They Get Their Kicks From Day Till Night : Ultramarathon: The Orange 12 & 24-Hour Run brings out some of the running community’s most colorful characters for all-day fun.

The scene is part marathon, part Boy Scout Jamboree, part “Night of The Living Dead.”

Tents, cots and coolers line the infield. Sleeping bags dot the end zones. On the track, weary runners plod along, motivated by their mantras.

One step at a time . . .

I can do it . . .

This is really fun . . .

The Orange 12 & 24-Hour Run on Aug. 2-3 at El Modena High School is, by most accounts, an exercise in weariness.

The event, entering its 10th year, has entrants run continuously around a dirt 440-yard track for 12 or 24 hours, pausing only occasionally for food, drink or sleep. A relay division in which teammates take turns running one mile each is also offered.

While some might see this as the epitome of monotony, most entrants say the event’s attraction is in its low-key family atmosphere--and its flat terrain.

Unlike the infamous Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile ultramarathon that runs from Squaw Valley over the Sierra Nevadas to Auburn, Calif., the Orange race offers runners the chance to run as many miles as they can without worry of hypothermia, altitude sickness or face-to-face meetings with bears.

Another plus: it’s tough to get lost running around a track.

Don Pycior started the Orange race in 1982 as a way of raising money for his boys’ cross-country program at Canyon High School. Pycior, 52, is a long-time runner who on Sept. 17 will celebrate 14 consecutive years without missing a day of running (three miles is his minimum distance).

Pycior entered his first 24-hour run at Valencia High School in 1977. When the Valencia event folded, Pycior started his own. Today, his is the only race of its kind in Orange County.

As race director, Pycior monitors all the runners’ progress on a large, cardboard chart. Every four hours, he announces for the runners to change directions. That way, he says, it breaks up the monotony and reduces the chance of injury to one side of the body.

Unfortunately, Pycior says, this year may mark the end of the event’s 24-hour portion of the race. Many runners are opting for the 12-hour event, especially the relay teams.

Pycior says it cost him nearly $1,000 to rent the stadium, $600 for awards, $100 for insurance and $2,400 for T-shirts--one per entrant. He doesn’t want to raise the entry fee of $24 per runner, but with rising costs, he estimates he made barely $200 in profits last year--just enough to enter his cross-country team in a few invitationals last fall.

But even if the 24-hour race doesn’t make it, maybe some of the memories will live on.

One year, Pycior had to turn one entrant away. Pycior calmly explained to the entrant’s friend that no dogs were allowed.

In 1989, a man entered at the last minute and went on to complete 40 miles--juggling three tennis balls the entire way.

Last year, the women’s 12-hour race came down to a final sprint--well, a sprint as far as ultrarunning goes.

When the final horn sounded, Toni Stermolle of Hesperia had run 60 1/2 miles--a 12-hour record, and one measly lap further than Claudia Newsome of San Pedro, who finished with 60 1/4.

But the heart of the Orange 12 & 24 has been in the colorful personalities of the runners. Such as . . .

Leo Marquez, Bakersfield.

Marquez, a soft-spoken electrical engineer who recently bought into a demolition business, has run the 24-hour event seven times.

He has won five overall titles, and set the record, 137 1/2 miles, three years ago.

He is 52.

And--brace yourself, ultradudes--Marquez doesn’t care for long distance running.

“I hate training. I hate long runs,” he says. “5Ks are more my thing.”

Echo Edmunson, Los Angeles.

Everybody knows Echo. It’s difficult not to. Say hello to him and soon you’re listening to his life story. It goes something like this:

Born in Port Arthur, Tex., grew up in L.A., was a track standout at Manuel Arts High School. Went to New York to become a dancer, got in an argument with a roommate in Harlem and ended up with a knife in his back and a punctured lung.

Started running for rehabilitation and now, at 42, he’s been featured in Runner’s World and is one of the top flatland ultrarunners in the country. (With only one good lung, he doesn’t compete much at altitude).

Infamous for his fast starts--he often goes out at a six-minute-per-mile pace usually because he arrives 20 to 30 minutes after the race has started--Echo says he’s shooting for a record 150 miles at Orange.

Vicki Huffman, Acton, and Pat DeVita, Granada Hills.

Huffman, 38, and DeVita, 57, are a mother-daughter team that can’t be stopped. Last year, they finished second and third, respectively, in the women’s division of the 24-Hour race.

Ever since they started running together 12 years ago, after Huffman had her first child, they’ve been almost inseparable. Once a week, they join several others for treks through the Angeles National Forest.

DeVita says someday she hopes to run across the Sahara Desert, around the coast of England, and from Badwater (the lowest point in the continental United States) to Mt. Whitney (the highest). Of course, her daughter says wherever her mother runs, she’ll be at her side.

Jack Rohde-Moe, Yorba Linda.

The 62-year-old native of Norway has run 61 marathons and ultras since he started running 11 years ago. He’s only run the Orange 24 once, finishing with 110 miles in 1987.

This year, Rohde-Moe’s hopes to run 125 miles, which would break the world record, 122 miles, for his age.

One other thing. He smokes--up to three packs a day. This irritates Pycior to no end.

“At the Mule Run (a 31-mile trail race in Bishop), he always passes me toward the end and waits at the finish line, smiling and smoking a cigarette,” Pycior said. “That just burns me up.”

It’s understandable, of course. Few runners like getting smoked at the finish.