Mogollon Monster 100 -- My Third 100 Miler

 It has been four years since I toed the line at a 100 mile race. Every year since I’ve considered doing another, but one thing or another prevented it. Two years ago, I was going to run the Gila 100, but a month before the race I paced my friend Michael from miles 80-100 at the Stagecoach 100 in Flagstaff. He suffered so tremendously that I was scared straight — I ran the Gila 50 instead.

But, last year, I noticed that the Mogollon Monster 100 was added to the list of Western States qualifiers. Since I try to get a qualifier every year, and I constantly bitch about New Mexico’s lack of access to qualifying races and Mogollon is only around 5.5 hours away, I felt obligated to sign up, so I did. 

Statistically, the race is perplexing. Everybody claims it’s a brutally hard race, but somehow it has only around 17,000’ of climbing. Analyzing some data from other runners, I found that people were finishing around 10-20% slower at the Mogollon Monster than at Western States or Angeles Crest — the other two 100 milers I’ve done. 

After scouring the internet for information, I realized that Mogollon was hard not because there was a lot of vertical gain, but because the sections that contained that vertical gain were heinously steep and rocky. Uphills were slow, downhills were equally slow. 

I arrived at the race with Marina and Michael. We checked into our hotel, and settled into bed to the sound of roaring thunder and lightning on the Mogollon rim. I hoped that the following night would be calmer — being out there in that would be downright scary. 

I woke up at 3:50, ate my breakfast, and went with Marina to the start line where she dropped me off. I left my drop bags in the appropriately spots and waited in the horde of people for the race to start. When it eventually did, I found myself way back in the conga line. I tried to remind myself that sprinting past people was, at this stage of the race, pointless. We climbed around 1000 feet to the Mogollon rim at mile 3.

Climbs and descents on and off the Mogollon rim were the biggest milestones here. For one, they were undoubtedly the hardest sections, often accumulating over 1000’ of elevation change per mile on very rocky terrain. The race consisted of 6 trips on and off of the Mogollon rim. The first four were in the first 40 miles, then a prolonged period of rolling and downhill, followed by a return to the rim and then a brief and nasty descent and climb before the long push to the finish. 

The first descent off the rim was straightforward. Steep but not incredibly technical. As we descended toward the aid station at around 6000’ above sea level, I felt as though I were running through the forests of coastal Oregon. The monsoon was robust this year, and it was beautiful. As soon as we went down we were on our way back up. The conga line settled into a hike as we worked our way back up and eventually crested the rim again. Rim climb number 2 done. 

Next we ran along dirt roads on the rim for a while — gimme miles — and then went straight back down off the rim. This one was a bit intense. I was relegated to walking downhill to avoid falling — it was steep. Once we neared the bottom though it leveled out and we could roll. Before the third climb back to the Rim we arrived at Horton Springs, a natural source of water coming right out of the rock. I wasn’t sure I was exactly at the correct spot, but other people were drinking from it, so I went for it. Someone remarked that the incubation period for giardia is around 2 weeks, so we should at the very least get through the race :)

We began the third climb to the rim and the first crew zone — this race used sections of the dirt road as “crew zones” in place of crewable aid stations. As I climbed up, I was feeling something I’d been feeling for weeks. My Achilles heel is my Achilles heel. Over the years I’ve had painless windows of time and flare ups — I’d been in a flare up for a while. Every couple miles I was forced to stop and adjust my shoes — looser on the uphills, tighter on the downhills. It was annoying, but I told myself that if I had to waste 25 seconds every couple miles to make myself more comfortable, so be it. 

Seeing Marina and Michael at mile 25 was a welcome relief. I drank some lemonade, Marina forcibly put sunscreen on me, and I took off. Because this was a 3 mile crew section, Michael could run with me. We clicked off 9 minute miles down the dirt road. Eventually the crew stop came to an end, and it was time to shoot back down below the rim. 

After another technical descent I was at the mile 27 aid station — Fish Hatchery. I knew that one of the longest, and hottest, section was next. I settled into a run/hike rhythm and yo-yo’d with the same people for a while. After roasting in the sun for 10 miles, I began the climb back up to the rim. At the last aid station, I was told that lots of water was necessary for this stretch. I falsely deduced that lots of skratch — high calorie drink mix — would suffice. By the end of the section I was sick of it and desperate for plain water. Feeling ill, I finally crested the rim and made my way to the aid station. I chugged water there and ate some potatoes and pickles, but it was a fruitless hydration endeavor, because 50 yards outside the aid station I felt like I was 3 laps into a beer-mile. I nelt down and puked the potato and most of the water back up. So much for that. 

The good news was, three miles of flat dirt road were next. I ticked them off at 12 minute pace while I allowed my stomach to settle, and then I got to reunite with Marina and Michael at Buck Springs, Mile 43. I spent a long time here. My feet were starting to cause problems. Despite wearing toe socks, my little toes were still blistering like they do at every long race. I was also developing a blister at the back of my heel, almost certainly from the wildly steep downhills we’ve been running. I knew exactly what needed to happen. I was going to lance the blisters, then, when I stood up, my feet were going to hurt like hell and I was going to limp off, but, within a quarter mile or so they’d start to feel better. That’s exactly how it went. 

Michael joined me as a pacer as we left the aid station. He was suffering from extreme FOMO, but as his pacing duties continued, I would witness his FOMO transform from, “man I wish I was racing” to “fuck this shit.” The next 15 miles were rolling through the forest. Darkness had fallen, but it was beautiful. If there was a Mogollon Monster, this is where he’d be. 

Mile 57 was another crew stop — the last time I’d see Marina. She was allowed to be at mile 83, but I told her to get some sleep so she would be capable of driving home. I sat, ate some Oreos, drank some lemonade, and we carried on. As soon as we left the crew zone the trail fell off a cliff — a notoriously steep and rocky powerline descent. It was absurd for a moment, and then it evened out and we could start moving a bit. 

Finally, we found ourselves at the Washington park aid station, mile 59. Since it was only 2.5 miles after the last aid station, I wouldn’t have spent much time here, but I knew what lay ahead. The next section was long — 12 miles of rolling trails below the rim. I ate a few potatoes, drank some coffee for the caffeine, and pushed on with Michael. The 12 miles to Geronimo felt like an eternity for both of us. I was doing a mixture of running and walking at this point. When the trail was runnable and flat or downhill, I could run. When it was uphill or rocky, I had to hike. I think I was averaging 16-18 minute miles on this stretch. 

Since aid stations were 3 hours apart at this stage of the race I was taking my time at them — making sure to eat and drink. When we arrived at Geronimo I might’ve sat there for 20 minutes. We definitely got passed by a few people at the aid stations, but somehow we were catching and passing people in pretty much every section we did. Every mile or 2, someone would appear in the dark and we’d make the pass. We were moving up in the field. 

Geronimo to Donahue aid station (mile 80) was a gradual, then steep, 9.5 mile section. We were nearing the end of this section at around 5 in the morning, anticipating the arrival of the sun. Running in the dark is fun, but there’s always a huge burst of energy when the sun comes up. 

When we did get to Donahue, dawn was beginning, and I was looking forward to putting the next section behind me. It had been weighing on me all night. The elevation profile has a “V” at mile 83. A 1500 foot descent off the rim in 1.5 miles followed inmediately by a 1500’ climb back up. My friend Eric told me that this section made people cry, so I wanted it behind me. In the end, it was awful, but I had set my expectations so low that it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Indeed, it was so steep downhill that I was walking, but I made it down without injury. The uphill sucked, but, the engine does what it can. I averaged 30 min/mile on the 1.5 mile climb and that’s about all I could expect. Fine with me. 

When we crested the top I knew that the race was mostly flat and downhill. 5 miles on dirt roads were between us and the final aid station. However, my feet were in awful shape. I took my shoes off to lance another blister if necessary. My heel appeared as one giant blister. There wasn’t much I could do. On top of that, I was dealing with some chafing that I cannot describe for fear of violating obscenity laws. My muscles felt okay, but my skin was unhappy with me. Despite the pain, I was able to mostly jog the remaining miles to the mile 90 aid station. 

It was at this point that I fucked up…. We had looked on the tracking site at the split of the winner for this segment. 8:50 pace. We assumed that meant that it must be runnable, and we knew there were still 2000 feet of downhill remaining. We were wrong. The split we looked at was for the 1.5 miles between the final aid station at mile 100 and the finish line, not the segment before the final aid station. I convinced myself that 1 liter of water was enough and carried on. That was a mistake. 

With 5 miles until the final aid station I had maybe 300 ml of water left. At the pace we were going, it would be an hour and 10 minutes. In the late morning, at lower elevation, it was hot. I wondered if I had destroyed my race by not bringing more water, which the aid station volunteer had recommended. Was I going to need to pull out with heat stroke at mile 97? Would I make it to the finish but need to make a trip to the hospital afterwards? I was rationing water for more than an hour, taking little sips to wet my mouth, but afraid of running totally out. The segment was much worse than we thought. Rocks, no shade, I was cooking inside. Eventually, 2 miles until the final aid station. Then 1. I got to the last water-only aid station with 1.5 miles left and sat down. A young kid ran up to me and put an otter pop in my hand — hell yeah. I drank, filled a flask, and carried on. 

Just as we were entering the neighborhoods of the town, rain began to fall. I looked behind me to see if any of the people we had passed were catching back up — they weren’t. Eventually Marina appeared with Nutmeg (our dog) attached. We turned the corner into a staging area and I finished the race. 30:45.

To date, probably my best 100 mile finish, although only my third. The experience of mostly passing people in the final third of the race was new to me. Usually things are unraveling by that point and people are starting to cruise by. I finished 33rd of around 140 finishers and 250 starters. Not too bad. 

This year I will have 7 years-worth of tickets in the Western States lottery and 3 in the hardrock lottery. Thanks to Marina for helping make it happen, and for Michael for pacing me literally 60 miles. Had a good time out there!