Filed under: Races
October 28th, 2008, my second Oyster Race…and this year we’ve convinced P to join an Oyster “six-pack”, an option which allows a team to spread the sweat among 6 rather than 3 racers.
Over it’s 3 years in S.F. the Oyster has continued to evolve. Our pals the Ou brothers have kicked some ass 3 years in a row now, this is my 2nd outing. Last years’ 3 pack experience consisted of oh, almost 7 hours of action as we ran, biked, bladed, kayaked. A major aspect of the challenge each year is that one knows not what you are getting into until race day. In fact, even on race day the challenges are only revealed in bits when you complete each leg of the race (with attending photo or other verification) and receive a new “passport.” The real challenge of Oyster is that in addition to being physically fit, one also has to navigate the city without becoming hopelessly lost, master multiple terrains and skills, and do it all on zero advance notice.
Passport#1-
J, R, and I run from our transition area into Sports Basement, the gear shop of the heavens. Employees stand by witnessing dozens of people rampage through the store seeking orange task/passport tags which have been strewn among the racks. We all look down at our tag and see “bicycle” - at which point we run right on back to our transition area. TK, P, and TC mount their cycles gamely and head into the steepness of the Presidio. They are to reach Stowe lake.
“Whew,” I think to myself, “glad I am not doing the bike route because I’d be dismounting and pushing that bike up the hill in an embarrassingly brief while.” The probable route is up past Presidio, to Golden Gate Park through Arguello gate, and then they would receive further instructions. The guys are gone for quite awhile, and J and R and I snack, and wait, wait some more, and I hug Chili the cutest and sweetest poofy white dog that ever lived.
When they finally return-they are glowing with sweat and swearing that they thought they might die…from Stow Lake they were sent clear to the Noriega, yes, the Sunset district out in boonies yonder. Numerous cycling teams DID in fact get lost. Finally, they found their clue- climb up dozens of stairs on some random street until they found the mosiac art of butterflies/bats. They snapped photo evidence, and wheeled on back to Crissy Field.
Thus far: 10 miles with 1100+ hill elevation. Not bad for a bunch of weekend warriors who went into this thing with near nil practice!
Passport#2-
“Run to the Chipping Green at Presidio Green.” While awaiting our team we have been eyeballing the route of teams ahead of us, and had already ascertained that we’d have to run steeply up through the Presidio. Oh, Lordy, this is gonna suck…I’m the kind of runner that doesn’t hit her groove until 2 miles in. So a cold start up a hill is torture, as I already know from running here for the Presidio 10 mile race earlier this year. But we manage, with me huffing along behind J and R. R chips the golf ball into the goal area and hooray- we get section 2 of our task 2. “Run to the Golden Gate Bridge and take a picture of this sign.” A speed limit sign depicting “County of Marin” is shown at the bottom of the card. R shrugs, “probably like the halfway point on the bridge.”
Oyster racers are everywhere on the trail as we muddle a path from the golf course to the famous Golden Gate. People are getting lost, dashing on trials through the eucalyptus groves, all over the Presidio buildings, on the roads competing with cyclists and vehicles. As we set across the bridge, I can’t help but smile a the beautiful and familiar red towers shrouded in that signature SF fog. By this point I am bare-midriffed and sweating like a pig, R is getting quite red faced, and J looks unfazed. All the tourists bundled in their woolly coats, clutching hot drinks, shooting pics and smoking cigarettes seem totally bemused but the packs of Oyster racers in various stages of immodesty barreling down the pedestrian path. At about the halfway point of the GG Bridge, it becomes clear to me that the elusive sign is on the OTHER side of the bridge, not the middle. I pick up the pace and start hauling ass…just get this over with! We take the photo, dash back to the transition area. “Map my Run” noted this leg as being approximately 7.2 miles of run.
Passport #3-
I’m looking forward to sitting back down on my ass next to Chili for awhile, until we realize that the next challenge requires 3 skaters. Never mind that I’ve rollerbladed a grand total of perhaps 5x in my life (1 being last year’s Oyster!). We have no other options for anyone who either know how or owns blades. TC and TK gear up, and I’m off yet again hollering “can’t stop, won’t stop” as I cruise outta Crissy Field, past Fort Mason, and towards Fisherman’s Wharf. It becomes apparent I may break my neck on hills, so switch back into my Mizuno runners yet again. “Take 2 different F lines and take a team photo with the historic sign inside each car.” We hop an F, get out pic, disembark again at Ferry building (where every cell of my body begins to scream for Peet’s coffee and a nice pastry…but alas there is a race to attend to).
“Take a picture of a Dodger fan and a Giants fan shaking hands.” We are huffin’ over to AT&T Park, wondering how to find such a duo. Team Ou reported that Giants fans were refusing their request to even shake hands with a Dodger fan! I see a curly haired woman in a white jersey with blue stripes..”TC! Look! Dodgers!” He skates past her and looks back- and notices her ffriend is in a Giants tee! We are in luck. I let the handsome young gents do the talking, the women are as friendly as one could ever hope (”Good luck you guys! It’s like the Amazing race, huh? We always said we should do a team and call ourselves the ‘Mamacitas’!”).
Next task: Skate or run to the Folsom Street Fair (AKA: Leather Fair) and “take a team photo with a scantily clad man in leather chaps or a drag queen. Then find the zipcar booth for another clue.” Running and gasping from At&T Park to the Street Fair (TC and TK skate ever so gracefully while surely I look like some roller derby asylum escapee), I notice a pack of white butts in leather. “Hey!! TC!!” The guys skate over and introduce themselves. Of the group, 2 of them agree to be in our photo. Later we will see plenty of butt-nekked gents, but our friendly samaritan had a yellow mesh banana hammock/thong in place for modesty under his chaps.
By the time we found zipcar, drooled our way past the street fair food booths (no time to eat), got on another historic F train, and then a Muni, and then skated back…12.82 miles later - we were cut off.
Awwwww. Poor P and J and R did not get to the do run to East Beach and paddle your arms off in freezing water bit. Those teams who made it got to hit that one, as well as one final biking leg. Oh well. Each leg this year felt like 2 previous ones, and at this point god knows I was ready to have a beer and eat some of the pizza they were feeding us.
A member of the Oracle team went home with full body road rash after a bike wipe out. A Google team member re-dislocated his shoulder and shared his story of pain and near-drowning. The winner of this year’s injury medal/prize had a bicycle incident that left him scuffed up and with a broken arm to boot. During the first biking leg, P said ‘I felt like I was dying.” During our running leg before we even got on the bridge, I heard a man next to me vent to his team mate “I’m dying.”
In the end, masochists that we are, we wanted even more. Already murmuring about being back next year as we headed to Huakilau and at the cholesterol nightmare of MocoLoco to replenish calories lost!
http://www.oysterracingseries.com/San-Francisco-Home/images.aspx
