Run All The States!

A couple years after checking off North Dakota in Fargo, I figured it was time to complete the southern sibling. But Mother Nature wasn’t exactly on board with my travel plans — two days of heavy thunderstorms and flooding at home meant flight chaos. When I got to Detroit Metro Airport, it looked like a disaster scene straight out of a low-budget apocalypse movie.

But I made it — and so did my luggage, which felt like a win.

After a week of 100-degree scorchers, Sioux Falls finally cooled down for race weekend. We’re talking actual weather fit for humans: sunny, highs in the 80s, lows in the 60s. The 7 a.m. start time meant we’d mostly dodge the worst of the heat. Mostly.

I stayed downtown and did my usual exploratory wander. That’s when I stumbled upon a place of pure magic: a cat café. How did I miss this in my pre-race research?! Tortie kittens in the window nearly made me faint from cute overload. Sadly, they were closed for the day, but I immediately made a mental note to return — because obviously.

Later, while sipping a flight at Remedy Brewing, I spotted yet another beacon of joy: a poster advertising a “Woofstock” event the next day. Dogs, beer, sunshine? My personal holy trinity.

Buoyed by the promise of an animal-filled weekend, I took a leisurely stroll through Falls Park. It was sunny, scenic, and peaceful… until the unmistakable stench of sulfur smacked me in the face. Turns out, the not-so-pleasant aroma wasn’t Mother Nature’s doing, but courtesy of the nearby Smithfield plant. When the wind shifts just right? You get Eau de Hot Dog Factory. Mmm.

Peace, Love, and Paw Prints

Naturally, I booked time at Cattitude Café first thing the next morning. The experience delivered: loads of playful and lovey cats, including one overly confident kitten who stuck his entire face into my coffee like a venture capitalist closing a deal. He immediately regretted it and did the feline equivalent of yelling “BLEH!” while looking deeply betrayed. Instant friendship.

Getting to the race expo was… a process. No public transit, no shuttles, and the expo was conveniently located just this side of the moon. I sighed and summoned a Lyft, and only later learned that race-day pickup was an option — not that the organizers ever mentioned that anywhere. But hey, I got a South Dakota–shaped 13.1 sticker and a very modest expo experience, so let’s call it a wash.

Afterward, I returned to Remedy for Woofstock (yes, it’s still funny), where the brewery had been transformed into a joyful, chaotic mess of floppy ears, wiggly butts, and summer vibes. It was heaven — except for the poor pups stationed next to the group of kids playing giant Jenga. Every time the blocks came crashing down, dogs (and, let’s be honest, I) jumped out of our skins.

Dinner was veggie pizza with chicken (balance!) and an early night in.

Crunchy Knees and Cornhole Dreams

I’d scheduled a 6 a.m. Lyft for the 2-mile trip to the start line. Another hotel guest, much smarter than me, asked the front desk if the airport shuttle driver could take her. I respect her hustle. I also deeply resented having already pre-paid for my ride like a fool. Oh well.

Race morning was a dream — 55 degrees, clear skies, barely a breeze. About 2,000 runners gathered in the parking lot by the Howard Wood stadium. The start was chill and low-key. We’d finish inside the stadium with a lap around the track, which felt very collegiate and cool.

It was officially go time, and the first stretch took us through some parks and sleepy boulevards as the sun came up. Neighborhood spectators were out in force, including one guy in a full referee uniform who somehow teleported to like five different places along the course. The true MVP of the sidelines.

We crossed Covell Lake and wound our way downtown, where I saw a kid handing out… beanbags? Yep. There was a full-blown cornhole setup mid-course. You could toss a beanbag while running. It was the most aggressively Midwest thing I’ve ever seen, and I loved it. Naturally, I overshot the toss. Graceful as always.

We looped around Falls Park (still smelled like boiled eggs and regret), then onto the paved pathways of the Greenway Trail along the Big Sioux River. This stretch was shaded and beautiful and the kind of place where you almost forget you’re sweating profusely in the summer heat.

Around this midway point, my right knee started filing formal complaints. It got crunchy. Not like “snap, crackle, pop” cute — more like “this joint is on strike.” So the back half of the race became a classy run/walk shuffle powered by determination, stubbornness, and the occasional string of muttered curse words. Somehow, the miles went by.

I thought I missed mile 12, but no. It was just… late. When it finally showed up, I audibly sighed “Are you kidding me?!” at no one in particular. Okay, there may have been a curse word or two in there… sorry nearby children. I feel for the pacers trying to hit their marks on a course that decided to be extra.

The final stretch looped back to the stadium track. As I approached the last turn, a volunteer shouted “LOVE THE SPARKLY HEADBAND!” and that gave me the burst I needed to survive the final 200 meters.

The medal was… fine. If you looked at it and thought “that sure is a medal,” you wouldn’t be wrong. Look, I’m not saying I expect a masterpiece, but this put the “meh” in “medal.”

There were no shuttles back and no buses running on Sunday, so I walked the two miles — primarily because I was tired of paying for Lyfts — back to my hotel like a post-race pioneer. Good news: walking didn’t hurt my crunchy knee. Small victory!

Back at the hotel, I inhaled my leftover pizza like a raccoon in a dumpster, took a glorious shower-nap combo, and capped the trip off with a flight of crisp victory beers near the (still smelly) Falls Park. Worth it on a wonderfully summer day.

That’s a wrap on the Dakotas. Sioux Falls delivered a quirky, wonderful, and uniquely Midwestern race weekend — crunchy knee and all.

Best in Show (and Other Random Honors)

• Best out of context overheard: “Did you lose your banana partner?” (???)
• Best sign: “Hurdle the Weak. Trample the Dead.” (So metal)
• Best post-race treat: Ice-cold cans of Coke. Truly elite recovery fuel.
• Pup support highlight: A spectator had a horn, and after each toot, their pup howled along.