How can doing the right thing be so depressing? In January 2025, I returned to Walt Disney World for Marathon Weekend. It was my twelfth year in a row, and along with about 375 other people, I was a Perfect Dopey, meaning I’d completed each of the previous 11 Dopey Challenges. For the uninitiated, a Dopey Challenge is a 5k, 10k, half marathon, and full marathon over four consecutive days. Each year, about 7,000 runners (or walkers, in my case) take on the challenge. Most finish. But worldwide, only 375 or so of us had completed each and every one that Disney has held and, at 73, I was one of the eldest women—and inordinately proud of it. It was and is an exclusive group, composed of both A-level runners and those of us considerably slower. Timing is everything.
Competitive runners have time to stop for photo opportunities with Disney characters, spending 15 and 20 minutes waiting in line for a photo with Captain Jack, Goofy, or any of the other ten or so characters along the course, and then racing to the next one. They also have time to ride the rides that are open at the ungodly hour of 5:00 in the morning. For us back-of-the-packers, however, it takes everything we’ve got to finish in under the 16-minute mile requirement, or seven hours. In my case, that usually meant starting out at 14-minute miles, trying to maintain that until the halfway point, and then slowly allowing myself to finish the 26.2 miles at a more-or-less 18-minute mile. Those who fall behind that pace are picked up by a bus, not so lovingly called the Grim Sweeper.
Two things were at play in January this year: it was bitterly cold for three of the four mornings (the 5k, 10k, and marathon) and rainy for the fourth (the half marathon). And the marathon started 30 minutes earlier than it had in the past. Disney asks runners to be in place at least an hour and preferably two before the race starts, and the marathon was scheduled to start at 4:30 a.m. Because I’m a slower and older (did I mention I’m 73?), I was in the last group to start, which gave me about a two-, possibly four-, minute head start over the balloon ladies, who are the last ones to start and maintain a steady 16-minute mile. If you fall behind them, you are at risk of being swept from the course. So to get to the front of the last corral and gain that precious four-minute head start, my sister Kate and I elected to arrive as soon as the gates opened—and that meant setting our alarms for 1:30 a.m. and getting on the first bus (2:00 a.m.) to the starting point.
But that meant sitting on the ground in the cold temperatures for two and a half hours. I was not a happy camper, but then I never am at the start. This time, though I tried to hide it, I was downright grumpy. I talked to fellow runners, I tried to read a book on my phone, but mostly I just shivered. It didn’t help that the hand warmers I’d brought with me and opened the night before, trying to make my morning ablutions go that much faster, were air activated and not ones you have to shake. Live and learn.
We finally started—remember, we’re last—sometime around 5:30. Elite runners are halfway done, and we’re just starting. (For the first two races, the 5k and 10k, they’re finished before we even start.) And I kept up a “I can do this” attitude until, alas, mile 3, or about 45 minutes. Then for another forty-five minutes, I gave myself pep talks, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I was freezing. I was old and cold. What was I doing, making myself miserable? At mile 6, I invented a pain in my left instep so that I could get my sister to go ahead without me. She’s Perfectly Dopey as well, and there was no sense in her risking not finishing just because I wasn’t feeling it. She ran on ahead and I lost sight of her within minutes. And was happy for her. Mostly. Though really, what I was feeling was sorry for myself.
I made it to Cinderella’s Castle, had my photo taken, and gave up sometime thereafter. The balloon ladies were five minutes behind me, and gaining. I voluntarily got on the Grim Sweeper, where they had the heat on. Several runners were already there, having given up for one reason or another. It doesn’t matter. They—we—tried. And knowing when you’ve reached a limit, whether it’s mental or physical, is not a bad thing. It was warm, blessedly warm, in the bus. For that alone, I knew I’d made the right decision. The bus eventually arrived back at the starting point, where we were given a medal, and I found the nearest coffee station. Twice. And waited for my sister, who finished in about six hours forty minutes.
I knew I’d made the right decision for me. We spent the next day hanging around Disney Springs, the room, eating, and performing all our after-marathon rituals. I gave my sister the t-shirts I didn’t earn, and gave the medal to charity. And still, I knew I’d done the right thing.
Until I got home and reality hit. Instead of being one of 350 Perfectly Dopeys, I was now one of 3 billion Perfectly Ordinarys. I cried at the Perfect Dopey Facebook page. I gave away my Mickey Mouse ears. I didn’t walk at all for two weeks. Is it just ego? Pretty much. Though it was part of my identity that I wasn’t ready to give up yet, even though I did it in the full knowledge of what I was doing. Willingly.
And then the recriminations began. How could I be so stupid? I should have just powered through. Why didn’t I train harder? Why didn’t I wear warmer clothes? Should I have eaten the power bar sooner? Later?
I know, deep in my guts, I made the right decision to quit. Walking into that nice warm bus was one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. Giving up that part of my identity days later, from the warm comfort of home, though, is harder. As I get older and have to give up more and more things (a job I liked, unlimited energy, assuming I’ll bounce back from an injury, caffeine (still working on that one), alcohol, staying up past 9 p.m., and so on), I have to remind myself that I’m lucky to still be here, mostly healthy, mostly sane, mostly still challenged by other things.
I can only imagine that rollercoaster of emotions you’ve been on this past month. You have been such an inspiration for me in my own RwR journey. For the first time this past year, attempting Dopey actually seemed achievable for myself (until you mentioned waking up at 1:30am and having to wait 2 hours.. I’d have given up there!).
I can totally understand your second guessing later however.
I’ve been so proud to know someone Perfectly Dopey. And ya know what, you’ll ALWAYS be perfectly Dopey to me. And I’ll continue to be darn tootin proud of you. Probably even more so having read this post – because knowing when to say when, is pretty powerful stuff.
If you sign up for Dopey, I’ll try it again! 🙂
Ann, regardless of how it went this year, your Dopeyness is undiminished. You are an absolute LEGEND!
Thanks, Ben. We really have to get together sometime when we’re down in Georgia!
Both your challenges and your writing about them are inspiring. I too am struggling with the brain/body connection. My brain says GO, the body says NO.
I would love to read more about adjusting to life in the 70’s.
LOL, let me count the ways! Waking up every few hours, having to pee constantly (though that might be due to trying to keep myself hydrated!), making sure I get enough fiber (who cared about that 20 years ago?), thinning hair, abundant doctor visits (but only because “you’re at that age where these things need to be checked”), sticker shock (you could buy a house for that much money when I was a kid), having someone tell you that they could pick you up if you get tired when you go out for a walk (and feeling the need to check on them when they’re not home on time), not driving after dark, more than five hours is just too long to drive in a day, going to bed by 9 p.m., vitamins, and that’s just off the top of my head
Coming to terms can be so hard! I admire your enthusiasm and so sorry you weren’t able to finish – but – being able to spend time with your sister is priceless!
As for gradually giving things up: not the wine!
I initially typed “hard liquor” instead of alcohol, because wine is still on the list! But then I thought, “I sound like I was an alcoholic” so I went more generic. (Yeah, I think too much…) And you’re right, time with my sister is so worth it.
thanks for sharing your journey Ann!! You are awesome and inspirational, despite having to step back at the end. It is definitely hard accept changes in our abilities as bodies change…but don’t lose sight of all that you accomplished with your determination over the years… we would all do well to have and use our determination so well!!
My sister and I used to say that the only difference between us and people who didn’t do marathons was that we were more stubborn than most. My stubbornness just got up and went this year! Hope you and Tony are doing well.
Ohhh Ann, don’t you know how very special you are? I keep saying it, and maybe some day it will be true but…when I grow up, I want to be just like you! You are SUCH an inspiration and I absolutely think you rock. Walk on my dear friend, you have new mountains to climb!
Awwww. (My hand was in the wrong place and I originally typed Asssss…) *You* are the special one, I’m just your hanger-on. I bask in the glow of your awesomeness! Really. You’re one of the few Christians who actually live up to the name.
You are amazing! And I believe you did what was right for you in that moment.
2 years ago, ai was swept at mile 24 and lost my Perfect status. ALL of your feelings are very valid and I felt them as well. I uncontrollably cried for awhile and bear myself up for not pushing through the pain and all the things. Although no longer perfect, (hubby still is) I have completed it since (with a little less pressure) as my own redemption.
I was thinking of doing it next year just to prove to myself I still have it. It didn’t help that I came down with the flu two days later, when I got home! I blame the cold corrals. Brrr. And thanks, that’s good to hear…and I think the pressure got to me, being the oldest female Dopey. Might be nice to run for fun again!
You will always be an inspiration to me. That is one of my fondest memories with you and your sister was trying to do those races after coming out of a cast. You’re completely dopey and will always be dopey to me.
And I’m still willing to push you in a wheelchair, whether you need it or not! *That’s* one of my best memories. Disney no longer gives out Cokes at the finish line either, so…I guess it was time to quit! 🙂
I miss the Cokes at the end!!!
I had given up pop, but every year that was the one time I would drink a Coke. It was soooo good. I’m not sure Powerade is any healthier and sure doesn’t taste as good.
Over 4 days, you ran a 5k, a 10k and two half marathons. That’s more than 99% of people do in an entire year, regardless of age. I’ve been a runner for most of my life and I couldn’t accomplish that. I’d be ecstatic to be able to accomplish that. You may not be perfect any more but I’d say you’re pretty dang great.
Awww, you’re sweet! It’s just the ego thing. I try to tamp it down, and then it jumps up and attacks again. I still know, without doubt, that I did the right thing AND that it was pretty amazing to have done it as long as I did. But there’s this little voice that keeps saying, more or less, “I coulda been a contender (if only I’d…fill in the blank).”
You are amazing for all the years you’ve marathoned! You both look wonderful in all these pics. I love you!!