The Dipsea

The Dipsea

After every 24 or so of Angela’s posts, I add my token contribution to the blog. Mostly I just blog about my running, because other than hanging with Ang and Annmarie on weekends (which Angela definitely has covered in the rest of the posts) or telling stories about work (which would just be really really lame), running is pretty much all I do these days.

Sunday marked my first time running the Dipsea Race. The Dipsea is the oldest cross country race in the United States, and second oldest race after the Boston Marathon. The first race was held in 1905 and this year marked the 99th running (a few years were skipped during the Depression and WWII). After spending the past 3 years focusing on training for marathons, at first I had wondered what would be the big challenge of running a mere 7.4 miles. Big deal, right? But it is the highlight of the running calendar for just about everyone in my running club, Tamalpa, as well as many of the friends I run with at work. I just didn’t get it, but the fascination drove me to entering the race this year. I had to see what this is about.

The 7.4 mile course starts in Mill Valley and ends at the Pacific in Stinson Beach. Between those two points, you’re either running up a mountain, or running down it. There’s not much else in between….just up and down…and up again, and down again.

Now there are many unique things about this race. First of all, you just don’t enter the race. The field is limited to 1500 runners and is geared to give local Marin County runners an advantage to getting in. There are two ways to get in. You basically either need to be one of the top 750 finishers in the prior year’s race, which guarantees entry, or else get your application in through the mail, first come, first serve. No online entries are accepted…you print out the entry form and send through the snail mail the good ol’ fashioned way. There are a few things you can do to improve your odds of getting selected, like send in extra bribe money, or write a sob story, both of which can work to grease the race officials. I promptly sent in my application as well as resorted to the bribe tactics. Not sure which one worked, but one of them did, and I was selected.

The other unique thing about this race is it is pure trail running, without the frills of your local 10k race. No mile markers. No one yelling mile splits. No hordes of purple Team in Training runners. One water stop at the peak of the course, but only after climbing a total of about 2000 feet. And the only thing that matters for most of us is finishing in that top 750 to qualify for next year. The objective is running in its purest form: run faster than the human beings in front of you. Pass as many as you can, and don’t let them catch you. Screw your mile splits….you’re either top 750, or just everyone else. I have heard stories that experienced Dipsea runners do not hesitate barreling over old men and elbowing 9 year old girls out of the way to move up. In other words, this race is fuckin’ bad ass.

The Rules

This is a pretty complicated race to understand. After studying it for weeks I’m not sure I even fully understand it yet. Runners are given head starts ahead of the rest of the field based on age, gender and whether they qualified the previous year. For instance, the first people allowed to start the race are men 6 and under and 74 and older, and women 8 and under and 66 and over (yes, you read that correctly), both of which had to have qualified the year before. Then every one minute, the next age group goes, until the last group finally starts 52 minutes after the first ones. Very strange race indeed. If you’re old and fast, you’re money. If you’re really young and fast, (as in like 13 and younger), then you’re money. If you’re mid-30’s, run a lot and “think” you’re fast (ah-hem), then you’ve got a shitload of people ahead of you to pass. Go to http://www.dipsea.org/ if you really want to know more about the rules.

The Training

While running pretty consistently all year long, the past 6 weeks I’ve dedicated exclusively to my Dipsea Training. Lots of hill training and track workouts, highlighted by a weekly early-Friday morning run over the first 4.3 miles of the course, and then back down to the start. Along with my runner friends from work, we did this trek about 4 times, and then I ran the second half of the course once by myself last week. In addition, I’ve put in quite a bit of mental preparation. Probably more than I have done for any other race. One reason this is required is due to the various strategies you can follow to get you over the grueling first 4.3 miles of the course, which feels almost exclusively uphill. But also because while the course is point-to-point, it is all on trails, and there are many hidden shortcuts you can follow along those trails that can cut significant amounts of time off your race. These are all fair game on race day (with a few exceptions), so it’s not just who is the faster runner who wins, but has to be the one who employs the best strategies and shortcuts combined with speed and the luck of how many head start minutes are allowed ultimately helps determine who wins.

Race Day

This being my first year in the race, I will reiterate that top 750 is the only goal I have a prayer to achieve. Since I was group Z in the Open Runners division of the race… I got a whole 1 minute head start. WHOO HOO! This means I am starting from almost the very back of the race, and need to pass just about the ENTIRE FUCKING RACE to break into the top 750. Well not the entire race, but the announcer said at least 400 people. On hilly, dusty, single track trail packed with people. Did I mention there were hills?

Sunday morning was perfect racing weather, low 60’s and clear. The race started in downtown Mill Valley, where after watching 51 other groups of runners start ahead of me, I finally heard the whistle, and was off sprinting down Throckmorton Ave. The first .3 miles are fast and flat, that is until I encountered…THE DIPSEA STEPS (DUH, DUH, DUH!!). 676 stairs over 3 flights climbing up the side of Mt. Tam….about the equivalent of a 50 story building. I slowly made it about half way up the first flight of 300 steps before the people started backing up and most everyone had to resort to “power-climbing”, otherwise known as walking. This was fine with me, as I knew once I hit the top of the third flight, there was another good .75 mile of climbing before the first downhill arrived.

I hit the top of the steps in 8:30, almost a minute ahead of my training runs. This was good, because I was not dead from running the entire steps. Walking a bit had allowed me to preserve a little energy, so I spent the next stretch of uphill trying to pass as many people as possible before hitting the downhill. During this stretch, I hit the “One Mile Tree” at 11:33, now 90 seconds ahead of training pace, and shortly after that I hit the top of the first peak, Windy Gap. From there I descended down a short, steep trail leading to a paved road, which I then hammered for the next half mile, before taking a sharp left back onto the trail and arrived at the junction of the course known as “Suicide Hill”. This is where the first major decision comes into play. You can play it safe by going right around a well groomed trail that is not too steep, but a bit longer in distance. Or you can take the left fork and run Suicide, a short but very step, treacherous, dusty and not at all well-cleared section of the course, I had tried both during my training runs, and figured Suicide cut off about 7 to 10 seconds, so I figured what the hell…how bad can a broken leg hurt, right? From the second I turned onto Suicide, I immediately inhaled a dust cloud left behind from the many shuffling runners in front of me. I was able to hold my own going down, albeit pretty slowly, and rejoined the main course right as it leads into Muir Woods. Suicide turned out to be a good call. I am now about 2.1 miles and 21 minutes into the race. I am at least 2 minutes ahead of my goal pace and think I have already passed a good deal of people while not getting passed too much myself. A good sign.

I crossed Redwood Creek and began the trek through Muir Woods. This is one of the more beautiful parts of the course, which is great because the next 2.2 miles would be pure hell. I’m glad I got to enjoy the scenery on my training runs, because there was no fun to be had here. This is one long climb up the mountain, followed by sweat, dirt, stalled runners, stumbling runners, and more mountain. The first quarter mile is called Dynamite, a very steep, very narrow path up a lush green forested section of the woods, with lots of roots, rocks, tough terrain, and not much room to pass. Almost immediately as I started ascending the hill, the race got jammed up again by the walkers. I pushed my around to the left as best as possible, but many areas I was better off just resisting the urge to pass and sitting back to conserve more energy. So I thought. This was also part of my strategy. I figured there would be steep parts of Dynamite where I would walk, and more gradual parts where I would run again. Unfortunately, I think I sat back and was not as aggressive as I should have been pushing past the crowd here. Over the next 2 miles I tried to run as much as possible, walking when the trail got jammed or when the burn in my quads was just too great. This is where my strategy started to break down a little. There are certain parts of this section, known as Hogsback, that continue climbing uphill, but much more gradually than other sections. I had planned to run these gradual sections hard, and pass a lot of runners. While I passed some, I certainly was not running this section as hard as I had hoped. My brain was telling my legs to go, while my legs responded back by giving my brain a big middle finger. The trail continued weaving in and out of Muir Woods, passing packs of runners in clumps here and there. This is where I started racing against this one guy in red basketball shorts. I’d pass him on sections, then he’d pass me back on others, and this would continue throughout the remainder of the race. I try to keep him in sight and not let him get too far ahead of me.

The long climb culminates with Cardiac Hill, a final steep 300 yard ascent to the peak of the course. I try to run up as much of this as possible, but my legs are toast. I reach the top in 48:54, still about 2 minutes ahead of my fastest training time. I quickly pound a cup of water, and start the gradual descent over the next 3 miles. I am trying to push here, but feel like I am barely moving. Finally after about another quarter mile, I am able to start unwinding my stride a bit, and start taking out some runners. At this point I glance over to my left and realize the vast Pacific before me…I’d been running at least 2 or 3 minutes along the side of the mountain before I even bothered to notice this. The course becomes a big blur, and I can only concentrate on my footing as I start pounding harder down the trail, and the next runners to pass in front of me.

A little further in, I arrive at the second big shortcut in the race, known as “The Swoop”. This is a steep dusty downhill similar to Suicide, only longer. I start heading down when all of a sudden, I see a woman about 25 feet in front of me stumble off the left of the trail and WHAM, right into a low hanging tree. A huge cloud of dust rises up, and she surprisingly pushes herself off, stumbles back onto the trail, takes about 5 steps, and then WHAM, bails again, this time taking at least 2 head over heels tumbles down the Swoop, landing hard on the right side of the trail and creating an ever bigger dust cloud. I catch up to her right as she stands up, and she’s a mess. Caked from head to toe with dirt, but I don’t stop to find out much more, and sling past her. She looked pretty dazed as I pass, and I hear the guys behind me yelling at her “SLOW DOWN”, so hopefully she avoids another tumble. Down the Swoop and a ton of steps through the heavily forested section of Steep Ravine, I cross another footbridge and race up the last short but steep “Insult” hill. Feeling pretty good, I know that in about another 8 minutes I’ll hit the finish line, so I start giving everything I have, focusing on taking out runners one by one. I pass the guy in the red shorts again here as we race down a stretch of paved downhill. I think I’m running this about as fast as any downhill I’ve ever run. So it seems at least.

Finally, the end is near. The trail hits Highway 1 in Stinson, and from here it is a little more than a quarter mile to the finish. As we make the left down to the last 200 meters or so, the guy in red shorts passes me again…pretty fast this time, and surges toward the finish line. Fuck if I am going to let this guy beat me. I surge back, and the finish line is in sight. I am passing others in the process, but am only focused on taking this dude out. After all, he could be runner #750. He starts slowing down and as I catch back up to him, he responds with another full out sprint. There’s probably 50 meters left here, and we’re neck and neck now. Then all I remember is hearing the crowd at the finish line go “OOOOHHHHHHHHH”, and then he drops out of my peripheral view. BOOM SHA-LAKA! I cross the finish line ahead of him, figuring he must have gone down or something. Aw yeah, I broke him! Well he crosses about 4 seconds behind me, and after we both catch our breath, I go over to shake his hand and asked him what happened. He had taken his shirt off during the race, and was fumbling around with it looking for his number to show it as he crossed the finish line. As I surged past him, he dropped his shirt in the process of trying to keep up, and stopped for a second to pick it up. That was all I needed to break him. Kind of a bonehead thing to do in the last stretch of the race. Kind of reminds me of the first (and only) cross country race I ever won in high school at Newhall Park, when the guy who was leading me by about 10 steps took a wrong turn in the last quarter mile of the race, allowing me to pass him en route to victory on my home course. Also a bonehead move, but just like this one, I’ll take it.

The race is over! I feel like I did well, finishing in 1:11:41, about 2 minutes faster than I thought I’d be able to do. I see most of my friends at the finish line, all also finishing around 1:11 or so, but all ahead of me due to their head starts. We all figure we ran well enough to break the top 750, but don’t know yet. It will take a while for the results to post.

The Aftermath

I find Angela and Annmarie after the race, where I find out apparently Annmarie did not enjoy the twisty drive along the coast to the beach, and got car sick all over herself. Twice. Luckily we had a couple changes of clothes, but the car doesn’t smell too bueno. We head over to the beach, and I take a waist deep dip in the sea to wash the remnants of the race off. I probably get in the frigid Northern California Pacific once every 3 years or so, and this one was well worth it. After some milling around, a much needed BBQ lunch (complements of Michael and Family…thanks guys) and watching the awards ceremony, we head out. A great day and a great race. Or so I thought…
The After-Aftermath

Around 7pm that night, the race results are finally posted online. 755. What? 755. YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!! Yup. 5 places…and FIVE SECONDS out of the glory. I ran the last half of the race as fast as I possibly could have. I screwed up on that middle climb through Muir Woods. I was too passive and allowed myself to walk in sections where I really should have been pushing past other runners. Allowing myself to walk much of the way up Cardiac would come back to haunt me. I didn’t show the Dipsea the respect she deserved, and she responded with a swift bitch slap to remind me whose boss. Point taken, and now I know. It’s going to take more smarts and more guts to succeed next year. On that note, I already can’t wait until next year.