Olaf a minute on a
PAULA RADCLIFFE, world record holder for the women’s marathon and ambassador for the Disneyland Paris Magic Run Weekend, is staring at me with amusement and incredulity.
I’m painting a vivid mental image of the costume I’m wearing tomorrow for my first half marathon.
I have upcycled an old Christmas outfit with foam-filled fake legs to create the illusion of cowboy Woody from the Toy Story films, riding on the shoulders of Olaf from Frozen.
“Is he a waterproof snowman?” Radcliffe asks, noting that rain is forecast for the 7am start of the half marathon, which winds through two Disney theme parks and the surrounding countryside of Marnela-Vallee. “He might melt,” she giggles.
If I wasn’t already thrumming with beginner’s nerves after five weeks of training, I am now.
I’ve completed 10km runs before, so entering the Disneyland Paris Val d’Europe Half Marathon is a logical next step towards tackling a full marathon before my body clock chimes 50. But having left it a bit late in the day to begin a sensible training plan, the pressure is on.
Under French law, foreign runners must provide a medical certificate, dated and signed by a GP, to confirm they are fit to participate. This is my first hurdle.
I’m given a clean bill of health by the GP after an
8km run and upload my signed medical certificate for verification. Preregistration requires an expected finish time. I err towards three hours.
I increase my morning runs to 10km and need to test the costume for comfort and durability. Before dawn breaks, I arrive at my local gym and shimmy into my regalia. A clearly confused man freezes, mid-arm curl, as I trot on the treadmill.
“Half-marathon... fancy dress,” I stutter, meeting his pitying gaze in the mirror. Over the next 45 minutes, it becomes evident that the costume’s low-slung trousers will restrict my stride and I’ll have to reduce my normal 9kph pace. Blissfully, there’s no chafing.
I’ve experienced some sharp stabbing pains and am mindful of muscle soreness as I Runners passing over the drawbridge of the Sleeping Beauty Castle in this year’s Disneyland Paris Val d’Europe Half Marathon Paula Radcliffe was on hand to inspire the runners
slippery conditions. Cast members flank the route, cheering loudly, and I can’t stop grinning. Shortly after the 1km marker, the downpour subsides and I queue for my first photographic meet and greet with Hades from Hercules, flanked by his diabolical minions Pain and Panic.
It takes less than 10 minutes for my unflattering close-up.
Two further character encounters – a fabulously fierce Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty and The Sheriff Of Nottingham and King John from Robin Hood – bookmark a comfortable opening 7km, which includes a trot over the drawbridge of the 167ft high Sleeping Beauty Castle.
At water stations, I take on just enough fluid to replace what I’m furiously sweating out. As we pass the 8km marker, the familiar geography of the parks is replaced by the steadily inclining asphalt of Boulevard de l’Europe, which shepherds us into the villages of Magny-le-Hongre.
My spirits are repeatedly buoyed by cheers for Olaf and Woody as spectators cackle at my costume, which feels heavier with each lolloping stride.
The route doubles back shortly after 14km and I take a greedy mouthful of power bar as staccato bursts of pain scream in my hips like a pair of angry toddlers. Somewhere between the 18km and 19km markers, which skirt Lake Buena Vista, my right leg cramps violently. I hobble inelegantly, hoping to walk off the agonising tension.
My calf muscle eventually relaxes and I return to an awkward gait for the final stretch back into the Studios Park, where I amble over the finish line, grinning deliriously as I bow my head to accept a finishers’ medal.
The next 10 minutes are an adrenaline-fuelled blur, congratulatory hugs, a hastily gobbled banana, a live telephone interview with BBC radio.
I shuffle stiffly back to the hotel. I run a bath and swirl in Epsom salts.
As I gingerly lower myself into the steaming water, I glimpse the lifeless puddle of my costume on the tiled floor. Olaf stares up at me with a reassuring smile, directing my gaze to tutu-clad hippopotamus ballerinas from Fantasia on the bathroom tiles.
The searing heat is delicious and I contentedly close my eyes to let my achievement soak into every pore.