Running on gratitude
Thanksgiving morning. A time for gratitude, reflection, and—for reasons no one can quite explain—sprinting through town in weather better suited for hibernation.
Welcome to the Turkey Trot, where Americans counterbalance an impending feast of questionable portion sizes by jogging 3.1 miles, often dressed as poultry. Because nothing says “holiday tradition” quite like cold-weather cardio and a feathered headband.
Why do we do this? Perhaps it’s an attempt to earn that extra slice of pie or simply the gravitational pull of social media, where Karen’s 7 a.m. selfie in a “Gravy Squad” tee silently judges us all. Whatever the motivation, we lace up our sneakers, brave the frost, and pretend this is a reasonable way to start a day devoted to overeating.
The Turkey Trot isn’t so much about fitness as it is about spectacle. Consider the outfits: turkey hats flapping in the breeze, Pilgrim-inspired shoes with laughably inadequate arch support, and, inevitably, someone in an inflatable turkey costume wobbling across the finish line. It’s part race, part live-action cartoon, with TikTok-inspired dance moves thrown in at the starting line. And if someone in a cranberry sauce costume has never outrun you, can you even say you’ve celebrated Thanksgiving?
Of course, the trot is just the warm-up. The real event is the feast—a paradoxical day of gratitude immediately followed by unapologetic gluttony. We give thanks for the blessings we already have, then proceed to duel over the last crescent roll as if it were a golden ticket.
This year, the turkey itself feels like a luxury item, thanks to rising food costs. While some stick to tradition, others are spicing things up—literally—with menus that lean global or even meatless. Moroccan-spiced carrots instead of green bean casserole? It’s 2024; anything goes. Your great-aunt might grumble, but hey, at least it’s still orange.
Then there’s the Macy’s Parade, an annual spectacle where timelessly odd balloon choices—hello, Snoopy and SpongeBob—drift above a sea of freezing spectators. The performances swing between Broadway-worthy and “did they pull this from a high school musical?” while lip-syncing mishaps add an extra layer of charm. And yet, we tune in every year, popcorn in hand,
because some traditions defy logic.
Thanksgiving also signals the official kickoff to the season of cheerful chaos. Black Friday looms, where gratitude shifts to deal-hunting, now largely from the safety of our couches. Gone are the days of wrestling for a toaster at 5 a.m.; the new battleground is our phone screen, and honestly, we’re all better for it.
Decorations are dialed up to eleven, with “nostalgic chaos” dominating the trend. Neon lights and inflatable snowmen are back in force, lighting up the night and possibly violating a zoning law or two. Meanwhile, Mariah Carey emerges from her holiday cocoon, crooning her way into the season with that song, the true harbinger of winter festivities.
Holiday gatherings are evolving too. Packed schedules and a preference for quality over quantity mean smaller, quieter get-togethers are in. Whether it’s a way to sidestep certain relatives or just to preserve our sanity, the result is a cozier, if no less chaotic, celebration.
And maybe that’s the beauty of it all. Thanksgiving—whether it’s turkey hats, debates over stuffing vs. dressing, or avoiding a heated discussion at the kids’ table—is gloriously imperfect. It’s not about achieving a Pinterest-worthy day; it’s about the memories we create, even the absurd ones.
So, whether you’re braving a Turkey Trot, feasting like royalty, or dodging Black Friday deals, embrace the madness. After all, these quirks and calamities are what make the season unforgettable—and give us something to laugh about next year.
Please don’t take great offense to this satirical view on Thanksgiving. The holidays is a good time to laugh; at others and at ourselves. And if you can’t do that with family, than are they really you’re family?
