Unlikely Competitors Pursue Dreams in Marathon
For many, grueling 26.2-mile race is contest with self

By Brent Hopkins, Staff Writer
Article Last Updated: 03/01/2008 11:08:30 PM PST

Drenched in sweat and squeezing energy gels into their mouths to battle fatigue and get past "the wall," they'll push forward to a magic line that's 26.2 long, hard miles from where they began. They will run, walk, pedal, crank wheelchairs - and dream.

While today's Los Angeles Marathon doesn't have the grueling reputation of its New York and Boston counterparts, it's still a daunting haul.

And although the thought of entering such a long race terrifies many, the challenge has a special draw for others.

Last year, more than 26,000 entered the L.A. Marathon - cheered on by a million spectators.
Some do it for the glory, some in memory of lost loved ones and friends. Some do it just to prove they can, one aching step at a time.

Paul Richards, 14, Glendale
Six months ago, the eighth-grader began his quest. Running one minute, walking 30 seconds. Then two minutes at a dash, 60 seconds slowing down. Three miles, then five, then more.
Last week, he ran 18 miles.

"I'm nervous, very nervous," he said. "I've got dreams that I'm doing it, and I'm really tired. I'm sure it'll hurt."

His father, Jeff, said it's been a challenge for Paul, who has autism. But pushed by his teammates at Rosemont Middle School, Paul kept at it and built up his stamina.

Running three times a week - after school and early each Saturday morning - the budding marathoner now has no trouble taking laps around the Rose Bowl and Hansen Dam.

"I find just driving 18 miles is pretty painful to me," Jeff Richards said. "His grades have improved, his self-discipline has improved, and his physique has gotten better.

"At first it was tough, but he started building up his strength, and now he's doing wonderfully."
Getting the idea himself, Paul asked his father if he could run to raise money for the AbilityFirst Paul Weston Center, a Woodland Hills-based facility that offers programs for the developmentally disabled.
Jeff Richards serves as the center's director and welcomed the unexpected support, which has so far brought in $200 in pledges.

In the final days, Paul has psyched himself up, convincing himself that the nervousness will fade as the mileage increases.

"I know I can do it," he said. "I've just got to train my brain to say `when I do it,' not `if I do it."'

Lisa Yaremchuk, 41, Woodland Hills
She takes each step wondering if she'll have strength for the next.

Her lungs gripped with chronic asthma for most of her adult life, Yaremchuk never considered running. The ultimate event seemed out of the question.

But one friend tried it, then another. They seemed so excited, she felt she had to give it a shot.
"A marathon, to me, is insane," she said. "My own mother said, `You'll die; don't do it.' But I faced my fear and started training."

She joined Team Molasses, which moves "slow and sweet," and spent the past half-year increasing her tolerance. Choking for air, tears in her eyes, she forced her way forward until she felt confident.
She runs in memory of her beloved uncle, friend and confidant John Barber, who died of AIDS-related complications in 1999. She is raising for AIDS Project Los Angeles with pledges for her run.
"When you run with asthma, you feel like you can't catch enough air in your lungs," she said. "My legs want to go, but I can't put that together with my lungs. It's very scary, but I got through it without one incident. I built my lungs up, and I can take it."

Dennis Marsella, 57, Fort Lauderdale
While his fellow runners lace up their Nikes and Brooks, Marsella will pull on his size-10 1/2 wingtips, a necktie and a fur-lined coat.

And if that's not enough, he'll grab a waiter's tray and balance a bottle and glass. What seems unthinkable feels routine to the trotter known as Coatman. He's done the L.A. Marathon 22 times and run 26-mile trips an additional 92 times.

"Everyone loves the Kenyans who run in the front, but once you get past them, you need something different," he said. "You see a guy run past in a waiter outfit with dress shoes, you get a huge laugh out of it."

One man used to run the New York City marathon garbed as a Roman gladiator. Then there was the postal worker who ran flipping a rubber pancake. There have been Elvises and a Wolfman or two. Marsella likens it to creating a character in modern dance.

Despite the odd attire, he expects to finish in 4 hours and 15 minutes.

"The key with a trick runner is you've gotta add a significant amount of difficulty," Marsella said. "Carrying something waiter-style - that's hard.

"Putting on a T-shirt that says Superman or a girl dressed up as Dolly Parton - that's questionable. Let's say you ran naked; that doesn't really add to the difficulty."

Aaron Baker, 29, Santa Clarita
He wasn't even supposed to walk again, but he knows he'll make it.

In 1999, he was a hotshot motocross rookie when he shot over his handlebars during training, landed on his neck and began life as a quadriplegic.

Told he'd never walk again, Baker refused to accept life in a wheelchair.

With the help of Northridge-based therapist Taylor-Kevin Isaacs, Baker worked his deadened muscles and reawakened nerves that were never supposed to feel again. Miraculously, his legs began to function, and he retook his feet.

After years of therapy, Baker now walks with a cane and has returned to cycling - this time, the pedaled variety. In 2003, he rode the marathon course on a tandem bike with his mother, Laquita Conway, then repeated the next three years.

"I'm not the kind of personality where I can go ride circles in the park," he said. "I want to showcase the work we've done."

Today, he hopes to ride solo on a specially modified three-wheeler, rolling along to raise awareness for his work with the Center of Rehabilitative Exercise, or CORE.

That would be challenging enough, he said, but he's also been struggling with a virus that's been going around. Given all he's gone through, however, he feels that is a minor hurdle to overcome.
"We'll get across the line," he said. "I feel terrible. My fever's up, I'm hot and bothered, but we're gonna get there.

"And I will walk the last 500 yards."

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