For once, I ran a smart 10K.

It’s the one distance I don’t know how to race. Never have figured it out. As suggested by legendary running coach Jack Daniels, it’s “the cruelest distance.”

I vowed that some day I would run as fast as Billy. After all, I had learned earlier as a small kid that rather than fighting, my better option was usually flight. I already had indications that I was a runner.

I am running the Baltimore Marathon in the morning. My Annapolis running buddies have been warning me that the course is hilly.

Approach-avoidance syndrome is an often unrecognized curse, especially for competitive, goal-oriented runners and triathletes. We want to set and reach a goal (for example, marathon or Ironman finish, or any distance, really), but its immensity and unknown characteristics scare us off.

Breakthroughs come in many, many forms. Here's a list (certainly incomplete!) of 150 ways in which masters runners and triathletes can break through limits, barriers and inexperience to reach new levels of fitness, racing success and mental focus.

What I believe is most important is worth repeating: We are capable of so much more than we ask of ourselves.

Here in Annapolis, we have been burdened with hot, humid weather for most of the summer. Most runs have sweaty and slow, often more of a slog that a fleet-footed transit of the distance.

Several weeks ago I received a package in the mail. With the delight of a kid at Christmas, I tore the box open, and found a gift I had given myself: A Road ID bracelet.

Sunday after the 10 mile race I was hungry, thirsty, sore and tired. Yesterday I was achy, a little stiff and still sore, had a raw throat and continued to want to eat. Today there is less soreness but clearly I am still recovering.

Today's Annapolis 10 Mile Race was supposed to be a "catered training run" to help prepare me to run faster miles in the hilly Baltimore Marathon in October. I almost nailed my 9:20 target pace, running 9:21 per mile, which for a full marathon would give me a Boston Marathon qualifying result. (I need to beat 4 hours and 10 minutes; 9:21 pace yields 4 hours and 5 minutes.)

There is always someone crazier. No, not Donald Trump. I am talking about my fellow athletes.

Every long-term runner has to face a decline in speed, not necessarily straight-line with age, but however the growing slowness is meted out, mile times (and times at other distances) inevitably decline.

What I might be able to do in July is not necessarily what I can pull off in April.

I savor the moments before the start of a big race. Senses are heightened. Color and sound are vivid. Time crawls. My mind is both in the grand present and deep into the race ahead. Confidence flows from the training, planning and envisioning that preceded this bright point in time. The athletes around me are focused, fellow warriors ready to go. Tension awaits release with the retort of the start gun. Then, suddenly, it's "Go! Go! Go!", a joyous release that completely engages mind and body.

One reason a race can go poorly is because it's easy to forget necessary gear. I know of triathletes who have forgotten their bike and marathoners arriving without their race chip!

Stay in the moment. The idea is to have the best form, race the best line, stay at the right heart rate, know where you are versus the plan, understand how the weather is affecting you, etc., every moment of the race. That's how to get the best result, I find.

What a great improvement over my last 5K! That was the hilly neighborhood race I ran just after we moved to Annapolis in early June, with a time of 28:45.

First serious road race, a Father's Day 10k on the Baltimore and Annapolis trail, in 18 months.

Over decades of racing marathons and Ironman, I have found there comes a time when I have to make a big decision. Can I push on? Can I work through my fatigue and pain? Will the course and the weather defeat me? Is this really my limit? Am I capable of more than I have already asked of myself?