The Mogollon Monster 100 is truly a unique and technically challenging race, with a name loosely based on the Sasquatch/Bigfoot character reputed to exist in these parts. Last year, the finisher rate was 24%. This year, although all the numbers are not in, I believe it will not be much better. Of 43-44 entrants, the word at 3 a.m. was that there were already 24 DNFs. And with good reason.
I had seen this race in 2012, the inaugural, and greatly wanted to enter. One big problem...I was not a trail runner. Oh, sure, I ran trails...a few 50k courses in the woods; but mountain runs? Not me. Instead, I opted for a 24-hour race in the Ukraine.
Fast forward 9 months. I'm now a trail runner of sorts, running in the mountains. A friend I made at the May 2013 100k Causeway Crossing in Ireland tells me she's signed up for the Mogollon Monster. Last year's thoughts pop into my head, and I sign up. No hesitation, no reservations.
Race director Jeremy Dougherty notes on their website that it's a terrible race for a first hundred. In fact, he doesn't know why anyone would try this as their first hundred. Maybe I can answer that...because for some of us, it means more to attempt something difficult, than it does to complete something easy. I'm a firm believer that we can measure ourselves as much by our efforts as by our accomplishments. But make no mistake, Jeremy is spot-on in his viewpoint.
My morning started with a hug from Kari, my Calgary friend from the Causeway Crossing, in about 39-degree weather. I like running in the cold...heat is my Achilles heel.
The race started at 6, and I ran a short distance with Kari, then other runners joined us, and we morphed into a small group. The three others, all women, had competed the previous year, but no woman had finished. The trail climbed up and up, up onto the Mogollon Rim (or at least its cousin, which was as high). At 6 miles, we were somewhere between 7000-8000 feet, I believe. I stopped to take pics. Everyone else continued upward. I was more concerned with conserving myself, because I knew what altitude, the Arizona sun, and 24+ hours can do.
Coming off the rim around 8 miles, an aid station replenished me, and I was off down a road. It was to be the only opportunity to make any decent time. About 4.5 miles later, it was onto a trail, and then down the other side of the ridge we had climbed. This was sheer joy for me. It was a lot of boulders, some brush, and where I get to play mountain goat for downhills. And since I was using trekking poles, I was even happier! Still, that didn't prevent me from re-injuring my right ankle with another high ankle sprain (a gift from Cruel Jewel!) around mile 16. It kept trying to convince me I needed to stop, and I kept denying it the opportunity. I've been here before, and I wasn't going to let the ankle dictate my run today!
Lower down, the trail leveled some, and I got into the next aid station. A quick refill, a bite, and I was off across the central segment of the Highline Trail. Little coverage, wide-open spaces, and normally searing heat...fortunately, it was not so hot, but warm dry air can dehydrate just as much. I conserved here because I knew the pitfalls of running in the heat, even as low as the temps might seem.
I arrived at the next aid station (Washington Park) with 28 miles, a need for water, and ready to knock out the next 58 miles on this side of the course. I had all the major climbs outlined for elevation and distance, so I was ready to work. I had planned how to run this...but I had not planned how the course itself would thwart my plans at nearly every turn.
On this side of the playground, there are uphills guaranteed to burn up your legs and available time. But you expect to get some downhill out of the deal to make up the difference, right? WRONG. The downhills are incredibly technical with loose rock that would make even a mountain goat think twice. You may actually find yourself using more time going down than up...and from someone who normally bombs downhills, I didn't think this was possible. And in one stretch, there are segments of waist-high to chest high grasses that disguise the perils lurking below...holes, gullies, and more rocks. There is about a 1.6 mile climb at a very sharp angle that looks like a rockslide, which you must scale foot by painful foot...and you have to come back down this not once, but twice. And there were a couple other incredibly technical sections I never even had the chance to attempt!
Leaving the aid station, I caught up with Kari, and we proceeded to run most of the rest of our race together. On every uphill, we consoled ourselves with the thought we'd make time back on the down hill...and each time, we were wrong. Every downhill was bleeding us dry. From aid station to aid station, we were losing time. After completing the first loop, we were at 51 miles, but our cutoff time was dwindling.
We decided that we would continue as best we could. If we were fortunate enough to complete the second loop, we would have 86 miles, and be on our way back to the other side of the playground. As the temperature was dropping, we added some gear just in case, and then we were off. Just 7 miles. We had time. Or so we thought. This was where we encountered the grasses and hidden dangers. Downhills with loose rolling rocks from baseball size through basketball size, falling back on your feet with each step. Multiple falls on the soft ground underneath the grasses really aggravated my ankle. Another fall flung gear from my pockets, and rammed my ankle against an outthrust stump. Kari was sure it had been impaled, but fortunately that wasn't the case. We moved on.
We finally arrived at our aid station. 30 minutes late. 7 miles had taken us about 3 hours, and we were pulled from the race for not meeting the cutoff. Only 58 miles in, but our race was over. We sat in the cold night air, listening to the radios and wondering what would become of us.
The aid station volunteers packed up and moved out, but the radio operator remained. Over the next hour, we listened to them pass info (the temp was 30) and monitor runner locations. At one point, a pacer had attempted to backtrack across a section she had paced her runner across, but had not yet reported in. The radio operators put a man on the road to patrol for her in the event she took a wrong turn and came out there. Another operator donned a pack unit and prepared to go out on the trail to search for her. Yet another operator at another location went out on a trail to search for another woman whom runners had reported seeing as disoriented. In both cases, the runners were recovered. These folks were amazing, going above and beyond the call of duty to ensure runner safety.
As for me and Kari, we were freezing cold, but managed to get a ride back via the radio operators. We laughed at how the course was so beautiful and brutal. Kari has completed Leadville 100 and Ironman triathlons, so she is no slouch in the ultra/endurance department...and to hear her in agreement with my assessment of this course made me realize just what we had been working against. But we were both in full working condition, and if time hadn't been the determining factor, we could have gone on to the end, no doubts. In fact, I sit here at my sister's place in Mesa, AZ, walking like I had a simple running workout, not like I had trial by fire in some of the most hazardous terrain around.
In review, I dealt with:
1. relapsing flu (3+ weeks now)
2. higher altitude than I'm used to (some reported headaches/dizziness)
3. dry heat and some dehydration
4. tender feet from sharp rocks
5. blisters from all the rocks
6. jacked up ankle since mile 16
7. temperatures as low as 28-30 degrees
And I can state with all honesty, that while these were present, NONE of them affected my running. I simply would not let anything affect my game plan.
The sole culprit was the technical nature of this course. It was unrelenting, and never gave anything back but what it chose to, when it chose to, and never in favor of the runner. It lured you in with an unspoken promise to let you determine your own race, then began removing options as soon as you started. In fact, it was almost like it had a mind of its own, and had planned this devious method of ejecting runners without dignity. I was told by one of the race staff that a couple top-level runners completed the Zane Grey 50-miler (which is part of this course), one being Hal Koerner. Hal Koerner is reported to have remarked that he never walked so much on a 50-mile in his life. Now THAT, my friends, is a testimony to what this course contains...and what it can do to an elite runner, it will do many times over to middle of the pack runners.
But, unbelievably, I am not disappointed in the slightest. No, I am happy to have found such a course that will test any runner at any level. I am happy to have been consistent in my attempt. I am happy that I am walking just fine today, which tells me I was doing well in my game plan and ready to take on another 45-50 miles. And I am happy that I have a course that I will want to return to, knowing that the REAL monster in these parts is NOT a Sasquatch/Bigfoot variant, but a 106-mile course that will chew you up and spit you out...
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