Running in the rain brings out the inner kid
It was about 30 kilometres into one of the most bizarre runs of my life that the words from the pre-race briefing rang in my ears.
‘‘Just remember, you’re in Fiordland and right now it’s more fiord than land,’’ the race’s medical director had told us before we set out for the 60km Kepler Challenge.
Never a truer word was said, I thought, thigh-deep in glacial water, desperately trying to figure out where the track finished and the river began, and wondering if there were eels.
All year, my Dirt Church
Radio co-host, Matt Rayment, and I figured there was no way Te A¯ nau could turn on conditions like we had at Kepler last year, when sunburn and heatstroke were the biggest hazards as we ran along the ridge of Mt Luxmore.
And so it proved – in recent weeks, the region has been lashed by wind and rain.
In the end, race director Steve Norris and the committee of locals who organise this most community of races made the call to go ahead, but with an alternative course – which meant runners weren’t out on the exposed alpine section as long as normal. It was only the third time in the race’s 32-year history weather had forced a change to the course.
It still meant we had to wade along flooded sections of track, listen as thunder boomed, and feel stinging, freezing rain until our legs went numb.
Sounds horrible, huh? Nope. I loved it. Why?
I’ll remember Kepler 2019 as a time when shared suffering begat shared joy; a time when, confronted by misery, all I could do was get silly and run; a time when, faced with puddles and mud, the only thing to do was go straight through the middle.
In short, I acted like a kid. And how often do we get the chance to do that?
It does mean I owe a few apologies. If you were one of those unfortunates on the track at the same time as Matt, our friend, Seawon, and I were
trudging our way through the last 12km or so, I’m sorry about my singing out of tune. And about the made-up lyrics.
But, please, tell me: how could I possibly not sing ‘‘ Ahaha,aha ha, scoria’’ (to the tune of Laura Branigan’s Gloria) as my shoes filled with scoria and grit through the water sections of the course?
And how could I possibly not whoop and holler as if I was the race leader when the three of us headed down the finish chute?
Matt, Seawon and I had worked hard as a team to make it here, fighting the conditions and our own fatigue, and I wasn’t about to let the moment pass.
I did something I’ve never done before, grabbing the hands of my mates as we crossed the line together, smiles blasted across our faces, caring not about the rain.
You’d think that we were Daniel Jones or Ruby Muir, the true Kepler champions of 2019.
Kepler holds a special place in the lore of New Zealand trail running. It started back at a time when runners fuelled themselves on Gingernuts and Raro.
Nowadays, it’s a bit more sophisticated – runners sip electrolyte drinks and consume gels on the go between aid stations.
But the spirit remains.
It’s that spirit which means that when you make it up to the aid station at Luxmore Hut, in that icy, stinging rain, the wind-chill sending the temperature below zero, you won’t find a frown around.
Instead, you’ll find a bunch of enthusiastic volunteers, handing out oranges and jet plane lollies and muesli bars, all wearing steampunk costumes. Yes, steampunk.
And elsewhere you’ll find equally enthusiastic volunteers encouraging you as you press on with this ding-bat caper of running an ultramarathon in wild weather.
It’s no wonder it brings out the kid in me.