"Oh, you're fast enough...you just didn't want it enough."
Such was the feedback given to me by a 24-time Dipsea runner at the finish line, soon after I gasped to a personally disappointing 126th place (1:00:51). This was just after he scolded me (loudly) for NOT pushing him to the side when careening down the crooked stairs of Steep Ravine, an act that would be considered an assault charge on any other day of the year. But on Dipsea day, you have to give everything for every place, and my new friend was correctly pointing out that I had not. This was a day of lessons learned.
I had high hopes for the 107th running of this 7.2 mile classic cross country race, even though it was only my second time running it. Last year I was in the "runner" section, and had finished fast enough to get an "invitational" entry this year where I assumed the pace would be faster. I was old enough to get a six minute head start (the race is handicapped by age), so if I just took a few minutes off my raw time from the previous year, I had a shot at one of the coveted "black shirts" given to the top 35 finishers. My fitness was good (more tuned for marathons or longer, but still) and the weather was perfect...it felt like the stars were aligning.
(I'm coming for you!!!)
My inspiration was on full stoke as well. I started running the Dipsea in honor of my great uncle, Ray Morris, whom on his death bed two years ago made me promise I would honor his 17 finishes and 3 black shirts by "giving it a go" (thus gifting me the right "sob story" to actually be accepted to run the race). I had a fancy new Rabbit singlet covered with inspiring women ultrarunners that was worth at least a 45-second boost, and the brand new inov-8 TRAILROC 285 shoes that had quickly become my favorite downhill running shoe. One of my running heroes, Amby Burfoot (winner of the 1968 Boston Marathon and editor of Runner's World), was going to be running along with us, and a one week sit-on-a-boat-and-drink-beer vacation was lined up the day after the finish. What more could I need?!?
(Hanging with Amby Burfoot!)
(My Uncle Ray, running the Bay to Breakers with my Dad in the early 70's)
(Time to do this!)
(The famous Dipsea stairs, photo courtesy of marinij.com)
(If you've got road, PASS!!! Photo courtesy of marinij.com)
(77-year-old Hans Schmidt en route to 35th place, photo courtesy of marinij.com)
Well, as it turns out, I needed more race experience, ferocity, and training specificity. Here are a few things I figured out:
For a fast runner, the "invitational" section is actually more crowded than the "runner" section. Last year as a "runner", I was able to enjoy a few miles by myself in the second half, but it was butts 2-3 wide the whole way this year.
Unlike the "runners", most "invitational" runners don't step aside for faster runners, even if you ask. I got caught up behind 10-year-olds on Suicide, and 70-year-olds on the Swoop, and easily lost four minutes waiting for places to pass. The runners who got by them (and me) didn't wait at all, even if it meant a few elbows and some bushwhacking in the poison oak.
It's not enough to be familiar with the Dipsea Trail, you need to know it cold. Particularly the left eight inches of the Dipsea Trail where you will be passing people.
The climbs are everything. In comparing my splits with black shirt finishers, they were taking the steeper climbs like Dynamite and Cardiac 1-3 minutes faster than me. That means they were full red line and had the leg cannons to back it up.
There really are some undocumented shortcuts out there. I kept seeing the same runners popping up in front of me like a glitch in The Matrix. Time to train with some locals!
You get your "old person" extra minutes because you need them. Even Galen Burrell, a many-time Dipsea top finisher (5th here today) commented "I thought with one extra minute I was going to crush it...turns out I needed every one of those 60 seconds to hold the same place I got last year".
You have to pass while running down stairs. You HAVE to. Just make that decision before you start.
So, plenty of lessons learned. My Uncle Ray had tried to tell me this, saying I shouldn't expect to do well in my first 3-4 runnings. I guess I'll have to come back again and "give it another go".
(Chris Lundy lines up with previous winners)
(Chris gets the champagne shower)
(Runners of all ages!)
(50 finishes!)
(The top finishers)
Personal setbacks aside, the Dipsea Race was a great experience, and once again a tremendous source of inspiration. I got to run with Amby for a few steps, climbed Hogsback with some wicked-fast 12-year-olds, watched Chris Lundy become the first women to win the Dipsea in decades, see Alex Varner pick up 2nd place (his best yet!) and his 7th fastest time award, and talk to former winner Hans Schmidt, who at age 77 took the coveted 35th place black shirt. In the grand scheme of things, 126th place isn't bad (and it is auto-entry for "invitational" next year) and much like all of these superstars, I am grateful for health, adventure, and perspective.
This is one of those races that seems to allow fitness to defy time, both young and old. I will certainly be back, hopefully in black!
Last Sunday, I had the great pleasure of (finally) joining 1,500 trail runners for the 106th running of The Dipsea Race, the oldest trail race in the USA. This perennial local favorite race has been in my relative backyard for over a century, but it took an angel to finally get me to the starting line. I am thankful for the divine intervention - it was an amazing experience, and I am now seriously swept up by the lore of this iconic race. I shall return!
Honoring Ray Morris, the 17-time Dipsea Finisher
The angel in question is my late great uncle, Ray Morris. I had reconnected with Ray last summer after a 40 year hiatus, only to find he was more of a trail running nut than I am. Plus he was doing it back in the 70's and 80's right here in Silicon Valley...a true pioneer in the shortest of shorts. Unfortunately, Ray was also in the terminal stages of pancreatic cancer, and it was this reason he had reached out to reconnect about our shared passion. I happily made a few personal visits, swapping stories of trail adventures that magically cut through his dementia and struggle, always lighting up his sunken face with a big smile. He passed just a few weeks later.
(Ray Morris, complete with Dipsea singlet)
For Ray, there was no race bigger than "The Dipsea". It was the event that anchored his training year-round, and connected him to fellow trail enthusiasts from all over the world. He was a 17-time finisher, and even had two of the coveted "black shirts" given to the top 35 runners, so he was no slouch. More importantly, Dipsea runners were "his people", and he loved everything about the race - the handicap system that evened the odds for all runners, the ability to choose a trail less traveled if it fit your strategy, and the roots of the race stemming from a dare among Bay Area athletes. Every chat about The Dipsea would raise him out of his chair, animating each story with wild gestures that inevitably exhausted him. I got the sense it gave him great comfort knowing this race was here long before he was, and would be there long after he was gone.
When I told Ray I had unsuccessfully tried to bribe my way into the race for years (settling for the Double Dipsea and Quad Dipsea, naturally), he just smiled. He had an Ace to slip up my sleeve - a letter from his death bed, asking if I could do the race in his honor. The Dipsea Committee happily obliged, and it was clear from their emails that honoring past runners was a big part of the spirit of the race. And just like that, I found myself at the starting line for 2016, grateful and humble.
The 106th Dipsea Race
I had plenty of time to kill on race morning, given my "Runner - Group W" starting slot. The Dipsea has a double handicap system - one handicap for your age (so 7 year olds and 70 year olds start first), and one handicap for first-time runners ("Invitational" runners start 27 minutes ahead of "Runners"). That put me in about 1,400th place at the start line (42 minutes behind!), so there was zero chance of placing. The best I could hope for was finishing in the top 750 so I could get "Invitational" the following year. But that meant passing ~700 people in 7.4 miles of trails...that just seems rude, doesn't it? Well, Ray would go for it, so I figured I should.
(The Dipsea course)
As I pulled into Mill Valley, I ran into Julie Nye and her friends suiting up, and they did the math and said I should have no problem getting Invitational if I'm under 1 hr and 10 minutes. But how to factor for the 700 runners in the way? Julie just laughed..."you'll see, you'll see". Hmmm....
(Meeting Julie at the start)
The start area felt like a local 10k, as announcer Bob Cullinan sent off wave after wave. Kids as young as five would toe the line right next to their parents and grandparents. Very cool! And as the waves got down to the "scratch" runners, speedsters such as Rickey Gates (fastest actual time last year, 49:11), Galen Burrell (back from Colorado!), and Alex Varner (fastest actual time of 47:59 in '13) would have to go sub-50 minutes to catch the likes of defending champion Brian Pilcher and his age 59 head start, or the many wicked fast 50+ athletes such as Roy and Jamie Rivers, 2-time winner Diana Fitzpatrick, or the incredible 76-year-old Hans Schmid who is known to clock an hour and change here. Every second would count!
(And they're off!)
(Rickey Gates and Galen Burrell sport the awesome Pelican Inn Track Club shirts)
Bob sent off my wave, and only one other runner came with me to catch the previous wave on the 671 Dipsea steps. It was nearly impossible to pass people, but I counted them off...5,10,15,20 runners passed...680 to go! But once it opened up on the road sections, I could pass dozens at a time and the math became too challenging. Julie was right...this might be doable!
(Here come those steps!)
(Jason Reed among the younger competition)
I heard lots of "Go Dunlap!" shouts as I took the Suicide route (mile 2) and charged up Dynamite (mile 2.25), and there were a few runners passing me as well. Ray had recommended some shortcuts to me, but I secretly feared taking a left and ending up in a ditch that wasn't there 30 years ago. I did take the fire roads to get around a bunch of runners on Cardiac, who seemed to get younger and smaller as I found my way to the top. Then suddenly, at the top of Cardiac, there were almost no runners ahead of me. What is this? Maybe the gap between Invitational and Runners? I needed people to pass, darn it! But it was nice to open up the stride and kick up the pace.
(Alex Varner taking on Cardiac, photo by Steve Disenhof)
A spectator said "you're #660...you can take it easy now", but we all know better than to trust the math of strangers. I charged down the glorious canopy of "The Swoop" and into Steep Ravine (mile 6), laughing that I was somehow finding sections of trail I had never run up here in decades of racing. The red glistening poison oak leaves on both sides were a tad scary, but my inov-8 X-Talon 212's made sure I didn't get too out of control.
(Coming down the hill, photo courtesy of Chris Blagg)
(It can get a little crazy out there)
I cruised the last section of road, and picked off a few more runners in the chute as long-time announcer and Hall of Fame inductee Barry Spitz called out my name. My watch said 1:02:53, which was going to slot me in 610th and 20th in the Runner section. Made it! Next year, I guess I'll have to get serious and find 5-6 more minutes to cut.
(Awards galore, and the coveted black jerseys)
(2016 winner Brian Pilcher shares some tips)
(Good stuff!)
(Hanging with Nakia Baird, Eduardo Vasquez, and Chris Jones)
(Video of top finishers)
(Samir Shah grabbed an iced tea and ran back to the start!)
(The fastest of the fast!)
The warm weather was perfect for hanging out, where I saw Willem van Dam (thanks for the beer!), Chris Jones (did the San Diego 100m last weekend, crazy bastard), Samir Shah (who ran back to the start), Jason Reed (best bloodied injury), Victor Ballesteros, Bill Dodson, Rickey Gates (5th!), Galen Burrell (6th!), Erika Kikuchi, and dozens more watched the award ceremony. It was clear this was so much bigger than a race, and a defining part of this community. I was already eager to do it again!
I know Ray would have loved every second of it. The familiarity, the adventure, the celebration of endurance and longevity. I can see why, in his last few days, it was memories of The Dipsea that remained as clear as spring water while the world faded to black. Perhaps it will be the same for all of us, and we secretly know it, so we toe the line again and again.
Thank you, Ray Morris, race directors, volunteers, fellow runners, and the great people of Mill Valley. I will see you again next year!
It was a strange message, and I did at least one double-take when it popped up on my phone. Then I did another. Is this real?
[Mom]: ...your great uncle, Ray, whom you haven't seen in 35 years, is dying of pancreatic cancer. He's a runner too, and has been following your running career with great interest. It would be great if you could touch base. He only lives about ten miles from your house.
What? There's a 90-year-old trail runner, a blood relative no less, that lives just a stones throw away?!? How could I have not known this?
Wow. Just...wow.
But with some reflection, I recalled memories of Ray from my pre-teen years. Walks on a beach north of Mendecino, stories of his retirement, little tidbits my Mom would mention as we caught up over the years. I did know of Ray and Helen, and now that I thought about it, I was aware they lived nearby. I'm not sure why I had never reached out over the years...convenience, out of sight/out of mind, or perhaps it's just that he and his family were just far enough out on the fringe of the family tree. But I don't recall even knowing he was a trail runner. That feels different. That feels like an opportunity missed.
So this time, I paid Ray a visit. I was so glad I did.
Even in the grasps of cancer, Great Uncle Ray was quite a gentleman. We were able to share stories of family, running, and Silicon Valley. Ray was one of the original engineers of Hewlett-Packard, inventing a light beam diode that is now commonplace in our flat panel TV's. This was back in the day you had to write the design out by hand and convince people a diode could actually be built. His drafting charts would fill all the walls of his room like cave drawings...such a change from the charts my 9-year-old can crank out on her iPad today.
(Ray on the cover of a 1988 HP newsletter, complete with Dipsea shirt)
Ray's running stories were the best, no surprise. He became a trail runner at the ripe old age of 40 in 1965, after a bad cholesterol test result laid risk to his passion for daily ice cream. He took up "jogging" to get fit, but soon found it was far more fun to run the trails in nearby El Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve. He fell in love with trail running, and quickly had a group of friends he called "Ray's Raunchy El Rancho Runners" that would run and race together all over the USA. A story any of us would take for granted today, but in the early 70's, Ray was a bit of a nut. A pioneer in sport as well as technology.
Ray ran the Bay to Breakers over 10 times, and the Dipsea Race 17 times, including two Black Shirt finishes (#28 and #35). As he recalled the groundbreaking crowd of 2,500 at his first Bay to Breakers he ran in the 70's (a race that now has 30,000+ runners), I began to understand why he loved following our generation of trail runners online. In his day, runners were pioneers, rebels. Now everybody gets it. Perhaps the thousands of trail runners are similar evidence as the TV's that housed his inventions once thought crazy.
(I love how this bio of Ray refers to his as a "determined jogger")
It was a shame we couldn't share the trails together, but in his last few days, it took everything he had just to sit next to me for the occasional visit. Through our stories, however, we did share the trails. We even virtually ran through El Rancho, and he noted the switchbacks that had robbed me of breath on dozens of occasions, and the tree stumps where the wild turkeys still nest to this day. There's no doubt he clocked thousands of miles in those hills. He wanted to hear all about Comrades, and was eager to see the pictures when I returned. He didn't quite make it for that, however, and passed away in his sleep the day before the race. Rest in Peace, Ray...an impressive 90-year run.
His wife, Helen, and surviving kids Mark and Monica, left me his array of Dipsea finisher medals and a hearty thank you for making his few remaining days more pleasant and full of smiles. With the 17 medals in my grasp, I knew I had to run the Dipsea someday soon. Once wasn't even enough. Even beyond the grave, Ray is getting to me onto the trails!
(17 Dipsea medals, legacy of a bygone era)
I think of Ray often, and make the trek to El Rancho for the occasional tribute run. Would his life be my fate someday? Rehashing stories of races and mountains to long lost relatives? Seeing a lifetime of invention commoditized in the products that fill every home? Clutching my race medals, the last material evidence of an adventurous life, to get a few more smiles out of my family in my final days on earth?
Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad way to go. Not bad at all, in fact.
Thank you, Ray, for showing me a legacy worth striving for.
42-year old Beth Vitalis set a new Women's course record (4:39:39) and 25-year-old Erik Skaggs came within 38 seconds of Carl Anderson's "untouchable" course record at the 25th annual Quad Dipsea this year. Skaggs (3:53:07) set a blistering pace from the start at the 28.4 mile course, and ended up winning by a 20-minute margin over Victor Ballesteros. Vitalis bested Krissy Moehl by 13 minutes.
(Livermore, CA's Beth Vitalis setting a new Women's course record; photo courtesy of Jeff Vendsel)
You can read a longer story here at the Marin Independent Journal. Overall results should be posted soon!
