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2006 Goofy's Race and a Half Challenge: Gonzorunner
I have had enough experience at 19 to believe in my physical ability to run 26.2 miles, but nothing would have prepared me for last weekend's Disney 1/2 and full Marathons. The morning of the 1/2 I was nervous, cold, and questioning what made me feel as though I was fully capable of accomplishing this task at hand. After 1 hour and 50 minutes, a bewilderingly quick run through the Magic Kingdom and Epcot, I finished, putting my spirits at a height aloof to the next day's run. The morning of the marathon, I was giddy with excitement - I knew however long this would take me, I would finish the inaugural Goofy Challenge, a feat an Ironman triathelete friend of mine said was insane for a kid of my age. 12 and a half miles into the morning, I felt like I was pacing myself well, on target to finishing around 3:30. Just after the mile 13 marker, my left knee gave up. The stress was too much, and it throbbed with pain. I trotted the next mile to an aide station, where I wrapped my knee in athletic tape, after applying as much biofreeze as my skin would absorb, and threw back several Tylenol. Trucking along, I noticed the 4:00 pacer pass by. Pain erupted from my knee with each step. I couldn't stop - I had to fight through, knowing that the reward awaiting me at the end wasn't just a Goofy's hat-shaped medal, but a lifetime of pride, knowing that I would be one of less than 3000 to finish 39.3 miles in 2 days. With each mile came more pain, with more runners passing me by. The words of encouragement, from spectators as well as my fellow marathoners, fueled my sadistic flight forward. I would stop to walk at each water and food station, trying to overcompensate the pain with rushes of sugar and carbohydrates, only to be propelled further into agony by the cheering and best wishes of complete strangers. I was putting on a show for these people, or so I felt, and no one wanted to see some kid limping past at a saddened walking pace. Mile 20 was the other side of the wall for me - I seemed to break through, knowing that 6 miles was all that stood between me and the finish line. While still a considerable distance, this is what I would run on an "off day", and if I could come this far, there was no chance in hell I was going to stop now. Transitioning from trotting to walking, to hobbling, and back to a slow jog, I had watched the 4:30 pacer fly by, followed not long after by the 5:00. With less than 2 miles to go, I had no intention of letting 5:30 go by. Seeing the finish line scaffolding above the curving bleachers, teeming with banner toting well-wishers, I took my last hit of adrenaline and sprinted for the line. No pain, no physical limitations at this point would stop me - I resolved back at mile 14 that I would crawl to the end if necessary, and now within 100 yards of victory, I unleashed fury. At 5 agonizing hours and 25 minutes, I had finished my first marathon. I truthfully don't remember the seconds after crossing the line, but after receiving my Mickey Mouse medal, I entered the med-tent, where my knee was iced and the shock of nearly 40 miles made itself known. I tried to raise my weakened body, but it wouldn't let me back onto my feet. After nearly 20 minutes of struggling, I was wrapped in my emergency blanket, hugging a make-shift PVC fence and trying to make my way over to the tent where I would be awarded my Goofy Medal. With each step razors were shot through my skin, cutting the ligaments of my knee, shredding the bone and cartilage. Two days later, I feel no remorse from the burden tolled by running 39.3 miles, but albeit the pain and my current inability to walk, one answer to a question posed by my father on the bus ride back to the hotel after the marathon remains lucid in my mind: if given the chance, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
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