I knew I was in trouble when the letter showed up at my house with the salutation "Dear Disney Full-Marathon Participant." However, I figured a few prompt calls would take care of the switch that was required to get me back into the event I had trained for and intended to run: the Disney HALF-MARATHON! Since I was running for Team Diabetes, I promptly called my contact who assured me that it would all be taken care of by the time I arrived at the Disney resort. She stated she knew I was running the half, signed me up for the full in error, and apologized as she promised to set things right. When I showed up to pick up my number at the Disney Sports Expo, I had the sick sense that things were not going to go at all as I had planned and hoped. Off I was herded to the group running-relations desk, only to have a less than courteous volunteer shove the paper at me completed by my Team Diabetes rep in error. When I asked for my options, she gave me two: 1) pull up at the half and get no time (and worse, a Did Not Finish!), or 2) try to go the full. As I left with my two small children, I told them to sit on the floor with me because Mommy was about to cry.

As I struggled with my emotions, I recalled to mind the reason I’d signed up for this event. It was to raise funds for the American Diabetes Association in honor of my father-and all the people like him who suffer from diabetes. Since my father ended up dying of complications from the disease, and that is ultimately what this race and its fundraising requirement was all about, up off the floor we came to listen to Jeff Galloway and his marathon methodology. I left the expo intending to pull up at the half in a great time at the distance I’d trained for (even if it only meant the time on my watch).

The competitor conflict began to invade later on in the evening. As a former Standardbred harness racing trainer and driver, the thought of a DNF on my record sickened me. I awoke my husband from his sleep to announce I was going to attempt the distance. I told him that I didn’t care how slowly I ran, or how many walk breaks I took, but fate and the running gods thought that this challenge should be a greater one than originally planned. I plotted the race in my head and figured I could just pretend like I was on an extremely long training run for the first time while taking it comfortably. No pressure, just an attempt at finishing and saying I completed the whole thing. However, events unfolded a bit differently and the best-laid plans of runners are about as sound as one of my old Standardbreds before a Bute pill sometimes…

The alarm went off at 2:00 AM the day of the race. Running shoes were on, number was pinned, and shower was taken before the shuttle arrived at 3:30 AM (yes, that’s right, 3:30 AM!). I dined with Team D. folks for breakfast and met some great people from Michigan--a family of three who was running the half-marathon together. Off we were whisked to the giant staging area to mingle with the other 18,999 people who seemed to have the same symptoms we did. As I walked around with all of these strangers in the cold, dark morning, I wished that Mackenzie and Dotts were with me so that they might give me some tips (like wearing those garbage bags in case of rain). Instead, I had my lovely Gore-Tex jacket and sweats, which kept me warm enough, but required check-in that took about one hour before and directly after the race. The rest of the crowd control was commendable though, truly it was. The scope of the event planning must be huge! The line of port-a-potties was a sight in itself and a place of respite. After I got over gaping at everything, I lay down on the pavement with a couple of other running hobos and waited almost two hours for the start. When we started herding ourselves towards the corrals (I can relate being a former horseman), I found myself near the back of the pack. People kept yelling at us to get in line because Mickey was starting this thing soon! I started getting excited, had to pee again, and found myself standing almost last when Donald Duck quacked, Helloooooooooooooooo everybody! As I stood there, I thought of my father, my kids who were there to cheer me on, what I was about to do, and the tears started to brim for the first time. I shook them off, called myself a wimp, and scoffed at myself for even thinking about crying before I’d even run one mile!

A blast of fireworks sounded and lit up the dark sky! We were off. so to speak…I ended up sort of walk jogging the first two miles in 15:00 each because the crowd was so thick. There was simply nowhere to go. Nothing to do I thought but follow and see what happens down the road. After all I figured, I had about 24 to go and, with only two long runs of about 14 miles under me before this, perhaps this thick mass of friendlies might just be doing me a favor. I stuffed my impatience and began to think to myself, "OK, this is good. Just an LSD with the Dawgs." I began to wonder if I could manage ten-minute miles from here on out. After a half-hour start for two miles, I figured any other goal would be ridiculous since I hadn’t trained for this thing anyway.

Holes started opening up though, and I was able to pick it up a bit. Not as much as I would have liked of course, but that turned out to be a saving grace. I would run with a crowd for a period of time, look for an opening, and stride out a bit before finding another group of blockers. That’s pretty much the way it went to the half and I was feeling great. No sweat, no blowing, and no aches and pains. Going past mile 13, I looked over at the timer and noticed I’d reached it at about 2:20. Never mind that some people can finish a marathon in that time. The only thing that mattered to me was that I felt good and knew that there was plenty left in the tank with which to pick it up or sustain myself should I hit the wall.

Mackenzie’s advice began to ring in my ear as I got to about mile 17. I can go 13 miles or so without water, food, or any stopping, but this was further than I’d ever been in my life! I then took to walking through every water stop and forcing down some of those energy gels that I hate so much, regardless of flavor. It turned out to be a lifesaver because at mile 19, my muscles reached up to gently remind my brain that this was the point at which I might want to consider stopping. I promised them that I’d go no faster, but asked if they could hang on just a little while longer. They seemed to accept my request so I kept on running.

At Mile 20, my muscles began tapping harder at the brain matter to assure me that this indeed was the place at which I should stop. Just as I was fixing to patronize them again, the skies opened and down came the cold-ass rain! It was POURING….buckets of cold rain, gray skies, and nothing but cranky muscles bitching at me. I looked over to the lady next to me as the rain ran from my wet hair into my eyes and said, "Now, it feels like a marathon." She responded with a growl and I learned that in marathons, misery may like company, but she really doesn’t want to talk about it.

At Mile 21, I slowed down again for some water and realized that my quadriceps were beginning to lock up at this point. Walking was something more like attempting to stand without falling. I couldn’t slow down after that any more to a walk. It was either run the last 5 with no walking (because I knew once I stopped for certain, I probably wasn’t going to be moving for a very long time) or trot to the finish line. So off I went towards the finish line towards what now seemed and literally looked like a planet in a faraway galaxy. People kept yelling, "You just have to make it to the silver ball at Epcot!" Although I could see it off in the distance, I had no idea how my shaky spaghetti legs were going to get me there.

By the time I got to Mile 23, I thought I could convince myself that I was only a 5K away. I told them, "My goodness, you’ve done about ten of these in 2001. The rest is no big deal." What a fool I was to think my muscles wouldn’t notice they’d already been 23 miles before I was asking them for a few more! By now, I was physically exhausted--although I was impressed that I hadn’t, and never did, hit the wall (at least I don’t think I did—who the hell knows I was so disoriented at this point). I could feel a terrible blister rising up through my soggy sneakers (it’s still raining mind you) and I was so pissed at it as it nagged and was thinking, "I can’t believe I’m going to make it this far only to have to stop and walk because of these damn blisters." It was at this point I learned my new roly-poly-run-away-from-your blister stride. I began to land on the outside of my foot and stopped the roll to the inside at the point of my blisters. I wondered how much permanent damage I might do to my joints with this new move, but at that point, I barely cared.

The crowds pretty much carried me through the last three miles. There were people everywhere: relatives cheering, strangers yelling, "Go Team D—looking good!" Even the regular folks in the parks had stopped walking around and they were cheering. I could only smile as I imagined what I must look like at this point out there. I loved every one of those people who opened there hand up in friendship and support for a hearty slap as you ran by. I began to laugh at myself for what I had done committing to run a full marathon when I was half-ass trained for it. It was then that two people called me by my number to tell me that I had a beautiful smile. Hell, I thought, at least my teeth still look good! That was enough amusement to keep me going. I’d pretty much disassociated my brain from my quadriceps at that point. I was simply picking them up and putting them down as I enjoyed the crowds screaming around me.

Fellow Dawgs will laugh at me if you’ve read this far, but there really were only two things in my head that kept me going after this to the finish line. One, of course, was the awareness that I was running a race that my father in his wheelchair never could have. I ran for him and with him the entire time. The other, and I have no idea why, was Hunt’s calves! I kept seeing those shapely calves out there just in front of me, teasing me to catch up, telling me that I needed to stick with him if I didn’t want to get lost out the trail. Don’t ask me what the hell that was all about, it simply was…

And so my friends, I did it, thanks to all of you and a steely resolve! I looked up at the timer as I ran across and it didn’t matter that it had been ticking for over four hours since I had started. With nasty blisters and a half-trained pair of legs, I finished my first marathon: a marathon that I never intended to run. Forget that my legs nearly buckled out from under me as I stood for the finish photo with my gold Mickey medal. Forget that it started raining and I had to wait another hour after the race for my damn Gore-Tex jacket.

Remember instead the $1,000,000 that was raised by Team D. during this event, remember instead the friendly old fella who had just finished his first marathon too--who held his plastic bag overhead as we shared body warmth in line. I was so grateful to him that I could have French-kissed his thin-lipped, brown-teethed, but otherwise very kind face. Remember the reward of surpassing a far-sighted goal you have set for yourself. Finally, forget the fact that you could not walk for three days, the fact that you needed a sturdy banister to do the stairs and a handicapped stall for private moments (Terri~you were right!). Instead, remember your achievements and more importantly,

P.S. Mackenzie—you forgot to tell me about the sponges! I grabbed one thinking it was a piece of cheese or a slice of pound cake. When I ran off and bit down on it, the cold water came out and shocked me as it went running down my legs and into my dry shoesJ