If your parents meet at a marathon, it’s inevitable. You’re going to want to run. (At least, until you’re old enough to think for yourself.)

My kiddo ran her first 5k this weekend. She’s 4.25 years old, and she is awesome.

My friend Melissa came with us.  Unfortunately for Nina, Melissa and I are probably the two most directionally-challenged people in N.C.  We were a bit late.

Nina didn’t “get the gold” as she’d been planning, but she still kicked (my) ass.

Nina kicking (my) ass at her first 5k

*Nina’s mantra all the way to the race was “I’m going to get the gold…I’m going to get the gold…”  I guess that’s what I should expect since we’re always watching televised marathons and Olympics track & field reruns.  Had Nina actually been on time for the race, and won (which she most definitely would have – I saw the “competition” in her age division straggling over the finish line), she would have been sorely disappointed not to get a gold medal around her neck.