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1/31/2008 - WDW Marathon Part V
1/25/2008 - WDW Marathon Part IV
1/19/2008 - WDW Marathon Part III
1/17/2008 - WDW Marathon Part II
1/16/2008 - WDW Marathon Part I
1/12/2008 - Marathon Details
1/09/2008 - Running From My Run
1/04/2008 - The Holidays
1/01/2008 - First Blog

WDW Marathon Part I
Part I: Life before the race.

. . .

The Walt Disney World Marathon: My stunning tale of pain, triumph, and did I mention pain?

I've decided to spare you any suspense and immediately inform you that I finished the marathon. It was quite the journey. Along the way I made new friends, developed bitter enemies, and became forever indebted to a handrail named Handy.

Since this blog is taking forever to write, I have decided to break my story up into multiple parts. By doing so, I can not only include every boring detail (believe me-- it will be boring), but I can also spare myself the burden of coming up with new and exciting topics for the next few blogs.

Part I: Life before the race.

Living in Orlando, I have been to Walt Disney World more times than I'd like to mention (since I'm trying to fill up space, I'll tell you that I rarely mention numbers larger than 7). In all my visits, however, I cannot remember a time that I was more excited to go. As a kid, I was routinely scolded for running throughout the theme parks. Apparently, my parents were embarrassed to have their teenage sons racing from one ride to the next, pushing each other out of line. As an adult (it still sends shudders down my spine to call myself this), I would finally have the pleasure of not only running through each of the four parks, but also being encouraged to do so.

To prepare for my exciting Sunday morning, I changed my diet. I have always had a hearty appetite (extremely picky, but hearty). For a week leading up to the event, I did everything I could to eat everything I could. Pasta, protein, light bulbs, everything-- and it was healthy, too (those light bulbs are surprisingly low in cholesterol).

In addition to eating like a bear in a day care, I took great effort to keep my feet from exercising. This was no easy task, since my girlfriend Shannon continuously tried to thwart me:

"Jeff, the whole house smells, will you please take out the garbage?!?" she pleaded.

With determination, I held my ground. "Sorry sweetie, I'm resting my legs."

Can you believe her nerve?

Anyway, with two days to go, I decided to get to bed early on Friday. I say "decided" because my mind was set on getting to bed immediately after work, but my mouth and ears had other plans. They stay up and talk to Shannon and her friend, and how can I say the word "No" without my mouth's help?

I eventually did make it to bed, and actually caught about 8 hours of sleep. This was good, because somewhere in my head I knew that I wouldn't sleep the night before the race (if I had to guess, I'd say this thought came from the "brain" part of my head).

On Saturday, I awoke a little before 9am. Since the house had been cleaned out of anything resembling pasta (everything from shoe laces to telephone cords), I needed to venture out into the real world in order to forage for food.

On the way to the first restaurant of the day, I set my mind (again, the "brain" part of my head) to accomplishing 2 goals:

1. Don't get sick
2. Don't get injured.

Although these goals may seem easy enough, it rapidly became a source of tremendous paranoia for me. It seemed as though every person in the world was ill. Everywhere I went, I would hear a chorus of strangers coughing, sneezing, and wheezing just inches from me. I carefully avoided inhaling, and did my best to protect my legs as I ran (sparingly) in the opposite direction.

Running away, however, carried its own set of problems. In one day, I banged my knees on more doors, desks, and dogs than I have in the last 35 years combined (yes, I'm aware I'm only 29 years old). I continually checked for serious injuries, but thankfully the light bumps had not even bruised. Apparently, I had cried like a little girl for no reason.

With my attention focused on Sunday, the rest of the day went by in a blur. I must have visited at least six local spaghetti dealerships, because a faint garlic taste has lingered in my toothbrush for days. This has nothing to do with the marathon, but it grossed me out enough to share it with you. I really should rinse that out.

Anyway, I drank something like seven gallons of water and concluded my day by laying all my clothes out. I crawled into bed and squinted at the clock. 11:36.

A little less than three hours later, my big day would begin. My stomach, filled with 14 servings of pasta, grumbled in the darkness. I felt certain that I would have trouble falling asleep, but I proved myself wrong by slipping into a deep noodle coma...

To be continued soon (whenever I feel like it).