Huge changes at the Dipsea this year. First, an entire half-mile of the course changed to a new trail which replaced the now-obliterated Lone Tree Fire Road, removing a few more course options (a.k.a. shortcuts) for the runners. Second, for the first time, Champion Chips were used, not just at the finish line, but even at the race's high point, Cardiac Hill.
And third, I qualified for automatic entry for the following year for the first time since 2001. WOO-HOO!! Starting as a Dipsea Runner (the second wave of age/sex-based wave starts), you need to finish in the top 750 to qualify for automatic entry (bypassing the complicated first-come first-served, lottery, auction system). Last year I was 752. But this year I made it across the finish line in 731st* place! May not sound like much to you, but it does to me!
The race, as always, was a challenge. My training has been going well. With a heat wave, at least a minor one, hitting Northern California recently, I decided to devote my last training sessions to heat acclimation, getting out in the middle of the day for the hottest possible run. That had the effect of depressing me since I was SO much slower in the heat. It also, as it turned out, was a complete mistake, because as the weekend approached, so did cooler weather, and it was in the low 50's and overcast at the start. Debi dropped me off in Mill Valley and headed off with the dogs to Bolinas Lagoon for a morning of birdwatching, while I went through the usual pre-race preparation.
I watched the initial groups of runners go off at one-minute intervals. Eventual winner 64-year-old Melody-Anne Schultz took off in group two, and set off at a pace I wouldn't be matching when my start came up a half-hour later. Then it was off to do my thing, including actually warming up for the run, a rare occurance for an ultrarunner. One Espresso GU (yum!) and I'm ready to gu, I mean go. My group (57-year-old men, 10-year-old boys, 15-year-old girls, and women aged 41-43, and there were representatives from all of those groups) took off, with me somewhere in the middle (as compared to when I run in the Invitational section, where almost everyone qualified with a faster time than I, meaning that I generally find myself in the back fairly quickly).
Up the stairs and I was trying to push, running more than most and passing quite a few people, periodically shifting to the right and walking (two steps at a time) to back off on the heart rate a bit. Even my two-step walking was carrying me past a lot of people, though. By the time my group hit the second and third sets of stairs, though, the congestion was a bit too hard to fight, at least that's what I told myself as I bided my time walking.
Up the steps!
Note: this and other pictures (except the very next one) are
stolen from the Marin Independent Journal here.
They aren't mine, nor do I appear in any of them!
Done with the steps and up Walsh Drive. It was so cool I wasn't carrying water, as I often do, but the steps always leave me parched, so I was glad for the unofficial water station there just before mile 1. And what came with it but an old friend and Athlete's Diary user Michael Saal, telling me how he just got a Mac and how the Mac version of the Athlete's Diary was getting old. "So am I," I shouted as I ran by. Geez, you try to run a race and you have to do business at the same time!
Yup, this one's me, at the top of Walsh Dr. (photo by Michael Saal)
Through the last block to Windy Gap and I was steadily passing people. Reached Windy Gap, the end of the first climb, at 15:42. I was exactly that, 15:42, in 2004, and 15:26 last year, and in my mind I had memorized 15:30, so I immediately knew that I was tracking the last two years. Although I was hoping for a little better, based on my training, it was still a good thing, because I gained a minute's handicap this year.
Race leader (and winner) Melody-Anne Schultz crosses Windy Gap.
Note the thick fog.
Past Windy Gap we descend some steps and other trail in Hauke Hollow, where I made it past a few more people. Starting in the Invitational section, where a lot of really fast people start not that far behind me, this is where some of the first black shirt winners (top 35) start to pass me, but in the Runner's section, with only first-timers and other non-qualifying previous entrants like myself starting behind me, I'm still doing all the passing, with pretty much no one going by. Then it's onto Panoramic Highway and a chance to really stretch the legs. A slide has closed the right lane so I can't do my usual running the tangents on this stretch, but I have a good run all the way to the entrance to Muir Woods. Down the rocks and steps and I'm by a few more and onto Suicide, the plummet down a steep, dusty hillside, where I manage to sneak by a couple more cautious runners.
Plummeting down Suicide
Down into Muir Woods proper and across Redwood Creek in 23:15, vs. 23:08 in 2004 and 23:25 in 2005. With "23 minutes" in mind, I again felt good, and on track.
Crossing Redwood Creek, looking positively idyllic
On to Dynamite, the steep ascent out of Muir Woods. Some of the young hotshots start to pass me here, and I have to do a fair amount of walking, but I manage a reasonable amount of running too, and get by a few more people. Finally we're out at the top and I decide I've had enough congestion and move out onto the fireroad, slightly longer in this section, but better footing and fewer people to dodge; I can concentrate just on running. Soon I'm back on the trail and heading across the Hogsback on the way to Cardiac Hill.
The day started out cool, and it's still cool, but now that we're on the top (the shoulder, really) of the mountain, we're starting to get SERIOUS fog blowing off the ocean. For most people, this is good, but for those of us with glasses, it's a disaster. My vision gets worse and worse as the run goes on. The footing is good in this section, but I know it's going to be a problem. The moisture is so intense that the Breath-Right, which I had worn in a desperate attempt to get every second's advantge, peels off (I stick it in my pocket; trail runners don't litter!). I push on, feeling fairly strong. Finally we reach Cardiac Hill and with a mixture of walking and running I'm up, managing a good sprint the last few yards to impress the fans. Once again I'm tracking the past two years remarkably well: 54:07, vs. 54:21 and 54:00, a real confidence builder that with one more handicap minute I have a good chance to qualify. One more cup of water and I'm off.
On the new trail section I'm pushing as hard as I can, and nearly go down as I step slightly off the trail to the left to pass a slower runner and my foot catches a root, but I score a "save" and keep going. Then it's another plummet down the Swoop, where once again (this always seems to happen) I find no one in front of me, which is good because this is a very hard place to pass. Then it's into Steep Ravine and now I'm in real trouble. My glasses have so much condensed moisture on them that I can barely see the stairs, and these are not regularly placed stairs! Up above I had tried running with my glasses in my hand for a bit, which I've done in ultras at slower speeds, but at Dipsea speeds, it wasn't really a good idea. Instead I'm forced to slow down as I head down Steep Ravine; fortunately with no one on my tail to go by.
At the bottom I cross the bridge over Webb Creek in 1:07:40, again remarkably on track with my 1:07:28 from 2004 and 1:07:17 from 2005. With "1:07" in mind, and knowing that the new trail section is said to be perhaps 15 seconds longer, I'm still encouraged, and still not tiring. The final hill, Insult Hill, has undergone a remarkable transformation since I ran it last in February on a training run. It was then (and has been in past years) a heavily rutted ascent which required total concentration on foot placement; now it's a nice smooth dirt trail and I can concentrate on running. It seemed to make it much easier to run.
After the Webb Creek bridge, just about to turn right up Insult Hill
Out onto the road for a short section and then into the first "shortcut" section and...disaster. With my vision now approaching non-existent, my foot catches something on the narrow, twisting trail, and down I go, pretty hard on my left side. Three runners go by (asking if I'm ok). Fortunately it wasn't one of those falls where you need to lie still for a bit to regain your composure, and I'm quickly up and back in the hunt. I don't have the nerve to look down to see what I've done to be knees or left arm; there'll be time for that at the finish!
A runner just about to enter the first shortcut, about 20 yards
or so from where I fell, showing the thick fog that lead to my (literal) downfall
This is what it looked like from the runner's (my) point of view.
Murky doesn't begin to describe it!
Out of the first shortcut, onto the road, into the second shortcut. With vision still impaired I nearly lose balance once as I can't place my feet quite as carefully as I should, but I stay up. I have a brief scare when I reach the creek, which requires stepping on a rock in the middle to make it across. Fortunately I've done this dozens of times, because with my vision I might well have missed and gone in. But my course knowledge is well-honed, and I'm over the creek and pressing on to the finish. Down the final steps and even by another couple of people (younger boys and older men), and finally over the final stile and onto the road for the sprint to the finish. Down Rt. 1, left on another road, and then I'm sprinting for all I'm worth, arms pumping. There's no way I'm going to finish one or two places out of the money this year! Despite my efforts, one guy does pass me 30 yards from the finish. What can I say, his all out was faster than my all out. But then I'm across the finish line, and I look down and see 1:20:04, right in the middle of 2004's 1:20:21 and 2005's 1:19:47, and not bad considering I lost 10 or so seconds to the fall, another 10 or 15 to a longer trail, and probably another 10 or 15 to having to go slower down Steep Ravine with my fogged-up glasses. Fortunately the latter had never happened to me in all the years I've been doing the race.
So Dipsea #12 was in the books! But I wasn't done. This year I decided to do something I've never done before - hit the ocean! I walked through the crowd, getting quite a few stares at my blood knees (really not that bad), went into the bathroom, changed into my surf jams, and headed out. Folks, if you want to cool down your legs after a race, this is the way to do it! That Northern California ocean is c-c-c-c-cold, but I managed to stay in for a couple minutes and even get submerged up to my neck, cooling down my legs and washing off the blood and dirt at the same time. Lovely. That's definitely going to become a new tradition.
Eventually Debi turned up, and we staked out our place for the awards ceremony. I ran (yes, ran) back to the car to get the chairs; I don't do well sitting on the ground), and then we settled in with out picnic lunches. I've said this before, but it's always amazing. At what other race do 75% of the racers, PLUS their families, stay around waiting for the awards ceremony? It's really a huge family, with a great tradition. The introduction of the past champions, the presentation of various awards, and then finally the awarding of the 35 black shirts, as a collection of old and young, men and women, but amazing runners all, take their places in front of the crowd, donning their numbered shirts as they do.
Just as we're leaving, I remember the last thing - the results! I quickly find the sheet where #750 is listed and, hopefully, start scanning upwards. And there I am, #731*. I did it! An official, non-engraved but as good as gold, invitation to the 2007 Dipsea will arrive in my mail sometime next year. Woo-hoo! Dipsea #13, here I come!
slp, the Dipmeister
in overcast Cupertino, CA, with cuts on my knees and left arm and a smile on my face
* In the official results, I've actually moved up a few places to 727 (122nd in the Dipsea runner section). As an indication of how tricky this qualification business is, runners in the Invitational section have to finish in the top 450 to qualify for an automatic entry the following year. If I had started this year in the Invitational section, and run the same time I did, I would have finished in 479th place and failed to qualify. But next year, I gain another handicap minute, which, all things being equal (all things being my time and the time of all the other runners), would put me up into 448th place next year. I don't call myself the "Man on the Edge" for nothing!
Postscript: Sometime after posting this, I got a call out of the blue from someone who had started in my age group, finished a minute or so ahead of me, and who I just happened to chat with after the race I was about to go into the ocean. This man was from Washington and had not only never run the race before but had never even seen the course before. It takes guts to do this race blind! It turns out he learned a bit about running the race after Googling up my race reports online, which is why he called me (and why he had actually read this report after the race as well). Anyway, that call reminded me that there are people, quite a few, who read my reports to learn about these races, so I'm going to add the following, which I've written before, but which bears repeating:
Dipsea race strategy At the bottom of this page is a quote from 7-time Dipsea winner Sal Vasquez: "In the Dipsea you just go and go and go." This is not just some catchy slogan. It is the thing that must be understood about racing the Dipsea. Because the thing about the Dipsea is that, unlike a normal (non-handicap) race, in the Dipsea you are racing every other person in the race. In this particular race, I wrote about being passed 30 yards from the finish. But I didn't lose to that person in the finishing chute. After all, I was going as fast as I could possibly go at that point, and this was a much younger (age 39) and faster (actual time eight minutes faster than mine) person who simply had the ability to outsprint me. Nothing I could do about that. No, where I actually lost to him was back in the first shortcut when I fell and lost 10 or 15 seconds, at a time when he might have been several hundred yards behind me and I didn't even know he was in the race. But even though I fell, I still only lost to this person by one second, so the real place I lost to him it might have been anyplace else on the course, where I slacked off for just a few seconds. It might have even been back on the stairs, before that person had even started! If only I had kept running for just a few more stairs, pushing myself just a little harder before I took a walking break, I could have saved two seconds and finished one place ahead. So the moral of this tale is that the Dipsea is unique because, especially if you are racing for a qualifying place or a black shirt, you have to push the entire way. You can never slack off, even for one second, because if you do, someone who started eight minutes behind you but who is eight minutes or so faster than you, someone you never saw the entire race, is going to pass you in the chute. And there are a lot of those people. There are people who started three minutes behind you who are three minutes faster, and four minutes behind you who are four minutes faster, and so on. Not to mention people who started one minute or two minutes or whatever in front of you, and who you are in turn one or two or that many minutes faster than. If you slack off the slightest bit, anywhere on the course, the people who started behind you will catch you, and you in turn will not catch the people who started in front of you. If, on the other hand, you push yourself just a little bit harder, again anywhere on the course, you will catch some of those people who started ahead of you, and prevent some of the people who started behind you from catching you. "In the Dipsea you just go and go and go," racing against people who you may never see until that last, fateful moment in the chute when they pass you, and you go from 35th to 36th, or 450th to 451st, or 750th to 751st. Never let up! |
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