Byline to Finish Line

There is always a certain amount of dread at the beginning of an interval workout. Pacing, whether it be by land or chlorine, is still an elusive art for to me. This week’s interval swim workout featured 200 yard sprints. The longer the sprint, the more dread tends to build, both over how much it will hurt and low-grade concern over hitting the prescribed times.

Ah, but the most excellent news is that my coach is Canadian. From time to time, he forgets to convert distances. Hence, while he knows I’m currently swimming in a pool where one length equals 25 yards, I’m pretty sure he gave me the split time for meters instead. I sense this because my slowest of the six 200-yard intervals was 21 seconds faster than the time he gave me.

The good thing about being able to make up stories in your head is that you can make up great stories. Sure, it probably was the wrong time. But this time, I let myself think that I was superfly and super fast. In a week where I got the news that running had to be shut down for about two more weeks, it was just the story I needed to tell myself.

Then came the pool running.

I have described that I feel ridiculous doing this.

Let me walk you through it.

First, I strap on an aqua jogging belt. It’s not a floatation device, but it is buoyant and keeps me from sinking.

Then, I go.

You use a regular running motion. (Oh and yes, you’re in the deep end, not running on the bottom of the pool.) Swing your arms as normal and use your normal stride. The big key is to stay upright and not lean forward.

It feels a bit unnatural at first. Kind of like running in jello. Or as if you are a cartoon character, running suspended in space. I think about the Hall of Justice from Super Friends and ask myself if I feel a bit superhero like. Nope. No superhero. Just one of those crazy, silly and lovable cartoon characters.

I move ridiculously slow and am sure the swimmers in the pool are looking at me and rolling their eyes. (Then again, I’m pretty sure that swimmers do that to me when I’m actually doing a swim workout. So really, the only difference here is that my head is above water and I’m not looking at the world through my blue-tinted metallized  lenses.)

My time pool running is spent concentrating on my form. Allegedly, you can change up your speeds, but at the moment I have only two speeds: Run and Float.

Runners have long used pool running as a way to recover from injury and with great success. Anecdotally, I’ve heard about runners who took to the pool and returned to land to win championships or give personal best performances.

The revered magazine Runner’s World has written about ways to make pool running fun and touts it not just as a cross-training method but as a way to actually maintain your running fitness and form through an injury.

And so while I feel a bit silly and awkward, the pool running is starting to grow on me. I get to watch what’s going on at the pool, something impossible when your face is constantly in the water lap after lap. Plus, I get to create new stories for myself.

I become a champion pool runner. Where does she get her spirit from? Look at her go. In another three minutes she’ll have another lap completed. Pool runner extraordinaire!

I smile, laugh at myself, and climb out of the pool, happy and spent.

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When the phrase “hilly run” was uttered, the doctor just smiled.

He listened to my brief history and description of my symptoms and confirmed my self-diagnosis. I have plantar fasciitis in my right foot.

There were no surprises here, but getting a trusted medical opinion in addition to the experiences of my coach and my stellar Internet searching skills seemed not only harmless but potentially valuable. What I like about this particular podiatrist is that he (a) is an athlete, hence he understands my desire to return to training and my desire for long-term health and (b) does not want to waste my time.

And so we start with a lot of little things. And some of them just make me feel silly.

Time, however, to embrace that silly things are often good for us.

On my rehabilitation docket:

1. Rest

Shocker. No running for another two weeks while my foot heels. Also, no weight training exercises which involve squats. This means so long to my kettlebell workouts for the moment, but there are plenty of other things I can do. Included on the list: downhill skiing, ice skating and snowshoeing (if I stretch first). Cross country skiing is out for the time-being. Since I have never been on skis, this is not a huge crimp in my winter style. But since I did want to try skiing this winter (adventure resolution!) it’s nice to know that downhill face plants can still be in my immediate future.

Among the training activities I can do, pool running has been added to the end of my swim workouts. There are grand stories of runners who have used pool running to key successful returns from injury. I believe them. I believe my coach. But have you ever done pool running? You feel … ridiculous. More on this in a future post. Trust me, though. It’s ridiculous.

2. Treatment

I was issued an AirForm Night Splint to wear when I sleep (or watch TV, read, blog, etc.) The splint keeps my foot at a 90-degree angle which gently stretches the plantar fascia. These, I am told, are supposed to be very effective. I understand the science and believe my medical professionals. However, it feels slightly ridiculous to sit on the couch with this apparatus attached to my lower leg. It feels even more ridiculous to crawl into bed with it on.

Is there a pattern in my recovery here? Ridiculous seems to equal effective.

Also part of the treatment plan: an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory daily and rolling a frozen water bottle under my foot for 20 minutes after any physical activity.

3. Rehabilitation

I’m headed to physical therapy for some ultrasound and stimulation. Ah, another new experience.

In addition, at home it’s time to add some specific exercises to my daily routine. One is a stretch for the back of my leg, the other is a strengthening move that involves curling a towel with my toes. OK, the towel move? Yep, it registers on the ridiculous meter.

But if the ridiculous helps calm the inflammation in my foot and gets me back into my running shoes, then bring on the silly feeling. If nothing else, I’ll have plenty of reasons to smile at myself through the recovery process.

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Some days, minimalism just feels like the right way to go. Strip down the chaos, the unnecessary clutter and focus only on the essentials:

Laundry pile slowly shrinks

Organization

Healing happens with patience

My focus today is creating the space for amazing things to happen in the next few days. And now for my moment of Zen on a cold, gray winter day. Embarrassing? A tad. But it makes me smile remembering the little kid inside of me, who could care less what anyone else thought:

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Somewhere there is a picture of my mother in curlers.

The shot is vivid in my mind. The colors slightly faded, the way old pictures are. She a young woman, dyeing her blonde, with her hair up in big rollers covered in a net. She has the goofy look people give when caught off guard and smiling for the camera. The shot is a bit fuzzy, probably taken in haste. And for some reason, the color yellow is prominent in my memory.

The photo is not part of my stash of family memorabilia. I looked and couldn’t find it. I suspect after describing it, my mother will locate and destroy it.

It, however, is the first visual which comes to mind when it’s Miss America pageant time.

The story goes that the night of the Miss America pageant my mother always received a Toni Home Permanent. I’m not sure how old she was, or how long the tradition lasted, but I know she and my grandmother were involved in the home perm beauty night.

Me? I never had a perm, home or otherwise. My mother cursed my hair as a child as the waves turned to snarls. Oh, there were tears before elementary school when she would comb my hair back into a ponytail. (Dear Mom: There is a head attached to the hair. Love, Amy.) We watched the Miss America pageant every year but I never had much interest in the pageant circuit myself. It wasn’t that I thought badly of beauty pageants or of the people who did them. It was that I didn’t think I belonged anywhere near anything to do with beauty.

This year, I did not watch the Miss America pageant, in part because I don’t have a working television connection but more pressingly because I was working in the sports department newsroom. So I did not see Miss Nebraska win the crown. But I did think of my mom and frizzy hair.

Once upon a time, the Miss American pageant stood as the symbol of all that was wrong with gender stereotyping. And there’s something to be said for perpetuating a limited view of how women should look, of judging outward appearance and of trying to quantify things like beauty and grace.

No, I may not ever have the outward looks of a contestant in a Miss America pageant. But just as I’ve learned to redefine myself as an athlete, I’m learning to redefine myself as beautiful. It’s a slower process than the athletic one, but my athletic journey has taught me just how powerful the stories are which I tell myself — and how capable I am of changing them.

There won’t be any Toni Home Permanents in my future, though some days I have the urge to go a great Sephora spree. Other days, I’m quite content in my post-work out compression socks and messy, sweaty ponytail. And I’m learning that I can feel beautiful either way.

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The website which routinely delivers my weather news noted it felt like 9 degrees. It was starting to snow. And I was ready to go.

It was time to head out for a snowshoe adventure. Granted it was tame both in duration and terrain. And granted at the farthest possible corner of the loop my toes and fingers were starting to go numb. And that plantar fasciitis in my right foot? Yeah, it was starting to bother me.

But that jaunt was exactly what I needed.

Forget crisp. This was cold bordering on bitter.  A shock to the senses sometimes helps stir things up, physically and mentally.

Yes, winters in Western New York can be tough. And long. And did I mention long? Previous coping mechanisms had been to eat junk food, watch too much television and whine. But that no longer fits into what I want for my life. So the only other option is to embrace winter.

How to survive in the cold? Wear layers and keep moving. Ice skating has been part of my activity repertoire. When I was but a toddler, our backyard flooded in the fall, froze in the winter and my dad strapped four-bladed skates to the bottom of my boots. If memory serves correct, Tuesdays and Thursdays were free skate at the Kenan Center. Ice skates hung in my elementary school cubby during the day and we would walk to the rink instead of straight home after school.

In the past few years, I added snowshoes to my list of outdoor activities. Not that I’ve gone out on them often. The excuse is usually lack of playmates. Mark got me out this weekend and for that I am grateful. It’s right in line with my desires for this year — doing things I love with people I love — and it reminded me that if we move in the direction of the things we want, life has a funny way of supporting us.

For the first time in four years,, I enter a new calendar year without any big athletic firsts. No first triathlon. No first marathon. No first Ironman. My desire for performance goals are really just for my amusement and frankly doesn’t excite me like conquering those inaugural events did. Getting back healthy in order to train and race this summer is the real goal of the next few months. Healing, however, can be boring. And that’s been a difficult adjustment.

Just as I was looking for a bit of wisdom with which to start the week, The Dalai Lama had a tweet today (yes, the Office of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama has a Twitter account) which read:

With the realization of ones own potential and self-confidence in ones ability, one can build a better world.

Sometimes, you see, it’s not necessarily about having a well-constructed plan. Often, it’s only about your energy and your thoughts.

Injury and training plans will come and go. My only true goal is to continue to create joy in my life. At times, without the big picture goal, life feels like a bit of an aimless wander. Sometimes aimless wanders are fun. Sometimes, they produce anxiety. When the later happens, the best course of action is to remember is to wear layers and keep moving.

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The toe warmers jammed between my two layers of socks did not seem to be heating up. In fact, my feet were getting rather cold, but I was determined not to complain. This was part of the experience. OK, it’s a part of the experience most people try to avoid (hence the toe warmers) but what’s a numb foot on an adventure?

Best Boyfriend Mark had been waiting for this opportunity — to take me ice fishing. I had never been fishing before, ice or otherwise, and was up for giving it a try. Who knew? Maybe I was a great fisherwoman and didn’t know it.

The day after we returned from Disney, Mark eagerly waited for my call, picked me up and took me to procure my fishing license. For $29 and a few minutes of time at Dick’s Sporting Goods I became legally able to fish in New York State for a year.

We then headed out to the small boat harbor and found plenty of others already set up on the ice, some in tents, some braving the easterly wind that would bring in a general snow fall later that afternoon. We picked a spot, drilled two holes (Well, Mark drilled the holes. He wanted me to try. I declined.) and then put up the folding tent.

Mark helped me bait my hook. (And by help me, I mean he did it.) I plunked my line into my fishing hole and began to fish.

Fishing consisted of jiggling the line, waiting, jiggling the line, waiting, and occasionally checking to make sure my bait was still on my hook.

“Is there a skill to this?” I asked Mark. It seems as if the real skill in fishing is picking the right spot, although I did try to make up fish songs so that they would come and play with us.

Mark caught two fish first. Then I noticed my line starting to move away from me. I pulled the line up through the ice and — a fish! It was a smelt. I know nothing about smelt other than there is some sort of smelt festival in Lewiston every year and I find the name fun to say.

I got another smelt. Then there was a small tug on my line. I pulled it up and there was a sunfish — all colorful and pretty. I touched it briefly (meaning I put my finger on it). Mark got each fish off the hook and tossed it back into the water for me.

He caught a perch and a bass (though if put in a lineup, I’m not sure I could tell the difference just yet) but alas, I won the fish count: 5 to 4. This apparently is a slow day in ice fishing. Still, I was rather content. It was fun. It was different. It was relaxing. It was a different kind of adventure — not exactly a challenge, not quite action-packed, but one which still took me to a new place and outside of my comfort zone. All good adventures, big or small do that.

I had posted on Facebook that I was off to my first time ice fishing and a dear friend commented, “Amy, you live a cool life. You go girl!”

That made me smile. And pause.

I always wanted to live an interesting life, but never thought I did. Other people’s lives were interesting. Everyone else was cool. Me? I was boring.

But really, that was just a story I was telling myself, the story I chose to create. When I decided to choose a different story — to embrace challenges and new things and take opportunities and live from a place of joy — slowly, I began to see my life as pretty cool. I didn’t get there in one big leap. It came through choices made every day and it took a good friend to point out that what one of the things I want most for my life, I already have.

When we want to choose something different for our lives, we often seen it as needing to be big, dramatic and lasting. Often though, if we focus only on the choices we make for the day in front of us, the cumulative affect takes us to a new place, a better place, one that we otherwise couldn’t imagine if we had to sit and make a grande plan instead of letting life unfold.

We create our own story. We get to create our own adventure.

That wast the lesson the sunfish taught me as it swam back down into the icy waters of Lake Erie.

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While most of my focus had been on the Marathon Weekend there was another important aspect to last week’s trip — it was my first venture into Disney World.

In all honesty, I had no idea what to expect. As I wrote before the trip, never did the idea of going to Disney World thrill me with childhood excitement. Nothing at all against Disney, it’s just that it was never a childhood dream of mine to go there. It would never have shown up on my bucket list.

Perhaps that the drawback of the bucket list. You limit yourself to things you already know you want to do.

As a member of the sports media the mere presence of ESPN doesn’t excite me. After all, I know a lot of people who work there and run into ESPN crews from time to time. And yet, having the marathon expo at the ESPN Wide World of Sports complex was, well, cool. It reinforced the athlete part of the weekend, the notion that we are all athletes if we give ourselves a little credit and take the opportunity.

The ESPN Disney site hosts tournaments of all kinds — from basketball and volleyball to track, soccer and softball. Often, collegiate conferences will host their championships at Disney, giving their student-athletes a unique experience.

On Friday, the site hosted a series of children’s races — from a 100-meter dash for 1-3 year olds up to a mile for older kids. Since our friends had a 3-year old in the race, we made our way over there and got to see Cassie run her first competitive event. (If by competitive you mean running with other kids alongside their parents and getting a medal at the end. Which, in my book, counts. Especially if you’re 3.)

While there, I had the chance to meet the Mouse himself — yes Mickey showed up for a little bit and the crowds were off some place else, allowing me to get my picture taken with him. He actually gave me a kiss on the check, then kissed my hand. And even for someone who is an indifferent Disney fan, well, that was something completely unexpected, something which put me back into what we often call our childhood state.

The next two days were spent in race mode — preparation, race, recover, repeat. But during those days Mark talked to me about going to one of the Disney parks on Monday. Our flight didn’t leave until the evening, giving us time to hit a theme park. Plus, in a first-year promotion those who completed the marathon received one free admission to a park on Monday. That gave us one free pass.

Still, I wasn’t sure.

“You can’t come down to Disney and NOT go to a park,” Mark said. “I think you’d regret it. We should go to one. You pick.”

I wasn’t sure what my resistance was about, but I knew that Mark was right. So I decided on Magic Kingdom for the essential Disney experience.

We had run down Main Street during the half marathon and then through Cinderella’s Castle. This time we strolled. We stopped and looked. We both wore our race medals and were congratulated by Disney people and fellow runners.

We wandered around and found ourselves in a line for the ride Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. It was a herky-jerky roller coaster with a mining theme that included an oink-ing pig at one point. That made me laugh out loud, for a while, and immediately I settled in.

We went through Pirates of the Caribbean and climbed the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse, the later of which is kinda boring and not recommended for those who just ran, say, a marathon or half marathon, or both.

We went through “it’s a small world” — the quintessential Disney ride with it’s lazy boat ride, technicolor brightness, feeling of sugar everywhere and a slight helping of culture stereotyping. It’s days later and that song is still stuck in the back of my brain.

Our final adventure of the day was Space Mountain. And let me just say this: Space Mountain. Best. Ride. Ever.

When you enter Disney World there is a saying from Walt Disney which implores you to leave behind today, leave behind your reality, and enter into this world of fantasy.

The gift for some is respite from their world of reality. But upon returning home we can be more than refreshed. We can have awakened the creativity and fun and adventure — what we often call the child in us — and start living our dreams with a new sense of energy and excitement.

Yes, Disney can be more than just about the Mouse or a theme park. They are merely tools to bring you back to a place of personal authenticity, the place inside of you from which you live your best life.

The race, the vacation, doesn’t have to completely end. It’s just the beginning of something new.

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“You don’t have to get up,” Mark said as we relaxed, trying to fall asleep to a particularly sad and disturbing double episode of House. “You can sleep in.”

I appreciated the offer, but there was no way I would miss the start of the race. Mark had endured early hours to spectate and serve as sherpa for my summer triathlons. Granted, I don’t think any of those required 2:30 a.m. wake-up calls on two successive days. But I wanted to be there to support him, support his friends, Greg and John, who were also running and take in part of the Disney Marathon experience as a spectator.

Upon waking up at 2:30, however, I kinda wished I had decided to stay at the hotel and take a later shuttle over to the start. I had unusual dreams thanks to the House episode (I don’t recommend watching a drama where a character dies a slow and painful death the night before a race) and my quads were quite sore from my half marathon experience the day before.

But I was up. I was fed. And I knew I could purchase coffee at a concession stand near the start line. Let’s go.

Mark continued to curse his friend, John. See, John was the one who dragged them all into the Goofy Challenge, which involves running the half marathon on Saturday and the marathon on Sunday. John went and registered for it. And the boys, well, they couldn’t let that pass without joining him. But on race weekend, the thought of running 39.3 miles, well, it no longer sounded like as much fun to them. “I hate John” became the pre-race mantra.

True confession time: I was a bit jealous. Yes, there was no way I could physically have done the marathon with my foot issues (and now developed chaffing issues) but I was envious of Mark and his friends going out there to try this ridiculous challenge. I wished I could be part of the race, challenging and pushing myself.

We made our way to the start line. The weather was a bit chilly — temperatures in the high 40s. I was bundled up in layers and holding on to hand warmers for dear life. A send-off to the three silly boys and it was time to find a spot to stand and wait for the start. My morning would be spent hanging out with members of Greg’s family — his wife (Mary), 3-year-old daughter (Cassie) and father (Dad).

The worst part of spectating is waiting for the start of the race. It was cold. It was dark. It was boring. I’d look down at my watch convinced 15 minutes had passed. Nope. Only three. I have always respected those who come to watch me (or their loved ones) at a race. This starting experience allowed me to be even a little more grateful.

They started the race on time and we cheered as the runners streamed by in indistinguishable packs.

After that, it was off to the monorail and a spot between mile 12-13 outside the Polynesian Resort. Once there we had to make a decision — cross the median in order to be right next to the runners or stay on the far side which was a bit of a distance away from the actual race. The caveat was that crossing the median for a better view meant we would have to wait a significant amount of time to recross the street and continue back to the finish line. We took the risk and crossed the median.

The elite runners were just passing through by the time we arrived and the special treat at the halfway-ish point of the marathon was the presence of Donald Duck and Goofy. Before the rest of the runners came through, Mary and I took our pictures with the characters. Crossing the street? Already worth it.

Mary had brought along a cowbell. I brought along my big mouth. We cheered runners heartily. This is my favorite part of spectating — cheering wildly. I saw a woman wearing a University of Massachusetts shirt and (being the good Atlantic 10 family member that I am) yelled “GO UMASS!” A smile crossed her face. That? Was worth it.

The best part of our location was that we stood a few yards ahead of the Disney characters. To see these serious-looking, tough, strong male runners get the biggest, most genuine grin on their faces at the sight of Donald and Goofy (and later Mickey and Minnie) was truly priceless.

Eventually we started to see our crew. Mark passed through first and I got a high-five. Greg passed through next, giving a wave to his daughter.

Then, I spotted my friend Walker. I knew she was running the Gooffy Challenge with her younger sister but didn’t expect to see her. I called out to her. She spotted me and came over to stop and talk to me.

“Have you seen Michele?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, a bit baffled she had stopped in the middle of the race to talk to me. “She might have come by but I didn’t see her.”

“This is not good,” Walker said in a deadpan tone which, frankly, was a bit amusing. “We were supposed to run together and I went to the porta potty and forgot to tell her where to wait to for me. I ran back half a mile to try to find her but couldn’t.”

She started to jog off. “If you see her, tell her I’ll wait for her at Mile 2o!”

I started looking for Michele. I never found her. I hope Walker eventually did.

Next up was John, who spotted us before we spotted him, and we gave him a hearty cheer.

Now, time to try and find our way back to the start. We calculated pace (OK, MARY calculated pace. I attempted no math) and we figured it would be close to getting to see them at the finish. We ended up making friends with an older woman and her husband in line for the monorail and became their family for the five-minute ride, which bumped us up to get on the Disney transportation system sooner rather than later.

Mary, Cassie and Dad sprinted from the monorail to the Mile 20 mark. I took one running step and felt major discomfort in my right foot. No running for me. But I did a quick hobble and got to the fencing just in time to see Greg run past.

I searched for Mark, who needs to pick out a different favorite running shirt. He runs often in red. Everyone wears red. It made scanning the runners for him somewhat exhausting. But there he came, around the bend. I shouted: “GO MARK!!” I was joined by Mary. I waved my arms furiously. He was looking around but listening to his tunes, he missed us.

“I guess Mark didn’t need your help,” one of the other spectators offered. We laughed. It’s funny because it’s true.

Somehow we missed John passing through, but he finished just fine. All three of the guys did. And after the race, they no longer hated John.

Later that evening, Mark and I wandered around Downtown Disney both wearing our finisher’s medals. We soaked in the congratulations, though I thought Mark’s accomplishment was so much more worthy of praise than mine. I tried to sweep aside those thoughts of worthiness and as I did, I became inspired by the Goofy Challenge finish of Best Boyfriend and his pals.

Somewhere, sometime soon, I’ll have my own goofy challenge. Not one that revolves around performance, but one that exists solely to see if I can do it.

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This was not the race I had planned.

It was not the race I had trained for or prepared for. It was not the race I wanted.

But sometimes we get stubborn in what we want. We get focused on getting things in only one way, one form. And the universe,well, it just doesn’t work that way every time. Often, we need to be open to the gift around us. What have I been asking for? Really asking for? And what did I get?

No, this was not the race I had planned. Thank goodness.

Welcome to my Disney Half Marathon experience.

Let me walk you through it.

Readers of my blog will recall that for the past two weeks I have been fighting some plantar fasciitis in my right foot. While it had been healing, the ultra prudent thing would be not to run a 13.1-mile race. For the record, my coach would have rather I spectated, but understood my desire to start the race and attempt the finish line.

So I went through an internal debate the day before the race. How do I approach the race? Do I try to go hard, perhaps set a PR? Do I just plod through it?

I knew this much: A. I wanted to start so I would start. B. I would listen to my body. C. I wanted to enjoy the experience.

Marathon Weekend at Disney isn’t just about distance running but about going the distance on unusual sleep patterns. The race began at 5:30 a.m. Runners needed to be in their starting corrals at 5 a.m. While there was free shuttle service from the resort hotels to the start at Epcot, Best Boyfriend Mark and I still needed a 2:30 a.m. wakeup call.

Even for an early riser such as myself, that was God-awful early.

But the morning went smoothly. I woke up, did some yoga (sun salutations), drank my Starbucks Via coffee (a holiday gift from Mark) and ate my oatmeal. Getting to the start was easy as was bag check and the bathroom lines. (This, as must runners will attest to, is very important).

The walk from the start/finish area to the actual starting corrals is about half a mile. For some reason, the walk took forever with bottle necks in seemingly unusual places. The procession included me, Mark and friend Greg. John, the other member of the running crew, had yet to arrive to the start as his shuttle driver apparently got lost on the way from the hotel to the starting line. This, I’ve been told, is not unusual for John. It’s why the guys like racing with John. He absorbs all the bad luck karma out there. But he rolls with it rather well.

Mark decided to start back in Corral B with me and the pre-race company was nice. Starting temperatures were in the low 50s  — a pleasant change from the 20s in Buffalo but still a bit cool to stand around in for 45 minutes. We bought throwaway jackets at the race expo on Thursday, quite the fashion statement you can see, and it helped keep us both warm through the first mile or two of the race.

And now the race.

The countdown, the fireworks, the starting gun.

I was feeling pretty good. I was feeling really good actually, running at slightly above a comfortable pace. That first mile marker comes up rather quickly I think how good this all is.

We run along some highway on our way to Magic Kingdom. To our left is a hot-air balloon shaped like Epcot Center. Then we see part of the Hundred Acre Woods in the median. Then, oh dear, I have to pee.

And so starts the internal dialogue. Do I really have to use the bathroom? Should I go? Should I wait? Why didn’t I check the map to see where the bathrooms were on the route?

In the fourth mile, I hit the port-a-johns and out I go, through a crowd of volunteers and fans singing along to Chubby Checker’s “Let’s Twist Again.” It was energetic and fun and while not stopping to twist myself, I danced a bit while I  ran, clapped my hands and started singing. It was a pretty good lift to my spirits and now with an empty bladder I was ready to go, make up some time from the bathroom stop and see if I could keep my sub-10-minute mile pace.

(Insert a musical interlude, in case you need a pick-me-up today.)

The best part of the course wound through Magic Kingdom and the best part of the pre-dawn hour was seeing the park’s Main Street light up, bright and colorful and fanciful. We ran through Cinderella’s Castle and it was just a beautiful sight. The characters were out in full force. Fans were cheering. For a mile or two, I was a superhero.

Unfortunately, by the time we exited Magic Kingdom I had developed a problem worse than the stiffness in my right heal.

It was my inner thighs.

They had started chaffing.

Chaffing?

Wait just a minute. I am not a newbie runner. I have done training runs and races in this bright pink skort I’m wearing. I applied Body Glide to all the appropriate body parts, including my legs.

What the heck is going on here?

I will spare the details, but suffice it to say, that chaffing hurts and when it involves your legs, which are in constant motion, well, it just … keeps … getting … worse. This was not magical.

What happened? I have no idea. But it slowed me right down. And the slower pace actually gave my foot time to stiffen up again. Luckily, there was no real pain, just some soreness and stiffness, but couple that now with razor-looking cuts rubbing against each other on my thighs and that nice solid run, that hope of at least a PR, or close to it, was gone.

At Mile 7, I cried.

I pulled over to the side of the road and walked for the first time in the race. In trying not to cry, one often makes the actual crying worse, sounding as if you might be hyperventilating. A woman slowed down to ask if I was OK. Bless you dear woman. I waived her on. I would be OK.

It was time to refocus.

What was I hear for? To have an experience. To enjoy the race. To celebrate the fact that I could run. To do something new. Really, what benefit would I get from pissing away the rest of the race just because I wasn’t going to have a great finishing time?

And so, the last four miles or so of the race became a run-walk experiment. I picked out landmarks and gave myself walk breaks. I listened to the people around me. I heard two people talk about running the marathon the next day as part of the Goofy Challenge. I bowed to them. Well, not literally, but I did do the homage motion with my arms and told them I bowed to them.

Along course I saw Mickey and Minnie Mouse and gave out high-fives to the spectators who lined the course. I watched other runners dressed in costume. Tinkerbell was a popular ensemble. So were any type of mouse ears. There was music nearly every mile. I found two aid stations offering sticks of Vaseline, which I eagerly took to soothe my aching thighs. All of those things made me smile.

The last mile, well 1.1 miles, was all about running. Didn’t matter how slow it was, I was determined to not walk after Mile 12. My legs were heavy. I wanted to be done. The course wound around back into Epcot. We were met by two characters I don’t know. One looked like Beaker from the Muppets. It wasn’t him, but I pretended it was. Somehow, that made me feel better.

Mile 13. Time to run as hard as I could manage to the finish line for the final tenth of a mile.

My legs were heavy. My breathing was hard. My thighs were screaming and my right heal, well, thanks to the other issues, I didn’t even think about my heal.

Instead I kept running. Finish strong, I thought, and I crossed the finish line in what turned out to be around my average half marathon time — 2 hours and 12 minutes.

And then I found the rest of the group.

Greg had run faster than he wanted. Mark ran a slow pace by his standards, but finished strong and happy. John, who made it to the start of the race after all, ran a solid time as well. All three of them were attempting to pace themselves since they were part of the Goofy Challenge and running the marathon the next day.

Me? I only did a half marathon, was not pacing myself for the Goofy Challenge,  had a mediocre performance and a mysterious chaffing incident. I felt a bit inadequate around the guys.

Then I looked down at my hands, which still bore the words of the day written in bold black sharpie. On my right hand, my place of strength, was the word FINISH. On my left hand, my happy place, was the word REDONK.

I had looked at them throughout the race. “Redonk” is a form of “redonkulous” — a term used by my friend Jessica in place of “ridiculous.” The term makes me smile and frankly, running a major race a week after the holiday season ends, a race which requires waking up at 2:30 in the morning and a race that included enduring foot issues and chaffing, well, that really is just a bit “redonk” isn’t it?

And finish … that’s what I did.

Did I run the race? Did I finish? Yes and yes.

What else was there?

Really. I got exactly what I wanted. During my training for the race, my running became stronger as I set PRs in nearly every distance, increased my speed and endurance. The Disney race on the calendar kept me motivated through the holidays and change to cold weather. The Disney running experience was a hoot seeing costumed characters along the course and experiencing a new place.

Most importantly, I got to spend time with good friends doing something I love. This was what I brought myself around to after the breakdown at Mile 7. And while the immediate post-race was a bit pouty, after a shower (which was painful with the chaffing) and a nap, the wisdom inside matched my expressions on the outside.

So, it wasn’t the result I was expecting.

It still turned out to be the race I had planned.

(Still to come this week: Cheering on the Goofy Guys at the marathon, the Disney Marathon Weekend Experience and the Magic of Marathon Monday.)

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