I love to run. I love the endorphin rush of the runner's high, the satisfying fatigue after a hard workout, and the comforting rhythm of a familiar jogging path. After graduating from college, where I ran cross-country and track, I took on a new challenge: running marathons.

Instead of training for 3K and 5K races as I had in college, I was now training for 26.2 miles, which required longer runs and harder workouts. For a girl who loves to run, this was heaven.

There was just one problem: My brain hated running.

By my mid-twenties, I was experiencing regular bouts of deja vu, a weird feeling like I had been somewhere or seen something before. Or jamais vu, where I'd be in a familiar place but my surroundings would look unfamiliar, so I would get lost. I blamed it on the odd hours and sleep deprivation that came with being a TV news reporter. I later learned that these episodes were focal aware seizures, also called auras.

I should have stopped racing and insisted on getting more sleep, but another marathon always beckoned. And I craved a faster race time, no matter how much it unnerved my brain. My goal for the upcoming Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Marathon was to break three hours.

After too little sleep the night before, I somehow made it through the hilly 26.2-mile course in 2 hours, 59 minutes, and 48 seconds. I was thrilled—but my body and mind were not. Once I got home to Eugene, OR, I experienced waves of seizures, one of which left a permanent scar. While cutting vegetables, I lost awareness and sliced my arm with a paring knife. After that, I finally went to see a neurologist, who diagnosed me with epilepsy and prescribed medication.

Undaunted by my scar or my diagnosis, I signed up for a marathon in my hometown and set a new goal of 2 hours and 50 minutes. I vowed to train better and sleep more, and for a while it worked. But eight hours of sleep a night wasn't always possible, and the auras returned.

I can still remember my last training run. It was a spring morning in Eugene, a city built for runners. I can picture the beautiful tree-lined path, smell the mulch, and feel it crunch beneath my feet.

At some point, jamais vu set in, and I became disoriented. Suddenly, I was lost—yet I was only a block or two from home, as it turned out. It was all too much, and I sat down in the mulch and cried. A nice couple walked over and helped me find my way back. But reality set in: The mix of training and seizures wasn't worth it just to run a faster time.

After a focal-impaired seizure at work, I underwent a temporal lobectomy—removal of the part of the brain where the seizures originate—in June 2015. Since then, I've had a few auras, but the only symptom has been a strange taste in my mouth.

As for running, I was required to take a year off after the lobectomy. At the one-year mark, I took my first run and immediately injured my Achilles tendon. So far, physical therapy hasn't worked, but I'm still at it. I figure fixing an Achilles tendon isn't brain surgery—right?