The 35^th running of the Charlottesville 10 Miler happened this past weekend, and most people know this race to be one of the best and one of the toughest courses around. I’ve dreamed of being able to complete the 10 miler for 10 years now – maybe longer – but it wasn’t until a year ago that this became a distinct possibility.

Every time you sign up for a race you have some goals in mind. One may be to shoot for a certain time or to get through the whole thing without walking, or maybe just finishing is the accomplishment. I had my goals. I had two time goals: one was my stretch goal and one was my maybe I can live with this goal. My third string goal was to finish. I didn’t really take this one too seriously.

The first half of the race I was on pace for my first goal, but something happened at mile 5. I hit a wall. I can’t explain why exactly, but I questioned how much more I could do and seriously considered quitting. I’ve rarely felt that way in training, much less in a race. This was supposed to be my sweet spot. I’m just getting warmed up at 3 miles – up to mile 8 or 9 is usually the best part of my run – but not on this day.

I rallied a bit and managed to keep myself in the game. I had to dig deep to remember that last ditch goal: to finish. I had to convince myself at various points along the way that even if I had to crawl in, I was going to finish what I started.

I made that goal, and I even made it to my I can maybe live with this goal. But I was really, really disappointed with the outcome. I was disappointed in my performance. I was disappointed that an event on which I had hung so many hopes and expectations, was a huge let-down. Mostly I was upset with myself that I had not prepared properly. I took some things for granted. I cut some corners, and I did not get away with it. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought I could get away with it.

Why not? I’ve been getting away with it. I’ve been passing myself off as a runner, while standing in the midst of them I feel like a fraud. The sting was really the feeling that I had been busted.

Of course that’s not truth. The truth may be that I was unprepared to give my best shot that day, but it is not true that I am a fake runner. I’ve worked really hard – too hard - to let these “lizard thoughts” (as my friend describes them) rob me of my faith in myself and the joy of my achievement. I think of these thoughts more like snakes that slither out of dark places. What reasonable person would look at one of these creatures and think I should grab that and hold on to it? No, most of us would grab a shovel and cut its head off.

I imagine these thoughts more like that arcade classic “whack-a-mole”. They keep popping up and I must diligently whack them down as soon as I detect one.