The 8-mile mark of a half marathon is really when you start to question your own judgment. You've come a long way, but you're not really close to the end yet.
I know that this morning because I'm sitting at the 8-mile mark and there are some pained faces running by me.
Rachel and I have a little running tradition: whenever one of us does a big race, the other goes along as support crew/groupie extraordinaire. Sometimes there are signs. The first time there was a lot of picture taking. There's consulting a bad map and driving around random Utah cities trying to figure out how to intersect with the course without being on the course.
And that is how I came to be sitting on a log in rural Spanish Fork, yelling really stupid things at runners over and over again, down the street from a guy yelling encouraging comments about runners' form (Keep your chest open! Relax your shoulders!)
And I just told a guy who was just out for a run to keep it up. You know what? Everyone needs a little encouragement sometimes.