Run All The States!

I’ve had my share of memorable races — some fun, some less-so — but running a half marathon mid-food-poisoning episode? Sure. Why not. Let’s add that to the resume.

But we’ll get to that part.

Pre-Race: History, Beers, and Presidential Pets

Mid-October brought me to Hartford, Connecticut for some crisp fall running and a dose of New England charm. The weather looked ideal, and I was ready to get my leaf-peep on.

I arrived two days early and immediately went into “walk-everywhere-tourist-mode.” First stop: Bushnell Park, where the majestic Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch towers over the race start area. As I was taking photos, a friendly park guide asked if I wanted to climb it. I didn’t even know that was an option, but obviously: yes. Ninety winding steps later, I had a nice view of downtown and an impromptu history lesson about the momument design, construction, and symbolism.

I wandered the Capitol grounds with its shiny golden dome, strolled Riverfront Plaza, then set up camp at a brewery (sadly, the resident dog was off duty). A trivia night broke out, and on a whim, I joined solo. I ended up winning two rounds — one was on Presidential Pets, so honestly, the rest of the teams never stood a chance.

Museum Hacks & Olive Shirt Regrets

The next day, I hit the Old State House, where the museum staff helpfully advised I start downstairs to avoid a rowdy field trip group of kids. Bless you, kind stranger.

Then I hit the race expo at the XL Center — small but efficient. The half marathon shirt this year was… an olive color that looked like it had been through the laundry with a handful of pocket lint. I’m normally team “all colors have potential,” but this one did not pass the vibe check. So I bought a different shirt from the merch table. Problem solved.

Lunch was a tasty burger, followed by even more city wandering (nearly 20 miles over two days… why am I like this?). I closed out the day with a UConn hockey game. They played kinda sloppy and lost, but I had a blast anyway. Also, $16 tickets two rows from the glass?! Professional sports have ruined my perception of value.

Bonus points for the Hartford Whalers nostalgia hanging around the arena. Let’s bring those jerseys back full-time.

Race Day: Let’s Get Uncomfortable

Race morning arrived, and I felt… good. Weather? Cool and overcast. Mood? Chill. Stomach? Fine. Famous last words.

The start line was right in front of the Capitol, and after the national anthem and the usual pre-race jitters, we were off! The course looped around Bushnell Park, cut through downtown, and then headed west into charming West Hartford neighborhoods. Fall colors were showing off here and there, and even though the crowds were sparse, every spectator, volunteer, and cheering doggo made a difference.

This looks perilous:

Then, halfway through, something felt… off. Nothing major at first — just a slightly uneasy stomach. I figured it was just runner stuff. I grabbed some water at a station, considered stopping at a porta-potty, and then suddenly: projectile regret. The water didn’t even make it halfway down before making a dramatic exit.

“Huh,” I thought. “That’s new.”

I kept moving, of course, but my body was like, “Cool story, sis,” and proceeded to fully betray me. I went full zombie-shuffle. I walked. A lot. I barfed. A lot. (Six times. Yes, I counted. When you reach that number, you start counting.)

I also started cramping — calves, feet, the works. Even chugging electrolytes didn’t help. It was like my body was going through an exorcism, and I was just along for the ride.

Oh, and the course had rolling hills too, but honestly, they were the least of my problems at that point.

We cruised through pretty Elizabeth Park and the Asylum Hill area before returning downtown. Every mile felt like three. I was determined to finish unless they physically removed me via stretcher. (And even then, I would’ve tried to at least crawl across the timing mat.)

Finally, I could see the arch. The finish chute was lined with cheerful spectators and bright autumn mums — which I would’ve appreciated more if I wasn’t actively dying.

Finish Line & Post-Race “Celebration”

I crossed the finish line less-than-triumphantly. I was so ready to be done. I tried to nibble a banana and even dared a tiny cup of post-race chili (???) but my stomach was like, “Ma’am, I will sue.”

Normally I like to bask in the afterparty vibes, soak it all in. This time? Straight to the hotel. I was shivering, achy, and firmly in denial about the state of my digestive system.

On the way out, though, I did hit the PR buzzer — sarcastically, of course — because I did technically set a personal best: most mid-race vomiting.

Smiling despite it all:

Still Went to the Brewery Tho

Despite everything, I was determined to visit Fat Orange Cat Brewing. I have a chonky orange cat of my own (and I like their beer), so it felt like a pilgrimage. I took a Lyft out to East Hampton and arrived at a cozy little barn surrounded by trees, goats, and chickens. Idyllic. Fall magic. Possibly a fever dream.

Most of their beers were high ABV, but I found the lowest one on the menu and sipped it verrrry slowly. No sudden movements. No food. Just me, a patio chair, and a lowkey conversation with some goats.

By the next day, I felt totally fine. So I’m chalking this up to food poisoning. Who knows what caused it — I didn’t eat anything particularly shady. But it made for one hell of a story.

Final Thoughts

• Most directionless: Hartford, please invest in more street signs. I like knowing where I am.
• Most helpful: Stellar race communication — no confusion about where to be or when.
• Most surprising: According to Strava, I set a 2-mile PR on this course. I call shenanigans. Or sympathy algorithm.
• Most offensive air freshener: The Lyft to the brewery. Vanilla scent dialed up to 11. I nearly barfed a seventh time.
• Biggest oops: They printed the wrong date on the back of the medal, but handed out little plaques to stick over it. Honestly, I wouldn’t have noticed — I was too busy keeping my insides inside.