I walked the Kepler Challenge when I was 13, as my first "proper" multi-night mission for a school camp. I have vivid memories of the endless and torturous climbing up one of the steepest inclines on the planet, the soaring ridge-lines shrouded in cloud and plodding for hours in torrential-monsoon-apocalyptic rain while miles of featureless beech forest unrolled around us. It was hard, and I wasn't fit enough, but I loved it.
After the usual pre-ultra angsting about having balanced enough training (I probably haven't done anywhere near enough, my recent primary focus being on multi-sport training ) with enough tapering (rest and recovery? whats that?), I arrived in Te Anau amidst a flurry of inclement weather forecasts, and gale-force wind warnings.
Race-day dawned, and remained inky and dim while competitors gathered at the start-line, craning to see if Mt Luxmore had retained its semi-permanent halo of mist and rain. Fringes of forest spill down to the lake, the water doing its very best to imitate obsidian under an equally grey sky. The bright lights, and brighter attire of runners milling about the start line glow in the gloomy dawn. Great beast's of helicopters leap out of the bush, and spin away into the mountains, their blades shattering the air into sound.
Minutes before the start, we surge forward onto the control gates, lining up according to how quickly we hope to finish. It is pretty thrilling to be alongside (or rather behind) quite a few of my running heroes. The starting horn sounds and we shuffle off, no one in my vicinity desperate for a sprint start. We plunge into bush, making the dark morning seem even darker, I am struggling to see the ground at my feet. I fall in behind a florescent-socked runner whose pace feels very comfortable, and enjoy listening to the good natured banter of the runners behind me.
As I blast (moderately) through the first aid station, I loose my fluorescent-ankled pacer in the flurry of drink and jet-plane lolly consumption. The track turns in land, and almost immediately starts to climb. The incline was pretty gentle, and I was steeling myself for the sheer, calf-searing, lung burning climb that I recalled from my youth. Everyone slows to a steady walk; there will be plenty of opportunity to run later. I chat to a few of the runners around me, and jog some of the flatter sections. The steep-hell I have been expecting never materializes, and by the time I reach the bluffs I know I have somehow past the worst without really noticing it. We debate the direction, strength and impact of the wind once we reach the tops.
Immediately out of the shelter of the forest the wind slams into us, a headwind, icy. Its not so strong as to be scary, but I start to run again, just to keep warm. At Luxmore Hut I wizz through the gear check, stuff my face with food, and launch into the gradual climb to the tops. I am feeling pretty comfortable. All of the steeper climbs I walk, and I enjoy stretching my legs out on the undulating ground in between. I am thrilled that the cloud layer is high enough to allow splendid views of the surrounding peaks, and down into the black waters of the South Fjord far below.
Past the next aid station at Forest Burn Shelter and the track begins to follow the ridge-line properly. I love running ridges, especially those that are narrow enough to make you feel as though you are suspended in the sky (but not so narrow as to be continuously loosing your footing over a precarious edge and plunging you into a ravine in a twisted mess). The Kepler tops fulfill my ridge-requirements perfectly, and I soak in the views of Manapouri and the sounds receding into the Westerly. The mountains here are different from the mountains around home, they are younger, craggier and less worn down by the elements and time. The landscape seems simultaneously Tolkeinesque and Seusical.
I loved the presence of the helicopters throughout this section. Their thunderous mechanical presence, part insect-animal, part machine served to somehow enhance the rugged environment, as they swooped and dove around the bluffs. There were some truly impressive feats of flying prowess, the pilots throwing the machines through impossible angles, defying physics, wind and weak-stomached passengers. Running towards the next ridge, the air exploded around me, and a helicopter rose meters from where I was running, camera man balanced precariously on a skid, blades gouging great lumps of sound out of the air. I waved madly. In a second it spun away and off down the ridge. I could only assume that the crew were harnessed in, as the open doorway was suddenly facing the ground, and no one fell out. This surreal interaction thrilled me, and I ran freely, momentarily abandoning my careful pacing plan, as I let my legs fly off down the mountain. It was pretty amazing to feel important enough to have a camera following this section of the field.
Hanging Valley Shelter marked the end of the tops, and the descent towards Iris Burn. First the countless steps, interspersed with some technical trail, and I was grateful for all of the river running I have been doing of late. I felt sure-footed and stable, even as the wind buffeted over the exposed track. Then back into the bush, and an immediate increase in temperature. The track descends steeply for a long time, and even when you are sure that you must have reached the valley floor, you catch glimpses of the view below, and realize that there is still a long way to go. I probably ran this section a bit harder than I should have. I was also at the mercy of the pace of those a head of me, and although everyone was moving well, or extremely courteous, I think I quad-braked more than I would have liked.
Just when I thought that I was heartily sick of descending, and would rather like some uphill again, the ringing of a cow bell signaled our imminent arrival at Iris Burn. A few hundred meters from the hut, the wonderful crew of aid station volunteers had strung up hundreds of coloured balloons into the trees, a heart-lifting and visually brilliant display of colour amongst so much green. Tiredness and hunger heightens emotion, and I felt a little teary to run through this unexpected rainbow.
Iris Burn signaled the end of the mountain leg, but in many ways the race was only just beginning. My feet were feeling pretty sore from hammering down hill, but apart from that I was feeling reasonably energetic and able to run. I fueled up well at the aid station and trotted off. It took a while for my legs to adjust to running on the flat again, and progress was slow and a bit painful. I was starting to feel as though this long flat 30km was going to take forever. Feeling a wee bit sorry for myself, I tried to keep up a reasonable pace, and because I seem to finally be learning that self pity is a sign of energy deficit, I ate and drank more too. After the race I heard other runners talk about their "bad patch" and I suppose this was mine.
By the time I reached Rocky Point (awesome aid station decorated as a back-of-beyond moonshiners retreat) my legs were warming to their task and the burning in my feet had dulled to a manageable glow. I downed some orange (how did the Kepler organisers get their hand on the best oranges in the world?), learned that I only had about 26km to run, and set off. Shortly later I asked another runner for the time and found out that we had only been going for about 5.5 hours. I had managed to forget my GPS watch, so had no idea of time or distance covered. People kept saying how well I was doing for my first Kepler. I felt I was doing ok, but nothing amazing. Suddenly my legs started working properly again, and I was off. My cadence was reasonable and I was able to push quite comfortably up the hills. I counted the markers on the trees as Lake Manapouri and then eventually Moturau came into view.
More oranges. Several other runners and I stopped to stuff our faces with these exquisitely sweet and juicy morsels, exclaiming that these were not only the nicest oranges in the world, but that they were infact, most definetly the best food we had ever eaten, ever. 16km to go. 6km to Rainbow Reach.
6km is hardly any distance at all, so I powered off, continuing to run strongly. A few other runners seemed impressed that I was still running up the hills, but I was feeling good, so I figured I might as well just keep going strong while I could. Half of me was expecting that at some point I might crash, and have a bit of a grovel to the finish, but deeper down I knew that 16km was such a manageable distance and that I had paced myself well enough to finish strong. Bonus.
Groups of supporters lined the trail along the approach to rainbow reach. Everybody clapped and cheered, I got some sterling high-5s from wee kids, and all of the trampers I passed whooped and smiled as I dashed past. These beaut interactions spirited me along, and lifted my heart. Such stirring support is not always offered at races, but I loved just how much kindness everyone showed.
Rainbow Reach, more orange segments and only 10km to the finish. I was really excited. There was such a short distance that was left. This final part of the trail was the only bit I hadn't been on before. The river churned and boiled off to my right, and the track wound in and out of the forest. The air was humid and stifling out of the shade of the beech trees, and I felt a little baked running between the crouching Manuka plants.
Two more aid stations to go (how lucky were we to have so many?), one at 5km and one at 2.5km from the end. Somewhere along that stretch I started to hear snatches of sound from the finish line bouncing along the river valley. I knew I was still a wee way out from the end, but felt a rush of renewed energy knowing I was so close. I was quite pleased with how accurately I was able to guess approximate distances covered in my GPS-less state, and came upon the last aid stations just as I was expecting them. More oranges. Yum.
2.5km to go, and I knew it was time to put the hammer down. I still had reasonable energy levels, and no more excuses. My legs felt strong and comfortable, and I powered along. Rounding the final bend and I was suddenly running across the control gates. I could see another runner ahead of me, steadily making for the line. Time for a sprint finish.
I crossed the line in 8hrs 33min something, gasping like a fish and smiling like a madwoman. I am sure the overall effect was pretty disarming for the spectators crowding the grand-stand at the finish. They cheered this mad-sweaty-fish-woman anyway. Kepler Challenge done. Awesome.
Time to go an hop on the bike for a while. One discipline in a day doesn't feel like enough anymore. Must be a multisport thing.
I got some really good tips from my coach and previous runners prior to running the Kepler Challenge, I tried to follow these during the race and found that they were really helpful:
- "Leave your iPod at home. Enjoy your surroundings and talk to your new friends. They are going to help you finish." I loved talking to the amazing runners around me, I met veteran runners, multisporters and fellow competitors from previous events. Everyone was supportive, in great humor and provided a lift when I needed it. It was also really rewarding to interact with all of the supporters I passed
- "Pace yourself right" - "If it feels comfortable and easy [for the first 30-40km], stick with that". I didn't run too hard or too fast for any uphill sections or along the tops meaning that I had strong running legs when I really wanted them on the flat.
- "Fuel well" - I had a double breakfast and at heaps at all the aid stations. I dont think I ever got into energy deficit, and I felt good all the way around.
- "Pack your gear smartly. There is a gear check at the Luxmore Hut, where you have to show all your compulsory gear. Two things you don’t want to do- completely unpack your bag, or hand your bag over for the volunteers to go through. Both of these will result in you having to re-pack your bag and this takes time. I pack my bag by stuffing each item in the pack so there is a pant leg, or arm of the thermal hanging out. Then I rubber band the pant legs, or top’s arms together. This way all I need to show is a small bundle (naming each of the items)- this way you get through the Luxmore check point in 30sec- not 3mins! (Grant Guise)" - I did this and it worked really well.
- "Go into the event with fresh legs" - I am a perennial over trainer and a bit of a race junkie, so I always find it hard to turn down the opportunity for an adventure. My poor coach constantly has to act as my voice of reason, encouraging a healthy taper, and minimizing over training. I am slowly learning to listen, and was even able to stoically resist an invitation to run over Goat Pass 2 days before the Kepler. Being able to run on fresh legs paid off!
For more amazing tips from an incredible runner and Kepler veteran check out Matt Bixley's post on Back Country Runner : The Kepler My Way
I am also learning some valuable lessons as I go along, I think the ones that helped make the Kepler such a great race were:
- Carry only what you need - I carried the lightest gear I have, and didn't carry extras above what was required on the compulsory gear list. This included taking plasters out of their fabric first aid kit, and only carrying a small hydration bladder. I also didn't carry heaps of extra food, I knew I had enough to get me through, but I didn't take lots of extras "just in case". Consequently I my pack didn't feel like it was weighing me down for the whole race.
- Make good use of the aid stations - I dont know why, but in my early running career I would avoid using much of what was offered at the aid stations, now I am the opposite and go nuts with all the wonderful food and drink that is offered. This means that I have to carry less, and can eat more. Excellent.
To wrap it up, the Kepler lived up to all of the rumors and exceeded my expectations. If you love mountains, ultras or both, do it. Just remember that entry is uber competitive, so dust off your internet connection in plenty of time to swoop in for a spot!
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