...is a myth. Well, not that luck has much to do with the Dipsea, or racing in general for that matter. Either you've got it or you don't. On June 10, 2007, the day of the 97th running of the Dipsea footrace from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach, I didn't.
With various physical problems in the last year, most notably a herniated disc in my lower back (treated with a couple epidural cortisone shots), my training volume was definitely down. Miraculously, on the strength of a good base and a lot of heart, I managed a decent race at the American River 50 in April, but I hadn't managed to fit in any speed work whatsoever. Five days before last year's Dipsea was the last time my feet had touched a track, and no matter how much hill work I do (for all intents and purposes, 100% of my training), it's not enough.
Last year had been quite cool and very foggy, and from weather reports I was expecting much of the same. Driving through San Francisco on the way to the race, visibility was as little as half a block, which strengthened that feeling. It did clear a bit north of the Golden Gate bridge, but I could see fog hanging on the hills to my left. Alas, by the time I would get there, it would all be gone, and the day proved to be a hot one.
The routine was much the same as normal - pick up the number, lace the chip to my shoe (with the very last plastic tie - not very good planning by the committee, since I was far from the last person to pick up my number), pin the number on, sit for a while, check my bag, watch the first few groups go off, warm up, pop an Espresso GU, and head for the "slash corral" where your number is marked to prove you were at the start. There was one notable thing this year which brought tears to my eyes - my idol, Jack Kirk, finisher of the Dipsea Race in 67 consecutive years until the age of 96, (a truly astonishing record), died during the past year, and this would be the first Dipsea he wasn't attending, either as a runner or, in the last three years, as a spectator, since 1929!!!
This year, as hadn't been the case since 2002, I was starting in the Invitational Section, on the basis of having qualified with last year's finish. That has a certain "prestige" value, and if you're a good runner starting in the Invitational Section is the only way you can win or win a black shirt given to the top 35 finishers, but for me, it has a huge drawback too. Because I qualified last year just under the cutoff (as I always do on the occasions when I do manage a great race and qualify), that means that virtually every single one of the 750 people in the Invitational Section is faster than I (or at least was, a year ago). With maybe 50 or so starting in older age groups in front of me, this means that during the race I'm going to be passed by as many as 700 people! Believe it or not, despite the narrowness of the trail in most places, that's not a physical problem, people do manage it in a civilized manner. But it is a mental problem. You have to be prepared to deal with that, and I'm afraid to say that this year I wasn't.
There's an old saying about time passing you by, and in this race, for me, it wasn't a figurative expression, but quite literal. The Dipsea Race, and hundreds of its participants, were passing me by, and it was a bit depressing.
Right from the start, it was bad. I was in a reasonably large group (58-59 year-old men, and women ages 13-14 and 44), and before two blocks were out as we ran up Throckmorton Street towards Old Mill Park and the stairs I was dead last, and not even in contact with the rest of the group. Speedwork. Got to do more of it. Once I reached the stairs, though, the other runners weren't my problem. I was. Well, me and the heat. Going up the stairs it was getting hotter, not cooler. A few years ago, when I was younger and stronger, I could run up the stairs, but being further back at the start, I'd have to do so yelling "Left, left, left" the entire time to clear the path in front of me. This year, I had all the clear stairs I needed. I just couldn't take advantage of them. Half the time I couldn't even muster the energy to walk them two at a time, which is my usual alternative to running them.
It was an inauspicious start.
At the top of the third set of steps I'm passed by Liz Fagan, the first and only top finisher (she'll finish 6th) that I notice pass me. It's 10 or 11 minutes into the race, and she's already made up 3 minutes on me. Then it's onto the steep road climb of Walsh Drive, which I was able to run. Thinking it was going to be a cool day, I wasn't carrying water, so I grabbed a water from the informal water stop there set up by neighborhood people, and who do I see off to the side but my old high school debating partner, David Kalish. David has lived on Walsh Drive for many years now, but in all the years running the race and practice runs, I've never seen him. I shout his name, he looks a bit quizzical (out of context and all that), so I shout out my name, but that's all the chit-chat I've got time for. I've got a race to run (if only)!
Up to Windy Gap and a glance at the watch confirms what I already know qualitatively, if not quantitatively - it's 16:32, 50 full seconds behind last year's pace. I gain a minute handicap this year over last, but if you've lost 50 seconds by this point, that's pretty much all she wrote. But there's no option but to press on. Down through Hauke Hollow, down the road to the mailboxes and start the descent into Muir Woods. Here I'm about to pull a new trick out of my bag. The standard Dipsea shortcut at this point is called Suicide, which plunges straight down a dusty hillside almost to the bottom of Muir Woods. But doing some training runs a couple weeks ago, I started to think about this. It is a shorter route, no doubt about it, but most of us normal people basically "run" down it on our heels, braking the whole way. The actual trail curves around to the right, and it's longer, but after some initial stairs it's a nice smooth dirt path on which you can run flat out. It seemed to me, and a timing test confirmed this, that while a kamikazee runner could easily run faster down Suicide, a more typical runner might do better sticking to the trail. For me, it was only a few seconds shorter, but that was on a training day with no one else on Suicide. With other runners in the way (or if you fall going down it), the difference could be even more.
So...when it came to the split, the entire field went left down Suicide, and I stayed on the trail, having it literally all to myself except for one limping runner who I scoot by. I believe I ended up in front of the people I had been behind, but I can't be sure of that. In any case, my descent from Windy Gap to Muir Woods was 7:33, exactly what it was last year. If nothing else, that certainly proves that particular shortcut isn't really shorter, for me, anyway.
Across Redwood Creek and I'm getting ready to start up Dynamite, the steep climb out of Muir Woods, and wham! I find myself on the ground, having tripped over what must have been one of the least significant tree roots or other obstacles on the course. I'm up in a couple seconds, my left arm and leg covered in dirt (the better to protect against poison oak, I tell several people who ask me if I'm ok), but I have had a bit of the wind knocked out of my sails, as if I had much there to begin with. Up Dynamite I can barely muster any running at all, which is definitely sub-par for me. At the top of the steep climb it gets a bit easier, and I start to pick it up a bit, even passing one or two people, but it continues to be tough going. Out of the woods and briefly onto the fireroad, I approach another decision point, and another change from all twelve of my previous races. The single-track Dipsea Trail branches off to the left, and the fireroad goes right, seemingly in the wrong direction, at least for a dozen feet or so. But then it bends around and essentially parallels the trail. I've always run the trail, but timing tests suggested I could pick up as much as 15 seconds, which is a lot, by staying on the fireroad, which doesn't have as many twists and turns (albeit small ones) as the trail). I had seen others doing this, but this time, now that I'm doing it as well, I see that probably 50% of the runners take this route. So obviously a lot of people think this is the wise choice.
Anyway, eventually they join together again on the fireroad briefly, until the trail takes off once more, this time to the right, and now it's just push as hard as possible, which isn't all that hard, until the last climb to Cardiac, where once again I find myself walking the whole thing, a section I'm usually able to run at least half of. Not my day. At Cardiac, my watch reads 58:45, vs. 54:07, 54:00, and 54:21 the last three years. Again, unfortunately confirmation of what I already knew without knowing the numbers - I won't be requalifying today, not by a long shot. Nothing much to do but press on, but certainly without quite the urgency if my watch had read 55 minutes or better and with it the thought of possibly qualifying.
From Cardiac I push across the flat section and then down into the Swoop, running strongly. I still have one more new variant up my sleeve to try. Halfway down the Swoop, the trail rises almost to where it meets the official trail. Now the top part of the Dipsea Trail in this section, known to Dipsea runners as the "Gail Scott" trail and officially as the "Ranger's Dipsea," not only switchbacks and takes a much longer route, but is also filled with rocks and roots. The upper Swoop is much shorter and faster. But in my training runs, the lower Swoop had been severely overgrown and quite tricky to run, including a dangerous (in the sense of ankle-twisting) several-foot jump down onto the real trail at the end. The official trail, though, is only the slightest bit longer, but it's a smooth, root-free trail. Once again, timing tests in the absence of other runners showed only a few seconds' gain, but with other runners in the way (or, again, should one fall), the gain could be even more. So once again, with the entire field going left into the lower Swoop, I cut across the grass back to the main trail, and "swoop" down, gaining (I think) one or two places. Not that it matters at this point, but it's fun to finally be doing some experimenting after all these years.
In Steep Ravine I manage to squeeze by a couple more runners, thanks to trail familiarity, but more interestingly I pass I think two runners down and being attended to, to add to one more I saw in the Swoop, and another just before Cardiac, and another one or two I'll see lower down. It was a bad day for injuries, a mix (I believe) of normal twisted ankles and heat exhaustion issues.
At Webb Creek my time shows (subsequently) that I've descended from Cardiac in 14:09, compared to 13:33 last year. My energy level is fine, but I just don't have the mental stimulus to push myself as hard, and it shows. Across Webb Creek and then it's up Insult Hill. The new improved trail makes it easier to run, but I can only manage the first half before switching to walking. Again, a little less motivation doesn't help. Out on the road, down to the first shortcut. What a difference from last year, when by this time there was so much condensation on my glasses I could barely see. Today it's clear and hot, and I have the advantage of both remembering exactly which root I tripped on last year and having taken careful note of it on a training run a few weeks ago (it's a quite prominent one jutting out from the left right near the beginning of the shortcut). Not gonna' make that mistake again! Pretty soon it's back on the road, back into the second shortcut, and then into the woods for the final push. There are a lot of tricky roots, steps, and rocks here, and course familiarity is definitely helpful. At one point, as I nimbly skip through one section, a spectator off to the side shouts "Nice footwork!" and I shout back "thanks!" and push on. Hey, I may be slow, but at least I'm doing something right!
Through the last grassy section, over the stile, onto the road, run hard (but not as hard as I could) down the road, and finally start my all-out arms pumping sprint in the final straightaway, passing one last runner and staving off being passed by another one I can hear coming up fast. Just in case I miscalculated and I really am about to finish 450th! Not really, it was just a bit of pride, nothing more. Every place counts!
And, as I find out later, it was very much as I expected. 546th place, 1:26:13 on my watch, 1:26:11 chip time, 4:45 out of the magic 450th place required for qualifying. Not close, and no cigar. And no automatic entry for next year.
Immediately after I finish I run into Brad Smith, who had passed me somewhere before Windy Gap, having started 3 minutes behind me. It's been Brad's long-time goal to finish in the top 100, but he's never quite made it. This year - 61st! Wow! Then I'm off to wash off the dirt and poison oak oil with my new "Tecnu Extreme" (nice because it's a gel, not a liquid), which hopefully, combined with another new product "Ivy-Dry" (a combination 25 SPF sunscreen and ivy block) which I had applied before the race, will keep me poison oak free. My plan is to repeat last year's ocean dip, so off I go, but the tide is so low it takes forever just to get in up to my waist and by then my ankles are screaming in pain from the cold. So I call it quits there and head back in to shower, change, eat my (energy bar) lunch and await the awards ceremony.
After the awards, I usually ride home with Debi, but she had another engagement this year and didn't come, so this year I jump on the bus to get back to my car in Mill Valley. On the bus back, I had some of the more interesting encounters of the day. First, somewhat amusingly, the guy I sit next to looks at me and says, "Did you run the race?" Hey, I like to get clean and put on fresh clothes, what can I say? A little later, a woman across the aisle says, "Hey, is your name Steve? Pratt?" "Patt," I say, who are you? Well, it turns out that, like a lot of other people this is someone who has read my previous Dipsea reports and enjoyed them. She (Cathy Plantenga) actually found them because she used to work at Caltech (and still lives in Pasadena), and my reports are posted at alumni.caltech.edu. She tells everyone what a great writer I am, and how I write like an English major, not like a scientist! Hey, I resemble that remark! Anyway, it's always nice to be appreciated. After all this, the guy seated next to her tells me he's been using The Athlete's Diary software for 13 years! Gee, see what I miss by not riding the bus?
Now if only I could find the secret to running faster. I think I might start with actually running faster (i.e., speedwork). Unfortunately, next year I expect to be racing the Western States 100 two weeks after the Dipsea, which more or less makes it impossible to optimize my training for the Dipsea. Ah well, la lucha continua!
slp, the Dipmeister
in Cupertino, CA
For further reading on the Dipsea (aside from the other reports on my race page, of course), may I recommend:
- The Marin Independent Journal Dipsea page, with many interesting Dipsea articles
- An audio-visual slideshow put together by the Marin IJ, about the 2007 Dipsea
Return to Steve Patt's Race Page
Return to Steve Patt's Home Page
Email any comments to stevenpatt at hotmail dot you-know-what