Disney Half Marathon

No, there have not been posts missing about all my training for this half marathon that sounded like such a good idea last year when my sister convinced me to run it with her. What's been missing has been the training. And yet I am just crazy enough to decide that the fact that my longest run in the past six months was between 3 and 4 miles was no hindrance to running this race. The fact that I can count on my fingers the number of times I've gotten out on the road and actually run in the past six months also didn't dissuade me. I am nothing if not stupid stubborn. So this past Saturday, I slipped my winged shoes onto my completely un- and under-trained feet and headed out for 13.1 very long miles as if it was a walk in the park. (Well, given that it was at Disney and there was some walking involved, I guess it actually was a walk in in the park.)

On Friday morning, after seeing the kids off to school and making sure all arrangements to get them where they needed to be in my absence were in place, I checked to make sure I had my shoes, loaded up the rental car and headed out for my 8 hour drive to Disney. The drive was completely uneventful and quiet without the usual kid and canine chorus in the backseat although I did get a phone call from a friend telling me all my careful planning for kid activities went to hell in a handbasket since my daughter suffers from amnesia the minute I am farther than 10 miles away from her. Oh well!

I beat my sister to our hotel by about 10 minutes and got in the rather long registration line. When it was my turn to register, the woman behind the desk got a weird look on her face and disappeared with my license. Luckily the problem was that they were overbooked so they upgraded us to the Caribbean Beach Resort. Of course, given the run's early start time and our late-ish check in time, there was going to be no time to examine our upgraded amenities. We hopped back in our cars, drove to our new hotel, and checked in there.

We then immediately headed to the bus stop to catch a ride to the Expo to check in there. Neither S. nor I had trained the way we should have so S. was a little disconcerted when she saw our bus, thinking that it said R.I.P. as its destination. Would have been about right! (It actually said V.I.P.) We got to the Expo, registered for the race and wandered through the goods for a while before heading back to our room to spend some quality sisterly-bonding time together.

As soon as we got into the room, while I was still tossing things onto the table, S. was busily tearing a bed apart to check for bedbugs. Once she had declared it bug free, I immediately claimed the bed. Big sister status should count for something, right? She moved on to check the second bed as I climbed into the first one. As I was arranging the bedspread at the foot of the bed (she is skeeved out by bugs and I'm skeeved out by the idea of hotel bedspreads), I noticed that my blanket had hair on it. And not my hair. Almost woven into the weft of the blanket. I wailed about the foreign person hair on my blanket while S. just laughed and told me that it was karma since I'd stolen that bed from her in the first place. In the midst of us laughing about my disgusting, hairy blanket, mom called to check in on us. (I think she was more than a little nervous about us running the half, especially since we didn't lie and tell her we were in shape.) She was horrified by my hairy blanket tale and insisted I call housekeeping and get a new blanket. Meanwhile, S. was ever helpful and asked me if the hairs were pubes. (You'd never guess we weren't 12, would you?) Mom insisted that I could catch an STD from the icky blanket. S. and I howled with laughter and agreed that I was marinating in a stew of STD's right at that very moment. So I promised mom that I'd get the blanket swapped out and we hung up. Laughter before bed must be tiring because I fell asleep almost immediately.

We had set a wake-up call for 3:15am with the intention of being on the bus by 3:30 as the run started at 5:30. At 3:05, S. asked me if I wanted to sleep the last 10 minutes because she was awake and getting up. Yes, she was the sort of child who used to come into your room, pry open your eyelid, and ask if you were sleeping. Good to know very little has changed! Since I obviously wasn't going to get that last 10 minutes, I got up and crawled into my duds. We dragged ourselves out to the marathon bus (no longer R.I.P. buses) and got on. What was playing on the speaker system? The Bee Gees. Stayin' Alive. Seriously. I couldn't make this up if I tried!

We had agreed the night before that we weren't actually going to run together because I was in the corral ahead of S. plus she has this misconception that a 9-10 minute mile is *really* slow. I am under no illusions about just what slow really is. Slow, thy name is K. (who can pull off 9 minute miles only when properly trained and in shape). But not running together made it a little bit annoying that I hadn't brought along my iPod since I had been anticipating chatting throughout the run. I know, sick that I can contemplate 13.1 miles and chatting, but I did just admit I am all about slow so it's not really a very big feat. As it was time to move to the starting area, S. and I split up.

I have a slight issue with crowds so the 27,300 people at the race was a little much for me. To combat the willies, I pushed to the front of my corral so I'd have a little space. Unfortunately I ended up next to some people who had just met and were casually chatting about the race. The one guy mentioned the bus that collect the people who aren't keeping to the 16 minute mile pace. He was then asked if there were many people on the bus and who on earth could they be. His answer? Well, a lot of them are people who haven't trained for the race. It felt a like the universe was trying to bludgeon me over the head with my own stupidity. I scooted out of range of his very loud voice as I waited for the race to start.

I couldn't see the start line or the enormous screen while we waited for the race to start but I sure could hear the commentators as they interviewed people, talked to the amazing Achilles athletes, and introduced the live feed to Victory Base in Afghanistan where there was going to be a 1/2 marathon simultaneous with the Disney 1/2. Finally with a fireworks display, the first flight was off. 5 fireworks dsiplays later, my flight was off and I was heading into one of my most hair-brained ideas ever.


The Disney marathon is very well organized. Despite the insanely early hour of the start, there were Disney cast members stationed all over the course to cheer on those of us crazy enough to be running. There were folks in costume (and some in costume running the race too) and folks just wearing the Mickey and Minnie hands all giving up sleep to support us. Unlike my other half marathon (the one where I was in shape), I searched for and noted every last mile marker. Once I got past mile marker 3 still running, I was pretty pleased with myself. (It's always good to have low expectations for yourself; that way you can be assured of exceeding them.)

I valiantly plugged along, knowing that I was going pretty slowly. Between miles 1 and 2, I saw the first wheelchair athlete pass on his way back to the finish. I have to admit that I seriously wondered if he would be willing to let me hitch a ride back on his lap. I mean, he was clearly winning by a large margin as there were no other athletes close to him. He probably still would have won with my fat butt adding another level of challenge to his race. Another mile or less into the race, I saw the first elite runner zip past on his way back towards the finish. Someone running close to me shouted, "You're amazing" to him. Bless the employee or family member who shouted back in our direction, "You are too." I'm not sure I buy it, but it made me feel good all the same. A little farther on, I passed a woman holding up a sign that said "Sweat is Sexy." All I could think was that she'd never gotten a whiff of me because honey, in my world, sweat is only sexy from a distance; close up, it stinks.

Turning the corner to run up Main Street Disney was incredibly cool. Definitely the best part of the run in terms of scenery. The race is actually not in the parks themselves nearly as much as I had expected but given that I tend to be a look at the ground kind of runner, this was mostly okay (although the steep camber of two stretches of the race was incredibly rough). I noticed as I came to each mile marker that my mile pace was getting slower and slower. I walked through every water stop, sometimes taking both Powerade and water. My smallest toes on both feet started developing blisters at about mile 3 and each step was agony for a while until the nerve endings down there clearly just quit in the face of my utter intransigence in the face of their complaining.

At mile 8, my head beat out my body and I walked instead of running. I walked on and off from mile 8 to mile 12 depending on how loudly my muscles were complaining. When my lower intestine started rumbling ominously at mile 11, I picked up the pace for a while. At some point in there while I was walking, an older man (60's? 70's?) tapped me on the shoulder as he speed walked past me and asked if I was doing okay. When I nodded and smiled, he gave me a thumbs up and melted into the crowd in front of me. Not too much later, a woman about my age patted my shoulder and told me I was doing great. How incredibly pitiful must I have looked from behind to inspire two complete strangers to touch me and encourage me to keep going? I'm wondering if the fact that my hands swelled to look like I was wearing Mickey Mouse gloves inspired their concern? Or maybe it was because the back (and admittedly the front too under the race bib) of my shirt looked like I was entering a wet t-shirt contest? Obviously something about me screamed defeated at that point. Just before the last water stop, the muscles beside my knees started twitching uncontrollably, an incredibly odd feeling, so I downed yet another Powerade and forced myself into a run for the last stretch. I think I even sped up at the sight of the finish line because heaven knows I was just so pleased to be done. Knowing S. had smoked me and finished long ago, I collected water, medal, fruit, muffin, and diet Coke (you could eat for a week on what they give you at the end of a marathon) and wobbled off to find her at our "pre-arranged meeting place." She was standing there and I was sitting there and it took us both a while to realize that we were both there.

We shuffled over to the bus to the hotel and pulled ourselves on board. Since there were few seats left we split up. Some poor guy who had come to watch his brother run sat next to me and had to endure my funk cloud all the way back to the hotel. Once we got off the bus, I had to start excavating things from my running bra in order to unlock the rental car. It had seemed like a good storage spot that morning but when I pulled the wet and salty key out (after several other things including sports gels), it seemed like a less than good idea. S. started laughing about the next poor person to rent that particular car. From now on, I'm going to have to Lysol rental car keys before I touch them, all because I was gross. And you all will too now that I've planted the idea. You're welcome!

After a much needed shower, we got in our cars and drove to S.'s house where I promptly crawled into my nephew's bed and took a nap. I woke up with a massive headache and attacked it with drugs that had the added benefit of making my entire body feel close to human again. The following morning, I rolled out of bed and hit the road for the 8 1/2 hour drive home. I'm surprisingly not too stiff although the blisters on my feet still hurt. I am pretty certain that I won't agree to any more long distances without proper training but I'm thinking that these long races offer the perfect excuse to abandon the family guilt-free. Excuse me while I check my calendar to schedule the next one!

Oh, and yes, S. did smoke me. She ran the whole thing in 9:44 minute miles. Basically untrained. Brat.

Mupdate #2

Every time I think about the fact that I’ve agreed to run 26.2 miles (oboyoboyoboyoboy), I have a bit of a panic attack. That is awfully far. For Pete’s sake, that’s far to drive! It’s revelations like this that illustrate just how sharp I am. Most people realize this stuff before they commit. I am hopeful that following the training schedule pretty faithfully will have me much more blasé about going so far once the day arrives. If not, a panic attack plus the adrenaline generated on race day should be a potent enough combination to get me through at least the first half of the marathon anyway.

And to set the record straight, I (Kristen) am the one running the marathon. It is the Nike WOMEN’S Marathon, after all. While hubby does indeed look good in a skirt (the things you have to live down after your college years!), the closest he’s willing to get to a marathon is to cheer me on from the sidelines and I think he’s counting on me being too focused on running to notice he’ll only be cheering at the end after an extended lie-in in the hotel room! But I do thank all of you who gave me a good chuckle by assuming that the e-mail going out under hubby’s name meant he was the one running. Originally I was going to write and say that if you really know him you’d never make that mistake but then I realized that if you really know me, you’d probably never believe it either. But it is true and no, I haven’t been abducted by aliens.

Just in case you are worried about me actually being able to finish a whole marathon (and if you aren’t worried, why the heck not? I sure am!), I thought I’d reassure you by letting you know that I do have a whole race history behind me. ::snort:: Last summer, after only starting to run in March, I ran 3 5 K’s and one ½ marathon. Aside from the equipment malfunction on the first 5K I ever ran (anyone who didn’t get to read my account of my bra unzipping itself completely during my first-ever run, I do still have it in my e-mail somewhere), all of the races were pretty fun and uneventful. I’m hoping that I’ll feel the same way about this one come October 20th. Actually, I am hoping that the sheer obnoxious wave of self-esteem that I rode for several weeks after the half marathon will be doubled just like the race and I’ll be gloatingly proud of myself for months. (I’m so pathetic I actually did look in the mirror and tell myself I rocked every morning for weeks after the half was over—and I still have my medal hanging in my room like a little kid.) I *will* finish this race though, no matter what. I’m stubborn as they come and if I have to crawl, log roll, or be dragged across the finish line, cross it I will.

I got my first honk from a friend the other day. I was so in my own world I thought someone was being rude and honking to get me to keep my poky butt out of the way. She probably did want me out of the way but I think we’re good enough friends that running me over most likely didn’t cross her mind. And once I realized it was Holly, it seemed like such a friendly honk.  The same day a guy leaned out of car shouting at me. I didn’t recognize him and because I’m oblivious when I run, even without my iPod (it’s that scary inside my own head thing again), I really only heard: “body” and “running” and some other unintelligible mumbling. I am choosing to believe it was not “Running with a body like that reminds me of the Jello watch it wiggle, watch it jiggle commercial.” Instead I’m choosing to believe he was complimenting me on my lithe (ha!) and appealing form. Of course, I am the same person who chose to believe that high school boys intentionally blared the song “Sexy Mami” when I walked past their car in the fall as I followed W. into football practice. All I can say for sure on that was that they did blast the song; I was walking past them; and the lyrics sounding just like “sexy mommy” were terribly appropriate. Draw your own conclusions. 

I’ve had my first running related injury now. I managed to cut my own toe with the toenail on the toe next to it. The good news is that I didn’t notice anything until I pulled off my bloody sock so no pain to speak of. The bad news is that it meant that my shoes were a bit too small in the toe box. Given that I have wide feet, this is probably not a huge surprise. I think the running store folks just wanted to offer to let me wear a shoe box instead of a shoe and be done with it. As it was, they had to order in 3 pairs especially for my odd duck feet. Talk about weird: strong arches, high instep, small but quite wide and pronating (yeah, I don’t entirely get what that means either, nor does my spell check, but the store had cool plastic foot models to explain things visually). My family calls my feet Fred Flintstone feet. I don’t really care what they get called as long as they carry me over the finish line. But I can see that keeping reasonably decent shoes on them is going to cost me all summer long. I’ve never worn out a pair of sneakers before in my life (swimmers just don’t you know, unless they are doing the fully-clothed-in-the-pool-for-lifeguard-training thing—and even then we just let them dry out and continued wearing them) but I can easily see it happening in my near future.

W. was shocked to hear how much money I need to raise for this little endeavor . His take on it? “That’s more than a plasma tv. If people gave *you* that money we could get a huge tv and all would be well with the world” (I kid you not, those were his actual words). How is bookish me raising a kid who is so reverent about tv? At least he is physically active, although when I suggested he run the kids’ fun run at the 10K I’m going to do later this month, he quickly bowed out citing the heat and humidity. It’s probably not nice to call your own kid a wimp, is it? Anyone want to donate to the upcoming therapy bills in addition to the run?!

Brownie batter Gu, Body Glide or Vaseline. Bet you never knew running was such a dirty sport did you! Let me burst your bubble a bit. Gu is a gel of sorts you eat every couple of miles to help you to keep from depleting all your nutrients and energy stores. I bought myself a case of it in the chocolate flavor and the young kid behind the counter told me he didn’t like the chocolate because it was like sucking on brownie batter. I’m still wondering what is wrong with that since that’s exactly why I bought the chocolate! After all, I am a lick the spoon while making brownies kind of girl anyway. Nothing better (well, maybe uncooked chocolate chip cookie dough, but I digress). No wonder I’m not really cut out to be a real runner. As for the Body Glide or Vaseline, apparently I’ll need to slather this on myself to prevent blisters. Makes my skin crawl just imagining where I’d have raw rubs after such a distance. And yes, before I was informed otherwise, I did suspect you had to buy it at an adult bookstore and wondered how it would look for me to walk into one carting all three of my kids. Just imagine the questions I could have fielded on such a shopping trip! But it turns out you can buy Gu and Body Glide at a running store, even at the same time, and no one raises an eyebrow. Must be terribly sad to be so inured to such great potential potty humor.

And finally, training for this is good for my competitive little soul since it allows me to say that hubby will never, never, never be able to outrun me. He actually winced when I told him that I ran 8 miles the other day. Yup, I’m up to 8 for the long runs and still smiling. Of course, my weekly total is still fewer miles than I’ll have to run on race day (oboyoboyoboyoboy) since I’m only at 22 a week but that number is climbing steadily right now.

Mupdate #1

As per my coach devised training schedule, I dutifully started the training for what is clearly going to be known as Kristen’s folly around here. I’m such a quick study, I’ve already learned some important things both about myself in general and about me running (I was going to just say running rather than qualifying it as “me running” but I suspect I’m such a ding-a-ling that it’s not particularly universally applicable).

First: I’ve been told this adventure will change my life. While I don’t doubt that in the slightest, I’m wondering if I get to pick in which way it changes me. I’m just shallow enough to hope that it changes the obnoxious muffin top and corresponding kangaroo pouch around my middle that I have, rather disingenuously, been calling “baby weight” for over 6 years now. Other more noble changes would be fine too but that cosmetic one is high on my list.

Second: I sweat like a boy. OK, I’ve known that one my whole life (gee thanks, dad!) but getting out there every day and running just reinforces it. When I ran only twice a week, it was easier to ignore because I chalked it up to being a weekend warrior. Nope. I’m a full on gross mess. No “lightly glistening” thing going on here. Makes you all want to see me during/after a run, doesn’t it? Another interesting observation about sweating: pulling my hair up in a pony tail, while cooler on my neck, means lots more sweat runs into my eyes and boy howdy does that sting! Must come up with a solution to that one before the actual race. Oh, and any offers to work as a launderer will be gratefully accepted. ;-)

Third: I am very definitely a social runner. This one surprised me because I am an introvert (those of you who have ever tried to get me to do something social are not surprised by this fact, are you?). But I cheerfully run long(er) distances when I get to talk the entire time than when I have to occupy my own head. Just imagine my internal conversations and you probably aren’t surprised I cut solo runs shorter than group or paired runs. On the flip side, solo runs do give me a lot of time to come up with good one-liners. If I ever remember them by the end of the run, I may start a new career as a wildly successful stand-up comedian. Oh, and about the chattering thing—I guess I see where T. “I like to hear myself talk” K. gets it now. Maybe that’ll make me more tolerant toward his constant nattering. OK, probably not.

Fourth: Having a good cause to work towards has made me more capable of approaching people, asking for favors, and public speaking. All of this is completely and totally out of character for me. I do plan to revert to being napkin-shredder in the corner aka hermit girl once this is all over so this is a temporary thing but fascinating to me nonetheless. I mean, I even took advantage of the lights going out at my tennis league the other day to announce my marathon and to show people where I was putting copies of my original letter asking for donations. Not only did no one take advantage of the dark to swat me with their tennis racquet but about half the letters I left there were taken and one tennis buddy has already donated! Of course, once the lights went back on, knowing I was a runner, they all expected me to be willing to run for any and all balls (“You wanted me to get that lob?!”).

Fifth: I am truly built for plodding, not for speed. But the tortoise wins the race so there’s hope for me yet. Despite my penchant for quitting early on solo runs, I really do feel like I’m just starting to settle into a good place at about 2 ½ miles into a run. Given that I’m generally only running 2-3 miles a day right now, that doesn’t mean much easy, mechanical running but hopefully bodes well down the line. I’m hoping that as some weight comes off, some speed will magically appear. If not, I’ll just focus on the fact that I have always been an Energizer bunny of an athlete: keeps going and going and going. And as one of my running buddies says, “Anyone can run a marathon in 3 hours, it takes a special kind of person to keep going for 6 or 7 hours.” My mama always told me I was nothing if not special!

Sixth: I am getting old and have the associated aches and pains but they somehow feel earned if I feel them after running as opposed to after sitting on the couch. The good news is that they don’t feel any worse after running than they do after sitting on the couch and the running earns me the opportunity to ease them with some ice cream (yeah, I know, it’s no wonder I still have the “baby weight”).

Seventh: I have some wonderful friends and acquaintances. Not only are people happy to donate to a great cause (of course!) but you are all really rooting for me. That, my friends is a bigger rush than any rush I’ve ever gotten from running. (OK, that feels a little Sally Field-ish: “You like me! You really like me!" But true nonetheless.)

I imagine as time goes on, I’ll learn even more important things about myself and I hope you don’t mind if I share them. If you do, well, you’ve got a delete button, right? It feels like this should be a communal journey so I fully intend to drop something into your inboxes every once in a while, after all, who else in your life is letting you be an armchair marathoner this spring/summer/fall? As Bartles and James used to say, “Thanks for your support.” (Yes, a wine cooler quote and Sally Field all in one post. What can I say? High-brow culture is just my middle name.)

Kristen

Still need to donate to my run? Go to http://pages.teamintraining.org/mi/nikesf08/kknox1n5c2 and find out how.