The link is sent to me as a joke. That must be made clear upfront. My girlfriend chats it to me midday back in January and says, “This seems like something you’d do as a bit.” She knows as well as I do that the best way I self-motivate is to convince myself to do something seemingly horrible as joke. And what bigger joke is there than forcing myself to get in shape in order to run a 5K whose track is lined with DJ booths blasting EDM, all of which culminates in a giant light and laser show and EDM concert.

A few things to know about me: I hate running. For the duration of elementary and middle school, I would wait until I was safely out of sight of the gym teacher forcing us to run to mile, and then I would walk the remainder of the course. But the other thing to know about me is that I love EDM purely and unironically. Beats, drops, all of it. Perfect. And maybe the thing that had been missing all these years from my tortured history of failing to get into running was EDM. Maybe this was the key.

Night Nation Run markets itself, well, like a music festival. Its Instagram account showcases photo after photo of toned 20-somethings in a rainbow of neon athletic wear, yelling and grinning and posing. It did, in all fairness, look really fun: rather than emphasize the “go, push, train” running-shoe tone of a lot of runs, this one… well, it had a party! In fact, almost none of the photos in the marketing showed people running, which might have been what lured me in.

On my way down to the race, situated near the Museum Campus area of the South Loop in Chicago, I had anticipated feeling like a fish out of water, a chubby pink eraser in a sea of toned highlighters. But the vibe was much more laid back than I had anticipated. Sure, there were your as-marketed tall, thin hots in tutus covered in glowing face paint, but I was struck by how all-ages it was. Packs of teenagers, parents with children, grown parents with grown children. (Pour one out for EDM dad.) As I stood off to the side, pinning on my number, I chatted with two high school juniors from the suburbs named Veer and Camden, both excited, it seemed, just to have a fun time listening to music, neither of them particularly experienced runners. As I walked around the grounds, visiting all of the different and free low-carb, high-protein bar/smoothie/ice cream stands, I ran into them a handful of times. Behind me in line for a free water bottle, I hear one of the two mutter to the other, “honestly, this is way better than Ribfest.”

But Night Nation Run is not, as written above, a teen fest. I also speak with two women, Pam and Susan, closer in age to my mother, both of whom are much more experienced runners, having completed half-marathons, one of whom is a cancer survivor. (Nation Night Run does send its proceeds to Stand Up To Cancer, easy to forget amidst the glow sticks and shutter shades.) As if to prove my point, I almost immediately pass a girl whose face is covered in paint and ask her if she thinks I should get mine done. “When in Rome,” she says with a shrug.

Night Nation Run kicks off with an hour-long pre-party in which everyone gathers towards the mainstage for two different DJ sets. This is the fun version of stretching, I guess. While seemingly everyone younger than me was willing to jump and dance, the pre-party energy was halfhearted at best: most of us were nodding along patiently, anxious for the race to start.

The run itself began with a big light-up countdown sign, and then we were off. The course took us through the Museum Campus and along the shore of Lake Michigan up against Grant Park. It was beautiful, especially at sundown (if you thought for a second that an EDM 5K would start at 9 A.M., you couldn’t be more wrong), and it was exhilarating to finally be running off of a treadmill. But what was more inspiring, truly, and I wish I was kidding, were the speakers every couple of hundred yards blaring EDM remixes. There was a constant pulse of motivation throughout the course, so much so that when I got to the first mid-course DJ stand, I blew right past it in order to maintain momentum. (That, and it was also playing a Galantis version of “Shape Of You.”)

Quite a few of the participants—especially the younger ones—seemed to be perfectly content with walking the course. I figured, as I jogged past them, that they had blown all of their energy at the pre-party. Idiots. Only once they reached their mid-to-late twenties would they understand you only have a finite amount of energy. And yet, as I ran past them, I heard small choruses of “hell yeah!” and “you got this!” and “keep going!” Perhaps this was the fabled runner’s high: lapping teens who inarguably rooted for me even though I was old and lame.

As I crossed the finish line—under my goal time, for what it’s worth!—I snagged a bottle of water and snuck in behind the crowd as the afterparty raged complete with lasers and fog and professional dancers. Here was the frivolous abandon I expected earlier on, as folks of all ages threw their bodies around to the thumping beats. I couldn’t help but laugh and throw my body around with them. I ran a 5K! Me, a potato! And isn’t this kind of what you want to do once you’ve accomplished something? Dance and laugh, rather than just pack up and head home? I soaked in the light and the fog and the bubbles for a while, essentially until they started playing remix of “Closer” and all of the teens shrieked in joy. This, I realized, was my cue to head on home.