Kepler Challenge - race reflections

The Kepler is over for another year, this my second time running this superb race.

These are some thoughts on what to expect running the Kepler, for those that haven’t yet had the privilege.  And I do think it’s a privilege to traverse this track, one of New Zealand’s great walks.  It’s what brings me back to it, together with the amazing community spirit from the people of Te Anau that wraps around it.

I’ll mention the community spirit first.  There’s quite a different feel about a race that has the passionate support of the local community and, perhaps incidentally, that is not-for-profit.  Te Anau is a small town on the edge of a beautiful wilderness.  It is the jump off point for excursions into the Fiordland National Park, including the Kepler and Milford Tracks.  The Kepler Challenge appears to have a special place in the heart of the people of Te Anau.

As a runner, this community spirit displays itself in the aid stations, which for some of them have become performance art.  This year we had hippies, Where’s Wally, Santa and the Papal Curia.  We had a group of well-wishers that had camped out on the side of the lake to cheer us on has we turned up the hill towards Luxmore.  We had groups of locals that had gathered at the points in the track that can be accessed from the road or water.  All full of smiles and encouragement.  And it lifts you.  Excellent effort Te Anau.

I think of the race in five parts.  The first is the gentle trail around the lake, with the sun reflecting off the glistening water.  The second is the climb through the forest up to Luxmore Hut.  The third is the alpine section over the tops.  The fourth is the drop down into Iris Burn.  The fifth, the longest, is the second half of the race past Lake Manapouri and down the valley to the control gates at the finish.

The gentle trail around the lake is a warm up, with the chill air of the early morning and plenty of banter among the runners.  The second part up to Luxmore Hut is what I would regard as a steady climb, not technical and not particularly challenging.  Most people are walking, but it is definitely runnable.

My key tip at this stage is to change into warmer gear before you hit the alpine section above the tree line.  I put on a long-sleeved top, my parka, my hat and gloves.  Once over the tree line it can feel like you have stepped into a fridge.  This year the wind wasn’t too bad, but with wind chill it was approaching zero degrees.  The previous time I did the race, I got changed after I realised it was cold, and spent ages shivering and fiddling around trying to put on my gear.

The third part, across the tops, is honest mountain running.  You are almost certain to have your bag checked for the compulsory gear at Luxmore.  The trail becomes narrower and gnarlier, with snow and ice patches this year to contend with.  It didn’t feel all that treacherous this year, but if the wind gets up it feels quite different. 

It’s pretty clear when you are on the tops that you need decent trail shoes.  There were quite a lot of runners that were using normal road running shoes and the lack of grip would have been unnerving for them on this stage.  Plus, you are smacking into rocks from time to time and need toe protection. 

The race website says the vertical is about 1.3km, but my Suunto suggests it was closer to 2km.  It felt more like 2km to me.

The fourth part is the drop down off the alpine section into the tranquility of the valley below.  The trail is basically pretty smooth in this section, which allows you to open up a bit on the descent, flowing into the switch backs with a good racing line.

The one thing I would say about the aid stations is the food is basic.  You really just have oranges and bananas, which means you need to carry all the supplemental nutrition to get you through the race.  Oh yes, they also have jelly airplanes.  But there are lots of aid stations, around 10.  This means you are never much more than 60-90 minutes from an aid station.  This means you don’t have to completely fill up on water and so carry less weight.

The final, longest, part is the 30 odd kilometres down the valley to the finish.  This could best be described as meandering, rolling terrain.  The track is very good and you can get a rhythm going.  It is beautiful, alongside the river, but there is not much variation here.  Just drop into a meditative state and power through to the finish.

Just before turning into the finishing straight, a guy approached me with a film camera and asked what I thought of the race.  I said I really loved this race and appreciated the warm support on the trail.  

It’s such a special race in a special part of the world.  

Dolomiti di Brenta race 2016

Scrambling up the steep scree slope leading to the final pass at Bocca di Brenta, one of the mountain safety guides called my name, “from New Zealand?” yes, “a lawyer?”, yes, “I am a lawyer too!”.  It was hard to maintain a footing with the rocks sliding under my feet, but I was able to brace myself with my poles and shake his hand.  It wasn’t far to the top he said, maybe 25 minutes.

It was a nice moment, at one of the toughest parts of the course.  I was somewhat of a curiosity - one of only a few non-Italians in the race and probably the only one from the southern hemisphere.  How did I find out about the race, Herbert was curious to know when I registered?  I was travelling to Europe in September and wanted to run a race in the mountains. I knew of the Dolomites’ reputation and this was a great choice.

This was year one of the DBT.  A year zero was held in 2015 to test out the course and race organisation.  There were 300 entered in the 64km race and the same number in the 45km race.  I was participating in the 64km with 4200m+.  It had the ambiance of a local race, low key and down to earth, but in a stunning setting. 

The race was at the start of September.  It begins and ends in Molveno, a small lakeside village in the Dolomites, in Trentino in north-eastern Italy.  This year’s Giro d’Italia had passed through the area.  The riders would have strained to climb the hills and thrilled at the descents.  The weather forecast for the race day was good, we were told at the briefing, with thunderstorms around the area in the late afternoon.  This meant we would have a good view of the mountains.

There were three main passes to climb, each at around 2300-2500m.  Molveno was at about 800m and the first ascent was about 1500m+, with the other two passes involving less climb and a long descent at the very end of about 1700m- down to Molveno.  With each pass came a new landscape and a new set of experiences.  We would roughly circumnavigate the Cima Brenta mountain range, an area rich in mountaineering history and a UNESCO world heritage site. 

The race began at 6am and we climbed gently on a wooded trail alongside the river on the way up to the neighbouring village of Andalo.  The sky started to lighten by the time I reached Andalo and the serious climbing began up through the Polsa forest.  The rising sun cast an orange glow through the trees.  The sign on the side of the trail said “bear country”; there are about a dozen brown bears in the area, probably keeping well clear of humans.

Emerging out of the forest and cresting the hill, I turned into Val Dei Cavai for the climb towards Sella del Montoz.  The race was unfolding well ahead of me as I worked my way up the valley with a view others at the back of the field.  The temperature dropped again in the shade of the steep hills all around the valley.  I climbed steadily and within myself with the prospect of a big day ahead.

I dropped down the trail into Val di Non, as vistas opened up of the valleys far below.  It was a long, easy traverse down to the aid station at Termoncello.  I snacked on ham and parmesan cheese and tried to chat with the aid station volunteers.  My Italian was limited, as was their English, but we communicated enough to express warmth and gratitude and point the way. 

The next stage of the race had begun.  The route wound through an open, grassy valley of Campo di Flavona.  The valley is populated with chamois and mountain ibex, as well as alpine cows with noisy bells, maddeningly ringing constantly.  Towering mountains loom on one side.  These mountains eroded over time, revealing the vertical and gnarled faces of dolomite rock, surrounded by an enormous skirt of scree at its base.  The route was indistinct, with many trails crossing the race route at various places.  This valley had clearly been a cross-road for travellers throughout the ages.

I climbed into the alpine area and around to the top of the next pass, the Passo del Groste.  Just over the top was the next aid station at Rifugio Graffer al Grostè.  The ski chair lifts carried mountain bikers up to the top and I descended with riders down the slope towards Rifuge Casinei and then into the rich valley of Valle Sinella.  I was about an hour inside the cut off time at this point.

A short climb pushed up towards Rifugi Tuckett e Sella.  Many of the mountaineering routes seem to begin at the rifuge.  There was a surprising mix of day trekkers walking to Tuckett and back, with serious climbers preparing to scale the surrounding mountains.  “Salve” is a way of saying hello in alpine Italian and I said it dozens of times on the route up to the rifuge. 

The route up to Tuckett was a struggle, made more difficult by nausea and stomach troubles.  Slowing down, taking shallower breaths, allowed things to be brought back under control.  I rested a while at Tuckett, enjoying the views and chatting to other back of the pack runners. 

Dropping down from Tuckett opened up the valley of Val Brenta, with hanging glaciers on the other side and vertical drops to the floor below.  This stage of the race was the most spectacular and all adjectives seem trivial to describe the beauty of the area.  There was a small shrine along the path, with name plates and pictures of several dozen climbers who had perished over the years in the mountains.  You couldn’t help but pause and pay respect to these climbers for their endeavour and risks they faced.

As the path carved its way around the side of the mountains, I approached the head of the valley at Bocca di Brenta.  The trail opened up onto a field of large boulders that could only be clambered over or around and then navigating up the scree slope, where I met my lawyer friend. 

This was the last mountain pass at about 50km and the friendly welcome at Rifugi Tosa e Pedrotti was had just on the other side.  There was still about 90 minutes of daylight left and I made my way quickly and as carefully as I could down the rocky and twisty path.  The finish felt within reach and I did not want to roll an ankle at this point.  The light of day faded and the remainder of the race would be under the beam of my head torch, picking out the white of the rocks on the trail and the race ribbons every 100m or so. 

The beam narrows your vision, but every once in a while, I was aware of a drop off to the side of the trail, requiring focus to avoid stumbling, but also to avoid stepping on the mountain toads that populated the trail.  I dropped further down into the forest and then the lights of Molveno could be seen below.  The final stretch wound through the old part of town and down to the lakeshore to cross the finish line.

My finish time was 16 hours 44 minutes.  I thought I was going to be comfortably inside the cut off time of 17 hours, but the descent into Molveno took longer than anticipated; if I’d spent 3 or 4 more minutes at each of the aid stations, I wouldn’t have made it in time.    

The DBT was a very well organised race in an outstanding part of the world and I’m delighted to have had the opportunity to participate and reach the end.  Thanks to Herbert, Elisabetta and the team!

MacLehose Trail stages 1, 2 and 3

This was my return to the great MacLehose Trail after completing stages 4 and 5 a few years ago (here’s a link to my post on that).  I’ve now completed half the stages!

I flew into Hong Kong at 6.30am from New Zealand, dropped my bags off at the hotel and got on my way.  From Tai Koo, I took the MTR to Choi Hung (about 20 minutes on a Saturday morning), then a minibus to Sai Kung.  And then another minibus to the start of the first stage at Pak Tam Chung.  All up, that was probably about 90 minutes from my hotel.  It’s quite straightforward (and inexpensive).

I went to the visitor centre at Pak Tam Chung and got a map of the trail.  I told the guy I was doing 1, 2 and 3.  He politely suggested that I stop at the end of stage 2.  Stage 3, he said, would be “strenuous”.  I liked his understated manner; he proved to be right of course.

Each stage is about 10km.  Stage one circumnavigates the western and southern sides of the very large High Island Reservoir.  It’s all on road and pretty much flat.  There’s a stream of taxis to contend with, dropping people at the far end of the stage, at the East Dam.  The reservoir is scenic and you get to view the hills to the north of you that you will have to cross over in stage 2.  There was little shade and the day was beginning to warm up.  It’s a gentle start.

Stage two is a bit more serious at the start.  There’s a 300m climb to Sai Wan Shan, where views open up to the coast, dropping down to a series of white sandy beaches.  The Oxfam Trailwalker 2016 is in a few weeks and it follows the stages that I was on, plus a few others!  There were a number of teams training on the course, probably wondering what they’d let themselves in for.

The beaches had a number of day trippers, with boats ferrying people to and from Sai Kung.  There were little restaurants where I topped up on drinks and got out of the heat of the sun.  This stage of the trail was very busy and had by far the most people.  It’s great the way that the people of Hong Kong use their lovely country parks.  I was greeted with lots of smiles and hellos.

The trails in this stage are mostly concreted.  This stage must be one of the most accessible and popular on the MacLehose, so it maybe makes sense.  But it somewhat takes away from the experience of being out in the parkland.  It’s also the most picturesque stage, with nice viewpoints on the headlands between the beaches.

The stage ends at the road at Pak Tam Au.  There’s a little shop here where you can top up on supplies (there’s no shops on stage 3!).  It looks like you could flag a taxi or take a bus back from here if you choose to stop at the end of this stage.

Stage 3 is the real thing. The crowds vanish and the Trailwalkers and a few others were the only other people on the trail with me.  The trails were a mixture of rocky, some stone steps and hard packed clay.  The concrete paths were gone!  There were a few areas where you could open up to a run, but mostly it was trekking for me.

The first climb was the hardest of the day; about 3km with about 380m+.  Fortunately, there’s shade, but it was a laborious climb.  The views in this stage were more distant as you move further away from the coast.  The flight path was overhead and planes flew over every minute or so.  I wondered if they could see me and made a note to check if I could spot anyone in the hills next time I flew in.

The long descent brought me down into a valley.  I had a faint hope that this would be the end of the stage, as there was a steep hill on the other side.  Well that wasn’t going to happen as that hill would have to be climbed. 

It was shorter than the first, but seemed just as hard, as false tops came one after the other.  But eventually it came to an end followed by a long, quad-busting descent, taking me down to the end of the stage and Pak Tam Road.  I flagged one of the many taxis passing by, which dropped me off at Sai Kung again, to take the minibus and MTR back to the hotel.

Today I experienced some of the different qualities of the MacLehose.  Stages 4 and 5, that I had previously done, were demanding, but stunning, particularly towards the end as you see views of Kowloon.  Stage 1 was really just the entry point to the trail, a warm up.  Stage 2 had the best views, although the most people.  Stage 3 was the most strenuous, as my friend at the visitor centre predicted, more like stages 4 and 5. 

The total distance covered in the three stages was 32.05km, with 1,620+ and a time of a bit under 7 1/2 hours. 

Plantar fasciitis – how it's been for me

This post is about my experience with plantar fasciitis and some of the stupid things I did about it and some of the good things.  It is also about the other things I did, which ultimately improved my life and my running.

This definitely isn’t a medical post.  I have no qualifications that mean that I should be listened to in the treatment of this injury – it’s just about me.

Plantar fasciitis struck me in October 2014.  I was on a fairly long road run and felt sore on the sole of my right foot.  I went to the physio and they diagnosed it.  In November 2014, I had an ultrasound, which confirmed the diagnosis.  There were micro tears and some swelling in the fascia tissue in front of the heel and lateral side of the tissue.

I had made two changes to my normal routine in the lead up to that run which probably contributed to the injury.  First, I had been doing some short, sharp 5km races.  This type of high intensity running involves loading up the body, but it was great going fast.  The second thing I did was I bought some Hoka road shoes and had started to run in them.  My normal running shoe was Asics, a completely different type of shoe.  My mileage hadn’t increased very much in the lead up to the injury and there were no other changes.

The plantar fascia is a thick fibrous band of connective tissue, that runs from the heel bone that sort of splays out to separate strands attaching to the base of the toes.  It was described to me as like a thicker version of that milky film of tissue that wraps around a filet steak.  In fact, the muscles all over your body are wrapped in this sort of tissue.

Plantar fasciitis involves micro tears in this fibrous band.  Because there is little blood flow in the plantar fascia (like the Achilles tendon), healing can be slow.  Plus, you walk on them every day, which can’t help.

The conservative school of thought seemed to be that the fascia needed to be rested and supported to allow it to heal.  This may include arch support in your shoes and donut padding in the heel area to relieve pressure.  You stop running and you avoid walking around the house barefoot.  A more radical school of thought is that the fascia needs strengthening and that it is the weakness in the fascia that is the cause of the fasciitis.  A stronger fascia will aid healing.

Impatient to return to running, and attracted by the apparent logic, I followed the more radical school of thought.  This involved wearing minimalist shoes when not running (I was wearing Vivo barefoot), which, because of their complete lack of support, would strengthen the fascia.  At work, I even swapped out my leather work shoes for the leather low boot style of Vivo.  I was also going into summer, so I spent a lot of time actually in barefoot.

I avoided physio (due partly to lack of confidence they could fix it, but I felt like I was improving) and I sought out evidence online to support the course of action I was taking (confirmation bias).  I laid off running.

I took the opportunity to make several other changes in my life.  I focussed on my diet, by reducing sugars and fast carbs.  My weight stayed off, even though my exercise workload reduced.  I also picked up yoga.  I was inflexible in all sorts of ways and this has helped a lot in improving my flexibility, which will help my running.  I still do some yoga every day and I’ve continued my improved diet.

So, fast-forward 12 months.  I had another ultrasound towards the end of 2015.  The news was there had been no healing and the tears were worse than before if anything. 

My conclusion from all that is the more radical approach of strengthening the fascia does not assist healing.  It may be helpful after healing, but not as a means of healing.  The conservative approach would probably have been better for me.

I then stopped wearing the Vivos and went to see a physio.  She undertook a programme of deep tissue massage on the fascia.  She described it as taut and rigid when she got started on me.  The deep tissue massage hurts like hell, but it promotes alignment of the collagen fibres.  I had deep tissue work for about 3 months and the fascia softened considerably over that period.

The other thing I did was stretch the fascia, which I did by sitting back on my heels, with my toes straight out in front.  It’s quite hard to do this on a hard floor, so I do most of it on a pillow or on the sofa.  I hold it for about 30 seconds and try and do it about 3 or 4 times a day. 

These two things, the deep tissue massage and the fascia stretch, were key to my improvement I think.  I have ditched the Hokas and back to the Asics and I avoid high intensity runs.  Now, I’m running about 8-10 hours a week – mostly off-road.  I still think its not 100% healed, but its manageable and it’s not getting worse.

This injury is unlike any other that I have experienced before.  The sheer length of time that it took to get back to close to normal means good strategies are required to get you mentally and physically through.  It took me about 15 months, which is horrendous, but I didn’t help myself in some of the things I did.  The good news for most people is it should take a lot less time than that to heal.