By Claire Boyce
I’ve been a runner for what feels like my entire life…but somehow, I had never actually competed in a 10K race. I’ve run dozens of them, but never with a finish time in mind, never pushing for a goal. That changed this spring when Upward encouraged employees to pick a local 5K or 10K and go through a training plan in the app. I chose the Intermediate 10K Plan and, well… hit the ground running (sorry, that pun never gets old).
Despite years of running (and somehow landing a spot on my college cross country team), I’ve never considered myself “fast.” My default has always been a back of the pack, party pace kind of run. According to Strava, my 10K PR was 54:28. I figured I’d try to beat that, but it wasn’t until a few co-workers challenged me to go sub-50 that the stakes were raised. Sub-50? I wasn’t sure I had that in me.
Race day arrived. It was mid-soccer season, and I was also assistant coaching my daughter’s team. Her game was at 10:30 AM, 30 minutes away. The race started at 9:00 AM. I had exactly one shot to hit my goal and get to the game on time. No pressure, right?
The nerves were real. So was the self-doubt. “I don’t belong here.” “I can’t do this.” All the classic pre-race impostor syndrome thoughts showed up. I laced up, did a steady 2-mile warm-up, and tried to breathe. I could do this. I just needed to believe it.
I lined up at the starting line…in the front. I looked around. No other women up there. I laughed to myself… I definitely don’t belong up here. But before I could second-guess it any longer:
ON YOUR MARK. GET SET. GO.
Mile 1: 7:34
Mostly downhill, and adrenaline took over. I knew it was fast, but I felt good.
Mile 2: 8:13
A steady climb. That’s when the mental spiral started. “Why did I think I could do this?” “What was I thinking trying to race a 10K?” I was already crafting my excuse for missing my goal.
Mile 3: 7:55
Wait…what? Even with all that negativity in my head, I was back on pace. Time to lock in. I focused on sticking with Tim, a friend from my running group who had just passed me. He became my unofficial pacer.
Mile 4: 8:32
Brutal. I felt like I was falling apart. The hills. The doubt. The discomfort. I even told myself mid-race I’d never run this 10K again.
But then came mile 5—familiar roads, familiar rhythm. I spotted a guy who kept surging every time I tried to pass him. We played cat-and-mouse for half a mile until I finally pulled ahead. That small win gave me a second wind.
Mile 5: 7:58
Back under 8:00. Maybe… just maybe… I could still do this.
The final mile was a blur. I turned up my music, focused on my breathing, and passed a few co-workers from the 5K group, which gave me another mental boost.
Mile 6: 8:03
8:03 – I was convinced I’d missed it. I started planning my Strava caption in my head, trying to explain how close I came. But then… I saw the finish line clock.
49:43….and that clock was moving FAST.
I sprinted to the finish and stopped my watch in disbelief. Sub-50. By literal seconds… but I did it. After doubting myself for the entire race, I had hit the goal that once felt out of reach. I stood there catching my breath, feeling equal parts stunned, exhausted, and proud. I grabbed my medal, my water, and jogged (slowly, very slowly) back to the car so I could make it to my daughter’s soccer game—and I made it just in time for team pictures beforehand.
And on that drive, the funniest thing happened. Just 20 minutes after swearing I’d never race another 10K again… I was already on runningintheusa.com searching for the next one.
