Speedy Cheese vs. 26.2 Miles of Disney Chaos

A very honest, slightly sleep-deprived recap

The day began at 2:30AM, which is not a real time and should not legally exist. Extra rude points were awarded when I discovered no coffee was ready in the lobby. Crimes were committed. After standing around questioning my life choices, we waited for a bus (because of course), eventually rolled into the staging area, and—credit where credit is due—had plenty of time for bag drop and bathrooms. A rare logistical win.

Then came my first plot twist: I left my handheld on the door hook like an absolute amateur. Cue me pleading through a closed bathroom door like a raccoon locked out of a dumpster. Miraculously, a kind soul heard my distress and handed it back. Crisis averted. Hydration restored. Faith in humanity renewed.

The 4:30AM start arrived aggressively early. I was technically upright but spiritually asleep. I left Eric in the corral so I could push up, sparing me the first-mile slalom of human traffic cones. Selfish? Maybe. Strategic? Absolutely.

Early magic came fast—the Tweedles with no line. A gift. Legs felt shockingly good, which was suspicious but welcomed. Unfortunately, the course leaned hard into parking lot aesthetics, starting with a deeply weird loop in the Magic Kingdom lot that screamed “urban planning experiment.” The sun didn’t rise until I cleared Animal Kingdom, just in time to head toward the Blizzard Beach parking lot, which is exactly as joyful as it sounds.

That said—I nearly clean-swept the character stops, and I regret nothing. While the marathon didn’t quite lean into the Reluctant Dragon theme the way the Half fully committed to “LOVE,” the vibes were still elite. And then—salvation—the Star Wars mile. Always my favorite. Pew pew. Galactic joy. Zero notes. If this were the whole race, I’d sign a lifetime contract.

The back half delivered the real magic: seeing K and Sara at the Boardwalk gave me a surge of pure serotonin, and Kelly and Kathy caught me literally in the final moments of the marathon—perfect timing, flawless execution.

I crossed the line with a PR, a ridiculous grin, and the deep satisfaction of knowing I absolutely wrung every ounce of joy out of this race.

Final verdict:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆
9/10. Would love fewer parking lots. But if runDisney keeps the Battle of Endor, we’re square.

—Speedy Cheese 🧀✨

Boston Marathon 2025 Recap: A Tragi-Comedy in 26.2 Acts

Ah yes, Boston. The world’s oldest marathon, the ultimate proving ground, and the only race where the most intense drama of the day was my lip balm situation.

Let’s rewind. I left my ChapStick in the car. A rookie slip-up that spiraled into a full-blown emergency by sunrise. The Boston Common was bustling with runners, volunteers, and… not a single open convenience store in sight. Not exactly optimal mission prep for an Iron Force 99 operative.

Then came the bus ride to Hopkinton—also known as “Lauren chaperones a field trip of 3-hour marathoners.” I was the elder on board, surrounded by fresh-legged youth discussing their speed workouts and PR goals like they were ordering Starbucks. Meanwhile, I was wondering if anyone else felt like the chaperone on a field trip to Hopkinton, looking at all these youngins desperately clinging to their hydration strategy and sense of self.

A car accident one mile from the Hopkinton exit had us trapped in a bus standstill. Eric, scheduled to arrive an hour after me, somehow beat me to the start village. I don’t know what hyperdrive he used, but I was jealous of the hunk of junk he rode in on.

And then—the moment of salvation.
I arrived in Hopkinton and made a beeline for the medical tent, where the real MVPs live. I walked in on the verge of lip deterioration, and they handed me lip balm like it was Olympic gold. Instant relief. The tent deserves its own mile marker. Possibly its own float in next year’s parade. Iron Force 99 crisis: neutralized.

Once I finally made it off the bus, the porta-potty lines were next level. I had to channel my inner Usain Bolt just to get in, out, and to my corral without wetting my bib. Honestly, it was a race within a race. Medal-worthy. Mission: barely accomplished.

The start? Wave 2, Corral 7: where the start of the Boston Marathon is so chill you don’t even know it’s started until “START” is suddenly under your feet. A vibe, but not a dramatic one.

First few miles felt great. Saw Kathryn, Kelly, Kathy, and John in Ashland and got a boost of little surge of joy (and endorphins). Then came that Nike sign: “You’ve already run half a half marathon!” Cool. Nothing like corporate math to remind you you’re only 6.55 miles into a 26.2-mile journey.

Missed my Wellesley cheer squad due to MBTA (May Be There, Actually) shenanigans, but made up for it by GoPro-ing the scream tunnel for the first time. Absolute chaos. Kisses flying everywhere. Signs that read “Kiss me, I’m majoring in Drama.” I laughed so hard I think I startled the runners around me.

Around Newton, September by Earth, Wind & Fire blasted through a speaker and I thought the universe was with me, having willed the song for the Guardians ride just a few months ago. Then the hills reminded me that nostalgia is no match for lactic acid. I got humbled hard.

The Boston College Barbies and Kens were out in force, cheering with unmatched enthusiasm. I, of course, forgot to turn on the GoPro. It’s fine. I was too busy trying to keep my legs from filing for emancipation.

Brookline was where I had to dig. Deep. Like, find-your-inner-rebel-and-motivate-yourself-to-fly-into-the-Death Star deep. This was the mission zone where grit meets purpose and your legs stop cooperating around mile 23.

And when I turned onto Hereford, it hit me: time didn’t matter. Pace didn’t matter. What mattered was being there. Being present. Being enough.

Every finish—no matter what time—is enough.
Because Iron Force 99 doesn’t just train for performance. We train for the fight. For the journey. For the moments that remind us why we show up in the first place.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy a lifetime supply of lip balm.

Soft Sand, Ladders & Magic of the Antelope Canyon 70K

Some races test your endurance. Others test your patience. And then there’s the Antelope Canyon 70K, which tests your ability to climb an insane number of ladders while covered in sand, wondering how you got here in the first place.

Like any good ultra, it all started with packet pick-up and the sacred ritual of drop bag prep.

Packet Pickup: Where Self-Control Goes to Die

Packet pickup. A simple, straightforward process, right? Nope.

First, I grabbed the bib — OMG… the bib!

When I saw my number, I had to do a double take. It was pretty much my birthday… BACKWARDS for a race on my birthday weekend. If that’s not the universe winking at me and saying, “You’re about to have an epic day,” I don’t know what is. It was basically a celestial high-five.

I walked in with the intention of grabbing my bib and getting out. But the moment I stepped on the grass of the Page Sports Complex, I slid into my normal Gizmo-fed-after-midnight mode and became a gear-buying gremlin. Suddenly, I needed another hoodie (because you can never have too many), a commemorative race shirt with my name on it (because what if I regret not getting it?!), and a crew neck sweatshirt because they didn’t have what I really wanted (a long-sleeved t-shirt).

So, with my arms full of unnecessary but essential race swag and my cosmically-aligned bib in hand, I knew—this race was going to be legendary.

Drop Bag Mastery

I meticulously packed my bags with the precision of an elite squad member—socks, snacks, electrolytes, and emergency morale boosters (aka candy – and because Easter was the next holiday corporate America exploits, Cadbury Mini Eggs and Reese’s Eggs were available – YAAASSSS!!!!). Knotted, loaded, and ready for whatever the desert threw at me.

And to top it all off? Pancakes for dinner. Because if I was going to top off my glycogen stores, I was going to do it properly.

The Early Bird Gets the Furthest Parking Spot

The 3 AM wake-up was brutal, but I rolled out of bed like a dedicated trooper, fueled by sheer determination (and maybe a little panic about being late). Even with the groggy shuffle to get ready, I still made it out the door right on time, feeling smug about my punctuality.

But the race had other plans.

Despite my elite-level time management, I was promptly directed to the furthest parking lot known to mankind. Like, was this even in the same state? I mean, Utah really is right there! It felt like they took one look at me and said, “Ah yes, this one’s doing the 70K but not the 50-mile event. Let’s give her a bonus warm-up.” So, there I was, hiking before the race even started, already questioning my life choices but too committed to turn back.

At least I had plenty of time to review my race strategy… you know, during my pre-race trek to the actual start line.

Into the Wild: The First Miles

The race started. I set off, embracing the early miles, not racing the race, just vibing with the desert. Everyone was wogging along with their headlamps. The terrain was most likely stunning, but it was still dark. The soft sand you could see with your headlamp was, well, soft… and red. The rocks you could see while climbing up them on your hands and knees were sparkly, and for a moment, I thought, Hey, this isn’t so bad!

Running into the first slot canyon in the dark felt like dropping into a covert Iron Force 99 night op—except instead of tactical gear, we were armed with headlamps and sheer determination. Dust kicked up with every step, the air thick with the sound of footfalls and steady breathing. For a moment, it was hard to tell if we were racing or scouting enemy territory. And with the eerie silence of the canyon filled with so many runners, I half-expected Tusken Raiders to pop out from behind the rock formations, waving gaffi sticks and making that terrifying battle cry. One thing was clear—there was no turning back. The mission? Keep moving forward and hope the Sand People don’t ride single file to ambush us.

As the sun rose, we approached Sand Dune Canyon. The walls of Sand Dune Slot Canyon twisted and curved around me, glowing with that perfect morning desert light. Every step felt like my legs were auditioning for a slow-motion action sequence, sinking just enough to make me realize that it’s been 13 miles of soft sand already.

Then the ladders started.

Ladders. So Many Ladders.

Look, I expected some climbing, but nobody warned me this would be a multi-level obstacle course designed by a ladder enthusiast on a mission. Each one was a new challenge—some short and sassy, some long and taunting, and some appearing out of nowhere like, Surprise! Time to ascend (or descend)!

At some point, I stopped counting. The ladders were inevitable. I accepted my fate.

And just when I thought I had conquered the vertical battlefield and reached the top—victorious, ready to bask in my elevation—the canyon had other plans. The real fun was just beginning. Suddenly, the climb gave way to narrow, twisting rock corridors where the only way forward was to turn sideways, suck in, and slither through like a determined desert snake. There was no dignity, only strategy. Arms up? Arms down? One foot at a time? At this point, I was just in awe of the canyon’s beauty and trying to not get wedged like an overconfident piece of luggage.

But hey, this is Iron Force 99 territory. Adapt, move, and embrace the madness. Because the only way out? Keep going.

The Real Fun: Aid Station 2 Through 5

After realizing I had unknowingly signed up for a running-climbing hybrid sport, I fully committed to the experience. And let me tell you—aid stations 2 through 5 were absolute paradise.

Each one was an oasis in the desert, stocked with fuel, friendly faces, and the kind of snacks that instantly restore your will to live. I took my time, soaked in the vibes, changed my socks at every opportunity and enjoyed the journey rather than my usual M.O., obsessing over pace.

Horseshoe Bend: Not Sand Dune Canyon, But Still Amazing

This was an entirely different kind of jaw-dropping beauty—a sweeping, panoramic view that looks like it was hand-painted by the soft sand goddess herself. The sheer scale of it messes with your brain. The terrain shifts, the energy changes, but the magic? Still there. Every step along the rim felt like moving through a postcard—if postcards came with Mile 40 legs and a heart full of adventure.

The Grand Finale: Just Enjoying It

Some races are about pushing limits. This one? This one was about embracing the adventure. I didn’t chase a time. I didn’t stress the details. I just ran, climbed, laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and soaked in every wild, sandy, ladder-filled moment.

Antelope Canyon 70K? Absolutely bananas. 10/10. Would climb all the ladders again.

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