Goal #9, Run the Goofy Challenge
Hooo boy. Did it again. I guess I didn't learn my lesson last time?
Special notes: I was a lot more prepared this year than I was last year, but still probably not prepared enough. Unfortunately, it was also 20 degrees hotter than it was last year. Disney was sending out notices and posting signs at the beginning of each race, saying it was going to be abnormally hot, do NOT try for a best time, and SLOW DOWN. Unfortunately, slowing down wasn't an option for me, because I was already about as slow as I could be without getting sweeped for not going fast enough. So basically, I was more prepared, but the different conditions meant it was just as horrible as last year.
We went to the start of the half marathon without jackets. T-shirt and shorts (or running skirt, in my case), and that's it. At 3am, that doesn't bode well for how the rest of the day is going to go. I did all right in the half - you had to finish in at least 3:30, so we all took it as slow as we could while still finishing on time (I went 3:23). We saw the 3:30 pacer at the starting line, and we were joking about trying to hold her back so she couldn't pass us, and she kept reaching past our shoulders to hold the sign ahead of us. Then she said, "I'm not the end, I'm not the one you have to worry about - it's the ladies with balloons." Anyway, by the time I finished, it was so hot already and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to do a marathon the next day. In that heat? No way. Especially since I've done the Goofy Challenge before - I had nothing to prove this time!
But the thing is, I can't ever seem to bring myself to not start something I signed up for. Last year, I was sure I wouldn't be able to do the marathon, but of course I showed up to the start line - I could at least do a few miles; I could get credit for trying, amirite? So once again, instead of staying in bed when everyone else got up, I got myself up at 2:45, sore and tired, and got ready. (My mom's alarm went off, and we all silently got up and started getting ready. It was a good 10 minutes before anyone said anything. The sense of impending doom was palpable.)
I did wear a sweatshirt to the starting line. I'd brought old sweatshirts, because Disney donates any clothing discarded during the race to charity, and I thought it would be cold waiting around to start running (like last year, when we weren't prepared for it). I do know that when your muscles are tired, you get cold more easily - after a long race, I'm always cold the rest of the day, even if it's August. So I had my skirt and tank top, with a sweatshirt, because even if it was a little cold, why be uncomfortable when you don't have to be? Might as well be as comfortable as I can until the dreaded marathon starts. I ended up tossing it in a clothing bin before we even got to the start line.
So, we started around 6:30am. My parents pulled ahead before the first mile was over, and I stayed with my friend Heather. She's usually faster than me, but this was her first Goofy and she was nervous, and wanted to pace with someone who "knew what they were doing" (har har, no I don't, I barely survived). After the first couple miles, the 6:30 pacer caught up with us, so we started pacing with him. He was doing about 45 seconds of running, 1:15 walking. It was a totally doable pace for us, and we got excited thinking that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad! We felt like we could keep it up for a while!
Then at mile 6, we entered the Magic Kingdom. We both had to use the bathroom. I like going while in the park, because you can use the actual park bathrooms you run past, instead of gross Port-a-Potties. So, when we hit Tomorrowland, we bolted into some nearby restrooms. There was no line, no wait, we just popped in, went, and were back out in a couple minutes. We ran for a while trying to catch up with the 6:30 pacer, but couldn't see him. Finally we had been running a while and saw his sign way ahead. How'd he get so far ahead in such a short time? We didn't want to sprint to catch up; it was only mile 7 and it was starting to get hot. No sense wearing ourselves out. We decided to keep him in sight, and that would put us at, like, 6:40. Perfectly reasonable, and well under the 7 hour time limit.
So we're going along, and about mile 11, the 7:00 pacer is catching up to us. What? We can still see 6:30 bobbing along ahead of us! Sure, he's in the distance, but this isn't half an hour of difference! It's less than one mile! We tried to stay ahead of him, but he caught up anyway. He was doing a 20 second run, 40 second walk. So we gave up and just started pacing with him. His pace was pretty easy; his run was easy to keep up with, but his walk was faster than I could manage because he was so tall and had long legs, I always fell behind and had to run a little harder to get back up.
We hit the halfway point with the 7:00 pacer, and it was just like I had told Heather earlier - usually when you hit a halfway point, you think, "Yes! Halfway done!" But in this case, you want to cry because you think, "I still have to go that far again, and now the sun will be up the whole time and it's so hot and I'm so tired and my feet hurt so much already, I can't do what I just did again." But we kept going, because at least at that point, the sun was still behind the trees. We also heard him say that he was keeping a faster pace than 7 hours, so that he could slow down when it started getting really hot - so that's why he was so close behind 6:30.
So we kept pounding along, as it got hotter and hotter (the heat index was 95 that day - not a joke). Around mile 16 or 17, I couldn't keep up with the 7:00 pacer anymore. There was a water stop, which we always walked through, and I walked slowly and got a refill for the bottle I was carrying, and I just couldn't get myself running again. I watched them get further away (Heather stayed with them, which was fine - if I couldn't do it, well, I did it last year. If she didn't make it though, she'd always feel like she had to come back and prove she could). I fell back, I walked slowly, thinking that with the loss of the 7:00 pacer, I wasn't going to make it. I actually stopped at a guard rail and sat down, holding my feet in the air for a bit. They were throbbing and the heat....the heat. I don't handle heat well in general, and obviously this was way out of my comfort zone.
After a bit of a rest, I started up again. But it was so hot and miserable, and I still had so far to go. I was at mile 18 and decided I was going to quit. I was probably having a number of medical emergencies at that point, and I saw a medical tent and decided to go over and ask them to let me lie down, then transport me to the finish line where I could wait for everyone else. But then - then. This song came on. This stupid song, that my little brother Eric sings all the time, and I could see him with his arms in the air doing his "good time" dance. And I couldn't quit while it was playing. And it was so upbeat I started running. And I ran through the whole thing, and it got me to the point where I could see the 7:00 pacer again. Then, later in mile 19, when I was running through the ESPN Center, this song came on - not so much for fast running, but it definitely got me going.
After mile 20, I was hot and tired and the music wasn't getting me through so well anymore. And I turned and looked behind me and saw...balloons. Two green balloons, floating up above the heads of all the runners (because at this point, there were still a lot of people back with me - I was far from alone, it was pretty crowded). And I remembered - the ladies with the balloons. They were the ones I was supposed to watch out for. At the moment, I was turning off a smaller walkway onto a highway, and I saw a bunch of buses sitting there waiting. And when I looked behind me, I saw the balloons turn that corner...and the buses pulled forward and started picking up everyone behind them.
So, I spent the last six miles running from the balloons. If I could cross the finish line before them, I would still get my medals. These women were power walking a solid 16 minute mile - when I walked, I was too slow and they caught up, so I would run when a good, solid, upbeat song came on. That would give me a lead, and I would walk again. Then they'd catch up, and I'd have to run to stay ahead. They passed me at one water stop, and I panicked, and raced to get ahead of them. Six miles of running from balloons when your body is shutting down, it's 95 degrees with 90% humidity, and you're not even thinking straight, is enough to give anyone a phobia. You want to freak me out, just show up at my door with two of these.
It was like a death march. I definitely would have quit, if it weren't for the fact that I could see them, they were currently behind me, and I just kept saying, "Just stay ahead of them, it's all you have to do." So I plodded on, running when I could, stopping to walk when I had to. I ran through Hollywood Studios and got some concerned looks from tourists walking by. The folks on the Boardwalk seemed concerned too. But the absolute best part was the final mile, in Epcot, because a lot of people who had already finished the marathon were there, cheering for the very end of the pack. People who looked fresh as daisies, wearing their medals, probably having been finished for several hours - instead of going back to their hotels, showering, eating, resting, they went into the park to stand along the final mile, cheering for these people who can only barely make the time limit and are suffering every step of the way. They saw my red face, my grimace, my aching step, and it was like they knew how close I was to collapsing even with less than a mile left - and they were shouting, "You're doing AWESOME, you're so close! You can do it! Right around this corner up here! You're almost there!" And I thought, "Those total strangers are right! They don't even know me, and they believe in me!" (I like to think that if I ever got really fast, I would be a person who sticks around to cheer for the people behind me. But who am I kidding? I'm not going to be fast!)
At mile 26, they always have a gospel choir (singing glorious hallelujahs). At that point, apparently the ladies with balloons realized they were a little behind for a 7-hour time. So they started running. And they ran past me.
And I said "No! NO!" (I believe this was said out loud, but I can't be sure.) I sprinted. I got ahead of them again. The point is, even when you think you're on the verge of a complete physical shut down, when you have two tenths of a mile left and your victory is about to be snatched from your trembling, clutching hands, you can muster a full-on sprint out of nowhere. I sprinted past them, and crossed the finish line about twenty seconds before the balloons of doom. A volunteer put a Mickey Marathon medal around my neck. I staggered forward for a second, eyes glazed. A medical volunteer came to me and asked, "Do you need help?" But I wanted to get my Goofy medal, I needed it RIGHT NOW, so I told him I was going to go get water and my Goofy and then I would probably seek assistance.
After picking up my water, Powerade, box of snacks, and of course the precious, precious Goofy, I staggered over to the self-treatment center hoping the medical staff there would take care of me. The guy who came up just said, "What do you need?" I didn't really know, since I hadn't had a chance to take inventory and decide what pains were the most urgent, so I just said, ".....a place to sit down?" So I sat down. And he brought me a bag of ice. And I sat there for a while, letting everyone else find me, and thought about what a ridiculously impressive yet stupid thing I had done.
So, here we are. Like I said, the race itself was just as miserable as last year. But, probably because I really was more prepared for it, my recovery has been much, much better. Monday was bad, but considering we spent the day wandering around Magic Kingdom and then took a five-hour nonstop flight home, it's not really a surprise that I could barely walk when it was time to get off the plane. Yesterday, after a sleep in my own bed, I was much better and no longer limping or walking funny (just a little slower than usual). Today I went to the chiropractor, and his adjustments are giving me a little grief right now, but I'm betting tomorrow I'll be even better. Which is good, because of all the retarded things I could have done, I'm signed up for the Tinkerbell Half Marathon this Sunday. I know; don't even get me started. Once that's over, I may not ever run again - because my feet will just be tiny little nubs.
Special notes: I was a lot more prepared this year than I was last year, but still probably not prepared enough. Unfortunately, it was also 20 degrees hotter than it was last year. Disney was sending out notices and posting signs at the beginning of each race, saying it was going to be abnormally hot, do NOT try for a best time, and SLOW DOWN. Unfortunately, slowing down wasn't an option for me, because I was already about as slow as I could be without getting sweeped for not going fast enough. So basically, I was more prepared, but the different conditions meant it was just as horrible as last year.
We went to the start of the half marathon without jackets. T-shirt and shorts (or running skirt, in my case), and that's it. At 3am, that doesn't bode well for how the rest of the day is going to go. I did all right in the half - you had to finish in at least 3:30, so we all took it as slow as we could while still finishing on time (I went 3:23). We saw the 3:30 pacer at the starting line, and we were joking about trying to hold her back so she couldn't pass us, and she kept reaching past our shoulders to hold the sign ahead of us. Then she said, "I'm not the end, I'm not the one you have to worry about - it's the ladies with balloons." Anyway, by the time I finished, it was so hot already and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to do a marathon the next day. In that heat? No way. Especially since I've done the Goofy Challenge before - I had nothing to prove this time!
But the thing is, I can't ever seem to bring myself to not start something I signed up for. Last year, I was sure I wouldn't be able to do the marathon, but of course I showed up to the start line - I could at least do a few miles; I could get credit for trying, amirite? So once again, instead of staying in bed when everyone else got up, I got myself up at 2:45, sore and tired, and got ready. (My mom's alarm went off, and we all silently got up and started getting ready. It was a good 10 minutes before anyone said anything. The sense of impending doom was palpable.)
I did wear a sweatshirt to the starting line. I'd brought old sweatshirts, because Disney donates any clothing discarded during the race to charity, and I thought it would be cold waiting around to start running (like last year, when we weren't prepared for it). I do know that when your muscles are tired, you get cold more easily - after a long race, I'm always cold the rest of the day, even if it's August. So I had my skirt and tank top, with a sweatshirt, because even if it was a little cold, why be uncomfortable when you don't have to be? Might as well be as comfortable as I can until the dreaded marathon starts. I ended up tossing it in a clothing bin before we even got to the start line.
So, we started around 6:30am. My parents pulled ahead before the first mile was over, and I stayed with my friend Heather. She's usually faster than me, but this was her first Goofy and she was nervous, and wanted to pace with someone who "knew what they were doing" (har har, no I don't, I barely survived). After the first couple miles, the 6:30 pacer caught up with us, so we started pacing with him. He was doing about 45 seconds of running, 1:15 walking. It was a totally doable pace for us, and we got excited thinking that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad! We felt like we could keep it up for a while!
Then at mile 6, we entered the Magic Kingdom. We both had to use the bathroom. I like going while in the park, because you can use the actual park bathrooms you run past, instead of gross Port-a-Potties. So, when we hit Tomorrowland, we bolted into some nearby restrooms. There was no line, no wait, we just popped in, went, and were back out in a couple minutes. We ran for a while trying to catch up with the 6:30 pacer, but couldn't see him. Finally we had been running a while and saw his sign way ahead. How'd he get so far ahead in such a short time? We didn't want to sprint to catch up; it was only mile 7 and it was starting to get hot. No sense wearing ourselves out. We decided to keep him in sight, and that would put us at, like, 6:40. Perfectly reasonable, and well under the 7 hour time limit.
So we're going along, and about mile 11, the 7:00 pacer is catching up to us. What? We can still see 6:30 bobbing along ahead of us! Sure, he's in the distance, but this isn't half an hour of difference! It's less than one mile! We tried to stay ahead of him, but he caught up anyway. He was doing a 20 second run, 40 second walk. So we gave up and just started pacing with him. His pace was pretty easy; his run was easy to keep up with, but his walk was faster than I could manage because he was so tall and had long legs, I always fell behind and had to run a little harder to get back up.
We hit the halfway point with the 7:00 pacer, and it was just like I had told Heather earlier - usually when you hit a halfway point, you think, "Yes! Halfway done!" But in this case, you want to cry because you think, "I still have to go that far again, and now the sun will be up the whole time and it's so hot and I'm so tired and my feet hurt so much already, I can't do what I just did again." But we kept going, because at least at that point, the sun was still behind the trees. We also heard him say that he was keeping a faster pace than 7 hours, so that he could slow down when it started getting really hot - so that's why he was so close behind 6:30.
So we kept pounding along, as it got hotter and hotter (the heat index was 95 that day - not a joke). Around mile 16 or 17, I couldn't keep up with the 7:00 pacer anymore. There was a water stop, which we always walked through, and I walked slowly and got a refill for the bottle I was carrying, and I just couldn't get myself running again. I watched them get further away (Heather stayed with them, which was fine - if I couldn't do it, well, I did it last year. If she didn't make it though, she'd always feel like she had to come back and prove she could). I fell back, I walked slowly, thinking that with the loss of the 7:00 pacer, I wasn't going to make it. I actually stopped at a guard rail and sat down, holding my feet in the air for a bit. They were throbbing and the heat....the heat. I don't handle heat well in general, and obviously this was way out of my comfort zone.
After a bit of a rest, I started up again. But it was so hot and miserable, and I still had so far to go. I was at mile 18 and decided I was going to quit. I was probably having a number of medical emergencies at that point, and I saw a medical tent and decided to go over and ask them to let me lie down, then transport me to the finish line where I could wait for everyone else. But then - then. This song came on. This stupid song, that my little brother Eric sings all the time, and I could see him with his arms in the air doing his "good time" dance. And I couldn't quit while it was playing. And it was so upbeat I started running. And I ran through the whole thing, and it got me to the point where I could see the 7:00 pacer again. Then, later in mile 19, when I was running through the ESPN Center, this song came on - not so much for fast running, but it definitely got me going.
After mile 20, I was hot and tired and the music wasn't getting me through so well anymore. And I turned and looked behind me and saw...balloons. Two green balloons, floating up above the heads of all the runners (because at this point, there were still a lot of people back with me - I was far from alone, it was pretty crowded). And I remembered - the ladies with the balloons. They were the ones I was supposed to watch out for. At the moment, I was turning off a smaller walkway onto a highway, and I saw a bunch of buses sitting there waiting. And when I looked behind me, I saw the balloons turn that corner...and the buses pulled forward and started picking up everyone behind them.
So, I spent the last six miles running from the balloons. If I could cross the finish line before them, I would still get my medals. These women were power walking a solid 16 minute mile - when I walked, I was too slow and they caught up, so I would run when a good, solid, upbeat song came on. That would give me a lead, and I would walk again. Then they'd catch up, and I'd have to run to stay ahead. They passed me at one water stop, and I panicked, and raced to get ahead of them. Six miles of running from balloons when your body is shutting down, it's 95 degrees with 90% humidity, and you're not even thinking straight, is enough to give anyone a phobia. You want to freak me out, just show up at my door with two of these.
It was like a death march. I definitely would have quit, if it weren't for the fact that I could see them, they were currently behind me, and I just kept saying, "Just stay ahead of them, it's all you have to do." So I plodded on, running when I could, stopping to walk when I had to. I ran through Hollywood Studios and got some concerned looks from tourists walking by. The folks on the Boardwalk seemed concerned too. But the absolute best part was the final mile, in Epcot, because a lot of people who had already finished the marathon were there, cheering for the very end of the pack. People who looked fresh as daisies, wearing their medals, probably having been finished for several hours - instead of going back to their hotels, showering, eating, resting, they went into the park to stand along the final mile, cheering for these people who can only barely make the time limit and are suffering every step of the way. They saw my red face, my grimace, my aching step, and it was like they knew how close I was to collapsing even with less than a mile left - and they were shouting, "You're doing AWESOME, you're so close! You can do it! Right around this corner up here! You're almost there!" And I thought, "Those total strangers are right! They don't even know me, and they believe in me!" (I like to think that if I ever got really fast, I would be a person who sticks around to cheer for the people behind me. But who am I kidding? I'm not going to be fast!)
At mile 26, they always have a gospel choir (singing glorious hallelujahs). At that point, apparently the ladies with balloons realized they were a little behind for a 7-hour time. So they started running. And they ran past me.
And I said "No! NO!" (I believe this was said out loud, but I can't be sure.) I sprinted. I got ahead of them again. The point is, even when you think you're on the verge of a complete physical shut down, when you have two tenths of a mile left and your victory is about to be snatched from your trembling, clutching hands, you can muster a full-on sprint out of nowhere. I sprinted past them, and crossed the finish line about twenty seconds before the balloons of doom. A volunteer put a Mickey Marathon medal around my neck. I staggered forward for a second, eyes glazed. A medical volunteer came to me and asked, "Do you need help?" But I wanted to get my Goofy medal, I needed it RIGHT NOW, so I told him I was going to go get water and my Goofy and then I would probably seek assistance.
After picking up my water, Powerade, box of snacks, and of course the precious, precious Goofy, I staggered over to the self-treatment center hoping the medical staff there would take care of me. The guy who came up just said, "What do you need?" I didn't really know, since I hadn't had a chance to take inventory and decide what pains were the most urgent, so I just said, ".....a place to sit down?" So I sat down. And he brought me a bag of ice. And I sat there for a while, letting everyone else find me, and thought about what a ridiculously impressive yet stupid thing I had done.
So, here we are. Like I said, the race itself was just as miserable as last year. But, probably because I really was more prepared for it, my recovery has been much, much better. Monday was bad, but considering we spent the day wandering around Magic Kingdom and then took a five-hour nonstop flight home, it's not really a surprise that I could barely walk when it was time to get off the plane. Yesterday, after a sleep in my own bed, I was much better and no longer limping or walking funny (just a little slower than usual). Today I went to the chiropractor, and his adjustments are giving me a little grief right now, but I'm betting tomorrow I'll be even better. Which is good, because of all the retarded things I could have done, I'm signed up for the Tinkerbell Half Marathon this Sunday. I know; don't even get me started. Once that's over, I may not ever run again - because my feet will just be tiny little nubs.