I had to delete my last draft article.

Reading it back, I felt like a fraud.

I didn’t want to claim to you, dear reader, that I knew the secret to a strong race performance. As a coach, I didn’t think it responsible to share advice I can’t take myself.

I wrote about playing a character, a sort of ultra-confident alter-ego, to help grind through difficult miles.

I refer to myself as a “professional athlete” when I intend to run with integrity and grit. It’s an avatar of the athlete I could only dream of becoming, an endless well of confidence for mere mortals.

But yesterday, during the NYC United Half Marathon, this strategy failed me. Or rather, I failed it.

I passed the second mile marker and noticed a shy, doubtful voice in my head. Should your breathing be this hard already? I dutifully echoed back: I know what I’m doing, I’m a professional athlete, and carried on.

I mean, a 2 minute PR of 1:16:30 won’t happen without being dialed in.

In the corrals with Kira (we probably just told each other we’re professional athletes).

The next few miles felt unremarkable. I somehow slipped a few seconds behind the splits listed on the pace band taped around my wrist.

That’s odd, came a voice. Maybe your goal is a little ambitious.

I hiked to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge while runners seemed to glide past me. I purposely didn’t train on hills because my A (“priority”) race would be perfectly flat.

The voice in my head ignored that entirely. That was really idiotic, Brian. You’re smarter than not training on hills.

It was getting meaner by the mile. I consciously answered each dig with a “I can do this” affirmation, but it couldn’t fend it off.

By mile 9, I felt defeated, left with no mental energy to fight the negativity.

It’s true, if I twisted my ankle in a pot hole right now, this whole thing could be over.

Maybe I shouldn’t coach others if I’m able to mess up this badly.

Perhaps this race does in fact prove that I’ve already hit my peak and I’m a failure.

I put on a smile as I passed a group of friends cheering for me in Times Square. I didn’t have it in me to let them know what I disappointment I actually was. Not yet.

I pushed through to Central Park, less than a mile to go. I thought about my other upcoming races, the Jersey City Half and the Big Sur Marathon.

I bargained with myself - and to some unnamed higher power, just in case there was one. If I didn’t walk, I could call off the rest of my season at the finish line. Just keep moving and I won’t have to run anymore.

I crossed the finish line heartbroken, which quickly turned into anger. I grabbed my bag from bag check and headed straight for the subway, skipping my cool down miles. Fuck this, I mumbled. Fuck running.

When I could finally bring myself to check my phone, a friend had texted “Your splits were so consistent!” What was she talking about? I was pretty sure I couldn’t hold on to marathon pace by the end, let alone half marathon pace.

As it turns out, I was only 20 seconds off my PR at 1:18:53. My 5k split averages were listed as 5:59, 6:00, 5:59, 6:02, 6:01. My average pace was one second per mile off my best race ever, on this same course two years earlier.

When I got home, I stepped into the shower and realized that I had forgotten to take my ritualistic pre-race epsom salt bath the night before. I played back the race in my head with the warm water crashing over me. Interesting. I also forgot to do my standard 20 minute visualization.

I mulled it over and felt a twinge of empathy.

Contrary to my professional runner’s opinion, I was anything but dialed in. Life has been fairly chaotic lately, and my mind was being pulled in every direction other than running. I hadn’t slept well for days leading up to the race. Frankly, I think I was just tired and over it by the time the gun went off.

Running is typically my escape from the critical voice in my head, but I just couldn’t outrun it yesterday. Call it queer trauma, textbook runner neuroticism, or just being dramatic . . . either way, it still shocks me how horribly I can speak to myself sometimes.

Other things had taken mental priority over running, and that’s ok. Sometimes, you have no other option. A fast half marathon takes every fiber of your being, and I simply had few fibers to spare.

When I coach newer runners, I often emphasize the first thing I had to learn myself:

Distance running is not about running the distance. It's about waking up the next day, ready to do it all again.

In classic runner form, it only took a few hours for me to start thinking about what’s possible at the Jersey City Half in four weeks.

I now know that the voice in my head was woefully mistaken. I am a fantastic runner who simply had a bad day. One race does not define your fitness, your training cycle, or you as a person.

Maybe my goal of a 1:16 is still possible. Maybe it isn’t.

All I know is that what will define me is my decision to wake up tomorrow, ready to do it all over again.

Coach's Training Journal - Plan this Week (Week 12/15)

Upcoming races: NYC Half, Jersey City Half, Big Sur Marathon
Goals: 1:16:xx half marathon

Running - 55 miles
Lifting - 2 hours
Cross-Training - 30 minutes
Stretching & Foam Rolling - 30 minutes
Heat Adaptation - 30 minutes

Workout of the week:
7x 1k @ goal HMP [60s rest]

Damn right we are focusing on that goal 5:50 half marathon pace! From here on out, I’ll be seeing a lot of it, and getting comfortable with it. That’s a big jump from what I did at the NYC Half this past weekend, but that’s why we practice it.