Ice vs Heat for Injuries “bucket list” race—the 107-year-old Dipsea trail race—I decided not to run. I was so terrified that I developed a bulbous knot in my stomach. I couldn’t sleep that night.
Two days earlier, my wife and I had flown 3,000 miles from Connecticut to Mill Valley, California, just across the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. Stunning Mount Tam rose green and magisterial from the surrounding redwoods. I felt ready to run its flanks and add the Dipsea to my life list: Boston, Pikes Peak, Fukuoka,Advertisement - Continue Reading Below, Mount Washington, London, the age-sex handicap. At 70, Id be starting 20-some minutes ahead of the fastest race entrants, Big Sur, Comrades, Wimbledon (England) cross-country, Escarpment Trail.
Running Helped Heal This Father, Jack Kirk, a.k.a. the “Dipsea Demon.” Kirk won Dipsea twice and finished it 67 years in a row. When not running, Kirk fiercely defended his 400-acre Sierra homestead that conservation groups are now trying to preserve. He defended it so staunchly, in fact, that it is said Kirk spent time in every jail in Marin County. (He might have shot a few warning rounds close over the heads of hikers and such.)
RELATED: Find more amazing trails like Dipsea in Proving That I Belong in the Sport I Love.
Races & Places—the age-sex handicap. At 70, I’d be starting 20-some minutes ahead of the fastest race entrants.
Proving That I Belong in the Sport I Love!
I knew the trail began with 670 steps leading out of Mill Valley in the direction of Muir Woods. But I had apparently never gotten the other memo—the one about the slope of the climb, not to mention the steep, perilous, crashing, twisty, rock-strewn, muddy, root-encrusted, poison-oak-infested, crowded singletrack trail.
I was born to shuffle atop smooth New England roads. Whether using the Western Roll or Fosbury Flop, I have finished last in every high-jump I’ve ever entered. I do not levitate. (Read more of Amby’s classic running history in this RW Selects: Running Scared.)
In case I didn’t mention “perilous,” you should also know this: The previous week, I had entered a local 7-mile trail run with a vertical gain/loss on the order of 270-feet versus Dipsea’s 2,200 feet. I fell twice on the local trail and finished with blood-streaked wounds to the hands, elbows, and knees. My right foot turned black and blue from a jammed toe.
At the end of our course walk, I thought, “This is crazy. No way I’m running on Sunday. Bucket lists are nice, but it’s more important to live to run another day.”
new trail shoes.
In a High-Stakes Year, Elise Cranny Goes Bold Comrades, Wimbledon England cross-country and joined a friend on the most difficult downhill mile of the course. I wanted to see if I could run it without falling. Somehow I did. My secret? I took a “long cut” over the traditional hikers’ Dipsea Trail.
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During the course walk two days prior, at the same point, I had followed “The Swoop”—a legal shortcut used by 95 percent of all Dipsea runners on race day. The Swoop is particularly narrow, steep, rocky, perilous, and poison-oak infested. There are at least four such shortcuts on the Dipsea race-day course, and probably more that no one wants to share.
But I was determined to finish, not fall. And this longer route gave me the determination I needed to get out on the start line.
Race morning in Mill Valley was glorious. So was I. I wore gloves, arm sleeves, and knee sleeves, trying to cover my most exposed body parts. I didn’t think of a bicycle helmet until it was too late. I’m eternally grateful that there were no photographers on the course. I’m sure I looked more like an escaped geriatric patient than a runner.
Halfway up the first flight of stairs, the guy in front of me hung a 90-degree right turn onto an alternative stairway. I followed, though I’m not sure I’m supposed to admit to this. I think I could get banned for life. At any rate, I’m sure I didn’t save any significant time.
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On the second and third flights, the first trickle of fast-from-behind runners started huffing and puffing past.
I caught three-time winner Russ Kiernan on “Dynamite,” a hill just past the stream (and approximate 2-mile marker) through Muir Woods National Monument. I assume it’s called Dynamite because the steepness causes you to blow up. It only made me trudge slower. Kiernan is nine years older than I and a million times better at trail running, but I beat him on this day.
Master the Half: Running Toward Better Mental Health Runner’s World book.
By the time I reached Dipsea’s highest point, Cardiac Hill, hundreds of runners had streamed past from behind. Some would eventually win (Chris Lundy), some who could be my grandchildren would collect age-group awards, and the amazing 77-year-old Hans Schmid would gain the last of the prized black shirts, given each year to the first 35 finishers.
I couldn’t identify a single one of them. Never looked at a face or bib number. I didn't dare take my eyes off my shoe tips and the rocky trail just in front of me.
No guts, no glory. I ran only to stay on my feet and unbloodied, and at those low goals, I succeeded.
Given my age, only about 20 runners started ahead of me. At the finish, my overall position was 1,062.
More than 1,000 runners passed me in just seven miles. I would have needed an additional 27-minute head start to beat Lundy. I think next year I’ll put down 99 as my race-day age.
Still, few could have enjoyed themselves as much as I did. Especially when I ran in total isolation. Over two long stretches in the final miles, I didn’t see another soul. Instead I enjoyed a blissful romp through a dreamy redwood grove, and a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean at Stinson Beach.
Everyone else was scrambling through shortcuts full of poison oak and jagged rocks. Me? I’m more like Michelle Obama. When they go short, I go long.
Sometimes it’s the right choice, and this was one of those times. It allowed me to finish Dipsea in one piece. I’m grateful for that. And I’m grateful for my expanded bucket list of races.
