Embracing the Doubt

Read time: 4 minutes

Welcome to The Ascend Archives, a weekly newsletter where I share a story about a transformation, revelation, or change in thinking that has improved an aspect of my life.

The room smells of lavender oil, the kind you expect in a place like this.

My face is smashed into the cradle of the massage table, arms hanging limp at my sides. I try to relax, hoping this will help prepare me for my race.

Then—pain.

I wince as my massage therapist presses her elbows into my calves.

“You’re so tight,” she says. “I’m doing everything I can, but you need to rest and continue to loosen up your legs.”

“I’m fucked,” I mutter into the table.

Five days until race day, and my body feels like it’s falling apart.

My knee started nagging a week ago—just an ache at first. But now my runs feel heavier, slower. My speed workouts aren’t hitting the paces my training plan wants.

Had I overtrained?

I came in here hoping she’d say everything was fine. That I’m just stiff, that a little work will loosen things up. Instead, I’m in tears from the excruciating pain.

As I hobble from her office to my car, my mind starts to spiral…

For 14 weeks of training, I was fine. No injuries. Now here I was dealing with an injury in the final stretch before my race.

I had already cut back my mileage and started focusing on recovery—foam rolling, sauna, compression therapy. But as race day approached, doubt was setting in.

I had never trained this seriously for a time goal before. Every other race, I just wanted to finish. But now, I had set a sub-90-minute target for this half marathon—an ambitious goal on any course, but especially on this one. This course had brutal hills.

And now, with this tightness and knee pain? I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to the start line.

The Reminder

The day before the race, my nerves kept me restless.

I was sitting on my bed writing in my journal when I noticed the stack of old journals on my bookshelf. 

I walked over and flipped through three or four of them until I found the one from May of last year. I stopped on a page from the week before my Ironman 70.3. 

The words stared back at me:

My calves are tight. My legs feel off. What if I can’t keep up with my cousin Josh? What if I die at mile 40 on the bike?

I read it again. A slow recognition settling in.

Damn, I felt the exact same back then. I totally forgot about that. The nerves, the doubt, the fear that I wasn’t ready—it’s exactly how I’m feeling right now. And yet, I went out and crushed that race.

I exhaled, feeling lighter. My past self had left me a reminder.

I had conquered these doubts before.

And tomorrow, I would do it again.

Race Day

The morning air was crisp. 

I jogged toward the starting corral, weaving through nervous runners bouncing on their toes, adjusting GPS watches, and taking final sips of water. The energy was electric—8,000+ runners stretching, shaking out, trying to stay loose.

My knee was still tight, but my mind was clear. I had made my decision last night: trust myself, run my race, give it everything.

I cruised through the first half of the race. Adrenaline pumping. I was ahead of pace.

The pain had been manageable for the first half of the race, but after the steep uphill in mile 8 into Tarrytown, now it was making itself known. My body was screaming at me to stop, to slow down, to give in.

I thought to myself…Thirty more minutes of hell. That’s it.

As I approached mile 12, I knew it was coming.

If you live in Austin you know what I’m talking about: The Enfield Hill. 

A brutal, soul-crushing incline to end the race.

I thought back to the hill near my house. Every Tuesday for seven straight weeks, I had run up and down that damn hill to prepare for this moment.

•  3 x 30-second sprints.

•  3 x 60-second pushes.

•  3 x 90-second grinds.

Now all I needed was one 30 second sprint up this hill. 

This is what I trained for.

I drove my knees, pushed off the pavement, and powered up.

My lungs burned. My arms pumped. 

Halfway up.

The hill kept rising. It felt endless.

Why does this feel so much longer than in training?

Then, I spotted the top. Twenty more steps. Fifteen. Ten.

At the top, I gasped for air. I made it. I turned onto West Ave towards downtown. 

I wasn’t thinking about my knee anymore. I was so close.

The Finish

As I crossed the finish line, I glanced down at my watch.

1:29:03.

A sub-90 half marathon.

I smiled—not just because I had hit my goal, but because I had proven to myself, once again, that I could do hard things.

While I’m very proud of that time, the real victory had happened the night before—when I realized that doubt is just part of the game. It wasn’t a sign that I wasn’t ready—it was a sign that I was pushing myself to grow. 

And now I know—doubt and nerves aren’t the enemy. They’re part of the process.

Thank you for reading! As always please reply and let me know what resonated, what didn’t, or what you question. I love chatting about this stuff!

Cheers,

Andrew