2002 Race T-Shirt
The second Sunday in June comes around, and once again it's Dipsea time. And for the Man on the Edge (tm), the annual challenge - meet the qualifying standard (finish 450th or better and get automatic entry into next year's race), or fail (and have to hope I make it through the convoluted process of getting in without an automatic entry). It's a standard I've met, and a standard I've failed to meet - I'm the Man on the Edge (see <http://alumni.caltech.edu/~slp/races.html> for earlier chapters of this story).
This year, it's a special challenge, because unlike past years, I've been accepted into, and have been training for, my first 100-mile race at Western States on June 29. That means I've been doing a lot of VERY long, VERY slow training, and a lot of time WALKING up hills (which in years past was anathema to me) instead of running up them. I WAS averaging around 50 miles/week this year, compared to 25 in years past, and in principle that should have been a good thing, but with the different emphasis this year, maybe not good enough. In general I've been "training through" the races I've done this year, but I cut back severely on mileage this week before Dipsea. After all, the Dipsea isn't just any race. It's THE race.
There was one bad sign. I always try to get up to Mill Valley at least once before race day for a "test race," to see how my fitness level is holding. Last year a managed a 1:16:29 test race in mid-May (I start at Old Mill Park, which makes that equivalent to about a 1:18:29 full-length Dipsea), on race day that became a 1:13:02, good enought to qualify by 2 1/2 minutes. This year's test, done over Memorial Day weekend, was 1:20:20, 4 minutes slower than last year. True, I had done a 50M race and a 50K race on two successive weekends earlier in the month, but still, this did not augur well.
Interesting side note from my practice day: As I ran back to Mill Valley, I came across a guy clearing the tremendous overgrowth of weeds from the steps leading down to Muir Woods. "You're a hero" I shouted as I ran by. Then, as I got a few steps by him, I hear "Hey, are you Steve Patt?" What? I don't know this guy from Adam. I stop to chat, and he tells me that he recognizes me from my online writings and pictures, and that he has all my Dipsea stories printed out and put in a scrapbook. I have my own groupie! Frightening!
Debi and I and Caspian the Welsh Terrier headed up to Mill Valley, where I got my usual seat on a bench in Lytton Square and relaxed, waiting for the race to start. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, the sun was hot, and is was clearly going to be a lot hotter than last year.
The author relaxing before the start
As race time approached, we joined the crowd waiting for the pagent that is the start of the Dipsea, with different age (and sex) groups starting every minute and proceeding through the gauntlet of the large crowd along a few blocks of Mill Valley before hitting the park, the stairs, and the trails.
Crowds gather to watch the ceremonial Dipsea start
At 8:30, the first group (men 71 & over, women 60 & over) is off. Most notable, of course, is Jack Kirk, back for his 67th consecutive Dipsea at age 95. Every part of the sentence is remarkable.Doing ANYTHING 67 consecutive years, even staying alive, is remarkable. WALKING the Dipsea Trail at age 95 is unbelievable; I doubt there are more than a handful of people on the planet capable of accomplishing it. As every year, watching him head off puts a lump in my throat. Right from the start, though, a difference from last year is clear. Last year Jack trotted up the street at a pace which was impressive for a 94-year old man (or even a 74-year old man). This year, it's more of a "forceful stride." Perhaps he didn't get as much training in this year.
The first group is off; Jack Kirk is visible in the rear on the right
The indominable and legendary Jack Kirk, 95-years young, starts
his 67th consecutive Dipsea,
a record for any sport, anywhere, anytime.
The second group starts, and it's impressive, because leading the charge up the street is 60-year old Melody Anne Schultz, running at a pace probably faster than I do 440 repeats. She's not starting with the other 60-year old women because she has a 1-minute handicap as a former winner, and she certainly looks to have a good chance to repeat. In the third group is yet another 60-year old (actually 61) woman, Shirley Matson, being penalized two minutes as a two-time former winner. She looks strong too, but certainly isn't starting at anything like Melody Anne's pace.
Now it's my time, not to start, but to warm up, which I do, and before too long I'm off, starting with a 7-minute handicap (compared to the "scratch" runners). As usual, because I only barely qualified last year, most of the people in my group are faster than me, and before too long I'm near the end of my group.Well, it's a long race.
52-53 year-old men start; the author is visible fourth from
the left
in a white shirt and white head-covering
Up Throckmorton St., through Old Mill Park, and we head up the stairs. It's hot, and I'm realistic about my conditioning for the year, so I know I'm not going to be bounding up the stairs, but with my ultra training I can walk agressively, taking the stairs two at a time with a pretty decent turnover. It's enough to carry me past dozens of people on the stairs, and to keep from being passed by almost anyone. At the top of the third set of stairs we hit the road, and there's Jack Kirk. Up Walsh Dr., through the trail past "One-Mile Tree", and a few seconds later it's me who's being passed, by Brad Smith, who started 2 minutes behind me. At Windy Gap I'm at 14:53 (as I learn later by looking at my watch), compared to 14:07 last year.This isn't good, and even without knowing the actual details I'm pretty much aware I'm going slower.
Past Windy Gap we head down and, as last year, the first "serious" runners (likely "Black Shirt" winners for top-35 placings) appear; the first one I notice is Greg Nacco, who has made up 4 minutes on me in the first 14 1/2. But I'm going well downhill, passing some people, being passed by others, taking the tangents once we hit the road, plummeting fairly nimbly down "Suicide" (a steep, open, dusty hillside) as we head towards Muir Woods. At Muir Woods we cross the creek and I make note of a time of 21:56 on my watch, which I know isn't good; I'm looking for 21 (last year was 21:06). When you don't have time to spare, every second counts.
Now the tough going starts as we head up the steep hill ("Dynamite") through Muir Woods. The trail is packed with runners, and there's more heaving breathing than at a 900 exchange on a Friday night. EVERYONE, most assuredly including me, is laboring in the heat, and it's slow going. Last year I managed a healthy mixture of running and walking; this year I can tell I'm doing a lot more walking, although I still manage to pass a few people.
Finally we're at the top of the steep part, now we just have a couple miles of more gentle climbing across the "Hogsback" as we head for the course high point at Cardiac hill. Last year I got "bottled up" on the first portion of trail, so this year I started out on the fireroad instead, opting for the longer but less congested route. I don't know if it was the right decision, but it is one heck of a lot easier mentally, just being able to relax and run instead of constantly worrying about footing and other runners. Although plenty of other people made the same decision so I was hardly alone.
I think I'm managing a pretty decent pace across this section, and a cool breeze is moderating the temperatures some what, so the heat is lessening as a factor. Nevertheless, it's still pass and be passed. Unfortunately there are a lot more people who start after me than start before me, so there's less and less of the former and more and more of the latter. It's a bit discouraging but I try not to let it get me down. One of the unique things about this race strikes me as I'm running this section. In most races, after a few minutes all the people you're "racing" (that is, all the people who are likely to pass you or be passed by you) are within your sight. But in this race, all the way to the finish, you're racing against everyone except the people who have already passed you (who you'll never see again) and the people you've passed (likewise, at least in most cases). But somewhere behind you is someone who started 2 minutes behind you and who is 2 minutes and 1 second faster than you and who will pass you one second before the finish, UNLESS you can pick up the pace RIGHT HERE and gain two seconds which will mean that person will never catch you. So at EVERY STAGE of the race, EVERY SECOND counts. I try to push myself ahead with this thought.
We enter the "Rainforest" which is filled with twisted roots, and for inexplicable reasons everyone around me seems to have started walking, even though we've finally left the sun and hit a cooler spot. I can't understand it, hard to believe they all got tired at once, but I'm feeling strong, so I press on, leaping up some of the large "root steps" and passing numerous people in the process. Then we hit the steep uphill to Cardiac and once again, I seem to have a reserve which others do not, and by running about half the time I manage to pass more people.
Alas, there's bad news when I reach Cardiac. I aim for 50 minutes here, and last year managed 49. This year it's a very disappointing 52:57. Since I only qualified by 2 1/2 minutes last year, this pretty much tells me I'm out of the running, but if anything that doubles my resolve to press on as hard as you can. Maybe everyone's slower in the heat! Or maybe not...
All this while I've been carrying a water bottle, sipping steadily to keep myself hydrated in the heat. At Cardiac is the one water stop, but while others stop to grab a cup of water, I do the opposite, tossing my water bottle and starting to push for all I'm worth. It's "flattish" for a while, but then it's all downhill to the finish, so I know I can do without water, and I can use my arms more effectively for pumping if they're free. I fly across the top, still passing and being passed, then down the "Swoop" where there's suddenly no one in front of me and I skip nimbly down, remarkably sure-footed. Then into Steep Ravine where I pass even more people by staying on the narrow dirt path on the side of the stairs. Up "Insult" where I mix some powerwalking and running. At the top there's more bad news, because there's a "counter" calling out numbers and mine is 476. I need to be 450, and from experience I know I'm likely to lose some places from here to the finish. But I know the counters can be off, so even though my fate is clear I press on as hard as I can. Onto the road, through the first shortcut, back on the road, through the second shortcut, back onto the trail for a while, then over the stile, onto the final road section, and fly down toward the finish.
Pumping for all I'm worth, I cross the finish line in 1:17:18 (1:10:18 "clock time" including my 7-minute handicap), more than 4 minutes down on last year. From the top I've taken 24:21, compared to 23:56 last year, so I've ALMOST held my own on this section, but the uphill just killed my chances. I just didn't have it the "oomph" this year. By day's end I learn this was good for 495th place. 450th place was 1:08:54, just 84 seconds faster than my time. So close, but so far. Could I have pushed myself 84 seconds faster? I think I could have. But I didn't.
Interestingly, although it was hotter this year, last year 495th place was 1:10:16 so overall times were remarkably constant from last year. Anyway, it's back into the lottery pool for me. :-( As a small consolation in reading the results, I notice that Peter Halloran, the guy I met clearing the trail in Muir Woods, finished 348th, so at least members of my fan club will be running next year even if I'm not. :-)
The finish line scene at Stinson Beach, where hundreds of people
await the awards cermonies more than 3 hours after the first finisher has
crossed the line.
The Dipsea is a unique race in many respects; one of them is the involvement of the racers and their families. At most races, the only people waiting around for the awards ceremony are the age group winners, and not even all of them. At the Dipsea, the first finisher is done around 9:30 in the morning, the awards ceremony isn't held until 12:30, and hundreds of people wait around (and picnic) the entire time. This year, there was something different to keep everyone occupied - watching a steady procession of rescue helicopters and ambulances arriving and leaving! I don't know if it was the heat (it was hot but not THAT hot) or a statistical fluke, but at least eight people went to the hospital, including THREE former race winners and TWO former best-time winners! One of the ones carted off was Melody Anne Shultz, who apparently had gone out too hard, staggered near the end, and fell on the final stile 0.3M from the finish and didn't make it to the finish line (she had already been passed by race winner Russ Kiernan, and as she fell she was passed by Shirley Matson as well.
A newcomer to the finish line this year - a steady procession
of
rescue helicopters, ferrying out a series of injured runners.
Eventually Debi and Caspian, who had been off in Bolinas birdwatching, arrived, and we sat down for our own picnic and waited for the awards ceremony. It wasn't looking promising for Jack Kirk, there didn't seem to be anyone left at the finish line and, with all the medical problems, who knew what had happened to him. The awards ceremony started and race announcer Barry Spitz had gone from 35th place (first black shirt) all the way down to 2nd place. Seconds before he was about to announce the winner, suddenly the cry went up - "Jack's coming!" I and hundreds of others quickly ran over to the finish stretch to watch a living legend amble towards his 67th consecutive finish at the Dipsea, spanning a time period since 1930 (the race was not held during several war years). Smiling, shaking hands, high fiving, HE'S THE MAN!
More than 4 hours after he started, Jack arrives at the finish
to a hero's welcome
Jack reaches the finish to notch his 67th consecutive finish,
and then chats with race winner Russ Kiernan (#2)
And so, after we all returned to the stage area to watch Russ Kiernan get his 1st place trophy, it was time to head home. At the start of the day, I had two goals - qualify for next year's Dipsea, and don't injure myself three weeks before Western States. Of course I could have accomplished the second goal by staying home. But then I would have missed a chance to enjoy the Bay Area on a glorious, if not totally victorious, day.
Except for the author's result, another beautiful San Franciso Bay Area day
Steve "The Man on the (wrong side of the) Edge" Patt
in Cupertino, CA, where training (and tapering) for Western States will continue
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