Interview with Scott Dunlap (courtesy of TheRunnersTrip)

Sarah Lavender Smith, one of my favorite trail runner/writers and fellow Inside Trail Racing team member, did a Q&A with me this week and posted it on her site, TheRunnersTrip.com. It was a lot of fun! Check it out here, and be sure to leave her a comment if you liked it!

(Gary Gellin, Sarah Lavender Smith, and me)

Hope you are getting out on the trails this weekend!

- SD

NearbyNow CEO In It For The Long Run (San Jose Biz Journal)

The San Jose Business Journal did a professional profile on me, and I thought it was neat how they incorporated ultrarunning into it. Lindsey Riddell is a talented writer, and Dennis Hendricks braved the storms and trails to take some great pics. Read on...

NearbyNow CEO In It For The Long Run
By Lindsey Riddell, 1/25/08 (edited by Scott for clarity)

In his 38 years, Scott Dunlap can pinpoint several transformational moments.

There was the canceled meeting on Sept. 11. There was the scene of that bike accident where Dunlap was one of the first to arrive. There was that first 100-mile race where he went down at mile 96. There was the birth of his daughter.

Dunlap says he's realized he's been given a gift. And he's using that gift to test his limits, to connect to people, and to, as he puts it, "Live in this world and not on it."

And now his company NearbyNow Inc. aims to change the way people shop, making malls searchable by Internet and cell phone and bridging that gap between offline and online retail.

It's a big gamble. But, if he can pull it all off, it might be his greatest transformation yet.

"NearbyNow is one of those that is still up in the air," says venture capitalist Howard Hartenbaum, a NearbyNow investor. "It could be really big. For other companies, people might be happy if we make two times our money or if it's big, then 10 times. NearbyNow, if everything works, could be a multi-billion dollar business."

And that probably won't end up being the most amazing accomplishment by the blogging, screenwriting, ultramarathon-running millionaire.

Born to a doctor father and a university professor mother, Dunlap was a music composition major at the University of Oregon with an aptitude for writing software, but more of an aptitude for selling it. Andersen Consulting gave him his first taste of the tech world.

He got an MBA from Stanford University in 1998, and interned at Netscape Communications Corp. during his MBA study where he met Netscape executive Ben Horowitz, former vice president at America Online Inc., and Netscape founder Marc Andreessen. Dunlap then worked as vice president of e-commerce solutions for E.piphany Inc., a software company, until it went public in September 1999. In the same month, Andreessen and Horowitz summoned him to Loudcloud Inc.-- the company that eventually became Opsware Inc. before being acquired by Hewlett-Packard Co. last summer -- which helped Fortune 500 companies like handle their Internet traffic.

The move would make Dunlap a millionaire by age 32.

After four years of start-ups and IPO's, he wanted to slow down and catch his breath.

Around Sept. 2001, Loudcloud was preparing to sell part of itself to Electronic Data Systems Corp. It was at that time Dunlap would take a severance package and "get my life back."

At the time, he didn't realize how lifesaving that decision would turn out to be.

While at Loudcloud, Dunlap had gone to New York nearly every week to meet at one of the smaller World Trade Center buildings with a group of investors, investment bankers, and work associates. When he quit on Sept. 8, 2001, his meeting for Sept. 11 was canceled. Three of the people he'd met with regularly were killed that day in the terrorist attacks.

Dunlap had a hard time reading newspapers or watching television for some time after that. Instead, he hiked, admitting he'd never been "much of an athlete. "

And when his wife got him an abnormally active pug dog named Rocky a few weeks later, Dunlap took up trail running.

"People would always say to me: 'You shouldn't run your pug like that,'" he says, "but I was just trying to keep up."

The trail became a kind of therapy for Dunlap, a way to regain focus and keep life in perspective.

"On the trail, I had a lot of time to digest what had happened and that's when I realized I'd been handed this big gift," Dunlap says. "We spent the next couple of months running every trail from San Francisco to Santa Clara. And I got really fast."

Dunlap wasn't just fast, he won the Trail Runner Magazine Trophy Series in 2004 for marathon-and-shorter distance, the largest trail running competition in the nation. And he eventually worked his way up to ultramarathon distances -- 26.2 to 100 miles and beyond -- something even the most famous ultramarathon runners like Dean Karnazes, author of UltraMarathon Man, and a personal friend of Dunlap's, have noticed.

"The thing that distinguishes Scott is his range. From short distance all the way to the 100-miler, he's very competitive at all levels," Karnazes says.

And like with his running, Dunlap shows brain range, too.

His blog about ultramarathon running: A Trail Runner's Blog (runtrails.blogspot.com) gets 80,000 unique hits a month. Forbes magazine named it the Best Health and Fitness Blog on the Web in 2005. He's also written four screenplays, one that got optioned just after he started NearbyNow in 2006, timing that made Dunlap unable to pursue its production.

After two years as head of worldwide marketing and product management at Avolent and with three years ultrarunning guiding him, Dunlap decided to return to startups as an entrepreneur-in-residence at Redpoint Ventures in 2005, this time with "a much clearer focus and vision." Soon after, NearbyNow was born.

The idea for the searchable mall came to Dunlap on a shopping trip with his wife to the Stanford Mall. She wanted a pair of boots she had seen in a magazine and was going store-to-store.

The venture capitalists who have backed NearbyNow believe Dunlap's vision for the company could literally transform the way people shop.

"I thought, if I could just search the inventory of every store from my mobile phone, find that pair of boots in her size at a store they have here, I'd be out of here in 30 minutes," Dunlap says.

From that idea sprang NearbyNow, an Internet/consumer/mobile company that stores mall inventory data and allows shoppers in the mall or heading there to find exactly what they're looking for either through their computer or their phone. Shoppers can even reserve merchandise to pick up later, ensuring their size and color will be available when they walk in. And retailers can send text coupons and ads to shoppers through their phones.

Dunlap just had to overcome the first few challenges to prove that it worked. No. 1: getting stores to share their inventory data. And once they did, figuring out how to mesh all the data formats together into one giant database.

Once he convinced the stores within the malls that luring high-intent-to-buy shoppers was valuable, and soothed the fears of mall operators by promising his company would not use the inventory data for e-commerce purposes, they agreed to give him the information.

Then he recruited a team of founders from E.piphany and Loudcloud to figure out how to read all of that inventory and make it searchable.

"There's a $1 trillion trend of people who research online but buy locally," Dunlap says. "If we get it right, there's no need to sell to Google, Yahoo, or eBay. We can become a very large company, and create whole new ways for retailers to connect with nearby customers."

Draper Fisher Jurvetson was the first venture firm to invest, followed by Draper Richards and both were attracted to Dunlap's desire to do something market-altering.

"When we met Scott we said: 'This is a guy with a really big opportunity, who was passionate about it, and knows what he wants. He isn't in it for the short term,'" says Emily Melton, who led Draper Fisher Jurvetson's investment in NearbyNow.

NearbyNow, which has raised $7.5 million in funding, offers its service in 200 malls and expects to raise a Series C round of funding this year. It is already used by millions of shoppers each month.

Hartenbaum says he liked Dunlap from the first time he met him because of Dunlap's strong and convincing belief in himself.

Dunlap may have been born with that. But he might have developed it through those transforming moments of his life. On his first 100-mile run, Dunlap fell and injured his leg at mile 96, then hobbled for 2 hours and 20 minutes to the finish line. He calls the experience "refreshing in that I found out I had much more in me than I would have guessed."

"He has a clear vision for the future and doesn't waiver from it," says Hartenbaum of Draper Richards.

You can try out the NearbyNow service at these shopping centers in the Bay Area - Westfield Valley Fair, Westfield Oakridge, Eastridge Center, and the Westfield San Francisco Centre. Just search, click a product, and check to see if it is in stock.

[Note - I did edit this story a bit to correct spelling, a couple of factual inaccuracies, and add hyperlinks.]

129 Miles of The Death Ride

Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of joining 2,800 cycling enthusiasts for the 27th anniversary of The Death Ride in Markleeville, CA. This "Tour of the California Alps" climbs over 15,000 feet as you work your way over five passes on the 129-mile course. The epic views, wonderful people, and white-knuckle descents made for a fantastic day, and I certainly hope to come back again.

It probably seems a little crazy to be doing a 129-mile ride just a week before the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile run, but I thought it would be good to spend a day exercising in the high desert to acclimatize, gauge my hydration, check the sunscreen strategy, etc. Plus I'm not ashamed to admit what drew me to the event years ago - the killer shwag! Emblazoned with Grateful Dead-like skeletons on bikes, I have been craving one of these jerseys for years. But you can't sport the threads if you haven't done the ride, no? I wasn't too worried that this would risk my first 100-mile run next week since The Death Ride gives plenty of chances to opt out at 2, 3, or 4 passes if you don't feel like going the distance. Plus the self-pacing nature of a "ride" meant there was no need to push your VO2Max to catch the guy in front of you. I figured I would take it easy, enjoy the day, and let my body dictate the distance.

(Mark Gilligan tackles the first hill)

I quickly found out I wasn't the only one crazy enough to try the Death Ride/TRT100 double, as Mark Gilligan pulled up beside me in the first mile out of Turtle Rock Park. Mark and two of his ultrarunning training partners, Jasper Helekas (TRT100 defending champion) and Rob Evans, were up in Tahoe to acclimate for the TRT100. Much like me, Mark was thrilled to find he had won a lottery entry to The Death Ride and couldn't pass it up despite the taunting from his pals. We both found comfort in knowing that riding with each other meant we wouldn't be tempted to go too hard.

(Quick break to peel off a layer on Monitor Pass)

We rode a few miles down the chilly river corridor and then started the first climb up Monitor Pass around 6:30am. The morning sun came to great us about half way up, quickly warming the still mountain range to 70 degrees. We grabbed some fig newtons at the first aid station and shed a few layers of clothes. I enjoyed chatting with Mark as we climbed - much like ultras, you can really get to know someone over a few hours! Mark has been getting very fast in his ultras the last few years, and I was shocked to learn his secret - he has lost nearly 50 lbs in the last four years! Amazing.

(Making our way up Monitor Pass)

We crested the first peak (mile 15), where a raging party was already taking place at aid station #2. Each rider got a sticker to prove they got to the top (collect all five!). The majority of cyclists at this event seem to fit the "enthusiast" category - regular riders who put in their weekly miles, but not quite the shave your legs/monster quads variety (although some of those folks were here too). I had learned from riders on the first climb that most were hoping to finish all five peaks to get the coveted "five peaks pin" at the top of the last hill. All this for a pin? I guess it's not much crazier than "all this for a belt buckle". ;-)

(The monument at Monitor Pass - one down, four to go!)

The descent on the back side of Monitor was WICKED fast. Mark is a phenomenal descender, and my speedometer hit 51 mph as I followed his lead down the winding road. Whew! Normally I don't get anywhere close to these speeds, but the road was smooth and the first four passes were blocked from traffic. Some folks took it slow, and they had plenty of room. By the time we hit the bottom, my body was pumped with enough adrenaline to sprint right back to the top! One thing for sure, any psychological impact from witnessing Debby's accident was no longer affecting my confidence on the bike. I bet she would be happy about that.

(The climb up the backside of Monitor Pass, photo courtesy of Adam Tow)

Mark and I stopped at aid station #3 at the bottom of the hill to refill the water bottles. The aid station volunteers were amazing at processing hundreds of us, and we back on the road in no time. We noted that there were at least 1,000 riders in front of us - this is an early rising crew!

(Mark heads back up Monitor through the canyons)

The climb back up affirmed that our descent had been long and steep. The canyon walls shot up on either side, providing little relief from the sun. Mark was eager to put his adrenaline to work, and snaked his way through the pack, dancing on his pedals. I held back to chat with some of the other cyclists. Many were doing this ride for the first time (many had attended the cleverly-named training camp, The Near Death Experience), but I also met one guy doing his 21st! There were mountain bikes, tandems, even a bike/scooter hybrid. About half way up, we saw the last rider coming down - a 13-year-old having no trouble at all with the descent.

(Making the most of every piece of shade)

Road kill can tell you a lot about the country you are in, and this ride was no exception. Rattlesnakes, horny toads, ground squirrels the size of small kangaroos - this was the high desert for sure! Most of the wildlife was already retreating into the shade, as the temperature was bordering a very dry 90 degrees. I noticed I was easily drinking 50 oz/hour, even at a moderate pace. My Sugoi Impact jersey and shorts (which Christi calls the "super hero suit") were doing a great job of keeping me cool.

(Another rider enjoying the high plains)

I crested Monitor Pass for the second time (35 miles) and pulled into the party aid station for some breakfast. Bagels with peanut butter hit the spot, as did taking a seat to stretch out. The self-pacing nature of these rides are great!

Topped up on food, water, and sunscreen, I took another fast descent (47 mph!) and hooked up with five riders who had a good pace going to the base of Ebbetts Pass, our next towering challenge. Since I do a lot of solo riding, I often forget how much easier it is to ride in a pack. This group had matching outfits (complete with "assvertising" of their company on their bike shorts) and clearly trained together. I wasn't sure about the protocol, so I asked if I could join in and warned them I'm a bit of a rookie at group riding. He summed it up in two breaths - "Stay on the wheel in front of you, 'cause that wheel is your lifeline. Always be behind, don't let your wheel get parallel. When you find yourself at the front, go a little harder for as long as you can, and the guy behind you will naturally pull in front as you slow." That's it? I think I can handle that! With little effort, our mini-peleton made mincemeat of the next six miles, picking up additional riders along the way. We approached the next aid station and I said my thanks as they continued their speedy pace.

(Snaking up Ebbetts Pass)

Mark was at the aid station, and after we both had some Coke and snacks, we tackled the 8-12 degree inclines of Ebbetts Pass. There was definitely a lot of out-of-the-saddle work here, particularly on a few switchbacks that reduced some riders to walking. Those wise enough to bring bikes with triple rings on the front pedaled softly on the right, while those of us pushing bigger gears rode up on the left. Riders were already descending down, meaning a few folks were already done with four peaks! I felt completely dried out despite my aggressive water intake, and my nose started to bleed as it cracked from the inside. Another rider gave me a great tip - squirt water on your fingertips and occasionally snort a few drops to stay lubed. I'm learning so much on this ride!

(Near the peak of Ebbetts Pass)

The last hike to the peak of Ebbetts was the steepest, eliciting groans all around. Mark had made it up fast enough to take a quick break in the shade, and got back on his bike as he saw me go through. We hit the top (mile 55) to find another lively aid station, but I knew the bottom was only 20 minutes away. We plunged down the backside of Ebbetts (37 mph), being cautious of the cracked and bumpy roads that were hard to read in the shadows.

At the bottom, I dismounted to have a Coke (and a smile) and sit in the shade just outside the aid station. I laid out my jacket and rested my back, and before I knew it, I was asleep! When I awoke a few minutes later, a cyclist next to me said "no problem, I'll be your snooze alarm...just tell me how long you want to rest". Ha! Mark and I talked with the group and found all kinds of tips and tricks people used to make it through the day - jumping in hotel swimming pools, taking a shower before the last pass, massages that were available at some of the aid stations, planned naps, etc. Mark and I jealously dreamed of shower stalls at mile 75 of the TRT100...

(Heading back up Ebbetts, photo courtesy of Adam Tow)

As we remounted to make climb #4, Mark and I began assessing our fatigue. This climb definitely felt like work, and we each had a few nagging chafe spots. Mark wanted to be cautious and said he was "going easy and only doing four passes". Mark, that's an 80-mile ride with 13,000 feet of vertical...I wouldn't call that going easy! I figured I would get up and over Ebbetts one more time and see how I felt. But so far, I was hanging in there.

Mark chuckled to himself when he saw the "1km to the top" chalked into the road. In an ultra, that means another 10 minutes, but on a bike, it means right around the corner! We paced with some riders from Davis, CA, Seattle, WA, Las Vegas, NV, and Manchester, England, then wished them well as we descended down the other side. We knew to hold back on the speed a bit (36 mph), since this road twisted quite a bit more.

(Lining up for lunch, photo courtesy of Adam Tow)

The aid station at the bottom of Ebbetts (mile 80) had transformed into a small city to feed all the cyclists a full lunch. It was 1:30pm, so Mark and I stopped for sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks in the shade. But the heat was too much for a long stay (my bike gauge read 92 degrees), so we quickly mounted up and headed back to Turtle Rock Park. Mark was still going strong - I have no doubt he could have done five passes - but decided to call it quits to save up for next weekend. I dropped my gear off at my car and did the quick self-assessment. I was tired, but I still felt good. The only issue I had was a creeping sunburn that somehow defied the half gallon of SPF 45 I had been applying all day. Then another cyclist told me what awaits at the top of Carson Pass - ice cream! OMG, that's all I needed to hear. I grabbed some bandanas out of the car to cover my neck and ears (high dork factor, but it sure works!), and waited for a group of riders to come by that I could join. A pack picked me up shortly, and I was on my way!

(A four mile stretch out to Carson Pass on a gorgeous day)

One of the first challenges you notice about tackling the fifth peak at Carson Pass is that you have to get there first! It was 3:30pm, and the winds were picking up. If you weren't with a group, even the downhills felt like work. I hit one last aid station before the climb (complete with near-shower at the hose), and found challenge #2 - the only traffic on the course. It wasn't too bad though - most of the cars slowed to 35 mph, and yelled out support. I loved that they called us "Death Riders" - I felt like I was in a motorcycle gang. Death Riders, saddle up!

(Heading up Carson Pass)

The higher we got on Carson Pass, the more the wind picked up. It was clear this wasn't going to come easy for anyone. Perhaps Mark had it right! I stopped at the aid station half way to the top, and slammed a Coke in one pull. It looks like my nutrition crutch in the same in ultra runs and rides!

As the caffeine and sugar mainlined into me, I felt like going hard to get through the wind ASAP. Despite the climbs so far, I had stayed cautiously around 60-70% of my max heart rate. I thought it might be a good simulation for next week to take a couple of hard pulls on tired legs and see how my body responded. With one last mouthful of Jelly Belly's, I kicked it up a gear.

As I passed a large group of 15 riders about 6 miles from the top, the headwind really picked up. It was tough, but I liked the fact that it cooled us down. The lead rider in the group asked if he could "get on my wheel", and I said "absolutely". I think it's the same amount of work for me either way, no? As if a telegraph had been sent down the line of cyclists, they all immediately got out of the saddle and surged to my speed. How cool!

About five minutes in, one rider came up and gave me a minute of relief so I could chug some water. Then he said "Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down!", and I pulled up in front of him again. I looked back and the snake of riders had grown! It really did look like a snake too - if I went left, they all went left. I wish I could have taken a video! I tucked in and pushed for another two minutes, and the guy behind me said "I'm sorry, I'm doing everything I can just to stay on your wheel...but your form is great!". I hollered back "no worries...I've been riding somebody's wheel all day, and that's the reason I have fuel left". Team spirit was alive and well on Carson Pass.

(The view to the top of Carson Pass, just as I'm blowing up)

I tackled the wind best I could. The guys behind me promised me beer, ice cream, high fives - anything to keep the tempo going. When I finally redlined about a mile from the top, I slowed and pulled to the back of the pack. Everyone was super-nice as they went by, patting me on the shoulders and saying "awesome pull". I tagged on to the back of the pack and sucked that wheel until we reached the top.

(Top of Carson Pass, complete with dork factor bandana)

There indeed was ice cream at the top of Carson Pass (mile 102), as well as seats in the shade, food, and a bunch of volunteers handing out the "five pass pin" to the smiling faces coming up the road. One volunteer asked I wanted a quick inspection of my bike, and I said sure. He pumped up my tires, taped down a wire that was loose, wiped down the bike and handed it back. Wow! Two Heath bars later, I mounted up to make the last descent.

Right away I noticed that my wheels were spinning much faster with the tire pressure up. Even without streamlining, my speedometer was in the mid 40's. Before too long, the five guy team I met earlier came by and one yelled "come with us!". I pulled in behind them and their drafting sucked me in like a tornado. The speedometer jacked up...45mph, 50mph, 55mph, 58mph! Yet behind this group, I could barely feel the wind at all. After a couple of minutes, I accidentally braked too much in a corner and they got about 10 yards ahead. I quickly learned that was the end of that - no way I could catch up. I now have a new respect for those Tour de France riders who get dropped from a peleton and somehow make their way back. It's nothing short of impossible!

At the bottom of the hill, I picked up another pack and we rode the 4 miles back to Turtle Creek Park. I got some food, signed my name on the big "five pass" poster, and listened to fellow cyclists talk about their journeys. It took me 11 hours, but I didn't feel exhausted. There's no doubt that's because I had so much help along the way, lots of water, and plenty of rest at the aid stations. Cycling doesn't have to be a team sport, but it's amazing what you can do if you ride as a team.

(Sunset over the pass as I head out, slightly overexposed, just like me)

I bought my "five pass finisher" jersey (Yeah! It was all about the shwag, after all), and headed back to Lake Tahoe into the sunset. I'm glad I fit in this ride and had a chance to see the gorgeous country out here. I think the time in the sun, dry air, and altitude will also be helpful in gauging next week. My thanks to all the organizers and volunteers who made this ride so much fun!

- SD

Tri'ing the Pacific Crest Half Ironman

Last weekend I had the pleasure of joining nearly 2,000 athletes for the Pacific Crest Endurance Weekend in Sunriver, OR.

<- Maia, the true triathlete of the family

This three day event had everything from 5k’s to Half Ironmans that weaved through the Sisters Wilderness, giving everyone a chance to get outside and enjoy the beautiful Oregon high desert. I met up with my extending family for a mini-family reunion, and we all enjoyed racing and watching others in the perfect 70 degree weather.

I chose to race the Half Ironman triathlon on Saturday, and was looking forward to “doing a tri” for the first time in years. My open water swimming skills were definitely lacking, and after witnessing the cycling accident on Sand Hill Road last month, I was too nervous on the bike to do long rides (btw, for those following along with this story, Debra has returned home from the hospital and is doing well on her recovery). But I figured I had a good foundation from all the running and could get through without too much trouble. One thing for sure – after all these ultras, the half marathon run was going to feel like a sprint!

The extended Dunlap clan were also signed up for many of the events, providing many opportunities to cheer. When I tallied it all up, here’s what we had on the schedule:

• My 7-year-old niece, Maia, was going to do the Splash/Pedal/Dash
• My father, Larry, was going to do the Olympic distance duathlon
• My step-mother, Sandie, would swim in an Olympic triathlon relay along with my step-sister, Jill (run) and her husband, Mike (bike)
• My mother, Diane, was tackling the 5k after a two-year recovery from heart surgery
• Christi, Sophie, Rocky, Maia, and I would join Diane for the 5k, along with Christi’s brother (Scott), his wife (Erica), and their 2 and half year old twin boys (Cannon and Carson)

Whew! Needless to say, there was someone to cheer for every day!

Maia was first, tackling the Splash/Pedal/Dash like a pro on Friday. Over 150 kids took on the water slide, 1 mile bike, and quarter mile run. As they were sent off two at a time on the chip-marked course, parents circled in a frenzy to cheer them on and take pictures. I was very impressed with how kids as young as five years old did all three sports with almost no help. Maia was great, even kicking it into overdrive for the run! So many budding triathletes. We celebrated like kings that night, eating BBQ and drinking beer until the wee hours. I had so much fun celebrating, I almost forgot I had a Half Ironman the next day!

(Maia swims, bikes, and runs!)

The next morning, my brother, Mike, drove me out to Wickiup Resevoir on a beautiful morning and we tried to estimate my splits so the family would know when to look for me. I hadn’t done an open water swim in years (and had a brand new wet suit to prove it), and I was still burping ribs and beer from the night before, so I figured 40 minutes for the swim. The bike course had changed this year and didn’t have the big climb around Mt. Bachelor, so I thought maybe 2:45 for the bike. The run would largely depend on how the bike went, but I had never run faster than a 1:40 in a Half Iron, so that was a good stretch goal. Overall my stretch goal would be under 5 hours, but 5:20 would be most likely.

(The swim start at Wickiup Reservoir)

I hustled up to my wave just in time for the start, and we were off! The water was cold (~60 degrees), but quite pleasant. I found a rhythm at the back of the back, but continued to burp up a storm (note to self – baby back ribs do not make the best pre-race meal). When the wave behind us caught up, they rolled over me like a speed bump, pulling off my goggles and forcing me to take a quick break to get them back on. I didn’t get too angry – this was the Pacific Northwest Championships after all, so the front-runners were giving it all they had. Another wave caught us as I hit the halfway point, but they were all in a line like a Tour de France peleton. We let the convoy by and did our best to pull into their slipstream. Before I knew it, the swim finish was in sight.

I dashed out of the water and immediately into the port-o-pottie. Those baby back ribs were tearing through me like frayed rope. No worries – I’m sure there would be plenty of port-o-potties along the way. I got my bike gear on, slapped on some sunscreen, and gave my brother a high five as I headed out. The swim took 38 minutes, but the 10 minute T1 had thrown me off my pace.

The day warmed up quickly as we all headed out on the bike. I had on a Sugoi tri outfit that ventilated nicely (Christi calls it the “super hero suit” thanks to the metallic blue stripes). Most of the roads had nice big shoulders to ride on and sparse traffic, but I noticed that my heart would jump when the big trucks went by. I seemed to be the only one though – all the other riders were barreling down the highway in full aero position. I stayed down in my aero bars as much as possible, and kept my power meter on 220 watts. At the half way point, I was averaging 22.5 mph, which was projecting a very fast 2:30 bike split.

(Biking towards Mt. Bachelor along the Cascade Lakes Highway)

The scenery was amazing, as we raced past the Cascade Lakes and through endless hills of pines. I did my best to take a pic, but it turns out that isn’t very safe on the bike (whoa!). My legs felt tired around mile 45, reminding me that I hadn’t done many long rides this year. But I stayed in my pack, and finished up in 2:33. With a not-so-quick change into a new shirt and shoes (and yes, one more port-o-pottie stop), I headed out on the run.

The Dunlap clan was there to cheer me on, led by Maia in her new bright red Flamenco dress. With a round of high fives, I set down the course on a 7-min mile pace. My quads were a bit tight, but the run felt very natural. One of the best parts of being a runner is that you’re one of the few people smiling on the last leg!

(Running in the pines; photo courtesy of Christi Dunlap)

One thing I quickly noted about triathletes is that they seem to be more competitive than the ultra runners. If I came up on somebody from my age group (who were everywhere – when is that going to stop?), they would prefer to surge than chat. In fact, nearly all of my humble attempts at starting conversation with “isn’t this a great day?” were met with grimaces of disdain. The few who answered back were often ultrarunners! That’s okay – to each their own.

It felt like I barely had enough time to soak in the wetlands and river area behind the resort when the aid station attendants were shouting “2 miles to go”. I hit one more port-o-pottie (oh Lord, let this be the last) and kept up the speed to finish a 1:38 run leg, good for 5:01:36 and 70th place. I was WAY off the winning pace (sub 4 hour - those guys are FAST!), but was feeling good enough for beer and pasta at the end.

(Bringing it in to the finish; photo courtesy of Christi Dunlap)

After a night of more food, family, and fun, we all gathered along the course to cheer on my Dad in his duathlon, and the family relay. All did very well, with my Dad winning his age group in the duathlon, and the relay team exceeding their expectations. The true hero of this race was my Step-Mom, Sandie. She is legally blind, but still managed to clock an impressive time on the swim course, even in a wetsuit she had never tried before. Given how little I could see during the swim, I have no idea how she did that!

(Larry Dunlap, my Dad, wins the 60-64 age group Olympic duathlon)

(Mike Barnebey, Jill Barnebey, and Sandie Dunlap ace the Olympic relay)

The 5k was also very special. My Mom had been using this 5k walk as a stretch goal for recovering from some new stents put in just two years ago. Like many heart-related procedures, the first year of her recovery involved juggling rehab, short exercise, and a medical cocktail that severely restricted her. She couldn’t travel, walk long distances, or anything. The only way out was a lot of hard work on her behalf – the kind that makes my training seem easy – and a big goal to work towards. I was very proud of her just for making it to the start!

(My Mom, Christi, Sophie, and Erica at the start of the 5k)

I will let my Mom describe the 5k:

Coming in Last

By Diane Dunlap

After a long decline in health that finally led to heart surgery two years ago, last year I had struggled to walk from where the suv was parked to Scott’s swim/bike transition point at this same event. Any thought of walking a mile or a 5k was out of the question. Last year, I was still working my way back to 10,000 step days and cardiac capacity that would let me do any aerobic work. This year, I had another year of training and recovery behind me, and I was ready to try for a new record.

So, on Sunday morning, eleven of us (and Rocky!) lined up near the back of the 5k pack with the other walkers. The race started, the runners off into the 80 degree day on the pine-lined walking and bike paths, followed by the walkers. It took less than two minutes for all of the family and the other walkers to slowly begin to pull away from me. All but Jim Stott, my partner, who had decided to walk with me, just to make sure I was ok. Gotta love him! He’s not a runner—that was his first race ever. It must be love—he strapped on his lawn-mowing Keds and insisted on keeping me company. Then, Scott dropped back to join us—bless his heart! He commented, “I’ve never been last in a race—wonder what it’s like” before spending the next hour entertaining me as only he can. It must have seemed like a glacial pace to him, but he just kept making me laugh and distracting me from the accumulating miles.

So, what is it like to finish last? Well, first I kept moving over on the path and then trying to speed up because there was a car on my heels. I finally turned around to see what the crazy driver was doing, and saw that it was the local police cruiser, and I really was the last person in the 5k! He waved to us when we left the road to go onto the paths.

For awhile, we walked with a nice woman who said she always came in last in this race, but then she “zoomed” ahead when I had to slow down on 1% and 2% inclines. At about the 1 ½ mile mark, 26-year-old Kristopher Houghton of Albuquerque zipped past us on his way to a 32:29 finish in the 10k. By the time we rounded the last turn in the woods and headed toward the sounds of cheering in front of us, we were lapped by two other 10k finishers. I began to have images of the tortoise and the hare! I felt like I was going really fast and long, compared to my prior times, but I was feeling pretty “tortoise-y” in this company!

Volunteers cheered me on at the aid stations, even as they asked if we were the last ones and began to close up their tables. Several people out for a stroll on a beautiful morning suddenly realized, “Oh, you’re in the race!” and moved over, clapping as we “sped” by. Little children ran up on the path and ran around us laughing and hitting “high fives.” When we came to the final turn into the finish gate, the crowd cheered as loudly for us as they did for the duathlon runners who were also starting to come in. I felt like a real athlete as our names were called through the electronic monitor, the announcer said “great finish” and we were shunted into the 5k finish corral.

I found out another part of finishing last—they were out of 5k medals! Doesn’t pay to come in last if you want a medal! But, they took our numbers and promised to send one in the mail. We stepped out of the finishers’ tent into the sunshine and found our family members—already rested up because I took so much longer than they did! I also found that woman who always finished last, who thanked me for doing the honors this year!

So, I completed my 5k in just over an hour, last but for my partner and son who pushed me across the finish line ahead of them. I came in 234th out of 235—I guess someone didn’t finish. I was tenth in my age group! Oh yeah, there were ten in my age group. Didn’t set any records, didn’t make the local news, didn’t get a medal, but I’ve never been prouder of me in my life!

So, I’m thinking next year, maybe I’ll aim for last in the 10k, or the ½ marathon, or maybe even the marathon. You know, the possibilities may be endless!

(That's it, Mom, I'm signing you up for the tri next year! - SD)

Fighting My Demons at the Mt. Diablo 50k

[Foreward: This blog entry contains some adult subject matter (the gory horror movie kind). If that’s not your thing, it would probably be best if you skipped this one, and instead caught the cheery scenes of the Bay to Breakers.]

On Saturday, I joined 250 trail runners for a hot run at the Mt.Diablo 8k/25k/50k in Clayton, CA. This monster of a 50k climbs nearly 9,000 feet in a two loop course in the dry and exposed Mt. Diablo State Park, and is considered the toughest of the races put on by Pacific Coast Trail Runs. I had brought some personal demons of my own to this Devil Mountain, and they would prove harder to outrun than the fastest runners of the day. Despite the challenge (or perhaps because of it), we would all cross the line stronger than when we started.

(Looking down on the San Francisco Bay from Mt. Diablo)

I had debated all week whether it was a good idea for me to race on Saturday, due to the fact that I was emotionally not in a good place. On the previous Monday (Memorial Day weekend), I had witnessed a cycling accident devastating enough to haunt my every thought. I don't have a lot of experience with that kind of trauma up close, and it shook me pretty hard. What little sleep I had in the following days were filled with images of blood and broken bones, jerking me awake in the cold sweat every half hour. I know it’s not a good idea to race when both your emotional and physical foundation are weak, but I was desperately hoping that the trails could somehow lead me out of this state of shock, like they had led me to salvation before.

An Introduction to My Demons

The previous Memorial Day Monday had started out innocently enough. The weather was wonderful, so I decided to put in some miles on the bike and head out towards Portola Valley. As I was coming down Sand Hill Road, I heard an accident about 300 yards in front of me and looked up to see a lycra-clad body rolling to a stop in the intersection. A small truck had turned against traffic and struck a cyclist coming down the hill at full speed. I jumped off the bike to help, along with about a half dozen cyclists and drivers already on the phone to 911. I knelt beside the cyclist and quickly understood why most people were keeping their distance...she was a mess.

Her skull and face were fractured. Her arms were both broken, lying lifeless on the pavement even as her shoulders rotated up to reach out to us. Her slow gasps for breath were gurgling from blood pooling in her throat, complicated by a broken jaw. I knelt beside her and tried to hold her head still, but parts of her skull felt like broken eggshells and it was freaking me out. I tried to keep the teeth and blood clear from her mouth so she didn’t choke, but it would pool as fast I could clear it. Each breath she took was more labored and less effective. I felt myself going into shock just witnessing it, and as I got dizzy and took a few steps back to regain my composure, another person stepped in and took my place. Then I realized that most of the people standing nearby were doing the same, stepping aside long enough to get a clear head, then stepping back in to assist in any way possible. We were trying to help, but honestly I've never felt so helpless in my life.

I found a cell phone in her bike bag and randomly called speed dial numbers to try and get her name. The first number was “Annie”, who turned out to be her teenage daughter. The cyclist, Deborah, had gone out for a solo ride from Menlo Park like she had many times before. Annie could sense my panic, but all I could say was “your Mom has been in an accident”. Soon after, I handed the phone to arriving police, shared the info I had, and watched the EMT’s and Woodside Fire Department intubate Deborah and load her into the ambulance with disturbing efficiency. As they pulled away, my ears were ringing from shock. It felt like I was watching myself in a movie. I got back on my bike and rode to nearby Ladera Oaks to shower off the blood that caked my hands and legs. There I would be told that a cyclist had died on the way to the hospital, but I was still too numb to react. An hour later, I would be sobbing uncontrollably on the side of the road as the emotions caught up to me. A disturbing way to gain respect for Memorial’s Day, that’s for sure.

The Race on Mt. Diablo

So I found myself at the starting line, exhausted but glad to be among friends doing the thing I love the most. Rob Evans had car-pooled over with me, and it was good to talk to him about the previous weekend. Rob is a trained psychologist, and was able to give me a lot of insight into “acute stress disorder”. I also knew that he would be keeping an eye out for me on the trail.

(Jeff Browning and Garett Graubins prepare to do battle)

There were lots of familiar faces at the race, including Bev and Alan Abbs, Garett Graubins, Brian Wyatt, Kate and Keturah Morejohn, Wally Hessletime, Chuck Wilson, and of course, Race Directors Wendell and Sarah Doman. Everyone was looking forward to what this race could dish out. Garett was here to defend his Mt. Diablo 50k win from last year, but was the first to point out that Jeff Browning (multiple winner of the Big Horn 100, here in training for the Hardrock 100) and Western States winner Graham Cooper were going to be tough competition. Bev Abbs, in top form for States and complete with Sunsweet wingman Alan, was going to be the one to beat in the Women’s division. We all lined up at the start, and at 8:30 charged up the first of two laps to the top.

(Rob Evans and the Abbs chase down the lead pack)

Jeff, Garett, and Jason Reid (25k) set a quick pace from the start, with the Abbs and Rob Evans in a group just behind them. The pitch got steep fast, and it didn’t take long for all of us to be whittled down to a brisk walk. I was drinking my water quickly, and at our pace, it would be over 80 minutes to reach the first aid station. As the temperature climbed above 70 degrees, we all understood Mt. Diablo was dishing out a tricky day for us.

(Heading up the canyon)

Just when I thought I was suffering in the heat, Graham Cooper went by in his “heat training outfit” – black wool hat, gloves, black jacket, black shorts – with sweat pouring off of him. I guess that’s what it takes to win States! Rob Evans came by soon after him, looking strong and running the steep hills. We made it up the steepest climb and into the saddle, and were rewarded with the first aid station (mile 8.4). I was out of food and water, so I stocked up on both.

(Charging the hill)

As we headed up the next 5 miles to the observation tower at the top, I had some time to run solo. The runner’s high “clarity” kicked in, and I found myself more introspective than usual. The only distraction was the gorgeous views, and the front-runners already coming back. Jeff Browning and Garett Graubins were bombing down the hill, with Bev and Alan Abbs not too far behind.

(Rob Evans sails past me as he charges up the steepest section)

As I reached the top, I realized I was out of water again. Perhaps even worse, I could have been out of water for quite some time since my mind was so occupied. In fact, I was having trouble keeping my mind on the race at all. The “clarity” in my head was working against me, rekindling details of the Memorial Day accident that I had forgotten, or perhaps repressed. With each corner of the trail, I remembered something new – the smell of her breath, the screams of the driver, the broken hand moving on the pavement. I wasn’t over this trauma, not by a longshot...and I had no idea how much more baggage was about to fall out of my head.

I worked my way down slowly to the aid station (mile 16.7), where volunteer Mark Gilligan got me set up with salt, water, and sugar snacks. As luck would have it, I soon met up with Eric Chitwood from Galt, CA, who is also training for the Tahoe Rim Trail 100. Eric is a firefighter and worked for years for the San Mateo Fire Dept, and was a welcome perspective on my situation. I felt comfortable sharing the fact that I was having a hard time, and the stories he shared helped me understand that even professionals have to work through these things. “Just don’t try to shove it down and hide it,” Eric said, “you have to face it, talk about it, and know you did everything you could.” As Harry Walther joined in on our conversation, we pulled into the aid station at mile 16, halfway done.

I went through the motions at the aid station, and got back on the trail as Harry and Eric charged up the hill. Both were nice enough to offer sticking with me (which Harry graciously did for a mile), but I could tell they were both having a great race so I let them go ahead. I climbed up the hot canyon a second time, conserving water the best I could while fighting the dizziness of the heat. A few folks passed me, and I was happy to exchange even a few words. The alone time continued to take me to some scary places.

(Brian Wyatt ran a well-paced 50k at Mt. Diablo to finish 7th)

Around mile 20, Graham Cooper came by again in his sweat-inducing bank robber outfit. He sensed something was wrong, and was quick to offer up anything he had to help. That's quite a statement from a guy sweating a gallon an hour! I shared my emotional struggle with him, and he slowed a bit to talk it out with me over the next mile. I really appreciated how he listened and internalized what I said, and I could tell he knew that listening was the best help he could give. At the top of the crest, we wished each other luck and Graham charged down the hill.

(The rugged landscape)

I jogged for a few miles and realized I was out of water again. I hadn’t factored that all this fast-walking would take a half an hour longer to get to the aid station on the second lap, and it was much warmer this time around. But my thoughts were still consumed with Deborah, and the little details kept zooming through my head like butterflies. As the dehydration reached a new level, my walk became more of a stagger and it was difficult to climb the hill. My thinking was hazy, my face felt like it was on fire, and it was clear that I needed some help. My ears started ringing, and I heard the sound of the accident over and over in my head. I looked down at my hands and swore I could feel blood on them. But it wasn’t blood, it was vomit. My vomit. I don’t even remember puking, but the proof was all over my hands.

Now I was officially scared. Not only was I dehydrated, delirious, and cramping, but not being able to recall how exactly I got here meant I wasn't in the game. It’s amazing how fast that downward spiral can catch up to you when you aren’t paying attention. I found some shade and sat down to collect my thoughts. I have never DNF’d before, but was thinking it might be a good idea. I found comfort in the fact that I knew where I was, since it was the second lap. But it did point out one issue - the best place to get help was to keep going uphill another mile. I calmed down best I could, and started walking.

(Google Earth view)

Kevin Swisher (a fellow TRT100 training ultra runner) soon caught up to me, concerned after watching me stagger from behind. I told him I felt drunk and thirsty, and he walked with me until I got to the aid station. Mark Gilligan was there again, and when he asked what was wrong, all I could say was “I couldn’t fix her. She was broken, and I couldn’t fix her.” Mark didn’t skip a beat and said, “Uh, yeah. Maybe you should try some potatoes and salt, and a whole lotta Cytomax”. I took a seat and started eating and drinking everything I could get my hands on. I felt better instantly. Kevin reminded me of a spot to douse my head in water just a few hundred yards away, and headed off.

Mark has a gift for finding the bright side in any situation, and quickly pointed out to me that this might be better training for TRT100 (Mark is also doing it) than a well-run race. If I could “get back to good”, then I was probably ready for anything TRT could throw at me. After seeing the training that Graham Cooper was doing, maybe Mark was right! As I gathered my senses and set up the hill after Kevin, Jeff Browning came screaming by at full speed leading the 50k. Bev Abbs was about a minute behind, saying Alan and Garett were right on her tail. They were all suffering in the heat, drinking as much as possible, but still going hard.

(Heading down from the aid station)

With new calories, full water bottles, a mini-shower at the spigot, and a mental boost from seeing the fast folks I started walking up to the top. If I could make it to the top, I was determined to leave any demons I brought on this race there for good. Rob Evans stopped to check in on me, and he was really looking strong, as was Brian Wyatt, Chris Garcia, and Charles Stevens. Each one of them flashed a smile, and boosted my spirits just enough to take a few more steps. I climbed for what seemed like an eternity, and when I arrived at the top, I unloaded all my remaining emotional baggage in one sobbing mess.

Then I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. It was Kevin Swisher, who had also reached the top, letting me know that everything was going to be alright. I couldn't believe how much it helped to have the hand of a near-stranger on my shoulder, but it was more than enough. Kevin set me straight by saying "Let's get this done. You can do it for her. Just let me know when you're ready to finish this, and we'll head down the hill together. I've got a couple cold ones with our names on them". Kevin was absolutely right. I bet Deborah would give anything to be where we are, at the top of Mt. Diablo with our legs seizing in pain. Pain is life. Pain is good. And beer is even better.

We refilled our water bottles at the top (should have done that the first time up), and headed back down. I found a good pace for the first time in the race, sort of a fast shuffle. It was slow, but it was nice to have a rhythm. The farther we went down, the less burdened I felt, and I realized I actually did leave some emotional baggage at the top. The view from the top seemed more clear. By the time we hit the aid station, I was running again. Super-volunteer Mark applauded my recovery and filled my water bottles with ice water and my hands with Jelly Belly's. He was great all day, and I couldn't thank him enough for his help.

(The clear view from near the top)

I "downhill shuffled" through the last few miles, refusing to stop until I found the finish line in 7:01:49. By crossing the line and being welcomed by my ultrarunning friends, I felt an odd sense of closure to the day. As we cheered on the fellow finishers, I felt my spirits rise with each round of clapping. Jeff Browning had won in 5:14, with Bev Abbs coming in 4 minutes later to set a new Women's course record. Garett and Alan stayed on her tail right to the end, finishing 3rd and 4th. Rob Evans had a stellar run of 5:47 for 6th place, with Brian Wyatt running an even race to finish a few minutes behind. Everyone was depleted, but smiling. If there was going to be a day I melted down, I'm glad it was here among my "people". To each of you that were there for me, you will always have my deepest gratitude.

(Kevin Swisher brings it home)

I slept all night that night, thanks to physically and emotionally draining myself to the last drop. The next day I heard the most unbelievable news - Deborah was alive! I had been told by police officials that a cyclist had died and assumed the worst, but it appears they had likely been referring to a different cycling accident. Deborah was in critical but stable condition at Stanford Hospital. Apparently she had no spinal damage and minimal brain impact, and was already on the road to recovery. Given what I saw, that was nothing short of a miracle. I felt much better knowing that Deborah and her family still had time together.

(This wild turkey came down the finisher shute in roughly 28th place)

Life is fragile, life is resilient. The body and soul can heal beyond our wildest expectations. I've left my demons on Mt. Diablo, and as Rob Evans said "got 7 hours of therapy for a $50 entry fee". So true! But I know it was my friends along the way who really helped me get through the day, and beyond my tragedy. The ultrarunning community means more to me than I ever could have imagined, now more than ever. I am grateful for all of you.

- SD

Goofin' at the 2007 Bay to Breakers

Last Sunday, I joined 60,000 people for the freakfest known as the 2007 ING Bay to Breakers in San Francisco, CA. Our good friend Kristin "Kik" Armstrong was in town, and she wanted to see the meyhem up close! Although I was still sore from the Silver State 50-miler the day before, I figured I could make it through 7.49 miles and get some good pics. Kik and I donned our Tiki/Mai Tai costumes (complete with rasta and pink wig, respectively) and jumped into the start on a gorgeous San Francisco morning.

(Matching tikis)

The start corral was sheer craziness, setting the stage for the whole run. Thousands of tortillas filled the air - I'm not sure how this tradition was started, but it's been there all three times I've done Bay2Break. Here's a video so you can get the idea:



Costumes were everywhere, some fun, some downright shocking. As the countdown to the start began, about a dozen people next to us stripped to their skivvies and donned their "Bare to Breakers" hats. Whoa! I hope they used sunscreen. Kik was very impressed with their display of freedom, and a bit jealous I think. (note to self - feed Kik about 10 beers before the race next year, get her a Bare to Breakers hat, and see what happens)

(The Bare to Breakers team gets into costume - just say no to crack!)

As the gun went off, runners and walkers made their way through downtown San Francisco. Residents were happy to blast their favorite music, and the whole thing felt like Carnivale. We lucked out on the weather - it was sunny and 60 degrees, meaning a comfortable run for us, and no "shinkage" for the streakers! We all knew that Footstock, the party at the end, was waiting just a short run away.

(And we're off!)

At mile 1, we passed about 20 Elvi (plural for more than one Elvis) blasting our Blue Suede Shoes and drinking enough to make the ghost of Vegas-Elvis proud.

(The running Elvi)

The costumes were so impressive, Kik and I were constantly pointing out our favorites. Scooby Doo, a caveman couple, SpongeBob SquarePants, mustard and ketchup, Borat (complete with crazy swimsuit), six runners connected as a crewing boat - it was better than Halloween! Our tiki costumes didn't even stand out.

(Mandy was going to have no problem getting carded at the Footstock beer gardens)

At mile three, we turned the corner and stared down the only big hill on the course, Hayes Hill. It's a tough little grind, but probably the most active party on the course. I was pleased that Kik had the bright pink hair and had no trouble tracking her through the crowd.

(The runners line their way up Hayes Hill; I follow the pink)

At the base of Hayes Hill, we ran into the "spawning salmon". These folks dress as salmon and run the course backwards, spawning their way against the stream. The visual effect is hilarious. The salmon took a short break from spawning to dance to a funk band at the base of the hill, and I caught them on video:



Kik led us up the hill, as "Movin' On Up" was blasting from one of the apartments. We turned a couple of corners and found ourselves on a nice downhill glide into Golden Gate Park. Kik and I were all smiles, but it was clear that this run was a challenge for some of the crowd. We did our best to cheer them on as we passed the rust colored de Young Museum.

(Heading through Golden Gate Park, past de Young)

There were many bands along the way, and some had the most classic names. There was a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers cover band called "Petty Theft", who was quite good. Soon we heard the surf tunes of "Meshugga - the Chosen Surfers".

(MeShugga, the Chosen Surfers)

We caught up with the Incredibles...

(Baby Dash gets a ride from Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl)

...and before we knew had reached the finish.

(Follow the pink to the finish)

We grabbed some water and headed up to Footstock, where we were joined by Christi, Sophie, and our friends the Shepards. Christi wore a wig of her own to join in the fun. We shared some beers, met some crazy people, and enjoyed the sun.

(Christi and Sophie join in on the fun at Footstock; photo courtesy of Lindsay Shepard)

Probably not the best numbers I have ever posted - 7.49 miles, 1 hour and 31 minutes. But we did count 43 naked people, and that's a number I will never forget! I'm glad I squeezed in one last crazy race before taking some time off to recover, and was able to share it with my good friend, Kik. Until next year...

- SD

[Below is a longer video if you're looking for more of the freakfest]