Run All The States!

To wrap up my 2024 race travel season, I headed to the middle of the country — the geographic belly button of America — for the Des Moines Half Marathon. The land of corn, kindness, and… suspicious sausages? (I’ll explain later)

The weather: absolutely beautiful. Mid-to-upper 70s all weekend with plentiful sunshine. There would be a 55-75 degree swing on race day — so it was gonna feel toasty in the later miles — but I couldn’t be mad about all that golden sunshine.

After checking into my hotel, I made a beeline for the Blank Park Zoo — because nothing says “race weekend prep” like admiring animals who sleep 20 hours a day. The zoo was decked out for Halloween with adorable dinosaur decorations. Not spooky. Just aggressively cute, like Lisa Frank opened a Spirit Halloween.

The otters were MIA — which, frankly, is quite rude when you have out-of-town guests hoping to admire your wiggly water antics. BUT, both red pandas were out and thriving, frolicking between their indoor and outdoor habitats. Delightful. Unlike Fargo, there was no red panda meet-and-greet, but I made do with squeals of joy from a respectful distance.

Also spotted: a tiger pacing dramatically near a glass viewing area where a fake Jeep was parked. Kids were climbing in to pretend-drive while the tiger lurked menacingly behind them. They were clueless. Their parents gleefully pointed it out like, “Honey, look! You’re about to get mauled!” Ah yes. Family memories.

Expo Adventures & A Suspicious Sausage

After the zoo, I rolled on over to the modest outdoor expo at Cowles Commons. It was vibrant, breezy, and refreshingly free of people trying to sell me new gutters or siding. Instead, just running gear, recovery tools, and friendly energy.

I found a Brooks shirt covered in cute dogs. Did I need another running shirt? Absolutely not. Did I buy it anyway? Yes, I did.

Race swag included a sleek black windbreaker for half marathoners (marathoners got a red puffer jacket), which was a fun and useful change from a traditional race tech shirt. Will it get me to run in the rain? I’m bumping my odds from 10% to 11%.

But the real star of Friday — and possibly the entire weekend — was a lonely, half-eaten sausage link just hanging out on the Locust Street Bridge. I passed it on my way back from the expo, and it looked like it had been there a while. Like it had seen things. Like it had a past.

Every day I checked on it. Every day it remained. I quietly hoped it would be preserved in the Iowa State Museum someday. #MeatWatch2024

Golden Hour, Final Destination, and the Farmers Market That Ate Des Moines

I wandered around the Capitol during golden hour, soaking up the view of its gleaming dome and the city skyline glowing like a Midwestern postcard. Afterward, I meandered back downtown and hit up Hy-Vee for some groceries — because my running addiction isn’t cheap, dining out can get pricey… and sometimes Pop-Tarts are what the athlete’s body just needs.

Back at the hotel, I intended to get a good night’s sleep, but the universe had other plans: a Final Destination marathon was airing on TV, and I was sucked in to this spooky-season essential. Our entire generation is permanently scarred — and blessed — by the knowledge that you never, ever drive behind a logging truck. That’s not trauma, that’s safety education. 
The next morning, I explored the famed Des Moines Farmers Market. I thought I was prepared. I was not. This thing was massive — it stretched for blocks in every direction. You could get kettle corn, baked goods, hot dogs, plants, jewelry, breakfast burritos, Halloween goods, maybe a new identity? It had everything.

There were also dogs — so many dogs! They were all weirdly well-behaved considering the amount of food everywhere. One vendor even had a ball pit for dogs set up out front. The dogs were a little suspicious. Rightfully so, but I was hoping to see some play in it.

Afterwards, I strolled through Pappajohn Sculpture Park, which features works by Keith Haring, Robert Indiana, and a very large red thing that was either a Mark di Suvero sculpture or a jungle gym for daring adults. I think one piece was missing or on vacation, because there was just a lone slab where the guide said a colorful glass pavilion should be. Art mystery? Vandalism? Ghost sculpture?

Brunch was blueberry pancakes and a light lager at Walnut, a combo that screams “breakfast of champions.” Then a trip to the botanical garden, a peek at the race start/finish setup (aah, it’s happening!!!), and finally dinner (veggie pizza with chicken, for balance). No Final Destination marathon that night — just me, carbs, and dreams of finish lines.

Race Day: Sausage Still There. Legs? TBD.


Race morning dawned in the mid-50s with blue skies, crisp air, and a crowd vibe I would describe as “excited with a splash of mild panic.” I walked to the start area with the sleepy optimism of someone who hadn’t yet remembered what miles 9 through 12 can feel like.

Pre-race highlight: a woman yelling into her phone trying to find her mom.


Runner: “I can’t find you”
Mom, helpfully: “I’m on Court Street”
Runner, exasperated: “MOM. EVERYONE is on Court.”

I mean, she had a point — everything was happening on Court Street. The start village, the corrals, the great port-a-potty pilgrimage of 2024… all of it. I can only hope she and her mom successfully reunited amidst the swirling chaos of moisture-wicking gear and nervous energy.

We listened to a Jimi Hendrix-style version of the national anthem. It may have been a live guitarist, a recording, a hologram, or Jimi’s ghost. I had no sightline to the stage, so I can’t be sure. Whatever it was, it shredded.

We took off from in front of the Polk County Historic Courthouse and swiftly turned around to head east across the bridge — yes, the sausage was STILL THERE — and climbed steadily toward the Capitol. My legs already had questions, but I ignored them.

The Middle Miles: Hills, Hype, and Questionable GU
Around mile 3, we hit a long, gradual uphill that whispered, “You trained for this,” while my calves screamed, “Did we though??” We passed the sculpture park again, and then the marathoners split off, possibly never to be seen again.

Miles 6 through 9 took us off the streets and into the great outdoors — tree-lined trails, leafy parks, and a peaceful hush that was either very calming or mildly haunted, depending on your perspective. At one point we ran through a short pedestrian tunnel in Water Works Park that featured a colorful light show. It felt like we stumbled into a mini rave for early-morning joggers. No glow sticks, sadly.

The crowd support was top-notch. Tons of cheers, encouraging signs, high-fiving kids, and many Very Good Dogs available for mid-race pets. One tiny hype girl stole the show by shouting “I BELIEVE IN YOU!” at every runner. Thank you for that boost. If she ever starts a motivational podcast, I will subscribe immediately.

As a big fan of both The Simpsons and cats, I loved this spin on the “Do It for Her” sign. I learned that this cat is named Mochi. 12/10 very supportive furry friend.

Around mile 8, I took my GU and was greeted with a deeply suspicious brown goo. Cherry Lime, I’m pretty sure, is not supposed to be brown. My brain briefly flashed back to pre-trip packing when I looked at the expiration date and thought, “Eh, it’ll be fine.” Reader, it was not fine. Regret-flavored GU: do not recommend.

Still grimacing from that foul taste, I powered through Gray’s Lake — a pretty stretch with park views and a hint of breeze — then over a couple bridges and past Principal Park. There was an awkward and short out-and-back where SingleSpeed Brewing was handing out little cups of beer. It felt like the universe was offering a peace treaty after that traumatic GU. I mentally added this brewery to my post-race “places to refuel like a champion” list.

The temperatures had been steadily climbing, and in these final miles I was definitely feeling it. The route had been fun and varied — flying through downtown stretches, parks, scenic bridges — but now I was dragging. At long last, I hit Court Street again (MOM! EVERYONE’S STILL ON COURT!) and sprinted to the finish, sweaty and triumphant. State #35 complete!

Half Marathon, Full Appetite

Somehow, I ended up with four drinks in my hands at once: water, Body Armor, Coke Zero, and beer. I don’t even remember saying yes to most of them. An expo volunteer must’ve seen me struggling and handed me a bag so I could carry it all, and honestly? That person is my new emergency contact.

There were no chips at the finish line. I repeat: No chips. There was pizza, there was fruit… but my soul wanted salty crunch, and it was denied. Alas.

After a shower, a light coma nap, and inhaling the rest of my leftover pancakes and pizza like a raccoon with a vendetta, I set off for more downtown wandering and a mini brewery crawl. First stop: a victory pint at SingleSpeed Brewing to honor the sacred post-race beer promise. Later, I sampled a tasting flight at Big Grove, because hydration comes in many forms. I paired it with a tasty burger because the runger had hit with a vengeance. Eventually, I wandered back to my hotel, content yet slightly sore.

Des Moines, you were charming, friendly, sneakily hilly, and delightfully carb-filled. And you had the right amount of sausage-mystery for my weird amusement. Hopefully, the next time I visit, the otters will have decided I’m finally worthy of their presence.

Stray Corn Kernels of Note


• Most political drama setting: Golden hour at the Capitol, where I considered running for Corn Commissioner.
• Most elite race fuel (but not for me): BBQ brisket at mile 20 for marathoners.
• Most deserted: A relay exchange zone that was just… empty. Like a running-themed horror movie.
• Least pleasant: A sulfur stench along the Raccoon River. Quite an experience for the nostrils.
• Best sign: “Humans got the zoomies!” (with a cute tabby cat on it)