It’s usually the third mile where the voices start. Not literal voices—I'm not talking about a medical condition—but that internal chatter that shifts from "did I lock the front door?" to "why am I doing this to my knees?" It’s a weird space to inhabit. When people ask what I think about when I think about running, they usually expect some profound, meditative answer about finding my Zen or connecting with nature.
Sometimes it’s just about a bagel. Seriously.
Running isn't a singular experience. It’s a messy, physiological negotiation between your brain and your quads. Haruki Murakami famously wrote a memoir with a title very similar to this topic, and he hit on something crucial: running is an exercise in void-filling. You aren't always thinking deep thoughts. Often, you’re just counting. You count strides, you count telephone poles, you count the seconds until the light at 42nd Street turns green so you don't have to break your pace.
The Science of the "Runners High" vs. Reality
We’ve all heard about endorphins. For years, the scientific community leaned heavily on the idea that these chemically produced opioids were the reason we felt good after a jog. But more recent research, including studies published in Psychoneuroendocrinology, suggests that endocannabinoids—the body’s self-produced version of cannabis—might actually be the heavy lifters. They cross the blood-brain barrier more easily than endorphins. This explains why, halfway through a 10k, you might suddenly feel a strange, floating sense of euphoria.
But let's be real. That high is fickle.
Most of the time, the "high" is preceded by a solid twenty minutes of "low." In the sports world, we call this the "toxic ten." It’s that first ten minutes of a run where your body is screaming because it hasn’t quite figured out how to efficiently transport oxygen to your muscles yet. Your heart rate is spiking, your breathing is shallow, and your brain is telling you to go back to the couch. When I think about running, I think about the mental grit required to ignore that initial physiological panic. It’s a survival instinct that we’ve repurposed for fitness, and it feels kinda ridiculous when you stop to analyze it.
The Mental Architecture of a Long Run
There is a specific kind of cognitive architecture that develops when you spend hours on your feet. It’s not a straight line. It’s more of a spiral.
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First, there’s the Administrative Phase. This is where you settle into your gait. You’re checking your watch. You’re adjusting your laces because the left one feels slightly tighter than the right, and that’s going to be a problem in four miles. You’re thinking about your form—shoulders down, glutes engaged, mid-foot strike. This is the part where you’re an engineer of your own body.
Then comes the Dissociation Phase. This is the sweet spot.
This is where the environment starts to blur. You aren't "running" anymore; you’re just moving through space. This is where I find myself solving problems that have nothing to do with fitness. I’ve written entire email drafts in my head. I’ve settled imaginary arguments with people from five years ago. I’ve decided what I want to do with my life, and then forgotten it two miles later. Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi called this "Flow," a state where the challenge of the activity matches your skill level so perfectly that time seems to disappear. It’s addictive. Honestly, it’s probably the main reason people keep coming back to a sport that causes so much physical inflammation.
Why We Project Meaning Onto Pain
Humans are meaning-making machines. We can't just experience discomfort; we have to give it a "why."
When you’re at mile 18 of a marathon, your glycogen stores are depleted. This is "The Wall." It’s a real biological limit where your liver can no longer supply enough glucose to keep your brain and muscles happy. At this point, what I think about when I think about running becomes incredibly primitive. It’s no longer about the "flow" or the "glory." It’s about the person in front of you. You hate their shoes. You hate the way they breathe. You find a strange, petty motivation in just staying behind them.
It’s an honest reflection of the human psyche. We are capable of incredible nobility and incredible pettiness at the same time. Running strips away the social filters. You can’t pretend to be "put together" when your face is salt-crusted and you’re questioning your existence.
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The Social Component (And the Solitude)
There’s a massive divide in the running world: the soloists vs. the socialites.
I’ve spent time in both camps. Group runs are a different beast. You think about pacing and conversation. You worry about being the person who's breathing too hard to talk. But when you’re alone? That’s where the real work happens. In a world that is constantly screaming for our attention through pings and notifications, running is one of the few places where you are legally allowed to be unavailable.
- The Silence: It’s rare to be alone with your thoughts for two hours.
- The Environment: You notice things. The way the light hits the pavement at 6:00 AM. The smell of a bakery opening up.
- The Rhythm: Your footsteps become a metronome.
However, we shouldn't romanticize it too much. Sometimes, the thoughts are just dark. You think about aging. You think about how your body won't always be able to do this. You think about the injuries—the plantar fasciitis, the IT band syndrome—that are lurking in the shadows. It’s a memento mori in spandex.
The Gear Obsession as a Distraction
Let’s talk about the shoes. When I think about running, a significant portion of my brain is occupied by the evolution of foam technology.
Since the introduction of the Nike Vaporfly and the subsequent "super shoe" era, the conversation has changed. We’re no longer just talking about leather and rubber. We’re talking about carbon fiber plates and Pebax foam. Research in the Journal of Sport and Health Science has shown these shoes can improve running economy by up to 4%.
For the average hobbyist, does it matter? Probably not. But we think about it anyway. We obsess over the drop (the height difference between the heel and the toe). We debate the merits of hydration vests vs. handheld bottles. This obsession is actually a psychological buffer. It’s easier to think about buying a new pair of $250 shoes than it is to think about the fact that you need to run twenty miles on Sunday in the rain.
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Actionable Insights for the Mental Game
If you're struggling with the mental side of the sport, or if you're wondering how to change what you think about when you're out there, here are some ways to shift the internal narrative.
1. Practice Segmenting
The brain handles "forever" very poorly. Don't think about the ten miles ahead of you. Think about the next two miles. Then the two after that. By breaking the run into chunks, you prevent the "threat response" in your brain from triggering a shutdown.
2. Use "External" Distraction vs. "Internal" Monitoring
Elite runners actually tend to monitor their bodies more (internal), checking in on breathing and heart rate. Novices often try to distract themselves (external) by listening to podcasts or music. If you're hitting a wall, try switching. If you're bored, look at the architecture of the houses you're passing. If you're hurting, focus intensely on the rhythm of your breath to regain control.
3. The "Why" Check-In
Before you head out, have a concrete reason. Is today about stress relief? Is it about training for a specific PR? When the thoughts get messy and you want to quit, circling back to that one specific "why" acts as a tether.
4. Acceptance of the "Bad" Run
Some days, the thoughts are just going to be garbage. You’ll feel slow, heavy, and frustrated. The key is realizing that a "bad" run is still a deposit in the fitness bank. You don't have to enjoy every second for it to be effective.
Running is a mirror. It shows you exactly who you are when things get uncomfortable. What I think about when I think about running is, ultimately, the realization that I am much more capable of enduring discomfort than my "couch-sitting" self would ever believe. It’s a recalibration of your limits.
Moving Forward with Your Training
To apply this to your own routine, start by auditing your next run. Don't try to force "positive thoughts." Just observe where your mind goes. If you find yourself spiraling into negativity, try the segmenting technique mentioned above. If you're a data nerd, dive into the mechanics of your gait or your heart rate zones to give your brain a "problem" to solve. Most importantly, acknowledge the "toxic ten" for what it is—a temporary physiological adjustment—and give yourself permission to feel like a superhero once the endocannabinoids finally kick in.