When I ran my first Dipsea Race in 2009, it quickly became my favorite race. It wouldn’t be terribly inaccurate to say the Dipsea was my favorite race even first I toed the line that first year. For a detailed description of the race & course, it's here recap from 2009 or 2010, but to summarize it:
- is the 2nd oldest foot race in the US behind the Boston Marathon
- covers 7.5 miles from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach, CA climbing and descending over 2000 of elevation, up hundreds of steps, down hundreds of steps, long brutal climbs, steep dangerous descents, and even gives knowledgeable participants opportunities to take shortcuts
- assigns each participant into 1 of 25 starting groups based on their age and gender, so that in theory the overall winner could be any age – a 33 year old runner such as myself starts 1 minute before the “scratch” group of 19-30 year old males, and 24 minutes after the first group to starts (consisting of the youngest and oldest runners)
- instead of awarding age group prizes, hands out 35 black numbered t-shirts to the first 35 runners (out of 1500) to cross the finish line (each having received their assigned handicap at the start) – I won my first black shirt last year by finishing 19th
From my past two races, I had always wondered what it would be like to finish 36th place – to miss the black t-shirts and participating in the award ceremony by one spot. Sure it wouldn’t be anything like the anguish of finishing 4th in the Olympic Trials, or being the last person to not qualify for the NCAA championships in a track race, but has to be disappointing nonetheless. Hmmm… Glad I didn’t think about it too much…
Heading into the race, I was coming off a great season of training, but whether for reasons of over-training, or just peaking too early, I had just seemed to lose the snap in my stride for the month leading up to the race, and was struggling to recover between hard workouts. But to make matters worse, I came down with a cold exactly a week before the race. Lots of sleep, hydration, echinacea , and vitamin C just couldn’t shake it.
Despite the setback, I drove to Mill Valley the morning of the race with a good attitude. My prior goal of finishing in the top 10 would likely be out of reach, but I was extremely confident I could and would finish in the top 35 and win a black shirt. Last year it took a time of approximately 54:30 (from my +1 minute starting group) to crack the shirts – and 54 flat would have won a shirt in each of the past 15 years. Considering I ran 52:40 last year, and all my training indicated better fitness this year, I envisioned taking the race by feel, and if the cold was holding me back, just run a conservative race and shoot for 54 flat. I could do this by running 30 seconds slower up and over the first climb to Muir Woods, 30 seconds slower up the big Cardiac Hill climb, then finally 20 seconds slower on the long decent (mostly) to the finish.
As the gun went off, my legs were feeling heavy before we even hit the steps. This is never a welcoming sign, but from my many many years of racing, I’ve learned that the way my legs feel – good or bad – can be very deceiving early in a race. More important is how I’m breathing, and my lungs told me every was ok so far. Up the first of 671 steps, I let 3 runners in my starting group charge ahead as I just searched for a rhythm that I could survive. At the top of the stairs, when the course continued to climb up, I felt comfortable for the first time. Before we crested, I had moved past quite a few runners who started before me, and caught one of the three guys who were ahead from my starting group. On the first decent, I again just found a rhythm and tried to use my much improved downhill running skills to pass as many runners as I could. “Suicide” – the steepest downhill on the course, was very congested, but I just kept yelling ON YOUR LEFT ON YOUR LEFT COMING THROUGH as loud as I could. A couple of middle aged men really didn’t appreciate my aggressiveness, but since they had the option of taking the safer (and slightly longer) route, I really didn’t care. Although if I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn’t have shouted back at one of the guys – that didn’t help keep me in my mental rhythm.
At the bottom of suicide a weird thing happened. Somehow I had expended too much energy on the downhill as I was suddenly taking fast, deep breaths. This was NOT GOOD considering I had 20 minutes of climbing about to start. I just tried to relax, and again get ready to find a rhythm as I cross through Miur Woods and up the hill.
The base of the Cardiac Hill climb – a footbridge across a creek in Miur Woods – is always my first check point. I clicked my watch in 15:30 which was nearly identical to last year – a big surprise to me – and 30 seconds faster than what was necessary to be guaranteed a black shirt.
As I started up the climb, I knew I needed to run the first - a very steep – section conservatively so that I could be rolling during the less steep latter half. Just as we start climbing my buddies and Pelican Inn teammates, Alex & Gus blow past me from the scratch group en route to them running the two fastest actual times of the day. As I kept pressing up the hill, I knew I wasn’t running fast, but just couldn’t do anything about it. On flatter sections when I tried to pick up the pace at all, I just felt myself red-lining quickly. Two more runners from the scratch group went past me, but I was able to keep one slightly in sight.
The section just before the top of Cardiac Hill is the steepest of the race. I was so tired at this point, it took a serious effort just to keep my legs moving in a running motion. My split for the climb was a very unimpressive 21:40. In my mind I thought at 37 minutes I was still on my black shirt pace, but was really 10 seconds off pace now. To put that split in perspective, I had run the double dipsea course in training a couple of months earlier, running that same climb in less than 21 minutes with Gus while chatting the whole way.
On the gradual downhill that leads to the steep downhill, I was in thicker traffic than last year simply because I was further back in the field. At this point I’m feeling achy & my head was swimming. I kept pressing because I knew there would be some relief ahead as I started downhill, but it was tough to get myself rolling past runners. One guy from the Pelican Inn crew who I passed here later told me that I just didn’t look right considering how slowly I pulled away from him after I passed.
At the top of the swoop – the second of two steep downhills – an observer yelled out “70th!” Oh man, that’s not good, I still have to pass 35 runners! As I caught the first two runners in the swoop I had a hard time getting past – but then I realized I had no time to waste. I started yelling loud as I approached people – LEFT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT – and pretty much dove for whichever side of the trail they were leaning away from. I passed a buddy , Chris Knorzer, there who later posted on my facebook page “When you passed me there I thought you were about to get planted in the bushes, but I got swooped, nice job.” I got back in a rhythm finally passing runners quickly down the swoop, then the steps of steep ravine. I passed last year’s winner, now 9 year old, Reilly Johnson who must have found even worse struggles than me on the course, and offered a quick LET’S GO REILLY. At the bottom of Insult Hill a course worker yelled out 45TH! Ok, 10 runners to pass with just over a mile to go, I can do this. I caught two runners as we pushed up insult – 44th, 43rd. Again the dead legs hit me going up the last hill, but I was going to collapse before I gave up. By the top of the hill I was up to 41st. We hit a short section of Panoramic Highway, passed one runner heading down the road – 40th – and a second just before plunging back on a narrow single track trail – 39th. I squeezed past two more runners, the second was 72 year old Russ Kieran who’s amazing record streak of 15 straight black t-shirts would end this year – 37th. Now feeling much better about sneaking into the stop 35, I’m looking up ahead for the next runner, and no one is there. Finally after what seemed like minutes, I blow past another runner - 36th. Just before we leave the trail for the last time some yells “36th, 35th IS 20 SECONDS AHEAD.” With 1/3 of a mile to go, this was very bad news, but I had no idea who this runner was. If it was someone from the 2 minute headstart group, I had almost no chance of catching him, but if it was someone from the 25 minute headstart group, I would almost certainly catch him/her. Also, they could have grossly misestimated. But no time to think about any of this… only time to kick!
I came onto the road for the last time, and finally saw 35th place WAY up ahead. It seemed impossible, but with a mostly downhill last third of a mile, I just started kicking. The runner disappeared around a bend, then when he came back in sight it still seemed impossible, so I did the only thing I could do – kept kicking. I kept digging deeper and deeper trying to claim every drop out of the well. The runner was now getting within reach, but the finish line was flying toward me even faster. I never gave up until I saw his body cross the finish line, and at that point my momentum took me across the line only 1 second behind him in 36th place. My time was 54:15 - which was 15 seconds off the time I thought would guarantee a black shirt.
When I crossed the line, I heard someone say my name, but I never took my eyes off my adversary – who I learned was 46 year old Thomas Iseler. I extended my hand, told him great job, and that I had given it my all in trying to catch him. Thomas told me it was his first black shirt in several tries, so surely we was experiencing the same thrill I did last year. As he patted my shoulder, I saw a photographer run up and snap a couple shots. Leaving the shoot a reporter from the local Marin IJ newspaper came up to me for some quotes – I guess we weren’t the only two who were aware of the finishing battle.
The paper covers the race extensively and even ran a short column on our battle for the final black t-shirt:
Dipsea: Isener earns final black shirt by holding off storming Gifford
Later this video was posted on youtube. You see Iseler hit the road for the final time 6 minutes into the video. I was 25 seconds back with a third of a mile to go. I made up 24 seconds – tough luck!
The day wasn’t a total bummer by any stretch. Our team for the Dipsea – the Pelican Inn Track Club – which is the fantastic group of both young and old runners that I have trained with the past three years, became the first team to beat the Tamalpa Runners for the team title in 35 years. While I wasn’t one of the top five runners to score, I felt very much a part of it. For many years Tamalpa’s team title was a formality, until the PITC entered as a team last year. In 2010, I was the 5th scoring runner for the squad, but we just missed winning. When they announced us as the winners it sounded like a funeral, except for our cheer, but we enjoyed the celebratory beers!
While last year’s winner was 8 year old Reilly Johnson, this year’s winner came from a Dipsea veteran. 60 year old Jamie Rivers was a prior champion – winning in 2007, and she is married to 2008 winner Roy Rivers. I’ve learned many things about the race, and received great encouragement from both runners. I was very happy to see Jamie win the race this year. Last year she suffered a hamstring injury during the race, but still cheered on other runners as she hobbled to the finish. Jamie’s training had gone flawlessly this Spring, and on raceday no one would catch her.
When I drove home I felt pretty bummed out about finishing one spot out of the awards – how could I not? At one point I started thinking about spots in the race where maybe I could have made up tiny bits of time to put me one place forward. But I quickly stopped myself. I was dealt a crummy hand, and I truly believe I made the most of it. I ran myself into the ground at the finish, and almost came out with something special. Looking back at the first half of 2011, would I do anything that differently? Probably not… Running is a tough sport sometimes. You have days you feel great, and days you don’t. The same extends to weeks, months, even seasons. Finishing 36th really put in perspective how amazing Russ Kiernan’s 30 black t-shirts are. Next year I’ll be back for my 2nd!
