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| With Holden before the race in our Thanksgiving shirts! |
We doubled up on Thanksgiving runs this year, which sounded fun when I signed us up and slightly unhinged the closer we got. It felt like the kind of idea you agree to in September when weather is still decent and the holidays feel far away. By the week of Thanksgiving, though, reality set in and I started wondering who exactly I thought I was: someone with time, energy, confidence, or all three. Still, once the week arrived, we committed. Two races in two days. Why not?
Run Like a Turkey
The first was our town’s Run Like a Turkey Run on Wednesday morning. It’s the opposite of competitive, the opposite of serious, the kind of event where no one cares about time and everyone cares about donut holes.
They first offered this run in 2023, and we were part of that original group of about 25 people jogging loops around the park. We missed it last year because I had to work, but came back this year to find it had grown to around 200 participants.
The race was still casual and friendly with the same laid-back vibe despite the bigger crowd. You could choose 1, 2, or 3 laps depending on age and ability, and they even give suggested distances for kids. Each loop was about 0.7 miles. Caleb immediately announced he was doing all three because of course he was. Holden and I stuck with two, matching in our Thanksgiving shirts and getting passed constantly by small children who seemed to have endless energy.
The weather was in the 50s, warm for November and perfect for running, and the whole morning felt relaxed in a way most organized runs never manage to be. Afterward we stood around with hot chocolate and donut holes, and it felt like exactly what it was supposed to be: a fun, low-stakes start to the holiday.
Turkey Trot
Then came Thursday. Thanksgiving Day. The main event. Every year I pay actual money to wake up early, stand around in the cold, and voluntarily run farther than any reasonable person would before eating pie. I ask myself why I do this, but apparently the answer is: tradition. Chaos. Pride. Or maybe I'm just easily influenced by holiday peer pressure. Whatever it is, we showed up. Again.
The Webster Turkey Trot is its own thing, and “big” doesn’t really cover it. Over 4,100 runners show up. It’s loud and crowded, with people parking at local schools and riding in on shuttle buses to get to the race site. Music blasts from speakers. Announcers shout updates into microphones. Everywhere you look, there’s movement and noise and this huge wave of holiday energy. The boys and I did it as a trio in 2023, but Holden complained the entire time, so this year it was just Caleb and me again. And it's an important race to us. Part of our history. It was my first race ever back in 2012. It became Caleb’s first in 2021. We’ve run it together every year since, except for last year when we missed the shuttle and never made it to the starting line. They offer two distances, the 2.5 and the 4.4. We've always done the 2.5 and Caleb crushes it, so he’s begged for years to do the longer one. This was finally the year I said yes, which is why we started training back in September.
The long-awaited day arrived. It was freezing and windy, the kind of wind that makes you question all your life choices. We bundled up and headed out early with my dad to catch the shuttle. Caleb was practically vibrating. The most excited I ever see him is at the start of a race, and this year did not disappoint. He jumped up and down, laughed, counted down the minutes, and acted like the race starter had personally invited him. The arches at the start line had blown down from the wind, so everyone hovered in this vague blob until someone finally yelled “go.” Caleb shot ahead instantly. I lost sight of him before I even crossed the start.
I jogged a little in the beginning but ended up walking most of it. It wasn’t pretty. It felt harder than it should have after weeks of training, and the cold didn’t help. But the course has this energy you don’t get anywhere else: volunteers yelling “Happy Thanksgiving!”, cops blocking off roads, entire families in costumes, spectators cheering from their porches as we passed through neighborhoods. Every mile marker felt like a small relief. When I finally dragged myself past the 3-mile marker, a guy running near me — also clearly on the struggle bus — started muttering and swearing under his breath about how much was still left. It was a very specific kind of misery that I felt deeply. After that, I just kept imagining how good it would feel when it was finally over and I could eat pie guilt-free.
By the time I dragged myself across the finish line, Caleb and my dad were waiting for me. Caleb had finished about fifteen minutes earlier and looked like he could run it again.
Crossing the finish honestly felt like a victory on its own. Two races in two days. One easy and warm, one cold and brutal. Both memorable for completely different reasons.
And today, on Black Friday, we let the celebration continue. I took Caleb to get his medal engraved for free by the race company with his official time. He was ridiculously proud.
The Stats
For the Wednesday run, there was nothing official, just my watch tracking our laps. Holden and I covered 1.37 miles in 24:53 with a pace of 18:08/mi, which checks out for two loops of the park while Caleb sped ahead for all three.
Thursday’s Turkey Trot was the real test, and the chip time made it official. I finished the 4.4 miles in 1:18:57 with a pace of 17:57/mi. For consistency's sake, since all of my training runs — and Wednesday's untimed race — rely on my watch data, I'll mention that my watch recorded this one as 4.28 miles in 1:19:20 (18:30/mi) which is normal GPS variation.
Caleb crushed his first 4.4. His chip time was 1:03:32 with a 14:27/mi pace, a full fifteen minutes ahead of me and the happiest kid at the finish line.
Not perfect times. Not fast times. But honest ones. And this year, honest felt like enough. I crossed two finish lines in two days, and even though it wasn't pretty or graceful, I still showed up. Caleb did too, grinning at the end like it was the best part of his whole holiday. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't easy, but we finished anyway. And that counts for something.
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