Squirrel Thoughts

Sunday, I have a little 26.2-mile run to do, commonly referred to as a “marathon.”

(NOTE TO NONRUNNERS/RUNNING NOVICES: “Marathon” does not refer to just any ol’ race, like that podunk neighborhood 5k you once jogged. It must be a race that is 26 miles and 385 yards. You did not run a 3.1-mile “marathon.” Also, never ask anyone, let alone a runner, “So, how long was that marathon?” You will look foolish. And, in the words of the immortal Mr. T, “I pity da foo.”)

And because I’m running a marathon on Sunday, July 11, 2010, at 6 a.m., it means that on Thursday, July 8, 2010, at approximately 9:15 a.m., I transitioned into Marathon Mode. In this state, all thoughts and actions revolve around the impending footrace, and normal behavior ceases to exist.

Marathon Mode: Also an option in Tetris.

It only takes a few seconds for Marathon Mode to “click,” and when it does, nothing else matters but the race. All thoughts revolve around the marathon, and anything anyone says to you pertains to the marathon, because why in the world would they talk to you about anything but the marathon when it’s less than TWO DAYS away?!?

Yesterday, for example, when my boss asked me “so, are you registered?” I immediately replied “For the marathon??? Yes, of course!!!” He was supposedly referring to a training course at work, which we had discussed a mere five minutes prior. But why would he be asking me about something like that because doesn’t he know I’m about to RUN A MARATHON?!?!

Or take my trip to the Good Food Store yesterday. While checking out, I was so focused on deciding whether to run with a pacer or go it alone during the race, that when the checker asked me to sign my receipt, I stared at him, perplexed, like he was one of those little Kia-driving rapper-hamsters. “DON’T YOU KNOW I’M RUNNING A MARATHON IN TWO DAYS?!? I CAN’T BE USING ALL MY ENERGY TO SIGN A RECEIPT!”

When in Marathon Mode, simple decisions, like taking the stairs, suddenly turn into the most agonizing of dilemmas. “What if I slip on my way up and tumble over backward into a man-eating crocodile pit full of boiling lava that burns my eyes out and I have to live the rest of my life guided by a seeing-eye ferret?!? Or what if — gulp — I pull a hammy?!?!?”

At this point, any reasonable person would say to themselves, “Self, that is ridiculous. There’s no way man-eating crocodiles could survive in a pit of boiling-hot lava. They’re cold-blooded, for crying out loud!”

However, this logic does not occur to a person in Marathon Mode, and she takes the elevator instead of climbing one flight of stairs, lest she risk a career-ending injury.

Since you basically have to be crazy to run a marathon in the first place, I figure Marathon Mode is just nature’s way of preventing total delirium overload on the big day.

Let’s just hope my bout with insanity — and my race — are swift and (relatively) painless.