By
Hal Higdon
IS THERE A BETTER DESTINATION for runners than New Zealand? I haven't found one. I still have memories of running the soft floors of the Redwood Forest in Rotorua. Competing in a downhill, wind-at-my-back marathon in New Plymouth. Hiking the incredibly scenic Kepler Track at Te Anau. "Good as gold!" That's the best way to describe running in this marvelously friendly two-island country near the bottom of the world.
My wife Rose and I visited New Zealand in March, 1997. I had not traveled Down Under seeking competition--although I did participate in four running events during our three-week stay. My first race was a 5-K in Hamilton, with 23 starters. I also ran 5,000 meters in a masters track meet in Dunedin with only slightly more in the field. Somewhat larger was the Mountain to Surf Marathon in New Plymouth with 500 competitors.
I enjoyed each competition and the camaraderie of meeting new friends with strange accents, but I relished even more jogging and hiking on scenic trails through forests and across beaches and up mountains. New Zealand is like a Theme Park for distance runners. Forget Disney World: If you love to run, head Down Under. I had the feeling that if everybody moved to New Zealand and trained on the courses I ran, we all could set PBs.
That's PB for Personal Best--equivalent to the American PR for Personal Record. Only slight differences separate Americans from New Zealanders (who do not get insulted when referred to as "Kiwis"). Kiwis say "G'day," instead of "Goodbye." Friend is "mate." Congratulating another runner, you say: "Well done." Agreement is signaled: "Dead right." The ultimate compliment: "Good as gold!"
An Ideal Time for Touring
New Zealand was the last land mass in the world finally to be settled. The native Maoris arrived barely a thousand years ago, displacing a more primitive Polynesian tribe. The Dutch "discovered" New Zealand in 1642. Major settlement by the British didn't begin until last century.
Yet New Zealanders have produced more inventions per capita than any other country. (A Kiwi invented the bobby pin.) New Zealand was the first to allow women to vote. Thirty per cent of the country's land area is dedicated to national parks and protected areas. The climate is mild, similar to Northern California. Although some areas get up to 300 inches of rain a year, we encountered sunny weather nearly every day during our three-week visit in March, an ideal time for touring. In winter (our summer), you can go skiing in the mountains and surfing off the beaches, often on the same day. Sir Edmund Hillary, first to ascend Mount Everest, came from New Zealand.
Similar to the British, Kiwis drive on the left side of the road, which takes some adjustment if you're steering a rental car and approach a "roundabout," a circular intersection that must be circumnavigated if you hope to get to your destination. Our first destination was Hamilton, two hours south of Auckland, and site for the Millennium Marathon. During our flight from Los Angeles, we had crossed the International Date Line, moving one day forward in time. New Zealand will be the first major country to see the sun rise on the first day of the year 2000. A number of millennium celebrations are planned for New Zealand including a marathon in Hamilton and a triathlon in Gisborne.
Organizer Andy Galloway told me that interest is so high in the Millennium Marathon that every hotel room in Hamilton already has been booked by tour operators. Andy also tipped me to a road race that evening sponsored by the Hamilton Road Runners. When I arrived at a shopping center to register, an official looked startled when I identified my residence as Indiana: "Long way to come for a race, mate."
We jogged to a nearby park. Back home in Indiana, my neighbors were shoveling snow, but I wore shorts and T-shirt. The course followed tree-lined paths beside the Waikato River. For my back-of-the-pack performance, I received a garish yellow and red cap emblazoned "Waikato Athletics." Afterwards, everybody ordered Fish and Chips at the pub sponsoring the race. Hamilton is a city of 40,000, but I discovered there was another road race in town that same evening: a 12-K at a rugby club.
No Excuses
Two days later on a Saturday, I was in Egmont National Park with Mount Taranaki in the background. Taranaki is a pyramid-shaped peak, volcanic in origin, that dominates the horizon of New Plymouth much the way Mount Hood dominates Portland. The Mountain to Surf Marathon begins on its slopes.
The day was cool. A stiff wind promised to push us downhill to the finish line. The Mountain to Surf Marathon course drops from 1,200 feet to sea level, perfect for setting PBs. I was running only the first 13.1 miles as part of a two-man relay team with Roger Robinson, a professor at the University of Wellington. Roger had entered us as the "Literary Lopers," although I had suggested, "Roger and Me." My opening leg followed country roads with mostly cattle and sheep as spectators. I yielded to Roger at the town of Inglewood. He finished at Waitara Beach on the Tasman Sea. With the tailwind and downhill, it was what Roger called a "no-excuses" day." Anyone wanting to qualify for Boston should have been there and done that.
Sunday, Rose and I drove Roger back to Wellington, where he lives with his wife, Kathrine Switzer, organizer of the Avon race series throughout the world. The couple jet back and forth between two hemispheres; Kathrine was still in the US, having done TV commentary for the Los Angeles Marathon. Stopping in Wanganui to break the drive, we strolled around a lake. Swans floated on the water. Trees above seemed to reach to heaven. We would experience many such tranquil moments during our three weeks in New Zealand. In Wellington, we caught a ferry across Cook Strait separating New Zealand's North and South Islands.
Tracks and Tramps
Our goal the next morning was Abel Tasman National Park, specifically the Coastal Track, a hiking trail that begins near Marahau and winds 45 kilometers beside the water's edge to Whariwharangi Bay. (I came to love those Kiwi names, Maori in origin, even if I couldn't pronounce them. Another linguistic difference: When Kiwis say "Track," they are less likely to be talking 400-meter oval and more likely to be talking about one of the hundreds of hiking trails scattered over both their major islands.
Most famous is the Milford Track, because of the spectacular scenery in Fiordland National Park. We originally wanted to do Milford, but learned that guided hikes took six days and cost near $1,000. It might have been possible to run Milford's 50-kilometer length in a single day. (World masters marathon record-holder John Campbell once did so in 4 hours 58 minutes!) But the logistics involving a week-long hike defeated us. Rose and I settled for a series of one-day hikes on different Tracks.
On the Coastal Track, we hiked an hour out and an hour back. High on the bluffs, we could look down on kayakers tracing the same route by sea. Heading southward down the South Island's West Coast the next day, we hiked to the edge of the Franz Josef Glacier. Guided groups clambered over the ice above. We were in sight of Mount Cook, the highest mountain (12,726 feet) in New Zealand's Southern Alps. The map showed several Tracks in and near Mount Cook National Park, but it would have taken us a full day's drive around the mountain to reach that park.
We continued instead to Queenstown on the edge of Lake Wakatipu. I ran the next morning on the Frankton Track beside the lake, then we boarded a four-passenger airplane to Milford Sound. Our flight brought us so close to jagged mountain ridges, I felt I could reach out and touch them. At the Sound (technically a fiord, meaning it was carved by glaciers), we took a boat cruise out to the Tasman Sea. The mountains rose straight out of the water up to 6,000 feet. Waterfalls cascaded off their slopes, one as high as a 50-story building. Seals lounged on rocks at the water's edge. Seagulls soared overhead. Seasoned travelers often rate New Zealand the world's most beautiful country. No argument here, mate.
Flying back to Queenstown, we flew over the end of the Milford Track, zigzagging across a mountain ridge. The Track starts near the village of Te Anau, our next destination. As substitute for Milford, Rose and I had chosen to hike the Keplar Track. Keplar is 65 kilometers long. We settled for 11 of those kilometers, riding by boat across Lake Te Anau to Brod Bay, then hiking back around the lake's edge to town. The forest floor was smooth and spongy. I longed to return and run the same route (which I plan to do with a Roadrunner Tours group in March, 1999.)
Far From the Madding Crowd
Our
next destination was the sheep farm of Derek Turnbull. Derek lives
with his wife Pat and 5,000 sheep near Invercargill, toward the
bottom of the South Island. They have a Bed & Breakfast
connected with the farm, so we stayed overnight. I saw the names
of several runners in their guest book.
I knew Derek from competition in the World Veterans Championships, where he has won two dozen gold medals. He ran 2:41:47 in the 1992 London Marathon, a world record for age 65-69. When we called Derek before departing Te Anau, he said we would find him in the Wooling Shed.
Watching Derek shear sheep gave me an insight into what makes him a great runner. Sheep ready to be sheared waited in a holding pen. Derek entered the pen and darted around until he could grab one. He then flipped the 150-pound sheep onto its back and dragged him onto a dock, pinning one of the sheep's forelegs beneath his arm. Despite some bleating, the sheep took this abuse good-naturedly. Derek used electric shears to strip the sheep of its wool, then shoved it down a ramp to wait below before being led back to the fields.
Later, Derek drove us around those fields and through a forest preserve. I asked Derek if this was where he did his training. Derek smiled tolerantly: "I don't train. I just run."
Derek's sheep farm seemed like a scene out of "Far From The Madding Crowd," the novel by Thomas Hardy, but we were headed back to civilization. Heading north up the East Coast, we stopped in Dunedin to visit another friend, Jim Flynn. Dunedin was settled by Scots, and its street names are identical to those back in Edinburgh.
Travels North
Years ago, Jim had run cross-country and track with me at the University of Chicago. I was number one; Jim, number two. We also ran on a club team that placed second in the National AAU Cross-Country Championships. Jim later moved to New Zealand, and we lost touch. Then several years ago, I received a letter saying he now taught political science at the University of Otago in Dunedin. He mentioned having lost his medal from our championship race. Without giving it much thought, I dug into a drawer full of medals and sent him mine.
I was surprised to arrive at Jim's house and discover the medal framed and hung on his wall. Jim runs three times a week and competes sporadically, but had entered us in the 5,000 meters at the New Zealand Veteran Track & Field Championships. Jim said he expected to finish behind me, as always. At the start, however, he shot ahead. I ran faster than my 5-K in Hamilton, but never caught him. I felt pleased not being able to beat my old teammate, despite my best effort.
Continuing northward, we paused to hike across a seaside lava flow in Kaikoura. That's a favorite spot for viewing whales, seals and dolphin, but we had come at the wrong time of the year. (April might have been better.) On Sunday morning, I lectured to the Wellington Marathon Clinic and ran two hours with them along a windswept road beside the harbor. Roger Robinson fixed lamb chops for dinner that evening, pleading: "When you see Kathrine, don't tell her I can cook, but it's all right to mention I vacuumed the house."
Our travels next took us to Napier, a town destroyed in 1931 by an earthquake, then rebuilt in the Art-Deco style of that era. We found a Bed & Breakfast beside the beach, where I ran at dawn the next morning. A twisting gravel road led westward up and across the mountains. Near the summit is Lake Waikaremoana with a Track 43 kilometers long. We hiked only a portion, straight up and down, clambering over roots and logs.
No Exits
Then on to Rotorua, fascinating because of its recent volcanic past, including an eruption in 1886 that buried the Maori village of Te Wairoa, now excavated as a relic of the past. We toured the village and also hiked through the Waimangu Volcanic Valley, past steam vents and boiling springs. We met with Dennis Kenny, organizer of the Fletcher Challenge Marathon. Kenny explained how the race got started: "Lake Rotorua is 26 miles around, so it seemed logical to run a marathon around it." New Zealand's largest marathon, Rotorua attracts between 3,000 and 6,000 runners.
Fletcher Challenge is a forest products company. Along with tourism and sheep-farming, lumber is among New Zealand's most profitable industries. Because the climate provides a year-round growing season, trees mature in only 30 years from seedling to lumber yard. New Zealanders also cultivate deer in pens, like sheep or cattle. Venison is a staple food on many restaurant menus, although it sometimes goes by the name "cervena."
Beside the Fletcher Challenge offices is a grove of California redwoods, planted within the last century, but with trees hundreds of feet high. Pam Denny, a world masters champion, took us hiking through the redwood grove our first day in Rotorua. The huge trees blotted out the sunlight. The forest floor was soft with their firry residue. Here is where Jack Foster had trained before his record races.
While in Rotorua, I visited the home of Foster and complained about difficulties pronouncing Maori names like Waikaremoana. "You simply remember, `why can't she moan,'" Jack instructed.
Jack Foster was one more of New Zealand's legendary runners. Starting as a bike racer, Jack didn't start running until age 33, but eight years later placed second in the marathon at the 1974 Commonwealth Games with a time of 2:11:19, then a world masters record. Foster now cycles more than runs. When we visited, he was still in his bike gear, having just come in from a four-hour ride.
We could have pressed on to Auckland, or to beaches on the Coromandel Peninsula, or onto the North Cape, but Rotorua held me captive. We stayed three days. Each of those days, I returned to the redwood grove to run among the mammoth trees. I could hear the haunting cry of a bird above, which I later identified as a Tui. New Zealand environmentalists take pride in having preserved so many threatened species, particularly flightless birds like the Kiwi, easy prey for predators like possums, introduced by Europeans.
Running through the redwood grove, I thought of John Sartre's play, No Exits, which revolves around three men with dissimilar interests doomed to spend eternity in a room without doors listening to each others' boring conversations. The antithesis, I thought, would be an eternity running in Rotorua's redwood grove with footing so soft that you would never get injured. It would be an eternity of PBs, day after day of no-excuses running. It seemed New Zealand was a no-excuses land for distance runners.
Pilgrimmage to Owairaka
Moving from the redwood grove to Round The Bays, reportedly the world's largest running event, seemed like going from the sublime to the ridiculous. I puzzled why 80,000 people would be attracted to an event over such an odd distance as 8.4 kilometers in such a small country.
The day before Round The Bays, I made a pilgrimage to Coach Arthur Lydiard's 22-mile training course in the hills above Auckland. I ran part of the course with John Davies, who regaled me with tales of training there with Olympic champs and world record holders.
The course begins in Owairaka, the Auckland suburb where Lydiard once lived. Sundays, his runners would gather at his house for long training runs. Much of the route today consists of suburban sprawl, but three decades ago, Lydiard's runners ran through farmlands. Going out, they climbed a series of ascents that tested their aerobic capacities. Midway, they crested on a scenic loop through the Waitakere Ranges with scenic overviews of Auckland. The return allowed them to stretch their legs, running downhill at increasingly faster speeds.
Davies had run only 4:15 for the mile when he began showing up for the 22-milers, which even Olympic 800 champion Peter Snell ran. Davies recalls one workout as a career landmark: "I had struggled uphill to stay near the lead pack, but I'm better downhill. Finally, I caught Bob Baillie, then among the best in the world. I tucked in behind without a word. Baillie became aware of my presence and looked over his shoulder. He laughed, `Boy, you're going to set a PB.'"
Davies eventually did set PBs of 3:56.8 for the mile and 3:39.6 for the 1500 meters (his time winning the Olympic bronze medal). Running in Davies' company in the footsteps of Snell and other New Zealand greats, I knew why they had run so well.
People, Not Runners
I had one final race to run before departing New Zealand. But was Round the Bays a serious race? Roger Robinson warned: "You can't race Round the Bays. It's too crowded." John Davies agreed: "There's no winner, no prizes, and people jump in front of you--so the fast runners stay away."
Roger and John can be excused for their biases. They're used to associating with speedy runners. But Round the Bays is not about competition. It's a "Fun Run." That's one reason why so many people appear each year to trundle 8.4 kilometers along the Auckland waterfront.
Notice I said people, not runners. Lining up not too far from the front row, I found myself standing beside a lady pushing a baby buggy. There was also a team farther back with shark fins on their heads and another group, who after the starting cannon (a full-size artillery piece) sounded, pulled it the length of the course. Rose, who walked rather than ran, found herself surrounded by a group wearing T-shirts advertising their plumbing supply store. It's not unusual for corporations to enroll 1,000 employees. If Round the Bays sounds like San Francisco's Bay to Breakers, you're right. The two events vie each year for the title: World's Largest Running Event.
If
anyone wonders about the event's attraction, you need only to see
the road winding along Auckland Harbor, across Hobson Bay to Okahu
Bay to Mission Bay. Sidewalks beside the Harbor are crowded
morning and evening with walkers and joggers and bikers and
roller-bladers. Blue sky over blue water. Modern skyscrapers
framed by green hills. It's the scenery, stupid!
Inspired, I did finish in front of the lady with the buggy, the team wearing shark fins and the group pulling the artillery piece. Gray clouds had threatened us at the start. Rose finished a half hour behind me in the midst of a tumultuous downpour. Waterspouts were spotted that day. But by the time we had collected our gear and headed to buses, the sun had taken command of a cloudless sky, a perfect ending to our visit to a land that proved "Good as gold!"