Newport Half Marathon
On to the nation’s tiniest state for my next big adventure. The Newport Half Marathon seemed like the perfect pick for my Rhode Island run, promising scenic coastal roads, historic mansions… and, as it turned out, a full-blown Nor’easter for the full New England experience.
Elephants, Pumpkins, and $50 Parking Lots
I landed in Providence on Friday afternoon, picked up my rental car (I’m basically a pro at this point after my Kansas and Nebraska back-to-back), and then kicked things off with a trip to the local zoo. It was decked out for Halloween and promoting a “Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular,” which looked pretty incredible even in full daylight. Animal-wise, the highlight was an elephant named Alice. She performed for the crowd by bowing, flapping her ears, and waving her trunk. She finishing by holding a rose delicately in her trunk… before promptly devouring it. A solid finale from a lovely lady.
From there, I drove to Newport for packet pickup. There, at Easton Beach, I was greeted by calming sea breezes and friendly race volunteers. I picked up my bib and the race shirt, featuring a cute octopus mascot possibly holding a baby bottle (we’re all still unsure), and pet a dachshund named Oscar Mayer wearing a handsome sweater. The seaside vibes were peaceful — until I tried to park in downtown Newport. Every lot was full or charging what appeared to be surge pricing for asphalt. I thought I was paying $30; somehow it became $50. Don’t ask.
Water bottle? Baby bottle? Unclear but still cute.
After a meandering stroll around the wharves and downtown shops, I settled into a quiet brewery playing 80s alt-rock before grabbing a hefty burrito bowl, and heading to the hotel. Though 20 minutes away, I took comfort in knowing my hotel was significantly cheaper than any parking spot in Newport.
Saturday: Corgi Con (Apparently)
Race eve started chill enough: bagel, coffee, big plans not to overdo it. Naturally, I failed, per tradition. I parked back at Easton Beach ($35, because why stop now) to walk the Cliff Walk and was immediately distracted by the sheer number of happy dogs on the sand.
So many dogs! So many corgis! There were corgis on the beach, corgis in town, corgis in cute bandannas, etc. I met Jacques, a particularly refined corgi who seemed like he might own property nearby. There was even a corgi named Pippa on my flight to Providence the previous day. Was there a secret corgi convention happening? Still unclear, but I have zero complaints about all this cuteness surrounding me.
Plentiful sunshine, calm winds, and rolling waves were the perfect morning backdrop. Why couldn’t the race have been this morning, instead of tomorrow with its forecast of ick?
Behold, the happiest dog in Rhode Island:
After a sunny morning admiring ocean views and Gilded Age mansions (fenced to keep us plebes at a safe distance) along the historic Cliff Walk, I made my way back downtown. There was a street fair, a pumpkin patch (well, a heap of pumpkins arranged in the downtown square), and more corgis. I enjoyed a quiet pasta dinner (miraculously without a wait) and then settled in back at the hotel for the evening. Nothing left to do but rest up for what forecasts were calling “a significant weather event.” Yay?
Sunday: The Nor’easter Cometh
The alarm rang at 4:45 a.m. Bleary-eyed, I drove to the shuttle pickup, joining other runners in the dark trying to pretend this was normal. All week, the forecast called an impending Nor’easter, meaning there would be ferocious wind, driving rain, and “potential coastal flooding.” The race posts on social media were already referencing the “legendary 2009 and 2016 storm years,” and fellow runners shared their war stories from these events. I just nodded along as I read, like I understood what any of this meant. Mentally, I was prepared to channel Des Linden’s 2018 Boston Marathon win during another Nor’easter.
Before disembarking the shuttle, a cheerful Australian race volunteer offered three key rules:
- Remember where you parked.
- Don’t roll your ankle getting off the bus.
- “Don’t f***ing go near the sand dunes unless you want to see a pissed-off Australian.” (Yes, that’s a direct quote.)
Truly, the pep talk we all needed.
I spent the next hour huddled in the expo tent, ignoring the increasingly desperate announcements to “Leave the tent you already have your bib.” No one moved, understandably. Why leave this warm cocoon and risk being blown into the Atlantic before even crossing the start line?
The race kicked off at 7:30, and miraculously, the rain held off… for now. The first hill up Memorial was a rude awakening for my sleepy legs, but it was great to know that the biggest hill on the course was now done. We ran through downtown past Thames Street, buoyed by lively spectators and a bit of a tailwind.
Then came scenic Ocean Drive: mansions on one side, crashing waves on the other, and headwinds that felt like resistance training.
The moderately rolling hills kept things interesting throughout. Nothing too major, and there were a fair amount of downhill stretches for relief. The course itself balanced fancy neighborhoods and sweeping Atlantic views — very “Gatsby meets gale-force winds.” Pinkies up when you grab your water cups, people.
Mile markers held their ground remarkably well; only one had blown over, which felt like a victory in itself. They must’ve trained for this wind too. The mile 8 cheer squad was especially energetic. They shouted out names of all passing runners to help keep spirits high.
By the final miles along Bellevue Avenue and other picturesque streets, the wind was howling and the mansions looked damn smug about it. A nice, juicy downhill led us back toward Easton Beach, where I sprinted (in theory) toward the finish. The wind kept fighting me at every step, but I made it across the finish line and was not swept into the sea. Success, and only mild windburn!
The charming anchor medal felt well-earned after this coastal meteorological battle. As I cooled down, I took a couple oceanside photos before realizing how dumb it was that I was still outside when I could be inside, warm and away from the howling wind. I zipped over to grab my bag from gear check for some warm clothes. Within minutes of tossing on my rain jacket, the light sprinkles had become a solid downpour. Great timing for me, terrible for the marathoners still out there.
Before departing the finish area, I scoped out the snack spread. Hungry runners were treated to pizza, bagels, fruit, oat bite cookie things, and beer, but no “chowdah” or lobster rolls. A crime, given Rhode Island’s high crustacean-to-human ratio.
Later that afternoon, after some coffee, a toasty shower, and a victory nap, I set out for a celebratory meal. The wind gusts and heavy rain continued to sap my desire to venture outside any more than necessary, but… food. When you can’t decide between Mexican or New England seafood, you find a solid middle ground; I went with fish tacos and a flight of beer at a nearby brewery. Indoors, dry, and delicious.
Rhode Island may be tiny, but it makes a big impression. Between the gale-force winds, stunning ocean views, and remarkably sturdy mile markers, Newport was unforgettable. Next time, though, less Nor’easters and even more corgis, please.
Ocean State Observations
- Donut Disappointment: I dreamed of KNEAD Doughnuts’ apple cider or maple options, but all they had left for dairy-free folks was chocolate peanut butter. A swing and a miss since I also have a nut allergy.
- Personal Oops: Accidentally wandered into a proposal on the Cliff Walk. Congrats, I guess?
- Most Eyebrow-Raising: “Not gonna lie, I had 20 beers on Friday.” Good luck out there, king.
- Most Relatable: At one of the larger hills on Bellevue later in the course, one runner let out a spectacular string of expletives that spoke for us all in that moment.
- Biggest Miracle: My hat managed to stay on the entire time! I was mentally prepared to lose it to New England forever.
- Least Interesting Action Sequence: The finish-line photographers captured SEVEN(!) identical photos of me stopping my watch. I made a GIF, as any normal person would do.
