The Tarawera 50k ultramarathon in 2019 was to be my first 50k, and though it was technically my second ultramarathon after a loop-based race in 2017 in which I ran 60 kilometres, for me it was my first ‘real’ taste of the ultrarunning world. It promised lush lakeside trails and winding forest paths, and it delivered on all fronts.

My partner Emily and I arrived in New Zealand with about a week to go before the Tarawera race series in Rotorua, a few hours south of Auckland. I had signed up initially to the 100k back in London, but after three months of travelling around southeast Asia, I didn’t feel like I would be up to it. We’d done dozens of hikes and walks up steep, unkept trails in Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, and Cambodia, so I felt strong and aerobically fit. But aside from a stunning, grassroots trail half marathon in Myanmar (race report to come), I hadn’t done very much running. So I downgraded to the 50k, not sure if I would even be up for that.

It turned out to be the first of many small decisions that lead to possibly my Best Run Ever.

Smiling through the pain

Race Expo

The race expo was extremely exciting! As someone who has only ever run relatively small-scale British races, being at an internationally renowned race expo like Tarawera was like turning up at Hogwarts. On entering, I immediately saw Sally bloody McRae casually chatting to race founder Paul Charteris. I did a double-take, but before I had time to reflect I saw Camille bloody Herron. Then I turned a corner and saw Courtney bloody Du-bloody-waulter chatting to Kiwi runner and previous 100k winner Fiona bleedin’ Hayvice.

I chatted to Courtney for a bit and she was extremely friendly and supportive, very keen to hear about my race despite the fact that she had probably had the same chat with dozens of runners all morning! Later on I also spotted Coconino Cowboy Cody Reed, Welsh elite Harry Jones, and one of my ultrarunning heroes Jeff Browning – just walking around like bloody normal.

The 20k

Emily ran the 20k the day before the ultra races. Though she’s run many half marathons by now, this one felt different. With almost 1000m of climbing, it was, to quote Laz Lake, “a ball-buster of a race.”

No matter the pain, always smile for the camera!

Thankfully, being ball-less, Emily cruised through her longest run ever in terms of time on her feet, finishing in over 3 hours but very much in the middle of the pack. She was beat up, but our extensive hiking in Asia seemed to serve her well as she conquered the hills. I was extremely proud – a 3+ hour run to a casual half marathon runner was no doubt a taxing experience, but she pushed through and finished strong.

Mission accomplished.

The only downside was that the spotlight was now on me. Gulp.

The Boat Mishap

This was the first time this particular 50k course had been run at Tarawera, and it goes without saying that there were some pretty sizeable teething issues. As someone who has organised a tiny, 50-runner race annually back home in the UK, I can only imagine the administrative work that goes into an event like Tarawera, where multiple races are taking place at the same time with thousands of runners out on the trails. So I was happy to wait for the issue to be resolved, though it didn’t help my pre-race nerves too much.

The problem stemmed from the fact that the 50k course started out on an isthmus which required runners to be transported first by coach, and then by water taxi to the start. Apparently one boat had broken down, and the capacity of each boat was pretty limited. So the waves we were due to start in got quickly backlogged – I was meant to be heading off around 9:15, but I didn’t take my first step on the course until closer to 11:30.

That being said, the trade-off for my patience was the boat ride. As my coach-load of runners waited by the shore of Lake Tarawera (in the fierce New Zealand summer sun), a boat pulled up and some runners who had been waiting longer than us performed the delicate act of politely but assertively securing themselves a spot. They set off on what was essentially a catamaran, drifting across the lake at a few knots.

Mount Tarawera seen from our speedboat

Then, the next boat pulled up: our boat. It was a bright yellow speedboat. About 20 of us hopped on board and put on our lifejackets, and we were off. Within minutes, we overtook the catamaran, and got a few dirty looks from some of our rather peeved fellow racers. I don’t blame them – our captain zoomed us across the surface of Lake Tarawera, pointing out peaks in the distance and even performing a 360 degree spin at the end of our ride. It was thrilling, and certainly woke me up for the race.

The 50k

Once we eventually made landfall, we were met by some enthusiastic but strained-looking members of the Tarawera team, who were doing their best to enthuse a continuous stream of pissed off runners and encourage us to enjoy the race. Being a ‘time trial’, there was no countdown or starting gun – just a timing mat that we could cross as and when we wanted to start our race. I nipped off into the woods to ensure my bladder was comfortably empty, and then I was off.

The race started with a few kilometres of singletrack, which meant there was a fair bit of bunching up from the off as runners of different paces intermingled. I was stuck behind a slower runner for quite a while, but I reminded myself that there’s no such thing as starting a race of this distance too slow, and decided to just let the miles tick by at this manageable pace early on.

True story: I shaved my beard into a moustache for this race.

To add to the confusion, the 100-mile runners who had started before dawn were using the same singletrack but in the opposite direction. They were around 50 kilometres into their race, and many were looking extremely fatigued already. Though it could have been awkward, there was an unspoken understanding amongst the fresh-legged 50k runners that 100-mile runners took priority. Every time we encountered one, our little stream of runners would step aside and let them through, offering them words of encouragement and astonishment.

Eventually, after around 3 kilometres, we hit a climb that I knew from my studies of the elevation profile was to be the first significant climb of the day. We wound up some steeps stairs, leaving the lakeside behind us and heading up into the New Zealand forest. It was a dazzling array of ferns and flowers and endemic trees, with plenty of tooting birds providing a gentle backing track to our adventure. The track widened up and I managed to find a pace that felt more comfortable, though I was still running extremely conservatively and walking even minor uphill sections.

Secret Weapon Number One: You Are The (Hoka) One (One)

It’s here that I have to mention another one of the small decisions I had made that lead to this being my Best Run Ever. I had spent the prior three months in Asia wearing a worn-out pair of Altra Lone Peaks. They were still great for hiking or just walking around cities, but they had countless hundreds of miles in them and offered very little support or cushioning.

Me in my trusty but overworked Altras, post-Kalaw Half Marathon in Myanmar.

A couple of days after landing in Auckland, I headed down to Shoe Science in Mt Eden, where I sought out a pair of trail shoes that could also handle the road. I ended up purchasing the then-new Hoka One One Speedgoat 3s – not exactly a road shoe, but not so lugged that sections of pavement were unmanageable.

Trail tractors.

These shoes are the best. I love them. They convinced me to abandon my minimalist/barefoot ways of the past and embrace the support and cushioning that a great shoe can offer. Their Vibram outsole is also fantastically grippy.

In fact, I was so confident in my new shoes that I didn’t even take them on a single training run before the 50k. I know, I know – that is beyond stupid. But what can I say? I had a week to go, and I knew that running the race in my barely-there Altras would be a disaster. I put my faith in the Speedgoats, and they paid me back dividends – by the end of the race, the only part of me that didn’t hurt was my feet.

Back to the Race

Maybe an hour into the race, I turned a corner and saw an older runner who was partially covered in blood. What I later learned was that a young runner he was jogging behind had tripped and fallen off the ridge we were running along. This older runner had spontaneously grabbed him and quite possibly saved his life. But in doing so, he had grazed his head on an overhanging tree, and was bleeding quite profusely.

He seemed to be doing okay – he looked like a tough bastard, to be perfectly honest. But as we ran – myself ahead, the guy he had saved behind – we made sure to keep him talking. At one point he joked that he was glad to have gotten the inevitable fall out of the way early on. “There’ll always be a piece of me out on the course now,” he said. “Literally.”

At the 16 kilometre mark we came to our first aid station, The Buried Village, an abandoned settlement partially destroyed by Mount Tarawera’s 1886 eruption. I was feeling strong at this point, which was already a victory as the longest I had run outside of racing in the prior three months was maybe 12 kilometres. I had a couple of crisps and replenished my sun cream as by this point it was the middle of the day and the sun was getting fierce. Though much of the race was shaded by forest canopies, there was enough exposed running to warrant caution in the skincare department.

It was at this aid station that I discovered the life-changing magic of fresh orange juice. A bowlful of sliced oranges was available, and without giving it much thought I took one and squeezed the juice out of it into my mouth; it tasted like the nectar of the gods. I quickly downed another few slices before moving on. As someone who has historically struggled digesting food on the run, the orange juice became a recurrent theme at every aid station, tasting sweeter and sweeter each time.

The next section was where things started to get taxing. A few miles on a gradually inclining tarmac road proved difficult to judge pace-wise; I elected to alternate between walking and jogging for a few minutes, though there was really very little difference between each pace! The trail then veered off to the left and we completed a loop along and around the edge of Lake Rotokakahi, or Green Lake.

In terms of course design, this was one of the weaker moments of the otherwise stunning route. Though it was nice to see Green Lake and the pine forest trails were noticeably gentler than the previous rocky section, a look at the course map might give you some understanding of why this was a fairly disparaging section.

I know RDs have to come up with all kinds of clever solutions to make up the mileage, but personally I’m just not a big fan of running back on myself for the sake of it. I like a race to feel like a journey, a logical series of interconnecting trail systems. But to round a bend in the trail and find myself exactly where I had been an hour before was a little disheartening.

Still, this is a minor gripe, and it was a beautiful section. I felt like I was running strong given my lack of training. I came into the Green Lake aid station at 30k battered and bruised, but feeling like this might actually be achievable.

Secret Weapon Number Two: So Dium Tasty

Having arrived in New Zealand just seven days earlier, my nutrition outside of aid stations was limited by what I could lay my hands on. At Shoe Science, alongside my new Hokas, I’d grabbed some Clif Bloks, as I’ve always had an easier time with them than gels. By sheer chance, the only flavour that was available was a new Margarita flavour – yes, as in the cocktail. This product’s special niche was that it contained three times as much sodium as regular Clif Bloks.

Worth every penny.

This turned out, I suspect, to be a saving grace for me. In the subsequent months since Tarawera I’ve learned that, whilst I’m not a hugely sweaty runner, I seem to lose salt at quite a rapid rate. Perhaps it’s to do with being particularly lean, or tall. Maybe it’s genetic. But whatever the reason, far more important than sugar for me on a long run is salt. And these Clif Bloks were just the trick.

Aside from them, I was munching on Peanut M&Ms and the aforementioned orange juice. By no means did I feel great when I finished the race, but I believe the sodium in the Clif Bloks provided me with just enough of a trickle of salt to see me through.

Now, I’m an electrolytes fanatic – Nuun tabs take pride and place in my nutrition stash. At the time, I didn’t know just how crucial sodium was for me. But it all worked out for the best!

The Climb That Never Was

After Green Lake aid station (and plenty more orange juice), I knew from the elevation profile that the race climbed over four or five kilometres to its highest point. I braced and paced myself for a taxing climb, even slowing to a walk for a good 30 minutes after a misjudged nutrition choice at the aid station (peanut butter and jam sandwich – what was I thinking? Lesson learned – stick to what you know.)

The climb out of Green Lake looked so much worse than it was.

But the climb never seemed to materialise. I mean, sure, we were climbing – but it was a steady incline, nowhere near as dramatic as it looked on the elevation profile. Now I think about it, we climbed from 420m to 560 over about 5k – that’s 140m. Not nothing, by any means, but not really the ‘climb of the race’ that I had conjured up in my mind.

Elevation profiles can be deceiving, especially when compressing 50 kilometres into a few centimetres. A climb that is rolling and smooth can look like a fierce, jagged peak.

Before I knew it, I was at the Tikitapu/Blue Lake aid station. Situated on the shores of Blue Lake, this was by far the most crowded aid station on the course. I took a moment to try and look as put-together as I could – there’s always something quite nice about encountering ‘layfolk’, i.e. non-runners, during a race. It’s a subtle reminder that you are, in fact, doing something pretty damn remarkable, and you should give yourself some credit.

Unfortunately, I was a little distracted by the fact that Blue Lake had come so fast. For a moment I genuinely worried I had missed part of the course. I had anticipated the 8 kilometres in between Green Lake and Blue Lake to be the ‘make or break’ section, but it had passed without much incident.

After spotting some other runners who I knew I had been keeping pace with for most of the race, I reassured myself that I had not, in fact, cut out a dramatic climb, and realised I was just 12 kilometres from the finish.

“Let’s do this,” I thought, and boldly sprinted away from Blue Lake at a ferocious 7-minute kilometre pace. But not before a few more gulps of orange juice.

The Final Countdown

Whether it’s a 5k or a 50k, I have learned that the last fifth or so for me is always, psychologically, the most difficult. After rolling through a pleasant few kilometres of single track, the Tarawera 50k course opened up onto a dramatic vista at around kilometre 40. A long gravel road flanked by deforested hills lay ahead, stretching seemingly towards the horizon.

Why is it so heartbreaking to be able to physically see how far you have to go? I guess it makes pacing it so much harder – by this point, I was transitioning between running and walking every few minutes, or even every thirty seconds at times. The long gravel road made my heart sink, but I gritted my teeth and got through it.

It was here in the course that the 50k runners and the 100k runners began to line up. It actually helped to be running alongside people who had literally been out there twice as long as me. It helped stifle my whiny conscience and encouraged me to shut up and get on with it. Which, after what felt like forever, I did.

The course then rejoined a more attractive, ‘traily’ trail, kicking up one last time for what turned out to be the actual ‘climb of the race’ right at the marathon point. Amidst huffing and puffing fellow runners, I found myself climbing strongly despite how fatigued my legs felt – all those hikes in Asia were paying off, it seemed. Whilst others were holding on to their running legs longer, my climbing legs seemed to be coping better than most on the hills.

A few minutes out from Redwoods.

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

Once we summited this bastard of a hill, it was a long steady downhill into Redwoods aid station, which I got through with the help of a runner whose name I unfortunately didn’t catch. We leapfrogged back and forth, pacing each other through our discomfort – a long downhill at the end of the race provides with you no excuse to walk, but running was pretty darn painful at this point.

I really love the brief, unspoken bonds that form between runners during an ultra. Throughout my Tarawera, I ran with maybe four or five individuals in a way that was more than just side-by-side. We were pacing each other, in a sense; actively encouraging each other to push through and run faster than we might we were on our own. It got me through some of the race’s darker patches, and it’s a lovely feeling to know that you are providing that same relief to someone else in return.

After Redwoods, the trails became notably tamer as we neared Rotorua and the finish line. I always choke up in the last few miles when I think of the finish line, and this was no different. This race meant a great deal to me – for the first few years of my running, I was plagued by injury after injury, and often unable to complete a serious long-distance race to my satisfaction. Tarawera hadn’t been fast, and it hadn’t been pretty, but I had no injuries flare up and no issues other than the expected fatigue. It proved to me that I do have potential, that I can do the things I want to do if I’m prepared to put in the time and suffer a little bit (or a lot.)

My pace picked up every time I spotted a photographer.

Winding through the Rotorua sulphur fields made for a dramatic, and smelly, ending to the race. I knew that I still had some time to go, but when I finally rounded a corner and stumbled onto the grass field that I had watched over for hours the day before waiting for Emily, everything clicked into perspective and I knew I was just a few hundred metres from the finish line. I spotted Emily waiting for me, and as is always the case, something deep down inside of me surged into gear, and I positively sprinted those last few hundred metres at a 5-minute kilometre pace. “Where was that energy when I needed it?” I thought to myself.

Crossing the line in Rotorua in 7:37:54 was one of the most overwhelming finish line experiences I’ve yet had. It was a hard-fought race that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish, but the stars seemed to align, and everything went much better than expected. In future, I know I’ll be able to run faster, hopefully much faster. But it was exactly the experience I needed to kickstart what I now think of as the ‘getting serious’ phase of my running career, and I know I’ll always look back on it with a lot of love.

So proud my nostrils spontaneously flared.

Closing Thoughts

The Tarawera Ultramarathon really is a special event that’s well worth the price of entry. The trails are stunning and flowy, and the scenery is consistently gobsmacking. Well-stocked aid stations and an army of enthusiastic volunteers keep the whole show afloat, and the atmosphere is contagious. You just feel like you’re part of something special.

2019 marked a transition point for the race, as it was the last time the event would be staged by Paul Charteris and his team. It’s now under the management of Iron Man, who I have no doubt will do an excellent job in running this iconic race. But it did feel special to have run the last edition of the ‘original’ Tarawera.

Post-race, I got to watch Jeff Browning win the 100 miler in 16:18, three hours ahead of the second-place male, and later watched the prize-giving ceremony which was a star-studded Who’s Who of global ultra stars.

A boyband for the ages.

It was awesome to see bona fide ultrarunning legends in action, and really inspired me to commit to seeing just how far I can take this, both in terms of distance and performance. I look forward to seeing how this ultrarunning thing goes now that I’ve got my bearings somewhat, and now that I’ve discovered the life-changing power of orange juice.