If you're familiar with Beyonce's 2011 hit, you answered the question in this post's title with a loud cry of "Girls!" This Sunday morning, at 8:59am, it was those words that carried me across the finish line of my second 10K, which was also my first since "Crossing the Bay" nearly two years ago.
I am tremendously, phenomenally, incredibly proud of this accomplishment. Back in 2017, when I ran my first 10K, I trained hard to get myself ready for the 6.2 miles required. While I was pleased that I finished running, it was a huge blow to finish at 1 hour, 10 seconds. I had come so close to beating my one hour goal, yet fallen so short.
This time, I signed up for the race just 5 weeks ahead of time, knowing that I hadn't run more than 4 miles in nearly 18 months. Though I still work out early each morning, I wasn't exactly sure what it would take to get me back up to 6.2 miles, and I wasn't remotely certain that I could even come close to touching that 1 hour goal. But, just like 2 years ago, I woke up each morning at 5am, pulled on workout clothes in the darkness, laced up my sneakers, and made the drive to work in pre-dawn light. I set a simple enough goal: put 15 miles on my legs each week. Usually, that looked like 3-4 well-paced miles on the treadmill or road on Mondays and Wednesdays, 2 speedy miles on the treadmill on Tuesdays and Thursdays (followed by some cross-training on the elliptical), and a 5-6 mile run on the road at some point over the weekend. I tried not to focus on my time, but that goal still loomed large.
When I woke up Sunday morning, it was to the same sore throat and congestion I'd been battling all week. Lily implored me to "just have fun!" and Jeff reminded me that I needed to cut myself some slack, but I still had expectations for myself.
Miles 1, 2, and 3 went well enough: I kept my pace at 9-9:30 miles, and I kept the dream of that sub-hour 10K alive.
And then came mile 4.
Mile 4 was nothing but a hill. Really, when you look at the elevation graph on my fitness tracker, it's just uphill. My pace fell off to a 10-minute mile, and not even Eminem could get my feet moving any faster.
Mile 5 was better in terms of the terrain (there were less uphills and more flat stretches), but my legs were becoming useless. I berated myself for starting out too fast but was pleased when my pace dropped back below 9:30 again.
And then came mile 6.
Everyone started to pass me. I knew my feet were dragging, but there was nothing I could do about it. I started wondering if I might end up as one of those runners who collapses in the final half mile, unable to go on. (This thought was particularly embarrassing as there were runners on the same course completing a 10-mile race, and the leaders of that path were starting to pass me.)
At last, the entrance to the final stretch appeared ahead of me. As I banked to the right and pushed up a final hill, there was Lily, proudly wearing her "GRL PWR" shirt and cheering with her fists raised over her head, with Jeff right alongside her, equally enthusiastic. Though this vision is what usually pulls me through my toughest workouts, it did little on Sunday; I just had no gas left. As Lily ran a few steps by my side, the most I could muster was a weary thumbs up. (Jeff would later tell me that he had to tell a confused Lily, "Mommy is working really, really hard. She's just so tired.")
And then came the final turn. We ended on a high school track, so I made myself a deal: if I had to run a lap before the finish line, I could give up on my goal; if it was under a lap, I wasn't allowed.
It was less than a quarter lap. And the moment my feet hit that track, I remembered every interval workout, pushing to sprint when I was at my weakest, and I pushed with all I had left.
And it was enough.
58:59.
You know who runs the world?
This woman, who came in in the top 25% of runners overall.
This mom, who came in 21st of 188 women running that day.
This wife, who came in 5th of 32 women in her age bracket.
And you know who knows that?
My daughter. Because she saw a mom who was past the point of exhaustion, who was nearly in tears, who needed someone else to get her a bottle of water and help her regain her breath. And who still ran with all she had in her to meet her goals.
That's right, Lil. Girls run this world.*
* Lily has requested that we check with Beyonce to see if she might amend her lyrics to include "dads of girls also run this world." Because she's pretty sure daughters help make the best dads. I have to agree.
