Though it is indisputable that the beauty and majesty of the mountains of the South Island are unique and to be in their presence was a grand adventure racer's gift to self, the consensus among the athletes this year was that the race was a tad redundant. Let's hike up yet another beautiful peak, and down yet another beautiful valley and through another frigid river. Though the event did not lack in being physically demanding, as my body would attest to, it seemed as though a bit of the "adventure" part of the race had lost its way this time around.

An Adventure Racer's Nightmare
Half of the way through our first hiking leg I felt a bit off. I was struggling on the technical sections and my body didn't seem to be recovering from recent hard efforts. Normally there is a reserve of strength to tap into. I can dig down when things feel difficult and pull out core power and push through. It felt as though someone had pulled the plug on these reserves and my feet looked like rotting cauliflower.

They say we did about 60,000 feet of climbing, sometimes up exposed slopes on which we were clawing our ways on hands and knees, once on an early morning mountain summit with gorgeous views and extreme drop-offs. We did four hiking legs, lasting from 22 to 30 hours each, but the most difficult for me were the descents, the foot and knee pain magnified on steep uneven downhills. Looks like I'm going to lose eight toenails from this one. I guess that will save me some money on pedicures.

In the early stages of the race, our team fought hard to move up, but my inability to rally hurt us. I've had my share of races when I just didn't "have it" - a bad hair sort of experience. But even in an Ironman or a one-day adventure race, if you don't have it, you only have to deal with it for around 10 hours or so. I realized I didn't have it on about day two and that I would have to endure for many days thereafter. That's hyper-challenging to swallow even for the toughest of us.

Painful Self-Reflection and the Lessons
Athletes often talk of the concept of pushing oneself to "the limit" in an event — for a moment, an hour, or a few hours. I have visited that concept many times in my life as an athlete but usually in a "quasi-controlled" sense: That I was pushing to the extent of my current abilities knowing that the "end" was close or close enough to pull it off. Or, that I would have a moment of that sense of "limit" and that it would pass, that I always knew that it would pass because its passing was a dynamic process. But what happens when it does not pass for days?

Pondering the seemingly constant struggle of my race post-event, while waiting for my face, hands, feet and legs to become "unswollen," I realized that I had actualized a new meaning for the concept of pushing the limits. For the last three days of the race I wasn't sure whether I could literally do another day — ride my bike, walk another step. For the first time in a race of this type, and for various reasons then yet to be determined, I questioned whether I could stand another day of such pain.

We often ask ourselves what is too much, how far can we push before the value of the challenge diminishes. I'm still not sure there is a definitive answer. The beauty is that when goals, finish lines, or perhaps survival, are for the taking there always seems to be more of self for the taking as well.

I visited a strong sense of that limit in this race. My pain brought on fear, as I didn't feel in control of my legs on technical, exposed sections and was afraid of falling. Many many times I was afraid of falling, thus my movements were slow and concise, much too slow, much too much time on my feet to consider my predicament.

My teammates pushed and prodded, carried and towed me through the race. All I could do to contribute was to take care of myself and keep moving forward. As a strong athlete and teammate, that's been tough for me to accept. I now sit and reflect on my disappointment of self, why it all happened and what I could have done differently. It's difficult to not go to that place of self-flogging for letting down the team's performance. But as always and even now and in more time, the lessons show themselves.

Despite my teammates' frustration at my lack of execution, they did their jobs as teammates and we persevered as a unit. Together, and despite the disappointing result of our race (we got 15th), we defined a solid meaning of team and we finished the job. I owe my finish solely to their help. I have a warm, humble sense of thankfulness for each of them, but still feel immensely for their disappointment in our result as well as mine.

New Zealand's South Island is as fabulous and raw as I imagined it to be with the terrain, pristine and stunning. I've never felt so "clean" being in the wilderness before. We drank from the streams often without treating the water. Each of the many peaks we experienced carried its own unique beauty. Queenstown, in all its cosmopolitan diversity, is a place I could live for sure— truly an outdoorsperson's fantasy.

As always, the lessons will stand tall and distinct, that I have redefined a level of strength for what I can take on, and that the power of team can reshape success if the unit and the goal is the focus.

While I ponder my apparent failings and lessons learned as an athlete, Eco-founder Mark Burnett and his team ponder potential changes to the future look of the event. He recognizes what was lacking in this year's race and is able to listen to the athletes and take important criticisms in order to create potential changes in the future. As the event creates a venue for athletes to evolve, Eco-Challenge evolves as well. Perhaps the texture of the event will remain the same with a slightly different flavor. No doubt the next challenge will toss its lessons to the needy, and the evolution will be nurtured.

Important Medical Note
Many athletes, including myself, have been plagued by challenging body issues since the Eco-Challenge Borneo 2000. I returned home from New Zealand to find out that I was still carrying some parasites and other "critters" that I picked up in Borneo. I urge others who are feeling the same to see their doctors and have their intestinal tracts tested for unwelcome visitors.

—Terri Schneider, MountainZone.com Correspondent
Terri Schneider has raced with Team SCAR for the past eight years in six Eco-Challenges, two Mild Seven Outdoor Quests, the Raid Gauloises and many one-day adventure races. She is currently getting her masters degree in Sport Psychology and teaches team building based on adventure racing. Her team was Team Seagate for Eco-Challenge New Zealand, 2001. Terri can be contacted at: Terri@SVChallenge.com