Tongariro Crossing

Mt. Tongiriro, near the  Ketatahi Hut

I had it all planned.  A trail run celebration of my birthday.  Not just any trail run, but the Tongariro Crossing, one of the "great walks" of New Zealand, but the only one that takes just a day to do.  My plan was to get to the top, take lovely photos of the local scenery and volcanoes, including Mt. Ruapehu and Lake Taupo in the distance.  I then could wax poetic about being at the "top of the hill" (rather than over it), metaphorically, as I near my 49th birthday.  Plans and the reality of how a day unfolded are  two different things. The mana of the mountain ought not to be dismissed.

Discovery Lodge cabins with Mt. Ngaurahoe in the background

I was out of the cabin at 5am to drive to the end of the track (kiwi for trail), so I could leave my car (R5) and be picked up by a local Tongariro Crossing Transport bus. Driven by a Scot-now-kiwi who lives in Taupo and has done the crossing over 250 times, the bus driver would drop me at the start of the trek.  The R5 would be awaiting my descent from the 6,500ft volcanic complex of a mountain, known as Mount Tongariro.  One of its vents, and the youngest, is Mt. Nguaruhoe, familiar to many as "Mount Doom" from the Lord of the Rings movies. It has erupted over 70 times in the past 150 years, most recently in the mid- 1970's.  I later learned (at the Department of Conservation center) that Tongariro National Park was the first national park in NZ, the second in the world, and a gift by Horonuku, the Maori chief at the time.  The Maori believe that these mountains are sacred.  They belong to all people and the land must not be divided or built upon as the mountains would lose their mana (power, dignity, spirit in Maori belief). 

Poles mark the track, so they might be visible in the fog

  Formerly a guide, the bus driver had given up his daily crossings when age and arthritis set in.  His passion for tramping ("hiking") was evident in his discourse and summary of the hike. At 6:30, hydropack on my back, I started up the well-cared-for track, having been well-informed of what lay ahead over the next 19.4km.  The volcanoes all had their heads in the clouds, the air was cool and threatened rain.  "Frodo lives!," I thought as I made my way through barren lava fields on the shoulder of Mount Doom.

View, capped by clouds, of lava fields and lahar (volcanic mud flow)

As I climbed, it became imminently apparent that today, I would not get beautiful vistas of the mountains.  The hope that the sun would burn off the cloud cover would not come to pass today.  I ran happily until I reached "the staircase"... at which point walking was faster than my running pace.  I took one last picture of the valley before heading into the clouds that blanketed the volcanic peaks.

The "staircase" starts

When I reached the saddle, I was reminded of trips to the top of Mount Washington.  An entirely different weather pattern existed here.  Wind (at 70kph) buffetted the barren landscape, blowing volcanic ash against my legs like a sand storm.  The temperature plummeted.  I had gone from summer to winter in the period of a half hour's climb.

The saddle and the last easily seen pole...

I soon found myself running across the south crater of Tongariro.  Barely able to make out the next trail marker in the fog,  I jogged across the flat, lava  formed crater, happy not to be climbing for a few moments.  I knew that meters below my feet, magma was churning.  The trail was warm, but the wind cold. I considered lying on the crater floor, but decided against it.

steam and wind blowing up the mountain. The lake comes into view over the edge of the scree field

  Climbing out the crater, I was greeted with a  steep downhill scree field, fierce winds coming up the mountain,  and steam from vents in the side of the volcano.  The physics of the wind patterns, temperature gradients would be interesting to learn, but for now, I had to keep my mind on the task at hand.  The wind seemed to be attempting to blow me off the edge of the crest I was on.  I slowly made my way down the scree field.  I was nearly upon the Emerald Lakes, when the clouds parted, allowing me a partial view.

sorry, doesn't seem to rotate correctly... top to the left

I ran on, soon finding myself in what must have been another crater, the Red Crater I had read about.  I knew it only by the similarity of footing and topography to the last crater.  Not much more was visible.  I climbed a little further and found yet another lake.

Red Crater, so named for the rich deposits of iron in the rock

Indeed, I  had come to Blue Lake, photographed it, ran on, not fully cognizant of its significance, the last of the uphill portion of the trail.

Blue Lake

Only when the trail turned gently downhill and the vast greenery of the valley lay before me, did I know that I had not only reached the top of the hill, but was much further along than I had imagined, with all of my climbing behind me.

I was reminded of a patient who told me that one day she woke up to discover she was old.  Her body had been gradually stiffening, paining.  One morning, she awakened and realized that at 70, she chronologically was "over the hill".  Considering this, she slipped on her sweatpants, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast for her daughter.  She had decided that though she may be over the hill, she had best enjoy whatever part of that hill she had left with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for each daybreak.   I recall her whispy voice at 90, "Otherwise, life would just be in black and white." 

I came upon the Ketetahi hut, now 2/3 of the way through my run, to find a two year old sweeping of the deck with his dad in the sunshine.  The track runs directly on the decking of this wilderness hut.  I stopped to chat, briefly, and later to enjoy the wild daisies, small blue mountain orchids, and the vistas of the valley.  The sun came out, finally I was able to strip off my wool arm warmers, long sleeve shirt, and put on my sun glasses.  It was just 9 am.  The birdsong filled the air, and the trail dipped into native forest.  With only three kms left, I was reminded that it was the traverse that mattered in the end, not reaching the summit.  Along the way, my mind had gone from negativity ('you fool, you are not a trail runner'), to fear ('you might get blown/swept off this scree field'), to acceptance that some things just can't be planned, to the realization that my adventure was almost over. I had enjoyed it all.  I wanted to make it last longer, but knew better than to double back, unprepared.   Perhaps this is the lesson that I need to remember and apply to my life as I consider where my path may meander and hunt for the next cairn or pole in the mist.

Enjoy the traverse.

Christmas/New Years' letter

Christmas Day Trail Run

2010

I had intended to spend some time during my Wellington Christmas writing  Christmas letter, blog entry, and describing some of the Wellington scene, with a New Year’s blog entry from Kaikoura, on the South Island.  Life does not always go according to plan.   Thursday the 23^rd of December (which was 22^nd in Salt Lake City), while I chatted with patients, checked labs, and wrote discharge summaries, Morgan was skiing down a chute and triggered a 15 ft. slide.  He skied safely out of the slide, but his hip clipped a rock buried in the snow, fracturing his femur.  It was late on Thursday that I checked my email before starting the last discharge summary.  In those moments, reading the email from Bill, I felt the most vulnerable and far from home since my arrival in Auckland.  Morgan was fortunately not injured more seriously. Help came quickly and the ski patrol loaded him onto a back board and into a litter, escorting him down the mountain, crashing the litter only once in the steep Utah terrain.  Transported by 4x4, to the clinic, and subsequently by ambulance to a level I trauma center, Morgan was put in traction and scheduled for urgent surgery.

Thankful for the advent of technology, I was able to call first Bill, then Morgan, and lastly, his nurse.  I called for updates several times through the early morning hours and spoke with a spunky, if slightly drugged, son following his surgery.  Later, I would watch video of another intermedullary rod insertion on youtube.  My desire to be at his bedside altered my holiday plans. I canceled both my trip to Wellington and Kaikoura, trading those for a visit to Morgan to aid in his initial recovery.    As I look out the window of the small plane at these western US mountains covered in snow, the sun blazing down, I am reminded that  Morgan loves this life of activity in the quiet nooks and crannies of the natural world.  The fractured femur is a cost of that lifestyle. 

2010, a year that began with missing the polar bear swim, will end with missing the swim with the seals and dolphins.  A year that began with a remote possibility of travel, later yielded this work year in Auckland.   As 2010 initially unfolded, I pursued my usual triathlon activities, and continued to work in the small internal medicine clinic on Whidbey Island.  It was in June, at dinner following my first ½ ironman, that I found out I had a good chance of going to New Zealand some time in 2010.  Three weeks later, I would learn that I was due to start work in one month and the flurry of preparations began.

Caleb was headed for Japan for a year, and Morgan was planning on staying in Salt Lake City for one more year of skiing and working in the outdoor recreation industry.  Lee Roof, the physician who owns and runs Whidbey Island Internal Medicine, kindly offered me a year’s leave.  The time was ripe for travel.  The rest, the chronicle of these past few months, can be found on my blog.  http://ayearinauckland.blogspot.com/

This Christmas, it is Caleb whose absence I feel most acutely.  This, his first Christmas away from home, finds him in Ichinomiya, Japan, working.  Christmas in a new culture, first postgraduate job, new friends, adds up to a tall order, but a challenge to which he has risen.  He teaches English to Japanese adults in a town near Nagoya and Kyoto.  There, his work day begins around noon and continues until 9pm, Tuesday through Saturday.  He will get a week’s holiday while the school closes for the New Year, and five additional vacation days during his year in Japan.  Skype made it possible to watch him open his presents, but did nothing for the lack of the hug that usually follows.  I hope to visit him in Spring, during the cherry blossom festival, if I can time it correctly.

Morgan lives in Salt Lake City in a house full of like-minded adventurers.  It is a delightful group of eight talented friends who pursue an active lifestyle and work to sustain that life.  This Christmas was an impromptu,  quiet celebration.  I had mailed presents to Morgan from NZ, and when I found I was coming to the US, made a quick dash to the local Katmandhu store (kiwi outing store) for warm socks, per Morgan’s request.  One of Morgan’s housemates is due for surgery the first week in January.  Thus, there will be two non-weight bearing, rehabilitating fellows at the house.  Companionship will be helpful.

As the year comes to a close, I have been contemplating the events of the year and decade, my strengths and weaknesses.   Communication has been both strength and weakness.  I remark, with heartfelt thanks, on the communication from family and friends, the love and support I glean through facebook, emails, and blog replies.  I have kept more appraised of the lives of those I love, despite the distance.   I have succeeded in some small measure to keep the ties I have made with folks through this communication.  However, my habit has been one of reticence to share more intimate thoughts and feelings.  I have found that in my blog I have shared thoughts I have usually kept to myself.  Even so, the entries only suggest the iceburg that lies beneath.  Blogs are oddly one sided, not a conversational sharing.   It interests me to consider how electronic communication has changed our community. How we can post minutiae, accomplishments, the peaks and valleys of our days.  Seeing a video  of folks while I skype brings me closer than the miles might otherwise allow.  The distance is measured by time differentials rather than miles(or kms).

Christmas is a time to reach out to all those who I value, love, and respect.  A time to let each of you know that I appreciate you.  If I could, I would bring by my usual round of Christmas cookies so that you would know that you are remembered and cherished.  Instead this letter will have to suffice.  I hope you will consider a visit, return an email, and keep in touch in the next decade. 

I hope your Christmas was merry and that the New Year will bring you joy and well-being.

A Thanksgiving

Muriwei Beach, and Flax, just about to flower

December 10

It is Friday night,  the air has cooled significantly since the afternoon drive to Paihia in the Bay of Islands.  With the end of school, the official summer holiday season has started in New Zealand.  The backpacker (hostel/low budget accommodation) has many other guests, most of whom are sitting at the picnic tables outside my room chatting among friends.  The hum of their voices, pierced by the occasion trill of  laughter,  penetrates the walls of the tidy room I am sharing with Stethanie.  

A river runs into the bay in Paihia: made famous by the  singing of the Treaty of Waitangi.

Much as Memorial Day defines the beginning of the summer season, today, the last day of the school year, marks the beginning of summer, Christmas, and the national vacation period.  To me, lost in some cultural and seasonal time warp, Christmas seems months away.  Thanksgiving Day eluded me altogether.  The day came and passed, a work day followed by a swim with a new Masters group and a meal of leftovers.  It sounds a bit pathetic as I write, but the day unfurled exactly according to plan and I went to bed satisfied.  Friday, over morning tea, I explained the holiday to several kiwi.   I was proud to say that we Americans  had a celebration of thanks, not just overindulgence.  Not wanting to miss the opportunity to celebrate this giving of thanks,  this year, Thanksgiving became a two week period of time that I attempted to pay attention to the myriad of blessings, friendships,  experiences and circumstances for which I give thanks.

Pohutakawa flower.  The tree blossoms in December as is colloquially known as the kiwi Christmas tree

Pohutakawa tree

Without the usual Thanksgiving vacation to mark the beginning of the Christmas season, Christmas shopping caught me by surprise; I started well after the mailing deadlines for air mail.   I spent a lovely Saturday touring local shops in search of gifts, both kiwi and light.   In the afternoon, it dawned on me, I had gone shopping the weekend following Thanksgiving, something I usually purposefully avoided because of the crowds.  However, this was Auckland.  The shops did not have the throng of people I had come to equate with Thanksgiving weekend shopping.   I did not feel exhausted by the commotion, commercialism, noise, parking issues that has often defined my Christmas shopping.

scene from my front door

 Above my apartment...Oops, can't rotate this.

Lilies outside my front door

rotational difficulties...

 It was early afternoon  when I got back to my apartment. The scent of jasmine, warm marine air  and recent rain reminded me vaguely of my childhood.  I could not locate the memory, likely somewhere in South America, but it filled me with warmth and familiarity.  I live in a little slice of heaven and have been blessed with a loving family, and had the experience of living abroad as a child.  Having almost completed my shopping for the family, I felt my good fortune of being able to work and earn a living that allows me to travel, shop and mail gifts to my family, all of whom were in good health.   With my shopping complete, a celebratory bike ride was in order.

The mighty kauri tree.

I took a bike path to the western part of Auckland and biked amid farms, hills, and kauri trees of Waitakere Township.  Within a half hour bike ride from home, I found myself on rural, chip sealed, low traffic roads somewhat reminiscent of Whidbey.  I was reminded of all those who have contributed to my thorough enjoyment of this bike ride, from my parents and sisters who taught me to ride, to those who encouraged my cycling in my adult life,(Bill, my boys, Ellen dePrey) reawakening that joyous mode of transport.  I thought of all the rides I had done on family trips, commuting to work and  with my friends on Whidbey.   I recalled Challis inviting me to join the DSR group, despite my lack of self confidence.  She and Ed waiting for me as I struggled to keep up.  My bike, a Cervelo, a gift given from Morgan, Caleb and Bill, a token of love and understanding in the midst of divorce.  It all flooded back to me during my ride, the welcome advice, assistance and companionship on  recent rides (from  many  including Brandon, Kurt, Frazer, Erin, Julie, Damon, Ron, Matt and more), the trips to eastern Washington, all of those people and experiences contributing to this one lovely ride. Thankful for the beautiful  kiwi surroundings, for  folks who have worked to conserve flora and fauna, and as well to those who toil in collaboration with the earth to provide food, I rode until the light became muted and the air thickened with moisture as the  dew settled.

Overlooking the Waitakere Landscape

The following work week was busy with a new set of “house officers”  (interns) experiencing their first day as doctors. Lovely to help them through that first few weeks and watch their confidence grow.  Though work can be busy, it provides a fascinating interaction of cultures, language and medicine .  Work consumes me at times, but I am fortunate to work in a field that interests, challenges, and teaches me not just about medicine, but the human condition.  I lose track of time as I immerse myself in this work.   I work with intelligent, caring, multi-talented folks.  Over 22 languages are spoken by the nurses alone on the floor where I work.  The junior doctors have similar demographics, hailing from India, Sri Lanka, Tonga, South Africa, Scotland, England, Germany, US and Canada.  

pictures taken while running...

The patients in South Auckland are the most diverse in the greater Auckland area.  The sector includes the most disadvantaged, and perhaps the most violent.  This week I cared for two men attacked by extended family, one woman who brawled with another in a bar, and several folks who had inadvertent trauma related to intoxication.  Good fortune has truly graced my life that I have never found myself addicted to substances or allied with friends or family with violent  tendencies.  I have grown up in a culture of privilege through my ethnicity and family. My life has been easier than so many others, thanks in part to the hard work of my parents and ancestors.  Working in the hospital with this community of South Aucklanders has many gifts. A deep sense of family and commitment to community exists as well.  Last night, as I was preparing to leave, I heard voices singing in harmony from one of the patient lounges.  There, one of my patients was seated in the middle of the room, surrounded by at least three generations, all joining in song.  She was beaming, singing when she felt able.  I thanked them silently for the gift they gave her and for allowing me a small glimpse into their family.  It truly is an honor to care for folks and be both trusted with that care and be able to guide them through difficult times.

On completion of her first open water series...

The following weekend, I signed up for the Herne Bay open water swim on a whim. While awaiting the start of short open water swim that started a few blocks from my house, I met a delightful woman, who had won a wetsuit as a door prize at her first "try a tri" event.  She must have been in her mid to late fifties and the Herne Bay swim marked her first open water swim.  Her son, a professional surfer, ran a surf school in her home town.  She grew up surfing and invited me to try my hand.  I did not get her phone number at the end of the swim, but I did venture to Muriwai , in the R5 with my bike in the “boot” the subsequent weekend.  Once there, I rode the hills leading to Muriwei and then joined the beginning surf class with her son. Laughing in the waves, falling more than standing, it was a joy to play in the ocean.  I am thankful to all of those who have welcomed me into their homes and their lives, both here in New Zealand and throughout my life.

Fellow beginning surfers

Surf school!

Murewei, also home to large gannet colony

The kiwi are known to be hospitable and friendly.  From the flight to Auckland, to meetings with the Health Work Force NZ board, to friends of friends, to swimming with Masters, I have been invited to  homes and events.  I have traveled to Rotorua, Pauanui, Muriwai and now the Northlands and Whangerei and taken the hospitality offered, offering only a bottle of wine, a book, some small gift in exchange.  At the midpoint of a long run on a hot day while touring the pocket waterfront parks of Auckland, an elderly couple offered to watch my things while I dipped in the cool waters of Waitemata Harbor.  It was a delightful addition to my run. Perfect strangers ask after me, check in on how I am finding my travels.  I am fortunate to be in such a welcoming place.

Paihia in the Bay of Islands

Thanks?  Yes, I am thankful for my family & friends who love me, support me, email me, read my blog.  The good fortune of health, of privilege, of what my parents made possible for me: housing, education, travel.  The ability to read and learn.  I have pondered loneliness, happiness, states of mind of which I can thankfully say I spend more time in the latter than the former. I will continue to endeavor to find the glass half full, to feel  the locus of control is mine.

Evening before the Russell to Paihia swim.

Tomorrow? I swim from Russell to Paihia with 600 other swimmers.  3.3km  in a sea-foam green bay dotted with smaller islands.   Lovely.

Russell is the town barely visible on the opposite shore

On Zoom, so you can actually see the town of Russell

with thanks,
Kristan

active transport

Interior of the Coromandel

Friday evening and the R5 (car) was packed with wetsuit, running gear, books, and one change of clothes.  My destination? The Coromandel Peninsula, a mere 2 hours from Auckland, but a world away.  Visible from Auckland, the Coromandel is surprisingly unpopulated.  On the near side, it forms the southern edge of the Hauraki Gulf, where Auckland harbour sits.  The other side is the northern edge of the Bay of Plenty and the Pacific Ocean.  The middle of the Coromandel is predominately uninhabited forest and hills with hiking trails.  It is known for its spectacular beaches, islands, geothermal areas, including Hot Water Beach, where you can dig your own private hot tub in the sands.   I donned casual, driving attire and gleefully tossed the scrubs in the laundry hamper in the "theatre" (OR) changing room and headed for the car.

Pauanui and the Tairoa River

I must confess that the reason I travel on the weekends is as much of an escape as it is adventure.  I escape my lonely apartment and give myself a contrived existence.   I suppose travel is always contrived at some level.  As a wise, dear friend said, traveling is as much a journey of introspection as it is the extroverted experience.  This weekend was slightly different, however.  My escape to the Coromandel included a visit to a new friend.

A few weeks previously, my son's "mate", Leslie Kinson, had sent an open invitation from Facebook to visit her new home in Pauanui.  I think I have been the only one to take her up on it, thus far.  Leslie is a beautiful young woman and free spirit who made her way to NZ last year on her own.  I first met Leslie when she came to Washington to hike a section of the PCT with Morgan and five others.  An artist, designer, with a joie de vivre, she had invited me (twenty five years her senior) to visit her at her home in Pauanui.  She lives with Ian, her fiance, in a three bedroom house a short walk from the beach. 

Pauanui: Pacific and the Tairoa River meet

Pauanui means "big paua", or abalone, in maori. It lies on the east coast of Coromandel where the mouth of the Tairoa River meets the Pacific and forms a small sandy point. The town of Tairoa is easily visible across the bay.  Around the sandy point, the Pacific rolls in, creating a surfer's paradise.  In winter months, Pauanui has a population of about 800, which swells to 5000 in the summer, augmented by Aucklanders on vacation.  Mid-November is still spring in NZ, while the population of Pauanui was certainly increasing, most of the houses still remained empty.  I was blessed with a weekend of quiet, warmth and sun.

Beach and the hill for which the town in named in the distance that guards Pauanui

After breakfast with Leslie and Ian on Saturday morning, I set out at 10 am with my wetsuit, goggles and cap in my lightweight backpack in search of the perfect swimming location. I considered swimming across the small  bay at the mouth of the river to the town of Tairoa.  However, it became clear that it was much to shallow when I came across four folks wading across the bay with their cooler.  The search for the perfect swimming beach continued.

Around the point, the waves become bigger as the Pacific Ocean meets the sands of the Pauanui beach.  Surfers dotted the wave crests and I enjoyed watching them work up and down the waves. If I lived here, I would learn to surf, despite the recognition that my body would protest more from the spills as I age.  Age.  It is interesting to be the guest of my children's contemporaries.  Lovely to remember that time in my life and to witness others embark on adulthood, the world at their feet.  What will their future hold? What has the world left our children, now grown to adulthood?  What reins will they hold? Loose, tight?  How will they steer our planet?  I enjoyed being the guest, enjoyed not being in charge. 

I walked to the end of the surfer's beach and found a trail that wound around the edge of the water to Tabletop, a rock formation where the ocean surged over old lava worn into odd formations of suprisingly square cathedrals and small pools of ocean life.  The trail eventually climbed, and I followed, not knowing where it would lead.  I reached the summit of Pouanui,, the hill that guards the town.   A lovely vista of the Coromandel lay before me.

By the time I reached the bottom, it was hot and I had been walking for nearly 4 hours.  The waves beckoned and I donned my wetsuit and swam through the waves, behind the surfers, enjoying the cool salty waters of the Pacific.  I swam down the beach and back.  Not long, and not fast.  I rode the waves back into shore and walked home, tired and hungry.   Leslie cooked a lovely fish dinner, roast vegetables, asparagus, and silverbeet.  Sleep came easily that night!

.

Looking back at Tairoa

Sunday morning I woke early, readied myself for a brief drive to Cathedral Cove beach, on Ian's recommendation. This auspicious weekend holds the day Aung San Suu Kyi was released (again) from confinement.  I considered what it would be like to wake, as she must have, knowing for the first time in many years, freedom awaited.  My occasional self-pitying loneliness dwarfs to meaninglessness in the face of 15 years of confinement. Suu kyi's incredible indomitable spirit amazes me.  To stay involved, well-read, and vibrant after such isolation is a testament to her strength and will. I vowed to continue to learn,  to grow and to read, in an attempt to be aware and involved in the world. 

still Pauanui, afraid my phone was out of batteries for the Cathedral Cove run...

I drove the coastal road to Cathedral Cove, right past busy Hot Water Beach, with most of the traffic on the road turning in that direction. Donning my vibram five fingers for the second time in as many days, I took to the trail that led to a variety of beaches and coves along the way. Vibrams, or VFF, are an odd looking shoe reminiscent of toe socks, but sport a rubber sole that easily negotiates sand, mud, and water. I enjoy running in them on trail runs, but don't usually take to the streets in them.

  I arrived at Cathedral Cove to find a pristine beach with an archway to another beach. Rock formations  towered like monuments to  Maori gods.  My wesuit insulating me from the cool waters, I leisurely swam around these monuments to the beaches on either side.  Kayaking groups came through from Hahai to tour Cathedral cove. What a lovely place to swim, with a wide gentle trail that negotiates the hills leading to the beach to run on.

 What a divine treat, to experience the Coromandel as a multi-sport weekend, without the pressure of competition and on the spur of the moment, through such spectacular land.  I hope to find more adventures with a similar theme: to tour new places by active transport (no, I am not talking cellular biology!), but by paddle, pedal, surf board, or by foot.  I welcome suggestions!

West Coaster musings

View from the West Coaster trail run

It must have been the first week that I arrived that I met Simon, briefly, while running.  I was on East Tamaki Drive, running along the trail on the waterfront sporting my Mt. Baker Hill Climb shirt.  A tall fellow (6'4"?), who would have passed me easily, ran with me a short distance and asked about the shirt.  Our conversation quickly turned to trail runs and he mentioned that I should consider the West Coaster trail marathon in November.  I hadn't seen him since.

Trying to snap photos while running can be quite tricky

Knowing that I did not have the training miles necessary for a full marathon, I signed up for the 28k Speights West Coaster off-road adventure run.  The run starts at Bethell's Beach, a well-known surfer's paradise only 45 minutes from Auckland, on the west coast of the north island.  Apparently, 300 people were entered in a variety of races: 42k, 28k, 18k, and 10k.   There were a small number at the start of the 28k, including seven or so women.  Each race started approximately 2 hours after the next longest race.  A 9am start made for a somewhat leisurely race day start.

Before the race...

Stethanie and I did not really grasp what we were about to embark upon.  I thought I had misread last year's winning time for the women's 28k of 4:19.  Thinking that time must be for the 42k, I hoped to come in at 3:00, half of my slowest marathon time (when I walked and skipped much of the marathon).  I should have realized it was a bit different when I got the email about the required items to race: a space blanket, minimum of 1.5 litres of fluid, extra food, rain gear, cap, gloves, and a fully outfitted first aid pack.  This in addition to the three aid stations on the course.

Officials running down the starting chute...

The race started across the beach, running through a river, then up along the bluffs overlooking the ocean.  The views were spectacular.  I ran the first 9k, thinking it reminded me of trail runs at home, but the trail was at times smaller, muddier, and the footing less predictable.  I did not know it at the time, but I ran a good part of that with Simon's wife, Penny, who had entered the 42k distance.


After a brief connector on a dirt road, we entered another track, the bush track.  Some of these trails were meticulously maintained, wide footpaths with well-cared for steps, until we got to the waterfalls and the river. There the river had to be crossed dozens of times, the trail sometimes marked by a mere triangle on the rocks along the edge or in the middle of the river.  Bouldering some, running some, slipping in mud, falling on my rear in the middle of the river, I happily traversed the trail. (Fortunately, the cell phone in my back pocket survived the river and only a few pictures, all of me, were lost due to smudge on the lens).  All the while, I  marveled at the lush kauri forest.  I got passed my many who seemed like mountain goats, sure-footed and unmuddied runners.

Stethanie emerging from the bush

Eventually, we looped back to join the 18k runners who looked fresh by comparison.  I ran for much of the last 15k alone.

Running has always provided me with a time for contemplation.  This run's theme seemed centered on ethics of the dying patient.  In the United States, the health care system is centered on the patient's choices.  This is mostly true for New Zealand as well, but it is a socialized system and the ethics of the community  as a whole effects the care of the dying.  Some of the most costly care occurs at the end of life.  Not palliative, comfort care, but heroic efforts to save folks whose time is near.

Views from the trail

Many folks have the notion that CPR  will bring folks back to life.  Indeed, it has to many a healthy person.  However, for those people who are old, frail, or in the process of dying, the success rate falls dramatically.  For those of us in medicine who have witnessed CPR on dying folks, it truly can be an inhumane and undignified way to die.  Although we may communicate this belief to our dying patients, in the US, if the patient wants CPR, they have the last word.  CPR will be done.  In New Zealand, it is different.  Most everyone still has a right to declare whether or not they want CPR.  In the case of the dying patient, if the doctor notes that CPR is futile, then no attempt will be made to resuscitate the patient, regardless of the patient's wishes.

Views from the trail

I had a long and fruitful discussion with one of the palliative care physicians on Friday.  He said that the outcomes for palliative care were much better in NZ than in the US because of this difference.  While here in NZ, I have also witnessed CPR on the very frail, elderly patient who is otherwise healthy.  They do not practice ageism or deny it for very ill patients.  The "futile CPR" is reserved for those who near death. As with all ethics and much of medicine, there will be grey areas.  I wonder about the grey in both systems.  Patient choices, adequate patient information, physician intervention, bias on both sides, social pressures, family ties, all contribute to decisions around care of our patients.

Yes, the trail goes through THAT.

Working in medicine can be hard on the spirit.  Special cases come to mind.  Patients with a fighting spirit who eventually die.   Exercise is my therapy, the bluffs and crashing waves, the mud, the wet shoes, the hills all helped.  I will continue to try to care for my body, to use it, to experience all the beauty in nature.  As I write this I am struck by the realization that the most beautiful thing I saw this week was not the finish line, the waterfalls, beaches, bluffs, hills, rivers, but the strength and love of a family supporting their dying father.

And the trail traverses this. Quite varied terrain!

I finished the run with plenty left from a cardiovascular standpoint, but not much left in my legs or feet.  I am not sure of my official time, but my watch (after getting my timing chip off) was at 5:15.  The race photographer wanted a picture of me as the epitome of the run: covered in mud, thoroughly wet, smiling.  The run was sponsored by Speights, a kiwi beer.  A beer, sausage sandwich and fried bananas topped off the day. I met Simon for the second time as I was commiserating with his wife over her sprained ankle.  He recognized me by my accent, stature, and dirty girl gaiters. (Dirty girl is a brand name of patterned running gaiters). I soaked my legs in the river I had crossed earlier this morning, thankful for the opportunity to witness this corner of the world.  Stethanie finished shortly after my soak, but looked like she did when she started, unmuddied.  For those techies, you can look at the trail route via my garmin site: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/55728531

See what I mean, Stethanie's after photo... she looks as fresh as she did at the start.

Tomorrow another week begins.  Today, I clean house, write my blog, connect with my family and friends.  Be well, all of you. Take care of yourselves and know you are well loved.

Not much thought...

This weekend (and this blog entry) was put together with not much thought.  More of a reaction to being in Auckland with a means to escape!  Yes, I purchased a car.  1989 Renault 5 from a fellow who had 3 days left to sell it before heading to Norfolk, VA and a new job at NASA.  I love my little car.  Yes, I will still take the train, reserving the use of the car for weekend outings and grocery runs.

The R5 is unnaturally elongated in this photo.  I can barely fit in diagonally to sleep in it.  Making it smaller than the beetle by far.

The impetus for this trip was a swim.  It is early spring here, but the warm, sunny days of the week past were in my memory as was the luscious swim from the park at the end of Anan Street.  I got out my guidebook and picked to nearby beaches: Piha and Goat Island.  The more I read, the more I was convinced to go to Goat Island, part of a Marine Reserve and a snorkeling hot spot.  My office mate related stories of her children feeding snapper hot dogs, basking on the beach, and swimming to Goat Island.  My mind was made up.

Goat Island

Piha is a surfer's beach and will undoubtedly feature in weekend plans yet to come.

Saturday was sunny when I left the house to meet Michael Rodgers, a friend and surgeon who spent a year in Portland.  While we reminisced and discussed the role of PAs in NZ over coffee, the skies clouded over and let loose with a deluge.  (Great, I'd hung all my laundry out before leaving)!  By the time the R5 was packed for my adventure, the rain had stopped, but the clouds persisted.

Half an hour from Auckland and the R5  wound around vineyards, hills, and small towns to the town of Leigh.  I set my tent up at a delightful campground that boasted hot showers, communal kitchens, and plenty of paperback novels.  I donned my jogging attire and ran down to the beach near Goat Island and onto the Goat Island track, a trail cloven by sheep along the headlands overlooking the Marine Reserve.  Many islands dotted the horizon and the wind blew steadily.  I found some dirt roads and enjoyed a leisurely rural run. This run will have to suffice for my long weekend  training run. I am woefully unprepared for next weekend's West Coaster 28k trail run...

Home sweet home, at least for the weekend

As I had packed in a hurry, and had not planned well, I left at home a myriad of camping and running essentials, including an extra pair of running socks and my headlamp.

This morning, after a night of fitful sleep due to wind gusts, I returned to the  beach, this time with my wetsuit on.  The water was surprisingly cold (62 degrees, I later learned) compared to my recent Herne Bay swim.  Despite this, the sea life beckoned.  Fish were teaming among the vegetation.  Snapper are huge.  They rather scared me when I first saw one.  The goat fish, with its blue and purple colors was my favorite.  Blue moamoa and another fish that reminded me of an  thinner-bodied, wider-striped angel fish were others that I recognized from the pictures I had studied at the campsite.  There were many more.  Swimming with a constant display below was a delight.  If the water had not been so cold, I might have tarried longer.  I noted that the folks who were diving had much thicker wetsuits on, as well as hoods, gloves, and booties.  I succumbed to reason after 1/2 hour of swimming.

Beach access to the reefs around Goat Island

I find watching the undersea world calming.  Life exists in the steady rhythm of the ebb and flow of the waves.  I find I start breathing more slowly and try to match the beat of the life below the water's surface.  I imagine the carpet of life that lies underneath the waves, another world of which I can only dream.  I will plan future visits when the water is warmer and I am better prepared.


The hot showers at the campsite were put to good use.  I stopped for a cup of tea and a scone at the first cafe on the way back to Auckland, and "spicy" Mexican for lunch in Orewa to warm me up.  (The kiwi version of "spicy-hot" is no more than "medium" by most standards).

Back to city life by 1pm, I am enjoying a cat-like moment in the sun before I set to getting ready for the busy week ahead.