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OR Coyote Backbone Trail 100

With the months of difficult winter training behind us, Bruce and I headed south to sunny California in March to run the first edition of the Backbone Trail 100. There have already been two previous 68 mile races along this route but this was the first year that the longer distance was offered. All together, there were only 35 folks taking on the 100 mile challenge, toeing the start line beside 168 runners in the 68 mile race.

The Backbone Trail (BBT) has just recently (2016) been awarded status as an established park trail. The trail begins at the northern edge of Los Angeles, at Will Rogers State Park, and runs north along the backbone of the Santa Monica mountain range on the edge of the Pacific coast. It ends 68 miles later, back on the coast in Point Mugu state park, just south of Oxnard. The 68 mile race follows the Backbone Trail from end to end while the 100 mile course adds in the extra 32 miles at the end in three unique loops of Point Mugu park before heading over the ridge and down to the seashore. In true Coyote fashion, race weekend was selected according to the lunar calendar so that we would be able to run through the night under a full moon.

While up in BC, we had been dealing with more than usual snow [in fact we had to dig ourselves out of our driveway again on our way to the airport], southern California had been having record amounts of rainfall. As we began our descent into Los Angeles, we were struck by the Irish emerald-green forests below. We were prepared for torrential downpours, wet feet and plenty of poison oak – but at least it wasn’t snow. We pulled into the Point Mugu group campsite, set up our tent, arranged our race gear and enjoyed our dinner while listening to the ocean waves crash.

‘Early’ on this race day meant 3:45 am. We stumbled out of our tent and over to the sign-in table, gave weary hugs to good ol’ friends and acquired our race bibs before hauling ourselves onto one of the big yellow school buses. The drive to the race start was – you got it – 68 miles long. We arrived at the start line with just enough time to visit the washroom and dump our drop bags before the race briefing began. The race started about 30 minutes late, after some fun Coyote shenanigans, like handing out the prized (or dreaded?) propeller hats to the predicted front-runners and back-of-the-packers. Soon enough we were heading up onto that dusty single track trail.

The pre-race start line photo. 168 runners are running the 68 mile Backbone Trail and 35 runners are rounding up to the nearest 100.

There was much chit-chat and a feeling of comradery between the runners as we headed out for our day of fun. The trails were in great shape, edged with green grasses, a few cookie-dough mud sections and even trickles of creek water under some of the trail bridges. But rain was all a memory by mid-morning. With the sun higher in the sky, the heat turned up and even the local Californians were commenting on the heat. It turned out to be a hot day, even by their standards, but for Bruce and me, it was glorious. This was the hot holiday that had pulled us through the winter months.

The race unfolded as races do. There were climbs and descents, views and valleys, great aid stations and great conversations. I was struck by how remote the trail seemed, considering how close we were to Los Angeles. At one point, I thought I could hear a race car track, with engines revving up and screeching, but soon we popped out on a winding, two-lane back road with cars ripping it up on an otherwise quiet Saturday morning. I think this was Topanga Canyon Blvd which the RD note had warned us about crossing with care and attention. While mostly very secluded and remote, occasionally the trail would give us peeks of elaborate mansions perched on hillsides with ocean views and shock us back into the reality of how others choose to live.

In the heat of the day, I felt strong as the trail took us up a steep, sun-exposed gravel road after Piuma AS (25 miles). Although I was very hot and sweaty, I was managing my food and hydration well. Around this point, I realized that I had made a big error about which drop bag to put my headlamp in. Our choices were the 25 mile or the 52 mile stations and the former had seemed too early so I had placed it in the Mishe Mowka drop bag at 52 miles. Although I was moving well and feeling strong, I could calculate that it would be dark before I reached there. (Luckily I had a back-up handheld light which got me through the dusky hour). When I rolled into the Kanan Dume Rd AS (38 miles – which was listed as a water only but was a full-on, full-service oasis!), the captain there told me that I was the first place woman for the 100 miler. This was news that I didn’t want, especially this early on in the day, and I told her so. I tried to file that information deep in the back of my brain and carried on as if I still had 72+ miles to go.

When I arrived at Mishe Mowka AS (52 miles), I had a made-to-order burrito from an amazing chef and I took off my shoes to deal with the beginnings of a blister. Bruce arrived soon after and, together again, we headed off over Sandstone Peak and into Point Mugu park. We chatted and compared stories of our day so far and were thankful to be in the cooler dark of early evening. Once past Butt-Crack rock, we enjoyed the long descent towards Danielson Ranch, getting briefly disoriented in a creek wash-out area and then back on track. The Danielson Ranch AS (60 miles) is in a cold river valley and it did not take us long to get chilled to the bone. All the staff were dressed in down jackets and toques but cheerily served us spicy Italian Wedding soup and cold grilled cheese sandwiches.

Martha arriving at Danielson Ranch (mile 60) around 10:30 pm, ready to take on the three loops of Point Mugu park.

Bruce looking strong and happy at Danielson Ranch – mile 60

This aid station is where the 68 and 100 mile races diverge. While most runners had only 8 miles to go, the 100 mile racers had three clover-leaf loops to do, always returning to this aid station between loops. We were told that we were 8th and 9th place in the 100 mile race . As we resupplied, the first place 100 miler came through the aid station, having already completed two of the three loops. We headed out onto the Coyote Loop (7 miles long), finding a few other runners along the way. The ridge of the Three Foxes trail offered warm breezes which finally took the chill out of our bones. But soon, we dropped back down to the cold valley to return to the Ranch AS. As we approached the station, we planned to simply check in and out to avoid getting cold again.

At 12:40 am when we entered the aid station for the second time, Mauricio welcomed us but then gave us the terrible news that we had missed the cut-off for that loop by 10 minutes. We were astonished and, with all the pent-up emotion of the day, I was instantly in tears. How could this be? Weren’t we still in the top 10? Wasn’t I first place woman? The explanation took a long time to sink in and it still doesn’t make a lot of sense to me but, in a race, rules are rules.

With the creation of park status for the Backbone Trail, the state park put more demands on the race organization. They insisted that a state park officer be in place, in uniform and paid an hourly wage at every single aid station along the race route, being paid with our race entry fees and probably RD personal funds. As a result, the cost of putting on this race sky-rocketed and the race committee had no choice but to shorten the opening hours of each station in order to reduce the cost of state park personnel. Although we still had 11 hours to complete the final 50 km, the aid stations between us and the finish line had to close and those cut-off times were put in place in order to keep the race afloat. The cut-off times were well-publicized and it is my own error to have not studied them more carefully. I know full well that I could not have moved faster and, in fact, I had been proud of myself for reigning in my excitement of perhaps placing in a race this long.

But being told that our race was over did not mean that we were done. We were still deep in the hills of Point Mugu park and we still had to climb up and over the ridge and then run the Ray Miller trail to the finish line, 8 miles away. With the energy sapped out of us and confusion still ripe in our heads, we walked and talked, debated and lamented our situation. But, the moon was full and Ray Miller was as gorgeous as ever. We crossed the finish line around 3:00 am but, by then, who was counting. We are very grateful for being credited for finishing the 68 mile event and those bonus 7 miles will simply be a story we will keep to ourselves.

We were up the next morning in time to witness our friend Derrick Carr (far R) and his pacer Scottie Mills crossing the 100 mile finish line in 27:18 and placing 5th (out of 6 finishers).

There are many lessons to be learned from this race experience:

  • Firstly – and most obviously – I need to study the cut-off times, even if they aren’t usually relevant.
  • I can train through a Canadian winter, in short 14 kilometer segments, and still feel great after 75 miles on race day. I’m pretty sure that those last 25 miles would have hurt but I know I could have done them.
  • As any chicken-keeper should know, never think about my placing in a race until three quarters through (at the earliest) since some plans will not hatch. In hindsight, I think I managed the first place excitement pretty well – and I did end up winning first place woman in the little-know 75 mile race.
  • Keep your buddy close. Once again, Bruce was at my side for much of the race, my guide through his old stomping grounds in Pt Mugu and my rock when our race went sideways.

    Sadly, I didn’t earn the coveted Coyote Backbone 100 buckle but all of this swag was part of completing the BBT 68 miler.

The Backbone Trail is a gem and I am thankful to all the trail users who have worked so hard to piece together this trail system from end-to-end. The co-RDs, Mike Epler and Howard Cohen, put in thousands of hours of work to make the race all come together and we will never know about all the hurdles that they had to overcome. Thank you for the opportunity to enjoy your trails!

Running a 100 miler in March in California – what a delightful idea!

Back in October, as B and I talked ourselves into signing up for the Coyote Backbone Trail 100 Mile event, these are some snippets of conversation that we exchanged:

What a great way to enter into spring! An early season ultra!

It will be a way to escape those last throes of winter!

We’ll miss some of March’s 140+ mm rainfall at home.

March in California brings to mind daytime heat and perfect nighttime running temperatures.

H’ard puts on a great race. I’d love to be part of any event that he organizes.

I fantasize about having to wear shoe gaiters and having foot issues like dust between my toes.

It is a stretch to picture myself wearing shorts and a t-shirt after months of tights, wool and rain jackets.

I can almost taste those freshly-picked, straight-off-the-plant, local strawberries that will be available at every aid station.

And don’t forget about the avocados that ripen right along the trail!

The views will be awesome. There will be incredible views earned with every climb!

Do I even need to mention the Ray Miller trail? That amazing trail will lead us right to the finish line.

Buoyed by these visions, we each entered the race and ramped up our training.

Me and B all bundled up for our New Year's Day fat ass run. I can't wait to show off my True North Strong and Free white legs in March!

Me and B all bundled up for our New Year’s Day fat ass run. I can’t wait to show off my True North Strong and Free white legs in March!

But soon, the reality of training for an early season ultra hit us hard. Two factors quickly reared their ugly heads.

First – the dark. We live a dozen miles south of the 50th parallel. We are treated to long, long days in the summer where it is light enough to be busy outside without a light until after 10:00 pm. At that time of year, we also get used to the early light of the morning where our rooster begins crowing around 4:30 am and blackout curtains are required for sleep (and earplugs too!).

But, in the depths of winter, it is dark on the way to work at 8:00 am and dark on the drive home at 4:30 pm.

This picture was taken on the Winter Solstice 2015 at 07:50 am. We have some pretty fearless hens!

This picture was taken on the Winter Solstice 2015 at 07:50 am. Our hens ain’t afraid of the dark!

We have never really gotten used to the fact that weekends are the only time we get to enjoy seeing more than those next 10 ft of trail. Although running in the dark is possible, thanks to many lumens of flashlights and headlamps, it does sort of suck the joy out of it. I am constantly telling myself that I will rock the night section of this race since my entire training has been done in the dark.

A typical post-work run

A typical post-work run – at least it is only raining!

Second – the wet. Here, on the Wet Coast of BC, we are awash in rain. It is wet all the time and sometimes it is very wet. But, on the upside for us running folks, you can train in the rain. If you can get yourself into the right head space, you can run probably 360 days of the year on dirt and take just 5 or 6 days off due to our two annual snowfalls.

To some, the idea of a snowfall might sound like fun but here, in our coastal paradise, it is no fun at all. To us, snow is what we call the stuff as it falls from the sky but, as soon as it hits the ground, its name changes to #%@! (I wish I knew the Inuit word for this #%@! kind of snow) It gets wet and heavy – sort of like wet concrete – and then, due to our typical near 0°C temperatures, it melts, freezes, re-melts and re-freezes, making it either slippery slurpee or blocks of solid, immovable ice.

Winter trail running wavers between fancy footwork and having your life flash before your eyes

Winter trail running wavers between fancy footwork and having your life flash before your eyes. It would be easy to go head first into this guy’s maw!

This pattern continues until the next torrential rain storm finally washes the #%@ away. Usually this happens all within a 48 hour time frame. But not this year.

Just last weekend, early January’s dump of snow/ice/concrete finally disappeared and we were able to actually run 30 km on dirt. It was a low elevation run with only minor climbs but it was still a trail run! But today, as we dig ourselves out for the fourth time in two months and prepare for yet another ‘snow day’, I really wonder if it will be possible to run 100 miles after having trained in 10 km snippets with almost no hill work. Almost all our plans for long runs have been thwarted by weather.

Yes, yes - we have opportunities to train in the snow but it is a stretch to go for more than 20 km in this terrain.

Yes, yes – we have opportunities to train in the snow but it is a stretch to go for more than 20 km in these conditions.

During the last dump of snow, I resorted to running 27 loops of our property in an attempt to get a few miles in. This is me, teetering on the brink of madness.

During the last dump of snow, I resorted to running 27 loops of our property in an attempt to get a few miles in. This is me, teetering on the brink of madness.

This is the hard reality of being a non-professional ultra runner who works full-time (in a job that I love and for which I am very very thankful!). But right now, it feels like I have been tapering for this race for more than 3 months!

I heard a saying that goes something like ‘you can suffer through the training or you can suffer on race day‘. Although I can attest to having suffered already through my pitiful training, I know that race day will take it to a new level. You can’t fake it for 100 miles.

So, until then, over the next 4 weeks, I will be motivated by pure fear and that long list of delights that I mentioned above. I sure hope they have plenty of strawberries for me!

Most of our imported strawberries come from Ventura County, CA, minutes from the finish line.

Most of our imported strawberries come from Ventura County, CA, minutes from the finish line.

“Strawberries, you say?! Are they at the end of this snow tunnel?”

(OR My San Diego 100 Miler Race Report)

Dear Scotty,

Thank you so much for all the behind-the-scenes and in-front-of-the-crowd work that you do for the San Diego 100. My day was flawless.

Package Pick Up - already getting loaded down with schwag!

Package Pick Up – already getting loaded down with schwag!

Thanks to your pre-race runner emails and the super-informative website, I arrived at the start line feeling ready for the adventure ahead of me. I didn’t feel nervous or jittery but simply ready to place my trust in your volunteers so that I could enjoy the day.

The sun rose just before the 6:00 am start.

The sun rose just before the 6:00 am start.

I'm looking pretty wide-eyed here at the start as B looks relaxed and ready.

I’m looking pretty wide-eyed here at the start as B looks relaxed and ready.

The aid stations were so well-stocked with great nibblies, real food and experienced volunteers. Every time I arrived at one, it felt like a Pit Crew took care of my every need and got me moving on in no time flat. One volunteer let me wipe my sunscreen-burning eyes on her t-shirt. Another found me a towel and clean water so that I could rub the grit and salt off my face. And yet another one ran off to her car to fetch me her personal set of nail clippers when I had a troublesome toenail! The lengths that people went to help me through my day were countless.

Heading out of Paso Piccacho 1 and up towards Stonewall Peak. There are muscles here I never knew about!

Here I am heading out of Paso Picacho 1 and up towards Stonewall Peak. There are muscles here I never knew about!

The course was spectacular. I loved climbing along the PCT, thinking of our friends GnG who are currently thru-hiking, and gazing out across the bleak desert. We simply don’t get vistas like that up here in the North where thick tree canopy obscures most views and we don’t have many deserts to speak of. Despite being a ‘cool race day’, the heat on those exposed ridges tested me. I felt myself wilting as I climbed up towards Todd’s Cabin (40 miles), a combination of the mid-afternoon heat and the 6000 ft elevation both taking their toll on my body.

B flies along open grassland in the early stages of the course.

B flies along open grassland in the early stages of the course. These open sections were hot in the heat of the afternoon.

But, at that point, my suffering ended. Upon leaving Todd’s Cabin, I entered the most beautiful section of the course. From Todd’s Cabin to Red Tail Roost to Meadows and back to Penny Pines 2, I enjoyed every step. Somehow that sweet downhill came as a surprise and I loved flowing through the oaks and pines. I was lucky enough to run down Noble Canyon in the daylight and actually enjoyed the long hike back up in the cool evening air. I loved seeing the headlamps shining across canyons, trying to figure out if those folks were ahead or behind, close or far away. I never did figure it out.

Through the night, I cruised almost effortlessly. Having always been fearful of running through the night, I have steered away from the 100 mile distance. But, here I was, cool, refreshed and strong, picking off numerous runners and their pacers all night long. I awaited moonrise and admired the endless star-scape. And around 4:30 am, just before arriving at Paso Picacho 2 (93 miles), I witnessed the song of early-rising birds who began singing long before the sun hinted in the east. Glorious!

The course markings were perfect. During the day, I never searched for a ribbon and the route felt very straight-forward. Through the night, with far fewer reflective ribbons, there were a few instances where I questioned the way and one place where I pulled out my copy of the turn-by-turn descriptions to double check. But I personally prefer a less-marked course. Route-finding is part of the challenge and it sure kept me both occupied and focused!

I loved how you greeted each runner as they crossed the finish line, handed out their awards and then catered to their needs. Never before has an RD offered me a chair, taken my photo and then brought me recovery drinks! This personal touch was wonderful to receive and even better to watch from the sidelines. It felt like you knew each and every runner – as if you had put on a race for your 270 closest friends. It shows a true dedication on your part to share in the success of each finisher and I am touched to have been counted among them.

Finished! B and I were near each other all day but purposefully ran our own races. Here, we are catching up on trail tales at the finish line.

Finished! B and I were near each other all day but purposefully ran our own races. Here, we are catching up on trail tales at the finish line.

Bruce and I managed to travel to the race with only carry-on baggage, but not so on the return! We had so much schwag between us that we were able to fill a third bag which had to be checked. I have never seen so many goodies handed out at a race! And these goodies are supreme! You truly spoiled us. I love the green theme (tech t-shirt, finisher hoodie, shoe bag and shoulder bag) and we have both affixed our SD and 100.2 stickers to various cars, tool boxes, computers, etc. My third place Open Women award (which is truly gorgeous!) and our two San Diego Solo Division buckles have been proudly added to our ever-growing collection, on display for all to see.

A finisher gets all of this schwag and more. We also got Injinji socks, a show bag, recovery powder, a buff, etc, etc.

A finisher earns one of the buckles, all of this schwag and more. We also got a technical t-shirt, Injinji socks, a shoe bag, some recovery powder, a buff, etc, etc.  We each earned the Solo buckle at the bottom of the picture.

I have already begun singing the praises of your event and will continue to do so. Having never tried the distance before, I came in with humble hopes of finishing. My results on race day astounded me. Although I trained hard (and scared), I think I can credit you and the incredible race organization for my end result.

Thank you for all that you, Jean, the race committee and all the volunteers do for the race. I am so proud to have tried and succeeded.

With gratitude from the depth of my heart and the soles of my feet!


This was my first 100 miler attempt. I finished in 24 hours 42 minutes and placed second in the female Solo Division (no crew; no pacer). I was 4th woman overall and 3rd in the Open Women category.

At this same race, Bruce completed his 22nd 100 mile race, his second SD100 and also earned a Solo Division buckle despite his severe knee injury.


Here are my race stats. Talk about coming from behind!

For each of us, our perceived limit of what is possible is different.  I have many friends who do not run long distances and some who do not run at all.  I have watched eyes glaze over when I talk about my upcoming 50km run or even the 3 hour run I did on the weekend.  Yet I completely understand the glazed-eye look, because I often get it when others talk about something beyond the limits of my  mind.  (For example, who can imagine playing test cricket for more than 5 days?)

Recently, I was getting some updates about a friend who was running an unbelievably long race (The Iditarod Trail Invitational 350 miles).  Upon reading about her daily progress, I caught myself wondering if running such a distance in such conditions were even possible.  What nerve I have!  While she was plodding along, day after day, in the darkness of an Alaskan winter, I was simultaneously questioning if what she was doing was real.

It struck me then that I had come across something that my brain could not process.  The limits of my imagination in running had been reached and my eyes were being opened to a bigger picture.

I had the glazed-eye look that I have seen countless times on the faces of non-running friends.  But this time it was my turn to abandon my facial composure while I stretched my thinking beyond its regular boundaries.  Mental gymnastics ain’t pretty!

I have run a variety of distances, with 50 miles being the farthest that I have pushed myself in one day.  But, although that is the limit that I have imposed on my body, it isn’t the limit of my mind.  I have attended many 100km and 100 miles races.  I have crewed for Bruce in countless events that I considered too long/tough/gruelling/crazy/etc for me but I understand that these are all in the realm of possible.  Even multi-day events, totalling a couple hundred kilometres of running, are plausible to me.  But for some reason, running the Iditarod race was hard to fathom.

But that is all in the past now.  Thanks to Shawn and her amazing run, I have added running 350 miles in the arctic to my list of possible, although highly unlikely, running endeavours.

Where is your mind’s limit for running endurance?  How far can you imagine going?

The Happy Wanderer

My Paths on Strava

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