The 2013 Princess Half Marathon - holy crap, I made it!

So it's been a while since my last post. Probably months. This is all on me, of course. I take full responsibility for that and I apologize. There's the usual excuse of being busy, but the truth is I just got lazy in both my exercise and in my writing. I'm trying to fix that, but you're not here for excuses, you're here to read about my experience in the Princess Half Marathon! So here you go. Just a warning, I try to make my blog heartfelt and informative, yet it might wind up being long winded and at times tedious, but hey, so is running 13.1 miles in central Florida.

Also, my mileage may be off. I really only remember the landmarks less than the actual mile markers, so please don't sue me if I say I saw Pocahontas at mile 8 when really she was at mile 9 and I'm just delusional and crazy. I know I am. I just also have a poor memory, which, when combined with the other qualities, makes for some pretty funky story telling. I'm not a liar, I'm just unfortunate.

But I did finish.

It's hard to say where to start with this one. It was a long day spent in Animal Kingdom the day before, our dinner plans got messed up, family plans got messed up, lots of things got messed up. The best laid plans of mice and half marathon runners gang aft agley, etc. etc. My nearest and dearest Melissa was spending the night with my husband and I in our studio at the Boardwalk Villas, our favorite resort, since we had an extra bed anyway and it was just going to make life way less complicated for her, since she's local to the World and trying to navigate parking during the half marathon seemed like a small, private hell. She made cheering signs for myself and another friend of hers that was running, too, which wound up giving me all sorts of ego boosts. Just what I needed. ;)

It was probably close to 10:00 PM when I finally got into bed and I knew my 2:30 AM alarm would come way too soon. Thankfully, I was exhausted from the day's activities so sleep came quickly. My outfit was laid out, I had trained for months for this, there was nothing else I could do but wait.

Sure enough, 2:30 came. I snoozed for 15 minutes, if you can call that snoozing. 2:30 is when I'm going to *bed* on a normal night (the joys of working from home!) so this was beyond weird to begin with. Peter and Melissa were just starting to stir, so I told them my last will: if I die, Melissa can keep my pin collection, and Peter can have everything else. Melissa mumbled that I wouldn't die and that I'd do awesome. I love that girl. (I later saw she posted a status on Facebook that you can tell she loves her friends because she's up at this hour, so the feeling is mutual.)

I suited up, tied my shoe laces tight, shoved an apple cinnamon power bar down my throat (courtesy of the incredible gift basket my other nearest and dearest sent to me - they probably had no idea how useful their gift would wind up being), drank up, and off I went.

I was expecting much worse of a line, but the Boardwalk's line was very light. I know in other resorts this was definitely not the norm, so we lucked out once again. I was on the first bus to get there and took a seat with all of the other nervous princesses- and princes-to-be. There was already a feeling of support among everyone and I could tell this was going to be exactly what the doctor ordered. There's a huge difference between training by yourself on your treadmill or just running around the street and running along with 24,000+ other people. You feed off of their energy, you cheer when they cheer, we celebrate our triumphs together and try to work through our hardships together. This massively helped me get across the finish line in the end, no doubt there.

We arrived in the dark parking lot of Epcot and followed the masses to the start. Not the start start, but where you could do bag check, where you could meet up with others, buy last minute shirts (by Sunday, it seemed that only the large sizes were left in shirts and I heard some people complain about this - oh well!) and the line for refreshments, including alcohol, was at least 100 people deep.

There were also what felt like 10,000 portapotties. I know there weren't that many, but they went on forever. Let's say at least 300 of them, realistically, scattered all over the place. A DJ was getting everyone pumped, but I was worried about something else. My stomach rumbled. Not in the hungry way. No. Totally different. This was NOT the time to have, uh, digestion problems, and I had them. Awesome! Just awesome. I haven't even gotten into my corral yet and I'm worried about not crapping my pants. I made a joke months previous that I'd wear Depends if I had to. Damnit, why didn't I actually wear Depends? (Thankfully, dear reader, it never came to that. Don't run away just yet.)

I went to the bathroom 3 times before we even started, and I remembered how much portapotties creep me out, but that's life. Judging by the lines, I was not the only one with jitters. All 10,000 or so portapotties and yet so many of them still had lines. Oy gevalt.

And now we're told that they're starting to bring people into the corrals. My mother and I wait around until we hear that Corral C is now being herded, so off we go. It's a long, long walk, we pass another portapotty line, we hear the main hosts going on about God knows what, and we find ourselves near the front of Corral C. There are a lot of men in this corral, probably because it's the first corral to allow men. In the Princess Half Marathon, men aren't allowed in the first two corrals, so I'm guessing a lot of them got put into C. There was a heck of a lot of drag going on, too. I loved it, and everyone else seemed to as well.

Almost everyone was sitting on the cold asphalt, my mother and I included. The main TV screens were showing interviews from runners, including the last girl to cross the finish line in the Tinkerbell Half in Disneyland, they showed that we had a celebrity running with us (Sean Astin from Lord of the Rings fame, among other things), we had the first female winner of Biggest Loser with us, hooray, hooray. I was too nervous to really pay attention and my stomach continued to hurt. I chewed some gum to keep my mouth from getting dry and they started the countdowns for the wheelchair groups, and then the elite group, and then corral A, and then corral B, and holy hell, we're next!

The Fairy Godmother and fireworks send off each corral. Fairy Godmother gives us her blessings and some pixie dust (or voodoo, or black magic, I'll take whatever will get me from point A to point B without the use of a stretcher) for good luck. Our corral C (which stands for Courage, says one of the hosts) was sent off singing Journey's Don't Stop Believing. The crowd was even singing along without the music in the background, so I knew it was a good start.

Bibbidi..

Bobbidi..

Boo!

And we were off.

It was a good start. People were waving at the camera, spectators were already in sight (though it was still very dark around 5:45 AM, so it was hard to read any signs) and the energy was high. I had a good pace going, but I started moseying on over to the right anyway, where I knew the slower runners would be. We were only a quarter of a mile in and I already saw girls running in and out of the woods. No portapotties for them! Yes, this was not an uncommon sight but hey, when you gotta go..

Already, I started to feel something was wrong. Something was not right, and it wasn't just my stomach, which still plagued me. My knees felt restrained, and I don't know why. I had worn these compression pants several times before when training, but now something felt off. My knees felt like they were being strangled. I had to pull over and pull them up, because there was no way I could comfortably get anywhere like this. Once I pulled it up, it instantly felt better, but I was already thrown off. I hadn't even made a full mile and I was running into problems. The finish line seemed so far away at this point, but I kept on.

And then a male voice shouted from behind "RUUUUUN! CORRAL D IS COMMMMMIIIIIIIINNNNG!" And so we ran.

Mile 1 seemed like a relief, proof that hey, we were already 1/13th done. Not a big number, but it's better than 0/13th done.

Mile 2 came. Yeah, I know, you'd think I would have more to write about, but honestly it was just running in the dark in a damp, humid Florida. The costumes everyone had on were very entertaining, and everyone (for the most part) kept their royal manners about themselves when passing on the left or right. I don't remember where the characters were, but I know there was a huge line just to meet all the Princes, including males you don't see very often, like John Smith from Pocahontas and Captain Li Shang from Mulan, and I was in no position to be waiting for some prince. Anyway, my prince was waiting for me on Main Street, with Melissa and my step-daddy in tow. That was mile 5, and I was still at 2.

I knew I had to make another bathroom break, so we found two portapotties (yes, you read that right, two portapotties to service all the runners) and a line maybe 20 princesses deep waiting. We chatted with the girls in front of us and while we were waiting, we saw her. The first runner to already be on her way back. She was probably at mile 8, and we were barely scraping past mile 2. She had a 3 cyclist escort and the crowds roared. I later read she finished somewhere in the 1:18 range. I thought to myself "I hope she has children, because she needs to keep those genes going." She has two daughters of her own. Man alive, she could run.

It seemed forever, but then the second girl trailed behind, with no escort, but with lots of applause and cheering from the rest of us. The third and fourth girls were neck and neck, and THEY were the ones cheering us on. That was a nice twist - it really made me feel like if THESE girls had faith in us, then what could go wrong? It's the little things, and to those girls - thank you! The kindness from strangers is always unexpected and always appreciated.

Finally, our turn in the bathrooms, and we were off again. The sun was starting to come up, but it was still cloudy. Thank you, weather gods, for gracing us with overcast on this day, because the humidity combined with sun surely would have knocked out a lot more princesses, myself included.

Mile 3, and my hands feel like cement. I'm already dehydrated and my fingers are swollen. I forgot to take my wedding ring and engagement rings off before I left - when you wear something for so long, you don't even notice it. They were far too swollen for me to even think about getting them off now, too. 10 miles to go, just 10 miles to go.

I finally saw the car park entrance to Magic Kingdom. We must be close, I thought! So close already! Yeah, kinda. Not really. We were still about 2.5 miles from actually entering the Magic Kingdom. You never realize how very long the parking lot is until you're running through it in the morning.

We go down the hill into the Ticket and Transportation Center and there's a guy with huge, huge, HUGE waving Mickey gloves waving at us. I mean, huge. Half of his body per glove huge. I don't know how he's holding them up, but he is, and he's waving at us, sending us high fives through the air, and keeping us all going. And then we go UP the hill, and that sucked a lot more than coming down. This is Florida. Florida is as flat as it gets. You have to try to find a hill in Florida, and we found our first. Boo.

There were tons of spectators to greet us after this, including signs that read "PIZZA TONIGHT!" and "RUN STRANGER RUN!" and "I TOOK THE MONORAIL TO GET HERE, IT WAS FASTER" and it started to get me very emotional. All of these people were probably here to see a couple people, or maybe they were just there for the fun of it, but I saw their signs and it made me smile. I got goose bumps, and then I started trying not to cry. My throat tightened, my eyes watered, I was already in pain, it was all I had not to cry. I kept my composure and kept up with my mom.

At this point, my mom and I are playing catch up. She'll run ahead, I'll chase after her. We're both maintaining a good jog, but every now and then we have little bursts just to keep ahead of people. I'm seeing people we saw from the start, and I'm feeling confident about our time, but still a little worried.

And then I see this gentleman. He must weigh close to 400 pounds or more, and damnit, he's huffing and puffing and not stopping for anybody. He even has a green band on his wrist, that means he's going for the Coast to Coast medal. Seeing him go forward, even when normal society would laugh at the very idea of him in a half marathon, inspires the hell out of me. This man has come so far already, I have to keep going, too.

I don't know what mile we're at, but I know we're just coming up on Main Street. Finally. I know my cheering squad is near the crystal shop and I have a general idea where to look for them. We're on Main Street. This is all happening, all at once, and I try taking as many mental pictures as I can. Just like on your wedding day, you can only imagine how it will play out a thousand times over in your head, and then it's here, and it's gone as quickly as it came.

I see them! I see my husband and my friend behind him and my step-dad and the "GO CHRISTINA!" sign and we smile. Melissa snaps a picture of us running and I'm forever grateful for it:

I pull over to the left and see my husband and grab his cheeks and give him a big ol kiss. My mom follows suit with her husband and we run off again. The look of happiness and pride on all of their faces was almost enough to keep me going, until that over emotional feeling came back, and my throat tightened, except this time it wasn't just from crying.

I was having an asthma attack.

I've had asthma for years, but it had kept itself at bay, gratefully, for months. Here and there, maybe a puff, but not when running. Running seemed to make it better, if anything. I had my emergency inhaler with me, so I pulled over onto the side on the bridge into Tomorrowland and puffed. I felt better, but I was worried that it would make my heart beat out of my chest, or that I'd have a worse asthma attack ahead, or that I couldn't finish. I started crying, hugging my mom. I told her I couldn't finish. Mile 5 or so, and this was it for me. The last 8 miles seemed 1,000,000 miles away.

My mom held me and comforted me, like any mother would in any situation. She told me if I had to, we'd get through the castle and she'd let me get back to the cheering squad and she would go on for the both of us. I nodded, and just agreed we would just stop for a moment, wait in line to meet Buzz Lightyear (who was really there for us as pause than for a photo op) and we'd get through the castle and go from there.

So off we went, and a heaven sent Tinkerbell ran up beside me. She wasn't exactly Tink, she was a short brunette dressed in Tinkerbell attire, complete with a green tutu (oh, so many tutus) and she told me I would be okay, that I would make it and that I've come this far and everything would be alright. I told her thank you through my tears and with that, she ran off. I never saw her again and I doubt I'll ever even know her name, but if by some bizarre chance she reads this, please, Tink, know that you have helped this girl more than you'll ever know. I still get a little lump in my throat thinking about your kindness. You didn't have to stop and talk to some crying fat chick on the Tomorrowland bridge, but you did. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We get around to the Castle. I can hear the horns - they had two royal members of the court up on the balcony with horns and it was like something out of a fairy tale. Just like running through Main Street, you can only imagine how it'll actually look and feel, but it's nothing like the real thing. Mickey and Minnie were off to the right in their royal attire taking pictures, and there was a huge, thick bottleneck in the castle. There was no running through the castle, not for this crowd. It was a slow shuffle, and I passed by the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique, bowing my head down  to get a healthy dose of pixie dust.

We  finally made our way out of the castle and I was feeling better. I don't know if it was the castle, or Tink's kindness, or my Mom's never ending love, or what it was, but I felt better. Sure, my hands still hurt, and I was still wary of my asthma, but I could do this. I've made it through the castle, now I just had to make it back to Epcot and I was good as gold.

We went through Frontierland and these two girls run up behind us screaming "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU RUN, THIS IS HOW YOU RUN!" while flinging their arms and legs wildly like human rag dolls. It was a good boost, and hey, there was a bathroom here! A real, honest to God bathroom with flushing toilets and everything. We could take another pause, regain our composure, and I knew there was a fountain too. It still tasted like a fountain, but damn if it wasn't the best tasting fountain water I ever had in my life.

I sat on a bench next to a girl from Corral B and that made me feel better. If she was only this far, too, then I couldn't have been too bad off time-wise. My mom came out of the (men's!) bathroom and away we went.

We went past the train and into the backstage area of the Magic Kingdom, not far from Splash Mountain, near the warehouses where they keep the parade floats. (I only know this because I took the Keys to the Kingdom tour last year and loved it). There was a huge, huge wait to get your picture taken with Cinderella and Prince Charming and her beautiful castle set up, but we had no time.

It was around mile six now, I guess, and I heard Alicia Keys' Girl on Fire. I knew we were here at the halfway point, finally. The princesses got to vote on which song would be played at the halfway point and this won. I personally thought Kelly Clarkson's Stronger would have been a better match, but I still appreciated the burst in music.

We were basically running through the woods and there were cars on the other side of the road, driving awfully close to us but there were cone barriers. And exhaust. That's what you want to inhale half way through a half marathon, car exhaust!

I should mention that the volunteers who were filling up cups of yellow Powerade and Dasani water are beautiful, incredible people. They wake up far earlier than us posh princesses and spend the entire morning saying "WATER! WATER! WATER! WATER!" or "POWERADE! POWERADE! POWERADE!" and holding out cups in their hands. Repeat this for at least 4:30 hours and you've got what *they* did for a day. Every time I took a cup or two from the volunteers, I said "thank you for volunteering" in a quick, huffed voice and ran off. I really do have to thank them and would love to join their ranks sometime, too. It's a thankless job for the most part, but they really do a lot of work. The race would suck without them.

I should also mention how weird it felt just throwing cups on the ground. I do not litter. I hate littering. I feel awful littering, but after a while you had no choice. Cast members were literally raking up cups into bags and just telling you to throw it on the ground. I felt bad, but I did it. Thank you as well, cast members, for all that you do!

So we hit mile 7. We're more than halfway there. This is starting to seem doable. I've come so far, it would be stupid to quit now no matter how much my fingers were still hurting. I couldn't even bend them at this point, that's how swollen they were. Thank God for biofreeze. I didn't even know what it was 24 hours prior to this run, and now I was ready to name my first born child after this miraculous gel.

And guess who I spy with my little eye? The same, large Coast to Coaster I saw before the entrance to Magic Kingdom. The man was still going strong. I never saw him again, but I wonder if he made it. I really hope he did.

Mile 8, and things are getting boring. Real boring, real quick. It's roads, roads, roads. Back of a resort. Roads. Golf course. Pocahontas is hanging out, some suitors with a glass slipper are hanging out, medics are hanging out. That's it. Really, the next few miles were super boring and not worth mentioning at all.

My arms were staring to feel really chafed from my little bag that we had brought so I could carry my inhaler, some red Powerade, my wallet and phone, my runner jacket, and some other little things. My mom had one, too, as well as what is basically a glorified fanny pack, but it wasn't bothering her as much. She offered to take mine for me, and she did. She carried both of them without complaint. My mother carried another burden for me as she always does. I hope when I'm a mother I'll be just as incredible as her. I really don't think I would have been able to make it without her, I mean that completely.

Oh, I think somewhere along here an ambulance made its way through. I never saw where it stopped, but it was scary. I hoped whoever it was was okay and that I wouldn't need one for myself.

Mile 9. Still boring. I think we saw a gas station. But the end is only 4 miles away, and we've got this. There's no stopping us now!

Except I had my first sighting of the balloon lady. We were warned that we were behind pace and we had to get to mile 10 or risk being swept. This got our ass into action and we made it to mile 10, never to see the balloon lady or sweepers on bikes ever again. Once you get to mile 11, they can't sweep you. I mean, technically, if it looked like you really were about to die, they could, but for the general population, they probably assume you've come so far, just let you finish in peace.

We're starting to get to a pretty hilly area and I'm pissed. Again with the artificial hills! This is Florida! Why with the hills! It's an on ramp and a toy soldier from the Toy Story movies encourages us to go on. We do.

At this point I ask my mom what's worse, a half marathon in Florida or child birth. She says it depends what kind of drugs you're on. This lady next to us (I don't recall her name, but we chatted for the next 2 miles and she was so pleasant!) and my mom started sharing war stories about child birth, we learn that she's from the area, we remark how we're all very happy that the sun is hiding, and the chit chat continues.

MILE 11! We are here! No sweeping anymore! We've effectively done it, and it's a cakewalk from here, we think. Our medal is waiting for us. Our cheering squad is waiting for us. Oh, how amazing a banana sounds right now. We get over our hill, and, oh, look..

Another, bigger, longer hill awaits us. This is an on ramp into Epcot. I can see Spaceship Earth and it's never looked so beautiful and I'm so hoping that somehow teleportation will become a thing and I can just go to the finish. I do this a lot. I see in my mind's eye the finish line, that I'll be there, and I know I will be (just like knowing at the end of an 8 hour flight I'll be happily back in my home country, but damn if that 8 hours in this stupid seat would just hurry up a little faster) and I just want it to be NOW. Girls on microphones are asking us where we're from and my mom shouts "JERSEY!" at them. They say "JERSEY!" and make some comment but I'm too busy hoping teleportation was a thing. It's still not. Our hill is here.

We get on this hill, we get down this God forsaken hill, and I'm starting to see a lot of spectators again. It's encouraging as ever. One girl holds a sign that says "IF YOU THINK YOU'RE SORE, JUST IMAGINE HOW MY ARMS FEEL HOLDING UP THIS SIGN" or something along those lines. The princesses clap and cheer HER on. Seriously, the spectators are all so wonderful. They don't know how valuable they truly are.

I see WDW Radio and one of my favorite Disney personalities, Lou Mongello, and I'm feeling a little sheepish. I feel like I spotted a celebrity. Gawrsh.

As we start to get closer into Epcot, I see the mom from The Incredibles! She's taking pictures, and then I guess it's her time to go back and rest, so she starts jogging along with us. She's clapping us on, and damn, she's doing it in high heeled boots, too. She finds her trailer and disappears, but it was nice having her with us for a little while.

We finally make it into Epcot. Mile 12 is around here somewhere. I'm just so happy to finally be here, I'm beside myself. How, how did I bring myself here? It all seems like a blur already, and I'm still living in the moment. The cast members are cheering us on, the park guests are just annoyed that they have to wait for us, but the crowd still goes wild every now and then.

We pass the gospel choir and they're as awesome as I imagined they would be. I don't remember what they were singing, but it got us going again.

"You're so close! Half a mile more!" says some cast member. She's right, this just feels like the longest half mile of my life.

And there it is, mile 13. We are here. We are just a tenth of mile away from our beautiful goal. We spot my step-dad and he shouts "GO GIRLS!" and takes pictures. Peter and Melissa are just ahead, holding up the "GO CHRISTINA!" sign again.

We're here, we're here, we're here.

We cross the finish line.

We have finished.

My mom and I have finished our first half marathon. We don't look at the clock, we don't stop to take pictures with Mickey or Minnie, we just keep going. It feels like a dream. I pull over to the nearest volunteer and bow my head. She puts the medal over my neck and gives me my first congratulations. My mom receives her medal and we meet up just past the volunteers.

We hug. She says "we did it, Christina" and I just start crying. I'm so happy, I'm so sore, I'm so tired, but most of all, I am happy. Everyone we pass says "congratulations!" and I'm feeling very humbled.

We get a full size bottle of Dasani and blue Powerade. There's a big, manly volunteer near the tables asking if anyone needs help opening it. I smile. He's right, a lot of people are so worn out that even opening a bottle seems impossible, but I manage anyway. I down the water with such time it should be in the record books. I hold onto the powerade and my mom and I start making calls to meet up with our cheering squad.

We meet them and I'm full of sweaty hugs. I'm so grateful for Melissa and for Peter and for Bill. They were here the whole time, unsure of our success but believing in us anyway. We have made them proud and I can feel pride beaming from everyone.

We all go our separate ways, with Melissa, Peter and I taking a bus to Hollywood Studios to get a boat back to the Boardwalk (still probably easier than the Mears buses) and I see the girl that I was talking to between miles 10-12. We wish each other congratulations and never see each other again, but we're both happy. My parents head back to Animal Kingdom Lodge.

We get back to my room and I just collapse on the bed. We talk and talk and talk, and Melissa leaves since it's her husband's birthday after all, and it's just Peter and I. He runs a bath for me and he tells me how proud he is of me. I'm not usually a proud person, but I'm proud of myself, too.

And that's my story. I hauled my 5'11", size 18 plus size behind 13.1 miles in the Florida humidity in Walt Disney World and although my foot is still sore from blisters, I'd like to think I'd do it all again. Plus, the Tower of Terror 10 Miler seems like it'd be heaven sent without the extra 3.1 miles.

I'll set more goals for myself, but right now, I'm relaxing. I'm happy. I'm proud.

For at least one day, I have earned the title of princess. And I've got the medal to prove it.

Choosing hope.

Today, I have officially signed myself up for my first 5k!

It's a momentous occasion, definitely. I'm ecstatic. 3.2 miles seems pretty easy and I hope it's as easy as my brain is telling me it is. What my body will say will be determined at some date in September when I go for my 5k for Donna, all on my ownsome.

It's a virtual 5k. I know, I was a little confused when I first heard about it as well. From the website:



Race information
Registration is open now and closes September 30th and the cost is $25 - part of the registration fee's will be used to cover the cost of the medals, paypal fees, and postage - all remaining money will be donated directly to Donna's Good Things.

How far:
You decide - 5k or 10k (3.1 or 6.2 miles)  I'm holding this race to coincide with pediatric cancer awareness month, therefore, you can complete the distance any time during the month of September.  Feel free to run, walk or crawl!!  You can do it all at once, or break it up into smaller distances.  Feel free to use the results from another race you may have run - as long as its during the month of September.


Basically, you pick the time, you pick the place, and you just run. You run for Donna's Good Things, and you run for Donna. Donna has a story with a less than magical ending. She died at the age of 4 from cancer. I am not a mother yet, but every time I read the blog series her mother, Mary Tyler Mom, wrote about from diagnosis to Donna's passing, I feel for her and my heart breaks. I cannot imagine what someone goes through when their daughter has cancer, but Mary Tyler Mom wrote with the eloquence and soul that comes with a grieving mother, no matter how many years later. I love her. She's acknowledged me a couple of times on Facebook, mostly by liking a comment I wrote, and it totally makes my day. I get all star struck. Needless to say, to run a 5k for her daughter is a great honor and I'm going to be wearing the medal I receive from this in the Princess Half.

There was a mantra that Mary Tyler Mom had during her blogs (and into today): choosing hope. You can either wallow in all that's going wrong with your life, give up and throw the towel in, or you can choose hope. You may not know the outcome. You might be 99.9% sure of the outcome being the one you don't want, but you can always choose hope. My first 5k might end terribly, I might go through inhalers like they're going out of style, I might crash and burn at my own finish line, and my legs might never want me to walk again, but you know what? For this one, I choose hope.

I'll breathe when I'm dead.

Today was just one of those days where I feel like I weigh approximately 700 pounds. I feel bloated, hungry, like there's not enough food to fill me up, my face looks bloated and splotchy, and I'm so charming that I even walk around my living room with my jeans unbuttoned and my gut hanging out because I just feel overheated and gross and ugh.

I am grateful this horrible day is almost over. These days seem to come at least once a month, sometimes once every two months if I'm lucky.

And yet, despite me sitting in my chair, jeans unbuttoned, gut hanging out, feeling and looking as gross as described above, my husband says "you're beautiful, honey," blames it on hormones, and kisses the top of my head. He makes me almost cry for all the best reasons.

To make these Fat Days even better is that my asthma always seems particularly bad on these unholy nightmares of a day. I'd say 90% of the time, I have no problems with my asthma, even when I'm running or exercising or what have you. But sometimes it just comes on strong and it suuuuucks. I don't have any inhalers, which are usually a quick cure, so I just drink a lot of water and hope for the best.

It does not help my cause that I have a deviated septum and really need to get it fixed. If you don't know what that is, it's when one of your nostrils is always clogged. Constantly. Always and forever. I am never able to breathe out of both nostrils and it really, really, really sucks. I am usually breathing out of my mouth because I don't get enough air through my nose and I look like an idiot. According to Dr. Google, about 10% of the population (at least in America, I think) has it. A lot of people that have it don't even think anything of it because it's such a part of daily life.

Maybe when I've found temporary unemployment in my near future (happens all the time -- such is the career of someone in the pool business living in a temperate area) I can take the time out to go to my primary care doctor, have him recommend I go to a specialist, go to the specialist, have them agree that I need the surgery and get it done so I can breathe properly. You know how doctors work.

I should probably really make that a priority before the half marathon. Months and months of training to be brought down by a stubborn nostril would be absolutely crushing.

One more goal before the finish line. Such is life, eh?

It was all started by a mouse.

The past year of my life has been a complete whirlwind of change. Most good, but some bad. I can't complain as the good has without a doubt out weighed the bad, and not many people are that lucky. Universal needs to steal my identity and call me Oswald, because I'm one of the luckiest people I know. While a lot of that is because of the wonderful man I'm married to, the family I have chosen to surround myself with, and the fact that I get to sleep in a warm bed every night and not in the streets, I have to say that Disney has played a major role in influencing the way my past year has turned out and I will be forever grateful.

I know that many people make these kind of reflections in January. That makes sense. The year has literally changed and people think about they have changed as well. For me, August was the turning point of my life when I realized how completely head over heels in love I was with Disney. We had a trip planned for September 12th to the 16th and it was going to be wonderful. I had planned it almost exactly 6 months before hand, so I had just enough time to start learning about booking dining and learning about more of the restaurants, parks, attractions (I swear, I didn't know there was an attraction inside Spaceship Earth until a couple days before I was in Epcot), parades, shows, Walt, and perhaps most importantly, learning about other Disney fans.

What a special breed of people they are. I mean that in both the good and bad. There are some really, truly miserable people out there in the Disney community. They only find the bad in the changes Disney makes (see my previous post about accepting change without being a negative Nancy), they will be resort snobs to the max and put down those who can't get on their level, the ones who will make a cast member's day a living hell. But at the same time, there are some absolutely wonderful people among them who find the good in the bad, the ones who will go out of their way to make Disney even more magical than it is, the ones who will wish upon a star and wrap themselves in the magic, whether they're in the parks or not. These are the best kind of Disney fan, and I'm proud to say I'm good friends with many of them.

I would not have been to several new cities without them. I don't even know if I'd have become a Disney travel agent without them. And now I find myself running a half marathon in Walt Disney World because of them. The work outs can seem long, and I can sure as hell feel sore the next day, but I know it's going to be completely worth it. I'm going to wear that Princess Half medal for days after I cross the finish line.

There are many people I am doing this marathon for. For myself, of course. That's a given. For my husband, so he may have a healthier and cuter wife. For my future children, so that they'll have a healthy home for 9 months and have a mom who should last a lot longer than I would in my current state, and so they know they can do anything if they put their heart into it. But also for my father-in-law. He tragically passed away earlier this year and one of the last things I remember telling him (or having my husband tell him, as I don't speak Danish that well) was that I was training to run in a half marathon in Disney World. I will completely uphold my promise, come what may.

When someone passes away, one of the things we think about is the things they will not be able to witness with us in person, but I know they'll be there in their own way. My father-in-law will never meet my first born child, but he will be there. He will quite literally be a part of this child of ours, making up 1/4th of him or her and I know our child will have characteristics that will remind us of him, and while it may be bittersweet each time, he'll still be there.

I feel the same way with Walt. He may have died at a very young age (he and my father-in-law were almost the same age, too) but his impact on this world cannot be denied. I cannot imagine a world without Disney in it. Movies would not be as full of heart, vacations would not be as fun, and I just shudder to think what the state of the world would be in without Mickey in it.

Because of Walt, I will run. For Walt, I will run.

I only hope that we don't lose sight of one thing - it was all started by a mouse.

Fat, dumb and happy.

I was looking up another word for "content" because I'm not exactly content, cos I'm pretty exhausted too, but I'm not in a bad place. Cardio X whooped my butt as always, but it's one of the shortest exercises (43 minutes or so) so it wasn't so bad. I definitely pulled something in my left thigh doing a runner's pose (one of the many reasons I hate yoga) and thought for a couple seconds about giving up cos I could barely stand up without it hurting too much, but nope. I pushed through. I *have* all my limbs. There is no reason for me to give up so soon, and on the third day at that.

That being said, I know my limits. I always stop when I feel like I'm either going to puke or in dire need of some water, so don't worry. I don't plan on dying just yet.

However, I think we all know this is the greatest part of P90X:

Even the people sweating on the floor agree with me. And there's Tony Horton, standing over us, being a boss. I love him, I really do. I hope he appears at the Princess Half marathon like I've seen him make appearances at the other run Disney events. That alone would get me out of bed at 3:30 in the morning.

Anyway, so apparently another way to say "I'm content" is "I'm fat, dumb and happy." Well, I am fat, and I am happy, I don't think I'm that dumb though.

2 outta 3 ain't bad.

Tit for tat.

This is a blog men/women-lovers probably wouldn't care to read, despite the fact that it is probably all about boobs.

These are my boobs.

O-O

These are my boobs on sports bra.

_._

I hate sports bras. I want to set them on fire and not in a revolutionary type way, but just because I hate them so much.

My chest has always been one of my greatest physical assets. It makes me sad when I put on a sports bra and they magically disappear. I look like a chubby little boy when I have my sports bra on. When I would go to the gym, sometimes I would forego safety and health and convenience to wear a normal bra so I would look more feminine. Sad, isn't it? It's one of the most vain things I do to myself.

I kept it on last night when doing P90X (which I do in my living room, which only my husband dwells so it's not like he really cares if I wear a sports bra or not) and the straps kept slipping over and I felt like an ass, so I kept it on tonight. Huuuge difference in performance, although my butt was still whooped hard by Tony Horton. He'll do that.

Oh, and I've tried just not wearing one when working out and nearly gave myself a black eye, so that's out.

I need to get over my ridiculous insecurities of looking like a chubby little boy when wearing one. I have little to no reason not to, and when I lost weight a long time ago, I only lost about a cup and two band sizes. Big boobs are a thing that runs in my family, blessed are the men that love us.

This post really has little point other than to shout myself out on my insecurities in hoping that getting it out in writing and in public will help me get over myself. This is a completely honest blog, after all.

My Mom said it looks like I've lost weight today and that made me smile. Thank you, mommy. You look like you have lost weight, too. (Duh.)

Till our great, big, beautiful boobs tomorrow, friends.

"He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else."

As fat people, we are ridiculed a lot. And some of us deserve it. There are true, honest to God gluttons on this earth who think of deep fried sticks of butter as a nice way to start the day and not a hilarious novelty item found at county fairs that you laugh at on the outside but die a little bit on the inside with the fact that people actually eat these. Paula Deen, I'm looking at you and your Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburger you proudly toted on national television. I know she has come a long way since then, but that kind of promotion is why such a big portion of Americans are, well, big.

Have you heard of the Heart Attack Grill? You can probably take an educated guess as to what they serve. You can get a thing appropriately called the Quadruple Bypass Burger that looks like a thing that only people on death row would order as a last meal, as a joke. There is also a butterfat shake. This bears repeating: a butterfat shake. I'm just gonna let that sink in for a second, but don't think about it too long or you'll want to skip out on lunch like I kind of do right now.

The owner died of a heart attack, surprising the world. 

Not all fat people are fat just for the hell of it. Some of us have hereditary problems we have to battle, unlucky metabolisms, you name it. These are understandable. And you know what, there are just some big people in this world. Some men and women are just built like a damn bear and that's how it just has to be. Where would we be without lumber jacks? I always imagine lumber jacks when I think of people who are just naturally big and they make me smile with their little plaid shirts.

But we still face ridicule no matter the reason because no one wants to listens to stories or excuses, they just want to make you feel bad for being fat. It's happened since bullying began. There's also an imagine in America in particular that women have to be a bean stalk to be pretty. I knew a girl who was a size 2 and was a model, but many agencies told her she had to be a plus size model. A size 2. A damn size 2 is plus size in the fashion industry. This is why eating disorders are such a thing, on the opposite end of the spectrum, and it's just as sad and disgusting as the genius who came up with the Heart Attack Grill.

I have never been so big that I've been asked by an airline to buy an extra seat. I've never even needed a seat belt extender. But I have been in embarrassing situations before because of my weight and it's awful. It haunts you for days, months, years after the fact. I still remember what some kid said to me in 7th grade. I don't think it'll ever leave me.

I don't know about other people, but I can get defensive about my body. Why? I don't know. Maybe it did start from the bully in the 7th grade. But I always have an excuse on the back burner if I'm accused of being gigantic on the spot. When I'm at the grocery store, I hope they know that the hot pockets are for my skinny husband, and that the string cheese sticks are low moisture and skim milk and not that bad when you think about it and I'm only buying a big shirt size because my boobs are so huge and and and.. it's sad. I should not have to feel the need to defend my life from some complete stranger. I only have to answer to myself.

So I am done thinking of excuses. Excuses are only worth the breath you waste giving them and nothing more than that. Even that is too precious when you think about how fickle life is. At the end of the day, I am the reason I am overweight and there's not enough pixie dust on this damn planet that you can sprinkle on my fat ass to magically make me thin. There is a phrase about exercising that in a year from now, you'll wish you have started today.

I was going to wait a couple more weeks before starting P90X, but no excuses. Tonight I'll start up again and Tony Horton will be my friend for 60 days straight. Why 60 days? Because on October 14th, I'll be flying to California with my husband, mom, and two best friends to visit Disneyland, California Adventure, Universal, Knott's Berry Farm, yadda yadda yadda, for a spectacular week. That will be my prize. What a prize it is. And anyone who's toured a Disney park knows that's enough exercise right there, and then I'll pick it up again when I get back home.

Watch this space. I am starting today.