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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 Running the Squamish 50/50

This whole thing started off with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Sometime last November, RD Gary Robbins dropped me an email invitation to return to the Squamish 50 miler this year. It turns out that my top ten finish in the event last year secured me a place in this year’s race at an unbeatable price. Caught off-guard and slightly awe-struck, in that moment of weakness (or was it strength??), I asked if I could register for the longer 50 mile/50 km race combination. Without a second thought, I was on the list of entrants. Nine months later, I was toeing the start line and wondering if a hat and a couple of Gary’s famous finish line hugs would be worth it all.

Day one – 50 miles (80 km); 3500 m (11 000 ft) elevation change

Smiling and feeling pretty good at the start of day #1.

Smiling and feeling pretty good at the start of day #1. (Every race start picture looks the same!)

Heat management was the factor for the day. Temperatures in Squamish had topped out at 37°C (98°F) the day before which had me plenty scared. I decided to take advantage of the early morning coolness and the initial flat section to get ahead of the bell curve but I knew I would have to slow down and be more cautious than last year. After the first 11 km, I was ready to take on the Rigs in Zen climb with vengeance. This climb is so significant although it is easy to overlook when glancing at the course profile. With multiple false summits and rock face scrambling, this 420 m climb took me about 45 minutes. After topping out at the radio towers, I gave myself a mental ‘high-five’, knowing that the course would not take me by surprise this year.

SQ50m course map

SQ50m elevation

The upper elevation profile is snipped from the Squamish 50 mile map on the website. The second profile is from my Strava track of the 50 mile course last year. Those climbs look a little different, don’t they? A new perspective brings on a higher respect for the course.

After leaving the Alice Lake aid station, the sweet Four Lakes trail swept us along effortlessly. But suddenly I felt something on my neck and I noticed the guy in front of me swatting his cap around. Then I felt a sharp pain near my belly button. I slowed down, took off my cap and tried to swat away the buzzing. We were in the thick of a ground wasp swarm and I realized that I had to get out of there! Everyone around was yelling or calling out ‘Wasps!’. I had two wasps in my cap and one under my shirt. Other runners were whipping off their packs and shirts, trying to free the angry insects. Once we were clear of the area, nearby runners took stock, compared wounds and asked if anyone was allergic. With adrenaline pumping from three stings, I had to stop and regroup for a few moments before gathering my wits and carrying on.

Upon reaching the 37 km mark at the Corners aid station, I was treated to some TLC by Bruce.

Having a support crew like Bruce is truly an unfair advantage. His wise words, questions, support, encouragement and instant action on my requests put me far ahead of so many others.

Having a support crew like Bruce is truly an unfair advantage. His wise words, questions, support, encouragement and instant action on my requests put me far ahead of so many others.

He had ridden his bike out to the station, weighed down with homemade turkey/avocado wraps and other tasty distractions. Last year, I set my sights on Quest aid station (#5) as my main refueling center but found that 53 km is really too late to remedy many issues. This time, it was here at Corners (#3) where I took time to really assess myself as Bruce refilled my bottles and reloaded my pack with treats for the big climb of the day. With almost half of the race done, I felt fantastic!

Heading back out onto the trails after Corners, delicious wrap in hand.

Heading back out onto the trails after Corners, delicious wrap in hand (and in mouth!).

At the base of the big Galactic climb, I settled into a strong climbing rhythm, knowing that this 6 km effort would take at least 1 hour 10 min. Although this climb looks intimidating, the grade is forgiving and there are many parts where I was able to run. On fresh legs, this could be a mostly runnable climb (and I’m sure that Dakota ran up it earlier in the day). This is where the heat of the day started to take its toll. We were in the shade of big evergreens all the way up and down Galactic but the air temperature was starting to rise as we neared high noon. For this race, I borrowed Bruce’s old-school hand-crafted bandanna from his early Western States races to keep me cool. With a cloth chamois sewn inside and a secret opening for crushed ice, I was able to beat the heat. I saw others rolling ice into buffs and wrapping either head or neck in the icy turban.

Secret weapon! The circa-2000 bandanna chamois was a game-changer! I barely even noticed the 31°C scorcher day.

Secret weapon! The circa-2000 bandanna chamois was a game-changer! I barely even noticed the 31°C scorcher day.

Without going into detail ad nauseam, I flew downhill and felt good as I arrived at Quest aid station (53 km). On Bruce’s wise advice, I topped up my salts to avoid further leg cramps, washed my feet and changed my socks to offset the hot spots on the balls of my feet. After about 10 minutes, I headed on my way with another turkey/avocado wrap to-go. The next climb was another almost runnable hill called The Climb or Legacy, which riders use to access the black diamond descents like Half Nelson and Angry Midget. The switchbacks go on and on and on so it was important to remember that this would be another 1 hour 15 min grunt. Keeping an eye out for any change of grade, I challenged myself to run/shuffle as often as possible. I passed so many runners with this strategy as they struggled with the heat of direct sunlight or, once again, had underestimated the difficulty of these small bumps on the elevation profile. The most dedicated volunteer was waiting for us at the high point, same place she was last year, directing us down the sweet and steep descent as a reward for our efforts. She truly is an angel of mercy!

As I passed through AS#6 and continued to descend, my mind focused on the next climb, called Bonsai, which I had been dreading for months. Although it barely registers on the course profile, it threads its way up through a recent clear-cut in the intense heat of the afternoon. I was determined to make short work of it and I did just that, finding myself back in the shade of evergreens in no time, working my way to its summit. I arrived at the Farside aid station (#7), feeling strong but my emotional balloon was popped when I heard the time. It was 4:30 pm, 11:00 hours into the race, and that was my secret finish time goal. Since I was still at least 90 minutes away from the finish, there would be no PR for me today. There was no way I could complete the two events in my dream time of 19 hours. I should have known that the heat had forced me to move slower and I wish I’d recognized that I was feeling good and strong because I had reigned in my competitive side. But, at that time, I felt complete disappointment and I headed out onto the last section with a black cloud over my head.

And with that attitude, the wheels started to fall off. I knew that there were two climbs left, each about 125 m high and each needing about 30 minutes to summit. The Fartherside climb went well, as it is shady and gentle, but Mountain of Phlegm chewed me up. I knew that the climb ended at a helicopter pad but I just couldn’t get there. It took frickin’ forever and when I finally got to the lovely volunteer at the heli-pad summit, I sat down and whined for all my worth. As I worried aloud about the elapsed time and the course difficulty and having to do it all over again tomorrow, she replied with sweet words of praise and encouragement. She told me to sit and look around and she reminded me that I only had four km to go. She gave me exactly what I needed to get up and finish. I was still able to run so I used my frustration as fuel to power down those switchback, stairs, paths and roads. I was just able to hold off my tears of disappointment and negativity, realizing that I had to get this run done before I could worry about tomorrow. I set my jaw, clenched my fists and tried to hold my emotions at bay. I must have looked intense and half-crazed since volunteers looked at me warily and gave me very curt directions as I neared the finish.

But as the finish grew near, I could see Cathy C. and John I. taking photos. John M. was smiling just beyond the finish line. Bruce was waiting for me at the edge of the park and ran beside me with the go-pro video running as I entered the chute. I could hear my name over the loud-speaker and I saw Gary reach out with unbridled enthusiasm to be the first to congratulate me with his bear hug as I crossed the line.

Right after my well-earned hug, Gary spotted Bruce and dropped everything to congratulate him on his unbelievable TransPyrenean 850 km race.

Right after my well-earned hug, Gary spotted Bruce and dropped everything to congratulate him on his unbelievable TransPyrenean 850 km race. Our ultra-running community is small and everyone knows about everyone else’s achievements!

It was so difficult, so challenging and now so rewarding. As Gary assessed my lucidity, he asked, “Will you come back to do the 50 km tomorrow?”. And I said yes. I admitted to having second thoughts right up until he asked and I was glad he had forced me to re-commit right away.


Brent ran his first 50 miler in a stellar time of 11:35 and was able to enjoy a few tasty Howe Sound brews before I joined in the finish line fun.

Bruce and I sat with Brent and Erin on the steps of the bandshell and shared stories of the day. Eventually I limped over to the massage table and met Magic Fingers Paul who set to work on my aching foot arches and crampy quads.


Meet my new best friend, Magic Fingers Paul. Not only did he fix my tender tootsies, he did so without commenting on the layers of filth he had to touch.

His active release stretches made a world of difference to my throbbing feet and afterwards I was able to saunter around the finish area, re-hydrating and eating a burger, as the sun set. As the chill set in, we packed ourselves off to our campsite and I began the de-griming process and then the reloading of my gear for the following early morning start. Bruce whipped up a ravioli dinner which we enjoyed in the dark with a post-race IPA. I was asleep as soon as I was horizontal.

Day 2 – 50 km (31 miles) 2500 m (8500 ft)

At 4:30 am, as I was trying to will my legs into my running shorts, I heard Bruce call out from the picnic table. I peeked my head out of the tent to see that all my race gels and chews had been eaten by raccoons during the night. I had stupidly left a handful of packets out and now I had no fuel to start the day. As we ate breakfast and sipped a delicious mug of home-roasted coffee, the marauding band of four raccoons visited our campsite, even daring to venture under the table while we were sitting there! Luckily this was my only encounter with wildlife all weekend!

Still smiling at the start of day #2

Still smiling at the start of day #2

At the Alice Lake race start, in the early light of day, I was able to find familiar faces in the crowd. There was a strong sense of camaraderie between the 50/50 runners, who were sporting a different style race number than the others, and each of us congratulated the others on finishing yesterday and daring to start this next event. It turns out that only 35 runners (out of 100?) returned for the second part of the 50/50 event. I found the Courtenay/Comox contingent and wished them well just as the starting gun went off.

I won’t (continue to) bore you with a step-by-step account of the 50 km run (since it is the final 30 miles of the 50 miler course) but I will note that once my legs warmed up, they responded well and thankfully the ground wasps slept in. Time flew by with trail chatter and I was heading towards the big Galactic climb in no time flat. As I reached the base of Galactic, I briefly ran with Christine S., a familiar face among the hundreds of strangers. We caught up on each other’s lives and compared stories of friends in common before she turned her retro-blasters on and took off.

As we made our way up the big Galactic climb, Christine took this parting action shot.

As we made our way up the big Galactic climb, Christine took this parting action shot.

After the initial shock of running, I found that I was getting stronger on each climb but becoming more tentative on the descents. My feet were tender and I made every effort to plant each footfall solidly to avoid stubbing toes, moving blisters into new territory or inviting unwanted cramping. I had the royal treatment once again at Quest aid station (23 km) with both Bruce and KiCKiT Katie C. attending to my every need.

Thanks to Katie C for the picture. Sitting on the same bench as yesterday, I was treated to crewing in the style of a Formula 1 pit stop

Thanks to Katie C. for the picture. Sitting on the same bench as yesterday, Bruce and Katie got me recharged in the style of a Formula 1 pit stop

The Legacy Climb felt shorter as I was able to march up, running whenever possible, and pass so many sufferers. My Angel of Mercy volunteer was once again awaiting my arrival at the summit, directing me down the crazy Angry Midget black diamond descent.

As I arrived at the Farside aid station (40 km), I was really concerned about that final climb up Mountain of Phlegm, which had taken so much out of me the previous day. I caught up to Christine at this station and decided to hold onto her shirttails and keep her in my sights for this final section. But as the climb unfolded, I recognized certain corners and junctions and knew exactly what was left. I honestly charged up that piece of nasty and was on my way home in no time.

My final descent into town was a blur of switchbacks and leg turnover. As I approached the Smoke Bluffs stairs, I passed two runners who were gingerly taking them backwards. I hit the pavement and turned on the afterburners, simply wanting this endless race weekend to be over. After crossing under Hwy 99, I heard a train whistle blow and I knew I still had to cross the train tracks. Breaking into a full sprint, I raced that train and I won. There was no way that I was going to stop within 500 m of the finish to watch a freight train pass!

Faster than a freight train!

Faster than a freight train!

As I rounded the final corner, I allowed myself to take in my accomplishment. It was a big challenge and I tackled it well. I raced smart and only allowed myself one small section of self-pity. As I entered the finish line park, Bruce called out “You are the second woman.” but my overloaded brain couldn’t figure out what he meant. As I leaped into Gary’s arms for the second time that weekend, he confirmed what Bruce had said. Only one other woman had completed the 50/50 event so far. He set my new 50/50 Finisher trucker hat atop my head and listened to my raw feedback about the day.

Gary's methods are wise. All the racers remember is 'the hug' but Gary gets the opportunity to hear all their uncensored, untapped feedback which I'm sure he uses to ever-improve his events.

Gary’s methods are wise. All the racers remember is ‘the hug’ but Gary gets the opportunity to hear all their uncensored, untapped feedback which I’m sure he uses to ever-improve his events.

Bruce and I sat and enjoyed the finish line atmosphere, waiting for friends to cross the line, eating as much as my sore mouth could handle and cheering for everyone.

Christine and I finished close together and I was so thankful for her motivation to get out of the Farside aid station.

Christine and I finished close together and I was so thankful for her motivation to get out of the Farside aid station.

Who knew that there was a race between the Marthas today? I snuck a photo with the other Martha's parents since they had

Who knew that there was a race between the Marthas today? I had to  have a photo with the other Martha’s mum since they had my customized sign.

John Murray improved his Squamish 50 km time by more than 45 minutes this year, easily winning the under 20 age group category!

John Murray improved his Squamish 50 km time by more than 45 minutes this year, easily winning the under 20 age group category!

At some point, we heard the announcement that bumped me from 2nd to 3rd place. Adrienne crossed the line after me in the 50 km but had a superb finish in her first 50 miler the day before, making her combined race time faster than mine. There was a brief awards ceremony for the 50/50 finishers. When Gary called me up for my 3rd place award, he said the kindest things about my running history, making it sound like I am full of experience, not just getting old. Admittedly I have done a fair number of ultras, been running them for a big chunk of my adult life and can withstand a lot of adversity but I still have so much to learn and there are so many more places I want to visit on foot.

With a gleam in my eye, I chuckle at his comment about racing in the day when you had to have a map since there were only 8 ribbons used for the entire route. Oh, how things have changed!

With a gleam in my eye, I chuckle at Gary’s comment about racing in the days when you had to have a map since there were only 8 ribbons used for the entire route. Oh, how things have changed!

Podium Finish! With RD Gary Robbins, Adrienne Dundar (2nd), Kaytlyn Gerbin(1st), me (3rd) and RD Geoff Langford

Podium Finish! Here are the women’s 50/50 top three – RD Gary Robbins, Adrienne Dunbar (2nd), Kaytlyn Gerbin(1st), me (3rd) and RD Geoff Langford

I don’t know how I’ll react in November when I receive Gary’s invitation to race in Squamish next August. This race has a draw that I cannot resist – and my favourite colour is green!

The blue cap is for one 50/50 finish. The green is for two finisher and the yellow my other favourite colour) is for three. Hmmmm....

The blue cap is for one 50/50 finish. The green is for two finishes and the yellow (my other favourite colour) is for three. Hmmmm….

50 miler Finish Time – 12:15.33

  • 54/197 finishers; 10/50 women; 2/12 W40-49 age group

50 km Finish Time – 8:34.17

  • 148/287 finishers; 44/110 women; 9/32 W40-49 age group

50/50 Finish Time – 20:49.50

  • 12/35 finishers; 3/10 women; 1/3 W40-49 age group

What does it take for a runner to move on to a longer distance? This question has long been one that rattles around in my head. I have blogged about it before (here) but I still don’t have an answer that satisfies. Here is Wikipedia’s definition of Long-distance running:

Long-distance running, or endurance running, is a form of continuous running over distances of at least three kilometres (1.86 miles). Physiologically, it is largely aerobic in nature and requires stamina as well as mental strength.[1]

While some runners break into a sweat at the idea of adding another 8 km to the end of a marathon, others think nothing of jumping from a 50 km to their first 100 miler. What allows one runner to constantly search for bigger challenges while another holds back?

I choose to enter races that my running friends organize or have successfully completed, thinking there is some kind of safety in that. Often I know a few folks out on the course which gives me some reassurance. Slowly, over the years, the distances have increased and my sense of adventure has grown with it. But I am still cautious in my selection of events and in monitoring my readiness for a longer distance, always wanting to read through results and blogs to know exactly what I am getting myself into.


At C4P 2005, Canadian Club Smart Ass took Ventura County by storm because there was safety in numbers.

Most of us think that the marathon or even the 100 miler is the upper limit of possibility because we are unable to imagine anything beyond. But those distances are only known and accepted because someone broke out of the mold and attempted something unknown with dubious possibility of success. If you dare to do some research, you will find unbelievable events which fill to capacity with people who are able to open their minds to the endless possibilities out there. Once the bar is raised and a new distance is established, the flood gates will open with others wanting to try.

But, even more daunting than increased distances, I am amazed at runners who enter an inaugural race – a race that has neither stood the test of time nor had the wrinkles worked out. What if the water-drop gets put on the wrong mountain top or the distance is measured in nautical miles rather than those regular ones? (Don’t laugh – these things have happened!) A race’s long history is a sort of proof of its do-ability and that the organization has worked out the logistics. But this proof is absent in a first-time event and therefore it is not a race that I would enter.

Recently, Get Out There magazine published an article titled Going Long which featured two humble athletes who thrive on those kinds of races – the ones with no results, no blogs, no history. One of those featured athletes is my own husband.

tor de geants 2010

Inaugural year of 332km Tor des Geants 2010 – the great unknown in action

Those who read farther than Bruce’s extensive resume were treated to a glimpse into the philosophical thinking behind his leisure pursuit. These inaugural races of ultra-long distances, put on by unknown race directors, often in distant countries are the kinds of boundaries he aims to push. There is a purity in being completely self-reliant and, in some cases, self-sufficient, having to carry all necessary food and supplies or even having to acquire those enroute (in another language). There is also a thrill to being ahead of the curve – competing in an event that the media has not yet sullied as ‘the next great must-do race’. These events are not about the speed-work sessions you did, the number of Strava kudos earned or even the number of training kilometers logged. It is more about being able to filter out the noise and focus solely on the immediate present so that the next mountain pass can be attained. It is a great reminder that the finish line is arbitrary; the journey is everything.

No matter how far we aim to run, our limits are directly linked to restrictions we put on ourselves. If you say “I could never run that far”, then you can’t and you won’t. An open-mind and deep self-knowledge are the tickets needed to go longer.

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The Transpyrenea route follows the GR10 trail from the Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic through the French

The Happy Wanderer

My Paths on Strava

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