2025 Grandma’s Weekend Recap: Shannon

Now for the part you’ve probably been waiting for (if you’ve made it this far): Race Day.

Since I live just over the bridge in Wisconsin—not too far from Superior—I always catch the marathon bus at Wessman Arena. With the forecasted storms and delays this year, I thought I’d be arriving early and beating the rush. I was wrong. Apparently everyone decided to get up at their usual time and head straight for the buses.

But honestly, it was beautiful weather to wait in line, and it gave me time to chat with other runners around me. We swapped race stories and Grandma’s memories, which helped ease some of that pre-race tension. Once the buses started rolling, they loaded us quickly, and we were off.

We arrived at the start with what felt like plenty of time. Having done this before, I knew the drill—first stop: bathroom line. I’ve also learned I don’t need a drop bag. I’m lucky enough to have family waiting for me at the finish with dry clothes and sandals, which saves the hassle of dropping off and retrieving gear after the race.

Back to the theme of community. This year, I had several friends running the marathon and even more in the half. While I waited, I kept my mind occupied by tracking my friends crushing the half marathon course. I was planning to meet up with Kevin—who had run the 5K with Dot and me (in jean overalls, no less)—and see if I could keep up with him for a while.

My goal this year was to run a Boston Qualifying time. I managed a BQ last year at Grandma’s with a 3:32, but thanks to the new standards and course rules, that wasn’t going to cut it anymore. I needed at least a 3:30 to even be in the running, and the forecasted heat and humidity had me a little nervous. Still, the plan was to hold an 8:00/mile pace for as long as I could—and if the wheels fell off, well, I’d just turn the rest of the race into a party. Kevin’s a lot faster than me, so 8:00s were basically his party pace.

In classic me fashion, I was still in the bathroom line when the gun went off—which has happened more than once at Grandma’s. But honestly, I’ve learned I’d rather start a little late (thank you chip timing) and begin the race feeling comfortable than have to peel off in the early miles for a porta potty with a line.

Turns out, Kevin was still in line too, so our plan to meet at the 3:30 pacer didn’t pan out. But in a way, I think that worked in my favor. Starting farther back helped take some pressure off, and weaving through the crowd in those early miles kept me from going out too fast. It was a slower start—but a smarter one.

From running ultras I am used to running in steamy weather, and using topical cooling has become one of my most instrumental tools. My plan was to drink a bit of water, dump some on my head, and use ice and sponges whenever possible. I started this at the first aid station. Water in, water on, and get back out there. For the first few miles I chugged along by myself. Passing a lot of runners (that’s what happens when you essentially start at the very back of the race), and trying to maintain that 8:00 mile pace. The first several miles of Grandma’s are pretty packed, so a lot of the focus was on picking clear lines and moving up.

Kevin caught up to me at some point and we ran and chatted a little.Running with Kevin made everything feel a little easier—mentally, at least. But I knew I was working too hard to match his pace, and eventually, he ran ahead. A little later, I came across Malin, a fellow mom and runner from Hoops Run Club. It was her first marathon, and she was absolutely crushing it! Cheering her on and chatting briefly gave me a much-needed boost. That connection, even for a few seconds, was exactly what I needed to reset.

Not long after, I finally caught up to Stephen—the 4-hour pacer and a good friend I made during last year’s race. True to form, he was his usual upbeat, silly self, surrounded by a massive pace group. I pushed my way through the crowd just to say a quick “hi.” He looked at me, grinned, and asked if I was on pace. I replied, “So far! We’ll see what happens,” then slipped back through the pack and picked up my pace again.

By the halfway point, it was time for a check-in: How was I feeling? Could I push a little more? It was definitely warming up, and the humidity was creeping in, but I’d been on top of cooling myself at every aid station—ice in the hat, ice in the bra, sponges on my arms, neck, and back, water over the head. And honestly? I felt pretty good. So I decided to dial it up ever so slightly.

My favorite miles on the course are between McQuade Harbor and the entrance into Duluth. I love running close to the lake, catching glimpses of the lift bridge in the distance, and soaking in the energy from the crowds. Elvis at mile 18 always makes me smile, and I will never turn down a Jolly Rancher mid-race.

By now, the sun had been out for a while, and I was starting to see more and more runners struggling with the heat. I could feel it too—but I still had something left in the tank.

I entered the city limits feeling surprisingly good. As I hit London Road, I caught a glimpse of some running friends cheering from the sidelines and got a volley of encouragement in return. That stretch from Lester River to Lemon Drop Hill always seems to drag for me—partly because London Road is longer than I ever remember, but mostly because it’s miles 19 through 22 of a marathon, which are just hard. That’s when things usually start to ache.

But this year, the miles seemed to tick by quicker.

Somewhere in that stretch, I caught up to Cody—another friend tackling his very first marathon. His energy was contagious. Just exchanging a few words and seeing the joy he carried gave me a serious boost. Fueled by his enthusiasm, I picked up the pace. Not long after, I spotted Franny, a fellow Grambassador, and we cheered each other on. She was looking strong, and I kept rolling forward.

Soon, I was cresting Lemon Drop Hill (which, honestly, isn’t that bad) and heading into downtown Duluth. That’s when I started doing marathon math—or at least trying to. I knew I needed a sub-3:30 to Boston Qualify, and I was trying to calculate how fast I had to run the final few miles. My brain wasn’t exactly up to the task, but I could tell it was going to be close.

A little after Lemon Drop, I saw Kevin again. He was struggling with heat-related cramps, like a lot of runners out there. I told him to run with me, but his hamstring wasn’t having it.

At mile 24, I looked up and saw Dot—my sweet, beautiful daughter—on the big screen. She was saying, “Mom, good luck, I love you, and you’re going to Boston Qualify!” That moment gave me the final push I needed. I willed my legs to move faster—or at least to not fall apart.

On Superior Street, I spotted my Hoops Run Club crew, cheering loud and proud. Their energy gave me another mental jolt, and I surged forward. Not even a block later, I saw my daughter, my partner, and his amazing parents. I wasn’t expecting them until the finish, so it was such a fun surprise to see them there. I high-fived Dot as I ran past, trying to smile, but through the fatigue it probably looked more like a grimace. 

The last mile of Grandma’s always feels like the longest. Not just because it’s the 26th mile, but because the course suddenly throws in a few twists and turns after being mostly straight. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make that BQ time. I had worked so hard—not just during the race, but in training. All those miles in the cold, dark winter. The runs squeezed into a summer road trip, looping KOA campgrounds while Dot biked beside me. The dreaded speedwork. It all came down to this.

I pushed with everything I had.

Apparently, my family was cheering from the bleachers, but I was so locked in that I didn’t hear a thing. I crossed the finish line in 3:28:13.

I did it.

I stopped my watch (because of course I did), received my medal, collected my shirt, and made my way down the finisher’s chute. I found my family, made quick plans to meet them shortly, and went to find Kevin, who I knew would be finishing soon. We met up, and he helped me find the Great Grandma’s Challenge medals—which I completely missed in my post-race daze.

Then I rejoined my family, changed into clean clothes, and headed to Bayfront to celebrate.

The post-run celebration was sweet. A couple drinks, some fries and sloppy joes, lots of hugs, and stories traded between friends—some who ran the full, some the half—all of us riding that beautiful post-marathon high. I also got to hear about my family’s spectating adventure, which honestly sounded just as eventful as my race. It was a perfect ending to a perfect race on a perfect weekend.

As I reflect on this year’s Grandma’s Marathon weekend, one word continues to echo through it all: community. From training miles shared with friends, to pre-race hugs, mid-race encouragement, and post-race celebrations, this year wasn’t just about chasing a time—it was about doing it together. I’ll never take for granted how far I’ve come since that first lonely marathon in 2018. Back then, I finished alone. This year, I finished surrounded—by friends, by family, by the beautiful running community that’s lifted me up every step of the way. Grandma’s will always be a special race, but this year, it felt like home.