pemWhen I ran, I ran for pleasure. I didn't run for times, to win, to impress I ran for me. When I ran my bum cheeks rubbed together, so much so that if I was going on a long run I'd have to 'lube up'. I maintained that I was not a 'real' runner - I just liked to run so that I could eat cake.emppAnna was never anything like those 'real' runners on telly - all spindly limbs, tiny shorts and split times - but when she read about New Zealand's 3,000-kilometre-long Te Araroa Trail, she began to wonder... perhaps being a 'real' runner was overrated. Maybe she could just run it anywayppTravelling alone through New Zealand's backcountry for 148 days, she scrambled through forests, along ridge-lines, over mountain passes, along beaches and across swollen rivers. Running up to 52 kilometres in a day, she slept wild most nights, and was taken into the homes and hearts of the kiwi people in between.ppemThe Pants of Perspectiveem is a witty, colourful and at times painfully raw account of a journe