May 7, 2016. I’m no stranger to running in wild weather, but the wind during the Wisconsin Half Marathon in Kenosha? Absolutely next-level. It felt less like weather and more like a personal vendetta from Mother Nature.

Leading up to race day, the forecast was basically: rain, wind, and vibes of general doom. An 80% chance of rain? Sure. A quarter inch of rainfall? Why not. Wind speeds of “HAHAHA #$!@ YOU!”? Excellent. I kept checking the weather like a deranged optimist. Maybe it improved! Maybe it shifted! Maybe if I stare at the forecast long enough, it will change out of fear! Spoiler: it did not.

WINDsconsin, amirite?!

Race morning dawned with a valiant but losing attempt by the clouds to clear as the sun rose over Lake Michigan. The staging area was set in picturesque Harbor Park near the cute little lighthouse. The water looked eerily calm in the early moments, like a horror movie scene right before things go off the rails.

My pal Laura and I smiled bravely despite the challenge ahead.

Start line smiles

The start area had a glorious, completely appropriate All-Cheese Corral for anyone decked out in cheese-themed apparel.

Sing it with me now:
Don we now our cheese apparel,
Fa la la la la la la la la.

No extra perks beyond cheesy camaraderie, but the vibes were immaculate. Cheese wedge hats, cheddar bow ties, yellow tights — a dairy-themed fever dream. As someone with a life-threatening dairy allergy, even I was like, “Okay, respect.”

Just as the national anthem wrapped up, a dramatic flash of lightning lit up the sky like Zeus himself wanted in on the race. Fortunately, the clouds held back the rain, but the wind said, “IT’S MY TIME TO SHINE.”

The flags snapped horizontal. Whitecaps formed on the lake. Hats, barricades, and any dignity we had left blew down the street. It was 25 mph sustained winds with frequent gusts up to 40 mph. Cute.

Wind, Sand, and Hat Drama

We started by heading south through charming lakefront neighborhoods. Or rather, we were shoved southward by the wind like dandelion fluff with timing chips. Within a half mile, my cap became a liability. I tightened it within an inch of its life and hoped for the best.

A few miles in, we turned around and headed north — straight into the wind’s unholy wrath. Around mile 5 (we think?), we passed the start area again, but the wind had knocked over most of the mile markers and some of the port-a-potties. The course was now decorated with discarded hats, gloves, and cheese-themed accessories. It looked like a parade that had lost a bet.

Through Simmons Island Park, the beachside path turned into a full-body exfoliation. Sand and water blasted us like nature’s own aggressive spa treatment. I tried to shield my eyes, but it still felt like being pelted with tiny daggers.

HEY, DID I MENTION IT WAS WINDY?

Mile 8 brought the turnaround and sweet, sweet tailwind. I spotted Laura going the other direction and yelled encouragement that may or may not have been words. She high-fived me while bracing against the elements like a heroic news reporter during a hurricane.

Remember that earlier photo of calm water? Behold: Lake Michigan, now auditioning for The Perfect Storm.

Wind and waves

This is me, laughing at the absurdity of it all:

Me vs. the wind

Aid station volunteers are the real MVPs. Cups flew around like angry tumbleweeds. One runner looked at a rogue cup racing past and said dejectedly, “That cup is running faster than I am.” Same.

Finish Line Feats (and Flying Foil Blankets)

Near mile 12, I spotted a spectator with a husky puppy. My joy levels spiked. I bent down to pet the adorable floof… and my hat ripped itself off my head and tumbled down the street like it was late for a meeting. I reluctantly abandoned the pup and chased down my runaway headgear.

Crossing the finish line — more like blowing across the finish line — I was handed a glorious “Big Cheese” finisher medal featuring a jacked superhero made of cheese. Honestly, it’s delightfully perfect.

Big Cheese finisher's medal

There was beer, brats, and music at the finish, but standing still = freezing, so I headed to a coffee shop to thaw out and track Laura’s marathon progress. I wrapped a heat sheet around myself like a foil burrito and still shivered. A man walking his dog stopped and asked, “Um… are you okay?” Sir, emotionally? Unclear. But thank you.

Once Laura finished, I jumped up and down, which caused my heat sheet to fly off and join the many other shiny blankets clinging to a nearby fence like abandoned ghosts of races past.

We grabbed lunch, compared windburn, and toasted Leinenkugels to surviving the most ridiculous wind either of us had ever raced in. Wisconsin, your neighborhoods were adorable, your parks were pretty, and your wind? Truly unforgettable. I was, quite literally, blown away.

Cheesy superlatives:

  • Best perk: Race packets delivered by mail. No expo stress for late arrivers!
  • Least favorite moment: Sandstorm microdermabrasion to the eyeballs.
  • Biggest surprise: No cheese at the aid stations. Missed opportunity, dairy state.
  • Most impressive glutes: Cheeseman medal. Look at those thighs of cheddar thunder.
  • Most impressive everything: The runner who set a new course record despite the wind. Teach me your ways, wizard.