I can think of a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t run the Dopey Challenge.
The training. Before you even run the challenge, you need to prepare. This challenge has you running a 5k, 10k, Half Marathon, and Marathon over 4 days.
The wake-ups. They’re brutal and it’s definitely part of the challenge. If Disney is to run tons of people through it’s parks, it usually likes to do it BEFORE the day starts. Therefore, each run will usually start sometime between 4:30 and 5:30 in the morning. So you better be up and fed by 2 am or running any distance will be tough.
The sheer mileage on your feet, going in one direction, running all through that early morning eerie feeling, because…. Florida. When I ran a marathon in 2023, I ran 470 miles in 2022, training for it. It’s going to be a lot of running on back-to-back-to-back-to-back days. Recovery will be essential.
Race days are glorious; everyone is cheering. It’s the ramp-up that’s rigorous.
Then you see how it impacts the family.
Good luck telling my kids that “recovery is essential”.
They’ll lovingly say, “Get up and chase me, Daddy.”
Those long runs, when you come home at 9 after being out (by your own choice) since 5 am, and then the subsequent melting that occurs after enduring a casual 18 miles on a Sunday – all to be witnessed by your loved ones.
They would love nothing more than NOT to have a moaning lump of soarness half ass tagging along, because we can’t move too fast.
It’s not easy on them either, yet they are wildly supportive.
Then I think about cancer patients.
They are constantly running a marathon they didn’t sign up for.
The Dr appts, the infusion appointments, the poking and proding, the worrying, the looks at the grocery store, all of it. It sucks.
Their relentless fight is very inspiring to me. They don’t have a choice but to fight. No complaining, just grin and bear it.
Pure grit.
It’s been almost a year since I lost my Dad, and he found his peace.
My Dad was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer in the stomach, liver, and esophagus in June of 2022.
Over the next 23 months, I saw him go from patient to prisoner.
The man who used to light up the room with his laugh was struggling to eat, drink, or do anything else. He would tell me he felt he looked like a concentration camp prisoner. When I bathed him, I could see why.
The man who I saw as the most consistent thing in my life was suddenly fading way before my eyes. His strength and will were taken from him without his consent. It was not without a fight, either. He gave it all he could
My Dad never wanted to talk about the end. He refused to look that way. He always felt that a miracle would cure him or that he’d beat this til the end.
Patience was his favorite virtue. His consistency was his strength. Like a train, he was always full steam ahead with little regard for obstacles.
During those last months, I made it a point to spend every moment I could with him.
One trip down, I set out to surprise him in Miami. He was sitting on the front porch when I pulled up, blaring RedBone’s “Come and Get Your Love.” I proceeded to rock his walkway with some moves before giving him a big kiss. I still have his smile pasted in my memory; I’ll hold on to it forever.
I cherish the time we spent together during his final weeks. I got to hear him laugh and cry as he told his story growing up, fleeing a communist Cuba without his parents for 5 years.
He had to fight just to keep living back then. He had been there before. I saw him fight constantly. Early in his fight, I saw him don a cowboy hat. The hat signified my grandfather, the strongest man he knew. He felt strong in it. I do, too. Life is a trip.
While he’s found his peace, and I’m grateful he’s no longer fighting, I think about all those who still are. Every day they wake up is an opportunity to rise to the occasion. Cancer Patients are the definition of strong; they fight for what they love daily—the ability to live.
Their willingness to continue inspires me to do this challenge in my Dad’s honor. I must fundraise to earn my spot before I can run for the American Cancer Society team. Whatever is not raised, I’ll cover myself. I’m grateful for whatever you can donate. I appreciate all forms of support, anything to help me honor those who are still fighting their fights. They are truly inspirational.
On January 8 – 11, 2026, I’ll complete all 48.6 miles of the Dopey Challenge in honor of my hero, Carlos Hernandez. The man who always preached and later proved to me…
“A quitter never wins and a winner never quits.”
-Dad
CLICK THE LINK BELOW TO MAKE A DONATION
http://main.acsevents.org/goto/DopeyforDad
