The closer you move toward the starting line, the more pensive the vibe seems to be. We have about 5 minutes left. Everyone from behind has pushed forward. Too little time to hop out for one last pee. You might lose your place. I think I'm about 30 seconds back from the starting line. 30 rows behind me, people appear a bit more carefree. I see friends and/or family together in couples or packs they are singing and gabbing and generally farting around. 30 rows ahead they seem more isolated. Even fearful.
I'm somewhere in between. I have no one around that I know. I'm calm and I have such a feeling of goodwill toward my fellow running knuckleheads. I start making a list of the things I can and can't control. The "control" list is short. Relax. Drink. Take Gels. Focus. I can't do anything about how little I've trained this time compared with the previous years. I can't do anything about the weather. I imagine the inner dialog around me. Did I do enough? Are my goals too lofty? Do I adjust for the weather? I have 4 previous marathons under my belt. No 2 were the same. My mileage has never been lower. My quality has never been so sparse. I have not run for nearly a week. I bag all those thoughts up and put them aside.
I try to think instead about the decent long runs I've gotten in with Robin and Bert at my side. I visualize myself feeling strong and focused at the 17 mile mark where the doldrums seem to get to everyone on this course. I commit myself to 8:05-8:10's steady. It is dark, overcast. I expect it to rain (I don't mind the rain). I expect that it will clear and get above 70 during the 2nd half. I'm damn well going to run no faster than 8mm through the 1st half. I want to: a) finish b) run negative splits c) run under 3:40 and z) run under 3:31 if the Gods decide to stick a rocket in my arse somewhere along the line.
The Star Spangled Banana is performed. I place my hand over my heart and realize that I'm still wearing a throw away singlet that Bert given me the night before. "Wear it if you want or throw it away, I have 3 more just like it". I decide to peel it off as the fireworks explode. I know old shirtless guys look creepy. Too bad. I look down at my swollen and sloshy midsection. I must have peed 5 times in the last hour but I drank far more. We walk, shuffle trot, and jog in masse to the chip mat. I was indeed 25 seconds from the front. I start my GPS and spend 5 minutes allowing myself to get into some type of rhythm before looking into the face of the Garmin.
There is an immediate wardrobe malfunction. The weight of all my gels, crammed into every pocket of my "race-reddy" nutters is causing them to slide down my shimmery compression (my sofa) tights. I know I'm a plumber but I can't feature presenting my ass crack to the folks behind me for the next 3 hours. I pull the draw string up tighter and tighter, over and over again and sinching multiple knots for the next 5 minutes. I pull out 2 gells and carry them in my hands to let off some ballast. This does not eliminate the problem but I don't feel like they will be around my ankles any time soon.
It's the usual scene. People are flying all around me. They are late for their plane, jockeying for early position, not even a half mile into the thing. 4 years ago I would have gotten rankled by all this urgency. I think nothing of it now. I count a few Mickey and Minnie Mouses and a Tinkerbell. Earlier Bobby had quipped to me "I'm gonna get my ass kicked by at least 10 Tinkerbells today, I can feel it".
1st mile split 8:06. People are beginning to settle down now that we have passed the spectator area. I spend some time behind a dude who is wearing a pink speedo and white gloves. He is talking in earnest about his race experiences in New York and Chicago as he runs beside a regular looking guy. I hear him say "eh" to end a few of his sentences. I can't tell if he is in a joke costume or if this is sort of standard hot weather gear from the Great White North.
I feel good at 2 miles and force a gel at 3. I start taking gels every other mile. In 2005 I was in the best shape ever. It was hot. I skipped early water stops. By the time I realized what I'd done it was too late to correct. I will not make that mistake today. I will slow down and grab a water, a gatorade, and a 2nd water to rinse and/or throw on my head at every stop. Disney is damn well organized. They put the stops where they say they'll be and they have plenty of them. I run through 4 miles and we merge with the staggered corral runners. Things get tight. there is standing water from last nights' rain. I don't want wet socks. Up ahead people are shouting, "water!" or "cones!" to alert us but we run through or over them before it sinks in.
I'm through 6 and we are heading into adrenaline alley. Two shirtless, teenage boys up ahead of me are having a blast. Each has written "CHEER FOR HIM ===>" on their backs with arrows pointing to one another. They keep switching sides however and are aiding complete strangers by doing so. They stop and ham it up with a marching band and hi-five anyone that has a hand out. It's fun to watch! There are spectators and bands from miles 7 to 9 and then you are in the Magic Kingdom and everyone is feeling their yaya's. I get caught up and run a 7:45 ish split before I realize what has happened. Event photos always show folks beaming like children on Xmas morning in Cinderella's Castle photo at mile 11 and looking like they are giving birth near the Dinosaur photo a little ways down the road at mile 15. A young lady has been running on my shoulder for a few miles. Her respiration tells me she's about done already. "Have you run this course before?" I ask. "No, this is my 1st marathon", she lets out in single syllables. She sounds more like someone just whispered "you have 17 miles more to go" in her ear. "Everyone wants to fly through the park, just relax". Too late.
Every year, smiles disappear and people either go to work or punch out after we leave the Kingdom. There are a lot of service roads that connect the parks. There are overpasses. Couples and packs are separated. I'm through the half under 3:35 pace I think but I keep getting confused about when I started my watch. . . at the gun? at the mat? I run for several miles with a couple about my age who, as it turns out, coach middle and high cross country in south Florida. They are wearing matching duds (not cool) but work as a team at the water stops (very cool). It is daylight, yet overcast and warming up. We are heading to 16 miles and I feel them starting to fade. "Do you want to try and run under 3:35 this morning?" I finally broach the subject. "That would be a miracle", one of them says. We carry on together for awhile longer but I am afraid not to act on the feeling that I can run a little quicker and we separate. I don't want to jinx myself this early and wish them a good race, as if I'm going to finish ahead of them. There is still 10 miles on our plates.
I can't believe that I still feel this good. I am not holding back by any means but I'm not gassed. I keep waiting through miles 18-20 to blow up but I don't. Someone handed me a sponge a few miles back and I've been playing with it through the water stops. Split a gel open and cram it in my mouth before the 1st table, water it down, drink a power ade, grab a water to rinse and throw the rest on the nape of my neck. It feels so cold and good that I nearly buckle every time I do this. I use the sponge to keep the salt from my eyes. My only mistake is that I've carried a hat through the race and never wore it. I tucked it in my waste band until I thought I'd rub another hole in my butt and carried it the rest of the way.
This is a bad section of the race to feel bad at. You hit a rather steep overpass, giving you a birds-eye and very demoralizing view of everyone ahead of you. If that is not enough, there is a a hairpin turn where we seem to run for hours (it is really only minutes) facing folks who have already covered the terrain that we have yet to see. Then another overpass. And another. I'm running on task and still in disbelief. People are croaking. I am passing one after another. On the foot of the last overpass a guy ahead pulls the plug and says simply "shit". "C'mon man, this is the last hill. Last Hill! He smiles and says "thanks" and begins shuffling again. I pass a clydesdale guy who says to no one in particular "why did I go out in 6:20?".
Early mistakes are paid for in full here. Case in point. . The "Cheer For Him" boys. I see them around mile 20. They are on the side of the road. One is throwing up. The other does not look any better. Fun time is over. They will laugh about this in a few hours. I felt bad for them but stronger after seeing them. I know that is wrong.
I know the course well enough to know where I am now. The "studio" is the most boring of the parks we will see. We enter by a town of dumpsters, smelling every bit as they should and no one is caring about what they look like in their race photos. We have our 1st names on our bibs. Nothing is worse than a "GO MARY, you're almost there, only 5 miles to go" at this point when Mary is walking. I've walked in circles and staggered through this section 3 of the 5 times I've been here. I'm laboring now but I keep telling myself that I'm OK. I'm doing a checklist from the toes up and I'm not hurt. Just under trained. I'm not going to crash and burn. I have perhaps a 5k left and even in my math addled brain I think I'm going to be under 3:35. I start thinking about the queen mother of goals. Sub 3:31. I begin my desperate trick of counting my foot strikes to the number 8 and starting again. 8 foot strikes is a 10th of a 10th mile. I know this means nothing but it's a good diversion and a good way to run in cadence to squeeze the pace down.
I have a bit of a setback and lose my place. I'm trying spread every last ounce of what I have into the last 2 miles. I skip the last water stop. I'm passing and passing and passing people. Bystanders are saying "only 1/2 mile to go!" during the last 2 miles. I won't look up and I won't look at my watch but I'm giving it everything, short of kicking.
I round the corner and hear the crowd at the finish line, now REALLY a half mile away. Suddenly, I'm in love with everything and everyone. I'm smiling, knowing that I'm gonna finish. I'm thanking God for this day and my health and my family. There is a large praise choir staged at mile 26 each year. I'm usually reeling sideways and drooling on myself here as are most folks around me now. I run toward the choir and throw my hands up like a new convert and they erupt with their hands and voices. It is perhaps the corniest thing I can remember doing but I'll do it again if I get a chance. I'm flying the last 1/4 and looking for my family along the fence line. I've got a shit eating grin plastered to my face as the bleep of my chip crosses the mat. I didn't look at the time but I must have stopped my watch.
I practically skipped to the volunteer who cut my chip off and on to all the free goodies I could carry. I can walk and smile. I'm not looking for someone to wrap me in ice or for random spot to collapse like I've been know to do.
I joked with the post race photo lady "How is my hair?". . .
"Perfect", she said. I nearly believed her.
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