As we drive to the start line of the 100th Dipsea race, my replica Bell & Ross watches dad launches into one of his inspiring father-daughter pep talks. It’s a shame you couldn’t run faster last year, he says to me, smirking, as he pulls into Mill Valley, California. If you’d laid off the chalupas, you could be in invitational with your old man.It’s a sore spot. After my slow performance last year--a 7.4-mile death march is more accurate--I’d been unceremoniously demoted from invitational to the less prestigious runners division. My training then--a strict regimen of gummy bears and strolls to the grocery store--had not especially paid off on the steep grades and jagged singletrack.
And while I’d prefer not to go into details, by the time I’d staggered replica Louis Vuitton watches across the finish line, pictures show I bore a striking resemblance to Whistler’s Mother.Once I recovered, I vowed this year would be different. I’d trained my ass off at high elevation, kept my chalupa count down, and minimized my couch time, all for the sole purpose of seeing my dad’s face when I crushed him at the finish line. The Dipsea is the oldest trail race in the U.S., and since its beginnings in 1904, its had a history of fierce competition beneath its sunny veneer of family, friendship, andfun.
It began as a grudge race between two buddies, Al Coney and Charlie Boas, who started at the Mill Valley depot and ran off to see who could clear Mt. Tamalpais faster. It didn’t matter which route or shortcuts each used, so long as both men ended up at Stinson replica Oris watches Beach. Boas won. Naturally, Coney wanted a rematch. Most historians will tell you the race proved so exciting over one hundred men signed up to compete the following year. But this ignores the greater, more complicated question. Why such a draw?A newcomer to Dipsea might mistake the tame-looking Sunday crowd of affluent elderly types, parents, and small children for a bunch of harmless Marin hot-tubbers.
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