It’s been hard to put into words the experience of Dopey 2026.
My last year has been one of the roughest for me personally and professionally. I underestimated the complexities and manifestations of stress due to my mom’s suicide. A friend’s unexplained sudden death compounded these complexities in the month leading up to the race.
With the ups and downs of training came lots of feelings: self doubt, confidence, worry. I know what it takes to finish Dopey on a near-perfect training cycle. I also knew that my training up to this point had been fairly lackluster. I underestimated the amount of physical fatigue I’d feel with the emotional stress I was experiencing. I know it’s a thing, but it was also stubborn of me to think that I could’ve used my training to push through those emotions. Running helps, but is not the antidote, to those issues.
In 2025, I was highly motivated after Dopey and the Death Valley half marathon. I had planned on recovering for a bit and ramped up my training by early April for the Colfax 5K and half marathon. At the end of March, I hit significant headwinds in my job and had to wholly focus on changing roles. The amount of mental focus it required meant that training pretty much halted altogether until Memorial Day (when I got my new job!). It was the longest stretch I had ever gone without movement since I broke my leg in 2014.
Dopey training began at the end of June, and I squeezed it in when I got small bursts of energy. I had 9 corporate weeks of travel ahead of me, ramping up on a new team, learning new tech, etc. It was mentally rewarding, but still physically exhausting. So, compounding my emotional grief was the mental tax of the new skills I was rapidly developing. When having to choose between the short weekday maintenance runs and the weekend long runs, I ended up over-indexing on the long runs. My logic was that my everyday stress and fatigue was enough for me to count that towards my maintenance runs. Admittedly the logic is very faulty and flimsy. Sometimes I even stacked all of my training back to back because I could find no other way to get it in. Instead of Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday/Sunday runs, I would run on Friday, Saturday, Sunday. It was not good for recovery, but it was the best I could do given the time and energy I had left. Rearranging my days was not an option at that point, but I’m trying to do that in 2026.
So, with that limitation I focused on nailing the distance of the longer runs, with my success metric being purely completion, not performance or pace. I got up to 20 miles on the treadmill on November 1st. After that, my energy level, grief, overall mental health declined. I thought it would lift on the death anniversary date, but it did not. Then, a week later, an unexplained death of a friend really took its toll on me.
I met with my psychiatrist regularly throughout the year, adding in more sessions when she or I thought I needed more time. My bipolar medication was now supplemented with a sedative to help me sleep and an SSRI, a type of depression medication. The SSRI ends up affecting me on marathon day, which I’ll get to later. With some of those changes in December, my mental health started to improve. The end of year in corporate is also a time of preparing for annual performance reviews, which helped organize my thoughts on career progress over the last year. It was followed by Dopey week, which is a working vacation but a vacation nonetheless.
So, we land in Orlando on Tuesday, the day before the expo. I am fairly nervous about finishing the marathon. I feel that the 5K, 10K, and half marathon are well within reach. I’ve done plenty, and have had more good than bad experiences with those distances. In my 12 marathons, I’ve only finished 5 in good spirits. Worried is an understatement. I planned on taking the first three days incredibly easy…try not to even break a sweat and aim to finish just enough ahead of the balloon ladies to enjoy the slow pace. The excitement got the better of me but I still felt great after the 5K and 10K day.
In my nervousness my husband bought a Cameo pep talk from none other than Brittany Charboneau, the winner of the Dopey Challenge a few years ago. The pep talk was ready by breakfast the morning of the half marathon, and her words certainly helped lift my spirits (but not my fitness!).
I finished the half marathon unexpectedly tired. It’s not like 13.1 miles isn’t hard, but I felt that my 2 back-to-back 10 milers on the treadmill was a good indicator of my half marathon fitness. Cardio-wise it felt fine, but muscle-wise the pavement was much more difficult than the treadmill. It was a little warmer but not straight up hot (mid 60s), but the humidity was in the high 90%s, so I did my best to hydrate, massage, stretch, and rest after the race. I became increasingly worried about the full marathon the next day, knowing that it is exponentially harder and that the weather would be really warm as well. I ended up buying another pep talk from Coach Bennet and explained our situation. After a plentiful carb dinner, I prepped my gear and went to bed, falling asleep by 3pm.
I woke up at midnight and started my day with the usual breakfast. As I sat down, the Cameo from him came through. His pep talk came at the perfect time. We got ready and headed to the start line corrals, determined to seed ourself with the most favorable placement as possible. We ended up being in front of the corral, and it definitely paid off. We waited nervously for our time, and ended up crossing the start line at 4:58am. It was time for unwavering focus, thinking only about the mile, interval, footfall I was in. I would find the practice of mindfulness and presence very difficult throughout this race, but alas was able to pull it back to the present every time.
I used to count up while running marathons. “I’m on mile 3 of 26.2 miles.” A few years ago I shifted to counting down: I’m on mile 3, meaning I only get to run 23.2 more miles. The reframe has helped me manage my expectations, rather than focusing on things like the 20-mile wall. For this race, I tried something new. This time around, I reframed it as destinations and sweep points. I start at Epcot. Then I go to Magic Kingdom. Then I hit the 13.1 sweep point. From there I hit the mile 16/19 sweep point but in between I get to go to Animal Kingdom. I typically see Erik between mile 18-19. Mile 23 reminds me of my mom, because she hung on until November 23rd before taking her life. After that, I had my personal journey of 3.2 until the finish line. By doing this, I reduced the cognitive load. Instead of 26 signposts, there was only 6. It was less to count, less to stress from.
The one thing I did hang on to was that the weather would heat up after sunrise, which was around 7:30am. With a 5am start, that gave me 2 hours 30 minutes to bank as many miles as I could prior to getting to Magic Kingdom. In nearly all scenarios, banking miles is folly. You fatigue your body too early, and you pay the price later. This time I felt that it would be different, since I was going to feel tired anyways. In between the physical tired and emotional tired, the latter outweighed the former. With the right hydration, nutrition, and intervals, I felt that I would be okay. The plan for my intervals were to go between 30 seconds walk, 30 seconds run. Anytime I extended the run portion of the interval I considered it “money in the bank” that I could selectively cash out when I needed to. I gave myself permission to extend my walk breaks up to one minute for very select scenarios: needing additional hydration/fuel at aid stations, needing time to safely take in my food/drink so that I could swallow properly, and if I needed to dart off to the restroom. I gave myself a few 60 second walk breaks, but I used them very sparingly. I know that I lose a lot of steam when stopping to walk, and that usually paves the way for significant decline in my later miles of the marathon.
I was feeling fairly strong throughout the beginning of the course. The half marathon point was part of the magical Magic Kingdom parking lot fun run. I kept looking towards the back. The balloon ladies were nowhere in sight. I found a bit of comfort but did not use that as a reason to slow down or slack off, just as verification that the plan was working as intended. This year the road to Animal Kingdom had some entertainment. They introduced the Star Wars mile, which was somewhere around mile 14-15. By the time I got there it was just fog machines during the daytime and I had no clue what was happening. I only found it was the Star Wars mile from Instagram, where earlier runners who made it there when it was still dark saw the laser show.
The course began getting mentally challenging around the same spot every time I run this race – the infamous mile 16 into the Animal Kingdom backlots. The stretch going to and from AK is monotonous, but the midpoint payoff of going into the park (and thus having great bathrooms) was rewarding. This is usually the stretch of road where Erik and I cross paths for a quick check-in and kiss. I had missed it last year and was a complete wreck for the rest of the race. This year we saw each other. This time around, I actually ran by my husband for a quick mid-run kiss and check-in. It gave me a great emotional boost to see him running so well, given everything he had gone through. I hoped to join him at the finish line in similar spirits, and kept on my merry way.
The AK staff typically bring out some animals to brighten the mood. Some years there was a donkey. This year there was a turtle and probably some others. Running into AK was a bit emotional to me, likely because I’ve never had a bad time at AK. (Actually, I take that back…I once got news of a failed fertility cycle right in front of the Lion King show theater.) I passed by some of the bathrooms I knew of, and really hoped that I correctly remembered the bathroom immediately before the park exit. It was a calculated bet, but a bet nonetheless. Turns out I indeed remembered it correctly, used it, and then knew the next bathroom I’d be using would be at the condo after the race. This is where mental focus became exceptionally important.
By mile 19ish I felt that I had cleared a significant mental hurdle. I made it past the huge sweep point coming out of AK. Throughout this time I just kept telling myself what Coach Bennet said. I’ve done this challenge 4 times. I can do this because I already knew what it takes to finish this specific course. I know how to get the job done. The hard times would come, because they always do, and they were starting to come now. I kept looking behind me and over the overpass bridge to see if there were balloon ladies, and there weren’t. It brought me some comfort but I tried not use that as an excuse to walk more or slow down too much. The time cushion felt manageable.
The stretch between mile 19.5 and 20.5 was when I noticed it heated up the most. This is where I saw a lot of people struggling to stay cool. One woman was violently vomiting off of a bridge. She vomited so hard that I worried she would fall off. Thankfully she had some people with her. They were all dressed similarly so I’m guessing they knew each other. Folks ran forward to medics to get her some help. When I rounded the corner at mile 21, I noticed that the crowd behind me had pretty much disappeared. I had not gotten faster obviously. I couldn’t see the balloon ladies at all, which meant one of two things: I was going to get swept any minute now, or that they got diverted.
It had warmed up considerably and I noticed my hydration pack was pretty light. I took a sip and noticed that I was nearly out…perhaps another sip or two left. That was when I promptly burst into tears. It was at this point where I felt that my race was coming to an end – a DNF at a challenge I’ve managed to previously finish 4 times. A depressing punctuation to a terrible year. I kept crying, and I knew I was quickly declining into an early mental danger zone. A marathon is very physically challenging, but the mental part is so much more in my opinion. In my tears, I gathered my strength to tell myself that I would be okay with being swept. If I were to get swept, it would be for my safety. I am privileged enough that I can always come back and do it again. To have started Dopey for my fifth time was a luxury that so many people do not get. That other people would love to have had the opportunity to even be here at Disney World, and to get swept would be okay with them, and that I should be okay with it too. It was only a race, one of many that my future would hold. I kept trying to calm myself down so that I could focus on the pearls of wisdom that I’ve received from so many places.
“Dopey is dumb.”
“You don’t stink.”
“After you do this, you don’t have to do it again.”
“You’ve done this before, and you know what it takes to get this done.”
“The air is thin where you are.”
“Be the best in the moment you’re in.”
“Forward is a pace.”
“Showing up is enough.”
“One step is enough.”
“Focus on here, now.”
“What would you say to someone in this spot who is running Dopey for the first time?”
“You’ll be fine if you do what you’re told” (aka listen to the 30 second walk/run timer)
Well, it was around this time that the balloon ladies got diverted and were waiting at the medic station at the 22.5 pinch point to rejoin the course at the 16:00min/mile intended pace. I of course didn’t know that at the time. I wasn’t on my phone so I didn’t see the runDisney email that came through at 11:18am to announce a course change due to yellow flag conditions. I saw the bike medics beginning to ride around the back of pack runners and I asked him if I was good. He said I was plenty good (meaning that my pace and time was okay, that there was not an immediate or impending need to sweep). He said to just keep the pace and that I would be okay.
At mile 23, the sun was baking. I had been taking hydration from aid stations at that point but needed something urgently. I wouldn’t see one for another half mile. Mile 23 is already a pretty emotional mile marker for me because it makes me think about my mom. How she struggled so much in the final days of her life. That she hung on until the 23rd day of November before she tragically died. The last time I hit mile 23, it was emotional but soon after I felt like she had symbolically passed the baton of life to me. The responsibility was now on me to live life to the fullest, and that meant squeaking out a short 3.2 mile victory lap to the finish line. Should be easy peasy, right?
Lacking hydration and electrolytes, I started feeling a bit off. Not just emotionally drained or the physical soreness from a typical marathon effort. I felt depleted deep within. It was around this time that the balloon ladies inched up, and one of the folks (a balloon gentleman!) asked me how I was doing. A back of pack runner knows to never acknowledge how terrible they feel to any race official of sorts, since that kind of thing usually gets you pulled. I said I felt fine and asked if there would be a hydration station coming up. He said yes and that he would grab some ice for me. He ran ahead to the table, and began chatting with people. I was tired and feeling unwell, and I knew he would be able to catch up to me if I continued on. I grabbed a bottle of Powerade and took a few swigs and continue. He ran back up to me with some ice and stuck with me for a while. One of the security folks on a bike came over to check up on me and asked how I was doing, and if it was my first time doing Dopey. I said that it was my fifth time, and his response was “I guess this just wasn’t your day, huh?”. Rude, tough love, who knows, but that really got me thinking. Was today really not my day? Did I not have what it took to finish this job? Would it have been unsafe for me to continue going? It was at that point that the electrolytes and hydration helped bring me back from feeling completely awful and I was able to actually focus on the task at hand.
The formula was really simple. Follow the intervals. Run conservatively. Keep drinking. Stay cool with a bag of ice. Straighten my posture. Don’t think about getting swept, not because I was in denial but because if it happened, then it happened and life wasn’t over. Just think about the next step, the next interval, the next waypoint. “You know what it takes to get the job done. Do what you’re told.”
Somewhere right after the incline to get into Hollywood Studios I felt better. I knew that this was section was a bit of a false victory, because ahead of me was the long resort sidewalk to get back to Epcot. However, I tried to stay in the moment and just think ahead to the photographer I knew would be in front of Tower of Terror.
After that, the crowds got thicker, louder, and were out there cheering on the back of pack. There was just so much emotional support.
After leaving Hollywood Studios, you continue along the entrance to the park which is just filled to the brim with crowds cheering you on. When I got to the long sidewalk around the hotels, I focused on my intervals and sometimes glanced behind me. The balloon ladies were out of sight. I kept my intervals and eventually got to the boardwalk, which was also filled with a roaring crowd.
I came around to Epcot to even more crowds, and wound around my favorite park of the entire resort. It was filled with so many good memories. I eventually came up to mile 26, and could hear the finish line crowd and festivities in earshot. It was around this time that I switched my playlist to the victory lap song…Opalite, of course! I crossed the finish line, no balloon ladies in sight at all, and was so relieved it was done.
Afterwards, the true struggle began. I cried pretty much for an hour. Cried and cried. Cried from relief, also from discomfort. I had stopped to sit and stretch for a moment, but for some reason a swarm of mosquitoes came after us. We ended up standing up to go line up for photos. I rocked and swayed the entire time, trying to keep moving so that I would not pass out. The dehydration had crept up on me despite the last burst of electrolytes at the end. I felt unwell but could not articulate why. Once I got to the photo station, I still couldn’t stop swaying and crying as Erik placed the medals around my neck. He had to wipe the tears from my face as I bleakly smiled into the camera, hoping that in the next blink of an eye I’d be in bed.
We slowly made our way to the car. Still I could not stop crying and rocking. Quite a few people came up to me to say I did a fantastic job of finishing and that they were proud of me. I must’ve looked awful. We came across a wheelchair but it was on the other side of the security gates. We could not get the wheelchair over, so Erik went to flag down some medical staff. They came right away and wheeled me off to the medical tent. They checked my blood pressure and pulse, which were both very high. They cooled me off, gave me electrolytes and bananas, asked if I got my medals etc. When they cleared me to leave, they drove us out on the golf cart, helped load me into the car, and that was that.
In retrospect, there’s a lot of things I could’ve done differently. None of that is as important as what I can do now and in the future though. I have had plenty of lessons learned in the 14 years I since started running. What’s important now is that I take these lessons and actually do something about them.
I learned later that evening that SSRIs actually make me much more heat sensitive than usual. It now makes a lot of sense why I ran out of hydration so quickly. In retrospect, there’s a lot of things I could’ve done differently. None of that is as important as what I can do now and in the future though. I have had plenty of lessons learned in the 14 years I since started running. What’s important now is that I take these lessons and actually do something about them. When comparing between this and last year’s Dopey, my time was off by 31 seconds.
2026:
416.9 training miles
7:23:31 (16:56 pace)
2025:
588 training miles
7:23:00 (16:55 pace)
Amara in Training 