On the Sunday morning a week before the 104th annual Dipsea race, I went out for a final training run to attend the Church of the Dipsea Trail. It was a time to quiet the mind and focus on strategy, to run with and talk to veterans of the race and to feel graced by the beauty all around...because race day would be total balls out insanity and there wouldn't be time for any of that.
I've run the race twice, both times in the Runner section (that's the way way back). I consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for the first time and think you've done enough research to know what you're in for (HA HA HA), but you don't. I also consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for a second time and think you know more than you did the first time, but you don't.
If nothing else, I can tell you a good story.
At 8:30 am the race began with group AAA of the Invitational section, meaning, they were among the first 750 finishers in last year's race, and they were also male age 6 or under, age 74 or over, or, female age 7 or under or age 66 or over. That group gets the best headstart. Every sixty seconds a new group would take off with different age grouped runners until the last Scratch group, the 19-39 year old men, were released to run everyone down. Then the process starts all over again with the Runner section, people who were lucky enough to gain entry by mail. My group, R, was 54-55 year old men and 19-39 year old women, all set to go at 9:14 am. That's 44 minutes of groups starting ahead of me and 8 minutes of groups starting behind me. It's a 7 mile race. I'm sure you can calculate my chances of cracking the top 750.
That being said, I was ready to WIN THIS THING.
You have to go into it believing you can run down a thousand people on single track and beat them to the beach whether you actually can or not. Gut it out. Leave everything on the trail.
My race starts. Get to the beach as fast as you can, using any route you like. We bolted through town before cutting into Old Mill Park and heading for the first set of stairs. My strategy was to follow the advice of an eleven time finisher that I met on the trail the previous weekend: Don't go anaerobic on the stairs. The first time I raced, I charged the 671 steps, and my legs were left in lactic acid ruin by the time I got to the top. So, this time, I wanted to be smarter...keep it steady, don't blast it out...yet.
The stairs. Mostly there are two lanes going up: A slow lane on the right, and a fast lane on the left. Sometimes there's a third lane straight up the middle, and sometimes there's even a fourth lane going rogue on the outside of the railing. Everyone is on top of each other, weaving in and out of lanes, breathing heavy. The goal was to not feel like my heart was going to explode five minutes into the race. After the first set, I took a right and ran up the road to the second set where the residents of a house I totally covet were blasting Radar Love and someone that looked like Stevie Nicks was dancing on the porch. It was crowded. I was bumping shoulders and accidentally holding hands with everyone around me. At the top of the second set, we went left down the road to the final set of stairs.
After the stairs, and climbing the equivalent of a 50 story building The absolute joy that comes with cresting the top of the third and final set of stairs is short lived because there is no downhill on the otherside, only more climbing. I welcomed a little breathing room on the wide road before we hit the first short stretch of trail and the one mile mark, where you either want to laugh or cry because really? All of that was ONE mile? Dude. That is a TERRIBLE mile. Onward and upward, there's a little more road before reaching Windy Gap, and on that road was one of my favorite kind of people at a race...the kind you hear long before you see because he was screaming so enthusiastically and clapping his hands like he personally knew everyone running past him. He had a lot to yell about. A lot of it was telling us how many stairs we just climbed and how we were part of Dipsea History and how amazing we were. Thanks, Dipsea History Yelling Guy, you made me smile. I wonder if he knows Goat Hill You're Awesome Guy.
DOWNHILL! Time to let loose. Across Panoramic Highway is where the trail starts dropping down for the first time in the race. It's a little steep with random wooden stairs and plenty of worn trail off to the side of the stairs for passing. I took the fast lane on this section. The trail runs into Panoramic Highway once again, and for race day we hang a right and continue on the road for a long winding downhill. At this point you should be running as fast as you possibly can, passing as many people as you can. We cut back in to the trail at the mailboxes for another stretch of steep downhill stairs before arriving at an important short cut decision: Suicide or Safer. I took Suicide. Balls out, right? It's a trail that doesn't really look like a trail, more like you're disappearing into a bush, and it's so steep that it's a good thing it's so enclosed with vegetation because you'll be grabbing it to slow you down the whole way. There was a new challenge, though, that I wasn't expecting. I couldn't see anything in front of me. The cloud of dust being kicked up by the stampede of runners in front of me was so thick I could barely see the guy in front of me let alone the trail underneath my feet. I was grabbing at branches, moving my feet as lightly and quickly as possible, slipping and sliding, and blinking about six times a second. It was like being in fog. With a strobelight. And suffocating. Then all of a sudden it was over and we rejoined the other runners on the trail just in time to hit the Muir Woods Parking lot.
Dynamite. Crap. I took about five seconds to celebrate the fact that I was still alive before getting refocused. Things were about to get serious for the next couple of miles. Dynamite is about the place in the race where the fast guys start catching up, so not only are you suffering up a drastic climb, it's the stairs all over again. Get used to breathing other people's breath. Through Hogsback you have the option of the trail or the fireroad. I took the fireroad and oh my lord was it getting hot. I was running steady on the uphill even though the sun was hammering down on me knowing it was not too long before the trees again and the final push up Cardiac.
Cardiac. Crap. In my mind, I knew that the more I pushed up Cardiac, the sooner it would be over, and there was water at the top and downhill after that. In reality, I was cussing with every step up this damn hill, but all in my head, of course, because there are CHILDREN around. That's one of the most bizarre things about running Dipsea: The children. You'll be trudging up a hill and a seven year boy old will go bounding past you effortlessly like a baby deer. You'll be flying down a hill and zero in on the person in front of you that you want to pass...an eight year old girl. On the way up Cardiac I glanced up to see a young girl that seemed to be struggling and an older man talking to her while hiking right next to her. As I got closer, I figured out that she was tanking and he was telling her a story of a past race that he tanked in the same place..."I was dizzy and tired and got to the top where the water was and I collapsed into a volunteer's arms, and then I emptied my stomach." From somewhere behind me, "Hey, how about a happy story!" Everyone chuckled, and he went on, "I know how you're feeling, so when you get to the top drink a lot of water and listen to the volunteers. They'll fix you up, so just rest for a second. You'll feel better." Without saying another word, he powered on ahead, and as we all passed the girl, everyone offered encouragement.
The Top. I took a cup of water and downed it before hearing someone yelling something about ice cold water for your head. YES PLEASE! I ran to the woman with the bucket and the sponge, bowed my head in front of her and she squeezed iced water on my head, just as was advertised. I was awake. I was present. I was ready for some downhill.
The Swoop. This shortcut was new to me this year, and it was a crazy steep, dusty, narrow trail of chaos. The swoop is a trail of chaos. End of story.
Steep Ravine. We eventually rejoined the trail just at the top of the steep ravine stairs. These stairs take you down in another flurry of chaos. They are short and easily skippable, but they are unpredictable and in some spots mimic a spiral staircase...on a steep, straight trail. This is where a lot of people misjudge their steps and their momentum and get taken out. Actually, there was an EMT on the side of the trail.
Insult. The last climb. The final insult. More water at the top. Just. Get. There.
Run Fast. This is it. Downhill to the finish. The trail weaves through dense vegetation with tight turns and steep drops on and off the highway. At this point everyone was barrelling around blind corners and passing where there was totally no place to pass. Coming off the highway back onto the trail, a volunteer was warning us to take the narrow trail slowly, a runner was down up ahead. A little way further down, a volunteer was standing at a spot on the trail pointing to the ground, "watch out, it's steep right here, it's REALLY STEEP RIGHT HERE, watch it right here, WATCH OUT RIGHT HERE." I found it amusing on the approach, but actually, yeah, it was a pretty steep part. Thank you, Steep Part Warning Girl, you did good work that day.
The End. It's over before you know it. It's over too soon. Your last responsibility as a Dipsea runner is to not eat it at The Stile. You've been blasting down the trail, you know you're almost done, and now you have to jump a wooden hurdle on dead legs and get onto the highway without tripping over anything, especially your own feet. Once you get past that, JUST RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.
I may not make Invitational status. I may still be a newcomer comparatively, but I'll be back every year they'll have me. This is a race like no other. It's a whirlwind of pain and joy, confidence and terror. For an hour and change, you're part of the Dipsea family.
I've run the race twice, both times in the Runner section (that's the way way back). I consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for the first time and think you've done enough research to know what you're in for (HA HA HA), but you don't. I also consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for a second time and think you know more than you did the first time, but you don't.
If nothing else, I can tell you a good story.
 |
| You get to see the start of the race you're running...again...and again...and again... |
At 8:30 am the race began with group AAA of the Invitational section, meaning, they were among the first 750 finishers in last year's race, and they were also male age 6 or under, age 74 or over, or, female age 7 or under or age 66 or over. That group gets the best headstart. Every sixty seconds a new group would take off with different age grouped runners until the last Scratch group, the 19-39 year old men, were released to run everyone down. Then the process starts all over again with the Runner section, people who were lucky enough to gain entry by mail. My group, R, was 54-55 year old men and 19-39 year old women, all set to go at 9:14 am. That's 44 minutes of groups starting ahead of me and 8 minutes of groups starting behind me. It's a 7 mile race. I'm sure you can calculate my chances of cracking the top 750.
That being said, I was ready to WIN THIS THING.
You have to go into it believing you can run down a thousand people on single track and beat them to the beach whether you actually can or not. Gut it out. Leave everything on the trail.
My race starts. Get to the beach as fast as you can, using any route you like. We bolted through town before cutting into Old Mill Park and heading for the first set of stairs. My strategy was to follow the advice of an eleven time finisher that I met on the trail the previous weekend: Don't go anaerobic on the stairs. The first time I raced, I charged the 671 steps, and my legs were left in lactic acid ruin by the time I got to the top. So, this time, I wanted to be smarter...keep it steady, don't blast it out...yet.
The stairs. Mostly there are two lanes going up: A slow lane on the right, and a fast lane on the left. Sometimes there's a third lane straight up the middle, and sometimes there's even a fourth lane going rogue on the outside of the railing. Everyone is on top of each other, weaving in and out of lanes, breathing heavy. The goal was to not feel like my heart was going to explode five minutes into the race. After the first set, I took a right and ran up the road to the second set where the residents of a house I totally covet were blasting Radar Love and someone that looked like Stevie Nicks was dancing on the porch. It was crowded. I was bumping shoulders and accidentally holding hands with everyone around me. At the top of the second set, we went left down the road to the final set of stairs.
After the stairs, and climbing the equivalent of a 50 story building The absolute joy that comes with cresting the top of the third and final set of stairs is short lived because there is no downhill on the otherside, only more climbing. I welcomed a little breathing room on the wide road before we hit the first short stretch of trail and the one mile mark, where you either want to laugh or cry because really? All of that was ONE mile? Dude. That is a TERRIBLE mile. Onward and upward, there's a little more road before reaching Windy Gap, and on that road was one of my favorite kind of people at a race...the kind you hear long before you see because he was screaming so enthusiastically and clapping his hands like he personally knew everyone running past him. He had a lot to yell about. A lot of it was telling us how many stairs we just climbed and how we were part of Dipsea History and how amazing we were. Thanks, Dipsea History Yelling Guy, you made me smile. I wonder if he knows Goat Hill You're Awesome Guy.
DOWNHILL! Time to let loose. Across Panoramic Highway is where the trail starts dropping down for the first time in the race. It's a little steep with random wooden stairs and plenty of worn trail off to the side of the stairs for passing. I took the fast lane on this section. The trail runs into Panoramic Highway once again, and for race day we hang a right and continue on the road for a long winding downhill. At this point you should be running as fast as you possibly can, passing as many people as you can. We cut back in to the trail at the mailboxes for another stretch of steep downhill stairs before arriving at an important short cut decision: Suicide or Safer. I took Suicide. Balls out, right? It's a trail that doesn't really look like a trail, more like you're disappearing into a bush, and it's so steep that it's a good thing it's so enclosed with vegetation because you'll be grabbing it to slow you down the whole way. There was a new challenge, though, that I wasn't expecting. I couldn't see anything in front of me. The cloud of dust being kicked up by the stampede of runners in front of me was so thick I could barely see the guy in front of me let alone the trail underneath my feet. I was grabbing at branches, moving my feet as lightly and quickly as possible, slipping and sliding, and blinking about six times a second. It was like being in fog. With a strobelight. And suffocating. Then all of a sudden it was over and we rejoined the other runners on the trail just in time to hit the Muir Woods Parking lot.
Dynamite. Crap. I took about five seconds to celebrate the fact that I was still alive before getting refocused. Things were about to get serious for the next couple of miles. Dynamite is about the place in the race where the fast guys start catching up, so not only are you suffering up a drastic climb, it's the stairs all over again. Get used to breathing other people's breath. Through Hogsback you have the option of the trail or the fireroad. I took the fireroad and oh my lord was it getting hot. I was running steady on the uphill even though the sun was hammering down on me knowing it was not too long before the trees again and the final push up Cardiac.
Cardiac. Crap. In my mind, I knew that the more I pushed up Cardiac, the sooner it would be over, and there was water at the top and downhill after that. In reality, I was cussing with every step up this damn hill, but all in my head, of course, because there are CHILDREN around. That's one of the most bizarre things about running Dipsea: The children. You'll be trudging up a hill and a seven year boy old will go bounding past you effortlessly like a baby deer. You'll be flying down a hill and zero in on the person in front of you that you want to pass...an eight year old girl. On the way up Cardiac I glanced up to see a young girl that seemed to be struggling and an older man talking to her while hiking right next to her. As I got closer, I figured out that she was tanking and he was telling her a story of a past race that he tanked in the same place..."I was dizzy and tired and got to the top where the water was and I collapsed into a volunteer's arms, and then I emptied my stomach." From somewhere behind me, "Hey, how about a happy story!" Everyone chuckled, and he went on, "I know how you're feeling, so when you get to the top drink a lot of water and listen to the volunteers. They'll fix you up, so just rest for a second. You'll feel better." Without saying another word, he powered on ahead, and as we all passed the girl, everyone offered encouragement.
The Top. I took a cup of water and downed it before hearing someone yelling something about ice cold water for your head. YES PLEASE! I ran to the woman with the bucket and the sponge, bowed my head in front of her and she squeezed iced water on my head, just as was advertised. I was awake. I was present. I was ready for some downhill.
The Swoop. This shortcut was new to me this year, and it was a crazy steep, dusty, narrow trail of chaos. The swoop is a trail of chaos. End of story.
Steep Ravine. We eventually rejoined the trail just at the top of the steep ravine stairs. These stairs take you down in another flurry of chaos. They are short and easily skippable, but they are unpredictable and in some spots mimic a spiral staircase...on a steep, straight trail. This is where a lot of people misjudge their steps and their momentum and get taken out. Actually, there was an EMT on the side of the trail.
Insult. The last climb. The final insult. More water at the top. Just. Get. There.
Run Fast. This is it. Downhill to the finish. The trail weaves through dense vegetation with tight turns and steep drops on and off the highway. At this point everyone was barrelling around blind corners and passing where there was totally no place to pass. Coming off the highway back onto the trail, a volunteer was warning us to take the narrow trail slowly, a runner was down up ahead. A little way further down, a volunteer was standing at a spot on the trail pointing to the ground, "watch out, it's steep right here, it's REALLY STEEP RIGHT HERE, watch it right here, WATCH OUT RIGHT HERE." I found it amusing on the approach, but actually, yeah, it was a pretty steep part. Thank you, Steep Part Warning Girl, you did good work that day.
The End. It's over before you know it. It's over too soon. Your last responsibility as a Dipsea runner is to not eat it at The Stile. You've been blasting down the trail, you know you're almost done, and now you have to jump a wooden hurdle on dead legs and get onto the highway without tripping over anything, especially your own feet. Once you get past that, JUST RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.
 |
| My calves are cramping, dear lord, hold out for fifty more yards. |
 |
| Scrub with Tecnu. Head for the sea. It won't help. You'll be covered in poison oak. |
 |
I may not make Invitational status. I may still be a newcomer comparatively, but I'll be back every year they'll have me. This is a race like no other. It's a whirlwind of pain and joy, confidence and terror. For an hour and change, you're part of the Dipsea family.
Hands down, my favorite race report of 2014. Well done on the run and the writing! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you!! You should come down and do this race!
DeleteThis was SO MUCH FUN to read! Congrats on surviving that race. I'm running Double-Dipsea this weekend and am really worried about making the cutoffs. Since we start at where you finished it will be pretty different (and also much lower-key; no shortcuts allowed!), but I'm hoping it will be fun. Reading this is actually making me a bit less worried - thanks for that!
ReplyDeleteThanks!! Good luck at the Double, I look forward to your race report!
Delete