UNTITLED CHAD DARNELL PROJECT

New Pics

The photo company for the Florence Marathon is slower than Christmas.  Literally.

I did the marathon almost a month ago and they are STILL loading the photos.  Some of mine just came on line (which means should I decide to buy them, I should have them by October of 2007).

This was towards the beginning.  Now see, not an absolutely terrible picture (compared to the other 45,000 pictures available on the site of people looking constipated or about to keel over).  Tyra would tell me my eyes are dead.  Nigel would tell me I should close my mouth.  I mean, it's not awful, bad awful.

Then there is this one.  This was about the midway point.  I look like I'm in pain.  But my shoulder looks great.

And now I've just given up.  Here I was talking to Lisa Fine's coach (whose name escapes me).  He was telling me to keep going, blah, blah, blah.  I wasn't having it.  I DO remember turning right after this picture was snapped and saying, "but of course THERE is the photographer NOW."  Still, the picture makes me laugh because it looks like he's talking to a statue in the street.  A brokedown statue... but a statue nonetheless.

-C

Part 3: When in Rome

Natch, the morons at the desk for the third morning straight did NOT give us a wake up call and I shot straight up in bed at 750AM - squinting to see the clock on the television.

We still had to pack, check out, get our bags over to the Baglioni where the girls were staying, grab the girls, and get to the train station.

The Baglioni had its series of problems as well.  Not only do they boast the rudest set of concierges on the globe (one man began wringing his hands and screaming at Marlena, "please, please just away" when asked, "do you have a copy of the train schedules?") and the switchboard had Marlena's room as 161 when in fact it was 159.  So forget trying to call them.  To their credit, they did have a great breakfast and a very sweet crew of waiters we came to know every morning.

I showered and dressed first, ran to the hotel, found Marlena and Fab, told them about the lack of wake up call, and we revised the plans.  I then ran back to my hotel, grabbed my bags and eventually all of us were at the train station.

The train to Rome was only an hour and a half and cost about $75 round trip.  The way that I justified the trip was "leather jacket or Rome for a day."  Rome won.  I'll be Brad Pitt some other day.  (I don't think I wrote about that story... later.)

There were probably about a dozen other runners (including Catie, Shannon and her sister) leaving for Rome that morning and much like "The Amazing Race," we all decided to meet at the Spanish Steps at 4:30 PM.

I pulled a metro schedule, but Marlena - smarter and prettier, decided we should take taxis for our jaunt around the city trip.  She was right - it was faster, we didn't have to think, we just hailed a cab and took off.

Once we arrived in Rome, we jumped in a taxi and sped to the Colosseum.  We didn't go in, but took lots of pics outside.  Marlena and I bought extremely cheap (and by cheap, I mean hideous) sunglasses.  Note to self:  I do not look good in Aviator sunglasses.  I took lots of snapshots in my head, for my eventual art project with stick figures.  And back into the cab - off to Vatican City.

   

The Sistine Chapel had just closed a half hour before we got there, but we went inside St. Peters, which was probably my favorite part of the entire trip.  It's beautiful - actually, beautiful doesn't begin to describe it.  We also toured the tombs of the Popes. 

After St. Peters, we hopped a taxi for the Spanish Steps.  We had lunch at a street cafe, where cars literally raced past us just inches away.  We met up with everyone and then split off again.

On our way to the Trevi Fountain, we passed a funeral.  At least we believe it was a funeral.  At first we thought it was a parade.  We're still not sure.

The Trevi is fantastic - and there is a whole thing about throwing coins into the fountain.  Depending on who you ask, you're supposed to throw between one and three coins into the fountain.  The coins are collected each night, amounting in about 3,000 euro (or 1500 leather jackets).  The money goes to help feed the homeless.

 

Then to the Pantheon.  Not the PARTHENON, the Pantheon.  A lot of saints are buried inside.

After the Pantheon, we had dinner in a square, the name escapes me, but exhaustion was setting in for me.  I don't remember what I ate.  It was getting cold.  Too cold for gellato, which we had promised ourselves.

By the time we returned to the train station, this little camper was pooped.  All I remember was staggering around the train station in search of coffee, then deciding against coffee, instead, hoping it would push me further into sleep on the train.

It worked.  And THREE HOURS later, we arrived in Florence.  Apparently I missed quite the show in my coma, as my traveling companions lamented about the obnoxious passengers around us.  And the fact, that we boarded a train that made five stops, not the one way train.  I, however, had a three hour nap.

Too exhausted to walk with our bags, Ryan and I grabbed our suitcases and called a cab.  A cab that would take us ten blocks and charge us twenty euro.  We went across the city of ROME for eight euro.  So the lesson here:  at night in Florence, do NOT call a cab from a hotel.  Hail one from the street.  In fact, don't EVER have them call a cab for you.  Just hail one.  That's single-handedly the best trick Chris ever taught me in New York.

We arrived five minutes later, twenty euro poorer at the Hotel Cellai.  The staff was exceptional.  The hotel itself was very small, but by far, the most charming of all the ones we had been in.  I highly recommend it.  I found it through a discount website and it cost us seventy-five euro a night.  We considered going the hostel experience, but having recently seen the movie, "Hostel," I didn't really feel like dying.  And with my luck, you just know that I would be the one with a fire poker through my skull.

It was after midnight, we checked in.  I wanted a shower.  Now question:  Why is it that Italy hasn't seemed to catch on to the fact that shower heads can be mounted on the wall?  In both of our hotels, you had to hold the shower head, like you were washing lettuce.  And try applying shampoo and holding that thing at the same time.

The bidet and the toilet faced each other, so you had to do a fan kick in order to do any sort of business.  The bathroom was tiny - but still - for your money, for the experience - it's a great hotel.  We Americans are just spoiled with big rooms and mounted shower heads.

I finished my evening on the rooftop terrace, overlooking a small patch of Florence.  Part of me couldn't wait to get back to work and part of me wanted to stay in Florence forever with my new little family of four.

And don't think the thought:  I can't wait to get back to work - didn't go unnoticed.  For the first time in my entire life, I realized, I actually love my job.

Part 4 tomorrow.

(All photos, above taken from my favorite website - Wikipedia.com)

Part 2: I'm Bringing Sexy Back

So - I think the point in the story I need to go back to is after the package pick up.  (All pics from Wikipedia.com - sadly, not my camera... now in the hands of bandits.)

On Saturday, after we picked up our packets, we went back to the hotel and dumped everything in the room.  Ryan and I met up with the girls, Marlena and Fabriola and we went to The Academy to find "David."  Okay, first piece of advice... everything I read, heard, or was told, was to get reservations to everything.  However, if you go to Italy this time of year, ignore that.  Hotels and the museums charge you about six euros a pop to reserve a ticket.

We walked right into the Academy (in the middle of an alley... you would walk right past the museum and not know it) and saw David.  It's stunning.  But at the same time, you have to stop and remind yourself, millions of people journey to this little hole in a wall off an alley to stare at a giant naked man. 

After staring at a naked man for a half hour, Ryan and I met up with Kevin to go to the Duomo.  It's only like 450 steps to the top of it.  (Not something I highly recommend doing the day before a marathon...) and the steps are very narrow.  If you were a person of size, you would get stuck.  At some points, it is such a tight squeeze, you feel like there should have been complimentary grease at the bottom.  At some points, people squeeze past you going down as you are squeezing past to go up.  But the view is beautiful.  And again, IF I HAD MY CAMERA I WOULD HAVE PICS!!

After we left the Duomo, we returned to the hotel for the pasta party.  The pasta itself was horrible, but the company was spectacular.  It was our last time together before the marathon.  However, some of us needed more sustenance than the plate of zitti, so off to a little restaurant we went where I had the best grilled chicken and spinach ever to land in my stomach, and confirmed that Italians DO in fact know how to cook something other than pizza of baby.

We went to bed and yet again, did not receive a wake up call for the marathon.  However, our body clocks woke us up right on time.  Showered and ready, we made our way to the Baglioni to meet up with everyone.  Had I listened to the voice in my head, I would not have worn warm up clothes, as the weather was PERFECT.

The weather was perfect the entire time we were in Florence.  It rained for about five minutes the entire trip.  The forecast said it would rain every day.  It wasn't until the last day that we hit a cold snap.  Other than that, the weather was beautiful.

After hopping the bus, we were taken to the warm up drop off, which would be the last time I would ever lay eyes on my camera, favorite running pants and sweatshirt.

We then piled into buses that took us to the start.  I didn't breathe for the ten minute drive as many of my fellow European runners decided to skip a shower that morning.

We arrived at what we called "Fake David #2" (Piazzale Michelangelo).  After visiting the port o' potties (and the image of Shannon running from the port o' potty with her hands above her head screaming, "I CAN'T DO IT!" still blazed in my head) we lined up and took off.

The first few miles were down hill.  We clocked our first few miles at 9.5 to 10 minute miles.  You may say, "that's great!"  And it is a nice feeling to think, "we're flying!" but it's not until mile 20 that you start cursing yourself for starting off so fast.

The entire course was in kilometers.   We trained by miles.  Math was never a good subject for me.  So the entire race, I had no idea how fast I was really going.  I was constantly going "a 5K is 3.1 miles... we're at 14K, so that's..." and trying to do math in your head when you are running... forget it.

We ran all over Florence.  The cobblestones were few and far in between, but they did their damage all the same.

The spirit killer was a park we ran through at the end.  It was straight down and straight back with nothing but the ass of the person in front of you to look at.  Every single person who ran it said that park if what killed them mentally, because you could see the stretch for miles.  And when pain has set in, and you know it's nearly over, you don't seem to care.

There was a 6 hour cut off and when I entered the park, I still had 2 hours and 20 minutes.  But that park killed me.  I walked most of it.  My legs were swollen.  My back was killing me.  And at this point, I was running by myself. 

But I finally finished, with 28 minutes to spare. 

When I arrived at the tent, Ryan looked dreadful.  He had finished hours before me, but was severely dehydrated and loopy.  We walked to pick up our bags.

And mine of course was gone.  I tried to make Ryan go back to the hotel to rest and get a shower, not realizing how dehydrated and out of it he was, while I waited and prayed for my bag to be found.  Two other people were also missing their bags, but eventually found out, they had each other's bag.

So I was the last one with the trucks, staring into an empty truck, hoping my bag was going to walk up from a smoke break with a martini in one hand and exclaim, "oh!  You're back!  Sorry, I thought you'd be gone longer" but to no avail.

All I got from the people in the trucks were "so sorry" in broken English.  You know that scene at the end of "X-Men:  The Last Stand" when Famke's skin goes grey, here eyes go black, she rises off the ground and starts destroying everything around her?  That's what I pictured in my head.  Me in my wet yellow singlet, red bandana - arms outstretched with a bad complexion, blowing up everything around those damned trucks and a deep demonic voice barking, "WHERE IS MY BAG!?!!"

The sun was going down.  My clothes were wet with sweat and I began to walk back.  Only to realize, I have no idea where in the Hell I am.

So after running 26.2 miles, I added an extra three trying to find my way back to the hotel.

When I arrived at the hotel, like a walking dead corpse, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror outside the room.  Death Run Through a Warm Room.

I knocked on the door.  Ryan opened the door with a look of "well... did they find it?"  All I could muster was "I'm bringing sexy back."

Ryan was on the phone with Patricia, and in the two hours since we had seen each other, had not showered on orders from Patricia that he could have gone into shock and I wouldn't have been there to rescue him.  He too, had no idea where he was going, so he spent the same scenic tour through Florence to find the hotel.

While he caught up on the phone, I showered.  My legs were huge.  I was still pissed about the bag, but took solace in the fact that whoever had my camera was going to find all these pictures of my friends looking alive and then pictures of them dead.  (Pics from the set of "Crossing Jordan,"... just in case you haven't read the previous entry!)  I thought for sure I was going to get it back when the Italian FBI arrived to arrest me.  If for no other reason, they could have stopped the murders of Ryan, Shannon, Catie, Marlena, Fab, and Kevin.  I just pictured someone screaming, "we have to save these people!"  But clearly a thief doesn't have the heart to stop a serial killer. 

Karma's a bitch. 

After I showered, I laid down and came to about three hours later, only waking as the James Caan character in "Misery."  My legs would not move.  I had to use my arms and elbows to crawl across the bed to answer the phone.

Having spent three nights now in Italy... it was time to drink.  While most of the crew had gone to eat - Ryan and I tried to recover, rousing to go to Za Za for food and a glass of wine.  That's right.  One.  We were too tired to consume more than one.

Plans were then made to go to Rome the following morning.  We would wake at 7AM, meet at 730AM and hit the train station to be out of Florence by 9.

But then again... this IS the hotel that doesn't do wake up calls.

Finish

(I'm the little yellow blob below the "T" in STUDIO.)

Split	Time	min/Km	Delta	min/Km	RealTime
Viale Sanzio (5K)	0.38.15	7,39	0.38.15	7,39	0.33.21
Via dei Serragli (10K)	1.11.39	7,09	0.33.24	6,40	1.06.45
Lungarno A.Moro (15K)	1.47.55	7,11	0.36.16	7,15	1.43.01
Largo Gennarelli (1/2 mar.)	2.31.59	7,12	0.44.04	7,13	2.27.05
Via Piagentina (25K)	3.01.05	7,14	0.29.06	7,27	2.56.11
Viale F.lli Rosselli (30K)	3.41.25	7,22	0.40.20	8,03	3.36.31
Viale Washington (35K)	4.31.45	7,45	0.50.20	10,03	4.26.51
Via del Proconsolo (40K)	5.18.56	7,58	0.47.11	9,26	5.14.02
Piazza Santa Croce	5.38.42	8,01	0.19.46	9,00	5.33.48

Florence

I’m here.

I’m done.

I’m over it.

Hear me now... and as God as my witness... I will never run another marathon again. Yes, I KNOW I’ve said this three other times, but none of my friends have actually put the bullet in my head as requested. But this is it. I’m going to tell the people at Run With Us to cut me off.

As I write this, it is about midnight, the day of the marathon, I’m exhausted and have to be up in six hours to move hotels and possibly go to Rome. Depending on my mobility, all plans are up in the air. So this is not a complete coverage of everything so far.

The Thursday flight started off fine. There was no national security scare, and in my eyes, that’s always a nice start. If you have no idea what I’m referring to, you’ll have to search the archives for the moment I announced I “thought we were blowing up the CIA on Tuesday! That’s what I planned for!”

Apparently Lufthansa stands for “transporting and torturing two hundred paraplegic dwarves.” First class has more room per seat than a New York studio apartment. Business class was the size of my bathroom per seat.

But we were traveling coach, and I would have had more room in a coffin than I did for ten hours. Hell, I would have had more room in and URN. The seat in front of me was four inches from my face. Ryan and I had to share the under the seat space in front of him, because there was a post in front of my seat and I won’t even go into the thing tat was sitting to my right. If you are a dwarf who doesn’t have legs (even short people were complaining, and I’m 6’2”) and have the ability to fall asleep for ten hours and not move, then I’m sure you would enjoy the flight.

And the plane has ashtrays all over the plane, with signs that read, “No Smoking.” Didn’t they stop smoking on planes like around 1832? You would think they would turn the little ashtrays into bud vases. Or here’s a brainstorm, COVER THEM UP.

But as for torture... our two movie choices were “The Break Up” and “The Lake House.” I think that’s all I have to say on that.

I downloaded two meditation podcasts and I’ll have to get the exact link and post it later, because those two podcasts saved my life. I managed to sleep for about five hours on the plane thanks to them and they have saved me in the hotel as well. I’m usually out like a light about fifteen minutes into them.

We landed in Frankfurt, did the whole customs thing, and the went on to the tarmac to board a “puddle jumper” to Florence. However, this little puddle jumper had more room than American Airlines.

We landed in Florence, it was about two in the afternoon on Friday. We made it to the hotel. AIDS Marathon is split between the Baglioni and the Albani. Ryan and I are at the Albani. If you want to know what it looks like, imagine the inside of Shrek’s stomach. That’s the color of the walls. We have a beautiful terrace that looks over an alley. And a shower I still haven’t figured out how to work.

Friday afternoon was spent unpacking and trying to eat dinner.

Backing up. Tim Kring was very, very, very insistent that I DID NOT go to sleep when I arrived and instead, stayed up until a reasonable hour to go to bed.

So at 5PM, imagine me drunk. While I had not had any alcohol, I was so sleep deprived, I couldn’t walk straight.

Now, one of the things they don’t tell you about Florence... dinner is not served ANYWHERE till at least 6:30 PM. The doors are closed and they won’t let you in. At this point, Catie, Shannon, her sister, Stacey, and I were trying to find food. For an hour and a half. And for all intents and purposes, I’m trashed.

Stacey, the only coherent one, suggested we get coffee and a pastry and a small café. We went in, where I would learn that “coffee” is like a shot glass. I think if Italians served Starbucks, they’d lose their minds. And now that I think about it, why are the drinks at Starbucks all Italian names, when they don’t HAVE a Starbucks in Italy?

This would also be the moment that all the Italian I learned before my trip went right out the window and I would begin speaking French. For pretty much the rest of the trip. Somehow, two years of college French came flooding back after hibernation for nearly ten years. About the only Italian I retained was “where is the bathroom?”

At 6:45 we finally found a pizza place. Our waiter was great. He suggested a pizza for me. It looked like chopped up baby with Vienna sausages. It tasted like it too.

I began to wonder, when Italians plan their trips to America, do their friends advise them, “you MUST go to this place called Pizza Hut. They even DELIVER to your hotel!”

The pizza was a bust, but I knew that I would find good food in Italy.

Long story short, I fell asleep at the dinner table and I don’t remember coming home. When Ryan came in later. We apparently had a conversation, but I don’t remember it.

Saturday. I had the best night of sleep, EVER! We woke up at 6AM and we went to breakfast before heading to pick up the packets.

The buses were packed so we took a train to the pick up place. Note to my brother: we are NEVER doing “The Amazing Race.” Trying to buy train tickets was nearly my undoing, but fortunately, the other people I was with got them.

We arrived at the Stadio, only to learn we had to have our medical forms. The medical forms we sent to APLA three months ago. So after an hour, we signed a form that said, “if I die, I won’t sue you.”

We headed back and traveled around – points I will talk about later.

This morning – we got up, had breakfast and headed to the start line. Again, a story point I will have to talk about later – the entire marathon itself.

I finished around 5:33 – which is my best time to date.

When I crossed the finish line, I was more distracted by the three Italian men at the finish line who jumped out at me and started dancing like lost background oompaloompas from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Of course that was the moment that the photographer snapped my finish line picture, and I know the look on my face was “who are you, why are you dancing and get out of my way before I start throwing punches.”

You’re probably asking yourself at this moment, “gee Chad, why didn’t you post any pictures?”

Funny story.

I’ve never checked bags at the clothing drop for a run. When I finish, I’m hot, I never get cold. So no need to check bags. But it’s safe and everybody does it.

So this morning, I prepared my bag and dropped my camera in the bag. And a voice said, “Don’t take your camera. Yours will be the only bag out of 6,000 runners to get lost.” And I said, “pa-shaw.” So I picked up my camera and threw it in. I reached for my wallet and threw it in as well. The voice said, “ARE YOU CRAZY!?” So I was all, dude voice, chill out. So I took my wallet out, and just three 40 euro and my camera in the bag.

I wore to the start, my favorite new Crossing Jordan sweatshirt and my favorite running pants. I took them off and threw them in the bag and handed it to the woman on the back of the truck.

Do I really need to even finish this story for you? Out of 6.000 runners, whose is the ONLY bag to get lost? My only solace is knowing that whenever the person opens my bag and finds my camera tightly bundled in the arm of my sweatshirt, is that there are going to be pictures of the trip, pictures of my friends, and about 25 pictures of dead bodies. (Dummies, obviously, but they look real.) I may get my bag back, when the police come to arrest me.

So after waiting around for an hour and a half with three girls who spoke no English, me speaking French, my bag was no where to be found and all the bags but one were claimed. At this point, the sun is going down, I’m FREEZING and I have to walk two miles back to the hotel in a wet tank top.

So apparently I’m psychic. I’ll be giving readings once I get back for twenty bucks an hour. I figure after ten readings, I can buy a new camera.

In the meantime, I’ve started drawing stick figure sketches of my trip and will post them when I return to LA.

I’m off to bed.

-C

Ciao

I think I'm all packed, which is new for me, since I normally pack the morning I leave before going anywhere.  It's about 1:30 AM.

I'm taking my computer, but knowing me, I won't figure out how the wireless internet works in Italy.  So in the event I don't, go HERE on Sunday to see if I finished.

Again, I want to say thank you to everyone who supported and sponsored me to make this happen.  It all benefits AIDS Project Los Angeles.

I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving!

See you on the other side of the world.

-C

Last 8 Miles!

No more wake ups.

No more hurling myself out of bed at six on a Saturday or Sunday morning.

No more standing in the cold.

No more running around Burbank.

No more training.

It's all done.  It all ends here.

It was a rather anti-climatic 8 mile run for us Florence runners.  The Honolulu runners ran 26 miles, since they have another three weeks to go.  Our run consisted of running through Griffith Park and down Forest Lawn.  We did a 5:1 pace that I absolutely hated.  But I know that my legs probably needed that one last push.

It's done.  A week from today I will be eating pasta.

-C

One Week to Go!!

This time a week from now I will be in a plane headed for Florence!  I can't wait!  I think this is the first marathon I've done where I'm actually excited about doing it.  The past three always had a sense of dread, but physically, I think I'm in really good shape.

I'm really quite over training.  I'm tired of having to be very careful about what I eat.  I'm tired of going to the gym.  I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong.  I'm measuring protein like it's a scientific art.  I'm watching calories and grams of carbs and protein.  Remember that scene in "The Terminator" when Arnold has a computer scan in his eye that analyzes everything on site with little report of what he's looking at?  That's me.  I can look at a plate of food and analyze the nutritional value in less than two seconds.

And whenever I look at a muffin or a piece of chocolate, a flashing red light goes off with a voice that says, "warning!  Warning!  Step away from the cake!"  It's to the point where I can pick up a protein bar and analyze the sugar grams based on the weight in my hands.

With as much weight lifting, yoga, running and everything else, you would think I would look like a very old Abercrombie model, but sadly no.  Maybe it's all the cardio that my metabolism is eating the muscle I'm putting on.  Who knows.  In just over a week, it will all be over.  And I plan on eating my way through Florence once I'm done.  I'm tempted to take before and after pictures just to see how much weight I put on in the three days after the marathon.  But JUST in Florence.  I'm not going totally crazy.  Just three days of binge eating.

I am a wee bit nervous about the weather.  People say that it's supposed to be good running weather.  That would mean that it would be a little bit chilly.  But when I look at pictures of last years marathon, people are covered up.  I was planning on running in the ever stylish yellow singlet that AIDS Marathon is giving us (which I always makes me look like I have jaundice) and shorts, but now I'm not so sure.

And then there is the packing.  I'm thinking about holding Marcellas at gunpoint on Sunday and make him pick out clothes for me.  I hate shopping.  I AM t-shirt, jeans and boots.  I hate dry cleaning.  I hate ironing.  I have the chest of a 12 year old boy and arms that are nearly as long as my legs.

But Italians are ALL ABOUT clothes.  I HATED, HATED, HATED whenever we had scenes on "Alias" that involved Italy.  Leslie Herman, our amazingly talented wardrobe supervisor, was always so insistent that the background have amazing clothes.  And they had to look put together.  So I'm screwed.  I went through a black phase a long time ago.  I think I owned ten black turtlenecks and ten pairs of black pants.  You can never go wrong with all black.  That is, if you are in a Robert Palmer music video or a Sprocket.

So this weekend will be about trying to decide what to take.  My only purchase for myself is going to be a jacket in Italy.  I plan on the elusive hunt through all the markets to find the perfect jacket.  And while I want to pack light, I would rather have the right clothes than look like an ugly American.

It snowed today.  Three words I never thought I would say in Los Angeles.  We're shooting an episode that involves snow and we iced down a massive area of the woods in the backlot and then for effect, we had fake snow that made anyone who got near set look like they had terrible dandruff or had just reenacted the last season in "Dangerous Liaisons," when Glenn Close goes nuts and starts spilling white powder everywhere.

So I missed "Ugly Betty" and "Grey's Anatomy" tonight.  TiVo decided that I wanted to record "Break In" on Lifetime.  When I clicked on NOW PLAYING I was like, "WHY AM I RECORDING A LIFETIME MOVIE!"  Then I saw that Kelly Carlson from "Nip Tuck" was the star and I forgave TiVo.

WHAT is going on with "Nip Tuck!?"  It got good, then Tuesday night was a flash forward that basically tells us, Sean and Julia break up and she took Annie and Connor to New York.  (And Annie grows up to be the great Jennifer Elise Cox).  Matt becomes a surgeon.  But once again... where the hell is Kimber!?

I mean, I guess it IS a really interesting way of getting rid of Julia, Annie and Connor.  I had heard that Richardson (Julia) needed to leave the show for family reasons.  I DO have to give props  though to the show for the look of 2027.  The hair, sets, props... the whole look was incredible for a one hour drama.  Though the old age make-up on Julian and Dylan made them look like they had aged FIFTY years.  Seriously, they're plastic surgeons and THEY didn't do a nip and tuck here and there in twenty years?  And I don't believe for a second Christian would go grey.  I would bet he would condition his hair with every rinse of Clariol Number 47.

We saw all grown up Connor McNamara talking to an unseen therapist and I was holding out hope against hope that they were going to spin the camera around at the end and we were going to see that it was Ava Moore... who was now a man.  Sadly no.

It also looks like I'm going to be going back to Atlanta in February for the Georgia State Thespian Conference as a guest artist.  (Which will be a whirlwind trip of flying in after wrap that Friday night, talk all day and then fly back Sunday so I can hopefully NOT get called for Jury Duty, since we will just begin shooting the last episode of the season.)  I'm really excited about that.  I taught a few workshops about ten years ago called "Life After High School" and my workshops were always packed.  I talked about casting and headshots.  That conference was extremely instrumental in who I am today.  I won the state thespian scholarship out of the nearly 3,000 people that were there. 

When I was a student and attended the conference, those workshops were so important.  To this day I remember the classes and the lectures I attended.  It's amazing what inspires you.

Rosemary Newcott was one of the speakers.  Amazing actress in Atlanta.  I worked with her in college when she directed me in "The Swan."  Our opening night presents were origami swans.  I still have mine.  It sits on my nightstand.  Inside was a wish that said, "may you always have one dream just out of reach."  I was always disturbed by that.  It took me years to understand what it meant.

But to be able to go back and hopefully inspire hundreds of new students, who were just like me (scared out of their minds at the uncertainty of "how am I going to do this!") is something I can't wait to do.

10 Miles

I'm really kind of over this running thing.

I survived the 23 mile run with no problem, whatsoever.  I think my problem is my love for Saturday night, my love for sugar, and my love for sleep - and during training, I can't have any of the above.

Nothing exciting to report about the 10 mile run.  It was the same route from Griffith Park, up the hill, down the hill, out Victory, turning down Riverside, to the back of Disney Studios - then up Keystone all the way to Burbank Blvd, then turn it around and back again.

I did one "maintenance run" (you're supposed to do two a week) on Thursday.  The run itself was fine, but during the last three miles, the sun was rather hot.  I feel sorry for the people who are doing Honolulu, because their 26 mile training run (thank GOD we didn't have to do that) is in Griffith Park away from the beach, and unless it cools down over the next few weeks, that run is going to suck for them.

Ryan traveled back from San Diego in the wee hours of yesterday morning, so he slept in - so no Ryan.  Just Catie and Shannon and our little group.

I toyed with the idea of hiring Italians (unknown Italians of course) to jump out on the course at various time with knives and chase us.  Because frankly, running 26.2 miles and no one is chasing you... you know... why?

What would be the rush is not knowing if the people chasing us, were actually my hired incentives, or simply crazy Italians out to kill us.

The good news is, today was our last 10 mile run.  The next two "long" runs are 8 miles a piece.  (Though I'm sure our Coach Mike will prep us with, "it's just a short 8 mile run.  So we're going to go up and over the hill 8 times.)

I contemplated sleeping in this morning.  You see, my room now looks like the a set for Crate and Barrel.  I went through my closet and ended up with five giant bags of clothes to donate.  And that was the right side of my closet.  But it was nice finding clothes I thought I had lost.  I found my favorite "Alias" hoodie.  I also realized that Levi's lie when they say 30 inch waist.  That or the makers of Diesel just want to make me feel better about myself. 

It was nice to finally hang clothes in my closet that I actually wear, and not in giant piles all over my room.  Seriously, it was beginning to look like aliens had gone into my room during a lively party and incinerated about thirty people, leaving nothing but their clothes.  Granted, these people would have been mingling in segregation... whites over here.  Oranges near the foot of my bed.  Jeans and collared shirts near the window.  And a group of athletes on top of my dresser.

Why these people were in my bedroom when the aliens attacked, we will never know. 

I also deep cleaned the kitchen yesterday.  Even though there have been no sightings of mice, I still cringed every time I opened the doors under the sink - their underground railroad into our house.  How those bastards are able to shimmy up from the basement (the basement we did not know we had for the first three years we lived there) - up past the studio below us where Erin lives - and into our cabinet, I will never know.  Every time I opened it, I kept expecting forty of them to have blue painted faces like Mel Gibson in "Braveheart."  Their little cries of "hold!!  Hold!!! Hold!!! NOW!"  Then they lift up cleaning supplies and charge out to reclaim the house.

Today it's all about the bathroom.  I know I will disappoint the millions who were hoping the cure for cancer was in my sink, but it's got to go.  The bathroom is sort of the lost cause of Corona.  My roommate has never touched a bottle of Comet.  So the only time it ever gets cleaned is when his mother mysteriously turns up or I clean it.  He offered to clean it tomorrow.  Yeah, right.

I'm also dying to go see a movie today, but I know I'll fall asleep.  As soon as I got home from Starbucks, I checked my e-mail, showered and then went to church.  I kept trying to will myself to stay awake from the exhaustion.  The entire time, I had my heart set on a roast beef sandwich from the Canyon Cafe on Laurel Canyon.  Natch, today was the day they are taking the annual photo with everyone outside the cafe. 

So to the office I went.  I came.  I'm here now.  I was starved.  I could literally feel my stomach eating itself.  I made a sandwich in the kitchen, just as Rob Fresco nearly gave me a heart attack when he rounded the corner.  (He's here working on his script that comes out tomorrow).

If only he were an Italian with a knife.

-C

23 Miles

As I was telling Marci on set last night, "I'm supposed to do 23 miles, but I'll never make it to 23.  I'm just going to go as far as I can, and then stop."

When we arrived at the location this morning in Santa Monica, that was still my story.

Then I realized, if I DON'T do 23 miles, my legs are not going to be ready for Florence.  I didn't run three months before the Dublin Marathon last year and though I finished it, the second half of the marathon was like the first fifteen minutes of "Saving Private Ryan."  I wanted to die.  I wanted to die quickly.  My legs shut down.  From the knee down to my foot, the swelling was so bad I had "cankles."  By mile 24, my legs couldn't support me and I was falling in mud puddles.  I had NEVER experienced pain like that in my life.

Even still, if I could do at least 18 miles today, I knew I could finish Florence in an okay time. The longest mileage I did in this cycle was 13 miles - so the leap from 13 to 23 was very unlikely.

We took a picture before we began - Katie, Shannon and myself.  (No, I didn't shrink, I'm below on a step - duh).  I figured if we all died (because if I died, I was taking them with me) then at least there would be one last photo that the six o'clock news reporters could use to file with the story "Marathoners in Training Die Before Florence." 

We started off in Santa Monica, then ran down to Venice, then back through Santa Monica, up through Brentwood and then back through Santa Monica.

I dressed in the dark this morning and as I was driving to the site, I realized, damn, I left my "gu" energy packets on the kitchen table.  But like a kiss from Jesus... I found two packets on the ground during my run.  Yes, one could argue, that's disgusting, but they were unopened and sealed and obviously had just fallen off one of our runners.  Their loss.  My gain.

And I did it!  I did all 23 miles!  And though I sitting here right now trying to will my body to Ralph's to buy a pint of coffee ice cream, I felt strong when we finished.  We even got celebration medals!

The only way I was able to get through it - and I know many people will find this hard to believe - was I refused to allow myself to complain.  I know!  23 miles - just over five hours - of me NOT complaining!  Trust me, I'm as surprised as you.

Shannon, Katie, Gretel and I took off from the large group we were a part of because they kept stopping at bathroom.  And after we got passed the Santa Monica steps, I turned to Shannon and I said, "I'm really going to resist the urge to bitch for the next five miles."  This was a steady uphill through the San Vicente hills and the Golf course.  When the girls tried to slow down, I screamed, "Come on!  We're almost done!  This is our last long run!"  "But I'm in pain, Chad..." "Love the pain!  Embrace the pain!  Enjoy the pain!"

I'm not sure what possessed me, but we finished.  I attribute everything to positive attitude.

Now if I could only carry that over to my day to day life!

After we were done I had one of the world's best showers, then went to get my haircut.  Then to Hamburger Mary's to write and have the largest hamburger I've ever seen and a plate of fries.  I came home and called Mr Moviefone to check out a movie.

Then I passed out.  Out cold.  Like a light.  Ka Bam.  Done.  Sleepy time.

So thank you to everyone who wished me well!!

But now, Chad needs coffee ice cream.

-C