Nonna’s Thanksgiving Classic

Before the ovens preheat, before the parade begins, before a single cranberry sauce plops from its can — there is the Trot. Not just any trot, but Nonna’s Thanksgiving Classic Turkey Trot, an event so iconic it could make a mashed potato weep.

Every Thanksgiving morning, as the dew still clings to the grass and mild regret fills the air, a gathering unlike any other takes place. Friends, family, and the occasional overconfident neighbor assemble in running shoes, stained t shirt, and the kind of athletic shorts that say, “I haven’t run in six months, but here I am.”

At precisely whenever Olivia feels like it — usually after a dramatic megaphone announcement and at least one side conversation — the runners (and walkers, and stroller-pushers, and people who swore they were just coming to watch) take off. It’s not about who’s the fastest. It’s about who put the most effort in, who can make the most people smile, and who can make an already eventful holiday THAT much better. Clearly there is already an obvious winner but we will continue on. 

The course? A scenic masterpiece weaving through neighborhoods that may or may not have asked for this kind of commotion. The fans? An occasional cop or two. A Facebook post on some neighborhood group. And some family just trying to take their dog out on the morning. 

And then there are the awards — custom-designed and deeply cherished. This year winner categories will be planned ahead of time instead of on the fly. Making it so much more exciting. You don’t know what you could win, so put your best foot forward and smiles big.

When it’s all over, participants gather to take the world’s sweatiest group photo, clutching their water bottles like victory goblets. Someone inevitably says, “We should do this every year,” forgetting entirely that this is every year. And for the rest of our lives Olivia Howell will make thanksgiving completely about herself. 

Because Nonna’s Thanksgiving Classic isn’t just a race. It’s a movement. It’s a lifestyle. It’s an excuse to eat an entire plate of stuffing completely guilt-free. So whether you’re sprinting like your pumpkin pie depends on it or casually walking like you’re late to brunch, there’s a spot for you at the starting line.

Come for the run. Stay for the chaos. Leave with sore legs and a full heart. 🦃✨