Did the First-Ever ‘Every Woman’s Marathon’ Live Up to the Hype?

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It’s an unassuming Thursday afternoon when I board the plane from Nashville, Tennessee, to Savannah, Georgia. This flight, I guess, is generally taken by vacationers headed to Hilton Head for a charming beach and boardwalk escape. But where I expect to see travelers in sun hats and Salty Dog sweatshirts I find a plane packed with women clad in spandex with Hoka and On running shoes on their feet, all with the same sort of eager buzz. As I settle into my seat, the women to my side, front, and back start a collective conversation about running. I ask if they know each other. None of them do, but somehow they’ve already exchanged phone numbers and are planning on grabbing dinner together when they land. The pilot comes on the speakers overhead and promises a smooth ride for all the runners headed to the Every Woman’s Marathon in Savannah, the first-of-its-kind women’s only race.

Hosted by MilkPep, short for Milk Processor Education Program, and the marketing agency Gale, the Every Woman’s Marathon is the milk lobby’s latest bid to position milk as the fuel of choice for athletes—specifically women athletes, many of whom are mothers of young children. (Yes, these are the same people who ran the iconic “Got Milk” campaigns of the 1990s.) Since the two-day wellness retreat was announced in early 2024, it’s been promoted by the likes of poet Amanda Gorman and Olympians Des Linden and Deena Kastor. Sure, anyone can sign up, including gasp, men. But from the name to “motivation stations” at every mile to clean porta-potties to an epic post-race party, Every Woman’s Marathon promised something different for women, and I want to see if it lives up to the hype.

Wellness with a Dose of Marathoning

The expo is held at the manicured Trustees’ Garden and includes about three buildings and a long sloping lawn fit with a stage. The line for bib pickup is achingly long, but there are plenty of other distractions if you’d rather meander around until it dies down. Set up as a sort of village, the “wellness fair” and expo includes events throughout the day that runners had the opportunity to sign up for upon race registration.

The first event I attend is a cooking class run by Deena Kastor, a two-time Olympian and previous American record holder in the half-marathon and marathon. I’m surprised to find only 25 of the 50 or 60 seats are filled. My guess is that many of the women who signed up for the race, more than half of whom, Team Milk reports, consider themselves to be new runners, don’t know who Kastor is, much less the accolades she holds in the sport. But I’m certainly pleased to sit in a roomy space and eat the frittata she just showed us how to make—yum.

While there are plenty of vendors (Rabbit, Nuun, Gu), I’m more interested in the speaker panels, the first of which includes Kathrine Switzer, who needs no introduction but is happy to give one anyway, and Alison Mariella Desir, author of Running While Black and founder of Harlem Run. The discussion centers around running communities, and every few sentences are bookended with supportive applause from the audience.

“That’s how you know you’re in a room full of women,” Desir jokes when the clapping and whoops become too frequent not to acknowledge.

Outside the panel, a yoga class is taking place underneath a large pitched tent. Unlike many race expos I’ve attended, people seem more content to hang out than get in and get out—and there are plenty of places to do so. The Milk Lounge (a sterile white space with jars of milk shelved along the walls like art pieces) has chairs and there’s a courtyard of seats, but most people choose to sit on the sun-doused lawn. There’s even a hair braiding station, which I initially roll my eyes at but have a change of heart when I see the complex braids and hairstyles being done by the stylists. (Let’s hope they make it through the night to race day.)

Another panel late in the day features Olympian and Boston champ Des Linden, Switzer, Desir, Kastor, and Danielle McLaughlin, a para-triathlon world champion and adaptive marathon runner who lost her leg below the knee when she was 17. We hear plenty of phrases and mantras that have been repeated throughout the day, most of which refer to the goal of nurturing female communities and making running more welcoming and less intimidating for women. Linden, who doesn’t speak as often as some of the other panelists but has keen insight when prompted, piques my interest when she brings up the topic of advancing more sponsorship opportunities for elite runners, but the topic sort of fizzles.

When I ask her about the topic of elite athlete sponsorship later she says, “I think we do a pretty good job. I’ve been with Brooks for 15-plus years and Deena spoke about Asics and how they treat her really well, so there are brands that are doing it right and really well, and we just need to see more of it. We have to advocate for ourselves, and believe we belong and believe that we deserve to be in the space, and not just take what we get and be good with that.”

Kastor touches on pregnancy clauses in pro-athlete contracts. Historically, many running contracts treated pregnancy as an injury, limiting athlete opportunities and rendering them less marketable—and ultimately less valuable. Thanks to advocacy by the likes of now-retired Olympians Allyson Felix and Kara Goucher, that has started to change. Kastor, 51, notes that her longtime sponsor, which she doesn’t name but we know is Asics, has never threatened to leave or reduce her pay, even when she became pregnant. “I got lucky,” she repeats. “Other athletes might not have had the same experience as me.”

RELATED: An Enduring Legacy: Des Linden x The Boston Marathon

What Do Women Want in a Race, Actually?

At the pre-race pasta dinner the night prior, instead of sitting with elites and pros (there are none at this race), I’m among a table of uber-friendly influencers and contest winners—all invited to the race and sponsored by various dairy farms and creameries across the country. Not for the first time today, I hear that Instagram was instrumental in getting the word out about the race. Almost every person I ask today says they found out about the Every Woman’s Marathon through the social media platform or a friend—who also heard about it through Instagram.

A woman I sat next to at the pre-race dinner, also a contest winner, had a four-month-old baby in her arms. She’d never run a marathon before and was planning on “doing her best” on race day, considering she’d just given birth. All the women at my table were mothers, and all gushed about how they were so appreciative of the lactation stations set up at the expo. “They splurged for hands-free pumps!” One of them pointed out. “I couldn’t believe it!”

Chatting with these women over dinner, I learned that many of the registrants (over 40 percent of whom were running a marathon for the first time and identified as new runners) signed up because they liked the idea of a female-empowered experience. (According to race organizers, just four percent of race registrants identified as men.) It would be an incredible feat to run 26.2 miles, they said, but to do so among mostly women was the real win. I asked many runners if they gave any thought to the course or bathrooms or lactation stations when they signed up, and while they agreed those things were fantastic, most said they were running this race because a majority of the competitors would be women. The race sold out with 7,000 registrants.

A Race for Every Woman—and Man, Kind Of 

Race day goes as smoothly as any other race I’ve attended. As promised, the Savannah course is gorgeous, shaded by massive live oak trees bending over the roads. Bathrooms are, indeed, abundant at the starting line and throughout the course, and while no one wants to use a Porta-Potty, the few I used were cleaner than other races I’ve been to. There is a lactation station at mile 13. It’s well attended, with spectators along much of the course.

The motivation stations are similar to any well-loved race—tons of volunteers out in groups to cheer, wave signs, blow bubbles, and throw impromptu dance parties. The pacers were enthusiastic and vocal, leading huge groups through the course. Most everyone wore headphones, though it wasn’t uncommon to see runners take them out to enjoy the particularly boisterous motivation stations.

The winner, 28-year-old Khia Kurtenbach, finishes in 2 hours, 26 minutes, and 14 seconds.

“It was so much fun, this race was just beautiful! And the crowd was wonderful, they were cheering so loudly,” she says. “I got to do the first half of this race with a great pack of women, and it was awesome to work together.”

About a minute later, the second place finisher crosses under the arch—a man, 22-year-old Jacob Alexander, from Bellingham, Washington. Though he is still given a medal and congratulated, it is clear that not everyone knows how to feel about his participation. Every Woman’s Marathon welcomes and is eager for everyone, both women and men, to participate, but because it’s a women-focused event, only the top three women are officially acknowledged and given bouquets. But hey, the flat-and-fast course is a Boston Qualifier for men, too.

“There’s a lot of women who are inspirational in my life. Krissy Moehl, from my hometown, is a two-time UTMB champ, so she was a huge inspiration,” Alexander says. “Then there’s Courtney [Olsen] who just had the [50-mile] world record, which is awesome. This is a great cause and a great course, and it’s an inspiration to be there, especially in that pack of people who are just having a really great time.”

This community-based, inspirational spirit is shared down the finishing chute, moving along to second-place woman, 34-year-old Megan Seiter. “I feel everything, all the feels. I live here, I train here. And to be out here with 7,000 women running a marathon, with Kathrine Switzer and Des Linden at the finish line, I’m all in my feels,” she says. “I love Savannah, I love running with women, and even girls who are out at mile 10-11 right now, it’s so inspiring. I just love this sport.”

The post-race festival that follows is as exorbitant and colorful as the expo, and there’s plenty of stretching, photo ops, and exchanging of handmade bracelets (a ritual borrowed from the Taylor Swift fandom). British singer-songwriter superstar Natasha Bedingfield gives a surprise performance, and, in true “girl power” fashion, the day ends with a boisterous, collective rendition of “Unwritten.”

RELATED: Kathrine Switzer and 10 Other Inspiring Women Who Have Ruled the NYC Marathon

No One “Right” Way to Run 

Before the race, one thing I struggled with was the repeated verbiage that this race was created because women need a less intimidating marathon—specifically, a course that’s flatter and considered “easier.” (For those wondering, the race boasted a max elevation of just 49 feet and a total of 304 feet of elevation gain and loss.)

And I do agree that the course was flat for the most part, and the weather is predictably good in Savannah. Plus it’s a well-supported race, with 14 well-stocked aid stations evenly dispersed throughout the course. It’s still certainly not the easiest marathon in the country, with several small bumps at the beginning and end. (From personal experience, take the Erie Marathon in Pennsylvania: now that’s flat.) But at the end of the day, it’s still a marathon—no easy feat.

I respect that many first-time runners, heck, even long-time runners, are daunted by the idea of running a marathon and that hearing a course described as “easy” is attractive. And I acknowledge that women deserve a safe place to be celebrated and supported. In addition to the flat-and-fast course, the race offered pacers to help you hit certain time goals and a robust adaptive program that included a wheelchair division and assisted teams.

Plus, there are very tangible steps races can take to be more supportive of and inclusive to women, such as: offering training plans and online support systems leading up to the race; and providing lactation stations and sanitary products on the course. The race, to its credit, provided all of these things. It was also set to provide a kid’s play area, but the addition was scratched due to some logistical problems.

All that being said, I’m not convinced that someone of my gender needs the bar lowered to run 26.2 miles. I look at Linden, a badass in her own right, and think: women are pretty resilient—we can handle the scary stuff, too. 

With no elite field and no age group awards, results were entirely personal. While some of the early finishers I spoke with were trying to PR or BQ, there were many runners and walkers making use of the extended cut-off time of 7 hours and 45 minutes to just make it to the finish.

“It’s definitely different from what I’m used to, but I don’t think different is better or worse,” Linden says when I ask her about how it feels after coming off of a competitive New York City Marathon to be at a race less focused on paces and finishing times. “The community and energy is all still really exciting and fun, and it shows that there’s a lot of ways to encourage running. I think there’s so much community here that’s just different—I’ve been finding out a lot about it. What people get inspired by, and taking chances on things that are new and interesting.”

Switzer says this mantra of “less intimidation” is a big reason why she came on board to be an ambassador and involved her nonprofit, 261 Fearless.

“When I was approached, [Milk] said, ‘We don’t have an all women’s marathon in the U.S. right now,’ and I said it’s really time, because the camaraderie is very special,” Switzer says. “And the lack of intimidation is phenomenal. 261 Fearless is not about competition, and I submit that most of the race tomorrow is not going to be about competition either. It’s going to be about an explosion of women realizing their capacity for the first time. After your first marathon, you think, ‘There’s nothing I can’t do’.”

I remind myself that this race is more about the spirit of sisterhood and encouraging more people—specifically women—to pick up not only marathoning, but the sport of running. I may be privileged to feel comfortable toeing the line at races, where other women may not have that shared experience. Perhaps they’ll get the running bug and sign up for another 26.2 or try to go for a PR—and even if not, it doesn’t matter. They did the damn thing, and if the promise of a flatter course and endless support from women gets people into the one percent club, count me in.