Tucson Half Marathon
O cactus tree, O cactus tree,
How stabby are thy bristles!
Turns out, there’s nothing like festive Christmas tunes and twinkling lights set against a desert backdrop to remind you that you’re not in Michigan anymore. And honestly? No complaints. Trading in the ice and snow for a weekend at the Holualoa Tucson Marathon was a no-brainer. And before you ask — no, I have no idea how to pronounce “Holualoa.” I assume it’s some mystical combination of oohs and ahhs, but I didn’t hear a single soul say it out loud all weekend. Not even the race director. If we ignore it, maybe the pronunciation will work itself out.
Desert luxury and gingerbread dreams
Twelve hours of travel delays later, I finally arrived in Tucson, where my friend Laura had secured us a swanky stay at the Hilton El Conquistador Resort using her baller Hilton Honors points. When I say swanky, I mean villa with a walk-out patio, massive living room, and a kitchen far too nice for our level of cooking ambition. Also, our view was the breathtaking Santa Catalina Mountains. Tucson, we just met, and you’re already spoiling us.
Conveniently, the race expo was at our hotel, so packet pickup was just a short stroll away. But first, we detoured to marvel at the life-sized gingerbread house in the lobby. Made from actual gingerbread. I can only assume Hilton’s legal team anticipated the temptation because they left zero snackable sections within reach. We behaved ourselves. Mostly.
After some expo fun and a solid carb-loading session, we nestled ourselves into our beds… while visions of happy desert runnings danced in our heads.
Cotton candy skies & the Twinkie-fueled elite
Race morning: dark, chilly, and way too early. At the shuttle pick-up, I waved goodbye to Laura (who was running the full) and hopped on the half-marathon bus, where I immediately realized I was surrounded by some very serious runners. One casually ate a Twinkie. Another chatted about her “easy” 1:35 goal. If elite runners are out here smashing PRs on snacky cakes, I have clearly misunderstood both nutrition and life choices.
Our bus driver eventually dumped us on a deserted highway near Biosphere 2 (which sounds more like a video game level than a research facility). No frills, no fancy start area — just a row of port-a-potties, a couple of generator-powered floodlights, and a bunch of shivering runners questioning our decisions.
I half-expected Sting to appear and serenade us with “Desert Rose,” but alas, we got only an ear-piercing airhorn. And we were off!
Miles of desert, dog puns, and a rogue Arby’s
Starting at sunrise turned out to be a major perk. As we took off, the sky transformed into a masterpiece of pink, orange, and yellow hues, making the Santa Catalinas look like they’d been dusted with cotton candy. The course itself was rolling desert scenery, cacti standing proudly, wildflowers peeking through, and mountains stretching into forever. Did it get a little monotonous after a while? Sure. But I wasn’t mad at it, especially since I had the pleasure of watching all the Twinkie-powered speedsters blaze past me.
With few spectators (shocking that people weren’t lining up along a remote highway at dawn?), aid station volunteers became our personal cheering squads. One station, fully decked out in a dog-and-cat theme, featured pupper puns, cardboard cutouts of dogs, and volunteers rocking animal-ear headbands. Pawsitively the best aid station.
Around mile 9, civilization (loosely defined) emerged — a credit union, a smattering of stores, and a single, defiant Arby’s standing against the void like a beacon of curly fries and meats. Shortly after, we made a turn into the back of a strip mall parking lot, where another aid station greeted us (mercifully far enough from the dumpsters to keep things pleasant).
At mile 11, we approached the finish line area, except — surprise! — we still had two miles to go. That was just mean. Also mean: the sudden, unexpected uphill section. After miles of blissful downhill, my legs staged a full rebellion. The guy next to me muttered, “This is what you did squats for!” as he powered up. Respect.
Finally, the course flattened out, winding through a scenic neighborhood before leading us into the mandarin orange tree-lined finish chute by the Golder Ranch fire station. Victory! Medal in hand (a gorgeous stained-glass design and an instant favorite), I proceeded directly to the snack table.
Post-race priorities: food, pinball, and pretending winter isn’t real
This race delivered a top-tier snack spread — Clif bars, Lara bars, fresh fruit, licorice, and even PB&J/Nutella sandwiches. But I needed caffeine, stat, so I trekked over to the strip mall Starbucks for a gingerbread latte, because ‘tis the season. Fully refueled, I basked in the Arizona sun and cheered Laura as she wrapped up her marathon. She was less enchanted by the course than I was, but I imagine that doubling the lonely highway miles will do that to a person.
After a quick cleanup, we did what all responsible runners do: tacos and beer. Tucson’s 4th Ave Winter Street Fair happened to be in full swing, so we wandered through vendors before hitting up the historic El Charro Café. Despite my earlier taco intentions, I went with huevos rancheros, and it was a most delicious decision.
Keeping the celebratory energy alive, we hit a pinball arcade and then Public Brewhouse for some local brews. How many? Let’s just say vacation rules were in effect.
Back to reality (aka the frozen Midwest)
Our triumphant return to Michigan greeted us with — you guessed it — a snowstorm. The desert’s warmth already felt like a distant dream. But one thing’s for sure: I’ll be back to explore more of the Southwest. Preferably in the dead of Midwest winter. And maybe, just maybe, by then, I’ll have figured out how to say “Holualoa.”
Stray thoughts from the Sonoran Desert:
- Biggest unanswered question: Why is it called the Tucson Half Marathon when it goes from Oracle to Catalina? Someone, please help this confused out-of-towner.
- Number of miles where “Desert Rose” was stuck in my head: 4 (possibly more, but I refuse to admit it)
- Best unofficial aid station: A solitary tamale stand at mile 11. I’ve encountered many unexpected mid-race sights, but a lone tamale vendor handing out hot, delicious pockets of joy was a first.
- Most welcome treat: Shoutout to the course volunteer who wordlessly thrust a Red Vine into my hand. It was the exact morale boost I didn’t know I needed.
- Best vendor booth: The one featuring tiny dogs in tiny hats. The real MVPs. Their modeling careers must be exhausting, though — most were napping.