An Ode to the Hometown Race

It’s 6:30 A.M. on Sunday, in downtown Cincinnati, Ohio, and I’m packed into a corral full of runners clad in race bibs and bouncing on their heels. This isn’t my first marathon, but I’m more excited and nervous than ever, because this is my hometown. I have something to prove.

I grew up in Cincinnati but moved to Columbus shortly after college, and then to Nashville, Tennessee, a few years after that. I love traveling to race in new places, Tennessee, Texas, Georgia, and West Virginia to name a few. But I’ve never toed the line at my hometown race, the Flying Pig Marathon, and that’s filled me with regret. As I took off through the streets of downtown Cincinnati come Sunday morning, I could practically hear the city itself chide, “It’s about time!”

A lot of races boast raucous spectators and enthusiastic aid stations, but as I trekked along the course, I felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity—like I knew these people, and they knew me. And indeed I did see quite a few blasts from the past along the way. My childhood best friend, whom I haven’t seen in years, was part of a cheering crew based around mile seven. I ran past a few grade school classmates, and my high school track coach handed me a cup of water at an aid station.

I didn’t know it at the time, but a high school track and field teammate was running the Pig, too. For Sarah Clark (who finished with a time of 3:07:24), this hometown race was everything she expected and more.

“Growing up in Cincinnati and watching my sisters run different races in past years, I knew I wanted to experience the same feeling they did,” Clark says. “For months, I’ve been imagining how I would feel on certain parts of the course and mentally preparing myself for the challenge ahead. But hearing the cheers from the crowd and seeing my family and friends along the way made me focus on something more than what my legs were feeling in the moment. Being surrounded by the support and energy of Cincinnati is an experience I am so appreciative to be a part of.”

Even the weather, which wasn’t comfortable by any means at 70 degrees Fahrenheit with 94 percent humidity, was familiar. Cincinnati in May can get hot, and it helped that I knew that fact early on so I could prepare to feel the burn. Everything about this race seemed suited for me, and I finally understood the real meaning of “home field advantage.”

Another familiar face was a grade school and high school peer a few years my senior, Brooke Wildermuth, who took second in the women’s race with a time of 2 hours, 51 minutes and 41 seconds.

“It’s exciting to watch the Pig’s field grow and times drop every year,” Wildermuth says. “I joined Cincinnatus Elite when I moved home, whose sole purpose is to bring more competitive running to Cincinnati, and seeing that come to life is exciting. I lived in New York for six years before moving back home, and to start to see similar times in a smaller city is great.”

And competitive it was. Two-time winner Jason Salyer (2:26:01) and second place runner Adam Beucler (2:26:53) battled back and forth for at least six lead changes until the last few miles when Salyer pulled away.

Cincinnati native Jack Randall, who co-founded Cincinnatus Elite in 2019, finished not far behind in third with a time of 2:27:34. He won the Pig in 2017 and 2019, and took a break from the marathon in 2022 to win the 10K in 33:45.

“Running a hometown marathon makes a special experience all that more special,” Randall says. “The opportunity to race the streets you trained on, to have the overwhelming support from friends and family and seeing your city come to life is an incredible feeling. I am extremely thankful to call the Flying Pig Marathon my hometown race and look forward to participating for many years to come!”

The Pig drew about 39,245 runners this year, which includes the eight races over the weekend in addition. The marathon had a total of 4,994 runners. But the size doesn’t dictate its importance to the local runners who call it their hometown course. Competition can be found anywhere, regardless of the number of race entries.

I wound through neighborhoods and areas that were once my old stomping grounds; they looked almost just as I’d left them, but now they were swathed in pig balloons. I visit Cincinnati frequently to see my parents, as it’s only a four hour drive from Nashville, but rarely do I get to run along the streets where I first learned how to stride, to breath properly, and to tackle hills with gritted teeth.

I felt even more blessed because my parents still live in the area, and thus were some of my biggest cheerleaders along the course. Every time I saw my dad (my original ‘running coach’) on the course, he’d give me quick sound bites of advice: “You have a flat section and then a few more hills. You’re making great time.” And in the final stretch, “You’ve got this. Pass a few more people. Get ahead. Almost there.”

As always, crossing the finish line was euphoric, but what was even more so was heading back to my childhood home to recover—feet up, spending time with my family. No unfamiliar hotel bed, no room service necessary.

While my hometown race isn’t necessarily the flashiest and may not draw the biggest crowds, racing through the memories of my life lent a special meaning no other race can top. So often we get wrapped up in crossing the most famous races off our bucket lists, we can forget the joy of a race that’s just for you.