Moorehead 2/3 Mazathon

Sometimes there are so many races and sometimes there are so few races. The distance of the drive, the length of the race, the difficulty of the trail, these are all factors which weigh in on my decision for a race. Over the summer, I wrote out a calendar combining my training plan and potential races to align with the plan. Then I merged it, actually mashed it together with our family calendar and looked at what I had for options. I've never read tarot cards or had them read to me, but I suppose it's probably similar. How about if I use a panning for gold analogy? Yes, I was looking for little golden nuggets of training races amidst the rubble of dirt bike dust.

I taped up the notebook paper schedule beside my desk and occasionally referred to it. I couldn't make the Mines of Spain race because it coincided with two other activities that weekend. It's a great race and a tough course but I haven't been able to get back there for a couple of years. You know about my experiences with the Trail Nerds Pyscho Wyco races to know that I would be out of my mind to choose that again so soon. But floating around the Turkey's Facebook page was a new to me race in Ida Grove, Iowa named the Moorehead Mazathon and the Trail of the Dragon Ultra. 

Initially, the family calendar said we were busy so the reminders and notifications from Facebook passed. But early in the week of the race the calendar cleared up- like storms clouds floating away. The race director, Susan Knop even reopened the registration and I quickly applied. I found a place to bunk the night before the race via GOATZ friends and headed towards Ida Grove. 

At packet pickup, which isn't a packet, it's usually a bag that is stuffed with a bit of swag from race sponsors but that's what we call it, I met the two women I would be sharing a cabin with and another mother runner. We shared our running backgrounds and life tidbits over spaghetti and salad, provided by the race then headed to our cabin for the night. We spent the rest of the evening watching the sun go down, not getting much cell service and deciding the guy next door should make better life choices than to have a heart shaved into the back of his head as part of his haircut. 

When I arrived the next morning at the race, the 50k and 50 mile runners had already started, including my two cabin mates doing the 50 miles. There are 5 different races being held at the same time. The ultra races, called the Trail of the Dragon, go out and do a few extra sections on each loop. For the non-ultra races, called the Moorehead Mazathon, there are three distances to choose from- the 1/3, 2/3 and full marathon (8-ish miles, 17-ish miles, 26-ish miles). Again, these are trail races and the mileage is not exact and trail runners are okay with that. After a brief pre-race talk, the race director scratched a long line in the gravel as our official start, timer started us and we headed towards the trail. The starts may be my favorite as they are so nonchalant with most trail runners. Nobody is standing alongside commenting, "Wow! Look at them go!". Sure, there are always a few who take off and more power to them and a bunch of us start our watches and that's just about it. 

I was super curious about the trail. It started out with a double wide path which helped sort out who was moving at a faster pace and who was dropping back. Being such a small race, there really was no jostling and positioning to get into the right crowd. The trail then turned into a grass path that went over the top of a hill, rounded around the bottom, ran along off-camber of the same hill before spiking up to the top and back down. During the first lap, the sun was hidden by a layer of fog so thick it draped us like a heavy robe. I knew as soon as the sun bore its way through the clouds, we would die a thousand deaths in a smoldering cauldron of heat and humidity. (#TWH) Y'all, an August race does not play nice with weather. As the trail made its way into more wooded sections, it stayed double wide and was not technical although there was plenty of water erosion areas within that required good foot choices. Finally, the trail tucked into single track and I gave a little shout of glee. The trail would be a little more established and the tree cover would be better. 

course description: some gently rolling hills with heavy humidity

I kept my eye on my general pace and decided I was doing just fine. I had no particular goals for this race other than see what is was all about and to test myself in a race setting. I came upon a group of women discussing audio book choices and was passed by a speedy 50k or 50 miler but other than that just enjoyed my time. The single track ended when we hit the ski area and let me tell you, that was a sad realization. For the most part, the elevation change had not been too much so far but the race boasted 1,000 feet for each 8.8 mile loop and it had to happen somewhere. My leg turnover slowed to a hike as I made my way up the first of three steep hills. At the top of the first was a cemetery. How fitting, I thought. I also wondered if a trail races doesn't pass by a cemetery, is it even a trail race? Just a little funny moment to myself. Down to the bottom, around the corner and back up another steep climb, only to turn around and bust your quads to the bottom where other than an aid station check in, you turn around and head back up the same hill via a different route. Imagine the three climbs making a W. It was a brutal section because they came one after another after another. 

"Death, oh death. Won't you spare me over 'til another year?" Ralph Stanley

The race director did a fantastic job of squeezing every bit of mile out the park. She routed us through the historic homestead of Ida Grove where a small handful of buildings still stood. After they finished, the audio book women told me on another loop the buildings were open and they toured one! 

The local cross country team was enlisted as volunteers. They did everything from timing, to managing the aid stations to directing runners. There were two particular enthusiastic and vocal boys at the mazathon/ultra split who whooped and hollered and cheered more than anyone I've ever seen at a race. While I missed my turn initially because I was so entertained by them (but they quickly re-directed them), they were the best! All the volunteers were great. It really was a local effort and I loved that aspect. 

I finished my first loop, stopping briefly for a bite and bathroom break then headed toward the trail again. I was really pleased with my effort on the first loop and decided how I wanted to approach the second one, which would be my last since I was running the 2/3 marathon. I decided to see if I could finish strongly with my time being as close as possible to the first loop. I plugged in my ear buds to the Hamilton score and worked on not throwing away my shot. 

I would say my general approach to my second and final loop was to keep the pace steady and push when I could. I now knew the entire course and there weren't any surprises. I had kept an eye on the bib numbers of runners passing me on the out and backs and had a general idea of where I was in terms of placing. It wasn't my plan to place; my plan was to run smart, but I wasn't going to let someone pass me if I could help it. On the climb to the cemetery, I saw the next person ahead of me and started planning. I crushed that downhill, beat it up the next climb, crushed that downhill again and after a shot or two of pickle juice at the aid station, charged my way to the next climb. However, between the quick aid station and the fast, steep hikes, my body screamed at me. I listened because I knew I would not pass anybody if I flat out bonked before I had a chance at the chase. I made sure I had enough calories in me, filled my water bottle and worked my way around the course. Very soon I saw her and realized I was moving better than she. I passed her quickly, giving her a word of encouragement. 

I was happy for my surge but it had taken a toll on me and I worked to not back off completely, which is a different kind of battle. It's a mental one that presses the body to overcome when it wants to stop. All of this was what I had come for although I didn't think of that at the time and only now as I write. (Thanks for making me write race re-caps, Kristy.) The trail came to and end and I ran along the edge of the park road. In the grassy edge were a photographer and a guy and girl in formal clothes. I thought it was a an odd time of year for prom pictures or senior pictures or so on but maybe not. Around the next corner the picture became clear. There stood a bride and groom and another photographer. I wished them congratulations as I sprinted to the finish line. At least what I thought looked like sprinting.

As I cross the timing mat to people clapping, the timer told me I was third place female. Oh, wow! I did pass that one woman ahead of me and no one else passed me but I am never quite sure of my position. It was really fun to race well and third place is a nice perk. Later in the evening, I looked at my time for each of my loops and I had run them exactly even! 

I hung around at the finish, cheering in other runners, talking to friends, sipping some Blue Moon, chowing down on post race food and thanking the race director, Susan Knop,  again for a great, quality race. No matter how many attend the race, it is still a lot of work and she is doing it well.

sweet single track