn’t a worry – I had a run in the morning before reporting to the hospital.  It was the day after the surgery I was worried about.

Now at this point I should explain something.  It’s not without an awkward squirm and a sense I’m revealing too much – but hey, it’s a running forum, so y’all will understand.  The surgery was going to be on a rather personal part of my anatomy. I would love to boast it was going to be a substantial piece of surgery.  The mirror however silently, politely, and objectively informed me that the job would be smaller than I would like to believe.

Now, considering the surgical location, which I think you’ve all guessed, one would imagine I should be setting aside concerns about keeping my streak going.  It’s the junk dude – get some darned perspective here and forget it. But, heck no. I’d even gone to the trouble of sending an advance note to the medical team about my running streak.  “Will I be able to run the after the surgery?  Like, as soon as you release me from hospital?”

The first person into the pre-operation briefing was the Anesthetist.  His comment - “I saw the file note on the running thing. Sorry, but you have no idea the discomfort you're going to be in tomorrow.  You just need to forget about it now.”

Ouch.  Not good.  But I reckon my pain threshold is pretty high.  And clearly he didn’t understand the Streakers mindset and determination.

Next visitor.  The surgeon. “I saw the file note on the running streak.  It’s clearly important so I’m going to do everything I can to make it possible.  Ultimately, it’s going to come down to how big a job I have to do (I swear I saw him smirk a little at that point – I liked the guy al lot).  It’s not going to be pleasant though.  There’s also a chance you’ll still have a catheter.  If that’s the case you can switch the tap off, roll the pipe into your shorts, and see how it goes.”

Regrettably for my ego, but fortunately for my running streak, it turned out to be a relatively small bit of surgery.  And the catheter was gone by the morning.

I headed home late-morning with a bunch of extra padding courtesy of the nursing staff and immediately changed into my running gear.  There didn’t seem to any point in waiting. Things were going to be what they would be for a few days. Best to just get on with it.

And it was my best run ever.  After a day locked up in a hospital the outside air and freedom felt incredible.  As did the rush of relief. With every pace my confidence grew. The preservation of my streak and ten-year goal kept getting closer.  The pressure I’d been feeling lifted off my shoulders and made my feet feel lighter. For the first time in years I didn’t care about my pace – happy with a lazy ‘any-pace’ so long as I kept rolling along slowly.  Yeah, it hurt a bit. Okay, quite a lot. Yet after 3kms I didn’t want to stop. It just felt so good (mentally), and so bad (physically). I listened to the ‘bad’ bit and common sense prevailed. I was ready for a celebratory beer.  Common sense (joyfully) departed again.

April 24, 2019

Gemma Carter

Matt and Eugene,

I’ve been listening to DCR for a good few months now, a random podcast discovery which lead to a now faithful listener. Your chat and interviews are a breath of fresh air and a pleasure to listen to on my runs leaving me laughing out loud at times, much to the confusion of passerby’s.

Greatest run ever....I’ve thought over this since the first time I heard you mention it.

What to choose? Instantly I cast my mind back on all the places I’ve raced all over the world and the experiences I’ve had over the years.

Is it the PB’s? Epic mountain races with incredible views? the times I won races bursting into tears because it meant so much to me? Were these my greatest run ever?

No. I knew it instantly....

It isn’t one particular run that sticks in my mind but the ingrained memory of the runs I took with my mother daily 17 odd years ago...

Although I’ve always been super sporty, part of a family of athletes who were always at some practice or training of some kind, it wasn’t until I was 12/13 years old and wanting to get ‘a bit fitter’, ‘lose a little weight’ that I took up running properly, actually training beyond the school practice, training on my own time, for MYSELF..

Mum and I conjured up the idea that each morning before breakfast, with our dog by our side, we would jog to the end of the field behind our house. It couldn’t have been more than half a mile but it felt like a marathon..we both huffed and puffed to the end, by each other’s side, both committed to the task, committed to progressing.

With time the end of the field became the next field, the next marker after that and so on. Our morning ritual lengthening in distance, our fitness growing. Mum and I. We bonded in our pain and also in our success.

See here’s the thing, my mum, an athlete herself back in the day, a national level hurdler to be precise, she has been my ever present supporter as a child. EVERY single lacrosse/netball match, every athletic meet or training session, she was there. She was there, for me.

Now in my 30’s I smile looking back, somewhat laughing at our little run we took together and how we struggled side by side...how it was the start of my journey into who I am now, what I love doing, the discovery of a life long passion and sporting career..

Hundreds of marathons, crazy amount of ultras later, having represented my country at 100km, winning ultras outright, finding what I’m good at, what I can still be better at, what I LOVE....it all boils down to those early morning runs..to lighting the fire in me.

And yes, my mum still comes to these crazy races to support me. How cool is that 🥰

So my greatest run ever is just that. A jog with my mum, not even a mile. But it means the most to me.

Anyway, I thought I’d write in as I am currently deep in the heavy miles of a week warm weather training in Lanzarote (off coast of Africa) and guess who’s here with me? My mum. Just the two of us. Our annual ritual coming here, though she politely opts out all the 30mile training runs

April 17, 2019

Tarsh Turner, Te Anau

Hey guys.

I think I have it - my best run ever! (Yet)

This was neither a race, nor any impressive distance. Here's the story.

I had two days in which to make a twelve hour drive, and I realised that some friends were having a birthday party at a hut, the trailhead for which fell roughly at the halfway point of my journey. I excitedly began my drive, brainstorming last minute costume ideas. The theme was the letters H and N, being the birthday girls' initials.

After a late start, and a slow trip, I pulled up at the start of the track at 7pm. I debated whether I wanted to walk in the dark, before coming up with the idea to pack light and run in. Stoked with my stroke of brilliance, I took off, enjoying a fairly technical trail, blowing away the cobwebs after so long in the car. An hour in, I was forced to turn on my headlamp. My energy levels dipped and I asked myself again, do I really want this? I chucked on some drum n bass and went for it. About a kilometer from the hut, my buddies spotted my light, and let out a huge cheer. Whooping back, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. I stopped 500m out, and in the darkness I slipped into my Hero costume - undies over tights, and a cape made from my sleeping bag liner. As I arrived at the party, the cheers reached a joyous crescendo, and I found a 20-person human tunnel to run through, cape trailing... What an entrance! I collapsed in a fit of exhausted and ecstatic giggles, and as I rolled on the ground, tears streaming down my face, I felt overwhelming gratitude for the environments we have available to play in, and the wonderful humans who call this land home. New Zealand, you bloody ripper!

Thanks for your great podcast, it feeds my psych every week, and I love it. I'm currently working toward a goal of running all NZ's Great Walks in 2019, if anyone listening wants to jump on board to run one later in the year, I'd love some company to push me - or to collaborate on logistics!

Churrr!

April 10, 2019

David Buerckner

Love the show guys, here's my greatest run ever.

My friend Zoe and I met doing triathlons. We were both really shit triathletes, but we had a lot of fun at the back of the pack. We were so bad that in some races the transition area would be packed up and everybody else had gone home when we would finish and find our bikes leaning against a tree. But we were masters of coming in under cutoff times.

As bad as we were overall , our running in particular was dire. We both treated running as a necessary evil at the need of a nice swim and a fun ride. Duathlons, with a run either side of a bike ride, were considered a work of evil.

But despite that, somehow we both started moving across to trail running around the same time, and moved from being crap triathletes to being crap trail runners. But trail running was better, because you could crap on for the whole race, which is something a bit tricky in a swim.

I did some of the Melbourne urban trail series and loved it. Then Zoe put me onto a run at Mt Dandenong - The Roller Coaster Run. It sounded nice. I had images of a rolling path through tree ferns, mostly running and occasionally walking to take in the scenery. And the 4 hour cutoff seemed ridiculous. There was no way it could take me more than 3 hours for 21km, regardless of how much of a shit runner I was. So I entered.

The race started at the top of Mt Dandenong, and that was the last I saw of Zoe for a while. The race starts with a long steep downhill of several kms, and Zoe has a rather unique style of going downhill. Basically she falls out of control down the hill. I, on the other hand, am the world’s worst descender. And on a steep hill sometimes go down the hill slower than up. So within about 15 mins I was on my own, dead last. A position I was very familiar with.

But that was fine. The course was way steeper than I expected but the aid stations were fantastic, the scenery was great, and being alone through all of that was fine. So I just carried on, and went the better part of two hours without seeing anyone. Then the climb back up to the top started and I slowly started to catch a few people, and at one stage caught a glimpse of Zoe on a switchback.

At about 18km I finally caught her, and we carried on together. It was steep, 25% at one point. But we just kept on trudging along and talking crap. We passed a vollie who told us we only had 500m to go, then 500m later another one told us the same thing, then it happened again. This continued for about 2km.

With the real 200m to go we realized we were very close to the 4hr cutoff that I had originally thought was ridiculous. We picked up the pace, and with the finish line in sight, realized we were going to make it – just. I’m not sure if it was a mutual decision, or one of us broke ranks, but with 20m to go we ended up sprinting to the finish line, luckily crossing together. Alas, when the results came out I realized Zoe had crossed the start line 3 seconds before me, and we finished 3 mins under the cutoff.

That race was my introduction to a mass of trail races around Victoria, and the end of triathlons for me.

April 3, 2019

Steve Aitken

My Greatest Run Ever

Old Ghost Ultra 2019

Being married to a running freak of nature  (& I mean that in the nicest possible way) will always give you distorted views of time, pace and distance  and so running longer distances was probably always going to happen. In a moment of weakness I signed up for OG Ultra 2019. My first Ultra. I had no real time expectations but starting and finishing in the dark seemed likely. Finishing was the goal.

The whole lead up seemed surreal and the enormity of the challenge ahead never really kicked in until the race briefing on Friday night. I have been to two of these briefings before with Mel and enjoyed the humorous but practical way Phil Rossiter delivers his briefing, but sitting there in that theatre listening and absorbing the challenge in front of us all was a new & daunting experience. This guy does not undersell the difficulty of this race.

Friday night’s sleep was not one of the best I have ever had and probably the same for a lot of runners waiting to take on the Old Ghost Ultra.

Saturday morning arrived and in the predawn we made our way to the start line, the nerves were really kicking in now, I have never really experienced pre-race nerves before but this day I felt like throwing up. I was wondering how the hell I was ever going to complete this task and was wondering if even starting a wise decision.

The countdown came 5,4,3,2,1, and the hooter went and as it sounded my nerves vanished, we were on our way in the dark, 300 runners about to tackle the OG Ultra.

The run through to Specimen Point went well, dawn arrived and the splendor of the country side revealing itself in the dawn light. Running beside the Mokihinui River in the bush was fantastic.

Arriving at the aid station a quick top of flasks, a bit of orange, and of course an update on how well Mel was doing and then off towards Stern Valley.

I settled in with a group of three other runners and with a bit of light conversation and a steady pace the km ticked away. At about 29 km my good old friend cramp started saying “hello”, nothing serious just a wee reminder that “hey I’m here” so I eased off the pace a bit and did a bit of walk run through to Stern hut.

Halfway there just another marathon to go, surprisingly I was feeling great, I had only ever completed 1 marathon and a few half’s in the past.

My plan was pretty much to walk through to Ghost Lake as the dreaded 300 stairs and the majority of the uphill were in this section and I knew pushing it was just going to invite cramp to make the rest of the run miserable.

Tagging along with Liz who was now also on the walking journey made the km slide past and the slower pace allowed us to enjoy the beauty of this magical place. We got to the top of the stairs and manged some gentle running towards Ghost Lake which, from when we first saw it, seemed a long way away but suddenly we were there.

From Ghost Lake it was about 3 km of climb to the top and then the run across the top where cramp again forced a drop in pace and separating from the wee group I was in but still managing  a reasonable trot and then it was into the downhill.

After one bad cramping I got underway and Crampfix was holding the cramp at bay, the pace picked up and the km ticked off, through the last aid station at Lyell Saddle and before I knew it I was approaching the swing bridge to the finish line with only those 12 or so stairs to negotiate and then the run to the line. Those steps looked like a mountain but I surprised myself and bounded up them and across the finish line in 11 hrs 49.

Stoked, to say the least, that I had done it

Why is this my greatest run ever, well it could be completing it, it could be the time I did, it could be the distance I ran or it could be completing my first Ultra, but it’s not.

It is about what I learnt about myself on the way, how great our bodies and minds are if we challenge them and what we can overcome when we do. Not once during that run did I enter that dark space and wonder “what have I done” which was something I expected to happen but instead felt grateful that I had the opportunity to do this magical event.

I met some fantastic people, saw amazing country that most of the population will never see and experienced the dedication of dozens of people volunteering their time organising the event and working at aid stations to allow us runners to fulfil our dreams. What a stunning country and race community we live in and how privileged are we.

I am forever grateful and that is why this is my greatest run ever

March 27, 2019

Ray Ingram

Hi guys and Cooee from here in Oz. Thanks for the podcasts, have been with you from Number 1 and hope to continue for quite some time yet.

My greatest run ever starts with a bit of a story about my son. After doing some running at Parkrun and moving up to half marathon distances he decided he would travel to NZ for his first ultra marathon, the Tarawera 62k Ultra in 2017.

Most of us thought he had a few ‘roos loose in the top paddock (unashamed Aussie reference ;)) but never the less tried to provide as much moral support as possible. With his younger brother and mother in tow he set off for NZ for a bit of touring, catching up with family history (my father-in-law, his grandfather was born in NZ, so there is a Kiwi connection) and ultimately the Tarawera Ultra. He completed the race but it did not go well. Through sheer determination he got through and showed strength of character I had not previously seen.

So now to me. I am not an athlete no matter how you twist the definition. However I was so inspired by my son’s effort at Tarawera that I got up off the couch and walked around the block. At the time I was 63 years old and had not done much since high school and not even much there, so definitely a late starter.

Since then I have joined Parkrun and my local Cross Country Club and completed a 12km trail race. I have continued to walk around the block but prefer getting out on various trails in the local area and have steadily built up the distances and I look forward to continuing to do so. That first effort of just over 2km may not be much of a “greatest run” but it was a great achievement because every great journey must start with a first step and that was my first step. I look forward to continuing wherever the journey takes me and I will not limit the possibilities. It is never too late to start.

Thanks again and keep up the good work.

Ray

Sandy Chan

I don't normally write about the running events I participate in but this time I felt compelled to share my greatest 10km run ever. It was really my sister who told me to send this in so then I would have someone else to share my running stories with. The sun was out in Wellington today and when this happens, runners participate in full force in the biggest running event in the city- Round the Bays! A support team of residents in the area aid in spraying athletes with garden hoses, water guns and bubbles. Free buses from 6am to 3pm- anything for a free bus ride The bays provide a beautiful backdrop to remind us that yes, you really can't beat Welly on a good day. #greatestrunever best timed 10km event for me so far maybe this training thing is helping after all. So what could make this run even greater? Not making people pay $5 for a medal when you've already paid $50 for entry #allaboutthefreestuff Overall, loved the community atmosphere, can't think of another sport events where competitors are so supportive. Bring on Great Forest at Waiterere Beach in April!

March 20, 2019

Mick Duyvestyn

Dearest Rigby & Dirt Church Radio!

You guys say every week I should write in, I figured at first you weren’t talking to me. Then after a few episodes and your insistence I thought ‘maybe I could... wait nah’ and then last week you said you were living week to week... ‘maybe, just maybe an Aussie could squeeze in a #GreatestRunEver’

‘I did hear one from a Queenslander... nah he was probably a mate, heaps of Kiwis on the Goldy’

Well - here it is my greatest run ever, from an avid Melbourne listener. Put it at the bottom and read it if you are scrapping the barrel!!

Warning: I am verbose and my writing appears to reflect my Sunday long runs. They tend to drag on. Feel free to cut off the path and head for the coffee shop when you need.

So. I’ve not met a centurion before. I’ve seen some interviewed on TV and the like, the questions always centre around the same theme... “Wow, how did you do it?” “What an achievement!”

The perplexed responses amuse. As if to say ‘Mmm I didn’t set out to live this long’ but the common inference is that to live that long, the centurion has indeed set constant goals and kept moving.

The first thing that struck me upon finishing my first century event was how emotional those around me were, they seemed staggered and inspired that I could have completed 100km. Upon finishing I was actually partly disappointed that it was the end, partly surprised that I felt strong enough to contemplate a lap of the carpark if my Garmin came up short and partly proud that my pacing and eating plan had helped me to the finish line in good shape.

Now that it was done I kind of feel like that the mythology and mystery of achieving this goal is a little out of whack. It seemed prior to race day, an epic challenge, on that night as I lay in bed too sore to sleep, I reflected and flicked through the epic FB feed from my darling wife. The responses and reactions were overwhelming also.

But here is the reality. Its not that far. Karl is right. Seriously it ain’t and if you focus on what is in front of you, almost everybody could do it.

It went to plan for me. I had prepared well and worked hard on the trails and off them. When race day arrived, I decided to turn my watch off (not completely, deep down I am a Strava nerd that loves reviewing stats) I toggled the watch face so the only thing showing was the time of day. I ignored the km time splits and just concentrated on each moment.

Often we talk about running with neutrality, the ability to observe and respond to each and every facet with a calm neutral response. Each moment tackled on its merits. I remember looking up at the 40km marker and saying to Jodie, ‘wow thats nearly a marathon already’ between then and the 97km mark I never really contemplated the finish. I just ran and observed the surroundings and the journey. The steps in front, the people beside us, sharing the trail. Talking and learning about their journeys. Soaking in the people, the environment and its challenges. The hail, the rain, the unexpected sunshine when the wind ground to a halt.

Ultra runners are a sharing group, 5 mins together on the trails is enough of a shared experience that we can, and often do open up about our driving forces and experiences. Some of the best conversations I have had in life have come on the trails and this day was no different.

In between conversations about work challenges, sick ageing parents, the joy of the parenting, the bliss of a newly discovered father-to-be, my mind rested quickly back to my mantras I set out at the start of the day. ‘Avoid the Pity Party’ and ‘Get it done’ was the Texta smudged on my arms as a reminder to run the day, not let the day run you. But hey I am a distracted mind at a whim.

The kids had listened to the Matilda musical cd on the trek down. Annoyingly, but somewhat poignantly the words kept bouncing around my narrow skull. “What if you haven’t got a fairy to fix this? Nobody else is gonna put it right for me, Nobody but me is gonna change my story” buggered if I can remember the rest or if the words are in the right sequence, but the words

kicked around like a bad M.A.S.H episode, always on repeat. Every now and then I would notice something and the song would pleasantly change to Busby Marou’s ‘This moments gonna pass’.

Mostly Matilda came and went, each time, I figured ‘yep thats interesting?!’ 

I wanted to achieve a distracted mind to the body, allowing observation of changes rather than falling into a catastrophe for each increment in pressure to various parts of the legs and hips from fatigue.

The trail and people around offer you the opportunity to shift focus. It’s not that hard, it’s just being aware of when it’s needed. The Surf Coast Century provided stunning moments. My favourite was late in the afternoon when the sun broke through the clouds, splintering through the hillrise just after muddy trails of Distillery creek. A heavy downpour, just moments prior had drenched me through to the skin, my gloves were soaked and cold. My shirt, sweat drenched, needed a change. Currawongs flitted like angels above through the trees, their sonorous trill singing out into the valley. The wind stopped dead on its own heels. Clouds parted and the late afternoon sun shot a sidelong beam across the landscape. The angle of it, with the water still perched precariously on leaves, reverberated with sparkles. The spring wildflowers, in full bloom! It was like I had arrived in the perfect place at the most perfect moment as the valley showed itself in all its glory. 100mts before or past and I would have missed it. The beauty of it shook me to the core, I literally had to choke back tears as I was sprung into thoughts of my Mum and how much she would have loved it. The random trail train of thought. Unexpectedly slapping you into an emotional state when all ya wanted to do was run. It must of been 75-80km in and I should have been in pain and thinking about my legs, hips or chaffing. I was easily distracted and lost in the landscape.

Running into the last checkpoint was like starting the day new. Seeing all the kids together. The attention and seamless efforts of the best family & support crew one could hope for, I headed into the last 14km quickly. Like a trail runners GP pit stop, fuelled, new shirt, new torch and a few hugs. Good to go. I floated up the rise to the lighthouse and gave it a hearty slap, only a few more obstacles remained.

The trail along the coastline out of Aireys inlet, into the 90kms is a single track that requires attention to foot placement and observation of the trail and tree roots. With head torch and tired legs it required heightened attention to the task at hand, as we descended onto the beach for a 4km stretch on hard sand, it was like ditching all the focus. The tide was well out. The wind had calmed to a whim, a whisper. The sky open, thousands of stars and the moon lit the sky, the reflection upon the wet sand at the edge of the water, dazzled.

I turned my torch off and drank it in. I moved quickly and effortless (well maybe just in my mind I was moving that fast) past dozens of other runners, some walking, some transfixed and non verbal as I passed with words of encouragement. A serene and peaceful experience, with no concerns of foot placement on the wide open & level beach. I could run with my head in the stars.

This was, what many had warned was an endless beach stretch & a test of the mind at the end of a long day. They said it would catch runners via a monotonous never ending vice of nothing. For me it was the most peaceful thing I have experienced on a trail run. I floated down that beach.

Star gazing and running strong along the perfect sand. It was over all too quickly and as I made my way up and over the stairs I looked back along the stretch of beach and was breathless at the quiet beauty of it. The long parade of runners headlights dotted for endless kilometres along the beach, under the backdrop of the star smothered sky, a poetic continuation of the stratosphere to the trail atmosphere, plenty of stars were on the beach.

The final kilometres rolled along effortlessly, knowing the course I was pretty sure when my watch hit 8.30, I knew that I had taken my final gel, that was a nice relief. My fuel plan for the race was spot on and allowed me to run without cramping. After plenty of failed races it was a good day to get it right. On the Sunday, to many, it seemed unfathomable that I could front up for another 8.5km trail run. I am a firm believer that two changes made this achievable. Post Two Bays 56km run in Jan I couldn’t walk for 3 days. In an effort to remove inflammatory foods that halted recovery, I moved to a vegetarian diet, a simpler mix of foods that still fuelled my run program, moving away from complex carbs and sugars has helped my recovery of long run days. I can now, almost always back up runs the next day, even if they follow 6hrs on the trails. The other obvious change was the ‘Run Strong’ program of plyometric & isometric exercises set out by Campbell Craig.

Looking back it feels like I have cheated the system. Surely the story of 100km should of been one of pain and enduring effort. Sadly for the script writers I found it went to plan. I trained hard, ate well, mindfully observed and drank in the moments as they happened. I knew what to do and when to do it. I am convinced, anyone that wants to can also run a 100km ultra.

As the centurions on TV remind us, keep setting goals, keep moving.

Just 5 years ago I was 36kg heavier and battling. Trapped & tired. Struggling with the booze.

Like a dinner set kept for family gatherings, I carry the stains & aura of a dark history. My mistakes haunt me, to the point I often wake cringing at things which happened.

None more so than a torrid 3 week period, where, my wife battling her own mental health issues spiralled into a vast blackness. She made several attempts on her life. I didn’t understand it. I just couldn’t grasp it or workout how to help. In that time during the biggest of tests...

I failed.

I failed her and I failed my family.

Through good luck and support of brilliant professionals, she spent sometime in the pysc ward and has slowly worked her way back. It’s been a journey.

It’s taken me a longer time. Yes 5 years. I am slothful learner.

The idea of a greatest run ever for me is encapsulated in this Surf Coast Century cause I haven’t always been a runner and this run wasn’t about me running. It was the moment where I have drawn a line in the sand. I understand now, how to observe and respond to the challenges we get thrown.

Over the last 5 years I have run heaps! I started running cause it would hurt. I wanted to punish and drive myself into the point of pure pain. I did it over and again. The more it hurt the more I figured I deserved it.

Somewhere along the way it stopped being about that and I just loved the post run high.

Still, even though I was out running getting fit, I was driven by the emotions and reactions. Living on the result and not understanding my why.

The Surf Coast Century and the reaching of this goal is my #GreatestRunEver because I finally feel like I understand and can implement what trail running has taught me. To observe. To assess.

To respond with purpose. Plan. Work. Turn up.

I am forever grateful for you and your wonderful podcast. It too has been part of my learning.

Finally I may be growing up.

Finally I now I feel equipped to help my loving family

March 13, 2019

Ricky Hull

 Hi guys, love listening to the podcasts, and love each and every #greatestrunever. I have been running pretty much my whole life in one way or another, and in the last few years have run a number of marathons, an ultra, and had many great adventures in many great places. But when I think about my greatest run ever, I keep coming back to a run that happened in the autumn of 2012. My husband and I were living in Dunedin and had started a family. We had a 2 year old and a 6 month old and fitting in a run was often impossible, between naps and feeding and a busy partner who also wanted to squeeze in a run when he was home. One night he walked in the door and I ran out, having just fed the baby to sleep and knowing she would wake again any minute. I headed out aiming for a 20 minute jog, but from the moment I got outside, there was magic in the air and in my feet. I have NEVER had such a run before, and never since, where everything came together like it did. I ran in along the Ravensbourne cycle way, around Logan Park, back along sargood drive to make it up to 10km and then back home along the cycle way. Every single part of that run was magic: no one was burning coal and the Ravensbourne fertilizer plant was not smelling like it usually did, the air was superb. There was no train coming through either of the railway crossings on the way there or back. The woman who often walked her poodle who always tried to nip my ankles was absent. The boys in the bad flat on harbour terrace who often called out crass comments to women running past were absent, or too hungover to lounge on their porch couch. I FLEW around the loop of Logan park, passing the local rugby team training on their rugby ground, pretending their warm down jog was actually as fast as they could go, and I was whipping past them. I can still taste and see the colours of the air from that night when I think about it. I'm not sure if it was the freedom of moving my body, after what was at that point three years of pregnancy and breastfeeding, or the freedom of being away from the responsibility of children at home, or just a magical Dunedin night under the watchful eye of Kapukataumahaka (Mt Cargill). It feels a bit anticlimactic to label a basic 10km midweek run as my #greatestrunever, but nothing yet has surpassed that perfect run, one night in Dunners. My 20 minutes had extended to 53 minutes, a record time for me on that loop, and my baby was still asleep when I got in the door. Every run from home since has felt like an elusive hunt for the magic flow of that night.

Keep up the great work, loving all your guests

Cheers

March 6, 2019

Andrew H from Wellington

OK Dirt Churchers, I just listened to your chat to Tim Sutton and I am inspired to write. Like Tim, I also live in Wellington. I run the same trails he does, and compete in many of the same events (although at a much, much slower pace) and I too have been inspired by Chris Martin’s enthusiasm for all things wild.

So, my greatest run ever is a story of learning to be a trail runner, a story of friendship and a story of my best ever racing result.

The year is 2009. I had been living in Wellington for a few years and had been learning to train on trails, mostly shorter runs up Mt Vic at lunch or the Skyline on the weekends. My races however were still road races – everything from a corporate 5k to the Wellington marathon. I started to just dabble in trail races, like the run leg of the Crazyman and a few others. I started to look around to see what was out there. My mate Morgan told me about the Tararua Mountain Race. I read all I could and decided I liked the idea of running the “interminable” Marchant ridge, dress circle and Mt Hector. On the other hand, I was decidedly anxious about the length of the run. The website at the time advised I should expect to double my marathon time. For me, that’s 8 hours. I’d never run longer than 4, and then mostly on the flat with drink stations provided. No worries says Morgan, we’ll enter as a team and do it together.

Over the next few months Morgan and I did some longish training runs, and some local trail races. I was the slower and less experienced of the two of us, and am sure I tested Morgan’s patience many times. On the day of the race, my wife dropped us at the Kaitoke end and wished us luck. We began by running up the first short steep section, passing several walkers. I made a silly comment about being tired already, and the knowing reply came that ‘its better to be running at the finish than the start’. Huh, whatever I thought in my ignorance. Up we climbed onto the ridge. I remember time passing easily as we bantered away on our way up to Alpha hut. The mud was deep this year, and I was starting to feel it, but I was having a great adventure.

After Alpha is when the fun really started. This was one of those classic Tararua days: howling northerly wind and zero visibility. Into the mist we marched with heads down. The banter stopped because conversation was impossible over the gale force wind. Now time seemed to slow. On I trudged from what seemed like hours. I had no idea about nutrition, so I had eaten and drunken too little, and it was seriously telling now. I stared at Morgan’s heels as he led on through mud and puddles and rocks and tussock. At one stage I think he saw the state of me and made me climb down on the leeward side of the ridge and sit and eat a sandwich. A bit of food and jokes about a picnic in the park and I felt a bit better. Onwards!

The Mt Hector cross surprised me (mostly because I couldn’t see it through the wind and the mist), and Kime hut was next. I was filling my water bottle at the hut when none other than the indomitable Colin Rolfe cruised in. He’d started 2 hours behind us, and was moving easily. Any idea of the time? he asked me. Not even wearing a bloody watch I thought! We were 6 hours in, and all the mistakes I had made – going out too fast, not eating or drinking enough, gear that really wasn’t suitable to the conditions – were adding up. Down, down, down we ran. My quads were seizing, and I was at the end of my tether. Just a bit more Morgan said cheerfully and repeatedly, even when I was walking or stopped altogether.

Finally to the last bridge. I was shuffling along, but still moving. The sun had come out, the wind had dropped and suddenly life seemed a bit sweeter. Prize giving was sweeter still. I normally sit through prize giving so I can watch and clap amazing athletes and maybe pick up a spot prize. Not this time – we had won the open men’s team race! Sweeter indeed! Up we went to collect our prizes and get a photo with the biggest trophy of the day. Later I found out that in the early days of the race all competitors had to run as pairs, and this was the original and, back in the day, the most prestigious trophy. Did it matter that our time, shortly to be engraved on the trophy, was 2 hours slower than the next slowest? No, I can tell you it did not! Did it matter that we were first out of two teams? No, it most certainly did not! Victory was ours.

In the end, I learned what a long adventurous technical trail run really was – I learned about gear, and nutrition, and weather, and pushing my perceived limitations. This run marked the start of a decade of trail and ultra runs for me. I learned what a good running friend I had – thanks Morgan, love you buddy. And I claimed my one and only first place finish in an organised race. My greatest run ever.

Andrew H, Wellington

PS – I went back a couple of years later to reprise my effort, solo this time. It was a perfect blue bird day, no wind and unlimited visibility. Quite a different experience! I was nearly an hour faster this time round, but sadly no trophy!

February 27, 2019

Greg Mac

Running. A connector; a release. Some say a drug. For me, even today it is a feeling that,

when fit, can’t be replaced by any other physical pursuit. It’s just not the same. I’ve done

some pretty serious cycling and triathlon in my time and it never got close to the feeling of

running freely.

So, this story needs a little preamble as it involves a self-confessed running geek who also

happens to be one of the DCR hosts.

It was a fairly normal afternoon at the Papakura athletic track. Nothing out of the ordinary

other than some dude running laps that I hadn’t seen before. He seemed to run and run and

run but never looked comfortable. A heavy stride, punchy arms and nothing like a Gazelle.

We were fortunate that the committee of the athletic club had had the foresight to

somehow fund and build an all-weather synthetic track and that ‘new track’ smell still

floated in the air as the sun stretched out its last few hours of warmth and the shadows

grew longer across the red rubber surface.

What I didn’t know was that on this day a lifelong mateship was about to begin. Born from

running, a mateship that has a special place in my life as it has drifted in and out of

moments in time but never faded.

The conversation was most likely started by me. Young, full of life and endless athletic

confidence. If the planets were to align I was the next John Walker and Olympic 1500 meter

gold medallist. There was no doubt in my mind. Whilst stretching on the old wire fence we

got to talking about what he was doing there. Why do all of those laps and not flog yourself

through a program of highly specific, lung-burning speedwork I thought?

He just liked to run. A lot. And ironically was reading ‘running to the top’ a book by NZ’s

legendary running coach, Arthur Lydiard. Lydiard had been cold called by my mother some

months earlier and was in fact responsible for the program of speedwork that I was slogging

through that day. Whilst I had always participated in athletics and tried to emulate my big

brother who seemed to hold every track, road and cross-country title going around, my

‘talent’ had only really started to show promise in the few months prior.

When told that he was reading Lydiards book, I, in my typically flippant and cocky

demeanour said “oh Arthur, he’s my coach, (of course he was!?) so why don’t you come and

have a run with us on Sunday”. Lydiard lived in Beachlands and had a group known around

running circles as ‘Lydiard’s boys’ and I thought it would be a great opportunity for my new

running mate to get his head out of the book and into some real-life learning. We would

run somewhere around 3 hours in the forests and roads around the area where he lived

followed by 30 mins in the cold salt water in the bay across the road from his house for

recovery. I loved trail running, and it grew to become essential in keeping injury free and

fresh of mind when doing big miles.

I don’t think we ran together that weekend but I do know that we swapped numbers and

became regular training partners. We lived close to each other and although we went to

different schools quite some distance apart, found time to run together a number of times a

week. I think to some degree he came on the ‘Lydiard program’ by definition of being my

training partner.

We were different athletes with different athletic ambitions and he was always the smartest

one of the two of us. Calm, thoughtful and insightful, he never just talked shit to fill the

silence and trained harder than I naturally wanted to. A perfect training partner.

I had raw speed and had grown to understand that I did in fact have the aerobic engine that

would respond to my new found physique and training plan. But ‘ol mate’ would tear my

legs off in training when pounding the streets and whilst never spoken of, would be the

catalyst to the motivation required to stick to the monthly schedule drawn up by the great

man. Always turning up on the doorstep just as I was second guessing why I was going out in

the rain, hail or sunshine to prime the engine time after time.

By now I had taken up triathlon seriously. I don’t remember how long after meeting that my

focus changed from ‘just’ being a runner to taking on short and Olympic distance triathlons,

but one thing hadn’t changed. My trusty training partner was there. Injury had led my coach

to suggest I do some cycling and swimming to stay fit and the rest is history. At the local

club and through the running community the word was that I was now a ‘Triathlete’ and

would no longer be a force in the middle-distance ranks.

I was training with a group of triathletes based in Papakura due to the awesome facilities in

the area. A 50 mtr Olympic pool, a synthetic track and the best cycling roads on our

doorsteps. A small group of Canadians, Americans and Australians would join the local tri

‘mafia’ for the summer. One of these guys had just won one of the biggest races on the US

circuit and had come to NZ for the season. We hit it off one day on a group run. He was a

‘pure’ runner. Long stirde, big engine and had a turn of speed that many swimmer/cyclists-

turned triathletes couldn’t dream of. At the age of 15 I wanted to go toe to toe with him. He

could run a 30 min 10k and to be competitive in the Olympic distance event, I needed to run

sub 34 mins off the bike to be competitive and make up for a slight time loss out of the

water. He was also pretty cool to train with for a young grommet like me. He was in the

pages of the US Tri magazines and was beating the ‘Big Four’ of triathlon.

He had a motor bike and invited me to join him on a trail run that he had found in the

Hunua ranges just 30 mins from home. I don’t think my mother knew that I was jumping on

the back of a motorbike with a crazy American, but I am glad I did. He had a trail run loop

that was the perfect test, refresher and drag race all in one depending on your form

and/or(his) mood. It began uphill, with stairs almost straight out of the carpark and over a

swing bridge. It wound its way to the dam where you thought that the tough bit was done

to only turn left and up into stairs and an uphill gradient that burnt the fittest legs every

time. It finally reached a summit that drew you onto rolling fire trails along a ridge for what

seemed like forever- never relenting and making you hope that the next corner was in fact

the turn that HAD to take you back down into the valley below. Once that corner came you

were challenged with the gravel at your feet at full stride for the long downhill to the

carpark and an unspoken winner on the day. Sub 70kg with long legs and a barrel chest,

Louis Murphy Jnr was built for this run and was only ever bettered by me on a couple of

occasions when I’m sure he backed off and let me feel like I’d had the better of him.

There was one person who HAD to do this run. My best mate and long-time training partner

had a tough initiation, as I had weeks earlier, but it became our staple run long after Louis

had returned to the US and we were left to test our form, side by side. That stubborn

bastard would kill me regularly too, with the only hope for me being the last downhill where

genetically I had the advantage in stride length. I have never asked him, but this may have

been the beginning of his love for the bush trail.

The greatest run ever?

It is etched in my mind like it was yesterday. Driving out to the Hunua’s in the 1100 Mk 1

Ford Escort with my training partner at the wheel, I pondered whether the doubters were

right. Could I compete in the Auckland Championships on the track in the 800 and 1500

meter events when I was a ‘Triathlete’. It must have been an intuitive suggestion that we

run an ‘easy’ loop on the Friday before the heats at Mt Smart Stadium the next day. I should

have been tapering but instead I was convinced that it would be an ‘easy’ one. Had I

forgotten that there was no easy in this loop. My mate knew that I probably needed it for

the mind and that the form would look after the weekend.

On this day I followed the rhythm of the feet in front of me. That determined cadence of

attacking the ascent like the placement of every footstep was a well-worn path that needed

to be respected. I listened to the breathing from my mate only a few steps in front of me

match the driving or easing of his stride; I felt better than ever. I floated from step to step

like we were skipping through puddles rather than climbing 1000 steps. As we hit the

summit and started across the ridge I remained behind, happy to be following in the

footsteps of my mate who was now stepping up the pace with ease, in his own running

nirvana and inner thoughts. I didn’t feel the pace but as we started to descend it became

obvious that our ‘easy’ had turned into fast. I hustled a little as the legs felt so good and the

lungs were open with ease, stride by stride slowly telling the body to relax and glide through

the last few km’s just fast enough to stretch the legs but ever wary of the sound of the

crunch of the loose gravel at my feet and potential of imminent injury only a step away. I

had never seen Eugene run like that before, he too was running with such ease, like there

was greater meaning to getting to the end than we had intended but his breathing was

smooth and his stride long. I don’t recall who made it to the car park first, what I remember

was that it was the fastest that we have ever done the loop and the time was never

bettered. I doubt a word was spoken throughout the whole run, it was just one of those

days.

The next day I struggled through the heats of the championships with what felt like concrete

boots. The previous day’s effort had stung the body and I was lucky to get through to the

finals. My legendary coach had scolded me for my decision to run in the bush the day before

and was unusually direct in his criticism and certainly lacked any sympathy for my form that

day.

With many friends and family present, the ‘triathlete’ broke the national 800 meter record

and took home the 800 and 1500 meter double. A long-time rival, club mate and ‘runner’

took the bronze. The form had looked after itself.

Driving home that day I pondered whether I had made the right move to Triathlon and if

there was still potential to emulate my hero, John Walker. I continued to be coached by a

legend, never raced on the track again other than on 2 wheels instead but have been left

with a bigger legend of a friend, pure runner and more importantly, a shared memory of

that day in the bush- The Greatest Run Ever.

GMac

Feb 2019

February 20, 2019

Lucy Mills

Dear Father Matt and Reverend Eugene. I have a confession to make. I'm not sure I really like running! (gasp!)  But I love freedom, and I love adventures, and I love our community, and I have two feet - so it seems to work.  

Here is my Greatest Run Ever. Actually, its part of a run and, let's face it, there wasn't really a lot of running going on. In January I was fortunate to take part in the Ultra Easy.  A 107 km race in the Wanaka area dreamed up by madman-genius-race director Terry Davis. It was a "big day" for me in every sense of the words - my first 100 km, big climbs, gale force winds, and 18 1/2 hours on my feet.  It was tough, it was epic. But that's not why it was my Greatest Run Ever. This is: At about 60km, heading up Little Criffel in the heat of the day, I came across this dude. He was climbing over a stile, looking a little lost.  He wasn't. His name was Grant and we soon fell into pace with each other. We started hiking together up the world's longest hill. At times we broke into a trot, but mostly we hiked. Sometimes we hiked in companionable silence, a lot of the time we hiked and talked.  We talked about running, we talked about life. We had conversations about all the deep and meaningful stuff that you don't talk about with someone you literally just met. We also named all the rock formations - not in a geological sense but in the "that's a chicken driving a tank" sense.  We basically talked crap and then we took it in turns to hold down the fences whist the other one clambered over. We talked and hiked for 5 hours up to Snow Farm, and on up through the wind blasted mountainside of Pisa. Without any agreement or plan, just an understanding that we would get each other through it.  Those 5 hours of shared experience were EVERYTHING! Just after Mount Pisa we parted company as Grant still had some running in his legs, and it was a joy to see him heading off to complete his goal. I still had another 3 hours or more to go, being battered by those winds on the tops. But I finished grinning and full of happiness (and also singing the Baby Shark song - probably the least said about that the better!).  And Grant was at the finish line giving out hugs. I know for sure that my journey would have been a lot longer and a lot harder if it hadn't been for this dude to share it with. And the same goes for the other people from our community - runners, volunteers and supporters - who I briefly crossed paths with that day. Sometimes we live our lives in such isolation from those around us. But if all it takes is a 100km run to really connect with someone, then everyone should go do it.  OK so maybe I do like running and maybe my #GRE was the whole of the run, but - Grant Mataira, YOU are my greatest run ever!

February 6, 2019

Jody Arnott

 Hey guys.

 Love the show!

 I've been meaning to write in about my #GreatestRunEver for a while now, but it wasn't until I was recently catching up on some missed DCR episodes that I was inspired to do it.

 I spent a while thinking about my greatest run ever. It would have been easy to talk about my first marathon, the Tarawera 42k in 2016. Or my fastest half marathon, the Hamilton half a year later.

 But I realised that a "greatest run" isn't necessarily your fastest time or longest distance, but one that no matter how hard it is, you make it to the finish line.

 The 24k Waitomo trail run in 2017 was my greatest run ever. It was the infamous Wai-slow-mo mud run, but despite the weather I was enjoying it. People were in good spirits, I made a few friends while trudging along in the mud, and the scenery was pretty amazing. It was more of an adventure hike than a race.

 Unfortunately at about 14km in while jogging down a hill, I landed full force in a fairly large hole that was hidden by mud. As I landed, I slipped and fell sideways, and my foot wedged in the hole. With nowhere to go, my ankle bent at an angle it wasn't made for, making a popping sound that was heard by passing runners.

 The pain was excruciating, but I put on a brave face for the runners that were passing me asking if I was OK. At the time, I thought it could possibly be a sprain, but I didn't think anything was broken.

 Due to the remoteness of the area, I didn't have much choice other than to keep going. So I hobbled onward at a pace of about 3km per hour, with my foot swelling up to about twice its normal size.

 To be honest, it's a bit of a blur now. To cut a long story short, I made to to the finish after about 6 hours thanks to a mixture of stupidity, sheer determination, and a bit of ego.

 X-ray results the next day put an end to my running for about 6 months, with multiple fractures and torn ligaments. Walking was extremely difficult for the following 3 weeks, and it took about 8 months for the pain to fully disappear.

 So, it was probably the worst run ever. But it was also probably the best run ever. Sheer determination to get that damn finisher's medal got me to the finish line, as well as my own stubbornness to not give up.

 Looking back, the smart move would have been to DNF. But I'll always remember the feeling of crossing that finish line.

 I entered the Waitomo 24k event the following year in 2018 and finished unscathed. I probably won't do it again... probably :)

January 30, 2019

Robin Page

Tēnā Kōrua e hoa!

First time caller, long time listener, I'm writing this having just gotten home after spending 3 hours bouncing around riverhead with your show playing through my headphones! I started tuning in after discovering you'd done an interview with my Uncle, Dr Tony Page, and have been a regular listener since. I'm a medical student with shared custody between North Shore and Waitakere hospitals, with one of my placements this year being in psychiatry and mental health... So I may see you around Matt!

My greatest run ever was late last year as part of the Blue Lake Challenge. One of the consultant Doctors at Rotorua hospital convinced me to take part in the "Midnight Marathon event" (Shout-out to Dr Stanley!) but the event clashed with my flatmate's 30th birthday party... What to do?

I resolved that I was going to do both; I would attend the party AND the run on the same night. Usually my preparations for a long run are pretty structured and planned out, but not this one. Pasta and electrolytes were replaced by burgers, beers, and biscuits. One well meaning party goer kept bringing me chips, one at a time, concerned I hadn't eaten enough for my midnight escapade.

I rolled up to the start line 30 minutes late, head torch on, with a helium balloon I'd hijacked from the party tied to my backpack. It had a smiley face on it and everything, it was a cool balloon ok? The race director threatened to pop my balloon if I didn't get out on course immediately, so not wanting to lose my new floating friend I shot out the feed zone and onto the trails.

I've not done a lot of night running, but for anyone wanting to give it a go I can highly recommend it. Cloudless skies, the stars up above, the occasional tendril of fog rising from the lake into the almost frozen night air... I felt free, at peace, and at the same time so very alive.

I met a lot of runners that night, some who had been running for over 16 hours at that point. Many of them had a good laugh at the sight of a bright orange springy legged boy bounding along with a slowly leaking helium balloon nipping at his heels, and I hope I brightened up their days a little! I'm sure some wrote off seeing the Balloon Boy at 2am as a hallucination, but if any of you are listening I am very real!

I ended up settling for a midnight half marathon rather than going the whole way, this being my first properly long run back after recovering from a knee injury. Good food, good company, good laughs and good running. What more could you want? In a way all the stars aligned, which is why this is easily my greatest run ever.

Jencavic

Here is a nice story about how we can connect even if we don’t speak the same language. Yesterday while doing my warm up for a solid Parkrun, a young boy came up to me to offer me a commemorative t-shirt for Armistice day. A number of runners had come from Vignacourt France 🇫🇷 joined us for a Parkrun. I gratefully accepted this gift. It was a firm run for me and on the final turn, I saw the boy who gifted my t-shirt pull up and stop, he looked spent. I came beside him and encouraged him in the best way I could to let him know it was just a little way to go. I showed my shirt and reminded him that he was the one he gave me the shirt. He started to move and make pace again and we turned the corner I put my hand on his shoulder and told him, “let’s run it out to the finish”. With that he pulled out the French flag and held it high above his head with pride. We accelerated and hit the finish line with matched speed and grace and broad smiles. No words needed to be said, he hugged me afterwards with thx before laying down for a rest. I will treasure that shirt and the memories attached and I will never forget this great run. Some runs are beautiful others are just mind blowing amazing! #bargaraparkrun#vignacourtvisit#runrestrepeat#armistice#runninggirl#dirtchurchradio#greatestrunever#makingfriends#runhard#runbeforeworking#kaicoffee#myhappyplace

January 23, 2019

David Haunschmidt

I have been soaking up your fantastic podcast over the past 6 months. Well done on such an honest, kind, interesting set of shows.

It got me thinking every week of my ‘greatest run ever’. I find this very difficult to pinpoint as I love running every day. I love doing it to explore the amazing trails in NZ and the rest of the world when travelling. I love the scenery and wildlife and escape, and the feeling afterwards on the way home. It replenishes me, inspires me and makes me the best self I can be.  I eventually settled on my greatest run ever being the Great Barrier Island Marathon in 2018. It is a half trail and half road marathon across Great Barrier Island in the Hauraki golf. It ticked all the boxes: explore a new area (a stunning island full of pristine beaches and epic mountains), some tough trails (the race being over 1000metre of elevation), community organised and supported (a lovely grassroots community spirit – the nod at the shop with the comment “you’ll be here for the island run than ay?”) and fantastic views across the island when running (for most of the trail I had to remind myself to look at where I was stepping rather then the scenery!).  However the reason it was my greatest run ever was because it was the first time my partner Amanda (together for 9 years) came to support one of my runs. It added a whole new element I had not experienced before. She was there at several checkpoints and darted around the island in a 30 year-old rusted rental car (like most of the cars on the island), at some points following me and shouting support. I had never had this before and it is what got me through. This event was tough – it has been touted as one of the hardest marathons in the world and on a very hot sun-exposed day. The second half on the road still has two looooong hills with 400metres of elevation. I had to dig deep and spent quite some time in the ‘suffer’ state. Each time I saw her at a checkpoint it would reinvigorate me. It is one of the few runs I had frequent thoughts of dropping out, and I can’t honestly say I wouldn’t have if she wasn’t there.   I eventually reached the finish line with my partner cheering and taking photos and the organisers providing home-baked goods. I managed to beat the course record in a time of 3:04. However an Aucklander managed an ever better time beating me by a few minutes, making me take second place. Having the shared experience with my partner and experiencing the adventure together is what makes this the greatest run ever for me. Giving her an insight into these tough events and my ‘Why’ was rewarding to us both. It has inspired her to run a little bit and also to attend other events I have done, creating some fantastic shared experiences and stories. I am very grateful for this.

We spent three days in total on the island exploring (including a reasonably long walk to the natural hot springs the night before the race!) and really loved the place. Its untouched stunning natural beauty, its friendliness and community spirit, its amazing wildlife and fantastic walks are what exploring the world and trail running are all about.

January 16, 2019

Paul Hernandez

My Greatest Run Ever was the run that sparked the trail running flame for me.  It was the Dual Half marathon in 2014. I wanted to set a goal that seemed out of reach and work towards it, back then, 21km seemed too much to comprehend. I committed by purchasing the ticket and began the journey of trying to figure out what it meant to run 21km.  A friend of mine planned to run the race too, it would have been his first half marathon as well, however, he was unable to attend due to a prior commitment. So, I was to do it alone.

I travelled to the start by myself, via the ferry as did everyone else. I observed the other runners in their groups, with their fancy running outfits and shoes, and coloured K tape up their legs and around their shoulders... "that looks a bit excessive" I thought. I also experienced the requirement of cleaning my shoes before getting on the ferry, which was a first.

I remember warming up during the pre run briefing, thinking "... What if I get lost? How long is this going to take me?" I knew nothing about nutrition or water intake, I didn't even know what Strava was! So off I went with many other people.  My one goal was take my time, enjoy travelling up Rangitoto, and take some pics when I could. The course was awesome, the scenery is so beautiful. Having the opportunity to run around these stunning parts of the world is still the main reason why I love this pastime.

I finished the race in just under 4 hours. My partner and her friend made the trip over to Motutatpu to cheer me on at the finish line, which was super cool. The next available ferry back to Auckland wasn't for a couple of hours, so we took advantage of the afternoon sun, live music, hotdogs and beer/wine. We watched the prize giving ceremony and cheered on the top ranked runners who were called out. The spot prize were also called out, and just my luck, my name was called out and I won a two tickets trip to Rarotonga race for the Round Rarotonga Road Race.  I jumped up in the air with excitement as I ran towards stage, and I felt my left calf cramp up! It didn't matter, it was a magical day. That was my greatest run ever.

Hannah Matres

itsme_hannah_banana_runs

Just sharing a reflection on this race. Queenstown, my third full monty. First was Rotorua and second was Auckland, both of which I have trained solely for and got a good time and PR, all sub 4. Somehow, queenstown was the exact opposite. I trained for it but deep inside I was not confident I would run it strong. Just like Taupo ultra, I had colds again but lucky enough I felt better this morning. The weather picked up as well so that’s a bonus. So off I go starting from Arrowtown. The atmosphere was great! We ran beside picturesque mountains, there was a river, a bridge. Ultimately it was one scenic run, typical of what Queenstown has to offer. People cheered on. There was even a band playing a Foo Fighters song which was really cool! As a running geek, I analyze my races and as for this instance what went wrong? From the start I couldn’t keep my heart rate low, mid 170’s usually that is. My pace didn’t feel fast so I thought it was a combination of nerves and not having a shakeout run a day prior. Even my breathing was fine so I thought I’ll just base it on my effort. From 13km onwards, my heart rate was in the 180’s and still my breathing was fine. It went on like that and many times it reached 190’s up until the 32nd km where I hit bonkers. That nausea ‘gagging to puke’ feeling and light-headedness was awful. My legs were heavy but not that bad. But I knew if I carry on like that for the next 10km I’ll pass out. And I don’t play superhuman, I’m a nurse and it’s just not sensible to pass out in a race. It is meant to be enjoyed. I decided to walk most of it and ran when I can. It didn’t feel like a defeat to be honest. As for me marathons are always hard no matter how much experience one has. And just like life, shit happens, can’t always win but there will always be more races in the future. And I’m in Queenstown on a running holiday with my family. Best place ever! Such a great way to end a running year. Onwards and upwards for what’s next. 🙌💕 Despite the crappy performance this is my #greatestrunever. 🙏 Official time 4:18:59 🤣 @queenstownmarathon @garminnz#roadtoqueenstown #marathon#instarunners #mymedal

January 09, 2019

Craig Watson

My greatest run ever.

G’Day from sunny Queensland guys,

Thanks for a fantastic podcast I am close to finishing off listening to all of the previous episodes of Dirt church radio which I only recently found while reading through all the info on the Tarawera Ultra website.

I’d like to start by saying I’m one of the many that struggle with the concept of calling myself a

runner as I spend 90% of my time walking and hiking I am currently trying to learn to jog (see I can’t even say the word run lol) on the roads to complement my walking during tarawera 102km in Feb, I find jogging on trails so much easier and enjoyable than jogging on the road but I hope by doing some road jogging training it will help me develop some skills.

My greatest Walk ever ;) I believe was earlier this yr. 2018 while coming to the completion of 12 months training for the 2018 Kokoda challenge on the gold coast which is a 96km team event and my first exposure to the fact the people are actually capable of travelling these distances.

One of my team mates and I set a couple of challenges one of which was to complete 4 times walking up our local mountain (MT Larcom which is a 3.5km climb up 635m of elevation). We had no idea if this was achievable as most people, ourselves included, find just one trip up enough to justify an afternoon nap and a fair bit of whinging.

Before I start with how the walk went I’ll quickly explain what the trail is like up to the top of the mountain. The first 1km is fairly easy and something a runner could easily run then you start the middle ½ which is just step and slippery incline a fair portion of the 638m is in this stage and it is just straight up the hill with no switch backs to soften the blow, this section is what breaks most people’s spirits,once you reach the spur it’s is a bit gentler for a few hundred metres before a couple of rock climbs and another section of steep incline. The top section is all clambering up rock faces and makes for some interesting minutes before reaching the top and being able to take in a 360 degree panoramic view of the region. On to our climb

We started at 4am in the dark and set of conscious of trying to conserve energy but found that we summited in approx. 1hr 15min which is a fairly quick time for anyone especially when we hopefully had 3 more laps in our legs. The first lap was completed with the company of a friend who had always wanted to hike the mountain and was brave enough to make her first attempt in the dark hoping to see sunrise from the top, however we were a bit early and keen to keep rolling so off we trotted back to the car (our friend went on to climb the mountain again in wks. to come with her kids and caught her sunrise.)

Lap 2 we were accompanied by 2 of our other team mates and 1 of their kids we found this lap to be very much the same as the first a smooth walk and legs felt really strong giving us plenty of confidence it was a beautiful winters morning in central QLD approx. 18degrees and by the time we summited and started back down we started to pass a few of the 20 or so people that generally climb the hill on any given weekend day they all had a look of shock as we bounced down past them and over brief words of encouragement highlighted our days plan wishing them luck and promising to say hi on the next lap.

Prior to lap 3 we stopped for 15min to shovel a chicken wrap in using this as a chance to practice our checkpoint stops for Kokoda, we headed off feeling great with 1 of the 2 team members from lap 2 still with us so making 3 of us we worked our way back up towards the top focused on completing the challenge now that we realised it was achievable, we stopped to encourage a young couple who were sitting in tears trying to find what they needed to keep pushing to the top, we were so proud of them to find out later that they had finally made it after close to 6hrs total time on the mountain. I was really looking forward to the 4 th lap as my 10yr old son and his mate we going to be joining us to complete the challenge, they were excitedly waiting at the carpark for us with a typical survival pack for kids chips, lollies and if they were lucky 600ml of water. We quickly filled our camelback bladders and said good bye to our team mate who was heading home and with slowly fatiguing legs headed up for our 4 th and final trip. The UeBoom was pumping out tunes and we steadily climbed the dreaded middle section of the climb as we started on the spur line running up towards the final climb I hit a wall that nearly knocked me back down to the bottom and realised that not finishing my wrap was a huge mistake as I’d finally used up my last energy reserves. Luckily I had some peanut M&M’s in my pocket and couldn’t believe the boast of energy they provided letting me continue to the summit and triumphally hugged my son and shock hands with Jason my team mate as we celebrated achieving our goal with only having to tumble our way back down the hill injury free to finish a successful days training.

We completed the 4 climbs in approx. 8hrs and finished with 28km and over 2400m of elevation, obviously exhausted and with plenty of leg fatigue we couldn’t of been happier a couple of cold beers to rehydrate and recover had us searching for our families and as much food as we could find before crawling into bed with big smiles and finally feeling some confidence that it may even be possible to complete 96km and 4500m of elevation with the support of a fantastic team.

We went on to finish the Kokoda challenge in 28hrs with some heroic efforts by team members and support crews.

Can’t wait to see you all at Tarawera and hope to be crying and smiling as I cross the finish line

DAVE JACK

Hello

My name is Dave Jack. I am a Leo, I love cheese pizza, and long walks in the park....Anywho lets talk about my greatest run ever. Background I am a skateboarder and until about two years ago I never considered myself as a "runner". I was just running to keep the beer gut from taking over, but back to the story. Now I have so many great runs like my first marathon with my bros where I seriously laughed so much the whole way through my cheeks hurt after the race. But the one I want to tell you about is different and it just happened a few weeks ago.

Was talking with my friend Matt one morning at the school drop off and he said "Hey I am going to do time trials on Anzac hill today, want to come?" . I looked at him and said "Yep sure will text you if I can make"  In my head I was thinking, I hate that hill and there is no way I am running full speed up it. So I got home and for some crazy reason I texted him and said I am free at 11 hoping this would not work out in his schedule. His reply was cool pick up then.So that was it I was off to death hill.......We arrive 10 minute warm up then 3,2,1, go. So during the run there was no talking it was all business. I had never done a sprint up this hill before but had Matt and he had a time he was trying to beat. We were neck and neck the whole way I wanted to stop but I knew I couldn't. I got to the top just a little ahead of Matt looked at my watch and I knew he was going to beat his time. At that moment I got super excited was like watching my buddy do a new skate trick.The look of determination on his face coming up to the top and knowing he was going to do what he set out to do put the biggest smile on my face. At the top it was high fives and man hugs and for the rest of the day all I thought about was how stoked I was on the run and how he beat his PB.

So that was one of my greatest runs, having  fun and watching my homeboy kill his PB.

Love

Thee Dave Jack

Inspirational, funny, sad, delightful, everyday stories of running.