This is your brain on the long run.

It always starts the same: Am I really going to run ## miles?

The long training run is the ultimate head game of running. During a marathon, the reason for the long training run, there is a myriad of distractions. It's during those runs of 17 to 20 miles in preparation for the marathon during which I've really gotten to know myself.

Do I even know where I'm going?

The first mile is the toughest battle. I think about where my route will take me; I've even been known to spend that time figuring out my route, since I'm not big on planning my routes and prefer to just wing it. If I know where I'm going, I try to think happy thoughts about how at certain landmarks, I will only have x miles to go. But then I think about how far away I still am from Second Street and Mulberry, the bathroom at Side Cut, and that dead opossum that's been decaying on the curb for a week. Shit. This might suck.

This has nothing to do with anything.
I just need her sweater.

After a mile, I subconsciously transition from logistics to stress. What do I need to to when I get home? I can't believe I left the house without making the bed. When was the last time that I changed the Brita filter? I hope that my hair isn't too unruly after showering. How are we going to have time do watch Parks and Rec tonight?

Suddenly I've run a significant fraction of my run and I don't care about anything. Just in time for a gel! Ever wonder how the deer talk to each other? What kind of animal left that nugget of poo on the towpath? Why everyone driving past you gawks? How that rodent ended up split in half in the middle of the road and why there is a steak knife next to it? If breathing in the chemical odor surrounding that manufacturing building weekly is going to result in a genetic defect? Of course you have.

I'm too fast to acknowledge a peon like you.
Also, I'm in bad movies.

Here and there, I wish that I had a pocket of rocks to launch at cars that unnecessarily drive far to close to me. On really trying days, I might throw a couple of expletives or hand gestures at ass-wipes behind the wheel. On the other hand, some motorists are so considerate that I yell to them, "Thaaaaanks!" as if they care and can hear me. When I begin to approach another runner or walker, my brain races about how to greet. Morning! Hi! Keep it up! Oh, you look like you're not having a good day. I'm still going to say "hi." Oh, you want to stare at the ground and ignore me? It's like that, is it? And then I feel salty.

This sandwich goes to church on Sunday. I don't.

And before I know it, I've got three miles to go. A 5K? Piece of cake. I think about how fast I'll be able to get it done. Then, it happens: Fooooooooooooood. What am I gonna eat? I wonder if Joe wants to get some Chipotle. Mmmm, a Spicy Chicken Sangweech from Chick-fil-a sounds awesome. Balls! It's Sunday. I think about how many calories I will have burned at the end of the run and rejoice in the fact that it has likely been more than I usually eat in a day, which surely means that I should eat twice as much as what I'd eat on a non-long run day.

Then, there it is! The driveway. The long run is over.

I just ran ## miles. Awesome.