Running is mostly a conversation with yourself that you didn't ask to have. You start at the curb, lace up, and for the first ten minutes, you're just arguing with your calves. They want to go home. You want a personal record. By mile four, though, the internal monologue shifts into something entirely different—a bizarre mix of grocery lists, deep existential dread, and high-level problem-solving that only happens when your heart rate hits 150. Honestly, what I talk about when I am running says more about my mental state than any therapy session ever could.
It's not just me. This isn't just "runner's high" talk. Haruki Murakami literally wrote the book on this—What I Talk About When I Talk About Running—where he connects the discipline of the pavement to the discipline of the soul. But for the rest of us who aren't world-class novelists, the chatter is a bit more chaotic.
The Three Stages of the Running Monologue
The brain doesn't just stay in one gear during a long run. It evolves.
At the start, it’s all logistics. Did I lock the door? Is my GPS tracking right? Why does this sock feel weird? This is the "Negotiation Phase." You're basically a lawyer trying to convince your body to keep moving. Research published in International Journal of Sport and Exercise Psychology suggests that beginners tend to focus heavily on their bodily sensations—what experts call "associative" thinking—whereas experienced runners often "dissociate" or let their minds wander to external things to manage the discomfort.
Then comes the "Problem-Solving Peak." This is where the magic happens. Around the 30-minute mark, your brain gets a massive hit of brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF). Suddenly, that work email you couldn't figure out how to phrase? Written. The argument you had with your spouse three days ago? You finally have the perfect, non-aggressive retort.
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Why we talk to ourselves (and why it’s loud)
Sometimes, I actually speak out loud. People look at me like I’m losing it. But self-talk is a legitimate psychological tool. Dr. Stephen Bansell and other sports psychologists have noted that "instructional self-talk" (e.g., "Keep your shoulders down," "Drive the knees") can significantly improve performance.
But then there's the "dark mile."
This usually happens toward the end. The monologue turns dark. I hate this. Why do I do this? I could literally just stop and call an Uber. This is the grit. This is where you start talking to the road, to the wind, or to whatever deity you think might be listening. You aren't talking about your career anymore; you're talking about survival.
Science Behind the "Run-Chatter"
When we look at what I talk about when I am running, we have to look at the prefrontal cortex. During intense exercise, your brain actually down-regulates certain areas to save energy—a process called transient hypofrontality. This is a fancy way of saying your "ego" or your "inner critic" takes a nap.
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Because that critic is asleep, your thoughts become more fluid. More honest. You stop censoring yourself. This is why runners often find themselves coming up with "crazy" ideas that actually turn out to be brilliant. Without that constant voice saying that's too expensive or that'll never work, you just see the idea for what it is.
- The Endorphin Effect: It's real, but it's not the whole story. Endocannabinoids—the same chemicals found in cannabis—are actually more responsible for that floaty, chatty feeling than endorphins are.
- The Rhythmic Pulse: The repetitive motion of feet hitting the ground acts like a metronome for your thoughts. It organizes the chaos.
The Social Aspect: Running as a Second Language
If you’ve ever gone for a run with a friend, you know the "Conversation Pace" rule. If you can’t talk, you’re going too fast. But there’s a weird intimacy to running conversations. You’re side-by-side, not looking each other in the eye. It’s like being in a confessional.
I’ve had friends tell me things at mile eight that they wouldn't tell me over a beer. There’s no pressure to perform. You’re both struggling, both sweating, both moving toward a common goal. The "talk" becomes a tool for distraction. You tell stories to make the miles disappear. You talk about the past because the present hurts too much.
Misconceptions About the "Quiet Run"
A lot of people think running is "quiet time." It’s not. It’s the loudest time of my day.
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People assume you’re out there in a state of Zen-like peace. Maybe some people are. But for most of us, it’s a mental mosh pit. You are processing the backlog of your life. The average person has about 6,000 thoughts a day. I’m pretty sure 5,000 of mine happen during a 10k.
It’s also not always positive. We need to be honest about that. Sometimes the talk is just complaining. Sometimes it’s rehashing old failures. The key is that by the time you finish and the heart rate drops, that chatter usually settles into a calm. The "junk" has been filtered out.
How to Channel Your Inner Monologue
If you find that your "running talk" is getting too negative or stressed, you can actually hack it.
- The Third-Person Shift: Instead of saying "I can do this," try saying "[Your Name] can do this." Studies show that talking to yourself in the third person provides enough psychological distance to reduce anxiety and improve focus. It feels goofy, but it works.
- Focus on the External: If your brain is screaming about your burning lungs, start naming things you see. Red car. Oak tree. Cracked sidewalk. This forces your brain to switch from "internal pain monitoring" to "external observation."
- The "Future Self" Conversation: Imagine yourself at the finish line. Talk to that version of you. What are they feeling? How glad are they that you didn't quit at mile five?
The Reality of the Long Road
Ultimately, what I talk about when I am running is a reflection of my life's current friction. If I’m stressed about money, the miles are spent counting pennies. If I’m happy, the miles are spent dreaming. The run doesn't change who you are; it just strips away the layers until the truth comes out.
It’s a grueling, sweaty, often boring process. But it’s the only time I’m truly honest with myself. No phones, no notifications, just the rhythm of the breath and the endless, rambling, beautiful conversation in my head.
Next Steps for Your Next Run:
Before you head out tomorrow, set a "mental theme." If you're stressed, decide that the first two miles are for venting—literally say your frustrations out loud if you're on a secluded trail. Once those two miles are up, consciously pivot to "solution mode." By segmenting your mental talk, you turn a physical workout into a cognitive reset. You'll find that by the time you're stretching on your porch, the noise has finally turned into clarity.