Run All The States!

This was my second attempt at the Charleston Half, which already gave it strong “unfinished business” energy. Last year’s race was canceled due to a freak ice storm, but the timing was merciful. The cancellation email arrived the night before my flight, so I escaped without losing my money or my sanity. The race offered deferrals, so here I was, back for redemption.

To keep things interesting, a winter storm was once again looming. Race officials sent frequent updates about monitoring conditions and making decisions accordingly. Surely, I told myself, a race can’t get canceled two years in a row… right?

Otters, Old Houses, and the Polite Beagle of Charleston

After landing and checking into my hotel, I grabbed a quick sandwich at a very ’80s nostalgia-laden deli and then wandered downtown. It was a sunny but chilly day, with temperatures in the 40s, which still felt tropical compared to Michigan’s single-digit nonsense. I hadn’t escaped winter, but I’d at least downgraded it.

I headed over to the aquarium, where I briefly got absorbed into a school field trip before realizing I was not, in fact, a chaperone. After admiring a screechy yet magnificent bald eagle, I strolled past massive tanks full of fish, sharks, and divers who looked like they were doing something important. Naturally, though, my attention went straight to the river otters. They swam lap after lap before popping out of the water to bounce around excitedly and expectantly. Was this feeding time? Was I about to witness something magical? Alas, no. After a few moments, they realized no food was coming and returned to their regularly scheduled aquatic zoomies.

The Sea Turtle Care Center™ (yes, I checked, it’s trademarked) was especially fascinating. They had six patients with adorable names like Daffodil, Sweet Pea, and Ketchup. This rescue, rehab, and release mission is genuinely uplifting, and it was cool to see how much work goes into getting these creatures back to their ocean home.

After my fill of sea life, I stopped by a couple of landmarks. Rainbow Row featured pastel 1700s Georgian row houses in pinks, greens, blues, and yellows, with none of the hazards of Mario Kart’s Rainbow Road. I can only imagine how stunning it must be in spring or summer, not surrounded by leafless trees and aggressively large flower box covers. Next, I headed to Waterfront Park to see the Pineapple Fountain, which looks exactly how you would expect. It felt very Charleston in a “yes, we are charming and we know it” way.

The evening wrapped with dinner and a brewery visit, where I met Steve the beagle. He sat quietly like the gentleman he is while I fed him a nibble of chicken. He was so well-behaved that it took me several minutes to realize there was even a dog at the bar, let alone seated like a paying customer.

Race Eve Fuel and a Crash Course in the Civil War

Packet pickup was at the RiverDogs baseball stadium, lined with various painted signs from elementary school kids. The signs ranged from genuinely inspiring to mildly confusing and weird, like a smiley with hairy feet(?). I also witnessed someone actually signing up for gutter installation at an expo booth. Typically these kinds of vendors (siding, gutters, and the like) are begging for any attention from the constant stream of race expo attendees, so this was certainly a first. I mean, who goes to grab their bib and thinks, “You know what, I could really use some gutters while I’m out.” Apparently this lady does.

Packet secured, I fueled up with a morning coffee and donut (for optimal running nutrition) before heading to Fort Sumter, where the Civil War began. The 30-minute ferry ride through Charleston Harbor was calm and scenic, and once on the island, I immediately felt like I needed three more hours than I had. A tour guide over here! A museum upstairs! Many placards to read! Several cannons to inspect! Another guide dropping knowledge inside the museum! A solemn flag-lowering and folding ceremony! It was all meaningful and moving, but it also felt like speedrunning American history without a minute to catch my breath.

I felt extra lucky to be there since this ended up being the last tour of the weekend due to the ominous weather forecast. I closed out the evening with pizza and an early bedtime, because yes, the race was officially a go (YAY!), and cold race mornings paired with looming winter storms demand both good sleep and emotional preparedness.

Cold Miles and VIP Energy

Race morning came early, but thankfully not too early since my hotel was a short walk from the start. On the way, I spotted a tuxedo cat staring intensely at the growing swarm of runners and cars, as if trying to figure out how it had accidentally become part of this. Same, buddy.

It was in the low 30s with a “feels-like” in the mid-20s. Good running weather, bad standing-around weather. I treated myself to the VIP runner package, mainly for access to a warm pre-race staging area inside a high school. Other perks included indoor bathrooms, coffee, snacks, a VIP finish area, and a Charleston Half scarf that could double as winter storm survival gear.

To show my royal status, my bib was adorned with an obnoxiously large gold VIP sticker. A few others had flashy bibs too, but most people had smaller, more modest stars. I suddenly felt overdressed. For a bib. It made me seem far more important than I had any business being.

VIP gear check was well-labeled, and it was amusing that you simply tossed your bag into a rolling garbage can and hoped for the best. I said goodbye to my bag like it was heading off to college.

I positioned myself at the back of the first corral to minimize standing around and maximize getting this over with. Despite the cold, there were several shirtless men lining up, including one in jeans, which I was still processing when the starting horn blared.

The course started north, looping around Hampton Park, past The Citadel, and through neighborhoods shaded by beautiful old trees. There was one detour around a fully flooded intersection, which felt less “weather-related” and more “did a pipe just quit its job?”

A few miles in, we passed the finish area before heading toward the riverfront. I made a mental note that I was feeling decent and hoped to still feel decent later. Spoiler: I think I did?

What followed felt like the longest out-and-back in recorded history. We went along the Ashley River, through the Battery, and up East Bay. I knew I’d eventually meet the runners heading back, but at times that felt more theoretical than practical. Still, the course was refreshingly flat, and the sun popped out occasionally like it had no idea a winter storm was scheduled later that day. It was still cold enough to partially freeze my GU, but I powered through.

We passed Rainbow Row, and eventually the turnaround point arrived, and we headed back. Somehow it felt faster retracing our steps, which I do not understand psychologically but fully endorse. The next batch of miles clicked off steadily, with the occasional body reminder that I had not run more than 8 miles in a while. Details.

The finish stretch took us in front of the RiverDogs stadium, where hundreds of our adoring fans were clearly there just for us. Crowd support was pretty good throughout, especially considering the cold. I breezed across the finish, and just like that, state #40 was officially in the books. Somehow, this ended up being my fastest half marathon in four years. The only logical explanation is the donut. I will not be accepting alternate theories.

I exited the finisher chute clutching my shiny medal and victory banana, retrieved my gear check bag (no longer in a trash can), and went in search of the promised VIP heated tent. Well, okay, so it was technically heated but also technically open on multiple sides. So yes, warmer than outside, but still very much a “jacket stays on” situation. The promised chairs were scarce, and the food situation was predominantly bananas and half burritos. Not exactly a VIP feast, but whatever.

By now, the cold had driven most finishers indoors, and everyone was deep into weather speculation. Businesses were closing early, freeways were shutting down, and the storm was still threatening. I stayed in for the evening, grabbed a celebratory beer from the hotel mini mart, and improvised my usual post-race photo because adaptability is a life skill. (There was a dusting of snow by morning, so the real storm apparently hit somewhere else.)

All in all, Charleston delivered charm, flat miles, pastel swag, and the redemption arc I was hoping for after last year’s cancellation.

Low Country Tidbits:

• Most Confusing: Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large black dog hanging out of a passing car. Upon closer inspection, it was not a dog but a flowing black wig being held out the passenger window, billowing majestically in the breeze.
• The Saga of Tigger: I saw a trio of runners in Pooh, Tigger, and Eeyore onesies early on. Later, they were a duo because Tigger had vanished. Then, near the finish, I saw Tigger again, alone and thriving. Guess he had places to be.
• Cup Appreciation: Loved seeing Hiccup reusable rubber cups at aid stations. Now, if only we could eliminate runners throwing trash elsewhere on the course. A girl can dream. In the meantime, pick up your gel wrappers, you slobs.
• Influencer Sighting: I encountered Wyatt Moss running while clutching a surfboard. A lady runner near me shouted excitedly, “I follow you!” and he seemed genuinely nice, which is always reassuring.
• Worst Souvenir: Under-the-sports-bra mega chafing, courtesy of forgetting Body Glide and deciding, “Meh, it’ll be fine.” It was not fine.
• Super Swag: I dig the designs. The shirt, medal, hat, and scarf, all in pastel Charleston colors made me feel like I’d accidentally signed up for a coastal lifestyle brand. The shirt material itself looked a little cheesecloth-adjacent, so layering would be mandatory.
• Peninsula Love: You’re a lovely peninsula, Charleston, but my favorites will always be Michigan’s.