Sunday, January 14, 2007

Disney Half Marathon, 2007

Well, it’s the first post of 2007!  I thought I’d start it off with a great story about my trip to that most magical place on earth.  The idea started as a seedling, and then grew like a brush fire.  After all was said and done, I had, under my belt in just 2 days, a stomach virus, 9 miles of running, 4 cigars and about 2000 miles of air travel to show for it.

Anyway, this year, my wife and I decided to bag the 2007 Disney Half Marathon.  You know, it’s just after Christmas vacation, it was a “money” thing, a “time” thing, a “kids” thing...all those “things” that preclude you from doing something at any given time of year.  We told my father-in-law that we’d simply go next year.  And that’s what we were prepared to do (and we are going next year...we’ve already signed up).

Ok, so on December 26th, coming home from my father-in-law’s house, my wife and I start joking in the car of how cool it would be if I flew down there and actually surprised him on the course.  He’s the kind of guy who appreciates such things, and I’ve been playing gags like this with my father-in-law (let’s just call him Paul from here on out, shall we?) for 15 years. 

I proceeded to call Disney from the cell phone while still in the car, and was told I could only get a room at the Pop Century resort for Friday night, January 5th.  My wife and I looked at each other, and she said “go for it,” and so I did.  I basically was figuring I could stay in Paul’s room on Saturday night.  I was counting on the euphoria of seeing me in Florida would far outweigh the fact that he and his wife would have to endure my snoring on Saturday night...anyway back to that later.

Ok, so we made some quickie flight reservations, I had a room for at least one night...now to start planning the surprise and simply wait to depart…

Day One: Arrival

Ok, so after a great flight on US Airways, I took Disney’s Magical Express, which turned out to be easy, free, and luckily, my hotel was the first stop.  I still needed lodging for Saturday night, and continuing with my winning streak, a young lady who worked for the hotel was passing through the line at check-in asking if anyone needed anything.  I raised my hand and told her I had a magical tale to tell.  I then proceeded to tell the story of how I was down there to surprise my father-in-law and I thought this was what Disney Magic was all about.  She agreed.  Then I sprung the trap:  “...but I have no place to stay tomorrow night.” The runners who were in line around me were regaled by my tale of woe and started chiding the employee for not getting me a hotel room.  After considerable pressure, she picked up a walkie-talkie, said something cryptic to somebody “in the back” and and just a moment later reported that I had secured a room at the Pop Century for Saturday night.  Disaster averted.  We all cheered and I took a picture of my hero with my cell phone.

I threw my bags down, changed into my running gear and ran a nice 3 miles right away.  I was reminded of that sneaky Florida humidity.  Paul was calling me and sending me text and pix messages most of Friday in order to “rub it in” that I wasn’t down there with him.  Of course, I was receiving these messages while sucking down a Heineken at the Pop Century.  I laughed at my cleverness and saddled up for dinner at Fulton’s Crab House.  As I sat smoking a cigar at Jack’s Marina in the Downtown Disney area, I was reminded of my family, and how much I wished they were there with me.  Of course, had they been, I wouldn’t have been neither smoking a cigar nor going to Fulton’s Crab House for dinner!  I went back to the Pop Century with my belly full of raw oysters, Dungeness Crab and Bass Ale and smoked yet another cigar poolside.  I crashed at 10:30 and hoped for the best in the morning.  I had a lot on my mind, as this whole trip was riding on one simple premise:  I had to make sure Paul was not only surprised, but that he didn’t run past me without me noticing him in the the throng of runners.  The anxiety mounted.  Would I get up in time?  Could I get to mile 7 before the roads closed?  What if the cab was late?  You see, I had to get to the Grand Floridian by 5:45 am, as they were closing the roads for the runners.  All this anxiety kept me up until 2:00 am, and I thought, “I’m going to have trouble running tomorrow.” Eventually, I passed out in some weird haze.  The wake-up call came as scheduled: 4:30 AM.  I jumped out of bed, dialed the front desk and ordered a cab to the hotel at once.  I then hit the shower, put on my running gear and went to wait for my ride to the hidden rendezvous point.

The waiting is the hardest part

The cab showed up as scheduled.  Eighteen dollars later, I was at The Grand Floridian in what was still a pitch black morning.  I saw a few traffic cops, and wandered over to reassure myself that the runners would be passing by this checkpoint as the map had stated.  I also told one young lady of my intentions, and she proceeded to cover her ears (and before everyone starts to protest on the whole “bandit” thing, I didn’t run the whole race, nor did I take any resources in the form of food or fuel from any of the runners).  Anyway, I thought it best to cut my story short, as it was clearly more information than she wanted to hear.  I decided to walk back to the Grand Floridian for some breakfast.  After all, it was not even 5:30 AM, and the race wasn’t even scheduled to go off for another 30 minutes.  It would indeed be some time before I saw Paul, who was planning 10 minute miles the entire distance.

Let the games begin!

At approximately 6:00 AM, I heard a traffic cop say “the race has started.” I was pretty pumped, and I started trying to find, in the dark, a good place to hang on the roadside so I could spring the surprise on my hapless father-in-law.  I wandered up and down the road, observing the Dasani water folks, who were sponsors of the event and were setting up the water tables at mile seven.  I was in a good spot: there were no other spectators where I was standing, just a marching band about 100 yards up the road.  They were practicing for their big moment, and I was reminded of how great it is to hear music on the course.  It helps the runners in a way that’s difficult to describe unless you’ve been out there.

About 35 minutes into the race, the first wheelchair sped by.  I yelled something along the lines of “way to go,” but it was so quiet, so serene on the still-dark road, that I felt I might be interrupting his state of mind.  Athletes don’t always want to be yelled at on the course.  I didn’t realize that until mile 12 of my first half marathon.  I really wanted everyone to just be silent while I figured out how I was going to run the remaining 1.1 miles.

About 5 minutes later, I saw the first runner, a male, go flying by.  There was nobody near him, which is pretty unusual.  I wondered just how much of a lead he had over the thousands of other runners.  It turned out that this kid is one of the top triathletes in the country, and was also down there to get married.  I can’t imagine having that kind of lead in a race.  I mean, he was totally alone.  Based on my previous interaction with the wheelchair athlete, I decided to let him pass with no comments from me.  Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to say to somebody who was destroying the competition to such a degree.  He sped off into the darkness, and it took almost 4 minutes until I saw the next runner, a female, race by my position on the course.

At about 7:00, I started dialing Paul’s cell phone.  I realized he was going to be later than I anticipated, because the pack was only starting to thicken at mile 7, and I could tell I was still watching 6 and 7 minute milers go past (I later learned that Paul’s later-than-expected arrival had to do with Disney’s newly-implemented Wave-start, which nobody seemed to like.  Paul was in Wave B).  He answered and said, “I’m dying over here!  It’s so hot down here.” Of course, being down there as well, I realized that he was right.  It was going to be a tough race.  Florida humidity is pesky, and you don’t realize it’s there until you start moving, and then it’s magnified 10-fold.

A few cell phone calls later, Paul was getting within striking distance of my checkpoint.  I felt I needed to start watching the passers-by, as it was crucial he didn’t get past me.  Then, it happened:  I spotted him.  Luckily for me, Paul was literally running up the road side, almost on the grass where I was standing.  I took a breath, giggled, and jumped out onto the course into a slow, slow jog.  You know, the kind of jog that would eventually force him to go around me (which is pretty normal for me!).  Anyway, about 5 seconds into this whole affair I hear him yell out an expletive that approximately rhymes with “grass mole.” It was then I realized he spotted me.  He apologized to the distance runners around him, as they were all staring at him wondering if they were the target of the on-course profanity.  He laughed, they laughed, and I laughed, and I spent the next 6 miles explaining how Kath and I had concocted this whole affair.  The miles just fell away, as we talked the entire time.  Later, when I asked him how he spotted me so quickly from behind, he told me that he recognized my gait, and the fact that I was wearing a shirt that said “Fortunato” on the back, which Paul has come to call himself.

Mile 12

One of the all-time milestones of the trip, second only to Paul calling me an expletive, was his wife’s reaction.  We knew she’d be at mile 12, as that’s where she was last year.  Paul and I decided that I’d hang back a little, so she didn’t see me right away.  Once we spotted her, Paul ran up to her and she lifted her camera for a picture.  He stepped away, and I jumped in front of the lens.  She almost threw the camera down on the ground, looked at me in utter disbelief, and yelled, “GINO!” I laughed and said, “gotta run!” And off I went, pacing Paul towards the finish.

We met up after the race, and I gave them the full rundown of when I got down there, how I stayed out of site the day before (not exactly hard to do in Disney), and how I spent the time waiting.  We spent the rest of the day in Epcot drinking beer from country to country, and Paul looked at me at least 25 times and just started laughing...occasionally reminding me once again that not only am I an *expletive-goes-here,* but that I’m his son-in-law, and that he’s proud of it.

Next year, I go all the way, baby.