After failing to break two hours in the half marathon, I spent a lot of time inside my head, dissecting what went wrong. Once I exhausted my inner monologue, I looped my husband into the discussion. He’s a patient man.

He also has been a runner in the past, and he plans to be one in the future. He’s currently battling a nasty, nagging foot injury that's keeping him on the sidelines. Although he prefers short distances (he loves the 5K, and I’ll never convince him to run a half or a full marathon), he is familiar with training programs and the planning needed to run a race well. When I told him this year I’m going to buckle down and find my fast, he bought me a book: Run Faster From the 5k to the Marathon by Brad Hudson and Matt Fitzgerald.

I like structure. Printing out a training plan and meticulously checking off the workouts one by one appeals to me. This strategy helped me complete my first half marathon and my first full marathon, but it wasn’t working for me as I attempted to clock faster times over these distances. I was putting in the work, but I wasn’t improving.

Part of the problem might be my go hard or go home philosophy. Sometimes that type of thinking leads to major frustration, especially if my body is tired or my brain won’t focus because it’s thinking about my to-do list and I can’t turn it off. Reading the book helped me re-evaluate my approach.

First, what do I need to work on? I think my biggest weakness is sticking to my target race pace when I'm tired—as I inevitably am during miles 11, 12, and 13. Although my long-term running goal is to qualify for Boston, I’ve decided I need to master this skill over 13.1. I’ve completed quite a few half marathons, but as I've noted, I still haven’t figured out how to run the race well.

I usually begin the season with the Bank of America Shamrock Shuffle 8K. With the help of my new book, I’m working on developing a training plan that hopefully will allow me to run a pretty fast time. At the very least, it’ll give me a base for the more difficult training that’s ahead.

I’m a runner, and I love the sport. My happy place is Chicago’s lakefront trail—just me, my running shoes, and sometimes my headphones. I like running stairs, hills, intervals, fartleks, and long slow distances. I even like watching running events, especially track, both on television and in person. I have a special place in my heart for the 1,600 and the 5,000 because I competed on the track and cross country teams in high school. However, training for a marathon has given me an appreciation for the effort it takes to complete 26.2 miles, and now I also enjoy watching coverage of Boston, the U.S. Marathon Trials, and a variety of local long-distance events.

I think most of us who run have learned something about ourselves while logging miles. Long-time runners have faced both joy and adversity. They have felt on top of the world after a killer interval workout or fast race time and completely discouraged after bombing a tempo run or missing their goal PR on race day. Every training plan brings a roller coaster of emotions, along with sweat, blisters, sore knees, and tired feet.

A couple of years ago, I set out to break the two-hour barrier in the half marathon (my PR is around two hours and five minutes). Training went great, and I was confident as I entered the corral on race day. Between mile eight and mile nine, something went wrong. I hit a brick wall, slowed way down, and I didn't break two hours. I didn’t even run a personal best.

I was disappointed and angry. I’ve raced since then, but I haven’t invested in a serious training plan to meet a serious goal. But this year, I’m ready.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be as fast as I was in high school. But, I’m on a mission to be faster. I want to break two hours in the half. I want to qualify for Boston, eventually. I want to feel the way I felt in high school when the girls track team won the 1999 Wake County Championships and collapsed in a pile in the infield laughing and hugging each other, full of joy and accomplishment.

Let’s lace up and head out. Join me on my journey, and feel free to tell me about yours.