Where does one begin? So much material, so little time and so little writing talent.

Let’s start with the OCTR who abandoned soft dirt for a solid day of pounding the evil black pavement. Paul drove me to the race but Skip was the first OCTR member I ran into before the gun fired. Skip was wearing the loudest yellow long-sleeve technical jersey I’d ever seen. I like soccer, I love H2 yellow, so the Galaxy goalie look was working. Skip was running the half-marathon and then performing as Big Bird at a four year olds birthday party. Kids, all I can say is “don’t take apples from strangers.”

Next, I finally shook hands with the infamous Lori Heinselman Craig. I had never met anyone with three legitimate first names so I was nervous. Lori was the 5-hour pace leader and is a hard core ultra-runner with an impressive resume. She would be my boss for the next 5 hours or so. Living in HB, as a self admitted flat-lander, Lori has yet to make one of our Saturday trail runs. I was going to give her a hard time but assessed early that she could easily kick my pansy ass so I switched gears and picked on a few first time marathoners instead.

He almost gave me a heart attack but, Greg Hardesty was there running in the half-marathon with his 12 year old son Rio. Now that’s cool. The last time I physically saw Greg was when the whole OCTR gang helped him move Eric Kosters’ personal effects out of his pad; wow, that was an emotional day. Good thing for the restraining order. At mile 7, Rio looked strong and was pleading with Greg to get back up and keep running. All one could hear was, “come on dad, you can make it.” What an inspirational young man!

Keira was smart and avoided the whole OCTD crowd (or most likely just me). I slowed her down so drastically in the SJT 50K that she wasn’t taking any chances. Rumor has it she was even wearing a disguise.

True to form and on little to no sleep, Paul took off with the elite runners and was reportedly leading the Kenyans at the one mile mark. I didn’t see Paul until I bumped into him and Bee inside the finish/recovery area. Unfortunately, Paul had experienced some significant cramping and just gutted it out. Can you say 7 minute mile? Can you say cramping? Can you say, slow down! I’m going to purchase Paul a heart rate monitor. What would have happened if I needed a ride home!

I quit looking for Michael Voris at mile 20 when I realized we had never met and I had no idea what he looked like. I was not fortunate enough to see Pete or Lisa but after reading this diatribe they’re most likely happy about that.

Kim French managed to avoid Lori and me until the last mile. Kim was smartly outfitted and didn’t look the least fatigued. Lori immediately commented on how nice her running shorts/skirt was and I feared we may soon veer off to the nail salon to swap hygiene tips. I explained to Kim, as she would soon find out, that I’m not that funny in real person or during mile 25 of any marathon.

As always, Jessica was terrific by coming out and supporting the group. It must have been difficult to attend a marathon she wanted to participate in but couldn’t due to injury. She looked cool in her brown/orange outfit so maybe she was just scamming on guys. In any case, Jessica was exactly where she had promised to be.   At mile 17, Jessica was accompanied by Wendy who (since it was close to her house) decided to wander over after returning from an all night neighborhood swinger’s party. It must have been 10:00 a.m. I think she was still wearing pajamas or maybe parachute pants are back in style and I missed the memo. At mile 23, too self absorbed with my own Dolphin shorts and bulging quads, I totally missed Jessica who was exactly where she said she would be. I was blazing my iPod Shuffle to “Relax, Don’t Do It” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and having serious flashbacks of my 80’s life as a Malibu boy toy.

Now, let’s talk about the OC Marathon itself. I love all marathons and appreciate the opportunity to participate including the OC Marathon so take this with a huge grain of salt. The OC Marathon was totally “OC”. The running gear was off the charts. Paul and I thought we had accidentally shown up for the National Dog Sledding Championships in freezing conditions based on the designer full body suits, Fendi gloves, Starbucks hydration systems and Godiva Gu. I couldn’t tell if some of the runners were going to speed skate the course or bobsled it with the Jamaican team. The race starts in front of the Newport Center Edward’s Theatres which was beyond appropriate due to the sheer number of actors impersonating runners.

And, what’s up with the porta-pody shortage. Can no RD figured out the runner to urination ratio? Is there no historical dump-per-mile algorithm? There are five people in my house and we have four toilets. Do I live in complete excess? I don’t think the runner to porta-pody ratio was better than 200 to 1. The bathroom lines before the race were epic and continued along the course. I had to relieve myself 6 times and in true trail runner form, never entered the mobile facilities either due to wait lines or non-existence; some really crappy planning here.

This part I love. While actually running The OC Marathon, the first mile has a beautiful ocean view IF YOU TURN AROUND AND RUN BACKWARDS. Is it me or would it make more sense to finish at the nice cool ocean instead of a hot abandoned military base with a cheesy entertainment strip mall the size of Bell Gardens?

Let’s break down the run. The first few miles are pretty tolerable as they include sections of Newport Beach and parts of “Real Irvine”. I grew up in “Real Irvine:” had a 714 area code long before the 949ers goofed up the whole deal. The course passed by my high school (University High), meandered around Mason Regional Park and went next to my Junior High School (Rancho San Joaquin). This part of the run was fairly scenic and I traveled down memory lane after sneaking a peak of my childhood bedroom window just one block off Yale. Oh, being a child TV star, teenage idol and Carl’s Jr french fry technician; those were the glamour days.

When the course crossed the 405, that’s when things started to get screwy. Running through tract homes and then crossing the water aqueduct, we came to the intersection where half marathoners went right and the real runners went left. Skip, our OCTR reporter in the field, furnished the following insightful report. “As I neared the half-marathon and full marathon split, two runners immediately in front of me wearing blue full-marathon bibs looked at each other, one said “not feeling it”, the other agreed, they gave an enthusiastic high-five, turned right and ran the half-marathon instead. Only in Orange County can you find athletes celebrating defeat when not reaching a goal. What were they “not feeling?” their credit cards? XBOX joy sticks, valium, Bambi at Captain Creams? Hello, that’s what running an endurance event is all about; NOT FEELING IT, IS FEELING IT. I should go off but you get the point.

OK, so at about mile whatever, we enter the 909 Express Toll road. If you want to know what it’s like running on the moon or on mushrooms, that’s the place to trot around. The space is so vast you feel like you’re barely moving regardless of pace. Sound is swallowed by some invisible vortex. You can hear a pin drop. I was so bored, I actually starting thinking about what to buy my wife for her birthday on May 5th; that thought doesn’t usually hit until May 6th.

Exiting the VastTrack (which took a toll), we emerged into what many refer as “East Irvine”. Some prefer “Chino Hills West” and it’s coincidentally where Wendy lives. This land was the cornerstone of Irvine and once covered by Orange groves and towering Eucalyptus trees. This particular parcel was Orange County’s rainforest, producing 50% of the areas oxygen and was never intended for habitation by
materialistic, nanny toting homeowners. Traffic to light on Culver? Maybe Wendy and her neighbors have something against fruit flies. Don’t worry “East Irvine,” who needs plants anyway when there are synthetic alternatives and air conditioning makes life so real. Maybe it should be simply called, The County Marathon seeing how the oranges don’t mean much too snippy carnivores.

After we departed the Stepford Wives breeding area, the course takes you out to a beautiful road headed up towards Bee Canyon; yes, the dump. Did I take a crazy pill or is this run still backwards? Miles 19 to 24 were very tough due to constant incline, a good head wind, 80 degree heat and no orange groves. We lost all but one of our 5-hour marathoners including three 5-hour pacers. Which brings me to a question I had when originally approved to be an actual pacer. What are the qualifications for pacing? Uptight and prone to walking back and forth in your hallway? You’re in. Shouldn’t a pacer be able to complete the marathon in the agreed time? Let’s face it, 26.2 miles is tough at any pace just due to the gross amount of time pounding the street. However, if you agree to let runners read your back bib which states “5 hours” and you finish in 6 hours, doesn’t that pose a small expectation issue? What do you tell someone following you for 5-hour pace guidance at the end of a 6-hour finishing time? You switched to Central Mountain time during the race! Hey, I’m not one to gossip but when only 2 out of the five 5-hour pacers make it within the posted time, there’s an evaluation shortfall.

Miles 24 to 26.2 heading towards the world’s biggest strip mall were relatively down hill. The finish line caught me off guard as the arch was smaller than expected. I had to turn sideways to get through. The finish/recovery area was pretty dead. I found myself eating McDonald’s apples from a bag. I love McDonald’s new image movement. Here, have an apple after we peel the skin and remove 90% of the vitamins and minerals. As for crowd support, there were more people at my intervention than at this race.

In the end, I couldn’t find a band or weight room so it was off to my Jeep which was hidden two blocks away. Shuttle busses, full of sweaty people, are fine if you’re my first wife trying to sneak into the US but, not after a marathon. You just ran 26.2 miles and you’re headed like salmon back to the exact spot you started from. Hey man, I’m not feeling it.

Charlie