Life and death of the villages

My return to the Waangleng village coincided with a ritual known as Daazaai. This is a Daoist ritual that summons the soul of the deceased, cries for them, brings the soul through to the underworld, then pays tribute and sends useful items to them. The soul in question was my grandfather-in-law who passed away last year in July. I was a bit surprised that such a ritual would be done over a year after a death, and didn’t ask whether a soul would linger so long for this ceremony. When I spoke to an out-of-town friend I learned that even he thought it was unusual to wait so long, but he was an urbanite and the ways of the village can be quite different between regions, and even within regions.

In the past 18 months, the Chinese villages who shape the family have lost our 99-year old great-grandfather (Aa-Gung), a paternal uncle (Daai Guzoeng), a maternal third uncle (Saam Kaufu) and a great uncle (Aa-Baak) who was a frequent visitor to the living room and others. Most of these bereavements happened in my absence from China but being remote made me very sad, not just for their passing as I knew these men and they knew me and that they were a part of my Chinese life, but also because they were a part of the life of the communities. 

Aa-Gung in particular was an amazing presence who I have already spoken about in a previous blog. But Daai Guzoeng was also a remarkable figure. We’d been to his home in the neighbouring village many times. He seemed an elder who chose his words carefully and meaningfully, just like Aa-Gung. When we visited last year before his passing, even in a barely conscious state, he recognised me. Village-style, he spent his final days at home.

Saam Kaufu, third uncle, was the older brother of my wife’s mother. He had battled with cancer for many years and while the cancer wasn’t what took him, the battles with it weakened him to the point that it was probably only a matter of time. I was close to his brother fourth uncle who was immediately open to talking to this weird foreigner. Saam Kaufu for quite a few years didn’t really know what to say to me or how to look at me, but by the end was very relaxed and we could talk. He was also a village producer of some really good, really potent baijiu, even though he himself was teetotal. Just like Daai Guzoeng, he too spent his final days at home. 

Aa-Baak was a good character. In the village where it’s quiet so often to have someone just “pop in” for a chinwag is essential. He was that guy. He often went barefoot, which was a bit rare, and a bit like Fourth Uncle, never hesitated to talk to me. His death was out of the blue – maybe because he didn’t want to talk about his unwellness. 

Driving down the roads of the villages at night you might be struck by how many homes do not have the lights on, that is, they are no longer inhabited. But the Daazaai ritual brought out the clan in force. The ritual itself was an overnighter; people started appearing in the early afternoon; things started in the evening and went throughout the night till sunrise. Almost all of the clan came and a lot of the associated family members, too. I finally put a face to quite a few names that I had heard so often. The village once again appeared the centre of culture and bustle.

End of the season

Turning off Mangatāwhiri Road into Rāhui Te Kiri reserve, I ran to the end of my 2024 campaign running. The final dash was along a particular boardwalk that I had enmity towards, with a familiar pacer turning back and encouraging me for part of the way along the 500m home. Whether it was his encouragement or just the sight of the finish line I managed to make to pick up speed and complete the mission of the Omaha Half Marathon in 1:29:27. 

It was my third fastest half out of five this year - not great but also a tricky one to be motivated for. It was a race I have really been too busy to think about, with Christmas events, family matters, and general summer fatigue getting to me. 

Omaha is also a deceptively difficult flat-out half. Everyone thinks they can do well but with 2km of sand, changing surfaces and the early summer warmth, it is also the one that catches people out. I may have gone out too fast but my slow-down late in the second half wasn't too bad. I did run pass two runners who were much better than me, who clearly "blew up". One I passed with a few kms to go and finished over 10 minutes behind me, showing he was exhausted to the point of walking. Others did do well too showing self-knowledge and mastery of those conditions. As it was, after the first third, I didn't feel confident of meeting my targets and by half-way, I knew that the main goal had to be keeping it below 1:30, which thankfully I could.

Omaha, as I have mentioned before here, is my bogey race, having got lost near the finish in 2017 and running a total of 27km trying to find my way to the end, then slipping on "that" boardwalk pre-race in 2018 and being a bit crippled after the race as an after-effect. And then after six years of not going there, I have finally run it the way it was intended. It wasn't completely uneventful - even with planning I still arrived late, queued for the portaloos but had to abandon them as there wasn't enough time, dashed over to the start line, forgetting my plan to take a gel pre-race, and instead being stuck near the back of the starting area. 

Now what? Well, some relaxing runs before I go to China, where I plan to do occasional runs to maintain my fitness and work on pace. Then in early February we have the first run of 2025, the Coatesville Half, which I hope is a starting point for a campaign that will lead to a good time at the Christchurch Marathon in April. 

Running that final straight

Today I ran more in 2024 than I did in the whole of 2023, which had been my biggest year of running. With another couple of reasonable weeks and I'll complete my goal for last year, 4,000km in a year, and I am pretty sure I'll make that. This running year is coming to a close. In two weeks, I'll have the Omaha Half Marathon and then it'll be a trip to China with some occasional runs and then it'll be 2025. My first race next year will be 9 February so it'll be quite a break after the frenetic running I've been doing this second half. 

The busyness of the last few months was increased by me getting an entry into the Auckland Marathon transferred to me from an injured runner. It's a weird situation because if I had decided to do it earlier, North Shore Marathon would have been a B-race, and I would have structured training for it. Instead, I had just a month to rethink things and motivate myself for a race that I could potentially PB. 

About a month before the marathon, and not long after accepting the entry, I proceeded to hurl myself head-first into the footpath, messing up my face and causing deep wounds on my hands and knees. It was on a morning with pretty comfortable dry conditions; I had done the hard part of the run and was just jogging my cool-down along a cycleway about 1km from home, and then I was crumpled on the ground. I lay there a while I waited for pain reports from the various branches of my body. I knew from the warmth in places that I had lost skin and was bleeding but not much pain. I initially thought I'd written off my new glasses because things were quite awry around my head, but it was just my headband and glasses getting mixed up together. I got up and walked - mechanically I seemed fine - and then jogged the last kilometre home. At home, I got to see the full extent. I was bleeding from my forehead, my nose, my upper lip, my shoulder, my hands and knees. We went to the doctor and had the damage properly dressed, and a tetanus shot to boot. With all the luck that I'd avoided a concussion, dental damage, joint damage, and other things, I was just annoyed because it wrecked my lead-in. The dressings could not get wet, which meant I couldn't shower, which meant I wasn't going to be running without being stinky and unhygienic. So I waited for dressing changes to go for a run, but it was never really more than just keeping my muscles loose and ready, and never readying myself. Seven days after the fall I got back to proper runs, which was already at a time that I should be tapering, not doing too many workouts. 

Despite all that, come the morning of the Auckland Marathon, I felt pretty good and was going to aim for 3:08. It was my fourth Auckland full marathon after 2017, 2018 and 2019, the latter being my PB of 3:23 that lasted until earlier this year when I ran 3:10:59 at Hamilton. 3:08 would be a lifetime PB, but I based that on the fact that Hamilton was a really tough course - Auckland wasn't easy, but not as challenging as Hamilton. I also believed I'd improved since June. But Auckland is hard to pace because the first half has all the hills, and then it's flat till the end. After some thought I decided on the pace I'd like to be at at the halfway point.

And come the day, we had almost perfect conditions and I had an uneventful morning. The only issue was a headwind on parts of the course including the crossing of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. As it was the first half went completely to plan and at the halfway point, I had managed to keep in the range that I'd planned ahead... However, it appears my plan was flawed - it was still too fast for my fitness for the first half. As the second half started I noticed fatigue dragging me slower and slower. From kilometre 32 to 42.2, I struggled to keep pace. Eventually I dragged myself home at 3:16, eight minutes slower than I had hoped. And I was not in the best way, I was exhausted to the point of nausea and struggling to keep food down.

The irony of the three marathons of the year are the comparisons of my time at the 30km mark and at the end:

- June 2024: Kirikiriroa Marathon (Hamilton) - 30k: 2:15; 42.2k: 3:10

- September 2024: North Shore Marathon - 30k: 2:14; 42.2k: 3:18

- October 2024: Auckland Marathon - 30k: 2:13; 3:16

That shows that I've been pushing myself faster in the first 30km in each race throughout the year, but my two later races always struggling for the final 12km.

I have always attributed my success this year to my focus on speed at the end of last year, and that's how I plan to spend the rest of the year. Even in China, I'm going to do speed sessions rather than long runs. 

My A-race for next year is the Christchurch Marathon in April 2025. Unlike every other marathon I've done, Christchurch is unsurprisingly flat. It should be the easiest to pace. With the platform I've built these two years, I hope I can get close to, or go under, the much admired 3:00 mark. It'll take a smooth first quarter of the year to do it, but not outside the realms of possibility. 

Head bowed, but still high

A maxim is often cited: History doesn't repeat, but it can rhyme. Well, sometimes it does repeat.

A year ago I wrote a blog about my effort at the 2023 North Shore Marathon. In it there was a section: "One annoying thing was that my watch recorded 20.6km for the first half. This means either it was shorter than a marathon, or my watch hadn't quite tracked it accurately and I was actually running faster than I should have been." I should have really read that report before this morning's race because history did repeat: On Sunday, race day, I was comfortably holding my target pace (4:35/km) for the first loop but when I came up to the half-way point it was clear this was all a fiction. I had completed the first half in 1 hour 33 minutes, a respectable time for a half marathon but about over 3 minutes earlier than planned for my full marathon. It was equivalent to 4:24/km, which I would like to think I could hold on a flat marathon but not when you're running up hills and on sand. Unlike the Kirikiriroa Marathon, there weren't kilometre markers so nothing to counter the bad intel from my watch until the mid-way point, by which time it was almost certainly too late.

I pulled it back a little but by the 30km mark, the fastest 30km of my life, I knew I had overcooked it, and by the 36km mark I slowed down a lot and the temptation to walk started to become strong. That I didn't walk was very satisfying in retrospect. It was hard, steely work to complete the last two beach sections and the last ascent over the hill to Milford. Having lost my faith in my watch, I had to mentally estimate the distance to the finish line and knew that despite everything, I was still possibly going to finish in higher part of my target range of 3:15-3:20. The last part of the marathon is a 800m section of sand and about 100m at Craig Reserve to the finish line, which I crossed at 3:18:49.

I was shattered at the finish line, ducked straight in for a light massage on my burning, tight calves and then struggled out. I started to tremble in shock and sat down for an extended time. Fortunately, I had other people I knew and could talk to while I gave my body some time to get back to equilibrium, otherwise I would have just found some damp ground to lie on.

To have done it with so much struggle is never nice, and the calls for a new better watch, which I almost bought pre-race, are only getting stronger. But I still got my target, a 24 minute improvement on last year, and the fastest I've ever done the course by 14 minutes (in my unofficial running of the cancelled marathon event in 2019). It's also my second fastest marathon effort. I can't be too sad about it. I'll stand by my words and stay out of this event next year, although I might marshal and gain a free entry into 2026's event.

Despite the shakes after the race, there were no niggles or tightness. I could walk around our hilly block without much difficulty in the afternoon afterwards. I'll keep a low profile for a few days before I try some easy runs. I have three weeks till my reunion with Northhead in the Devonport Half Marathon, and at some stage I will make a call on whether to go into the Auckland Marathon in November.

Before bowing before Northhead yet again...

This is the pre-run post that will inevitably be followed by a post-run post. The North Shore Marathon is on the coming Sunday and out of the four different events I've run, it is the one that has been hardest to crack. I feel I've never done it well. Even the best time, my effort in the cancelled event of 2019, was still a crawl to the end (and then a finish line vomit). I've vowed this year would be my last attempt (at least for a time) and next year I should try some that I haven't tried before.

Why is this course hard? Even though it is simply running back-and-forth, back-and-forth between Milford Beach and the top of Northhead, it has 12 beach sections (four times doing the same three sections), 10 hills (including Northhead twice, and with 500m ascent over the whole course) and all this spread out over the normal 42.2km of a marathon in between. 

Another element is the placement of the second ascent of Northhead, which starts at the 30km mark. For those who haven't trained and run a marathon before, the rarefied air beyond 30km is when the "Wall" lurks. Even on the flat, you can feel like a champion at 29km, hit the Wall and then uncontrollably slow at 31km. Last year I mildly slowed down at 28km, and then was crawling after my second time up Northhead. In 2019, my best year, the Wall started to hit at 32km, just after Northhead, and that is still with three other hills and three stretches of beach to run over the last 10km. Any strategy for running this course has to be to fuel well for the race and pace so that you still have enough in the tank on the descent of Northhead. 

But these weeks leading up to the event I had to ask myself what my purpose was in running the North Shore Marathon. This is a very good question - and it might surprise some that many people don't "race" to do their very best. This is not the course for a Personal Best, and it's not an "A-race" for me (i.e. the main targeted event), so it makes sense to think about what running it can contribute to my running and a base for other events. And as it may well be the last time running there, I like the idea of just posting a solid time, better than the previous efforts, but not risk trying to do a maximal effort, which could result in me pushing too hard and suffering yet again on the final 10km. I believe I should be able, with a maximal effort, to get close to 3:10km, and if it were the last marathon I were to ever run, I'd aim for a time in the range of 3:10-3:15, but I think 3:15-3:20 is safer, and be happy to fall back to 3:20-3:25, which would still be a course PB. 

It's been an awkward period of training since the Kirikiriroa Marathon in June. I had four little enforced training breaks. Firstly, post-Kirikiriroa, I had an irritated quad which took some time to go, then almost as soon as it had come right, I had a gastro infection, and not long after that a touch of ITB syndrome, and then finally, just when I was on what was meant to be my longest run in the peak of peakiest weeks, I had a hamstring niggle again. But even with these, I have trained and run pretty well since then and there have been sessions where it is clear I am at least as strong as I am from the first half of the year.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to this run and seeing what my new fitness can do with this tough nut!

The speech that could have been and then was

Back in 2017, we had a party to celebrate my father's big 7-0. It was Peak Dad, Peak Warren, before the dramatic changes for him and the family. I spoke at that event and remember that, despite being a confident public speaker, that I didn’t really have the frame or the mind to really speak of my father from the heart. Maybe it is our stoic Scottish heritage. I find it dreadful that only in his passing does meaning clarify and the confidence to say something.

My father was a proud man. He was proud in his achievements, the life he had built, and I would have been proud too to have done in my adult life, the scale of transformation: He was first in my memory a sheep farmer, who became a market gardener. Then a market gardener who became an ice factory owner. He seemed tireless in finding new ways to be Warren, and to be Dad, whether it would be becoming a Drinkmaster franchisee or a liquor store owner, and then launching a take-over of the ice factory to own it once more. Call me traditional but I’ve been in the same industry my whole entire life, and to make these leaps I find extraordinary.

He was proud of family and, boy, his prodigiousness puts the rest of us to shame. Even though his love of family, and his idea of family, went too far at times, there was never any doubt that family is what made him whole and happy.

His approach to making a life and family was called “the Goudie Way”, which apparently was the name he first proposed for what became Goudie Road in Helensville. The Goudie Way was the disciplined, ambitious, and yes, patriarchal, approach to life that he could control with his judgement and wisdom. Unfortunately, his first three born Goudies were opinionated enough to challenge his views of the world, as soon as they were old enough, to whittle it down to simply, Warren’s Way. I felt bad that when I went to Ashburton the first time, that he prefaced all his comments with, “I know you won’t agree but…”

He was proud of his ability to bounce back. It was the habit of a lifetime. Even at the depths, at almost each stage of the last five years, you could see him calculating a plan, a way to restore order and his position. Even after his second major stroke and being put in hospital, he was keen to prove that he could live in the Chalmers Street home alone once more. When Christy and I were down last year, he insisted on visiting the house for old time sakes. We took him, but feared the whole time that he would refuse to leave; but no, he was really wanting to show that he could make it in the front door unassisted, a difficult right-hand turn and up a step. In that moment I knew he wasn’t proving it to us but to himself that he could have that autonomy once more, that he could come back.

Dad was a proud man, too proud to be disabled, disabled by a stroke, when there was no cure for the pain.

In his last two years, anyone could see he was not just struggling with his body, but his mind and his demons. It is a fault of the memory to have the recency of this time as the memory to represent him. It is not fair. He had the fullest life and happiness, and joy with being Warren and being with his family

The memories that I hold dearest is Dad’s exuberant laughs in the annual NRL rugby league finals parties at our Hobsonville home, swimming at the beach with him in Fiji when I was 15 - he liked to try things and be involved; his glee when hitting the oysters at Valentines restaurant, which I couldn’t understand then, but do now; seeing Dad with a cat at his side, and talking with him about his fruit trees at Redoubt Road. I never knew he loved plums!

In 2022 I used to call Dad from my work car as I drove between Auckland and Hamilton. That continued until his ears failed, and then the feeling of separation deepened, and it was only when I went down to Ashburton to visit him in his room that we could talk. But the topics remained the same. He was in pain but kept to Warren’s Way in his own obstinate fashion, refusing the food there, demanding his schedule and his freedoms.

Last Wednesday afternoon we knew he might not make it. I insisted on having a video call to see him and I thank goodness I did. Barely minutes after the end of the call, Brenda sent the message that he had passed and all hope of further Warren stories and memories ended too.

The last ten days have been difficult. I don’t want my father gone, but I know that the pain and confusion he was constantly in the thrall of was unbearable, and only getting worse, and that he was never going to escape that till his final day. That has come and I can only take solace that there is peace for him.

Winter words

This is our second winter in our "new" home. When we moved in last year, it was literally on the stroke of daylight saving switching back, we had dark, wet, cold evenings from the start, and the flaws of the house became evident straight away. 

Firstly, there were the leaks: one through the tiles of our roof, another from our washing machine pipes which soaked our garage, and the other into our lower floor lounge. Two of those were easy to address, the other is still a work in progress. 

Then there were the draughts. The joinery of the house was either aged or poorly done from the get-go, and when we lay in bed we felt moving air. In the bathroom, we felt moving air. In the lounge, we felt moving air. To think this was a renovated home, the original tenants must have put up with basically very little difference between the outdoor and indoor temperatures. I put in draught-stopping foams into almost every corner and tried my best to prevent cold moist air getting to the garage. 

During the worst of winter last year my wife was in China I did not really notice whether there was a big difference in temperatures because I am not that sensitive to it. But this year with the first of some really frosty mornings, I'm pretty happy with the general comfort of the house. Its advantage of unopposed sunshine helps of the good days and the general insulation and laminates mean that it never is too cold. We swing between thinking of further changes that we would like to make here as if it were going to be our "forever home" when in fact at a time that suits, we are likely to move on from here. Little changes and fixes are a stressor for me and weigh on my mind. Sometimes what seems like a straightforward thing like getting a shed requires a lot of work. Other things like pruning a neighbour's tree sometimes has more complexity than originally anticipated. Either way, some progress and wins are great, but there is always more to do.

Winter has me in a little bit of limbo. My general interest in current events has been dulled by my pessimism in the politics locally and abroad, specifically the US. While I have another academic administrator at school, there is more to do, so any advantage of time has gone, and there are always perpetual staffing issues, if not student concerns, which are still too early to have someone else attend to. We have an earnest, hardworking teacher who unfortunately likes to bring the topic of pay openly into every work discussion and conversation. It is a bit infectious with others and the talk constantly gets me down. I had hoped that with the relief of many of my duties, I would be able to think about getting back to competitive "over the board" (OTB) chess but it still hasn't happened.  

So pretty much my life is just working, resting and running and even running briefly was not happening. After the Kirikiri Marathon, I ambitiously tried to have a short recovery period, but after a gentle week had a hamstring issue, then had a nasty stomach bug, then just after I got back to it, I had my first re-incidence of ITB syndrome (Ilio-Tibial Band, aggravation of a band of fascia from the hip down to the knee). Fortunately, the later resolved itself with the guidance from youtube videos and I'm only seven days back into regular running, although so far it would appear that all systems are very much working, with three workouts going better than expected. I have resumed my plan of trying to beat my 10km personal best which rests just above 40 minutes. (To be clear, 10km is the only distance yet to be bettered in the last eight months.) I'll look to do a time trial at the track which will be the actual attempt to beat it, and then do a competitive 10km at Western Springs/Grey Lynn, which has a hill and where I'll try to get as close to 40 minutes as possible, but realistically won't be a PB. After that, I'll get back to preparing for the North Shore Marathon in September.

Fifth

A considerable monkey is off my back with a 3:10:59 time at the 2024 Kirikiriroa Marathon, my eighth official marathon. It wasn't the sub 3:10 I was hoping for but, in retrospect, that time was pretty ambitious on this course. Last year's 3:34 apparently was not fresh enough in my mind as I was again surprised with how much ascent there was. It is the second most hilly marathon I've run and I've run only marathons with hills (in order of metres of ascent: North Shore, Kirikiriroa, Auckland then Rotorua, last but famous for its hills). Compared to the others though Kirikiriroa's are insidious - there is no one peak to prepare for like North Shore's Northhead, or the Auckland Harbour Bridge; it just pummels you and your joints with a multitude of ups-and-downs.

The preparation and the morning of all went well. Despite occasional "why didn't I bring that" moments, I still had everything I needed just when I needed it. 

One of the slightly comical aspects of the morning was an incident with my collapsible cup. They promoted the event as a "cupless" event. For those not in the know, most events have water stations with volunteers generously offering runners cups of water or "electrolyte" drinks. Runners who need a drink would swoop in and attempt to drink it either on the hoof or with a brief walk, sometimes tipping it over themselves and almost always not managing to throw the cup in the collection receptacle. Anyone who has run at the back of an event knows that the wastage and incidental littering. Recently there have been more cupless events and fortunately I have a cup for the purpose. I wore a running belt with a zipped compartment and a "cupholder" part which has a particular bottle that matches with it, and in my gear planning chose this to store my gels and to put my cup in it for the run.

Anyway, literally on the starting area no more than 10 seconds after passing through the Starting arch, one of my fingers caught the cup flicking it out of the cup holder and onto the grassy area that was being trodden by my fellow competitors. I didn't see it happen but realised it straight away, quickly seeing it was gone, stopping suddenly and looking back to see it on the ground, then hesitating about going to get it: Did I need it? Yes, I did! And started heading back through the runners. Fortunately, I heard calls of "someone's cup on the ground" and people avoided it, and then one other runner swooped down with one had to bring it up to me, a really awesome act of consideration. (But did I need a cup? No, I didn't really. All stations had cups, but maybe just for the faster runners. And annoyingly they'd offer me cupped drinks instead of pouring it into my collapsible cup. I usually took their cups and emptied it into mine.)

With that start line faux pas behind me, I got back into the rhythm up the climb out of Hamilton Gardens and head south-east, up some more to a residential area and then down into a scenic boardwalked section away from the river. As was the case last year, it is hard to know whether you're running to pace because of the hills. But my problem was bigger than that: my watch's GPS tracking is next to useless. It was telling me I was going rather slow (4:45/km even when I was on the flats, and my target was 4:30/km overall). I was desperately scanning for kilometre markers but hadn't seen any during the first four kilometres. The 5km marker, however, gave me the news: I passed it after 22:00, that is 4:24/km pace, far too fast, especially considering I had gone up hills, too. My watch reported 4:51km, for comparison. So I tried my best to slow down and hope the damage was not done. 

It is said that the halfway point in the marathon is not 21.1km (half the distance) but 32km because that's when the struggle begins. And it was in this race after a weird speeding up at 30km mark triggered slowing and at about 32km dropped my splits below my target average pace of 4:30/km. With all my training and fitness, this slowdown was still to a pace faster than I'd run all my other marathons, but it was gradually eroding the chance of getting below 3:10. One of the quirks of this course is that from 36-39km it goes through the riverside section next to the CBD section which has the most rises and drops. I had hoped to make it through this with a little bit of a buffer to cruise the last flat 2-3km but by then my calves were on fire and I was stiffening up quickly. I did the maths and knew I was going to finish after 3:10 so didn't push it at all.

 

I pulled in for 3:10:59, which was 11 seconds ahead of the next runner who was steaming in trying to catch me. Little did I know I was actually the fifth finisher for the individual runners, although 15 minutes behind fourth place. There were four sub-three speedsters, and then a long gap before my pursuer and I crossed the line... then another ten minutes before seventh and then a lot of runners came in at that point. 

I was exhausted. Even with a bit of a walk around to get moving again, I felt nausea before getting in the car and had a lie-down in the carpark, before getting up and back to the hotel for a quick shower before our "late check-out". The weather which was threatening to rain on the event didn't turn up so we got out and home to rest. All in all, mission accomplished and one for the wall at home.