The Addiction Begins. It all began way back in the summer of ‘82 (as a reader, you know you’re in for a long haul when a story opens this way). I was a lad of but 16 years looking forward to the start of my junior year in high school. There was still a glimmer of naive optimism in my young eyes towards the future and that the justice system actually worked. OJ was still a breakfast drink and a football hero, while Bill Clinton was many years away from “not having sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.” I apologize for the digression. All I really cared about were girls, parties, and sports...in that order.
Back then, soccer was my first sports love. I started on the varsity team my soph. year and was anxious for the new season. About a week after my family returned from a 10-day summer vacation, I found out that soccer tryouts had already been held, and I missed them. I don’t know if answering machines had been invented yet, but we sure as hell didn’t have one. Then this a**hole coach tells me I can be on the team, but only as a bench player - after starting for the guy as a soph! Dejected and pissed, I believe I told him to “f*** off!” (where did all this profanity come from?...maybe I’m still a tad bitter).
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, destiny was already hard at work. When I told one of my friends about the travesty beset against me by this demonic coach-like being, he had an insane idea. He suggested I run cross-country with him, since both sports occur in the fall. At this point, I wasn’t sure who seemed the bigger idiot, my friend or the soccer coach from hell. Keep in mind that I had never run more than the mile-and-a-quarter in gym class, though my competitive nature always compelled me to finish first (or else I was just trying to impress the girls; I don’t remember). So, for something new and to fill my plate, I agreed. Little did I know what I was getting into. Never before had I experienced such a masochistic environment: the one, two, or sometimes three-a-day workouts; the post-run endorphin highs; the aching muscles, popping blisters, falling toenails; and the confidence gained by goal setting and accomplishment. It was one of the most exciting times of my life. Although I returned to soccer my senior the demonic coach had quit), the addiction was coursing through my veins.
What’s an AREC? Now skip ahead about 13 years to the Los Alamitos 5K/10K. While in line to pick up a t-shirt and pin for winning my age group at the now defunct 4 Seasons Race Series, I met the guy standing behind me. It was AREC member Steve Singer. He had finished 1 point behind me in the standings after seeing my name ahead of him throughout the season. I guess he figured if you can’t beat ‘em, get ‘em to join, so he told me about the club. I don’t think I decided to run with AREC until Steve persuaded me a few months later at a race. By this time, I had a few marathons under my belt and countless shorter races, but I realized my training was alone and I rarely met any new people through running, though I recognized many familiar faces. It was time for a change. Immediately, I was attracted to the many possibilities that club running offered, and soon, I became the familiar face. I believe my enthusiam showed through, because after roughly one year with AREC, Bernard Dean Mills (citing a need for new blood), asked if I wanted to take over the Wednesday night runs. The rest, as they say, is history.