Running makes you lose your mind.

Because I vowed to be completely and totally honest throughout this training process, I'll come clean with y'all.  Up until this past weekend's run, I was STRUGGLING with the training.  Like, there were days when a flurry of obscenities would come streaming out of my mouth, tears would well up, and I just wanted to flat-out QUIT.  And then I really would cry because I felt like I was letting everyone down: Brian, my family, my friends, Ellie and her family, every amazing person who's donated to my fundraising, my coworker who's training to run as well, strangers who see me running and give me an encouraging smile and a thumbs up to keep going... I threw myself a big ole pity party and wallowed in it.  

Even worse, as much as I've come to look forward to my long runs, they were really affecting my mentality as well.  I'd make it about 8 miles into a 12 mile run and start to lose it a little bit.  I mean, let's face it-- running is very much an individual sport which is partly why I enjoy it so much.  I don't do so hot at team sports when everyone depends on everyone else. The solo runs, when my main concern is putting one foot in front of the other and breathing, I can do.  But when you're running alone for 2+ hours, it gets... LONELY.  There have been times in the last few runs in Scituate when I was making a loop past the ocean and started to see things.

Let me state that I am always thoroughly hydrated and fueled.  I have nothing to base what I saw on anything other than pure wishing and hoping that something could entertain me during the run.

The week that I ran 11 miles, I was having an awesome run.  Everything felt great, I had great energy, my music was perfect, the humidity had cut back-- ideal morning run conditions.  As I touched my foot to the end of one point in Scituate and started back the way that I'd come, I passed an elderly woman who was also running (Dear God of Knees, please keep mine in tip top shape and don't let them give out on me.  I'd love to still be running in my 70s.  Amen.) and after smiling and flashing my runners wave, I came up to what I consider one of the prettiest views in Scituate.  The house on this property is on a cliff and set back from the road, and as I run past the driveway I can look out and see the ocean, the beach, a whole different section of houses on the cliffs... at 7am, it's gorgeous.  

As I looked out over the shining, smooth water... I saw sea lions.  I swear to you, I saw sea lions.  I probably didn't, but I could have sworn I did.  I was excited to the point of looking around to see if the elderly woman I'd passed was close enough to me so that I could share the news with her because look!  Sea lions!  Swimming and leaping!  I looked, looked, and looked again and after concluding that I was only losing my mind and not seeing acrobatic sea lions, I continued on my way.

Four weeks ago, as I was closing in on the last couple of miles of my 13 mile run and seriously tired, I thought that the street signs were dancing.  DANCING.  I was on a windy road so when I saw this sign below the way that my eyes looked at it, the sign was dancing.  And I don't mean just the yellow sign-- I mean from the top of the arrow to the bottom of the pole, the thing was wiggling.  Even worse?  I was thoroughly amused and entertained.  Again, I glanced around to see if there was anyone nearby with whom I could share my amusement.

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The following week, also in Scituate, I was running along another ocean road as part of my 14 and, minus the buckle unhooking from my Camelbak which required a good 10 minute stop to repair it, I had found my rhythm and was loving the run.  

I was close enough to the water to hear the waves so I pulled my earbuds out and realized I was caught up in one of those moments that I truly run for-- when your body is completely in sync with your mind, your head is in the run and you're aware enough of what you're doing to get the miles done but you aren't focused on the miles (huge difference), and you're mentally just... there.  I was in the midst of the runners high that I love so much, that all runners love so much, the feeling that makes you keep going back for the pain and torture of training runs and tempo runs and track workouts.  The breeze was coming off of the ocean, I could hear the sand and gravel crunching as my sneakers steadily pounded away, and I couldn't help but grin as I realized how far I've come since the first day I tried to make it around the track for a mile without pause.

I continued down the road, all caught up in my pride and happiness, when I gazed out to the ocean and saw it.

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Well... I thought I saw it.  I was 150% convinced that I was watching a humpback whale breaching out of the water.  

mind = blown.  

Several different emotions and thoughts raced through my head at that moment.
1. Terror.  Whales terrify me.
2. Surprise.  A whale!  On my run!
3. Truth.  There's no way a whale could be THAT close to the beach and be leaping and breaching and such.
4. Excitement!  I can't wait to tell everyone that I saw a whale off of the beach!
5. Dismay.  People will think I'm crazy when I tell them I've seen a whale off of the beach.

I continued running down the road and kept looking over to the water to have a sanity check, but by that point, my concentration was thrown.  The rest of the run was semi-manageable but I was exhausted.  I mean... it's a lot to process when you realize you still have 7 miles to run and you've just seen a whale... or not.  Probably not.

In hindsight, it's a good thing that as badly as I wanted to chat with someone that I never had interaction with people when I temporarily lost my mind during run.  Scituate's a small town where everyone knows everyone and everyone watches each others backs: 

BEWARE OF CRAZY WHITE GIRL:  

Runs with water backpack, hot pink Nike hat, iPod full of Britney, Bruce and Bono, Gu Chomps in her pants.  Claims to see sea life off of town beaches.  If encountered, back away slowly: looks friendly but is in marathon training and temporarily loses all sanity.