Conquering the Larapinta: 231km on the West Macs Monster
By Meghann Bullen (née Coffey) — West Macs Monster, Sonder Monster, The Larapinta Trail, May 2023
I was standing on the start line of the West Macs Monster's Sonder Monster, mentally preparing for the next 231km along the rugged Larapinta Trail. The year before, I'd watched a friend race, and since then it had become a dream race.
In the lead-up to the event, my training included plenty of volume, climbing, heat acclimatisation, and hours of watching videos of the Larapinta Trail. All the videos, photos and descriptions didn't do the trail justice.
My husband, my family and my running friends from Perth joined me in Alice Springs to crew and pace. My goals were simple: A. Finish the race, and B. Run under 54 hours to get a new female course record and fastest known time.
Friday morning came and I was standing on the start line with butterflies in my belly and my mind turning to mush. I tried to keep focus. "Eat and take it slow, Meg, you've got a long way to go." On the start line we switched our trackers on, were welcomed to country, and then sent on our 231km way. The race allowed the crew to join their runner on the first 18km out-and-back section, and it was really nice to have the company, even if that company kept telling me to slow down.
To make the task seem somewhat possible, I decided to break the race into quarters. Each quarter equated to a 12-hour period. Day one was quarter one, night one was quarter two, and so on. My four quarters would finish at 9am, the 48-hour mark, and then I'd be running into overtime, hoping the adrenaline would get me to the finish. I had covered the distance 18 months earlier at the Delirious West 200 Miler, but with a race this long there are so many unknowns, and I knew I'd have to focus on one quarter at a time.
Quarter One: Into the Day
Into the first day, the trail flowed, and I mainly ran solo. For the first 30km I was back and forth with another female and a male runner, who, after I decided to push the pace, I didn't see again. The trail mainly ran through the grass flats and creek crossings. My body and mind were feeling good, so I took advantage of it while I could.
The first crewed checkpoint was at 50km and I was around my estimated time. Everyone was excited. There's so much excitement, energy and nervousness at checkpoints, so many questions and thoughts I want to share in such a short period. I didn't want to sit and hang around long this early in the race. We did a quick refill of water, Coke, lollies and gels, and after reapplying sunscreen I headed out. The next time I'd see the team wouldn't be until after dark.
Towards the end of the first day, the sky turned a deep, fiery red. I could hear the dingoes singing to one another from the ridge lines, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of being completely isolated. I've run plenty of races, running solo through day and night, but never have I felt so totally alone. There was not a spot of human trace out to the horizon. It was peaceful and beautiful.
Quarter Two: Into the Night
I dropped into a gorge with large boulders, finding it hard to keep an eye on the trail markers. After a few forwards and backs trying to figure out the way, I made it out and reconnected with the crew at the next checkpoint. At this point I was getting a tonne of blisters, so we did a shoe change a lot earlier than planned. I headed out again, solo, into the darkness. I took a moment at the top of a ridgeline to turn off my headlight, pause, and take in the stars. It felt like they lit the way.
The next section into Ellery Creek was frustrating, as I'd constantly lose the trail and end up on hands and knees scrambling up rocky inclines. I came running into the checkpoint in relief. My husband was standing there, having just emerged from his sleeping bag, and my frustration was let out on him. I knew the change in my mood meant I needed a quick nap before moving through the rest of the night. It's amazing, the superpowers of a 12-minute nap, and on waking I returned to my cheery self. My pacer Stef and I stepped off, knowing we wouldn't see our crew again for the next 16 hours.
Quarter Three: A New Day
A few hours in, Stef and I hit a large river crossing and couldn't see any markers. We pulled out our maps and realised we had missed a critical turn on the trail and had come almost full circle back to the checkpoint. We were still following the Larapinta Trail, yet no longer going the right direction. My heart sank knowing we had lost around an hour and a lot of energy only to get back to where we'd come from, and the negative thoughts began flooding into my mind. Stef could tell, and after allowing me some time to ponder, she told me to put my big girl pants on and get on with it. The sun began to rise, and we had entered the third quarter.
Mid-morning came and we were in the depths of Hugh Gorge. The gorge walls were dark red skyscrapers, large fallen trees covered the riverbed, and the sand was littered with dingo footprints. We knew there was a large swimming hole coming up, which meant we had to either climb along the vertical gorge wall or swim. We reached the swimming hole and Stef decided to go first. She stripped to her bra and undies and handed me her things. She swam across and climbed up onto a big rock. I threw everything across and jumped in. The water took my breath away, and immediately I could no longer feel anything except pins and needles everywhere. As I climbed out of the water, we realised how funny we must look, and that it no longer felt like a race, but one of our many Sunday adventures.
The rest of the day, we passed a handful of hikers, climbed more ridgelines, scrambled down what felt like vertical rock faces, and navigated through large sandy gorges. Fatigue was catching up, but Stef kept me in a good mood with her pre-prepared jokes.
We reached Standley Chasm (160km at 5:30pm) at the end of the third quarter, just as I had hoped. Although exhausted, sore and feeling some anxiousness about seeing everyone again, I couldn't hide my ear-to-ear smile as I ran into the checkpoint, feeling like a weight was off my shoulders. My crew were excited we'd made it through the last section in one piece. I changed my clothes, had a few mouthfuls of pasta, sipped on Coke, and felt ready to roll. My feet were already swollen and blistered, but I knew we were getting closer to the finish line. We said goodbye to my crew in my broken voice, worn down by the cold air and hours of eating nothing but gels, knowing it was just myself and Geri solo for the night.
Quarter Four: Into Overtime
As quickly as the sun rose that morning, it was setting again, and our view had turned into a little white light guiding the way. We scrambled up and down the steep steps carved into the rocks and followed the sandy riverbed while trying to avoid the overgrown spinifex. As I ran along the winding trail, my mind became clear and I felt completely in the moment; the discomfort and doubt of never finishing had vanished. Sadly, that didn't last long, as we entered the High Route out of Miller's Flat.
After what felt like hours of scrambling vertically, being hit with freezing cold gusty winds and many, many false summits, we finally were descending again.
We eventually made it down off the ridgeline and I became excited, knowing we were getting close. If we kept our pace, we'd finish close to 48 hours. I told Geri, and she immediately put her foot down and vanished. It was her way of telling me to get moving. Unfortunately the lack of sleep was catching up with me and I could barely keep my eyes open. We had just reached over 200km, and I'd been running for 40 hours with only 12 minutes of sleep. Geri set her timer for 15 minutes and I quickly fell asleep. Fifteen minutes never sounds very long, but it's recharging enough to get through the rest of the night.
We charged into Simpsons Gap (206km at 3:30am), 2.5 hours earlier than we had planned. So early, our crew hadn't arrived yet. We let them know we were safe and that we'd keep moving. The checkpoint ladies seemed surprised by our cheeriness and excitement so close to the finish. "Keep going, keep going, keep going" was on repeat in my head for most of the night.
We found ourselves descending off Euro Ridge, less than 10km to the finish, watching as the sun turned the sky a deep purple with sparkles of the last stars fading. We could see Alice Springs slowly waking up as we charged towards it. After 46 hours on the track, I'd lift my head for a few seconds to take in the view before returning to watch my feet on the rocky, loose trail. Even paying the utmost attention to my foot placement, I still took a tumble, landing and cutting up my ear.
We had 5km to go, and anyone can finish the race with you, so Stef, my husband and my sister joined Geri and me to the finish line. I was running as quickly as I could, but it wasn't much faster than a power-walking pace. We shared lots of stories and laughter, knowing we'd finish under 48 hours as long as I kept moving.
I crossed the finish line in 47 hours and 11 minutes, the first female to run under 48 hours. As we sat at the finish line, it seemed to be over just as quickly as it had started, and all the discomfort and tiredness vanished in an instant.
The Stats
- 47 hours and 11 minutes with 25 minutes of sleep
- 1st female, 2nd overall
- Female course record
- Female Fastest Known Time
- 2 x pairs of shoes
- 2 x falls, leading to a bloody knee and ear
- 2 x watch charges
- 1 x broken pole
- 1 hour of being lost
- 5 x cups of 2-minute noodles
- Too many gels to count
- Lots of dingo footprints, but no animals seen
