Miami gave me a wild 26.2 miles in a CR7 shirt, right in Messi's backyard
Miami on January 28, 2024: A flat, single-loop run that turned into a heat-stroke test under full sun, featuring bridges, highway causesways, and a Portuguese connection.
The Miami Marathon is a flat, scenic loop that looks great on paper. In reality, it was a test of survival. The course takes you through downtown, across MacArthur Causeway, along Miami Beach, over Venetian Causeway, and down the shadeless Rickenbacker Causeway.
I ran this wearing Ronaldo's Al Nassr jersey—a street tribute to my idol in Lionel Messi's new home city. It turned out to be the ultimate conversation starter, especially in the final miles.
Conquering Messi's City in Ronaldo's Name
🎽 Miami, Florida
The Miami Marathon is a single-loop, flat, USATF-certified course, which means it is a Boston Qualifier. In theory, you can run your way to a Boston ticket amidst the sun and sea breeze. I, however, do not have that kind of speed.
Although there are a few bridges along the way, they are temporarily locked down for the race, so there are no steep climbs. It's the kind of course built for enjoying—and PRing—except today was brutally hot. The full and half courses overlap for more than half the distance, and the route comes alive with music, spectators, timing clocks, volunteers, and the morning light.
At 7:00 AM, the starting line was set right outside the Kaseya Center. The arena was lit up in solid red, looking as intense as a playoff game. The starting area felt less like a race and more like a colorful street party: LED lights, Latin music, runners dancing, and nervous heartbeats all pulsing together.
Maybe this is just the natural rhythm of Latin culture—they make you want to dance even before the gun goes off. Siqi and I split up here. She was running the half, and I was doing the full. We waved in the crowd and were pushed by the lights and rhythms to our respective starting corrals. It was still dark when we started, but before we even hit the one-mile mark, we climbed the MacArthur Causeway bridge connecting downtown Miami to Watson Island.
The sky opened up in the distance, and the sea turned from pitch black to a bright morning orange. Cruise ships floated in the distance like sleeping giants. A girl stood by the side of the bridge holding a sign: "Remember your WHY." Her silhouette looked like an angel floating in the morning mist.
Next was a long stretch of highway over the water: the MacArthur Causeway. Port on the left, cruise ships on the right. The ships were massive, like floating cities. The light hit them, and light smoke drifted from their funnels, as if they had just woken up too.
A runner wearing Messi's pink Inter Miami #10 jersey passed me, the pink kit blending flawlessly with the color palette of this city. Running off the causeway and turning into Miami Beach, the sun was fully up. It hit my face directly, warm and heavy, like mist rising from the ocean.
Water from the aid stations splashed onto the road, reflecting the asphalt like a mirror. The volunteers' smiles were as bright as the Florida sun. At that moment, nobody seemed to be rushing. Everyone was just enjoying it. Running wasn't a fight against the clock; it was a way of breathing, pacing with the morning light in this city where Latin rhythms and the ocean merge.
The Pink Pigs: From Miami Beach back to Downtown
🐷 Miami, Florida
Running through the main street of Miami Beach from mile 4 to mile 8, this stretch was the liveliest and most tropical part of the race.
Miami Beach is a long, narrow barrier island filled with sunshine, sand, palm trees, Art Deco architecture, and countless unique restaurants and boutique hotels. We then ran across the Venetian Causeway, a long bridge connecting several residential islands (like San Marco, San Marino, Di Lido, and Rivo Alto). These small islands are locally referred to as "Ter" (short for Terrace), which are small, artificial residential islands built on reclaimed land.
The bridge surface has a distinct, old-school steel grid texture that puts a bit of bounce in your step. You can see "Drawbridge Signal" signs, indicating the bridge normally opens for boats, though it was locked down for the race. The morning sun got brighter and sweat began to pour, but the crowd remained electric.
The highlight for me was a group of kids wearing pink inflatable pig suits, waving "Power Up" signs. They looked like they had jumped straight out of a Mario game, making everybody smile.
After Miami Beach, we headed back toward Downtown. Crossing into the city, the crowd size doubled, and the cheering spectators became twice as dense. We crossed the Miami River, its high-rises and glass facades reflecting the blinding sun. The sun was fully up now, and it was getting hot. We headed southwest into the Brickell area for the second half. The temperature rose, energy levels dropped, but the support and the skyline kept us moving.
The Heat is Real: Miles 15 to 20
🌞 Miami, Florida
From Mile 15, the route suddenly veered off the main path and headed east onto the Rickenbacker Causeway—a straight road stretching out into the bay. This section was under construction, with dust flying and zero shade. There was nothing but the scorching sun and the glare reflecting off the concrete, like running on a giant frying pan.
Ahead was the turnaround point at Mile 16. The sun overhead was unforgiving, and the 10:00 AM Miami heat covered the entire road. That stretch was a grind. The surrounding view wasn't particularly exciting—just the distant ocean and a few scattered palm trees.
At Mile 16, I saw a marker showing I had been running for over three hours. It was a U-turn, and rounding it felt like a relief, even though the air remained heavy and humid.
Heading back, the course passed through Steele Mini Park and Kennedy Park. Even though these were parks, the sun was beating down so hard there was virtually no shade.
But the spectators were incredible. People pulled hoses out of their houses to spray water on us, laughing, and others rode bikes alongside runners to cheer them on.
Honestly, though, the overriding feeling was just "hot." The kind of heat that cooks you from your soles up to your temples. It felt like if I didn't walk for a bit, my shoes would start smoking.
At this point, I finally understood why the local NBA team is named the "Heat." It is a well-deserved name. I decided not to fight it and began alternating between walking and running to keep my temperature down. Finally, at Coconut Grove Bay Front Park, I saw the Mile 20 sign, which was the final turnaround. Less than 6 miles to go.
The CR7 Finish: The Final 5 Miles
🐐 Miami, Florida
Passing Mile 21, we finally headed northeast, running back toward the finish line at Bayfront Park.
The sun was still brutal, but mentally it felt much lighter because we knew the finish was less than 10K away.
The high-rises came back into view, and the air almost smelled like the finish line. And there were tons of photographers here, from professionals with massive lenses to volunteers snapping photos on their phones. I quickly adjusted my posture and pace, trying to look like "I'm doing totally fine."
The aid stations were still fully locked in, with volunteers holding water guns, handing out ice, and screaming to keep us going. Their energy covered the course like the sunshine. At Mile 25, a small highlight occurred. A large guy ran up beside me, tapped my shoulder, and yelled, "Hey bro, I love Ronaldo too! We're from the same country!"
Turns out he was Portuguese. Seeing me wearing Ronaldo's Al Nassr jersey, he got incredibly excited. We gave each other a thumbs-up and kept pushing toward the finish. I wore this jersey today because I wanted to make a statement in Messi's home territory of Miami. It was my street-level tribute to my idol—not by scoring goals, but by taking every step.
I kept running, focused on the finish line. My shadow was a bit crooked, and my shirt was sticking to my skin, but the ocean breeze kept me sharp. The final mile was pure muscle memory; I stopped thinking. The crowds got denser, and the cheering sounded like waves. I saw the finish arch, the orange "FINISH" sign glowing in the sun. I raised both arms like I was about to fly across.
Crossing the finish line, there was no dramatic yelling, just heavy panting. The sun was scorching, and I was handed a medal that looked like a mix between a sun and a ninja star.
It was shiny gold with a lone palm tree in the center. I heard quite a few runners got stopped at airport security because it looked like a weapon. A photographer pointed a camera at me and yelled, "Nice shirt, Ronaldo!" "Hell yeah!" I yelled back. I pressed a cold water bottle against my face, letting the cold pierce my temples.
I sat by the curb, shoe soles still hot, body still steaming. A volunteer was handing out bread, and someone was muttering F-bombs by the barrier. Everyone was exhausted, no pretences, very real.
I checked my watch: 4 hours and 23 minutes. Not my fastest, but I was alive. I had run 26.2 miles in a Ronaldo jersey in the Miami heat. That was enough.
I found Siqi on the grass at the finish. She had finished long ago and was looking good. I collapsed on the grass, the heat still radiating off me like an unplugged rice cooker. A band was playing on stage with a fast beat; we even danced a little. Sore legs, but a light heart. I pulled out the Ronaldo jersey, and Siqi took a few photos of me holding it up. Wearing a Saudi league kit in Messi's territory felt like a fun little crossover.
The biggest issue after the marathon wasn't sore legs, but that we couldn't hail a ride. The area around the finish line was completely closed off. So we just walked and explored, making our way from Bayfront Park all the way to the city center. Along the way, we stumbled upon a colorful mural and took a few photos.
It was still hot, so we stepped into a building that looked like a church. It turned out it was one, and a Spanish service was underway. We didn't understand a single word, but we sat in the back anyway. The AC was freezing, and the atmosphere was quiet and solemn. After cooling down, we walked back to the hostel. Even after running a marathon, that 3km walk back didn't feel exhausting. The Miami sun, the locals hanging out on the street, and the strangers congratulating us made the trip feel grounded and full of life.
How I ended up on that start line
The race itself was a wild 26.2 miles under the full sun, but the story actually starts before the starting gun. A wrong-date ticket, a quick check-in at a Little Havana hostel, and a weekend of unexpected detours led us to that Kaseya Center starting line.
Preface
Re-running Florida: A Miami Marathon sparked by a wrong-date plane ticket
🌴 Miami, Florida
I had already checked Florida off my list as the 15th state. After finishing the Disney Marathon, our trip was supposed to end right there.
But a plane ticket bought with the wrong date dragged us right back to this sunshine state. Last time was Disney; this time was Miami.
Turns out, fate has its own way of scheduling. Siqi got to make up for her shortened Disney Half Marathon (which had been cut short by rain), and I got a chance to "re-run" a full marathon in state fifteen.
Miami is a city that blends the Caribbean, Latin America, and the American dream into one place. It has palm trees, pink sunrises, Cuban music drifting out of Little Havana, South Beach sun parties, and Lionel Messi's new home: Inter Miami. It is the territory of the NBA Heat, and the port where cruise ships set sail for the world.
We landed Friday night and started running early Sunday morning. Going from downtown to Bayside, running into South Beach, feeling the sea breeze sweep past high-rises and flags—this was a pure "special forces" weekend. We didn't plan on doubling back, but sometimes a detour leads you to the best views.
Chapter 1 | A Magical Night in Little Havana
🛫 Miami, Florida
Friday evening, we landed in Miami. Navigating the usual route, we boarded the colorful double-decker Tri-Rail train, heading south from Fort Lauderdale Airport. The sunlight streaming through the windows carried that bright, distinct Florida feel.
This time, we weren't just passing through. After wandering around Downtown, we caught a bus and checked into a youth hostel on the edge of Little Havana. It was small but lively. In the hallways, you could hear Spanish, English, and backpackers cooking on the balcony. It's rare to find a place in the U.S. with this kind of traveler vibe.
For dinner, we found a Chinese restaurant. The menu felt as familiar as going home. But from the very first bite, something was off: it was incredibly bland, and every dish came covered in a metal lid.
We initially thought it was run by Mexicans, but looking back, it was probably a "Cuban-style Chinese" kitchen. After all, this is Little Havana, the Latin heart of Miami.
Ever since the Cuban Revolution in 1959, this neighborhood has been a landing spot for countless Cuban immigrants. They brought their music, cigars, rice, and dreams of freedom—and apparently, they took away a bit of the salt.
Back at the hostel, I washed my face and took a breath. Just as I was about to rest, my advisor's Zoom meeting started right on time to discuss the draft of a project proposal. Talking research across different time zones and a massive temperature difference was definitely a unique travel experience.
With planes flying overhead every now and then and someone playing guitar in the courtyard, I was genuinely worried my advisor would catch me traveling secretly over the weekend... In that moment, Miami wasn't just about sunny beaches; it was a real-life blend of midnight corporate grind and Latin rhythms.
Chapter 2 | Tropical Rhythms & Gear Pickup
📣 Miami, Florida
Saturday morning, we took the bus over to Miami Beach to pick up our gear. The Expo was held at the Miami Beach Convention Center.
The ride offered great views. We passed the Kaseya Center—home of the Miami Heat and the old battlefield of the "Big Three"—now bearing the huge sign: "HEAT CULTURE."
Further ahead, a massive Carnival cruise ship was docked at the port, its white hull shining in the sun like a floating city. I later looked it up and found that Miami is one of the busiest cruise ports in the world. There are more cruise ships than houses here, probably because it is so close to the Caribbean and Central America that going anywhere feels like a vacation.
The Expo was packed. Runners came from all over the world, speaking different languages, with Spanish being the most common by far. Many Latin American runners brought their entire families, with kids running around, making the whole place feel like a festival.
In one corner of the hall, they had flags from various countries. Seeing a familiar red flag, I rushed over to take a picture. Siqi held up her bib and made a peace sign in front of the main backdrop.
After picking up our gear, we found an American buffet near Downtown. It was clean, healthy, and actually cheaper than Hutong back home.
Full and energized, we walked over to Brickell Key, which we had missed last time. This triangular island connects to downtown, but the marathon route doesn't pass through it.
At sunset, the sun slowly dropped, turning the high-rises into silhouettes. The sky shifted from blue to pink, and the breeze was just right.
At night, we hopped back on a bus and returned to the hostel in Little Havana. We had to wake up early tomorrow—the Miami Marathon was waiting for us.
Afterword | The Flight Home & Echoes of the 15th State
✈️ Coming Home, Atlantic Airspace
The morning we left Miami, the sky was still blue, and the sun warmed my calves, which were still sore from the marathon. Siqi and I arrived at the airport early. We checked the ninja-star medal into our luggage; we didn't want to explain it to airport security. The plane took off, and outside the window, Florida's dense residential grids and scattered lakes spread out.
Looking further, there were palm trees, small canals, casino hotels, and neat farmlands, looking like a carefully arranged puzzle. And further still, the light blue edge of the Atlantic, like an unfinished watercolor.
I thought about the quiet Spanish service yesterday and the loud airport this morning. Florida is a place of contradictions: passionate yet restrained, commercial yet romantic. It was once a Spanish colony, the native land of indigenous people, and later became a haven for retirees and a bridgehead of Latin culture. A paradise to escape reality, and a historic arena of overlapping eras.
To me, it will always be 26.2 miles of hot sun, photographers, ice water, casual encouragements between runners, and a Portuguese brother tapping my shoulder to say, "Hey, Ronaldo!" In that moment, I felt like a runner, just like everyone else.
Someone asked me: "Why run a marathon in all 50 U.S. states?" The reason isn't complicated. I love running, and I love exploring. I haven't seen any Chinese runners complete it yet, and I want to be the first. I also hope Ni-Ge (who is also on this quest) slows down a bit so I can catch up. As we left Florida behind, we were followed by the sun, the humidity, the palm trees, and the second story of our 15th state.
- End of Post -
Text 丨 Arsenan
Photography 丨 Arsenan
Design 丨 Arsenan