“California's Dipsea run, which occurs Sunday, is -- along with the Boston Marathon -- one of the nation's oldest foot races. But it's hardly the most civilized. The course of only 7.1 miles includes 2,300 feet of ascent, and slips and falls are common. Two short cuts off the main track -- one named "Suicide" -- are permitted, if you can find them. Race packets warn entrants that the race is "not for timid runners." To compensate, there are spectacular vistas of Muir Woods and the Pacific coastline, as the trail winds from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach. "It's a very dangerous race, but it's very fun," said Leslie Acoca Goodchild, who has had two serious wipeouts in her Dipsea history, breaking an ankle and requiring 44 stitches in her chin. "There's something that takes hold of you. It's a challenge that is irresistible." Marin Independent Journal Runners ascend the first flight of Dipsea stairs just past Old Mill park. For the 98th annual Dipsea, 1,500 runners -- about half the applicants -- plan to take the dare, including stay-at-home moms, retirees, elementary-school students and financial executives -- even 71-year-old Elmo Shropshire, who sang the Christmas hit "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." They all have a shot at winning because of a system that gives head starts based on age and gender. The so-called scratch group, men age 19 to 30, starts last. "No average person can win it, but it can be someone very young or very old," said Barry Spitz, who's been announcing at the finish line since 1982 and has written a book, "Dipsea: The Greatest Race." Runners as young as nine and as old as 70 have won. For the last seven years men and women over 60 have come in first. Norman Bright, who held the time record on the course for 33 years, won the race in 1970 when he was nearly blind. The tough going starts early, with 676 steps. There's a steep, root-filled climb at the end of a two-mile ascent out of Muir Woods called, appropriately, Cardiac. A rolling section through grasslands leads to the 72% grade into Steep Ravine, down slick steps and over tree roots often littered with fallen runners. As for the shortcuts, the Suicide's straight-down dirt path can be difficult to find footing on, and the narrow Swoop can be filled with poison oak. The offbeat challenge draws some unlikely candidates. "I hate running," says Hal Johnson, 46, who works at the investment bank Money Market One in San Francisco. Cycling's his sport -- he's a top amateur -- but after watching the race's start since moving to Mill Valley in 1990, he finally succumbed four years ago. "I got hooked on it the first time I did it," he says. This year, he will run with his 6-year-old daughter, Reilly. Two members of San Francisco's Olympic Club started the race in 1904. There were two interruptions in the course's history: one for the Great Depression, another during World War II because parts of Mount Tamalpais, which the trail skirts, had military installations closed to the public. Runners have an ongoing battle with park rangers about which shortcuts are legal or not. The rangers can throw runners out of the race, and in 1992, one ranger tried to disqualify nine contestants who were taking what they thought was a legal shortcut. Several of the Muir Woods Nine, as they became known, refused to pay the $100 fines, saying the national-park rangers had no authority because the runners weren't on federal land at the time. The case was thrown out, and the runners avoided the fines. The process of getting a race number is highly competitive -- and a bit unorthodox. Nearly half of the field of 1,500 comprises runners of the prior year who are invited back. Five hundred spots go to the first applications received by mail. (To get their applications in early, runners used to bring them to the local Mill Valley post office, until postal officials said they would no longer hand-cancel them.) The next 100 spots go to the applicants who send in the most money (any money above the $50 application goes to the Dipsea Foundation, which maintains the trail and operates the race) and the remaining bibs are filled by lottery. Contestants come to this town just north of the Golden Gate Bridge from Canada, Florida and Washington, D.C., to compete. Russ Kiernan, 70, is the favorite to win this year, race watchers say. Mr. Kiernan started running the race in 1969 and ran it 26 times before his first win in 1998. He has won three times and has 26 black shirts, awarded to the top 35 finishers. "I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd be doing as well as I do," the retired elementary-school teacher said. "It's my favorite race." URL for this article: California's Dipsea run, which occurs Sunday, is -- along with the Boston Marathon -- one of the nation's oldest foot races. But it's hardly the most civilized. The course of only 7.1 miles includes 2,300 feet of ascent, and slips and falls are common. Two short cuts off the main track -- one named "Suicide" -- are permitted, if you can find them. Race packets warn entrants that the race is "not for timid runners." To compensate, there are spectacular vistas of Muir Woods and the Pacific coastline, as the trail winds from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach. "It's a very dangerous race, but it's very fun," said Leslie Acoca Goodchild, who has had two serious wipeouts in her Dipsea history, breaking an ankle and requiring 44 stitches in her chin. "There's something that takes hold of you. It's a challenge that is irresistible." Marin Independent Journal Runners ascend the first flight of Dipsea stairs just past Old Mill park. For the 98th annual Dipsea, 1,500 runners -- about half the applicants -- plan to take the dare, including stay-at-home moms, retirees, elementary-school students and financial executives -- even 71-year-old Elmo Shropshire, who sang the Christmas hit "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." They all have a shot at winning because of a system that gives head starts based on age and gender. The so-called scratch group, men age 19 to 30, starts last. "No average person can win it, but it can be someone very young or very old," said Barry Spitz, who's been announcing at the finish line since 1982 and has written a book, "Dipsea: The Greatest Race." Runners as young as nine and as old as 70 have won. For the last seven years men and women over 60 have come in first. Norman Bright, who held the time record on the course for 33 years, won the race in 1970 when he was nearly blind. The tough going starts early, with 676 steps. There's a steep, root-filled climb at the end of a two-mile ascent out of Muir Woods called, appropriately, Cardiac. A rolling section through grasslands leads to the 72% grade into Steep Ravine, down slick steps and over tree roots often littered with fallen runners. As for the shortcuts, the Suicide's straight-down dirt path can be difficult to find footing on, and the narrow Swoop can be filled with poison oak. The offbeat challenge draws some unlikely candidates. "I hate running," says Hal Johnson, 46, who works at the investment bank Money Market One in San Francisco. Cycling's his sport -- he's a top amateur -- but after watching the race's start since moving to Mill Valley in 1990, he finally succumbed four years ago. "I got hooked on it the first time I did it," he says. This year, he will run with his 6-year-old daughter, Reilly. Two members of San Francisco's Olympic Club started the race in 1904. There were two interruptions in the course's history: one for the Great Depression, another during World War II because parts of Mount Tamalpais, which the trail skirts, had military installations closed to the public. Runners have an ongoing battle with park rangers about which shortcuts are legal or not. The rangers can throw runners out of the race, and in 1992, one ranger tried to disqualify nine contestants who were taking what they thought was a legal shortcut. Several of the Muir Woods Nine, as they became known, refused to pay the $100 fines, saying the national-park rangers had no authority because the runners weren't on federal land at the time. The case was thrown out, and the runners avoided the fines. The process of getting a race number is highly competitive -- and a bit unorthodox. Nearly half of the field of 1,500 comprises runners of the prior year who are invited back. Five hundred spots go to the first applications received by mail. (To get their applications in early, runners used to bring them to the local Mill Valley post office, until postal officials said they would no longer hand-cancel them.) The next 100 spots go to the applicants who send in the most money (any money above the $50 application goes to the Dipsea Foundation, which maintains the trail and operates the race) and the remaining bibs are filled by lottery. Contestants come to this town just north of the Golden Gate Bridge from Canada, Florida and Washington, D.C., to compete. Russ Kiernan, 70, is the favorite to win this year, race watchers say. Mr. Kiernan started running the race in 1969 and ran it 26 times before his first win in 1998. He has won three times and has 26 black shirts, awarded to the top 35 finishers. "I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd be doing as well as I do," the retired elementary-school teacher said. "It's my favorite race." URL for this article: DOW JONES REPRINTS This copy is for your personal, non-commercial use only. To order presentation-ready copies for distribution to your colleagues, clients or customers, use the Order Reprints tool at the bottom of any article or visit: www.djreprints.com. • See a sample reprint in PDF format. • Order a reprint of this article now. Running Wild in California Dipsea Race Features Plunging Paths, 'Suicide' Shortcut, 9-Year-Old Winners By MOLLY WILLIAMS SPECIAL TO THE WALL STREET JOURNAL June 6, 2008; Page W12 California's Dipsea run, which occurs Sunday, is -- along with the Boston Marathon -- one of the nation's oldest foot races. But it's hardly the most civilized. The course of only 7.1 miles includes 2,300 feet of ascent, and slips and falls are common. Two short cuts off the main track -- one named "Suicide" -- are permitted, if you can find them. Race packets warn entrants that the race is "not for timid runners." To compensate, there are spectacular vistas of Muir Woods and the Pacific coastline, as the trail winds from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach. "It's a very dangerous race, but it's very fun," said Leslie Acoca Goodchild, who has had two serious wipeouts in her Dipsea history, breaking an ankle and requiring 44 stitches in her chin. "There's something that takes hold of you. It's a challenge that is irresistible." Marin Independent Journal Runners ascend the first flight of Dipsea stairs just past Old Mill park. For the 98th annual Dipsea, 1,500 runners -- about half the applicants -- plan to take the dare, including stay-at-home moms, retirees, elementary-school students and financial executives -- even 71-year-old Elmo Shropshire, who sang the Christmas hit "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." They all have a shot at winning because of a system that gives head starts based on age and gender. The so-called scratch group, men age 19 to 30, starts last. "No average person can win it, but it can be someone very young or very old," said Barry Spitz, who's been announcing at the finish line since 1982 and has written a book, "Dipsea: The Greatest Race." Runners as young as nine and as old as 70 have won. For the last seven years men and women over 60 have come in first. Norman Bright, who held the time record on the course for 33 years, won the race in 1970 when he was nearly blind. The tough going starts early, with 676 steps. There's a steep, root-filled climb at the end of a two-mile ascent out of Muir Woods called, appropriately, Cardiac. A rolling section through grasslands leads to the 72% grade into Steep Ravine, down slick steps and over tree roots often littered with fallen runners. As for the shortcuts, the Suicide's straight-down dirt path can be difficult to find footing on, and the narrow Swoop can be filled with poison oak. The offbeat challenge draws some unlikely candidates. "I hate running," says Hal Johnson, 46, who works at the investment bank Money Market One in San Francisco. Cycling's his sport -- he's a top amateur -- but after watching the race's start since moving to Mill Valley in 1990, he finally succumbed four years ago. "I got hooked on it the first time I did it," he says. This year, he will run with his 6-year-old daughter, Reilly. Two members of San Francisco's Olympic Club started the race in 1904. There were two interruptions in the course's history: one for the Great Depression, another during World War II because parts of Mount Tamalpais, which the trail skirts, had military installations closed to the public. Runners have an ongoing battle with park rangers about which shortcuts are legal or not. The rangers can throw runners out of the race, and in 1992, one ranger tried to disqualify nine contestants who were taking what they thought was a legal shortcut. Several of the Muir Woods Nine, as they became known, refused to pay the $100 fines, saying the national-park rangers had no authority because the runners weren't on federal land at the time. The case was thrown out, and the runners avoided the fines. The process of getting a race number is highly competitive -- and a bit unorthodox. Nearly half of the field of 1,500 comprises runners of the prior year who are invited back. Five hundred spots go to the first applications received by mail. (To get their applications in early, runners used to bring them to the local Mill Valley post office, until postal officials said they would no longer hand-cancel them.) The next 100 spots go to the applicants who send in the most money (any money above the $50 application goes to the Dipsea Foundation, which maintains the trail and operates the race) and the remaining bibs are filled by lottery. Contestants come to this town just north of the Golden Gate Bridge from Canada, Florida and Washington, D.C., to compete. Russ Kiernan, 70, is the favorite to win this year, race watchers say. Mr. Kiernan started running the race in 1969 and ran it 26 times before his first win in 1998. He has won three times and has 26 black shirts, awarded to the top 35 finishers. "I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd be doing as well as I do," the retired elementary-school teacher said. "It's my favorite race." ”
