This post is by AMR Community Supporter Michelle San Antonio, a longtime runner and a mom of three who also works part-time in a bookstore in Rhode Island. 

In January, when I was hobbling around the house on crutches and in a boot post-bunion surgery, running a 10-mile race six months later is unimaginable. Yet time passed and I started running again in mid-May; I did a relatively long run of six miles on June 21—almost exactly one month before the iconic Rhode Island road race known as The Blessing of the Fleet 10-Miler, or simply “The Blessing.” 

If you’re a Rhode Island runner, you can be sure that starting in June, everyone will ask you, “are you running The Blessing?” For eight years of my running life, my answer was yes—I loved the wildly popular race, even in the oppressive late-July weather. 

Selfie time

Unlike most small-town races, The Blessing boasts cheering crowds along most of the route. And because it’s a Friday night in the summer, lots of those cheering crowds are partying on their lawns and offering the runners Jell-o shots and beers, along with water guns and garden hoses to spray you down and cool you off. To top things off, the finish line is across from the beach, complete with a carnival, beer tent, and live band. It’s a giant party, and it was the obvious choice for my first race back. So after that 6-mile run, I worked my way up to a 10-miler the week before the race, and I knew I was ready to go. 

As is usually the case for this event, the race-day forecast includes excessive heat warnings and potential thunderstorms. Since my only goal this year is to cross the finish line and put a giant exclamation point on my post-surgery comeback, I take it all in stride. 

Just being at the starting line and seeing friends is so fun—the feeling of being part of a community has always been my favorite part of our sport, and it feels so good to be back. I line up much farther back than I usually do, to keep myself from going out too fast, and before I know it, we’re off. 

Mile 1: The first house along the route always hosts a huge party and blasts great music—the perfect way to kick things off. Being in the back of the pack forces me to keep my pace easy as I chat with some friends.

Mile 2: I get a view of what Dimity once eloquently called “a colorful ribbon of runners” streaming up the road ahead of me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that beautiful sight, I get a little choked up.

Michelle’s view of the ribbon of runners

Mile 3: I’ve already run through several sprinklers and held my hand out for many high-fives from kids along the route, and I see another friend at a water stop: Running slower is fun! 

Mile 4: The longest oceanside stretch, and unfortunately there isn’t much of a breeze, but I get sprayed by a few kids with water guns, and the cheering crowds are out in full force!

Mile 5: I pass an unofficial water stop (one of many) with a sign dedicated to a friend who passed away a few years ago: She was the ringleader behind that water stop, and I always loved seeing her. So touched to see their tribute. 

Blessing sprinkler to help beat the heat

Mile 6: The dreaded Route 108 stretch—the second of two miles along a 4-lane secondary highway. It’s the most boring, grueling part of the race—I just put my head down and keep moving forward, hitting a few more sprinklers and taking a GU gel along the way. 

Mile 7: Finally off the highway and onto the beautiful tree-lined road that leads back toward the start. I’m happy to spot a friend and run with her for a few minutes.

Mile 8: We’re running past the start now, and up the final little hill of the course. It’s a small one, and I make it up easily, holding back on my pace and still feeling good. Hot, sweaty, and tired, but good. 

Mile 9: Slip ‘n Slides, beers, Fireball shots, blaring music, screaming crowds: This mile has it all, and I am grinning from ear to ear, stopping to take a few pictures. 

The Blessing slip n’slide

Mile 10: I finally allow myself to run fast, and it’s so fun to go flying down the final stretch and across the finish line. I walk over to the beach, snap a selfie, and cry a few happy tears.

I’ve never felt so good finishing this race, and I’m glad I held back so I could fully enjoy the experience and the party atmosphere of this iconic Rhode Island event. It’s my slowest time ever at this race, and I couldn’t be prouder. 

I wanted an exclamation point on my surgery recovery, and I got it. I. Am. Back.