"I have run most of my life on a small offshore Maine island where the main road is only 2 miles long. I estimate I have covered around 75,000 miles on that single piece of broken road. When you have absolutely no option of running a different or varied loop the only decision is whether you will run or not, and how far you will go. Running out on Great Cranberry Island made me feel at times like a caged lion and when I got out into the world to run a race it felt easy simply because I felt free."
-Gary Allen
"Hi. My name is Ray and I’m an endorphin addict."
Most people, if they think about running at all, don’t think much of the idea. They figure that running is for those scrawny, obsessive types. It’s for the guys who don’t eat meat, or would rather go out for a long run on Sunday instead of watching the game.
In truth, most runners are average guys or gals who’ve figured out that the enjoyment and benefits they get from running outweigh the risk of looking odd while running down a winter street in a reflective jacket and spandex tights. But there are some people who go past that and make running a central part of their lives. Some people even fixate on running to the extent that their relationship with the sport can start to look similar to an alcoholic’s relationship with the bottle.
I’m one of those people. If I look at all the running I’ve done at one time or another, it looks a lot like addictive behavior. There’s probably a free publication that describes people like me, available from the government print shop in Pueblo, Colorado:
If you’re familiar with 12 step treatment programs, you probably recognize the behavior pattern. And in spite of all this, I continue to justify my habit by telling myself that running is good for me.
Maybe it’s just that 12 steps aren’t enough? I track all my running in a log. The current version of my log is on my computer. One thing it does is automatically calculate the total number of miles I’ve run since I started logging everything back in 1992. I checked recently, and assuming that my stride length is approximately two feet, I figure that I’ve run just about 60 million steps. That represents a lot shoes. It also represents a lot of time; time to think, time to try out ideas, and time to form more than a few opinions about what and why.
In one of my early attempts at running when I was a little boy, I ran down some stairs, crashed into the sharp corner of a metal fireplace, and poked a hole in my head. I learned something valuable that day. I learned that I could get hurt running, but if I did, I could still get back on my feet and keep going. On the other hand, I didn’t learn "Be careful when you run." That comes as no surprise to the people who know me.
George Sheehan, the runner and philosopher, once wrote that each runner is an experiment of one. I’ve continued to experiment since hitting the fireplace, and this book is my report of the results. Those results has been more successful than some, less successful than others. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but that’s how I learned. And that’s part of what keeps running interesting. Every day there’s something new to try, something that adds to the pile of facts, minutia, and trivia that I’ve accumulated.
I’ve learned a lot from other people too. Running is essentially a solitary pursuit. No one can run a step for you. But while you have to travel your own trail, part of what keeps it satisfying is the chance to cross paths with others who are following their own trails. When this happens, we get the opportunity to share ideas and encouragement. I’ve put some of what people have shared with me in these pages.
I spend a lot of time hanging out with other runners. Because of that, sometimes I forget that some of the things I’ve done that you’ll read about in this book are unusual. I’ve accomplished some things as a runner that I’m proud of, but this book isn’t about how great I am. I’ve never been the fastest or strongest runner and I’m OK with that.
I wouldn’t say I’m a typical runner either. Actually, I’m not sure what a typical runner is. Is it a weekend jogger, or a sub-16 minute 5K racer, or someone who plans vacations so they can run a marathon in all 50 states, or a granola-eating, mountain-top-meditating, sure-footed trail runner? Whatever it is, I might be a little more determined or reckless than that. I’ve been known to push myself further, maybe too far sometimes.
How fast or far I can run isn’t what’s important. Over the years, I’ve tried a lot of things when I’m out on a run, or while I’m preparing for the next run. I’ve learned (and relearned) quite a few things about running and about myself while performing my own ongoing experiment. That’s what’s important.
There are plenty of tips in this book, but it’s not a "how to run" guide. I’m going to tell you what I’ve done before and what I do now, but I don’t believe I have all the answers. I’m always looking for new ideas to try and incorporating the ones that seem to be helpful.
What works for me may not work or may be less important for you. You’re a different person, with different strengths and weaknesses. This book is just more input for your own experiment of one. In the end, you have to decide for yourself what’s best. No one can run for you.
Whether you run 10 miles in a week for exercise or 100 miles in a day for a race, you’ll probably be able to identify with many of my experiences. If I can explain to myself why I spend so much time, often while fighting through pain, on a somewhat selfish, solitary activity, then maybe you'll get something out of that explanation too.
If you’re in a relationship with someone who doesn’t run or you have friends who question why you spend so much time running, give them a copy of this book. With any luck it will help make it easier for these people to understand why their running friend heads out the door even when it’s 40°, windy, and raining outside. And why that runner needs to spend half an hour deciding what to wear before they go out.
Everybody’s seen a TV show or a movie where a drug dealer tells his customer "The first one’s free." Some addictions are that powerful, powerful enough that all it takes is one dose to get started. Maybe it’s a chemical reaction, maybe the feeling just fills a need that you didn’t even know you had. You might not be obsessed yet, but you’ve found something you will try again, even if you have to pay.
My first drinks were from a bottle my parents had stored in a closet. When I felt the effect, I knew I had found something I liked. I didn’t have to earn the right to keep drinking. It wasn’t hard to fill another glass. When I was old enough, all it took was money.
Running isn’t quite like that. There’s a reason runners say "My sport is your sport’s punishment." It’s hard work. If you’re considering running, let me warn you - suffering is not optional. You will get tired and sweaty and sore. You’ll be out in broiling summer heat and damp, icy, and windy winter cold. You’ll develop nagging injuries. That’s how you pay for your fun.
It’s easy to give running a try, but a running addiction takes some time to develop. It takes an effort to build the endurance that makes running easy enough to be fun and relaxing. Not everyone feels that the rewards of running outweigh the discomforts. A lot of people drop out before they’re fit enough to run as far as is necessary to get the endorphins to kick in, or they just don’t get hooked on the experience and move on to another activity. Other people grit their teeth and keep a minimal running schedule just for fitness sake. Many people drink, but not everyone goes on to become an alcoholic.
Ask any runner, and they’ll have their own reason for how they got started on the path. If you’re destined to be a runner, all it takes is one. Vanity was the main reason I started running. I ran to keep my weight down, and it worked. As I ran, I found other reasons to keep it up. I took to running and never looked back
Running keeps me thin, and it also helps develop muscle tone which makes my legs and butt look more appealing. That’s a good thing, because runners spend a lot of time in shorts or spandex tights. My wife tells me I don’t look too bad in those spandex tights, for a guy (as long as I don’t pick an exceptionally colorful pair).
Starting the day with a run works better than coffee to wake me up and get me going. An evening run gives me something to look forward to after a long day at work.
Running helps me balance out days spent behind a desk, or nights spent at my favorite bar. As it happens, one mile of running burns off about one beer’s worth of calories. I run a mile in less than 10 minutes, even at my slowest, so unless I’m pounding down the beers pretty fast, running takes off weight faster than beer puts it on.
The fitness I get from running gives me more vigor for my day-to-day activities. I have the energy for whatever it is I’m doing that day, whether it’s dreary, like housecleaning, or something more fun.
Because I run, I can join in with my friends when they’re doing their favorite outdoor activities. Running takes up a lot of my time, but when I go out for a bike ride, go skiing, go on a hike, or play basketball, I’m usually fit enough to keep up.
Can you think of other activities that are more pleasurable with a little extra endurance? I can, and so can your significant other.
I wasn't always patient enough with myself when I got started. Addicts are greedy. I was having a lot of fun with my new toy, and I wanted to do everything -- run faster in shorter races, run marathons, and even qualify to run the Boston Marathon. And I wanted it now. I added mileage to my weekly routine too quickly, did too much hard running, and didn't allow enough recovery time. I had foot problems, knee problems, and spent a lot of time battling colds and other minor illnesses.
I was brought up with a well-developed sense of responsibility (and guilt), so the natural thing for me to do when I didn’t get the results I wanted was to work harder. But I was already working too hard, or working hard the wrong way, and doing even more of the same obviously wasn't going to help. Slowly, I began to figure out the things that were working for me. Even more importantly, I started to figure out the things that weren’t working. It’s an ongoing process, but I use what I learn to adjust my running routine, making changes as my ability improves or I learn a new trick.
The effort has paid off. I like being fit enough to know that if necessary I can run the 10 miles home after a late night show. I like being fit enough to go out for a long bike ride or a few hours in a kayak even though I never train for those activities. I like competing against myself to see how fast or how far I can go, and I like competing against other people in races. I like runners and having running to keep us occupied when we get together. I like eating whatever I want. I like going for an early morning jog with my wife before we split up for the day. I like the meditative state I can get into through the repetitive act of running, a state that often appears in the middle third of a run, after I’ve warmed up but before I start to get tired. I like finding loose change or a lost toy by the side of the road. I like the way I can use running to burn off adrenaline while I think through frustrations that crop up in other parts of my life. I like running in the city, where there’s a lot to look at as I run by. I like running in the country or the woods, where it’s quiet, there’s nice scenery, and the air is fresh. I like finishing a run and knowing that once again, I’ve put in my time and kept my commitment to myself. I like knowing that if I can run for hours in the heat or cold or wind or rain, I can certainly sit through an hour long meeting at work. Most of all I like a nice comfortable 5-mile run, the kind that’s made possible by lots of hard 10-mile runs.
There’s a lot of repetition in running. When you’re taking millions of steps, a lot of them are going to be very similar. But there’s comfort in that too, comfort in knowing that if I just keep running, I’m sure to make it to the finish, because I always have before.