Half Marathon in an Ice Storm: A Funny Race Story

A few years ago, a friend challenged me to run a 1/2 marathon, and for some reason I opened my mouth and said, “Sure, why not?” I trained after work in the dark, counting mailboxes as distance markers, dodging sprinklers, and trying not to slip on wet leaves while convincing myself that wheezing was totally normal. Yes, crossing that finish line was a great accomplishment. However, you still won’t find on my Experience list (my version of my bucket list) any grand goal to run a full marathon. Let’s not get carried away.

To me, the best part of the whole Half Marathon adventure was the ridiculous amount of laughter. The “real” runners—those professional-looking marathoners with their impossibly light strides and matching race gear—kept gliding past me like I was jogging in slow motion. I had playlists, pep talks, and snacks; they had speed. We all have our gifts.

Two days before the race, a major ice storm rolled in and turned the course into a skating rink. I went from checking my pace to checking whether I’d packed enough layers to survive the Arctic. The weather changed at the last minute, and I ended up panic-buying cold-weather running gear I had no idea how to use. That’s why you see the bright blue headband in the photos—it was less “fashion choice” and more “emergency insulation.” I looked like a very determined, slightly confused Smurf.

Race morning was freezing. I huddled with other shivering runners, hopping from foot to foot, watching our breath hang in the air like cartoon speech bubbles. The starting gun went off, and within minutes, my water had a layer of ice on it, my fingers forgot they existed, and my nose ran faster than my legs. I slipped on a patch of black ice, did an accidental interpretive-dance move, and somehow stayed upright. The spectators cheered anyway, which I appreciated.

Somewhere around mile 10, my legs filed an official complaint, but the jokes from other struggling runners kept me going: comments about frozen toes, lost feeling in body parts, and the universal question of why we pay money to do this to ourselves. When I finally crossed the finish line, I was tired, frozen, and incredibly proud.

I had a great time, laughed a lot, and learned that I’m perfectly happy living in the land of half marathons. Here are a few shots to capture the moment.