TARARUA MOUNTAIN RACE 2024

The high point of The Southern Crossing in the Tararua Mountain Race

When I heard that the Tararua Mountain Race was returning, I think I peed a little. I had always wanted to run TMR, but it had been taken away by the time I felt ready to take it on.

So when it was announced Andy Carruthers was resurrecting the race, I knew it was time to get back in the saddle. It was time to do something hard, just cause.

Leading into the race, I trained the house down. Unfortunately it was a house made of sticks, three piggies style.

Race morning arrived, and I was reacquainted with my old friend, self-doubt. WTF have I gotten myself into?

I got a ride from Petone with Ian Tulloch, Fabiano Petroni and Chris Martin. Now, if you’ve ever gone on a mission with Chris, you know his personality doesn’t wake up till 7 am. However, listening to his monotone, as short as possible sentences, had a strange, calming effect on me. I was grateful to be riding in to war with Chris, after all it was Chris who got me in to this whole big mission shenanigans in the first place.

When we arrived at Rego, there were already plenty of people at the barn. The place was buzzing. Bumping into some old friends and meeting some new ones was a great start to the day. As we drove down to the Car Park of Glory, the nerves started to ramp up. I wonder if I still remember how to run.

The 6.30 AM wave. Let’s get the party started

Well, I didn’t need to worry. My legs still worked. 10 seconds in, I had already ripped up the game plan. I had lined up on the inside line closest to the trailhead. Fail.

Diego took off, and I followed him into the fence line chute. The pressure of having 50 or so people behind me forced me along at an unsustainable pace. Knowing I had no business riding his coattails, I said goodbye to Diego and got to work at my own pace.

Slowly, a headlight started casting my shadow further in front of me. I kept looking over my shoulder as it got closer and closer.

“Don’t worry about me, love. I’m ages away. I’m just a heavy breather.”

I wasn’t buying it for a second. I let this heavy-breathing headlamp pass. It was Crystal Bartlet, an amazingly strong runner who ended up taking 2nd lady. Shout out to Crystal; you had the most polite, friendly and modest pass of the day!

Crystal Bartlett hours after leaving me in her dust.

About a third of the way up the notorious Marchant Ridge, I started working with Ed Banks. Within 5 minutes, he asked, “Have you done an SK?” My type of guy.

We went back and forth and then were joined by Ian and Tiffany, who were running as a team. Eventually, we all strung out between Block 16 and Alpha Hut. The Bull Mound turnoff came and went, and my spirits soared … temporarily.

In the space of 40 minutes, I went from feeling like I was ahead of schedule to falling behind. That last 2km up to Alpha Hut was an absolute dog.

I took an extra couple of minutes at the Hut. I was feeling a bit lightheaded, and I knew it was a good couple of hours to the next chance to reset and get some more liquids—3h30 m, right where I needed to be.

The secret is to follow everyone else and take note of where they slip

Heading up Alpha Peak, our dream team of Ed, Ian, Tiffany, and I had regrouped. The conditions on the tops were perfect: blue skies, a mild temperature, and a slight southerly tailwind.

The underfoot conditions, however, were another story. The route was an overgrown, tussock-infested, slippery AF, potholed f🤬ck fest. That’s the politest way I can describe it. But it was amazing.

It was a reminder of what the Tararua are. I headed into the race knowing it would be hard, but I hadn’t allowed myself to think about how hard it would be.

A few bumps to go

The bluebird conditions meant we could see the whole route stretched out in front of us. Looking along the beehives up to Mt. Hector was one part jaw-dropping and one part but clenching. The climbs looked mammoth.

I have learnt that the big climbs look a lot worse than they are (apart from those type 2 times when they are actually as bad as advertised). Before long, we had conquered the beehives, and I got running just in time for this epic snap from Tim Sutton.

When I first started plodding on the trails, he was one of my original trail running inspirations. His friendly face lifted my spirits, and I found some extra energy. Before I knew it, I was descending towards Kime like a pregnant hippo.

I left the aid station, trying to calculate whether 7 hours was still possible. I lost a lot of time across the tops. There was only one way to find out.

The descent from Kime was challenging. It was nice to be moving a bit quicker and downhill, but the route was only marginally easier. It’s still very rutted, with so many rocks, and I found it hard to find a rhythm. My old Mate Ed caught me up again, heading to Field Hut; he said, “Stay with me,” or something to that effect.

We smashed over the godsend of a boardwalk and into Field Hut. One last refuel, some encouraging words from Sean Martin, and Ed said, “Let's work together and get this done.” His goal was sub 8 hours, and we were well on track. We just needed to keep moving and avoid catastrophe.

It was fun pushing down the hill; it felt like we were sprinting down, but the reality, looking at the time taken, was more of a slow, slippery fall down the trail.

Two-thirds of the way down, we caught up with Fergus. He joined our train, and Ed recruited him to our bromance so we could finish together.

Down the benched track we went. That’s when disaster struck. The last bit of slippery clay and my foot slid, overcorrected, tweaked my ankle, and then bang. Flat on my back, looking at the sky. My quads are cramping more than when I had my workmates' genuine homemade vindaloo. I had fallen off the train. My new friend Ed was out of sight.

I shot up as fast as I could. I didn’t want to keep the train waiting. They were around the corner and out of site. I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t wait. I pushed as hard as I could. I rounded the bend, and there they were, waiting halfway along the bridge to the finish. Over we went.

I’m the unit in the middle. Photo: The legend that is Elspeth Knewstubb

What a great feeling to finally cross the finish line for the first time in 4 years. I don’t know why it’s been that long, but it’s a feeling that can’t be replicated.

As amazing as the race was, catching up with old friends and meeting some new ones at the finish was just as good. I saw the joy on Andy’s face as he witnessed all his hard work and risk come to fruition.

I didn’t hit my 7-hour goal. I missed by 37 minutes—but TMR did achieve the main goal. It got me out the door running more often than not. It got me back, challenging myself. It punched me in the dick, and I got through. I’m already thinking about next year—what I can do better, where I can improve, and what I can do with more training and specificity.

Bradley Houghton