Tomorrow is the big day my 8 year old daughter Mini-Me and I will run our first 5K race together.

{GULP!}

I’m proud to say I think we’re both ready… ready as we’ll ever be. I just completed my Couch to 5K running plan. Well kinda. I started in week 5, totally skipped week 8 (Aunt Flo says “hey,” by the way), and ran only one time in week 9. Mediocrity. It’s how I roll.

But I did run 3 whole miles without stopping or dying on Wednesday and it was absolutely cathartic. In fact, I’d like to apologize to the other 6 people on the track with me that day for my maniacal outbursts. Meh, at least I gave them something to talk about at the dinner table later. “Whoa, you guys, you should have seen this crazy lady at the track today! She was laughing and crying and randomly breaking into Journey songs. It was super scary.”

{Don’t stop. Be-lee-eee-vin’!}

I coudn’t help it, y’all. The conditions at the track were perfect for training that day: not too hot, not too cold. It was slightly overcast so I couldn’t see my dorky shadow flailing about like Tigger having a seizure. And I finally figured out how to stop my iPod from shuffling with every step. Man, that was annoying. What a difference to be able to hear a whole song instead of only the first two seconds. (Totally not exaggerating. Der.)

Also, the only other people on the track that day were walkers. I love when that happens! Running amidst walkers makes me feel all Maya Rudolph fast! Oh wait, maybe that’s Wilma Rudolph fast. Nah, who am I kidding? I’m definitely more like Maya Rudolph. Pregnant Maya Rudolph, tops.

More days than not, I show up at the track and there are very fit women in perfectly coordinated running ensembles who effortlessly run laps around me while I’m huffing and puffing and threatening to blow their skinny little houses down. I feel bad about myself when those ladies are there.

But you know who doesn’t feel bad about herself today? Mini-Me.

She came home from practice yesterday with her race-day running packet. She was beyond excited to tell me all about it.

Her: “Mom! I got my number for the race! Guess what it is!”

Me: “Uh, I don’t know. What is it?”

Her: “NUMBER ONE.”

Me: “GET OUT!”

Her: “Really! I’m number ONE!”

Me: “Well of course you are! You rock. But seriously, what’s your number?”

Her: “Mom. I’m serious. I’m number one.”

Me: “You are totally messing with me. Prove it.”

Her: “Mom, seriously. Look!”

Me: “Whaaaaat? How in the world…? Seriously. That is the coolest thing EVER! Finally, your hyper-assertiveness is paying off. What did you do, push the coach’s kid out of the way to grab that number?”

Her: “No Mom, they just gave it to me. And since you’re my running buddy, I’m hoping you’ll be NUMBER TWO!”

Me: “Bwahahahahahaha! NUMBER TWO! That would be so awesome! Oh. Em. Geee. I totally want to be number two. It will be extra hilarious when I poop myself at the halfway point.”

Her: “I know, right?!”

And, end scene.

That kid kills me.

So I went to pick up my race packet yesterday, and sadly, I’m not number two. Booooo-hisss! But the number two IS in my four digit number (three times!), so maybe I’ll just have to find a way to pin it on myself creatively. Hmmm.

Also, total buzz kill, I just found out that ALL Girls on the Run participants get #1 for their bib number. Damn. I sure hope Mini-Me doesn’t notice that when we get there tomorrow. She’s so excited!

Wish us luck, friends. Well, really, just wish me luck. I’mma need it.

already crapping my pants,

-Iris

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