Nothing Like a Marathon to Jump Start Your Day

WALKING ALONG THE Santa Monica Pier this past weekend, it had occurred to me that I live too close to this area to not appreciate it as much as I should. I almost take for granted the fifteen-minute drive down Pacific Coast Highway. The warm feel of the sun mixed with the cold blasts of wind, but nonetheless gave me a very satisfied feeling. It reminded me of the last visit prior to this, when I waited on the sidewalk of Ocean for my friend to cross the finish line of the LA Marathon.

Running the marathon was a goal he had before the end of the 2009 school year. He began training in August and stuck to his routine. That Sunday morning, March 21, the sun rose over Dodger Stadium where he and 25,000 people prepared to literally run through the city of Los Angeles. The kinds of people that came out to this event served as a colorful support group for the runners.

Police officers wandered up and down the course controlling the flow of traffic and protecting unaware pedestrians from walking on the wrong side of the road. I remember watching the crowd cross the one-mile mark, people running by dressed like Elvis, wearing banana suits and other costumes. On the bibs of the runners are a number to identify with and a name. Most people put their own name but there were few who wrote the name of a person to whom they dedicated the race. It is amazing to see how so many different people can come together for a few hours and share in something so incredible, running, walking or supporting.

While the insanely packed streets caused me some claustrophobic moments, I would be more than willing to bear through it all again to see the joy on my friend’s face. I have trouble articulating what it is that I felt that morning, other than the usual joy and happiness for my friend and the 25,000 people who overcame this great feat. I cannot even begin to imagine how much of an achievement it is to run the marathon, and not just any marathon but one that takes you on a tour through your own city.

Standing on the pier that morning gave me a different feeling, one that I will never feel on an ordinary day overlooking the ocean from the dock. It felt close to inspiration, similar to motivation. Maybe next year I'll find that word that I was looking for, hopefully something like 'exultance.'

“All of the hard work leading up to the race was well worth it when you cross the finish line and get an overwhelming sense of pride in yourself.” -Chad Smith, a dear friend and LA Marathon 2010 Participant.

Surprise in the Alley

ON A Saturday night, I walked down 2nd Street only focused on getting to Little Tokyo. It was the first time that I had walked around Los Angeles without the protection of my father or my family and I was nervous. But that night I realized that if you’re concerned with only your destination, you fail to appreciate the journey getting there.

Nothing but concrete buildings towered above me with the lights on the top floors dotting the night sky. The breeze shifted my bangs out of place and as I went to shake my head and move them out of my eyesight, the colors pink and yellow flickered in my peripheral vision. To my left was a dark alleyway with one light illuminating a brick wall and just where the light faded and reached its range, a vibrant masterpiece caught my attention.

With the recent talks of graffiti being an art I looked at this differently than when I saw markings on the underpass on a freeway as a child. With a new understanding I was able to see the passion the artist must have had to create this. It's location was even more appreciative because it was in a place where it wasn’t obvious that it was there but hidden enough to be a treasure. Had I not glanced a little to my left I would have continued bee lining down the sidewalk with no disregard. The true colors of Los Angeles jump out at me even more now that I actually take time to try and find them.

-- Antoinette Ochoa

(photo credit: Antoinette Ochoa)

The Glory of Getting Lost is Finding Your Way Around

“GET LOST on purpose.” The funny thing is that when Mike Sonksen came to speak to our class, it wasn’t the first time that I had heard those words. I actually had interviewed someone for the profile piece whose stories were about nights planned with an open-ended agenda. Up until the last weekend of February this idea seemed so dangerous and would have been one of the last things I would do.

I spent the weekend showing a friend of mine the city of Los Angeles. He attends the University of Michigan and is originally from Wisconsin, so coming here to California was a first for him. Our only big plan was seeing the LA Philharmonic and some project bands at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. We intended for the rest of the weekend to be random, but nothing beat that Friday night.

Before the show started, the two of us were walking through the venue and my friend ran into a colleague of his from Michigan. He lives close to the hall so we asked him where he recommended eating after the show. He replied one word: Wurstkuche.

Driving down 3rd and Alameda, I thought to myself that this would never be an area that I would drive through—especially at that hour and just for a hot dog; something didn’t seem right. We had no idea where we were going but after a few minutes of driving it didn’t matter. The spontaneity was enticing and the mixing of nervous and exciting feelings cancelled out any fear I had for being out of my element.

If it weren’t for this moment, I probably would have never known about the existence of such an eccentric eatery: The five-year-standing, dimly-lit venue filled with people, ranging from the early 20s to early 70s, sitting and standing around long tables that stretched across the room. Belgian beers lined the bar in one corner and a DJ was mixing beats and playing popular songs in the other. The eccentricity of the place was overwhelming.

Even though the restaurant blew my mind, nothing was more mind boggling than the idea that I had actually thrown myself, willingly, into a different idea. It used to sound like the most challenging thing to do, but I’ve come to realize it’s not so bad.

-- Antoinette Ochoa