The four letter word that begins with a “w” has been busy for the past few weeks.  Last week, I managed to get three runs in during the weekday and then botched the long run for the weekend.  Instead of dragging myself slowly for 13 miles, I decided to just jog 8 instead.

I have a feeling that this will be one of those marathons that I will barely finish in the allotted time which happens to be six hours.  Hey, it will give me something to aim for.

Perhaps registering for a marathon instead of thinking about signing up for one will work this time around.  The one I signed-up for is in Melbourne, FL.

The first long run entailed slowly jogging 10 miles in the rain.

To add a bit of variety, I have added swimming workouts to the regimen.  There’s a clubhouse with a lap pool about two and a half miles from home that I began using.  Fortunately swimming is like riding a bike; it takes a couple of laps to get the hang of things minus the flip-turns.  Most people that I know remark, “You know it’s the end of swimming season.”

“Yeah, but it’s not cold yet,” I say in denial.

Not going to run the race that I planned to do.  It’s a tad more difficult to get back into the swing of things as I had thought.  When I hear the weather forecast over the radio, they describe things as warm during the day, thunderstorms in the afternoon and humid at night which is the typical for a Florida summer.  It’s not very inviting.

Perhaps I should give myself another month or two to get back into it.

When I returned vacation I started getting back into the swing of things.  I haven’t signed up for the race that I’m thinking about doing, a local trail race that does loops around a park.  They have a half marathon, a full marathon and a 30 miler option.  Although it would be neat to try the 30 mile race, I’ll thank myself later when I signed up for a shorter distance when that “I just want to go home” feeling kicks in.

My legs were sore the first week, and it was too humid the second week.  Those are my two excuses.  By the third week, I get back into the routine of running regularly.

As the sun sets later in the day, more runners congregate outside the store on Thursday evenings.  “Last week we had 98 people sign-in,” one of the store employees tells us over a band playing music.  They do another trivia contest where I learn that Saucony, a running shoe/apparel manufacturer, is named after a river in Pennsylvania.

Along with the rule of running on the road while in the mall, they impose another as the group expands, “You’ll also need to keep your shirts on while inside the mall,” he tells us.  Two shirts are tied to a fence railing a block or two from the mall exit as the group runs to the traffic light at the far end of the road.  The 5K “pub run” involves running from the store, through the outdoor mall and to the second traffic light and back.  People meet afterwards at a bar located in the mall, but recently allegiance shifted to a new pizza restaurant.  You run 10 runs with them and you get a free t-shirt; that’s the incentive to return.

The following weeks I learn more things: the first women’s Olympic marathon was held in 1984 and that this store at the mall has been opened for 10 months.  After the group surpasses 100 runners, the weekly turn-out diminishes so they introduce something new: runs around a track starting on Tuesday evenings.

After waiting in the convention center for about an hour, I begin meandering towards the starting line about 20 minutes before the event.  This was at the end of February after the Miami marathon but before the WPRR 10K.  At this point, I wish I hadn’t signed up for it, not that there is anything bad about the race but I would rather be sleeping in.

Last year, they had everyone squeeze between two tall high rise condos facing west overlooking a sinking full moon.  This year we face due south.  What I believe to be the starting line is the finish which I will meet 2 hours and 3 minutes later.  Some people in front of me stop, there is a blinding camera flash, a photographer in a yellow vest stands up and the crowd continues to walk forward.  As two people hug, I glance away before I am blinded again with another flash of white light.

Everyone comes to a stop.  Off in the distance spectators overlook the crowd from a small bridge.  There are some red, white and blue balloons underneath it.  That must be the starting line. I look down at my Garmin, hit the mode button and press the power button to light up the display.  Five minutes to go. A few people manage to slither their way closer to the start and I follow them.

I cannot hear anything but people around me talking.  Pace groups holding signs are strangely absent; they had them last year.  After while, people applaud and everyone takes a few bold steps forward and comes to an abrupt halt.  This is typical.

“Well, that was fun,” someone concludes.

That is typical too.

Unlike the five to six luxurious miles of wide roads in Miami, you make a quick U-turn around some orange cones and you are choked into a single lane.  I find a small patch of grass to run on but shortly have to join the main crowd as everyone makes their way into Davis Islands via a small bridge.  People in front me have resigned to the bottleneck and walk up the bridge, but I jog in place as I slowly inch forward.  Once you reach Davis Islands, the road opens up, but cars parked on the side of the road reduce that space.

A person ahead of me holds a pacing sign, but it’s too dark to read what it says.  So they do have them afterall. Runners have a tendency to crowd around these people.  To my left, some people jump onto the sidewalk and I follow them.

“You’re not allowed on the sidewalk.  It’s against the rules,” a street performer wielding two sticks of fire says to us.  I see where he is coming from as some of his equipment eases up on the sidewalk.  I keep my response to myself, which I am glad that I do, because I will see him again around mile 4.

I return to the road a quarter-mile later, as I observe that my pace matches theirs.  I pass another person holding a pacing sign, it reads something marginally quicker than “12:00 min/mile.”  I must have started all the way in the back.

A lady riding her bicycle cheers her friends on from an asphalt bicycle path.  The bicycle path is a new addition from last year.  A chain-linked fence overlooking a grassy field a mile later is also new.  As a well hydrates runner, I begin considering my options as once you leave the islands everything is very open.

“That’s a long line,” someone near me remarks.  To my left, there’s a dual line of runners waiting to use two portalets.  You could go behind the behind the portalets, but there’s a chained-linked fence blocking access to the field and a portable spotlight illuminating the entire area.  That simply won’t do.  Time is of the essence.  I’m slow, and I shouldn’t make myself any slower than need be.

The area is full of nice looking upscale homes.  Very couple of homes there is a family cheering us on.  I occasionally scan to the left and to the right.  My eyes fall on a home with a “For Sale” sign posted in the front lawn, and I assume that no one is home.  There’s a large tree with my name on it.

I hear things such as “Woohoo!”  and “Looks like there’s no wait there.”  After I finish my thing, I rejoin the group of runners.  I feel as though it will be a rather humid morning.

As I cross over the Davis Islands bridge heading towards Bayshore a guy says, “This this longest that I’ve run in three months.”  Everyone near mile 5 congratulates him, but he childes himself for it not being the most brilliant of ideas.

At mile 6.1, the lead men’s runner chases down a clock displaying a read-out of 1:03 and change.  While that guy appears to be effortlessly moving, the man about 45 seconds behind him looks like he’s hurting.  The neat thing about Gasparilla is that you can see the lead runners on the opposite side of the road come at you.  I’m at mile 6 and they are surging towards mile 12.

I keep my eyes open for a guy in a green shirt, paying attention more to the people on the opposite side of the road rather than the people in front of me.

I see the lead woman.  Like the second guy, she’s also looks as though she’s having a tough time.

There are a few guys in white shirts that look him, but no, it isn’t.  Maybe he’s wearing a red shirt, and lo and behold at mile 6.9, I see guy, Neil (from Dailymile), wearing a red shirt, looking down at his shoes I confirm that it’s him.  He looks as though he’s effortlessly moving, relaxed and drenched in sweat.  As I later learn, he could have run through all four of the misting stations placed on the last four miles of the course, but no, it is actually that humid out.

The course heads south on Bayshore for 3 or 4 miles.  There’s a cross country team cheering us on and a DJ playing upbeat music further down the road.  Once we reach Gandy Blvd, everyone heads north on Bayshore.

Although I am really sweating at this point, the sun and the humidity don’t bother me.  I start growing tired, but I keep telling myself to keep going.  Near each of the next four water stops is a misting station.  I avoid the first misting station and find a narrow, dry patch of road to run on.  The second misting station feels good for a few seconds, but I later regret getting misted on as my toes are complaining about being wet.

I work my way around another crowd of runners.  In the middle of them is a runner carrying a sign that reads “2:10.”  Figuring that it took me about 4 or 5 minutes to get up to the start, I should finish in about 2 hours 5 minutes which is roughly the same amount of time I finished the OUC half marathon in the Fall of last year.

The cross country team from Plant City cheers us on.  It’s easy to tell which high school they are from as they painted it on themselves.

Within the last several miles there are photographers stationed at various places along the course.  One of them catches me off-guard as I’m focused on a start / finish banner for a different race held after the half marathon.

I’m ready for another photographer closer to the finish line; however, as I pass them I immediately wipe off the smile from my face.  Three or four people kneel next to someone lying down in the middle of the road.  A lady wearing a blue shirt directs us to go around them.  This is at approximately mile 12.6, only a half mile from the finish line.

After I cross the finish line, I see a helicopter flying towards Tampa General Hospital.

The first attempt of three at gaining entry into the NYC marathon is always a no-go for me. Attempt number one this time proves to be no exception to that rule.

Update 1 – 4/28/2011 – The above image has been slightly altered due to overly concerned parents (or you can say that they care too much.)

As it turns out she graduated in the same year as I and has run in two half marathons, the OUC and Gasparilla halves, which I ran in but just now we’ve bumped into each other. “Is this your first 10K?” she asks. “Nah, I’ve run a bunch of them.” I learn that she will be training for her first full out-of-state marathon in November.

They start off the wheelchairs with a 90 second wait before for the runners to take off. Then, it’s running with crowds of people down the brick roads of Winter Park.

The woman I spoke with in the starting corrals jumps up onto the sidewalk, and I squeeze my way through pockets of people. Some people go faster than others as I scan the road ahead for gaps between people. Sometimes I guess correctly and move up ahead; other times I misjudge a narrowing gap and slow down to let them go.

A red digital clock waits at mile marker one. “9:30. You’re looking good!” a lady exclaims. GPS watches harmoniously chime around me. “8:42,” says another woman as she glances at her watch.

I follow the crowd as everyone weaves through neighborhood streets shielded by a large canopy of trees. I believe the only section of straight road is near the start and finish lines. I look ahead to see where the crowd is turning next.

Approaching mile three I descend down a hill. The next digital clock displays twenty-five minutes and change. I try to do the math to figure out how fast that is, but I know that it’s faster than my usual 10 min per mile clip that I do around the neighborhood.

Occasionally, the sun makes an appearance as you work your way around a lake. The course veers right and the road inclines slightly. People breathe a bit harder. Relief arrives in the form of comedy. “Oh yeah!” a guy yells. You never know what to expect when you run these things. The same guy located somewhere behind me yells, “Tacos! Burritos! What’s that coming out of your Speedo?”

The wind is knocked out of me as I belt out with laughter. What can I say? I am easily entertained.

For the next three miles, I enjoy taking my mind off of the road and listening to these people. Every few minutes they find something clever to say. “I think we finished 20 minutes ago.”

… and three miles away, the lead runner crosses the finish line.

The next three miles entails more weaving through neighborhoods, slight up and down hills, and brick and asphalt roads. A family tries handing out donuts near mile 5.

Two ladies talk about pacing. They figure that they are going at a 8:45 min/mile pace with a mile left to go. One wants to keep going at the same speed, the other want to just forget about the pace. “Don’t we have 20 miles left?” the guy behind me asks. “Thank God, no,” I think to myself.

“Isn’t there a park that we run through?” one of the ladies near me asks. Down the road and to the left, the course turns turns off the road and follows an asphalt trail through a park. Leaving the park, I following a brick road and see mile marker 6 with a read-out of fifty-two minutes. Ahead in distance, is a large banner hanging over the street with a yellow digit clock underneath. “So, this is how far .2 miles is,” I think. I widen the distance from the comedians as I make my towards the finish line.

Videos courtesy of mom.

From year to year the cost of entry to the WDW half and full marathons increases by $5. So, if you think that the race is already pricey to run, it will be more expensive the following year. More appealing than the “vote on a finisher’s medal” from 2010, their recent e-mail blast includes a cool to-do list item:

After walk/jogging two marathons in this year’s running season, I naturally wonder “what’s next?”  NYC for me is unknown until the lottery is held in late April, and reading this e-mail message makes it very, very tempting to sign-up for WDW.  At the bottom of the e-mail I discover:

Register … by April 24, 2011 to save on the race entry fees!

On first thought, I think that they temporarily lowered the entry fee cost which draws me in more, but no, it’s the same $5 per year hike that they do each year. The price of half marathon is now the same price as the full; in years prior I recall the half being $5 – $10 cheaper.

They have also figured out a way of increasing the price in addition to their $5 per year increase :

• Add $10 to the fee when registering 4/25/11 – 7/3/11.
• Add $20 to the fee when registering on or after 7/4/11.

Goofy’s race and a half challenge, consisting of finishing both the half and full marathon races, has double the price increase for registering “late”:

• Add $20 to the fee when registering 4/25/11 – 7/3/11.
• Add $40 to the fee when registering on or after 7/4/11.

Update 1 – 4/19/2011 – In an another e-mail blast, Disney is introducing a new women’s half marathon in Walt Disneyland (California), called the Tinker Bell Half Marathon.

Although the Tinker Bell Half Marathon is $20 cheaper than the WDW half marathon, it features the same price increase if you don’t sign up earily:

• Add $10 to the fee when registering between 6/13 and 9/11.
• Add $20 to the fee when registering on or after 9/12.

There are advantages to having a dailymile account, a social networking site dedicated to exercising enthusiasts.  First is that you can see what everyone is doing in your area.  If I feel like slacking off and read about people running 10 miles on a Saturday morning when I chose to sleep-in, I feel guilty and am slightly more motivated to head outdoors and hit the pavement.  So, there this built-in peer pressure to keep up with everyone in your area.

Secondly, it’s a great resource to get answers to problems.  For example, my heel began bothering me late last year leading me to post an entry about it.  A lady in Lakeland commented on my post with how to work around the issue that I had.  Problem solved.

However, the system requires that you record all of your workouts into it which is cool for the first year but it eventually loses its appeal. Like e-mail it becomes another thing to check, another thing to maintain.  I didn’t need to do this prior to mid-2009 as can be said with most social networking sites that surfaced in 2006.  So, it gets my “spring cleaning” treatment.

Yes, I’ll miss you too.

Unfortunately, this social networking void of mine will simply be replaced by something else.  It’s just a matter of time.

Update 1 – 4/11/2011 – Removing your Dailymile account does not remove your account or your data.  Your running logs are accessible via http://www.dailymile.com/people/user_name/entries/archived/four_digit_year.  Signing into Dailymile after removing your account will “reactivate you.”

Update 2 – 4/25/2011 – One method of removing your data is to edit each workout and click on the delete link. If there is no data associated with the workout, click on the add details link and then click on delete. This process is painstakingly slow as you need to do this with each one. Ironically, after I delete all of them, I have a net negative mileage in their system.