I’ve said many times that one of my biggest joys is running with my kids. My two teenagers have decided they really aren’t into the sport anymore, but my youngest, 11-year-old Eric, still loves the challenge and is willing to join me on my running adventures.

He began “running” with me at five years old, where we completed our first Bolder Boulder 10K, along with a few other 5Ks leading up to the event. During that first race, I admittedly carried him on my back most of the way, though he would insist on being put down before every timing mat so he could race across like Usain Bolt and then wait for me to pick him up and carry him again.

When I went to sign up for Bolder Boulder this year, none of the family wanted to join me – except Eric. He remembered the various stops we’d made in previous years during the run that included marshmallows, slip-n-slides, Doritos, Gatorade, water hoses and so many other fun, spontaneous surprises. I gladly signed the two of us up and looked forward to a day with my baby, since it’s hard to find one-on-one time when you typically have four kids at home.

As the race day approached, I had Eric run both the Hams and Hamstrings 5K and Tonia’s Run, a Project Purple 5K fundraiser as pre-10K training events. He enjoyed both runs, placing first in the team division at Hams and Hamstrings on Easter (along with me, my husband and step-son) and winning his age group at Tonia’s Run in April. He was on a running high and looking forward to Boulder until he realized it would be a 5am wake-up call in order to drive to the race.

On race morning, I gently woke him up and without complaint, he allowed me to escort him to the car, along with a blanket and pillow so he could get a couple extra hours of sleep while I drove to Boulder for our 8:23am start time. Once we arrived, he was in a chipper mood and ready for some pancakes before we started the race. One trip to IHOP for some chocolate milk, chocolate pancakes and bacon and we were ready to go!

Since we were seeded in the military division, he enjoyed the small wait before we started, sandwiched between an Air Force and Navy formation and was briefly concerned with the gun we could hear starting each wave in the distance. He wondered if perhaps the race official actually shot one participant in each wave to start the race, to which I assured him that if that were the case, I’d gladly take the bullet so he could continue the race on his own. No worries.

I lined up completely expecting our usual 6 miles of nonsense - laughing and enjoying the scenery, costumes and general silliness of the atmosphere. We’d never finished the race under 90 minutes, which didn’t bother me at all because it was never about the speed, but simply enjoying the time with my kids in an environment that promotes health, friendship and camaraderie. As we shuffled nearer and nearer the start line, Eric turned and surprised me with, “Momma, I want to RUN this time.” Hiding my surprise and pleasure, I simply said, “Ok. I’m ready. I’ll just follow you. Let’s go.”

We started out at a decent pace and he was tickled by the cadences that the formations were singing, both Air Force and Navy. I told him there was a time when his mom used to call those as well and he thought that was hilarious, but luckily didn’t ask for an example since it’s been so long I can’t remember any of them anyhow.

He sang a couple of them under his breath, while focusing on his run and tried to hide in embarrassment when I briefly darted away to the “You cartwheel, we drink” sign to entertain some local college kids with my cartwheel and subsequent invitation to continue their morning drinks. I think Eric tried to pull away from me then, but I caught up in what would be his quickest mile of the race.

We watched belly dancers, gymnasts, Elvis impersonators and several unique bands along the way, but Eric was not inclined to stop as he had done so often in the past. He walked quickly through each water station (asking me to hoard some extra Gatorade so he could continue drinking after we passed the stop), but then he got back underway, admitting that he could feel his legs getting tired. He asked if he could beat his fastest time and I assured him he was on a much quicker pace than he’s done before. He quickly decided that beating 93 minutes (his PR), was no longer a goal. He wanted 75 minutes. One hour and fifteen minutes. He was on pace, I told him so, and he glowed with pride. He did dart over to grab a marshmallow and some Doritos at the opportune locations, but still didn’t miss a stride and continued on his mission.

While I’ve seen Eric whine, complain and even cry on runs when he gets fatigued (just like his mom), he did none of this during the race. I saw a determination and confidence in him that I had not seen before. He said, “I know my legs hurt, but I don’t care. I want to reach my time!” And when he started to struggle, he revisited the jody calls he’d heard earlier and began to create his own. It was a simple, “P-R! P-R! Gonna get my P-R!” and he trotted along towards the finish. The only time there was any crack in his focus were the few times he saw a younger kid on the side of the road with a hand out for a high five. Eric would sprint across the road in either direction, no matter how far, to make sure the kid wasn’t ignored. He said he didn’t want them to feel left out. It made my heart swell to see my child so aware of others at a time when he was also so clearly focused on his own goals.

Every year, once we make the turn toward the stadium, I’ve always known Eric to get excited and pick up the pace, so I warned him not to weave in and out of the group else he’d lose me before we got to the finish. After all, this is all about the finish line photo and we can’t have one with your mom sprinting, gasping and desperately trying to catch her kid at the end. He agreed to take it easy on me, but was determined to get to the finish.

He charged the last hill, hit the stadium floor, glanced at the Jumbo-tron….and TOOK OFF. Traitor. I sprinted after him, trying to yell general directions to get us on the outside of the pack where I could see him better and keep within photo distance. He swung to the left, saw the finish line and seemingly did his best to lose me, while I somehow managed to hang on. We crossed the line, he came to an abrupt halt, put his hands on his head and just said, “Where’s the water? I WANT WATER!” I laughed, took our selfie and guided him to bridge to go get our water and annual goodie bags. So proud of what I had just witnessed, I was beaming from ear to ear as we trudged up the stadium steps and got in line for our rewards. Eric downed a full bottle of water and headed to pick up the pizza I had pre-ordered for him when I registered months before.

We sat down in the sun, enjoyed our snacks and relived the race while Eric prodded me to check my iPhone app for his official chip time. I taunted him by first reading all of his previous times for Bolder Boulder – 1:35, 1:33, 1:37….and he glared at me in frustration. “Momma, WHAT WAS MY TIME?”

I smiled and said, “1:13:11. You did it!” I gave him a big hug and his face broke into an enormous smile. Being the kid who pays VERY close attention to detail, he then wanted to know how many seconds each of his previous times were so he could do the EXACT math at his improvement. Then, he requested to email his fifth grade teacher to let her know what he’d already done this summer. (Kudos to Ms. Cassavaugh at Kilmer Elementary, we love you.) And man, I love that kid.

It’s days like these that make life a privilege – the simplicity of running shoes, determination and an afternoon filled with love and accomplishment. If I never got any other days, this would be enough. Still, I hope for more and will take the memory of my kid in that moment as I tackle my second Triple Crown appearance. Rest assured I”ll be singing in my head as I run, “P-R! P-R! Gonna get my P-R!” :)