Mangin Takes On Moab 240
TRNZ Subscriber Cullum Mangin recently took on the Moab 240 over in Murica!
He sent through the race report below, which features a wild David Goggins sighting, more rain than the West Coast, and a silent-assassin aid-station volunteer … take it away, Cullum!
Pre-run preparations...
Fully loaded, travelling WLG>AKL>SFO>SLC and a short drive down to Moab.
In the days leading up, the US Government shutdown threatened to impact travel and national park services. No issues there, but the weather forecast provided plenty of uncertainty.
Remnants of Hurricane Priscilla were pushing up moisture from the south, and a low-pressure system was descending from the north, converging on Utah. Flash flooding warnings issued. Many were welcoming the reprieve from the heat, but days out a (waterproof) jacket with hood and dry bag for electronics, and a phone with severe weather alerts activated, added to the mandatory gear.
Race check-in was an event in itself. The atmosphere had festival vibes, runners, crew and volunteers giddy. Andy Glaze was darting around making socials plugs - his books imminent so ‘smile or your doing it wrong’ sound bites still echo. ~250+ Runners queued through medical, mandatory gear, and GPX checks before collecting their bibs and taking the obligatory pre-race snap.
Going solo, I was reliant on drop bags, and all 12 were planned and deposited. Then, with admin largely done, a chance to mingle and make new trail friends.
David Goggins was one of the last to check in, moving quietly, tentatively, with reverence. His crew in tow, he politely paused for some fan photos.
Race Day (1)...
Race day also happened to be my birthday - though that was a distant thought. The noon start made for a relaxed morning, giddy like a kid on Xmas. The weather was initially clear and deceptively kind.
Fanboy moment!
I managed a fan-boy photo with Killian Korth, Triple Crown champ (look out for his YouTube vid to come, he’s a rocket racing 200s), and his race rival Brody Chisolm. Once the national anthem was sung and Candice delivered her infamous pre-race oath - “If you get lost, hurt, or die, it’s your own damn fault” [and someone did get very lost - thankfully not me]. Two minutes later, we were off.
A few easy road miles led us toward the trailhead - where the real work began. Within 1-mile Mr. Boats and Logs surged past. Local fan boys of all ages had camped out by their letterboxes, leaned out of car windows or camped in the hills to see the man at work.
WTF? Where’s his boat?
Early miles...
Up to Amasa Back (~27 km) Aid Station (AS), everything clicked. Pacing was measured, fueling was steady, and my ‘plan’ was on track. Then the sky collapsed. The forecasted systems merged, and by late afternoon, the rain came in sheets. From that point, the weather never truly let up until the next morning, but it would return throughout the race with more intensity.
The next drop bag wasn’t until Indian Creek at ~111km, so I loaded up on my pre-calculated nutrition (Tailwind and Precision mostly), supplemented with the odd AS snack along the way.
Prodigio Pros handled the wet slickrock without issue, but one still needed to be careful with footing in this unique landscape. The descent down Jackson’s Ladder came on dusk - steep and otherworldly.
Through the night, I ran mostly alone, traversing around Lockhart Basin, the darkness was dotted with tiny lights - runners strung across the void. The hours flew by, supported by a questionable Spotify playlist comprised of ‘liked’ songs, supplemented with Tiesto Club Life podcast bangers.
Day 2...
I rolled into Oasis Aid Station (~87km) just before dawn, wet but in good spirits. Some runners already looked broken and struggling to find refuge in the small aid stations smashed by the weather. I was feeling good, but topped up on vaseline from the medic, and pushed into the storm again.
The sun broke through as I reached Indian Creek. I took the opportunity to recharge, dry out, and tend to my feet with minor blisters forming. Not long after departing the AS, I linked up with two other internationals - both running solo. One casually mentioned this was his first trail race.
We laughed, swapped stories, geeked out on gear, and over the next several hours as a bromance of necessity formed. In a race this long, comradeship is as critical as calories.
Night 2 - Survival Mode
Aid station stops slowed and became less efficient, admin racking up. Chafing had escalated and was now something to live with, albeit altering the gait somewhat. The three of us ground through the night, climbing gradually toward Bridger Jack.
We made attempts to dirt nap along the way, but these were unsuccessful, and we pushed on to the AS. By the time we reached Bridger Jack, the wind was howling, the sleep tents flailing.
I had the pleasure of using a mandatory wag bag on the lug-a-loo. You do your business in a bag, then put that bag in a much smaller bag with chemicals and seal, no easy feat. I then crawled into a tent and managed about 90 minutes. This was planned to be a longer, rejuvenating stop, but I awoke early to torrential rain coming through the tent. Still, that little rest kept me moving.
Day 3...
In the early hours we made our way towards Shay Mountain and the climb was brutal. Slick, clay-heavy trails turned into adhesive muck that pulled and clumped on every step. The group broke apart. I trudged alone again, slipping, slowing as the trail goes up, then down, then up again.
The sun returned on the way, and I lay down in silence to soak and sleep in its warmth for 15 minutes. The pizza at Shay AS was a small joy amid exhaustion. I took extra time to reset and reorganise the chaos in my pack, change and refuel.
From here, the course climbed into high country - meadows, trees, thinner air at 3,200m. Beautiful, but cold. Monticello Lake greeted me at dusk, and mentally, that’s where I started spiralling. I’d been listening to an Everyday Ultra podcast with Hunter Leininger about mental reframing and suffering tolerance, but the fatigue was becoming louder than the lessons, and it went in one ear and out the other.
At Monticello, I told a volunteer I was done, though I wasn’t really, the cracks were showing. A while later after my solo pity party, bottles filled, pack filled, I stumbled back into the darkness towards Dry Valley.
I was still well ahead of cutoff times and shuffling forward, but my plan was now 12 hours behind the 100-hour plan. Light hallucinations crept in - smiling faces in yellow leaf litter around Monticello led into menacing rock formations in the gravel and rock at night. Sleep deprivation had its claws in me.
I nailed a couple of dirt naps with the emergency bivvy for warmth. In hindsight, I should’ve done this earlier.
Near Dry Valley AS, I came across a runner claiming he’d been going in circles for 8-miles. Seemed excessive, and in contrast, I was doing well. I was following the GPX without issue. I guided him in and he met his crew to reset. I found a lonely chair.
Dry Valley was the most calm and composed AS on course - warm, organised, human. I sunk into a recliner chair and listened to the wind hammering the tent about an hour before dawn. Forecasts said the next storm would slam the La Sal mountains on Day 4, the hardest section of the course just ahead [it did]. The thought weighed heavily.
The volunteers encouraged me on gently, but without force. Maybe that’s what I needed - a crew or a strong voice to keep me accountable and kick me up the arse. Instead, guard down, I bargained with myself and eventually made the call: I was done. Within minutes, I’d gone from runner to spectator.
Game over...
Even after the DNF, I remained immersed in the race (after a 6 hour nap). I couldn’t help but check the live tracker, following socials. I felt envy and pride as my friends pushed on. Both finished later than we had planned but regardless were triumphant and truly deserving.
At nearly three days and 240 kilometres, I set a new personal best. It wasn’t about distance alone, but the endurance, growth, and determination it took to reach it. Grateful for the support and for everyone who followed the journey.
-Cullum Mangin
Thanks for sharing that with us Cullum.
What an amazing adventure you went on.