Run All The States!

In the days leading up to the Manchester City Half Marathon, I was half-convinced the trip wasn’t happening. The U.S. government was in the middle of a record-breaking shutdown, flights were abruptly being cut, and when I checked my bag, the attendant warned me, “Watch your return flight… if you plan on coming back.” Comforting.

Yet somehow, I landed in New Hampshire on time and checked into a hotel conveniently right next to the start/finish line. A rare logistical win. With what little daylight November provides on the eastern edge of the time zone (hello, 4 p.m. darkness), I wandered around downtown.

The Millyard Museum — small, informative, heavy on textiles and equipment — was a nice warm-up for Cat Alley. Its murals were adorable, but tragically the alley itself contained zero actual cats. Blatant false advertising. I browsed a nearby indie bookstore that threatened my wallet, grabbed a burger and a beer — plus a token vegetable for balance — and then back to the hotel to wind down with a cheesy horror movie before falling asleep. Thrilling Friday night behavior for someone awake since 3 a.m.

Wright Angles and Pinball Magic

Saturday began with a bagel, coffee, and mild ambition. The main event: a tour of two Frank Lloyd Wright houses via the Currier Museum of Art. I was easily the youngest person on the tour, making me the “youthful outsider from Michigan,” which the group seemed to find charming for reasons unclear.

The Zimmerman House was classic Wright: beautiful brick and cypress, peaceful, lots of natural light. The Kalil House leaned more toward “concrete bunker that could fend off a minor invasion.” Both were interesting, and I tried to remember anything I learned about Wright in college without visibly sweating.



Afterward, I walked along the Merrimack River on this perfect fall day, admired the colorful painted stairs at Arms Park, and then indulged in a lengthy pinball detour at Tycoon Arcade (Scooby-Doo table sighting!). Dinner was chicken, veggies, and, naturally, a light beer. Hydration is about balance, after all.

Race Morning: Musket Fire and Puppy Power

With packet pickup at 7:30 and the race starting at 8:50, I enjoyed the rare luxury of staying in my warm hotel room until the last possible moment. Outside it was chilly, misty, and overcast. In other words, solid running weather if you’re awake. (I was slowly getting there.)

It was a full Veterans Day-themed affair: flags everywhere, a musket blast at the start, and bibs printed with the names of fallen New Hampshire soldiers. Their photos lined the start and parts of the course, adding real emotional gravity to the otherwise chatty pre-race scene. Proceeds benefited Swim With a Mission and its veteran suicide-prevention programs.

We crossed the start line through the lingering musket smoke (courtesy of some cosplay Colonial soldiers) and were on our way! We started out through downtown and across the Merrimack River in a colorful parade of damp moisture-wicking fabrics. The west side gave us some pretty fall foliage, which briefly distracted from an absolute quad-destroying downhill where a woman groaned, “Ohhh, this is not good for the knees!” and my right knee crunched in agreement.

Then we hit the Piscataquog Trail (no idea how to pronounce that). It was flat, paved, wooded, and peaceful… aside from the man in a cowboy hat blasting country music while adjusting his fuel belt. As one does.

Another bridge crossing later, we entered a minor league baseball stadium — home of the Toronto Blue Jays’ affiliate — and looped around the warning track while the big videoboard cycled photos of the fallen soldiers for another thoughtful touch. Back downtown, I happily stopped for a mid-race “Puppy Power Up” with a very good girl named Charlie. Later, I met Lenny, who had a sign offering “Free Lenny Pets.” I respect a clear call to action, so of course I complied. At some point, I also saw Santa Claus. For once, this was not a hallucination; a spectator actually was dressed as Mr. Claus himself.

We hit Livingston Park and looped around Dorrs Pond on a short trail section that immediately triggered every “trip and fall” instinct I possess. Thankfully it was brief and I was back on asphalt soon enough.

At mile 12, the final hill appeared — steep enough that I wish I had another puppy power-up. A group of ladies with a “MAKE THIS HILL YOUR BITCH” sign screamed encouragement like an over-caffeinated hype squad, and somehow it worked. Another aggressive downhill followed, so steep and lengthy that I briefly considered “stop, drop, and rolling” the rest of the way.

The downhill slowly became more manageable for my quads, and this last stretch on Hanover felt blazingly fast. I flew past the vibrant “Greetings from Manchester” mural, turned past City Hall, and headed towards the finish chute. Cheerleaders lined the way, medals were handed out by New Hampshire pageant queens, and the whole scene felt very charmingly small-city.

The hefty medal was star-spangled and patriotic, weighing me down as I browsed the post-race spread of salty snacks and bananas. A nearby food truck beckoned, but I quickly lost interest when I saw it was charging money. But the real crime? A huge sign that said “SOUP.” I assure you, there was no soup. Only beer. (Is this some regional slang I’m supposed to just… know?) I took one anyway and strolled right past a “No Alcohol Beyond This Point” sign, blissfully unaware.

Aftermath: Recovery, Beer, and Observing Humanity

The rest of the day was a rotation of naps, relaxation, and calories. I sipped coffee while watching marathoners finish from my hotel window (peak comfort). Dinner included a balanced meal of salmon, broccoli, and sweet potato fries, before I allotted some calories to a couple local brews at Republic Brewing. As I do.

For a mid-sized race, Manchester was impressively well-organized, thoughtfully executed, and backed by a strong community. Manchester delivered classic New England fall vibes: colorful trees, crisp air, patriotic energy, and at least two supportive dogs. From musket fire to misleading soup, it made for a unique event. The Granite State didn’t give me granite, but it gave me a great half — and brought me one state closer to all 50.

Granite State Odds & Ends:

• Most Surprising: Zero maple syrup aid stations. A possible crime against New England.
• Best “They Do Have a Point” Sign: “This would be faster in Heelys.”
• Friendliest Runner: A marathoner who shouted, “You’re doing great, purple friend!” (We were both wearing purple. She was also doing great.)
• Most Relatable: “Ugh, I hate those relay runners with their fresh legs,” said as one blasted past wearing what looked like an ankle monitor.
• Still Seeking: Actual soup.