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Title: Die Harder
Author: Michael Tennesen
Source:  LOS ANGELES MARATHON GUIDE 1997, p.6
Data Base: DBase

DIE HARDER

(Sex, Lives, and Adhesive Tape) by Michael Tennesen 

It's 5:45 a.m., the sun hasn't come up yet, but the eastern sky over Los Angeles is getting light as I pull up to the 2 story beach house of Richard Everett, Attorney at Law, a half block off the sand in Hermosa Beach. He's left the door ajar. "Come on in," he yells in a mild Southern accent (He's originally from Georgia, but he's been in California for 25 years). I make my way past the peering eyes of Everett's 2 Persian cats into his living room where he sits on the floor stretching by a fire. He's wearing a blue sweat jacket, a black runner's T-shirt, blue runner's tights, and a blue Mexican bandanna tied around his forehead. "You want some coffee, or something," he offers hospitably.

"Naw, I'm coffeed out," I answer. 

He gets up, ties his shoes, and we get ready to run, but before we exit, he points to his 1990 L.A. Marathon plaque, hanging on the wall. It has his photo; his medallion, his age: 48; and his time--3:36. "It cost me eighty bucks to have that made up," he smiles, "but nobody is going to claim I didn't run that sucker. I got proof." 

Outside the sun is getting brighter. We hit the sidewalk along the beach and then run north toward Manhattan and El Segundo. He's keeping a brisk 8 minute mile pace, and I'm panting hard. It's December and Everett is getting ready for his second marathon. He's up to 35 miles a week, though he plans on gradually increasing that mileage to 45-50 miles and then tapering off before the race. 

To fit in what amounts to about 5 to 7 hours of running a week, plus 3 hours of gym work, into the busy life of a criminal attorney, Everett gets up every day between 5:30 and 6:30 just to run. If his appearance is in downtown, he may have to run after work. He averages about 6 1/2 hours of sleep a night. When he travels he keeps a log of his running, and brings warm gear and rain gear so there's no excuse not to run. "If you want to do the marathon badly enough, you find the time to train." 

We pass an attractive blond female runner on the path, who looks past my Thanksgiving dinner love handles at Everett. Everett, 5'8," brown eyes, long black hair, looks trim and fit. He weighs between 140 and 150 pounds but claims he gauges his weight more by the mirror and the tightness of his pants than the scale. 

Everett claims running and exercise are an important part of his life. It helps him stay fit, it helps him control the pressures of his job, and it's also helped him reverse a physical condition that once threated his life.

He says he's always been athletic. In college (UCLA) he always played hand ball, volleyball, and racquetball. "But I found after I got out, and my friends all started working, it was harder and harder to get up the partners I needed to play the competitive sports, so I started running. It was something I could do on my own." 

He began running 10K's in the late 70's, his best time 41:33 minutes. His best time for a half marathon is 1:33:37. He's never gotten burned out on running. "I run because I want to run; I like to run; it is part of my existence." 

He admits he has mixed feelings about the growing popularity of the sport. "I'm always happy to see people out there trying to benefit their health. But sometimes the game gets lost in the festivities. Take the Superbowl 10K (in Redondo Beach) for instance. I ran it last year, I won't run it again. They get 10 to 15 thousand people out there running a 10K, and you don't have space to spread out as in a marathon. That race is so crowded, it's two miles before you can really break into a run." 

It was another race, the San Pedro Half Marathon, his first half marathon in 1986, that game him the idea to go the distance--to do a marathon. "Twenty six miles had always seemed like some insurmountable achievement reserved for great athletes. But after the half, I figured I could do it, too."

Still, he had several years and one major injury to overcome before he'd cross the finish line. 

On another morning a little later in the day, I watch Everett do what he does when he's not running. He's at the Compton courthouse, defending a young man who's been accused of being involved in an armed robbery by 5 men in ski masks of a residential home in Compton in which the father of the family was shot. Everett, pointing at his client, reminds the jury, that although the nature of the crime was appalling, "There is no physical evidence connecting this young man to this crime. No prints, no guns, no ski masks." 

Everett is wearing his three piece blue pin striped "closing argument suit." His last case was a murder. He won that one; he'll win this one, too. He claims he sometimes takes a tape recorder with him on his runs and goes through the ideas, arguments, and details of his cases. 

"I've been running for 25 years and it has actually become a real necessary form of mental relaxation for me. It's my time alone, it's where I resolve me problems. I may come out of the court house gritting my teeth, but after 3 miles I feel good again." 

Everett hangs his license at the law firm of John Artz and Associates on Wilshire Boulevard in Westwood. According to Artz, "I think there is no question that his program of running is a boon to him physically and mentally." 

His older brother, Donald, now retired from law, living in Orinda, California, says the younger Everett was "hot tempered" as a youth but that the combination of age and running has mellowed him. "He doesn't want to punch the lights out of everybody so much, anymore." 

Everett admits he had some "hot" moments in his youth but maturity, slower reflexes, plus an ability to "talk" his way our of altercations has given him some serenity. Still he thinks the running is invaluable part of his more even temperament. "Life is sometimes like a pressure cooker, but running lets the steam our of the kettle." 

***

The lights are just turning off at 6:30 a.m. on the following Sunday as Everett pulls up in front of my house. We're going to race the Sea and Sun 10K in Huntington beach. He's just gotten a $3,000 paint job on his 1982 633 BMW, so he asks if he can park in my driveway and if I can drive. According to Everett, "I went out and bought this car back when I thought I was going to die." 

That was in 1988 on a Monday morning, and Everett was in court when he suddenly began seeing double, lost his perspective, and became incoherent. He was rushed to the hospital by paramedics who diagnosed his ailment as a stroke caused by an aneurysm in the carotid artery, which was cutting the flow of blood to his head. 

One doctor recommended he have an operation in which they would replace the injured artery with a section from an artery in his leg, but Everett didn't like the idea. "They couldn't guarantee me I would get any better." 

He took the x-rays around to three specialists, including Dr. Jerry Goldstone, a specialist at the San Francisco State University Medical Center. It was Dr. Goldstone who told him of two men in Boston who had treated similar injuries through exercise. Everett liked that idea much better. 

So he began a cautious program of running. The results were dramatic. Within a few months his headaches had cleared, within a year the blood pressure in the vein was back to normal. "I'd always relied on exercise to overcome any physical problems I had. I went back to what had always worked for me before." 

Later that morning we stand in the sun near the sand in front of the Huntington Pier. We both goggle at the racers. "There's always a lot of pretty bodies at the races," says Everett, "both male and female." 

He likes the races because they are a way to judge his progress, to keep him motivated, but also they provides a unique opportunity to compete with the top athletes who run the races, too. "And it doesn't coast fifty bucks like a Laker game, or a hundred or more to go see some fight." He alleges the races keep his life a little cleaner. "At least one night a week you have to get to bed early." He does however admit running one race drunk, though, "It was my worst time." 

A 5K precedes the 10K, and we cheer them on as they take off. Behind the bulk of the runners is the South Coast Police Academy class running the race in formation. Several of the cadets look like they could use a diet. 

Our race gets started a little late as the sun is heating up. The plan is for me to follow Everett for 3 or 4 miles and then he'll take off, but after a mile and a half he's out of sight. 

That afternoon we enter Everett's gym, the Sports Center, overlooking Redondo harbor. It's uncrowded, and nicely laid out. Everett takes me up stairs to where the stairmasters are, a machine somewhat like a bike, in which you can simulate running without the impact. He's used those machines to overcome a sciatic nerve injury he'd gotten a number of years ago. That recovery gave him the courage to work through his current injury. 

We work out a little with the weights. Everett says he's cautious with weight training since his injury. "I go for conditioning and muscle tone, but I don't try to build muscle." Still his chest and biceps bulge more than most runners, and he lacks that gaunt look of world class marathoners. 

We then take a jacuzzi and a steam. My muscles haven't had this much exercise all in one day in a while, and they welcome the heat. Just following Everett around for one week will take four pounds off my tired body. 

Even when he's not training for a marathon he keeps up his gym work, plus runs 15 to 25 miles a week...plus plays volleyball one night a week with the boys. States Everett simply, "I LIKE to exercise." 

Later we walk over to the Cheese Cake Factory, a restaurant in Redondo, that, too, overlooks the water. But Everett opts instead to sit in the lounge and watch the football games, on which he alleges he's got $300 riding with the guys at work. 

Everett claims he's totally changed his eating habits over the last 10 years. "I used to eat steak two or three times a week, now I'm lucky to have meat two or three times a month." Now he eats mostly chicken, fish, and pasta. "And I love baked potatoes." He eats grapes to assuage his sweet tooth. He also says he avoids fats and has cut back on the drinking during training. "Everything in moderation." 

With that he orders up an order of deep fat fried calamari, a half dozen oysters, and a side of mini hamburgers. He tops it off with an order of fried chicken wings. Claims Everett, "I do splurge occasionally on the weekends. I've always been a hedonist. I've even been known to smoke a cigar now and then." 

We eat our high cholesterol feast while Everett downs three Amstel light beers and two shots of Jack Daniels. Everett falls in love with the waitress, reminds me to give her a big tip, claims he's having trouble with his girl friend, but denies that running affects his libido. "I read somewhere that running decreases your testosterone, but I find it increases mine, especially when I see all those lovely bodies out there running." 

His brother agrees. "He'll hit on women he hasn't got a chance in the world with. Hell, I've seen him chase after lesbians." 

On the television we watch the Rams chasing after a win, but unfortunately accomplishing it in more points than Everett had predicted. "There goes my $300." 

A bit more somber, he begins to reminisce about a day when he was a winner, the day he ran the 1990 Los Angeles Marathon: 

He'd skipped the carbo load dinner, choosing instead to eat spaghetti at home so he could get to the Coliseum early. He remembers being anxious at the starting line, but then the gun went off. 

The crowd moved out slowly, but finally spread and Everett kicked in to a steady eight mile pace. Through Downtown he was amazed at the enthusiasm of the crowd. "From the guys in their limousines to the bums on the street, everybody seemed for that moment to be a part of this race." 

He ran through the tall buildings, past Japanese town, Olvera street, and China town. He remembered how the musicians seemed to have so much heart in what they were doing. "They weren't just standing there playing, they were really putting themselves into it, trying to cheer us on." Everett didn't have trouble with the Sunset hill, though he admits, "Every runner can sense the slightest bit of rise in the pavement." Still the hill, "was really no big deal." 

Through Hollywood the party got going. "It was drizzling, yet their were bands playing, people cheering from grand stands. I was real impressed. It was great just to be on that famous Boulevard. I often visit little places there, but have never walked let alone `run' down through all those famous buildings." 

At Orange Drive the race started heading down hill, and Everett enjoyed the run through the trees along Rossmore, but then came mile 18 "and something went thump on me. My legs started to cramp up, and the running got a whole lot harder. "I remember I gave myself several little pep talks in the last 6 or 8 miles. I told myself, anybody can run the L.A. Marathon and say `I did 18, or 20 or 22 miles,' but I want to say I finished." 

So he dug deeper. He got several little bursts of energy in the final miles, followed always by bursts of pain until finally he saw the Coliseum. He went in with his head held high. He remembers the finish line fondly: "Here I'd gotten to run with some of the greatest athletes in the world, in one of the greatest cities in the world, and on top of that this lovely smiling person comes out and hangs a medallion around my neck. It made you feel you had really done something unique." 

Everett went to the Sport Center and soaked in the jacuzzi that afternoon. The next day he was stiff, but proud. He was running again by the third day. His time, 3:36, however, bothered him. He wanted to make 3:15 and get an invitation to the Boston Marathon. So he's decided to run again. 

He claims the allure of the marathon is in the confidence it has given him. "The marathon has a starting line and finishing line, and you can go from the beginning to the end and know you have achieved something. Most things in life don't have those boundaries, don't have those finishing lines, nor someone to come out and drape a metal around your neck. But by having that marathon metal, I've felt inspired to achieve other things in my work and in my social life that don't have such a concrete reward." 

But there is a price to pay for that inspiration. He started training a little earlier this year and confesses that it's been difficult. "It's just such a tremendous investment of time." He thinks 1991's Los Angeles Marathon will be his last marathon, though he admits he thought the same thing last year. 

"And what about Boston?" I remind him. 

"Oh yea, I'd do Boston, if they let me," he agrees. 

"And after Boston?" 

He hesitates, senses the trap, and instead smiles, "Maybe you better ask me then." 

						--End-