From the Breakaway Book:

It never stopped. There was always another race. Always another run. Always another hash, another party, another new person introducing herself, another old friend who had disappeared without bothering to say goodbye, another wedding, another baby, another breakup dividing already-divided loyalties, another birthday, another political spat, another rumor, another slight, another invitation from someone I’d only met once, another beer, another shot, another pair of running shoes decimated, another phone number, another e-mail address, another piece of advice, another hug, another smile, another missed opportunity, another question about how training was going, another person with injuries to be sensitive toward, another deadline to sign up, another demand to know where were you, another, another, another.

Breathe.