Kawerau King of the Mountain, a Tale of 2 Duffuses

Now, I’ve run a long race - TUM 102, I’ve run a hard race - Kauri Ultra and I’ve even made the podium in a short trail race - We run the Forest. But I’ve never run a race before where the only part of me that was sore afterwards was my arms. Until now.

So living in Rotorua, running trails you get pretty used to running in the hills. Now, I’m not saying that makes me a mountain runner, I’m just saying that when I saw the Kawerau King of the Mountain come up on my Facebook feed, I thought “that's a bit of me” and signed up straight away then pretty much forgot about the race for the rest of the year. In the meantime, I book the Cape Kidnappers run and even make the Rotorua Trail Running Club Ekiden Team which both occur within a few weeks of the King Of the Mountain. Suddenly October’s looking quite busy.

So after a good performance at the tough Cape Kidnappers, and then a team win with the Rotorua Trail Running Club at the Rotorua Ekiden,  I was feeling pretty confident about my chances at Kawerau. I’d heard that if you can run a sub 60, you get a special shirt, well it’s only 8 km’s isn’t it, how hard can that be? 40 minutes up, 20 mins to get back down. Simple. In the weeks leading up to the race, I was too busy with other events and life to pay it much thought, but I did at least allow myself a bit of a taper, so when Saturday rolled around I was feeling pretty confident.

I jumped in the ute and headed over to Kawerau, listening to a running podcast and getting all inspired when all of a sudden I felt a strange feeling in my chest, an emptiness and shortness of breath. This feeling coincided with my first glimpse of Putuaki (Mt Edgecomb) and the sudden realisation that this run was going to be a bit harder than had I first thought.

Lining up there was the usual pre-race chatter, “Have you done this before?” “What time are you hoping for?” And “why are you wearing gloves already?”  Now the gloves thing was a tip I had picked up from looking at a few pictures from last year, and I thought gloves would be a good idea in case I fell on the descent. What I didn’t realise was that the gloves were about to come in handy in about 2 KM’s time. On the uphill.

The hooter goes, and we’re off, a couple of KM’s along the sealed road to start us off. The steady climb sees the field of 150 or so spread out. We hit the lower slopes of the mountain, and I’m unexpectedly overtaking a few people who are already walking. At this point, I’m thinking, “hmm this isn’t so bad, I’m maybe in 30th place?” Then it happens. The track suddenly seems to go vertical; I’m no longer running, I’m relegated to a walk, partly because of the sheer volume of people in front of me and the narrow nature of the track and partly because that’s as fast as I can go over this terrain. You get used to walking the uphills when you race ultras, if it’s faster to walk, why not walk, there’s no shame in it, right? But this is very different, everyone I can see in front of me is at best, walking, hands on knees, at worst sitting on the side of the track or clinging to a tree for dear life while we file past. We are all breathing very heavily as we all settle into a slow trudge to the top.

And then it gets worse. Now I’m thankful for the gloves in my pockets as I quickly dig them out for what is now essentially rock climbing interspersed with bouts of crawling and scrambling. For the moments that I get to be upright I feel like I’m flying along until the pain in my calves and the screaming in my lungs make me beg for another vertical section where I can use my arms to take some of the strain. Usually, where you put your foot is pretty important in a trail race, but here hand placement seems to be key. At one moment I mistake a loose stick for an exposed root and nearly tumble backwards but manage to hang on somehow and continue the agonising push for the top.

40 minutes pass and I finally acknowledge that sub 60 isn’t going to happen (let’s be honest, I knew it was out the window 20 minutes in), and now the goal is the top in sub 60, fighting calf cramps and begging my lungs to hang on.

Then, through a break in the scrub, I see a runner barrelling downhill on the adjacent track and it’s the most glorious sight! I realise the top must be close; one final excruciating push is all I need to give, but at this point, it’s all I can do to carry on inching forward. I’m amazed no one is passing me, but it seems we’re all so deep into our hurt lockers now that no one has it in them.

2 minutes later and I’m there at the turnaround. It’s officially taken me 47 minutes and I already know there’s no way I’m getting down quickly, I haven’t got the energy or, as I was soon to realise, the technical ability.

The downhill is crazier than the climb; it’s a combination of running, butt-sliding and good old fashion falling but it’s so much fun that I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’m now getting passed by more people than I did on the uphill; which seems crazy, but not as crazy as some of the speeds at which people are flying down the mountain. The surface is mostly soft loamy soil, interspersed with tree roots and loose rock. I’m glad of my gaiters and I’m grateful I’m wearing the gloves. This is where they come into their own as I’m slipping and sliding my way down the track, past some very well placed photographers who are shouting words of encouragement (all photos are free, nice one Kawerau District Council!). Now the quads are getting a hammering, this downhill seems to be taking forever.

As I finally break from the scrub cover the road comes into view, a nice gentle downhill back to Firmin Field. I realise sub 90 is guaranteed now so as I race down the finish shoot, high-fiving all the kids. I throw myself over the finish line and somehow, I’ve got enough energy for a few pushups. Don’t worry, Allan Ure makes me do more until I’m a crumpled heap on the grass, he’s good like that.

Some Aussie guy called Ben Duffus won, in about 43 minutes, though I’m not sure he had time to enjoy the run going that fast.

I don’t tend to repeat my races, there are so many great events to do, but there’s no way I’m not coming back to Putauaki next year. Maybe I’ll see you there? I’ll be the duffus with the smile on his face doing push-ups at the end.

All pics by Photos4Sale