Route 66 Half Marathon
Ain’t no rest for the weary… because after running the NYC Marathon, my brain decided, “Hey, let’s keep this party going!” Just two weeks later, I was boarding another plane — this time with Laura — headed to Tulsa, Oklahoma, for the Route 66 Half Marathon. Nothing says “recovery” like another 13.1-mile jaunt, right? But hey, it was a pre-Thanksgiving getaway with a buddy, there was a promise of a sweet 10th anniversary medal and zip-up jacket, and I am very easily swayed by shiny things.
We rolled up to our charming Airbnb late Friday night. Our host had texted us to look for the key under the table by the door. Easy peasy. Except… there were two tables. No key. Then we started checking under flower pots and rearranging patio furniture like a pair of very polite burglars. Moving metal furniture on concrete doesn’t sound very subtle, by the way. Eventually, I did what I should’ve done ten minutes earlier — read the full message. Oh, we’re supposed to go around to the guest apartment in the back. And would you look at that — a key, right where it was supposed to be. Miracles.
Inside, our rental was a cross between a vintage grandma den and an antique shop. The key was literally attached to an ornate silver spoon. Laura and I were delighted. Cozy, quirky, and very much Old Lady Chic.
Saturday morning, we strolled to downtown Tulsa to explore. Or tried to, anyway. The streets were eerily empty. 16,000 runners were descending on this city, and yet we felt like we were in the opening scene of a post-apocalyptic zombie movie. Where was everyone?! We finally found signs of life at the race expo, which was bustling and full of energy. Phew — the race was real and so were the people. Onward!
Tour de Tulsa
It was a brisk, sunny morning with “feels like” temps in the low 20s — you know, the kind of chill that makes you question all your life choices. The race kicked off with a confetti cannon (delightfully extra), and runners were decked out in everything from tuxedos to 1950s diner waitress uniforms. Marathon Maniacs were out in force, which meant their creepy, bloodshot, wild-eyed mascots were roaming about like nightmare fuel.
photo credit: Marathon Maniacs Facebook page
See? I told you they’re weird.
The course was a lovely tour of Tulsa: charming neighborhoods with peak fall foliage, cheering spectators (and so many good dogs), and even a Hogwarts-esque private school with the most enthusiastic teen volunteers waving speed bump warning signs like their semester grades depended on it.
The downtown itself was nicely scenic and had some rolling hills. We passed by some parks, an art museum, and some cute shops and restaurants. Midway, we ran along a sparkling stretch of the Arkansas River, where I tried to distract myself from the fact that my body was still in “post-NYC Marathon, please no more running” mode. But I rallied for the big moment: our brief but glorious stint on actual Route 66, complete with a giant photo op sign.
Just before the finish, I spotted a banner congratulating someone on completing all 50 states. I thought, “Someday that’ll be me!” And then I immediately cried a little inside thinking of how many states were still left.
Finish line achieved! I got my hands on that gorgeous spinning “Flying Lady” medal and wrapped myself in as many layers as I could find. Then it was time to spectate.
One of Route 66’s fun quirks is the 0.3-mile “World’s Shortest Ultra” detour. You get a special coin if you do it, and it was conveniently located near the Center of the Universe landmark, so I camped out to cheer runners on. I was eagerly awaiting Laura’s appearance when I got her text: she was done! Wait, what?! Turns out, she skipped the ultra detour. Her exact quote: “Oh f— that! I didn’t do it.” That’s fair.
Post-Race Adventures and Retro Revelry
That night, we did a bit of bar-hopping, our favorite stop being The Max Retropub — a nostalgia-packed 80s-themed gem with retro memorabilia everywhere and vintage commercials playing on loop. It also had the Billy Dee Williams seal of approval. It was magical. Also still weirdly empty, like the city had an early bedtime. Tulsa, where are your people hiding?
Final verdict: Tulsa surprised me in all the best ways. The race was festive, fun, and filled with quirky charm. Was it OK? Nah — it was better than OK. It was Route 66-tacular.
OK Musings:
- Best signs: “Run like an art thief” and “You’re a masterpiece.”
- Most elusive items: A Coke and pre-race oatmeal. WHERE are your drugstores or corner markets, Tulsa?!
- Best swag: The zip-up jacket. Because our closets are already overwhelmed with tech shirts.
- Least welcome race alert: “Freeze Warning.”
- Most impassable: The sea of construction detours near Oklahoma State U. It was like trying to navigate a maze designed by a caffeinated toddler. Even the detours had detours.