China Racing

Any given Saturday. Or Sunday. In New Zealand adults have running races to run, and groups to run in. It is normal for grown-arse men and women to put on colourful clothing, and supershoes, and neglect other important duties and run for themselves, with peril to their knee cartilage, and run with other adults, and children, early in the morning.

This is not so in China. There are prescribed ways to exercise: old ladies can dance together in “square dancing’. Taichi people do taichi things. Old people do back/front catching, and extreme hamstring stretching. And young people, now have gyms. Adults running in groups or competitions is not really a thing (yet). It is truly when you live in other countries that you can really your own cultural assumptions.

Oddly, running marathons is a thing in China now, but these are run by city councils to stimulate tourism. Anything shorter than a half marathon barely exist, because they are not stimulatory to tourism and there are no grass-roots organisations that would run them. ParkRuns don't exist (yet). 

To be clear, New Zealand itself went through a process where Athletics New Zealand used to run the show, and that it was focussed on producing champions (which China is too) but not organising anything beyond those needs, and potentially feeling challenged when there is demand and initiative from the broader society to have events beyond the youth and elite. In that time, other events struggled for recognition without the Athletics NZ approval. It was only after a lot of effort that non-Athletics NZ events would be recognised.

So, in China right now running events are mainly for the youth and elite, and now marathons for the tourism income for the general runner and tourists. But in a running sense for a general runner this is back-to-front: no one should have a marathon as their first event without having raced shorter distances, and ideally in anyone’s training they should have variety, and the chance to test themselves without the whole-hog of a marathon.

Before my current trip to China, I did look for any running events apart from the marathons that are springing up in all Chinese cities, and I was initially very disappointed. I just could not find a single event similar to what we have, a dime-a-dozen, in little New Zealand. I hadn’t been in China for the November Guangzhou marathon, and I wouldn’t be in China for the March Qingyuan marathon and it appeared that in province of Guangdong there was nothing shorter in between those two dates outside of elite running races. With some patience though, I found one single event, a 10km race “no less”, in Qingyuan where I was going to be, a week after my arrival. I told a running relative-in-law but he affirmed what I already knew in a very unencouraging way: it was a tourist thing, and that virtual races are where China was at. But I was not discouraged. I entered into a 10km race and thus on 8 February 2026, I ran my first race outside of New Zealand.

It is through my participation I gain new respect and appreciation for the event-craft of those in New Zealand, and realise that these often shoe-string or community oriented events are run on collective learning and culturally moving runners and organisers together to a better way of running. In China, they are not there yet. My race showed everything that I should have known about a race organised by a city council, not a experienced race organisation, and with runners long deprived of event.

I arrived at the event, had my bags x-rayed and my body fondled with security wand, before doing my usual prep of bathroom, bag drop, bathroom, warm-up, bathroom and preparation to enter the starting chute. But there was a full stage act with singing in the process, with some instructions between songs. It was a cool morning that encouraged some hustle about the place. I heard that runners should hang out to the left and wait to enter the starting chute. I did while another song was song and 30 minutes before the scheduled start time, the gate suddenly opened and there was a charge toward the front of the start chute. I was pretty nimble but only got into the second row of racers, behind a lot of “Ayi” aunties and a guy with a flag with a long metal pole who had managed to react a bit faster.

In New Zealand there is both the implicit and explicit instruction that faster runners should “seed” themselves toward the front, and those who are going to have fun and potentially walk it to head towards the back. In the nascent running culture of China this was not the case. And the organisers indulged it: the event photographer took photos of the people at the starting line, and those aunties really could pose. Another bunch of twenty somethings pushed in front of everyone to take their own start line photos and then stayed there.

With thirty minutes to wile away in the cold, apart from giving the evil eye to those who have no place in the front row of a 10km race, you could only jog on the spot and discreetly stretch in a way that didn’t both others. You could also watch the security who had fenced a metal barrier about 20 metres away from the start line. They fiddled with it and then five minutes before the start line they dismantled it and then these adult men came forward and held hands to form a human barrier in front of the starting line, which was also a starting ribbon.

This is unthinkable in New Zealand where a starting line is a commonly understood line on the ground unobstracted by anything that you cannot cross until a start signal. In China, whether by unfortunate precedent, or suspicion of the common people, a barrier whether ferrous or flesh must be erected to prevent premature starts.

Perhaps for the same reason, there was no countdown to start, or so I thought. Actually the stage with the speakers was about 100 metres away from the front of the start chute. Even with my average Mandarin I couldn’t make out much of what was being said on stage. And I don’t think I was the only one with no clue, because all of a suddne, the security guards let go of each other, the ribbon broke and the aunties charged, and it wasn’t only be who was flat footed at the start. The event photo shows that about five seconds from the start a woman in jeans was leading and that was because she was the fastest to react to the sudden start.

Pre-race, I didn’t know who would be racing in such an event. The North River riverside, which is a beautiful perfect place to run, had sparse utilisation by runners, nowhere close to what you’d see on Tamaki Drive, so if only the local casual runners were running, I might do the awkward thing of winning. Alternatively, with a whole bunch of strong runners from over Guangdong, starved of races, the race could attract the best of the sub-elite best and I might be in the pack.

What happened? Well, once the initial charge was complete and the aunties’ photo moment was completed, it was clear from my watch that even at my initial unsustainable adrenalin-fuelled downhill pace I was in not in the top 30, it was more of the latter. In New Zealand you expect to see a few people who are far too optimistic in the start and such was the case, I settled into my race plan pace and ground my way to the mid-20s. The course was interesting: It started with a downhill section to a fairly flat road, with out-and-backs downhill then uphill back to the road, then a huge downhill, run-around, then running back up the hill, then after a bit of road, an uphill stretch to the finish line. I had thought my Glen Eden hill training would put me in good stead but these runners seemed hill-trained, too, and I only had a marginal advantage.

The intrigue came after the midway point I got to a point in the course where I should have completed three out-and-backs on side roads but I could clearly remember only doing two. I started to doubt myself, that I may have completed missed a required turn. Countering those doubts was the fact that I was never really separate from other runners, and also should have noticed a turn on a well-marked course. I did the final third with the thought that it was almost impossible that I would be running a full 10km. During that time I grinded past a few runners to find myself in 21^st, a single place out of the prize money. But about 500m out, one of those I’d bested earlier bested me, smoothly overtaking and leaving me in the dust. Another that I had grinded past I heard galloping behind me in the last 100m, the uphill finish. I probably put in my best ever sprint finish, uphill, I’ve ever done. This runner managed to do even better passing me, to some laughter from the spectators just to rub it in, and pip me by a few seconds.

I went through the finishing line in 23^rd place out of 1000 runners, and was greeted by a person putting not a finishing medal but a number around my neck. I was then greeted by a person with a QR code telling me I had to scan it. This I hadn’t seen before and I was unsure if this was part of their verification of result, which didn’t really make sense because the bib had a magnetic strip to record times. Nonetheless, while trying to catch my breath I complied, scanned, and then had to fumble to enter information: full name, passport number and then bizarrely my bank account number. It was at that point that Christy went over and relieved me of my phone so I could proceed up. In almost any race in New Zealand, next would be to grab a cup of water or electrolytes, if not a banana. There was none after the start line so I went to get my bag from the collection point. Apparently any drink had to be purchased, so we did and then did the walk down to the car.

My phone confirmed what my watch had already stated: I had only run 9.3km. I wasn’t sure if my 23^rd was actually the case until a lot of checking afterwards revealed that the course route had been changed at some point in a pre-race message, but without highlighting the change nor that the course would be 9.3km, not 10km. This was a relief – I didn’t miss anything. Even with the unexpected short course, I still probably would have run it the same way, and had paced it pretty well. In the end, I do think it was a so-called “peak performance” – I genuinely wouldn’t have been able to run it much faster than I did. The final 100m I would have been the fastest finish I’ve ever done in any race and it was uphill. So despite the head-scratching organisation and the “scare” of possibly having missed a corner, I’m very happy with my effort.