Photo Essay: Back to Great Barrier
Back in 2012, I was running a marathon here. A year later, I was back and recovering from a head injury sustained while running. This time, I talked. I didn't run.
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Let me start by writing this little essay at this spot.
Not bad, right? And it’s about a year later than originally planned. I was invited to come to the Barrier to take part in a weekend of talks by author and thinkers on the theme of living with uncertainty. And such was the uncertainty that the organisers needed to re-schedule the event. I’ll let you guess why.
But it wasn’t my first time to the Barrier. I’d been twice before. The first time was running the Wharf to Wharf Marathon back in 2012.
I think it must have been my 5th or 6th marathon (or longer) run. The weather was filthy. The first part of the marathon, it rained. It was windy. But we were pretty sheltered in the bush.
About half way through, the terrain switched from back trails to roads, and the organisers recommended we bring road running shoes to change into. So, I did. Except at the changeover checkpoint, the organisers discovered they had misplaced my shoes. When they found them 30 minutes later, I was on the verge of hypothermia. I got going again, but it was a gritty slog to the finish, as I was more exposed to the wind, and the rain came down so hard it was hard to see through my glasses.
By the time it got to the end of the day at the pub, I could just about stay warm and awake enough to finish my meal. I slunk off to my bed.
I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow, but I wasn’t allowed to stay that way for long before I was roused and dragged back to the pub.
You’ve won the grand spot prize! They were going to re-draw the prize because they thought you’d left the island but we told them to wait until we came to get you.
I didn’t know these people who came to wake me. We were bonded only through running this race, and being in this place and time together. They’d also heard that I hadn’t had the best race experience. The kindness of strangers.
I got back to the pub. I claimed my prize. Flights and accommodation to come back to the island. Raucous laughter all round.
Fast forward to 2013. I ran the Tarawera Ultramarathon.
It didn’t go well. I knocked myself out on an overhanging branch in the forest at 8k into a 60km run. I picked myself up, and somehow managed to get to the end of the race, in a time about 2 hours longer than I hope it would be. Two days later, I took myself off to the Emergency Department in Wellington because I was slurring my words.
I thought I was having a stroke. It was actually a nasty concussion.
It took me well over 6 months to recover. I was having to rest between 1-4pm every day because I was having a lot trouble of concentrating. As a clinical psychologist, it was a fascinating insight into the effects of concussion. As a human, it was a deeply shit time.
It was time to cash in my trip back to Great Barrier Island for some R&R.
My memories of the trip are blurry. Walks, a massage, playing calm music at the bach. A warm fire. Dolphins playing in the surf. Sleeping.
I went home and later that year my life changed significantly. In the following 9 years, I got divorced, I met my wife, got re-married, we had two more daughters, a pandemic happened, and I wrote three books.
I ran my last marathon back in 2017: the Hanmer Alpine Marathon just before our second daughter was born.
I’m not running away any more. I’m happy to sit and be.
A little further on in the pandemic, and I am back on Great Barrier. It’s drizzly with moments of clarity.
I’m here speaking about living with uncertainty.
Nourishing conversations with my host, Tim Higham and Sandy Burgham on Saturday continued more widely in the pub with an audience on Sunday evening, following themes of unfulfilled attachment, or loneliness, and how this may be our major vulnerability in these uncertain times, the influence of algorithms and how we we have forgotten to disagree well. There was lively discussion for an hour and a half before calling end of play for a roast dinner on a rainy evening*.
Next morning, Windy Canyon lived up to its name. Footing was loose, and handrails were grabbed.
Before I knew it was time to go home. Time had whizzed by in a blur of rain, toasty fires, morning birdsong, yellow sandy beaches, new friendships, gentle walks, and no running or hypothermia.
I wonder what my next visit to Great Barrier will bring?
*Thanks so much to The Currach Irish Pub for hosting the event and putting me up for the weekend too.
A pleasure to host Sarb. I managed three questions and then the pub audience took over. An hour and a quarter slipped by before getting another word in - a heartfelt thanks for the island conversation.
Thoroughly enjoyed your talk Sarb and it was great to see the pub buzzing with conversations over dinner. Incidentally, I am half way through your book, The little book of sleep on Kindle, I am sure that this would be a best seller in print.
My guess for your next trip is that you will come and see us in better weather, perhaps a summer trip with your ladies!. Best wishes, Orla