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Where does one start with this grueling event? I missed every preview run do to liposuction and peck reduction surgery. That’s good and bad. The good was since I had no idea how difficult the Harding trail was, I actually showed up on Sunday. The bad, had I known how hard the entire 15 mile climb was, I might have never gotten out of bed. I don’t think anybody would’ve faulted me for not running only three weeks after my Motorway free-fall. I had a legitimate out clause and didn’t exercise it. I could’ve been living it up at Santiago Club 54 sipping Jose Cuervo Maggie’s and doing the freak with the Skipmeister.

The Harding trail is really a dirt treadmill set at a fifteen degree incline to infinity. I felt like a hamster wedged in an outdoor Habitrail wheel with no way out. No matter how many times you put one foot in front of the other, you never seem to go anywhere. The road is endless and every single new inch of it looks just like the last inch of it; Ground Hog’s Day around every corner. It was brutal. My iPod Shuffle randomly taunted me by playing “Stairway to Heaven”, “Highway to Hell”, “Roundabout” and just about every other irritating climb song imaginable. I believe Wendy had some remote access to my iPod and was playing mental games with me from her lawn chair. Thankfully, towards the top of Harding, “I Can’t Drive 55” from Sammy Haggar hit the ear phones and I started thinking about Skip and the Galapagos Tortoise (his gold Lexus for those out of the loop). I finally smiled.

Like a complete moron, I was racing against my Garmin’s Virtual Partner so I don’t recall any of the aid stations. How’s that for complete stupidity? All these great people and I’m farting around with a make believe running partner who is fifteen minutes ahead of me. But it’s all a fantasy. Anyway, I blew threw the Harding aid station just to encounter another nice uphill section of the infamous Main Divide. The name “Main Divide” was starting to make sense. I had always thought it referred to how the road snaked thru the center of the mountain creating two distinct sides. The true meaning is obvious to me now. The “Main Divide” refers to people. If you’re running up the side of a mountain on a road that would be considered beat by Tijuana standards, you’re officially “Divided” from the rest of the normal population. You’ve left the “Main” stream and are taking a path that most won’t drive up. Under my breath, I called Jessica some nasty name. I think I referenced Richard Ramirez and some type of blind date.

Nice little detour up Modjeska Peak. Who dreamed this beauty up? Did somebody dynamite the trail the night before? It was a mine field of jagged edged granite razor blades. The Army core of engineers wouldn’t bother repairing this road. They would call in an air strike and nuke that peak to smithereens. And, why did we climb Modjeska Peak? Oh yeah, for some lame sticker in a pink Tupperware container. Hey Eric, next year, grab mine for me. I’ll meet you up at Santiago Club 54 and have a Rum Jungle Mojito waiting for you while I bump & grind with the Skipster’s fly girls.

Reaching Santiago Peak was like having a dry orgasm. I was really elated to be there but too messed up in the head to enjoy it. After hearing all the Skip stories, I’m going to reserve a table for next year and take a ten minute break. I snubbed Skip as usual by denying service and split like a ten year old stealing candy from the local drug store. I was really pathetic. Strike two.

For me, the run back down the mountain was more like “Dancing with the Stars.”   I’ve seen kids playing hop scotch who exhibit greater stride technique. My right quad, while not in pain, was real tight and had decided that ballet sized tippie toe steps would be about it. I should’ve stopped and stretched but was so freaked about my Garmin Virtual Idiot that I just stupidly jiggled along.

Even as beat up as he was before the start of the race, I knew Eric would be the first OCTR to cross the finish line. He may have doubted that but I never did. Eric passed me at mile twenty four and was going so fast I don’t think he actually saw me. With my orange shirt, I must have looked like a lost Cal Trans worker taking a pee.

Marisa, who I had seen at various stages of the run, finally passes me for good at around mile 26. With Marisa, it’s never if she is going to pass me but when. What’s up with these beautifully nice, talented folks who come from far away continents just to upstage a Native American son on his OC home turf? Since you’re asking, I don’t think most South Africans actually work. And, unlike the Italians (spumoni), the Hispanics (nachos) and the Asians (fish balls), they certainly don’t share food recipes. Have you actually ever seen a South African restaurant? Rumor has it, Marisa made salty potatoes for the runners but I never spotted a single spud. Marisa, you can only hold out on the Biltong for so long.

So many people passed me in the last 6 miles, I lost count. I must have been moving slow as runners started putting empty trash and Gu packs on my back. Birds started eying me like some shopping square statue. Hydration was no longer a concern as I wasn’t moving fast enough to sweat. Potential mold formation was now my problem.

Paul is the most relaxed ultra marathon runner I’ve ever seen. With his attire, he could have just as easily visited Disneyland, done laundry or gone sailing for the day. Paul was wearing his newest line of 100% cotton anti-technical wear. I have no idea how he didn’t turn into one massive blister and supernova but he didn’t. With his ten pound camera and fifteen pounds of support gear, he casually conquered Twin Peaks in thirty minutes less than my first ultra. Soaking in the sights, by taking some really cool photos, Paul enjoyed and experienced his first ultra the way you are suppose to. He taught me something.

Scott White (Fleet Feet Owner), aside from being a great guy, is the most graceful downhill runner I have ever seen; fast. He looked like the FTD flower guy just floating down hill. I can’t even joke about it because it was surreal to watch. He is a very smart, patient runner and picks his spots like a wise owl.

What can you say about Michelle Barton that hasn’t already been said? She looked like her typical put together self every time she passed me (going the other direction). Literally, she looked like she just got out of her car and was stepping to the starting line. With all that beautiful flowing hair, she reminded me of the Strawberry Kiddle my sister played with as a child. Not that this has anything to do with running but, my GI JOE got court marshaled for torturing that Kiddle (and other snobbish Barbie’s) with model glue and matches. “Burn baby burn baby burn, disco inferno!” OK, got off track but Michelle basically beat up on a bunch of tough guys, ate some food, grabbed a trophy and went home for a run. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks she’s an Apple Macintosh Personal Runner prototype that escaped from the lab. The iMichelle!

Pete, Lisa and Kim did exactly what you are supposed to do on your first ultra; enjoy it and comfortably finish. Every time I saw any of them, they were smiling and chatting away. Pete had his standard all pro tech look, Lisa was all put together and Kim was ready for any impromptu photo shoot should Cosmo be whooping it up at Santiago Club 54. Kim’s “My Little Pony” flame gators were classic.

While I did get to at least see Natalia, I personally missed Greg and Keira. Maybe they would have jolted me out of my hypnotic clock lock and made me laugh. I thought about them often and wondered if they had brought an
11 x 17 laminated glossy picture of me for motivation and inner guidance. Did they know their own names, where they lived or what type of toilet bowl cleaner they preferred? Had they seen Elvis, Bruce Lee or Jimmy Hoffa on Holy Jim? Had they swapped spit with Jesse James’ ghost on West Horse Thief? Yeah, I know he robbed banks but he’s the only outlaw I can think of and I’m sure he stole a few ponies. However, this is what all 100+ runners were pondering. What shampoo will Greg use to restore his flowing sheen? I’m thinking Paul Mitchell electrolyte for oily hair.

Where was Michael Voris? I grabbed a chocolate milk at the end of the race for some riboflavin and there he was on the side of the carton. “Missing, have you seen this man?” I thought he would have better search & rescue results with the missing gay children on the half & half cartons but who am I? I phoned in a Trabuco Canyon Amber alert and ate a piece of pizza. Turns out Michael had a hang nail, four goose bumps, some dandruff (should have consulted Greg) and a 61” wide screen plasma TV with the Super Bowl on at home. We’ll have to schedule the next 50 miler for MV on a work day.

And the unspoken hero for the day with all this Twin Peaks press is Kyle who ran a reported 41 miles just to clean up after Greg, Keira and Skip. I can’t say enough about this guy. His attitude, skill level and general demeanor are beyond explanation. Someone told me Kyle use to smoke cigarettes. I use to do much worse than that so why don’t I turn in sub seven trail miles?

Whether you ran the 50K or 50 miler track, they’re both brutal. Normally, I kind of think about mountain lions. On this day, a three legged tree squirrel could have dragged me off to the acorn silo for a slow, painful death. It’s Wednesday and I’m still tired. I’ve eaten everything insight. My cats are getting nervous about their food. If I guzzle one more OC Energy drink, I’m going to start wearing my pants below my crack and pick up skate boarding in front of 711.

Months before The Twin Peaks 50/50, I would look out my upstairs window and stare directly into the “Saddle” of the Twin Peaks and say repeatedly in a cocky tone, “I’m coming for you.” I looked out that same window today and didn’t see a saddle. Now, all I see is one big smile looking directly at me. I realize that nobody conquers a mountain, you just survive it. I find it ironic that it took someone from Minnesota to get me (and others) off my fat booty and run up and down that mountain. Thanks Jessica for making me do something I’ll complain about for the rest of my life, do again and cherish for ever.

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