Magic Kingdom marathoner

Under dawn’s rosy glow, I ran toward the Magic Kingdom, fueled by adrenaline and a giddy joy comparable to that of a 5-year-old on Christmas morning.

Oh, the celebrities I would meet during the Disney World Marathon.

Mickey Mouse. Donald Duck. Maybe even Buzz Lightyear, in all his space ranger glory!

A sharp wind disrupted my reverie. The gale cut across the road, whipping my fairy wings akimbo.

“Darn these wings!” I muttered, thrusting them back into position.

It was my first marathon, and I was determined to run all 26.2 miles in full Tinkerbell costume.

My sequined green skirt fluttered gracefully as I ran, and a dusting of glitter gave my cheeks a sprightly glow. The centerpiece of my ensemble was 4-foot-wide fairy wings, which I bought for a staggering $25 at a Disney World gift shop.

I knew the fairy wings were a risk. I had heard the marathon horror stories of chafed armpits and unbearable blisters.

But Tink cannot fly without her wings. I was determined to forge ahead.

***

When I say Disney World was my first marathon, I must qualify that statement.

Last year, I dove headfirst into Virginia’s trail-running circuit, cementing what I suspect will be a lifelong love of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

In April, I completed my first ultramarathon, the Promise Land 50k.

(As its name suggests, an ultramarathon is any foot race longer than 26.2 miles. Promise Land fit the bill, with a grueling 31.75 miles staged over 16,000 feet of elevation change in the mountains of Bedford County.)

Promise Land delivered an epic challenge, and conquering the race expanded my definition of what is possible, both on and off the trails.

Still, I was terrified of the Disney Marathon.

It would be my first “official” marathon, miles away from the remote mountain trails I had grown to love.

On Lynchburg trails, I feared black bears and poison ivy. At Disney, I dreaded the ultimate failure: letting down Mickey Mouse.

I also was on the rebound from a foot injury. Despite my outward display of optimism, I was afraid that my feet might not make it.

***

Mile five.

Down the road, I could just make out a pair of eight-foot tall chipmunks, hamming it up with the runners.

“Chip and Dale!” I yelped with a burst of enthusiasm that bordered on excessive.

I bee-lined to the celebrity rodents and waited in a short line to have my picture taken.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I must admit that I’m not a hardcore fan of Chip and Dale. I mean, they’re pretty awesome chipmunks, but they pale in comparison to such A-list characters as Mickey Mouse or Cinderella.

Still, it was my first celebrity sighting and I’d be a fool not to document it.

As races go, the Disney World Marathon is among an elite few in the world that can be described as “magical.”

The course winds through all four Disney parks: Epcot, the Magic Kingdom, Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios. About every half mile, the runners pass roadside entertainment, from stilt walkers to cheerleaders to marching bands.

The highlight, for me, was the dozens of Disney characters that lined the course, cheering on the runners.

On your typical day at a Disney theme park, you’re lucky to rub shoulders with one or two characters.

But at the marathon, they were everywhere. I made it my personal mission to take pictures with as many as possible.

***

By the halfway mark, 13.1 miles, my nerves had subsided.

The dull pain in my foot was drowned out by two pills of ibuprofen. At a medical station, I slathered my arms with Vaseline to protect them from further chafing from the fairy wings.

By this point, I had fully assumed my fairy persona. Henceforth, I was known as Tinkerbell.

As we passed the Disney resorts and theme parks, the streets were jammed with spectators.

“Go Tinkerbell!”

“We love you, Tinkerbell!’” shouted my adoring fans.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that I’ve never felt so popular in my entire life. Hundreds upon hundreds of spectators cheered me (Tinkerbell) on by name.

I basked in the attention, flashed a big grin, and picked up the pace, leaving my fellow runners in the (pixie) dust.

***

My low came somewhere around mile 20.

My calves hurt. My feet ached. With every step, I felt the force of the asphalt darting up my legs.

As I entered the Epcot for the homestretch, my pace had slowed significantly from my adrenaline-fueled start, and my patience was waning. Every few seconds, I scanned the skies for the giant Epcot golfball, which loomed just before the finish line.

As I rounded the bend toward the finish line, my eyes welled with tears. I know it’s a runner’s cliché, but it was a long race, and I was happy to be finished.

From the ruckus in the spectator bleachers, I heard two familiar voices. My brother and sister were waving frantically from the stands.

I kicked my legs into high gear and used the rest of my strength to fly across the finish line.

The volunteers handed me a Mickey Mouse finisher’s medal, which I slung around my neck in delirium. I wobbled toward the food table, basking in the supreme satisfaction that comes with finishing a marathon.

Over 26.2 miles, I took photos with 15 Disney characters and reunited with Peter Pan, Wendy and the rest of my friends from Neverland.

My worst fear of having to drop out of the race never materialized.

And I achieved my number one goal, crossing the finish line with a smile on my face and my fairy wings intact.