At precisely 7:17, we're off! Actually, that's 'I'm off!' as the race uses an age- and sex-graded handicapped start, and I get a 43 minute handicap in advance of the official 8:00 a.m. start. Since there are no others in my age group, I start alone.
The course consists of two repeats of a 13.1 mile round trip out and back. The first .85 mile is downhill on a gravel road. Easy, and a nice way to warm up for what follows. The course goes by what is a forwarning of what is to come, namely a chairlift to the top of the ski resort of Greek Peak.
But the road goes a bit further, and near the end of the gravel road chalk on the ground directs the runners to turn right onto the Finger Lakes Trail. Within a few paces the trail crosses a stream and heads uphill.
"Follow the white blazes," I repeat to myself, but within a couple of minutes I'm on what might be the trail, or not, and my eyes are scanning the trees looking for blazes. Another runner comes along and says, 'The trail is over here." Sure enough there are plenty of white blazes in that direction. I haven't been running for more than ten or eleven minutes, and someone has already made up the handicap on me. He won't be the last by any means. But at last I'm on the trail.
The single track proceeds steeply uphill. For the next 25 minutes its an unrelentingly steep climb on a trail with roots and rocks nearly every step of the way. It levels out a bit, then goes uphill a bit more, although not as steeply. Finally, I reach the top of Virgil Mountain after a climb of about 700 feet over 1.5 miles of trail. Although the summit is the highest point within 70 miles, the thick woods preclude much of a view other than from a powerline cut near the summit.
In another mile I come to the first aid station. I'm feeling fresh, so I grab some sports drink, a couple of chocolate chip cookies and some Pringles and dash off. Since the course is two laps of an out and back, I'll visit here four times before the day is over and I figure there will be ample time to socialize with the two volunteers later in the day.
The course continues its up and down nature over rocky and rooted terrain for the next three miles to the turnaround aid station. On the way I start to get passed by more and more of the later starters. But since there are 37 starters in the marathon, most of the running during the early part of the race is done alone. I do catch up with one runner who started before me and we trade stories of our experiences at the Miwok 100K, which he and his wife had run several times.
Another runner goes by wearing a Dipsea shirt. "Dipsea or Quad Dipsea," I ask. "Quad," he says, referring to a notoriously tough 28-mile run in California which requires runners to navigate over 800 irregular steps on steep slopes - four times. For him, the 5500 feet of climb and descent of the Monster Marathon should be easy work, even if it isn't for the rest of us. Another pair of runners are discussing whether to go to South Africa to run in the 56 mile Comrades Marathon. "Hardcore folks out today," I think.
Then Brennan M. catches up to me. We exchange greetings and he tells me that this is his first marathon. He's nuts to choose this as his first, I think. Later he tells me that he enjoys trail running and had done a 30K trail run, so there is logic to his choice. And he can be assured that any other marathon that he runs will give him a better time.
Leaving the turn-around quickly I start to see the first of the 52 half-marathoners headed out-bound. I stop at the intermediate aid station and ask one of the volunteers to take my picture.
At one point the course comes out of the woods and follows a gravel road for a few hundred yards. There is a volunteer there to check off runners and as I turn onto the gravel road and begin to proceed up it he yells to me that I'm about to follow a driveway rather than the road itself. "There's kind of a strange guy who lives up there he warns," and I don't know if he is joking or serious.
The steep downhills are starting to make my quads sore. After exiting onto the gravel road leading back to the start - and the turnaround for the second tour of the course - I find that I can't do much running on the slightly uphill surface, even though it is one of the rare places where the footing is good. Getting to the turnaround, I go to my bag, drop off my hat and change from the long sleeve shirt to a short sleeved one and head back out. It took 1:28 to go out and 1:37 to come back, even though the return was net downhill, for a half marathon time of 3:05.
The second outbound leg is tough going. At least I know the course and know that the Virgil Mountain climb will only take about 25 or 30 minutes. On the way up I take a picture of the steam boiler that is sitting by the side of the trail. It looks like part of a locomotive, but more likely it was used during logging operations in the forest at some point in the past. But how it was dragged up to this point midway up the mountain, or whether it was assembled there, who knows. But however it got there, it was work that I'm glad that I didn't have to do. I'm having enough trouble dragging myself up the mountain, let alone hundreds of pounds of iron.
Approaching the intermediate aid station, one of the volunteers is running toward me carrying a couple of towels. He asks if I saw a women down on the course, as he had received a report that a runner had fallen and was seriously hurt. But I've seen no one, and neither has the runner who comes into the aid station behind me. The volunteer returns before we leave. Apparently it was a false alarm.
Running the downhills is becoming as hard as the uphills. Too many rocks. Too many roots. Too steep. The excuses multiply and my time deteriorates. It takes 1:55 to get to the outbound turnaround this lap, 27 minutes, and 30 percent more, that the first time. And I'm treating the aid stations more and more like rest stops rather than pit stops. No sense of urgency any more.
Shortly after leaving the turnaround aid station, aptly named 'The Rockpile', I'm passed by first-timer Brennan and Jack R. Jack is from the Catskills so he is used to running in mountains, although he says that at least in the Catskills you get rewarded with vistas for your climb. Off they go while I continue to complain to myself about the lousy footing. Truthfully, the footing is forcing me to pay more attention than I might otherwise, and with the exception of a small ankle jam and a scrape on my shin against a log while getting out of the way of runners coming the other way, I don't fall, stumble or roll an ankle all day.
After a leisurely stop at the mid-course aid station, eating and chatting with the volunteers about their time living in the DC area and their running plans for the coming weeks, I head off for the final three miles, including the descent down Virgil Mountain. My quads are really complaining now, but I reassure them that we'll be done soon. I'm mostly walking the steep parts, but trying to run where the footing is good and the downhill not extreme.
And surprisingly I spot Brennan and Jack ahead! And I'm gaining on them. I pass Jack before we get to the road, and catch Brennan on the gravel road. By now I've really gotten my second wind, and as there are no more rocks and roots, I run a fair amount of the rest of the course, as it is uphill and no cause of complaint for my aching quads.
After crossing the finish line in an official time of 6:10:21 (6:53:21 clock time without my 43 minute handicap), I collect my rewards: a ceramic bead on a string necklace and a 'trail 26.2' oval bumper sticker. I walk over to the picnic area for a turkey wrap, some potato salad and an Arnold Palmer. As I'm leaving, I chat with one of the race officials about the day. "Would you do it again?," she asks. I don't hesitate to respond. "No," I answer, "that was a very tough course."
I wound up 27th of 32 finishers. There were five DNFs. Undoubtedly I'll never finish in the top 30 of any other marathon. Unless I come back to the Monster. Nah, that would be crazy. Still, next year I'd get an additional two minutes added to my handicap. And it is less than a dollar per mile to enter . . . .