In early December, my coach, Jon, and I sat down at my parents’ house in suburban Massachusetts to discuss how I could best prepare for the Boston Marathon, then 19 weeks away. Together, we compiled a list of workouts, ranges of mileage, and select races which we agreed would bring me to the April 21st race day in the best possible shape. I looked at the spreadsheet, with each week its own row, and aimlessly scrolled up and down trying to take it all in.

I liked having a plan. I felt like I had structure to my days, weeks, and months. Milestones were tangible and clear. Nothing was set in stone, but I felt like I had a path that – with some small variations here and there – would lead me to where I wanted to go: a successful marathon debut.

But looking too far forward was daunting. While the initial workouts – a few moderate long runs and some track workouts – looked familiar and doable, as my eyes glanced downward, the runs became longer and faster and, at that point, impossible.

I tried to ignore this intimidation and simply put on future-blinders when it came to my training. I looked only at the week ahead, which – somehow – always managed to look reasonable.

For me, the marathon distance itself had stood out as daunting New Territory for as long as I can remember. I had run 20, 21, 22 miles in training, but – as any veteran marathoner will likely tell you – 20 miles is really the half-way point in the 26.2 mile marathon. I had a fear of that distance. I knew how hard it was to run for two hours at a moderate pace, and couldn’t imagine how much harder it would be to run even longer and much faster.

But as I made my way through the first month of my training progression, the impossibility of the distance became more tangible. I ran 20, 22, 24 miles in practice and (for the most part) survived unscathed. The success in one week’s workout led to the confidence in next week’s (which may have originally felt intimidating) leading to confidence in the next, leading to confidence in the next… Looking at my calendar eight weeks ahead might have still intimidating, but I had no doubt that by the time I got there, even those workouts would look manageable.

Then, in early January, I ran 25 miles and – for the first time – I could feel the finish. It no longer felt unattainable.  Later that month, I ran 28 miles at a good pace – finally passing the magical 26.2 mile marathon distance.

I think I expected to somehow feel different, like running 26.2 miles would immediately remove any fear or intimidation that the distance had held over me. Workouts would suddenly and effortlessly jump off the calendar and into my legs.

But that intimidation didn’t disappear. I still looked at my calendar with a sense of trepidation of what was to come, doubting myself, questioning whether we were being too ambitious, whether I’d really arrive feeling ready.

And so, I tried to reign in my foresight again. I looked only at the week ahead, the week ahead, the week ahead. And, again, each week seemed reasonable. Like watching your body melt down to its most basic musculoskeletal components as you run 150 miles per week, I didn’t see the workouts progressing into that impossible zone until I stepped back.

Now, with 26 days to go, I’m no longer afraid to look ahead. My hardest training sessions are behind me and – with the exception of one particular effort on April 21st – I no longer feel any uncertainty about what’s to come.

The only question that remains in my mind is exactly what will happen over those 26.2 miles. Sure, I’ve run the distance (slower) and I’ve run the pace (shorter), but what will happen on April 21st still remains a mystery.

But that mystery isn’t as scary as it was three months ago, back in my parents’ living room in Concord. I’ve poked and prodded it and gleaned as much as I could without truly attacking the Distance.  I no longer feel fear; I feel respect. I know that by noon on The Day, I’ll be in its grasp. But I feel ready for that – as ready as I can be.