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| The infamous "RSC" - I cannot be held responsible for this man. |
Let me explain that last point. There is a Dipsea trail and it is marked. Most people run that trail during the race and that is the trail that is measured as the "official" race course, but you are allowed (even encouraged?) to deviate from that course at any point and as much as you like to try and win. You make the right move, as the Australians would say, "good on ya, mate!", but you make the wrong move and get lost or extend the course for yourself, too bad. I've never run a race like this before.
...and I probably never will because the original Dipsea is almost impossible to get into unless you live in the area. The only way that they take entries to the race is through the US Postal Service and only after the people who have raced, followed by locals have signed up. The race fills up immediately after it is opened for application. There is a loophole however...
If you are actually stupid enough to say to yourself I am willing to deal with the steps going both up and down and I will run over the two mountains twice, both coming and going, then we have a race for you called the Double Dipsea and you can get in! (There is also a Quad Dipsea, but these people are not human and I will refrain from further comment at this time). Being either fairly stubborn or fairly stupid about my physical capability, combined with my generally naive and hyper-positive attitude about what I am capable of, I signed up. Also, having not a shred of conscience for the well being of my friends, I tried to enlist two of my friends in the race with me.
The first, Thomas Burke, is an ultra runner of some ability. I mean this guy has done the Hard Rock 100! He has got to be good to go... Initially he said "yes", but obviously terrified by the prospect of dealing with both the course and me, upon further reflection, he went out and fractured his ankle. Seeing that I was unwilling to take such a lame excuse as broken bones from a man of his character, he threw his getting married in Italy the following weekend in my face. Frustrated and trapped by my romantic side, I had no choice but to give him a pass on the trip to the Double Dipsea.
I have to pause here and say a huge congratulations to Thomas and Nicole Burke. You are two phenomenal people and both deserve the very best, which you are getting in each other. A lifetime of happiness for both of you!
The second friend, Robert Cleveland (aka: RSC for those who read the comments in this blog) ran cross country in high school. Being in our early 40s keeps him just inside the statue of limitations for this to apply when I press him to join me. If he argued against coming, I would counter that this race is a lot cheaper than buying a Porsche to satisfy a mid-life crisis. He would be trapped by my superior line of thought and would have to come. He made it easy by saying yes before checking the race website. Sucker!
As a close friend for 25 years, the best man at my wedding and as I am Godfather to his daughter Katrina, I felt reasonably comfortable that should something happen to me, Rob would come looking for me. Now looking at the thick vegetation on the mountain as it pushed up into the mist and with Rob alternating his gaze between the mountain and me with a raised eyebrow I am not so sure...
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| Before the start - so naive about the next 3 hours... |
I had a feeling that this would be the case the previous evening in the hotel room when we were coming up with a plan as to when to leave the hotel in San Francisco to get here. I seemed to be arguing that we should leave three days prior to the event just in case something should happen along the 75 minute drive to the start at Stinson Beach. After all, you never know and we definitely can't be late for the race. Robert on the other hand seemed to be arguing that we pull in as our handicapped group was leaving the start line. Knowing that I am training for IM Arizona, he probably assumed that this local race would have the car version of bike handlers: we could dive out of the car at the start line and someone would be there to jump into the rolling car and park it in "transition" for us while we took off down the race course. Needless to say, we found a compromise between us and ended up at the race a little before the first group took off from the start. We were giving the 80 year old contestants about 45 minutes as a head start. The scratch runners would be giving us 4 minutes.
After a brief warm up, we slid into the back of the 40-44 men's pack at the start. The starter advised us that the course was marked "reasonably well" with pink ribbons and then we were off.
After a 40 yard warm up, the course starts up the first mountain. Not knowing what to expect from myself or the course, I convinced Rob that we should start in the back of the pack. We cruised along with Rob behind me as the runners pushed up the trail single file. A quarter mile in, people started to walk the hill, we started to work are way through and I stayed with a skinny guy who seemed like he was going all the way.
Expecting switch backs up the hill, we found steps instead. Irregular is size, the steps varied between 1 step and 3 and were hard to keep a rythm on. Pounding up, at some point Rob pulled ahead of me. I stayed with him until near the top of the first mountain, where he was able to slip around a group of power hikers and I got stuck behind. When I got around the hikers, I was on my own.
Having Nuun and gels with me, I was skipping aid stations and just making it happen for myself. The trail was simply amazing, as I worked my way through the John Muir Woods, I started to feel water dripping on my hat and found the ground wet under my feet. I remember Rob telling me before the race that the climate here was borderline rain forest. I pushed up and into the sunlight.
I had stayed with the trail during the first two major detours, but with the third one, I took it and followed a group of runners that I was trailing. I had no idea where I was going or what the right choices would be along the way. My plan: conservative on the way out, aggressive on the way back.
We crest the first mountain and start working through a rolling section of the trail before dropping off the back side. The pace picks up and I stay with the pack. As we hit the first downhill section I realize that conservative is a relative term.
The trail is very technical, if you are not dealing with these asymmetric steps, it is roots and rocks. If you fall here, bad things are going to happen.
It quickly becomes pandemonium with grown men grunting like Maria Sharapova with the effort of pounding down this hill. Everything is a blur of roots, rocks, low hanging tree limbs and human limbs. People grunting "left", "behind" or just "move". Myself included. The trail has now dropped into a tree-lined shoot where the grade is over 50% and I should be terrified, but I am too busy trying not lose my footing. If I fall here, I will have an extended date with a cast at the very least. In the midst of all the chaos, I hear a voice bellowing up the trail, "HEAD'S UP!". The voice is deep and gravelly, "HEAD'S UP! HEAD'S UP! HEAD'S UP!" I'm picturing some 300lb Hell's Angel coming up the trail, instead I see the race leader on the way back.
Probably 80 lbs and 60 years old, Jamie Rivers is bellowing "HEAD'S UP!" at me as she sprints up this 50% slope. I somehow dance right to get out of her way. Unbelievable! What a woman. (She ended up finishing with a net time of 1:37:18.)
I burst into a clearing and over the foot bridge that crosses the creek right before the Fiesta Aid Station. I churn through and up the second hill. As I start working my way up the hill I take a full shoulder shot from second place runner Don Stewart (who would finish third) on a hairpin in the trail. He doesn't apologize and I don't complain. I end up on a road and take advantage of the hard surface to try and build some momentum. Volunteers yell to stay right.
I finally arrive at the infamous stairs, which is actually a series of several sets of stairs that are all different in composition. Concrete, stone, wood; steep, low rise, irregular; it is all here. I pound down looking for hand rails where I can find them. As I work my way down, I see Rob pounding back up. I yell at him not to let me catch him. I have no idea how far behind I am.
I see an old man doubled over and literally pushing down on his legs with his hands to get up the stairs. He seriously looks like he is going to have a heart attack. It's sobering.
I make the turnaround and check my watch, 1:28. Wow! I have a chance to break 3:00. I head back for the stairs.
The stairs have worried me for awhile. I churn my way up with the sweat running off my cap. I think if the steps had been nonstop, it would have been much worse. Because there were a couple of small breaks in the steps, I was able to catch my breath as I ran and it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. It turned out that the last hill should have been what I worried about.
I push past the stairs and to back to the top, run down suicide (aggression kicks in) and hit the wall on a portion of the trail known as Dynamite. Apparently I am not the only one as I run right into the back of a group of runners reenacting the Bataan Death March. I start to power hike behind them.
As I fight my way up the hill I begin to realize that 3:00 is slipping away. There is just nothing in the tank. The thought of churning past these people on the steep slope is just not happening. I marvel as I recall Jamie Rivers screaming "HEAD'S UP!" as she ran up this shit. Unbelievable.
I struggle with the hill the whole way. I'm done. There is nothing in me beyond a fast walk. Even when the slope lessens, I just can't get there. As I get into the final section of the hill known as Cardiac, I grit my teeth and start to look at jerseys. I shuffle my feet faster. Somewhere on the way up the hill I begin to run again.
I sound like a winded horse as I force myself up the hill to the aid station at the top. As I push through the station, I grab two dixie cups of water and throw them in my face, getting some of it in my mouth as I go. I pound down the hill screaming "ON YOUR LEFT" at a group of hikers (the trail is both popular and open to the public) as I hurtle by. I look at my watch, I can still make my goal of 3:10 if I hustle.
I pull into the back of a group of about six runners and we blast down to the last aid station. Two more cups of water with a little more in my mouth this time. I look forward at the split in the trail here. There is a sign that says "safest" with a arrow pointing to the left. That was the way I came up. I go right with.the group I have been shadowing down the hill.
We shoot down some more trail and end up on a paved road. I am in the back of the group still and cannot overcome the other runners. The first runner suddenly dives into the bushes off the left edge of the road and we all follow. We plow down a trail with bushes that are over six feet high on both sides. I feel like I'm in a car wash and the brushes are scrubbing my doors. After a little bit we burst out onto the road again.
As a car is coming toward us, he suddenly honks his horn and I see him point to out left through the windshield at the forest. The first four runners miss this and the guy in front of me dives left down the hill coming off the road. Is there even a trail there? I mentally shrug and dive in after him, god bless the locals I think...
I yell through the trees at the guy who is in front of me, "do you know where we're going?"
"No."
OK, so no risk no reward. We push through dead fall and plants, but there is a rough trail here and we can run. It feels like we are heading toward the ocean as we push down. At some point we come into some of the irregular steps made from railroad ties and I realize that we are back on the original trail. Thank you friendly motorist!
I blow past several volunteers who are pointing out where to go in the breaks of the trail at this point. I get disoriented a couple of times but hang in there and make it onto the short road to the finish line. I see Rob clapping and start to sprint. Crossing the line I look at my watch and see that I made my goal.
Rob 2:49:05 (2:45:05)
Me 3:08:53 (3:04:53)/13.15 miles (full trail is about 13.7 miles)
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| Shredded but happy after a wade in the Pacific Ocean to cool the legs. |
Well, Jeff made a pretty extensive post, so I guess all I can do is add a little color commentary.
ReplyDeleteThe first thing to note is this was the weekend for San Fran's Gay Pride Festival. So, from the moment we got to the rental car counter at SFO and were asked if we were celebrating an anniversary, to the moment we were at the hotel and the desk clerk looked at me curiously when she found out I rented a room with 2 beds, Jeff and I were treated like a couple everywhere we went. We must have been the least well coiffed and stylish gay couple they had ever seen, but I guess it's nice to know we can be accepted somewhere if our wives toss us out. Although, Jeff did make clear that he was Mr. Eichelberger and I was Mrs. Cleveland. My sense of self is still twisting into a pretzel on that declaration.
After coming to grips with San Fran's alternate universe, we indeed drove to the race early. Mind you, we were only an hour and a half early and that had Jeff freaking out, but we made it in time. When we pulled into the parking lot, it was obvious this was no normal race. I've run races before, but this race is devoid of the usual weight-loss, skinny-jean-seeking types. This parking lot was filled with nothing but lean running animals with deranged gleams in their eyes. If this wasn't California and they weren't all pescatarian, vegetarian pacifists, I'd be afraid of running the race simply because they'd run me down and tear me apart for breakfast. Seriously, this is a mean group of runners.
This includes the 70 year old couple who pulled up next to us, put on their Tea Party garb, and ran to the starting line. Unlike us, they showed up on time, ran, and then left before we did. I guess when your 70 you don't like to fuck around.
I only have one word to add to Jeff's description of the course: 'Ow.' I've been saying it from finish until now. I still hurt 3 days later. There is not a flat spot on this entire course; it was physically the hardest thing I've ever done. This was magnified by the fact I live in an entirely flat place. I bought a satellite watch for the high value information that my average run has 30 feet of elevation in Illinois. We marked Double Dipsea at around 5300 feet of climb.
Oddly enough, I thought I still managed to train pretty well for it. I finished mid-pack in my age group and for the race overall and that's about all I was looking for the 1st time around. I handled the uphills well and did a lot of passing. I got destroyed on the downhills, though. I simply did not have the muscle or the form for it and it's a lot easier to move fast on the downhill than the uphill. If you don't want to be passed by young girls and you live in a flat state, then I highly recommend downhill training if you are going to run the Double Dipsea.
So then I was done. I crossed the line and seriously considered the ambulance tent, then decided I like my hydration through the mouth rather than an IV line. Does fruit ever taste better than after a race? I doubt it. As Jeff mentioned, I did go to the line and cheer when I saw him, but I think his final sprint was more mental than physical. I don't want to take it away from him, but they did play that whole Vangelis song in his last 20 yards.
I highly recommend this as a humbling experience, especially for the road racing types out there. Come with us next year for some humble pie. But like the race literature says, run with ID and a water bottle. The trail's not well marked and the rest of us are too tired to go back and look for you if you get lost.