When I imagined myself training for my first half marathon, I thought that by the time I was a week out, I’d be this super fit machine who could whip through any long run. But instead, I’ve been taken my training one run at a time. Some much better than others.

In the beginning of my 10 weeks of training, I willingly forgot how long and difficult these things can be. Some days I run more than I planned and some days I didn’t run at all.

Some days I can’t wait to lace up my sneakers. It feels like a reward. A time to clear my mind and push myself. Those are the runs that remind me that I can achieve my goals and that I should keep raising the bar higher. Quite honestly, I haven’t found anything that beats a runner’s high.

But then the days come that running couldn’t be less appealing. The days where I compare my times with others and come up with reasons why I’m not a real runner and why I was foolish to think I could do this race.

My whole life I’ve been reminded that I’m not an athlete. To guard myself from the humiliation of be told that by others I’ve beat them to it. When people ask me if I run my first answer is always, “yeah, but I’m not good.” But this race is my chance to prove that I am good and that I’ll keep getting better because this is only the first of many half marathons and maybe marathons too.

I wasn’t born a natural athlete, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve kept running. When I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m excited, when I’m exhausted. It’s kept me sane, it’s kept me honest, it’s kept me going when I wanted to quit.

There might be a finish line on this race, on this training chapter, but there won’t be for my running goals. (Cheese ball alert) I’m in it 4 the long run (see what I did there, eh? eh?)

Next week I’m racing against my fear and self doubt. I plan on winning.