Run All The States!

Achievement unlocked: my first-ever destination race! My close friend T lives in the Tahoe area and casually dropped this gorgeous half marathon into the group chat like, “Hey, wanna come suffer at altitude but with views?” Naturally, Cara and I said yes and turned it into an impromptu vacation filled with pine trees, glitter signs, and mild oxygen deprivation. Purple mountain majesties? Sign me up.

Let’s talk altitude. Cara and I attempted a “warm-up” run a few days beforehand. I say “run” loosely — it was mostly gasping, wheezing, and one very necessary Slurpee break. The mountain air hit us like, “Welcome to 6,000 feet, now suffer.” Honestly, I was concerned I’d aged 40 years in a single uphill stretch. My poor little sea-level asthmatic lungs were not amused.

Also, behold the mighty pinecones of the West:

Pre-race communication was… hmm, how shall I put this? Vibes-based. Lacking. We weren’t 100% sure where the finish line was, which shuttle to take, whether gear check existed, or if we’d be left to forage for water in the woods like dehydrated squirrels. T called it typical “Lake Flake” energy, which feels accurate. Miraculously, we made it to the starting line at Inspiration Point — and it absolutely lived up to the name.

Sunrise over Emerald Bay = nature’s apology for all the chaos.

Race started with a literal rifle blast (casual), and off we went down four glorious miles of winding, quad-shattering descent. It was like running through a postcard—towering trees, crisp air, and that jewel-toned lake winking at us from between the cliffs. My lungs were crying, but my eyes were rejoicing.

Somewhere in the middle, we passed through a state park where an Oktoberfest event was being set up. Obviously, we paused for a photo op with an absurdly large beer stein. Because hydration, obviously.

Then things got weird.

We entered a legit construction zone — jackhammers, dump trucks, cones, dudes in hard hats looking very confused to see runners trotting by. Sidewalks were blocked. Traffic was uncomfortably close. I half expected someone to hand me a wrench and put me to work. How was this not rerouted? Should we have neon safety vests for this? I had so many questions.

Around this point, we noticed something unsettling: where did everyone go? No runners. No mile markers. No course marshals. Just us, dodging potholes, and questioning if we were somehow hopelessly off-course.” We eventually stopped at a gas station to buy water because, surprise, aid stations were also a little MIA. Tahoe, sweetie… get it together.

But then! A car honked, someone yelled “WOO!” — and it was T, headed to the finish line. Hope restored. She later told us the only way she found the finish area was by following other runners since info for spectators was also… sparse. Truly a team effort.

T greeted us waving Cara’s handmade glitter sign from a previous race (shipped from Michigan because we are nothing if not theatrical). We cheesed for photos, recreated our classic “senior pic” poses, and basked in the chaotic beauty of it all.

Senior pic, but make it scenic:

Look, lots of people ran faster, but I’d bet good money no one had more fun than we did. Would I run this race again? Maybe… if they patch a few of the, uh, logistical potholes. But would I come back to Tahoe for the views, the vibes, and a bestie-filled adventure? In a heartbeat.

Random musings from the mountain:

• Best in show: Lake Tahoe. Absolute stunner. The mountains. The sunrise. The majesty.
• Biggest “oh sh*t” moment: Running along a 2-lane mountain road with no guardrails and 1,000-foot drop-offs. Love that for my fear of heights!
• Worst design crime: Comic Sans. On medals, bibs, signage — everywhere. Because nothing says “We’re a legitimate event” like a typeface for a kid’s science project.
• Surprise win: Free race photos! Digital and prints. (Comic Sans not included.)
• Best brunch decision: Vegan French toast and mimosas at Ernie’s. Across the street from a place named Bert’s. Yes, really.
• Post-race energy: The race director sent a follow-up email admitting to “some issues.” Bold understatement, but we love accountability.