I just ran a 10K. You read that right. 10! This was NOT on my bucket list. Never was, never expected it to be. Nevertheless, here I sit recovering from my first 10K because I succumbed to peer pressure from my daughter. (I think she may hate me and is trying to kill me, by the way.)

My daughter was dressed to run. Wearing all black, my husband called her a Navy SEAL or, more apropos, an assassin. The only departure to her sleek, aerodynamic outfit were her motivational socks:

It was a balmy 40 degrees when we clustered around the start banner so I was already cursing the gods by the time the race started. The cold adds a whole other level of hell to an already shitty ordeal. It takes a few extra minutes to acclimate to the frozen icicles that attempt to form on the lungs with each intake of breath.

My husband and daughter were staying together so I promptly left them behind to find my pace. I raised one leaden foot at a time and trudged along the course with a bad attitude but resolved that I was going to finish this race without walking. I skipped through several songs until I found one that motivated me and then found my stride — slow and steady.

I wasn’t looking to set any records, I just wanted to not die. Still, by mile marker 2, I wanted to cry only because I knew there were still 4+ miles to go. I was less cold but the runny snot kept it from being even remotely comfortable. Well, that and the fact that I was still running.

I saw my husband and daughter at the turnaround. They were still together, still moving, and looking much less motivated. I flipped them off with two arms in the air and kept my pace.

By mile marker 4, I’m pretty sure a tear slid down my cheek but the biting wind erased the evidence instantaneously. I saw a dog taking a shit on the side of the course and I felt that couldn’t have been any more symbolic of my attitude about my situation at that very moment.

Except the stop to tie my shoes and the tiny walk on the bridge so I could look at the Washington Monument, I ran the entire time. Truth be told, though, my usual sprint to the finish line was at 20% power. I could barely increase my stride at this point but, who cares?! — I finished!

1:17:20

After the race, my spouse told me that, at the turnaround, after we passed each other, my daughter said “Apparently, mom is a beast.” That comment is why I ran this race!

That’s right, mini-me — MOTHER FUCKING GIRL POWER!