Subject: Race Report GGH50K Date: Tue, 31 Aug 1999 13:25:45 -0700 (PDT) From: Doug White ======================================================= Golden Gate Headlands 50K Runners in the Mist At break of day, Saturday, August 29th, some 140 runners meandered casually down to the sandy shore of Rodeo Beach, California. With foghorns blowing in the distance, a misty blanket of gray fog draped the tranquil scene. There, standing on the beach, just beyond reach of a gentle surf, Guy Palmer administered his short and sweet pre-race instructions with an unruffled countenance. Then, at 07:00 sharp, with a simple "go", he set off the 1999 Golden Gate Headlands 50K Run, unleashing runners onto his cleverly crafted course. There are a number of steep and difficult trails in the Marin Headlands, and this race didn't skip over many of them. With approximately 7,500 feet of vertical gain and some fairly rugged single track, the course easily qualified for the "challenging" adjective. The first third of a mile trekked directly south through the soft sand of Rodeo Beach before gaining a trail at the southern shore of the lagoon. With seemingly no other point than to surmount a hill, the track went directly up a huge coastal dune only to drop straight down the other side, a mere tenth of a mile further down the course. We could have stayed on the shoreline of the lagoon and accomplished the same thing, but NO! This little hill set the tone for the day: if there's a climb to be taken, take it and smile. The first of seven major climbs in this course took us up the Mi Wok trail over a ridge into Tennessee Valley. It was a strangely quiet morning with sounds dropping flatly in the heavy mist. Runners peacefully traversed the open terrain making light conversation with their fellows. Then, suddenly, a rustic farmhouse appeared out of the fog. We'd reached the first aid station, and a handful of pleasant volunteers handed out all the usual delicacies. Our next stop would be the Mi Wok crossing of Highway 1 after another respectable climb. As I ran down the far side of the ridge toward the highway, water droplets covered my eyelashes and blurred my vision. It was then that I got my first wakeup call of the day. For reasons which I cannot recall, I tripped and lurched headlong into the dusty trail. Thinking of first things first, I quickly checked to make sure no one witnessed my graceful maneuver. Mercifully, I was alone in the murkiness. With the coast clear, I checked for wounds and proper operation of critical body parts. All was well. A little dirt and blood never hurt anyone. In fact, looking at the bright side of things, I realized that I would now bear the badge of a true trail warrior and possess a credible excuse in the event that I would have a poor run that day. Life is sweet! Stopping at the aid station at Highway 1, I washed most of the dirt from my hands and face leaving plenty on my arms, legs, and chest for visual effect. Continuing up the Mi Wok Trail to Franks Valley, we reached the beginning of the long climb up the Dipsea Trail. At about 08:50, as I reached the base of Cardiac Hill, I finally had climbed above the fog. There, bright sunbeams shined through the trees to the forest floor while I made the last steps up to the clearing and aid station at Cardiac. This would be the only area on the course that saw sunshine that day. However, by my estimation, this was the good news. The alternative would have meant heat, and heat in combination with that sadistic course would have simply been more fun than the law allows. Departing the Dipsea Trail, the course climbed up to the Pantoll Ranger Station and across the Panoramic Highway onto the Matt Davis Trail. This spectacular single-track began in a dense woodland then opened up onto a sweeping coastal grassland, high on the ridge above Stinson Beach. If it were not for the fog just below, there would have been an incredible, unobstructed view of the blue Pacific Ocean. Alas, fog there was, and I was heading right back down into the thick of it. With a treacherous series of switchbacks, the Matt Davis trail plunged down some 1,500 feet from the ridge top into the thick coastal forest. Suddenly, the trail emerged from the woods onto the residential streets of Stinson Beach. From there, the course proceeded through the town and up to the familiar trailhead of the Dipsea Trail. After about a mile of the Dipsea Trail and descending Insult Hill, the course continued straight up the Steep Ravine. I suspect the most telling thing I can say about the Steep Ravine is that it is, indeed, aptly named. Albeit beautiful, climbing alongside the rushing cascades of Webb Creek through a lush Redwood forest, this trail was hard. It had the usual series of widely spaced wooden steps which were difficult to either run or hike efficiently. At one point, there was actually a ladder of two by fours surmounting a huge rock. Now that's steep! I incorrectly assumed that this was the worst the course had to offer, so I forged ahead to Pantoll with continued fair disposition. From atop the ridge at Pantoll, the course began a long descent down the Coastal Trail to Muir Beach. This segment traversed an incredible open ridge offering a spectacular view into... the fog. After a couple miles of steep drop I came upon a sight which was characteristic of the great support provided by race volunteers. In what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, a lone volunteer stood at a trail junction pointing the way east and down. With course marshals at even the most remote sites, navigation was truly a non-problem at this event. Veering onto the Heather Cutoff the track plunged in a precipitous slope down to Muir Beach. This little gem pitched down a series of innumerable, rugged switchbacks that ended at a quaint little farm. There sat another lone volunteers directing runners across an open field. I mentioned to him in passing that the last stretch had been quite a wild ride. He grinned and said, "Wait until you see what's next." Although I didn't know quite what he meant by that, I had an unsettled feeling that this omen was not good. I continued, pensively. Reaching the final sea-level aid station at Muir Beach, I stocked up for what I suspected was going to be a long six miles to the finish line. Little did I know of the magnitude of the cruel joke that lay ahead. Immediately above the beach, the track began an extreme climb up the Coastal Trail. To make matters worse, the trail had recently been plowed resulting in a deep, soft dirt surface that offered poor traction on the steep hillside. The trail continued up with a quad-hammering, calf-burning relentlessness. Then, after reaching the top, it abruptly plunged down the other side into a deep valley. There, the final aid station sat between two huge ridges, and became more than a bit worried about what was next. I was hardly comforted when the three volunteers smiled devilishly and said, "Only three miles to go!" Having studied the map before the run, I knew the way ahead involved surmounting Wolf Ridge. What I didn't appreciate was the degree of this last climb. I was about to crawl up nearly 1,000 feet in less than a mile! The grade of the trail ranged between steep and steeper as most runners assumed the familiar "survival struggle." After about a half mile of this insufferable hill, my quads began to seize with painful cramping. At least I was not alone in this fate. One runner just sat right down in the trail and became a temporary spectator while letting his leg cramps subside. Although I was tempted to join him, I continued the death march to the top where two volunteers merrily cheered and pointed down the other side of the mountain. Mercifully, only two miles of dizzying downhill remained between there and the finish line. After pounding my way down that hill to the beach, I finally arrived at the end in 5:25:22. I was happy with the time, and happier to be done. My hat goes off to race directors, Guy Palmer and Greg Nacco, and the Tamalpa Runners for executing this spectacular event. Doug White Mountain View, California