My Greatest Race Wasn’t Mine Alone

A workmate recently asked me about my greatest race, and I hesitated. It’s not a marathon or a personal best performance as one might expect. It wasn’t a race that aligned with my strengths, nor one where I felt in any control. In fact, it was a relay leg I wasn’t even supposed to be running. The elevation profile was daunting, it required strategic pacing, and I knew it would be utterly exhausting. Still, it’s the one that always springs to mind.

It was Lap 1 of the 2018 Takahe to Akaroa Relay, the 2018 National Road Relay Championships. Just 9 unforgettable, brutal kilometres.

The lap is carved into three punishing sections. A 3km uphill grind at around 5% gradient, followed by 3km of very steep descent, and then 3km of undulating terrain that offered no rhythm and no real recovery. As a runner who thrives on rhythm and pacing control, it was a nightmare profile.

Originally, I wasn’t meant to run that leg. But when Ben Winder, our scheduled starter, popped a calf a week out, I put my hand up. Not because I was excited about the lap, but because I felt the team needed me. I knew I was in good shape, and I also knew that our best shot at a national title depended on building an early lead. Our main opposition, New Brighton Olympic, had home-course advantage and were strong throughout. I knew they were likely to lead off with a renowned mountain runner who would certainly have the edge on me. If we were going to win, we had to strike early.

So I ran.

https://youtu.be/KUtE8ZhuRJk?si=H17p9bj3vJaGisLW

What Happens When the Race Isn’t Just Yours

I didn’t run that lap like I would a time trial. I didn’t manage splits or measure effort. I didn’t hold back on the climb or relax into the downhill. I pushed, relentlessly, the whole way, because I wasn’t just running for myself.

That’s what makes road relays so special. Running is so often a solitary pursuit, even when we train in groups. But in a relay, your effort is passed from hand to hand. Your pain has a purpose beyond your own finish time or place, and when that baton is in your hand, it changes you.

Psychologists call this the Köhler Effect, a phenomenon where people work harder when they feel their effort is indispensable to the team, especially when they perceive themselves as the “weaker link.” In my case, I wasn’t the weak link, but I knew that my effort was critical to setting the tone for our entire race.

This isn’t just theory. I remember from my university days reading about research in elite swimming that shows even top athletes often perform better in relay events than in individual ones, particularly those ranked lower within the team. The drive to not let teammates down creates an internal surge of motivation that’s hard to replicate in solo competition.

Even in shorter track relays, where changeovers are simpler and splits more transparent, there’s evidence that relays lead to effort gains because each runner knows their performance contributes directly to a team result. Roles, stakes, and connection are key. That’s exactly what this race gave me, clarity of purpose.

What I Remember Most

I remember the pain, of course, very clearly! The surging at the start as I tried to get a gap, the pounding of the downhill on my quads, the lactic buildup that had me questioning whether I’d even finish. I remember how exhausted I felt, truly more depleted than after any marathon.

But more than anything, I remember the transition zone. The handoff to Paul. The collapse onto the grass as my legs gave way. But we had what we needed, the lead. In a nine kilometre leg, 27 seconds was massive. Our team held on, battled throughout, and scrapped our way back up from fourth at one point to eventually cross the line as national champions.

The Power of Running Together

When I think back now, I realise that what made this race so personally powerful wasn’t just the result or my time. It was the shared mission. The way friends and training partners became teammates. The way individual sacrifice became collective success.

In an individual sport like running, those moments are rare, but they’re precious. They show us that sometimes, the greatest performances don’t come from chasing your own goals, they come from lifting others up.

Nothing makes you dig deeper than knowing someone else is counting on your effort