Going Long

New Zealand – Adventure racing heaven, above and below

Mark Burnett, of “Survivor” fame, knows something about drama, and he orchestrates 70 teams from around the world across the New Zealand stage, creating a monumental event. At the race briefing, he tells us that when he first flew over the mountain bike section he told Mike Christian, who designed the bike leg “Listen Mike, this is the hardest bike course I’ve ever seen. The grade, the snow, the rain, it’s inhuman”. Mike’s response? “Mark, you’ve only seen a third of the course.” Everyone laughs, in cue. 5 days later we won’t be too happy…

Eco Challenge 2001 race course

The race started with a ‘run and ride’ – for the first 10 miles, two team members would run while the other two would ride horses, we would then switch and split up for another 10 miles before reuniting. At the starting line stood 150 horses and 300 competitors, with helicopters and camera crews surrounding us. This was already an accident waiting to happen. Indeed, 3 minutes into the race a renegade horse kicked a Dutch competitor, breaking her leg and disqualifying her and her team. Another competitor from Hong Kong is flung off his horse. He continues, but is forced to quit two days later because of the concussion he sustained. An American team loses their horse and is disqualified for “losing a critical piece of mandatory equipment.”

Our initial race plan was to take it easy for the first two days. But Burnett thought of that, and the first few cutoffs were designed with very little time to spare – we would have to get up and over the mountain range with no rest. And so we found ourselves on the ridge at 1am…

The second day provided us with more trekking. We crossed glacial rivers, climbed up and down thousands of feet of scree slopes until finally reaching the check point where the rafting section began. We had traveled about 80 miles across extremely rough terrain, and it had taken us ~35 hours.

Tending my feet after a long trekking section

You’d expect a rafting section to start by the river. But not in the Eco. We had to carry the raft, with all our equipment, for about a mile until we reached the river bank. Exhausted, after 20 more hours of nonstop activity, we crashed for another three hours.

At the crack of dawn we were off. At 40 degrees, the water was COLD. Luckily, this section wasn’t technically demanding, we weren’t in any real danger of capsizing. We just had to keep paddling, but again – it’s never that easy. The course that was plotted had us going against strong headwinds. Imagine an 8 person inflatable raft (the least aerodynamic vehicle on the planet) trying to make progress against a strong headwind with 4 little paddles. After a while we decided it was a futile attempt, so we paddled to the bank, where two of us took ropes and dragged the raft along while the other two took a rest – then we switched. And so it continued for another 15 miles…

At the next checkpoint we’re back on our feet, for a long mountaineering section. For the next three days we would not see flat ground. We climbed up, down and across thousands of feet, across every surface imaginable. Dense vegetation, scree slopes, cliff edges, marshlands, forests and rivers. Lior was having a lot of trouble with her feet, which were slowly turning into hamburger patties. She could barely walk. To try and move faster, I carried her pack while Daniel towed her on a leash. Needless to say, our progress became excruciatingly slow. The third night stands out particularly in my mind. At midnight, we found ourselves walking ankle deep across an 8 mile swamp, looking for a checkpoint that was supposed to be there. Every half hour I would re-check my map, validate it against the terrain and check my bearing – I was sure I knew where we were, but where the hell was the checkpoint? We’re in the middle of a god-forsaken swamp! After nearly two more hours of mud treatment we finally saw a tent and hit dry land. “You’re standing on the only dry spot in a 10 miles radius,” says the volunteer. “They brought me in by helicopter. Don’t worry though, the next checkpoint is just an hour away.” Lior nearly had a breakdown right then and there. But what can you do? We carried on.

Transitioning from the rafts to the mountains

We hoped the mountain bike leg would give us some time off our feet. But what was supposed to be a mountain biking section became a mountain trekking section. We basically walked the uphills, which were way too steep to ride, especially with all our gear, and rode the downhills. This went on for 100 miles. Daniel, Ronen and I struggled to keep motivating Lior, who moved slower and slower with every passing mile. Not only were we tired, hungry and being pushed to our limits, we had to share responsibility for another person, who was beyond the point of caring for herself. Although in hindsight I have great memories from the race, we weren’t enjoying ourselves at this point – we were using all our reserves to keep pushing forward and reach the finish line. Quitting was not an option.

Ronen preparing his bike with the NZ Alps as a backdrop

We rode and walked for 15 consecutive hours, before succumbing to three more hours of sleep. As I lay in the dark, images from the past few days flashed before me. Star studded nights looking down on snow capped peaks, the dizziness I felt climbing vertical cliffs, the omega across the river, the freezing water, the pain in my feet and the dark humor of the early morning hours. These extreme moments bring us to closer to our real selves, and provide a clear contrast between low and high points, camaraderie and impatience, success and failure. We’re shaken by these experiences, but I believe they make us stronger, enrich our lives, and bring us closer to fulfilling our potential, whatever it may be.
At dawn we’re on our bikes again – and eventually end the bike leg as we come screaming down the mountain at 60 km/hour. We did it, and lived to tell about it

Eight days have passed now. Team Eco Internet crossed the finish line three days ago. Many others have finished as well. We’re among the final third of the teams still out on the course, slowly making our way. Our patience, team spirit and competitive drive are being tested to their limits. Sympathizing with someone else’s pain while you reach your own threshold of intolerance is more challenging than the physical endeavor we’ve undertaken. This is a lesson we’ve learned over and over again during these past eight days. We have one more trekking section followed by a rafting leg that will bring us to the finish. We push on, at a painfully slow pace.

24 hours later, one of the most beautiful sights in the world appears before us – the lights of Glendhu Bay at Wanaka Lake. We paddle faster and faster, and as we approach the shore wide smiles adorn our faces, the joy of finishing replacing all the anticipation and frustration, the knowledge of our achievement eliminating the pain. We’re greeted by friends, champagne, beer and pizza. “Hava Nagila” never sounded better than it did that night, on the banks of Lake Wanaka in the southern island of New Zealand.

Crossing the finish line: