Review of Running: A Love Story

First, a disclaimer: Jen is an acquaintance of mine.  We went to high school together and now live in the same town and see each other at a lot of running events in South Jersey.  I won this book at one such running event over a month before the book's scheduled release.  The book is an advanced copy, and slight changes/corrections may have been made before its official release.  She did not ask me to write this review.

As a runner, I love to read running books.  I've read books by such titans of the sport as Bill Rodgers, Alberto Salazar, Bart Yasso and Meb Keflezighi.  But while it's nice to read about the superheroes of the sport - people with real extrinsic benefits for pursuing excellence - it's nice to hear from the rest of the pack.  People that will never win a major race.  People that juggle careers outside of running with families and other responsibilities and continue to run for the simple joy of competition and finding one's limits.  People like you and me.  In writing a love letter to the sport of running, Jen has written Fanfare for the Common Runner.

At just 209 pages, it makes for a quick read.  It follows the same disjointed narrative structure as the aforementioned Bill Rodgers, whose memoir Marathon Man includes a mile by mile recap of a single race, with every other chapter filling in the blanks of the rest of his life.  In Jen's book, she focuses on her PR marathon, the 2013 New Jersey Marathon, by starting each chapter with a section of that race before moving on to other areas of her life.  It follows her humble beginnings as a runner during high school seasons of soccer and softball, to the magazine assignment that had her train for a 5k and record her experience, to the unavoidable progression to longer distances and loftier goals.

Jen's running story is not a unique one.  Aside from the fact that she writes about it for national publications, it is the same story played out in every running blog out there these days, including this one.  Person goes through hard times, person uses running as therapy, person gets sucked into the running lifestyle, person sets, meets and misses goals... person learns life lessons along the way.  The strength of the book lies not in its descriptions of various training cycles or races, then, but in the emotional punch it packs.  Put simply, this is the movie Inside Out in book form.  Jen takes you through the maelstrom that is her emotions with utter fearlessness.  Jen's best trait as a writer is her candidness, her willingness to share everything, and this is a no-holds-barred look into the psyche of a runner.

There is pain to be found in these pages; delicate, raw and heartbreaking pain that should force retrospection from even the most emotionally destitute reader.  This is as much a book about running as it is about love, relationships and the pain they bring, and Jen lets us in on the emotional toll that breakups have had on her.  There is no shortage of breakups here, but rather than wallow in her pain for long, Jen lets running pick up the pieces and makes herself stronger in the process.

There is humor to be found in these pages.  Jen explores the loopy thoughts that plague runners during their long runs, the long tendrils of memory and daydreaming inspired by our surroundings and the goings-on of our days that lift us above the monotony.

There is anger to be found in these pages.  Here is Jen hating on the city of Philadelphia with a tangible zest.  Here she is spitting profanity at a bar table full of acquaintances over a woman's right to just want to get laid.  And here she is, with Xena-like fierceness, staring down anyone who dares malign her beloved Garden State.

But perhaps most importantly, there is love and joy to be found in these pages.  There is familial love for a mother who has stood by her side through everything.  Three weeks after the bombings in Boston, when Jen expresses fear over her mother standing at the finish line of her marathon, the love I see in this moment is a force.  And there is the joy that any runner will relate to: that of executing the perfect race.  The final chapter, in which she describes the end of her PR marathon, will have most runners nodding and wistfully reminiscing over their own best race and what it was like to derive joy from such a physically strenuous activity.

Jen's writing throughout the book is clean and proficient, honed over years as a freelance writer, though at times it reads like a greatest hits of her articles from the last ten years.  Her journalism background comes into play as her own memories intertwine with historical tidbits and current statistics about the sport.  Many of these brief interludes identify women's roles in the sport, including Katherine Switzer's role as the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon.

Published by Seal Press, which publishes "groundbreaking books that represent the diverse voices and interests of women," it's no surprise this book is being marketed towards women. With its many tales of breakup woes and its unapologetic feminism, it makes sense.  The question becomes, then, will this book appeal to men?  Perhaps a bigger question should be, does it matter?   Jen brings the perspective of the female runner to the table in a well realized memoir, and shouldn't that be enough?

For what it's worth, I'll pose one final question: do I recommend it?

Absolutely.


Running: A Love Story is now available for purchase:

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
IndieBound

You can also follow Jen here:

Twitter: @byJenAMiller
Facebook: Jen A. Miller
Instagram: jenamillerrunner
Website: jenamiller.com

Also, Jen is hosting a book launch party at the Haddonfield Running Company this Tuesday March 22nd from 6:30 - 9pm.  Free and open to the public.

2016 Olympic Trials Marathon

It was a great afternoon to be a runner in South Jersey.

Local running celebrities Jen Miller (prolific author and running columnist), Dave Welsh (owner of Haddonfield Running Company) and Erin Donahue (2008 U.S. Olympian) put together a spectacular event today in honor of the first ever live televised coverage of the Olympic Trials Marathon.

About 15 of us met at the bar at 12pm and took off into a blustery snowstorm for 2.62 miles. Aside from my usual Wednesday night 7 miles, this was the longest run I've done in a month, and probably the coldest this season.

When we returned from the run, the first round was on the house, and an epic buffet had been set up for us.

The bar quickly filled up with people - runners on the left side, and random day drinkers on the right.  It was definitely a novelty to see so many people at a bar in the middle of the day to watch a marathon.

I was ecstatic to see Meb and Galen place in the top three, and as for the women, I was sad that Kara didn't make the cut but happy Shalane gutted it out to finish third.

Stevie eventually joined us and brought Neale, and the highlight of the afternoon came when Jen raffled off a copy of her book and I won.

Bonus photobomb from Stevie and Neale.

I've been following Jen's progress on the book for months now and have been looking forward to its release, so it was a pleasant surprise to receive a free copy today over a month ahead of its scheduled release.

I'll be sure to read it and write a review here soon.

All told, it was a great afternoon of running and beer.  Big thanks to The Irish Mile for hosting the event and for the beer and food.  Can't wait to watch the Olympic Marathon this summer!

John Updike's Rabbit, Run

Do me a favor.  Stop reading this ridiculous blog and think for a moment about the last book to stick with you long after you read it.

All set?  Good, now continue reading this ridiculous blog.  What about this book made it stick with you?  Was it the richly realized details of the story?  Did you relate to the story or characters in any way?  Was it the style of writing that grabbed you?

For me, the book that comes to mind is Rabbit, Run by John Updike.  I read it last fall and now, several months later, I still find myself thinking back to the events of this book.  The title was what originally grabbed me, for obvious reasons, but now it's the amazing writing that I can't shake.

Written in 1960, the book details a few months in the life of Harry "Rabbit" Angstrom, a 26-year-old former high school basketball star who continually runs from his problems.  This book spawned many sequels, two of which won the Pullitzer Prize for fiction.

My habit last fall was to wake up at 4am, then read on the couch for an hour with cup of tea in hand before heading out to run anywhere from 5 to ten miles.  This is one of the books I read during those dark morning hours alone downstairs, and one that I reflected on during the long hard miles on the roads afterwards.

In the following passage, Rabbit has abandoned his wife for the second time shortly after the birth of their daughter.  Distraught over his departure, his wife, who has long flirted with alcoholism, proceeds to drink too much whiskey while trying to give their newborn baby a bath:

"The wavery gray line of the water is almost up to the lip of the tub.  On the skin quick wrinkles wander and under it a deep mass waits colorless.  She wishes she could have the bath.  Brimful of composure she returns to the living room.  She tips too much trying to dig the tiny rubbery thing out of the chair so she drops to her knees and scoops Rebecca into her arms and carries her into the bathroom held sideways against her breasts.  She is proud to be carrying this to completion; at least the baby will be clean when Mother comes.  She drops gently to her knees by the big calm tub and does not expect her sleeves to be soaked.  The water wraps around her forearms like two huge hands; under her eyes the pink baby sinks down like a gray stone. 

With a sob of protest she grapples for the child but the water pushes up at her hands, her bathrobe tends to float, and the slippery thing squirms in the sudden opacity.  She has a hold, feels a heartbeat on her thumb, and then loses it, and the skin of the water leaps with pale refracted oblongs that she can't seize the solid of; it is only a moment, but a moment dragged out in a thicker time.  Then she has Becky squeezed in her hands and it is all right.

She lifts the living thing into the air and hugs it against her sopping chest.  Water pours off them onto the bathroom tiles.  The little weightless body flops against her neck and a quick look of relief at the baby's face gives a fantastic clotted impression.  A contorted memory of how they give artificial respiration pumps Janice's cold wet arms in frantic rhythmic hugs; under her clenched lids great scarlet prayers arise, wordless, monotonous, and she seems to be clasping the knees of a vast third person whose name, Father, Father, beats against her head like physical blows.  Though her wild heart bathes the universe in red, no spark kindles in the space between her arms; for all of her pouring prayers she doesn't feel the faintest tremor of an answer in the darkness against her.  Her sense of the third person with them widens enormously, and she knows, knows, while knocks sound at the door, that the worst thing that has ever happened to any woman in the world has happened to her."

The book was magnificent, but it's this passage that really takes it home.  Never before in my life have I been so thoroughly punched in the soul by a piece of writing.  The heartbreaking imagery of a woman manically clinging to hope, and the torture of acceptance that she faces at the end, and the morbid thought of what it would be like to be in her situation and lose my son... Let's just say I was moved.

The day I start writing like that is the day I may just give up writing altogether, because I want to go out on top.

Enjoy the book recommendation, folks.  Now I'm off to read the ten sequels.

On the marathon and American manhood

Elizabeth Gilbert writes in her book The Last American Man,

"Briefly, the history of America goes like this: there was a frontier, and then there was no longer a frontier.  It all happened rather quickly.  There were Indians, then explorers, then settlers, then towns, then cities.  Nobody was really paying attention until the moment the wilderness was officially tamed, at which point everyone wanted it back.  Within the general spasm of nostalgia that ensued... there came a very specific cultural panic, rooted in the question What will become of our boys?

The problem was that, while the classic European coming-of-age story generally featured a provincial boy who moved to the city and was transformed into a refined gentleman, the American tradition had evolved into the opposite.  The American boy came of age by leaving civilization and striking out toward the hills.  There, he shed his cosmopolitan manners and became a robust and proficient man.  Not a gentleman mind you, but a man."

It's in our cultural heritage that a man is not truly a man unless he has endured hardship, unless he has experienced something in life and come out on the other side better for it.  In earlier generations of America, this could mean anything from striking out for the frontier to going to war.

But what could that be in today's society?  Examine American culture today and it's easy to conclude how much of it is built around the idea of comfort.  Today, one isn't truly a man until he can show it off in the form of appliances and air conditioning and the perfect car and everything Apple has ever sold; basically anything that takes the hard work out of life.  Hard work of the physical variety is just not sought out any more.  In short, material possessions and the comfort they bring have laid claim to American manhood.

Worse still, American culture lacks a coming-of-age ritual, and young adults are left to find what they can to mark the passing into adulthood.  Left with no alternative, most are simply retreating to the couch to binge watch Netflix, eat take-out and complain and/or brag about life on social media.  Succumbing to the cultural zeitgeist is an antidote to the idea that one should do something with one's life.  Something important and something grand that lays the foundation for a successful future.

Can the marathon be that ritual?  Can the months of hard work, pain, and sacrifice lead one to a higher plane of existence?  If the second running boom of the last decade is anything to go by, it seems many Americans are answering this with a resounding yes.  It seems that the marathon can serve as catharsis and ritual to those of all genders and ages.

Those who have run a marathon will recognize the pain involved, pain so acute and so dramatic for being self-inflicted that it's a miracle anyone ever does two of these things.  The word itself conjures images of both physical and emotional pain, and while hardship of any kind does not exactly equate to pleasure, there is pleasure to be found there all the same.

Pleasure in pain.  Not quite a new concept, but still mind boggling to the non-marathoner. Why does the marathon hold such appeal to me, and so many others?  Why do we insist on making such dire sacrifices, training like Olympians for such minimal gains?  Why do we endure the pain for a space blanket and the same medal 20,000 other people get?  Where exactly does the pleasure come from?

There is something to be said for those who willingly endure hardship.  There is personal glory to be found in taming the wilderness; not so much the literal wilderness fawned over in American literature, but that found within.  It allows everyone to play both the person in need of rescuing and the rescuer, to be the hero in their own journey.  To pull themselves from the depths of their lives and rise to the next level.

This begs the question: am I more of a man since I ran my first marathon at the age of 24?  I'd like to think so, yes.  I'd like to think that the marathon indeed made me more robust and proficient, that it taught me to deal with pain, both physical and emotional, that I now understand the idea of sacrifice and hard work to achieve something difficult.

Marathon Man by Bill Rodgers

Want an engaging read about the running scene of 1970's New England?  Of course you do! Then look no further than Marathon Man by the marathon man himself, Bill Rodgers:

First a little background: Bill Rodgers was a New England road runner who dominated 1970's marathoning, and was most famous for his four wins apiece at the Boston and New York City Marathons.  He has won major marathons on five continents, finishing a total of 60, and now spends a lot of time doing guest speaking stints at marathons around the country, including the Philadelphia Marathon.  I saw him speak in 2013 and again at this year's marathon where I met him and bought his book.

The majority of the book toggles back and forth between a detailed description of his first win at Boston in 1975 when he was still an unknown in the sport, to his days as a high school and college student and a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War.  About 3/4 of the way through, the book finally moves into a straightforward linear narrative that goes on to describe his meteoric rise and the ups and downs of his subsequent career in road racing.

If you've ever seen Bill Rodgers speak, you'll know he has undiagnosed ADHD (which he also mentions in the book), and his book follows a similar pattern of chasing down random thoughts to narrative dead-ends.  Also, the book is absolutely riddled with typos and misspellings, which makes the ornery grammarian in me a tad berserk.  Whoever edited this thing should be fired.

Here's the thing, though: I don't care about the writing.  The story is just that compelling.

In addition to a memoir of a running legend, it's a fascinating account of what runners had to do back then just to make a living.  The Boston Marathon did not dole out the hundreds of thousands to its winners that it does today. Winners back then received the famous laurel wreath and a bowl of beef stew.  Most road races of that era had similarly ridiculous prizes. Rodgers describes one race in which the winner received a new set of car tires.  Because he didn't own a car, he offered them to the second place finisher, who also didn't own a car.  The tires made their way down the line of runners until finally finding someone who could actually use them.  Guys were out there every weekend killing themselves for the sake of random household appliances.

This is how the Amateur Athletic Union wanted it back then.  Runners who wished to compete in the Olympics were denied the professional and commercial support of their counterparts in other countries, and were forced to receive appearance fees under the table just to make a living.  To the AAU, protecting the integrity of the sport meant forcing elite athletes to live a spartan life of training and hardship while trying to compete against the best the world had to offer.

Yet Rodgers and his counterparts of the era doggedly persisted in the name of competition and honing their skills.  He goes on to describe taking eight guys from his Greater Boston Track Club down to the Philadelphia Marathon in 1974, driving down back roads to avoid paying tolls and all eight sleeping in one hotel room.  Rodgers won the race the following morning, after which they all piled back into the car and slowly made their way back north.  I love that.

I think in order to be a part of any community, it's important to understand the history behind it and to recognize the pioneers that forged the path before you.  That's why I love this book, because it shows me a deeper understanding of the man that is Bill Rodgers and what he did for this sport.

From the man himself: let's run forever.

Scott, fellow teacher; world's greatest profession - Let's Run Forever! - Bill Rodgers

My Best Race

After running my usual Wednesday night 7 with Who's Up? last night, I walked down the street to Grace Church to attend the South Jersey Running Club's last meeting before the summer break.  Local author Chris Cooper, author of My Best Race: 50 Runners and the Finish Line They''ll Never Forget, was invited to speak about his book.

After the meeting, I downloaded the book to my Kindle (the book is only available in e-book format) and started reading.  It features stories from famous runners like Jeff Galloway and Kara Goucher, as well as average runners, all about what they consider their best race.  The majority of the stories focus not on a PR or a first place finish, but on other, more poignant details that make the race indelible.

It's impossible to read a book like this and not ask myself the same question posed to these 50 runners: what was my best race?

My mind considers dozens of possibilities from over the years.  Was it the 800 I ran in high school track when I pushed myself to the breaking point and collapsed just short of the finish? Was it the 2011 5k in which I broke a 14-year-old PR and won the entire race?  Was it the first race that Stevie ever watched me run in which I set a half PR without even trying?

This might be the easy answer here because it is the most recent, but I think my best race would have to be Philly 2013. Sure, the PR and BQ were great and certainly help make it memorable, but it goes so much more beyond that.  The blood, sweat and tears I put into training make it a proud accomplishment.  The difficulties I overcame while training make it unforgettable.  But it's my wife Stevie that elevates this race to my best ever.

I will never forget the support she showed me, especially in the week leading up to the race. She left me notes of encouragement every day in that week.  She listened to my incessant stream of consciousness of self doubt and complaining.  She abstained from alcohol with me. She made signs and T-shirts for friends and family during race day.  She was with me during the race every time I pressed my fingers together and felt my wedding ring.  And after the race, when we found each other in the crowd, the others held back to give us a moment together. The majority of that race is a blur of excitement and screaming fans and fatigue and mental split calculations, but this is the moment that stands out for me:  wrapped in her arms, crying and mumbling, so happy to have someone to share in my triumph.

The worst run of my life

11 miles yesterday in the cold, rain and wind.  Just for a change of pace today, I went for a run in the cold, rain and wind.  16 miles.  Maybe not the worst run of my life, but it was up there. Just another time in a runner's life when I'm wondering what I'm doing outside for 2 hours on a rainy Sunday when I should be wearing  my sweats, sitting on the couch and watching a bad action movie.

So I had Stevie commemorate the occasion with a picture:

After running, while reading some short stories by Vladimir Nabokov, I came across the following passage from his story "Gods":

Kind of put the lousy run in perspective.

Give Away - Going Long: Legends, Oddballs, Comebacks and Adventures; The Best Stories From Runner's World

I don't typically do give aways.  In fact, I've only ever done one, which was about two years ago when I got a copy of Born to Run for Christmas.  I already owned an autographed copy, and decided to give away the second copy to a reader of my blog.

In the spirit of the holidays, I want to do the same thing this year by giving away this book:

Like it says on the cover, it's a collection of stories from over the years in Runner's World. Some I'd read in the magazine, some were new to me, but almost all were fascinating, inspirational and wonderfully written.

Please know this is not some lame attempt to garner more readers or pageviews or whatever. I simply want to give back while sharing my love of reading and running, and hope this book and its stories will inspire you like it has me.

Just like last time, in order to enter this give away you do not need to like my facebook page or retweet my inane tweets or any of the other hoops other bloggers make you jump through.  All you have to do is leave me a comment on this post telling me your 2014 running goals and resolutions, and a way to contact you.

I'll write a post in the next day or two detailing my own 2014 running goals.  Let's just say it's going to be an epic year.

The give away will end one week from today on Friday January 3rd.  I'll draw a name from a hat, and then send one reader the book.  I'll even pay for shipping and handling myself.  Good luck, and thanks for reading!

Cold

Maybe this book will help with the heat and humidity.  Picked this up at a gift shop in Alaska and am about halfway through it now.  It's all about the science, geography, and history of cold.  Not exactly light summer reading but interesting nonetheless.

My Life on the Run

I finally have more time on my hands to spend on reading, so first up is Bart Yasso's My Life on the Run.

I read it nearly in one sitting.  It's an enjoyable book by one of the best known guys in running, and creator of the infamous Yasso 800's (a training session I have yet to implement, but will probably try when the next marathon rolls around).  While never a powerhouse runner along the lines of Dick Beardsley or Alberto Salazar, Bart Yasso is nevertheless a talented runner with a great personal history in the sport, making the book and his recollections truly entertaining.

As a runner, any running book I read leaves me wanting to sign up for the next race I can find, and this book is no different.  But reading this book left me more jealous than anything.  Bart Yasso is a man whose job combines running, writing and traveling.  He has traveled all over the world for various races while writing about them for Runner's World.  What could possibly be better than that?

In the meantime, I'm preparing for my own bout of traveling.  I'm leaving next week for Europe; starting in Ireland and making my way east through England, Germany, and hopefully finishing in Turkey.  I'll be sure to blog as much as I can, and will hopefully do some running over there as well.

On books

The last three books I've read

I was reading the Norman Mailer book The Naked and the Dead in study hall the other day when a student asked me what I was reading.  I showed her the title.

Student: Like the band, The Naked and Famous?

Me: Not quite.

Let's talk about books for a minute, because I love them as much as I love running.  With so much to choose from in this world in which one can invest one's love, why books? (why running, you might also ask)

Consider:

• "He slept little and he slept poorly.  He dreamt of walking in a flowering wood where birds flew before them he and the child and the sky was aching blue but he was learning how to wake himself from just such siren worlds.  Lying there in the dark with the uncanny taste of a peach from some phantom orchard fading in his mouth.  He thought if he lived long enough the world at last would all be lost.  Like the dying world the newly blind inhabit, all of it slowly fading from memory."  The Road by Cormac McCarthy

• "'I... I...'  Albinus drew a deep breath which seemed to make his chest swell into some vast monstrous globe full of a whirling roar which presently he let out, lustily, steadily... And when it had all gone, he started filling up again."  The main character discovering he is blind in Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov

I should clarify that I'm not some kind of academic snob.  I enjoy a zany episode of Family Guy just like the rest of America, but just like I try to push myself in running by chasing ever elusive PR's, I try to push my mind a little above the lowest common denominator as well.

If you don't feel any kind of chill from the preceding passages and the way words can be strung together so creatively to elicit such strong emotions in people, then that's ok.  We can always just talk about running.

That is all.

Born to Run: Giveaway!

As noted in my last entry, I received a copy of the bestselling book Born to Run for Christmas.

Since I already own the book, my uncle offered me two options: either he could take the book back and try to find something else for me, or I could  keep the book and regift it.  I decided that, because it is the season of giving, I would offer this book as a giveaway on my blog.

The book is brand new and hardcover.  It can be yours in one simple way: leave me a comment on this entry telling me about your 2012 running goals and a way I can contact you.  That's it.  After a week, I'll pick one of the comments and send the lucky winner the book.  I'll even pay the few bucks for shipping.

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.  Thanks for reading, and good luck!

Christmas

My dad likes to get me a gag gift every year.  Last year, in a nod to National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, he printed out a page advertising a jelly-of-the-month club.  This year he took note of this entry and got me a spatula from the dollar store.

My dad is a regular Jerry Lewis.  

Meanwhile, my Uncle Gary, an avid reader, got me a great Christmas present:

And I'm not being sarcastic; the book combines two interests of mine: reading and running.  What could be better?  Unfortunately, astute readers of this blog will note that not only have I read the book, but I also met the author a few months ago and got him to sign a copy for me. 

Me: you don't read my blog?

Uncle Gary: I specialize in the oral tradition.

For better or worse, a large part of my sense of humor comes from these two men.  All complaints at failed attempts to be funny on this blog may be directed at them.

I spent the better part of Christmas tending to the fire, eating, talking with my sister on the phone, eating, exchanging presents, eating, reading this book, and eating.

It was a great and relaxing day.

Dad, Debbie, me, Grandmother Partenheimer, Uncle Gary
Christmas 2011

Born to run (with shoes)

I finally read this book recently:

I understand why it's been such a big hit in the running community.  It's equal parts travel narrative, sports commentary, history lesson and memoir all rolled into a well written book, and it took me all of two days to read it.  Good thing I don't have anything better to do.  

Hello, Sarcasm.

McDougall's book has helped drive the barefoot running movement, so much that the makers of Vibram Fivefingers should throw him an annual party to thank him.  As it turns out, the sections detailing the advantages of barefoot running were nearly taken out, but McDougall's editor convinced him to keep them in.  McDougall should throw his editor an annual party to thank him.

Several years after the publication of his book, author McDougall is still at it.  In the following video, he gives a brief tutorial on a long lost method of running that should help eliminate injuries that often plague distance runners.  He instructs them to remove their shoes, then runs them through some basic movements to improve their strides and footfalls.

Having read the book, as well as numerous articles and blog entries on barefoot running, I'm more conscious of the way I run, and I'm convinced McDougall would have a field day analyzing my gait. I propel myself with a long stride while landing on my heel and rolling through on the outside of my foot.  It may not be proper, but as I've said before, if it ain't broke, don't try to fix it.  With no major injuries in my time running, no point on changing things now.

Collingswood Book Festival

The Collingswood Book Festival was today, and among the featured authors was Christopher McDougall, author of this book:

While I have yet to read the book, I've read a lot about it, both in official book reviews as well as ordinary running blogs like this one.  I feel like I'll be the last runner on the planet to read it.

I loved his talk because I realized how many opinions we have in common.  He also finds it ridiculous how laden with equipment people let themselves get while running (iPods, cell phones, water bottles, head bands, etc.).  He also finds it ridiculous that people think the only way they can run properly is to buy expensive shoes.  And he also finds it sad how we've let ourselves get away from our roots as human beings in the last century by chaining ourselves to our cars, desks, houses, etc.  At the end of the talk, he said, "when you do what the creature evolved to do, the creature will respond."  I loved that.  You can talk all you want about how you could never do [insert strenuous activity here], but the body is highly adaptable and can respond to incrementally increased training.

Write a best seller, end up on some random guy's running blog.

He was a great public speaker, and if his book is half as entertaining as his talk, I'll be in for some good reading when I finally get a chance to read it.  I'd bought a copy of the book before his talk, and afterwards I introduced myself at his table and had him autograph the book for me.

From the man himself: run wild, friends.

Always try...

I first picked up an old copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at a hostel in Australia and read it while traversing the dusty Outback.  I reread it a year or two later, followed by several screenings of the 1975 film adaptation.  But my particular attachment to this book stems from playing McMurphy in the stage adaptation in 2008.

I had been away from the theater for five years, and walked into auditions just hoping to be cast as one of the orderlies.  Instead I walked away with the lead role.  To this day, it remains one of the most challenging roles I've ever played, but easily the most rewarding.

One of the themes in the book is the idea of trying; no matter the obstacles, no matter the odds against you, no matter, as long as you try.  Always try.  In the middle of the book, McMurphy bets his fellow mental ward inmates that he can lift a giant control panel.  "His whole body shakes with the strain as he tries to lift something he knows he can't lift, something everybody knows he can't lift... Then his breath explodes out of him, and he falls back limp against the wall.  There's blood on the levers where he tore his hands.  He pants for a minute against the wall with his eyes shut. There's no sound but his scraping breath; nobody's saying a thing."  McMurphy, in fact, doesn't lift the control panel.  He ends up staring down his buddies with something resembling pathos, disgust, shame and condescension rolled into one before storming out of the room.

I've been lucky to have several successes in the past year, both in the realm of running and outside of it, but I've also had plenty of failures.  Looking back, and looking forward, agonizing in the present... I find this part of the book the most comforting.

"He stops at the door and looks back at everyone standing around.  'But I tried, though,' he says.  'Goddammit I sure as hell did that much, now didn't I?'"

You can't ask for much more, now can you?

The Runner's Guide to the Meaning of Life

When I was a kid and wanted to get my granddad a present, it usually had something to do with golf.  Being the age I was, I failed to grasp the nuances of his entire personality, and my gift giving skills were therefor somewhat limited.  But I knew he liked golf, so chocolate golfballs it was, then.

In much the same way, people who don't know every aspect of my personality at least understand that I like running, and I tend to accumulate a lot of running-related presents.  Over the years, my students have given me all manner of T-shirts, "26.2" emblazoned coffee mugs, running store gift certificates, etc.  One such gift was the following book:

It's a relatively short book that can be read in one sitting, and offers interesting viewpoints from an American running legend, as well as book recommendations and inspirational quotes.  In addition, Burfoot, current editor of Runner's World and winner of the 1968 Boston Marathon, describes what makes the sport of running transcend itself as a simple activity and become so much more to millions around the world.

I like to take it out when I'm in a rut, because its inspiring pages remind me of why I run in the first place.  If you have a few extra hours, find this book and read it.

You shall know my velocity

One of my favorite books is You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers.  It's about two young men named Will and Hand who travel around the world in a frenzied attempt to give away $32,000 to those they deem worthier than themselves.  They are low on time, dogged by guilt, and succeed only in a series of anticlimactic encounters with cabbies, restaurateurs and random passersby.

Eggers employs a narrative gimmick here that I love.  Will often starts conversations with the people he meets and continues them in his head, projecting his own character traits in the voice of his new acquaintance.  Oftentimes it is merely a stranger on the street.

"It helped me work through problems, solving things, reaching conclusions final, edifying and even, occasionally, mutually agreeable.

-You, on the motorcycle.

-Yes.

-It's only a matter of time.

-I know."

I've been known to employ the same mindgame on long runs, usually in the middle of a horrific 24 miler, before my mind can concentrate on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other, but after it has been baked in the 80 degree heat just a tad longer than is recommended.  The obese teenager outside of the 7-11:

-I wish I could do what you're doing.

-You can.

-Yeah right.

-I'm going to outlive you, you know.

-My Gammy says the same thing.

-That's a stupid name for a grandmother.

The woman who asks directions as I scream past:

-Some people need help.  You need to be more polite and stop.

-You need to be more polite and ask someone not in the middle of a workout.

-What are you running from anyway?

-I'm not running from anything.  I'm on a run.  I'm just headed back to the place where I started.

-Then how do you get anywhere?

-You're talking figuratively, aren't you?

-Yes, I am.

Towards the end of the book, Will comes to a sad realization.  "I couldn't think of anything I'd done in six months that brought me anywhere new... that I'd been taking air from the world and using it to a justifiable end."  I think about this a lot while running, trying to convince myself that the running I do matters, that the choices I make in life matter.  But sometimes I wonder.

The name of the book stems from the legend of a South American tribe forced from its land by the invading conquistadors.  The tribe isn't terribly put off by this inconvenience, as it is a semi-nomadic tribe, one curious about the lands beyond its borders.  They flee their village, but before they do so they carve a message in giant letters in the cliffs above: "YOU SHALL KNOW OUR VELOCITY!"

To the man walking his dog, the crowd of people waiting to get inside the restaurant, the people inside the gym, the people inside the coffeeshop, the fellow runners:

-You shall know my velocity!

-We'll see.

On Passion

In the novel Brave New World, Bernard, a stunted, recalcitrant member of the alpha class, laments his decision to bed his luscious co-worker Lenina.  This is a predicament, mind you, that not many men would mind having, but Bernard inhabits a world in which people are conditioned from childhood to conform.  Everyone belongs to everyone in Bernard's world.  Independence and ambition are scorned, whereas immediate gratification is encouraged and any unpleasant emotions suppressed by drug use.  All in the name of maintaining a base of happy workers.

Does any of this sound familiar?

Bernard confesses his thoughts to Lenina the following afternoon in a tirade against the conditioning, the programming, they've experienced all their lives.  "'I want to know what passion is,' she heard him saying.  'I want to feel something strongly.'"

Let me ask you this, in light of this literary reference: have you felt like you've programmed yourself to run?  Like the passion is gone, leaving nothing to do but stumble about South Jersey like a drugged up automaton in a brave new world?  I find myself going into this marathon next month with a distinct lack of passion, and it's killing me.  I'm not even signed up yet, because after so many lackluster runs this winter, I don't even know if I can complete a marathon at this point without hurting myself.  I couldn't even get myself out the door tonight.  I ate Chinese food instead.

My favorite marathon quote: "If people were possessed by reason, running marathons would not work.  But we are not creatures of reason.  We are creatures of passion." - Noel Carroll

I have felt passion countless times in my life, most notably last fall when I concentrated every fiber of my being into qualifying for Boston and watched it pay off.  Is it wrong to expect passion with each footfall, each fleeting strike of the pavement?  Is it wrong to assume the passion is gone in the middle of a dull stretch of winter?  Should I stop reading Aldous Huxley?

Possibly.