You have the conditioning of a tri-athlete. You've carefully mapped your route. You have stocks of food, water, oxygen and, most importantly, home-brewed coffee. You're now ready to tackle the South Cull of Mount Everest, that solo trip to the North Pole or, with some luck, you might just survive a weekend with the family at Disneyland.

We’re bombarded by images of happy families frolicking in the Magic Kingdom, carefree under endlessly sunny skies. But trust me; it can be as gruelling as the Ironman (or Ironmouse) Marathon, especially if you have a small child. If you're going to take your five-year-old to Disneyland, there’s a seven-step program you must follow in order to survive.

Hint One: Get in shape

Tarzan's Tree House looks whimsical and delightful until you notice it’s four stories tall and totally devoid of elevators. Going up was bad, but the race down was worse. If you've ever had to do stairs as a punishment in PE, then you'll know what I'm talking about. Then, your offspring may do what my son did: smile delightfully and say: "Let's do that again." Note: there are no oxygen tanks in evidence around this attraction. I suspect it was approved by the experts who allowed Vioxx on the market.

Consider the sheer scale of Disneyland and its next door neighbour, Disney’s California Adventure theme park. The curious part about all this space is you will feel jammed, jostled and generally cramped for space, especially when trying to get from “Tomorrowland” to “Frontier Town.” It’s akin to the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona or, of you get too close to the canal, the “Leap of the Mullet” in Maui. Think of Metrotown on Christmas Eve -- without the charm, of course.

Hint Two: Bring your own food

Since Disneyland appears to be modelled on the old Roman motto of “Panem et circenses,” there’s lots of bread around -- most of it white and covered by mayonnaise. While there's no shortage of eateries, the line ups are long, the food is expensive and in some cases, downright bizarre. Example: the "Six Feet Under," served by a restaurant in the New Orleans section and consisting of a half-dozen drumsticks sticking straight up, feet first, from a bed of mashed potatoes.  Yes, it’s covered by “grave-y,” just to complete the metaphor.

Outside the gates, an array of bakeries and food stores line the strip leading to the park where food is more varied and cheaper. It takes a few minutes out of your day, but less time than it takes to stand in one of the interminable lines that radiate from even the most humble hotdog stand inside Disneyland. It’s pleasant to munch on a picnic lunch in New Orleans Square, down by the river, watching the paddle wheeler go by. Both your stomach and your wallet will thank you and you’ll save valuable time (which will be lost standing in the interminable lines which radiate from even the most humble of washrooms).

Hint Three: Bring your own coffee

If you're a coffee snob who thinks nothing of dropping five bucks for a Vente-sized, double-shot, dark caffeinated beverage, there is, for all intents and purposes, no coffee in Disneyland. Your chances of finding anything remotely drinkable on site are about the same as finding a hamburger stand proudly advertising Alberta beef for sale. The monopoly on "coffee" is owned by Nescafe. This is the equivalent of giving Tylenol to a heroin addict going cold turkey. Caffeine, as we all know, is the sleep-deprived parent's most important food-group. There’s a Starbucks about four long blocks away in one of the hotel complexes. You might want to invest in a thermos while you’re at it.

Hint Four: They say it never rains in southern California...

Well, it does, no matter what Albert Hammond has to say about it. In fact, when we were there around New Year's, it poured. If you don't bring your own raingear, then you'll get soaked buying expensive plastic ponchos from one of the Disney kiosks. (If you bring them home, the closet you dump them in will reek for the half-life of one of the longer-lived radioactive isotopes, so I advise chucking ‘em in the nearest hazardous waste site on the way home – Palo Alto will do nicely).

Also, contrary to all that Eternal Summer nonsense, it can be as cold and damp as the Whalley SkyTrain Station at 6:00 am in November, so don’t make the mistake we made and forget to bring a sweater. Bringing socks is a good idea too. This will save you the embarrassment of buying (and wearing) a pair of pompomed Mickey Mouse socks -- as well as the $12 US they cost. As for affecting that cas’ Californian look by wearing nothing but sandals, forget it: not only will your feet freeze, they’ll get squashed under foot. Fur-lined steel-toed boots, while not as fashionable, are far more functional.

Hint Five: Tickets to ride

As it does in the rest of Arnieland (that’s the state, not the whole country – you’ll have to wait for 2008 for that), money talks. Disneyland is no exception, offering “Parkhopper passes,” which allow you to hop between Disneyland and California Adventure. If you have the greenbacks to spring for a three-day pass, you also get to avoid the huge line-ups at the most popular rides. Punch your pass code into the data terminal in front of the ride you want and you get a time to come back and get in – long before the poor people who could only afford to buy single-day passes make it to the front of the regular line. It’s the equivalent of using your Hummer to butt into the on-ramp leading to Highway 101.

Hint Six: The Best things in life are free

What with the expensive tickets, that stainless steel Starbucks thermos you’ve had to buy and the price of the ponchos (not to mention the airfare), Disneyland is a pricey experience. But the park does provide free shows at abundant small venues and it’s worth taking in the performances. Yes, they’re surreal to most thinking people, but sometimes it's the only way to get the kid to stand still for five minutes. My son especially enjoyed Tommorrowland’s “Buzz Lightyear of Star Command Show” complete with Little Green Men and a battery-powered Zurg. Of course, it meant setting off on the Souvenir Death March to find the latest Buzz Lightyear figure (“The one with the new anti-gravity belt, Daddy!”), but at least I’d had a half an hour to rest my legs.

Hint Seven: Super-size those kiddies

It’s America – everything is bigger. That includes the age of the average tourist. Disneyland is full of young adults in their 20s and 30s with no children. They were probably reliving their childhoods. These kidults actually greeted the guy in the Goofy suit as if he was real and they lined up for hours to get their picture taken with Donald Duck. They also don’t often let real children into the line ahead of them. On occasion, I’d catch some of them looking at me trying to keep up with my child (who, I could tell, they had instantly assessed as being ADHD) and sniffing, and I wished I’d had enough energy to think of something truly cutting and witty to say and I knew if I’d only had a grande latte in my hand, I could have risen to the occasion and said, “Look, who are you judge me when you live in a country where the ideal parent is Homer Simpson or, on a bad day, Ozzy Osbourne –and allows Michael Jackson to procreate without a licence and, er, my son’s not always like this, but…but…but…”

But that is where planning, conditioning and foresight come into play. Forget wishing on a star – take the seven steps to the Magic Kingdom and don’t forget the oxygen.      Don Hauka is a writer, freelance journalist and parent living in New Westminster. His most recent book, McGowan's War (New Star, 2003), attempts to explain the origins of B.C.'s bare-knuckled politics on the gold fields of the Fraser River gold rush.