Hello 52: Maine Coastal Half Marathon #2 for the Year

May 2

May 2 Hello 52: Maine Coastal Half Marathon #2 for the Year

ERA of WTF…………………..joy and resistance

Oh, Saturday was a time. This is how I kicked off this fresh, 52-year-old body—by running my 66th half marathon, of course. This race is part of my “6 for ’26” goal: six half marathons in 2026. The Maine Coastal Half Marathon was number two for the year.

I’ll be honest—I was nervous going into this one. My “beautiful” right knee (with Hoffa fat pad issues, a degenerative meniscus, and worn cartilage) had been acting up. I was stretching, icing, taking anti-inflammatories, and layering on every ointment I could find. I truly wasn’t sure I’d even be able to run.

This race was part of my birthday weekend—and what a weekend it’s been.

Things started Wednesday, my birthday eve, with seeing Nikole Hannah-Jones speak. Talk about timing. That same day, the Supreme Court overturned 60 years of Voting Rights protections. Ms. Hannah-Jones didn’t sugarcoat anything—she said it’s going to get worse, and we need to be ready. It’s painful to think about the struggle, the lives lost, and the sacrifices made during the Black freedom movement, only to feel like we’re sliding backward. It took centuries to build toward something resembling democracy, and it’s being unraveled so quickly.

I left feeling both empowered and angry.

Still, it was great to be at UMass Boston with colleagues, hearing about their work and being in such a diverse, welcoming environment. Seeing my fellow BMR crew was a nice surprise too.

That’s how the birthday started.

By Friday, we were off to Wells, Maine. Because my knee was still questionable, I spent 48 hours icing, medicating, and resting, just hoping it would cooperate. I also realized that the beautiful shoes I got from Heartbreak just weren’t working for my feet—great to look at, but not enough support. Lesson learned.

Pre-Race

This race offered bib mailing, but since I wasn’t sure I’d make it, we drove up and got there around 3:30 p.m. Friday. After checking into a hotel near the start, we headed to packet pickup.

It’s a point-to-point race, so we’d all be bused to the start line.

While there, I spotted a familiar face—Ethel. I called out her name, and after a moment, she recognized me. We hugged. Ethel is part of the Black running community—she runs everything: halves, marathons, trails… she even ran Antarctica! We’ve crossed paths through races and online spaces, so seeing her there was such a gift.

She mentioned a restaurant she’d heard about, and we all went together. It turned into a beautiful evening—good food, great conversation, lots of laughs, and shared race tips. More runners joined us, including other Black women on their 50-state journeys.

And yes, as the restaurant filled up, we couldn’t help but notice—we were the only brown faces there. Maine.

Race Day

Race start: 7:00 a.m.
Buses ran until 6:30 a.m.
Forecast: cold, rainy, and a 67% chance of wet misery right at start time.

Perfect.

I laid everything out the night before and set my alarm for 3:45 a.m. I made sure to eat, stretch, take my meds, and apply all the things.

That morning, my knee felt… okay. Not great, but better than before. Still uncertain.

Ethel had prayed over my knee the night before and told me I’d be fine. I held onto that.

Scott—definitely not a morning person—got up and drove me to the buses. We got there around 5:45 a.m. It was cold, but the sky was beautiful. I had my fuel, my hydration vest, and a fully charged phone thanks to Scott.

After a short walk to the buses (our unofficial warm-up), we loaded up and got to the start around 6:00 a.m. About 3,000 runners were there—all for the half marathon.

Waiting an hour in the cold wasn’t ideal, but I stayed moving and stretched. Around 6:30, I found Ethel and the others again.

At the corrals, I spotted the 2:40 pacers (run/walk intervals). That felt doable. The 2:30 group? Not happening.

The Race

Once we started, I eased in, testing my knee. Coastal Maine was beautiful—residential roads, lots of runners, good energy.

And my knee? It held up.

I settled into my own pace, eventually pulling ahead of Ethel and the pacers—not intentionally, just following how my body felt. I was strong. Fueled. In my zone.

Until mile 10.

That’s when I made the mistake of stopping to walk. Big mistake. The knee stiffened immediately. A fellow runner checked on me, and I honestly thought I might have to limp the last 5K.

But I realized something important: stopping made it worse. So I adjusted—kept moving, slowed my pace, but didn’t stop.

KT tape helped. Determination helped more.

Rain started around mile 6, and by mile 7 or 8, it was coming down hard. Then came an incline. Looking back, that combo probably triggered the mile 10 pain.

From there, it was mental. I locked in with a loose “pace group” of runners around me—we weren’t official, but we kept each other going.

Mile 12 brought a downhill—my knee hated that. Meanwhile, we passed finished runners heading uphill with medals, families, and dogs.

But I kept going.

Near mile 13, I saw Scott—which always gives me a boost. I turned the corner, saw the finish line, and pushed just enough to get a strong finish photo.