Memoir of a Long Distance Runner

In his former life, Haruki Murakami used to be a  jazz club owner in Tokyo who smoked 60 cigarettes a day. In his current avatar, he is a passionate long distance runner who quit smoking when he started running. By his own confession, he runs 10k everyday, and a half marathon and a marathon every year. From New York City to Boston Marathon, he has done it all. Many times. And he once ran a soul-sapping 100k ultramarathon.

In 1982, he ran his first unofficial marathon, in the original marathon course in Greece in sweltering summer heat, from Athens to the eponymous village of Marathon. It was near this small village that a small army of Athenians defeated the invading Persian force of Darius in 490 BC (British author Tom Holland's 2005 book Persian Fire re-tells the story of this battle in a colorful style although his barely disguised contempt for orientals might put off some readers). On the busy straight highway that links Athens to Marathon, Murakami kept the count of roadkill: three dogs and eleven cats flattened against the bitumen.

Murakami also happens to be a world famous writer. Everyday, before hitting the road for his daily 10k run, he sits at his desk for four hours,  applying the same intensity, focus and perseverance to writing that he cultivates during long solitary runs. In fact, Murakami claims that he learned everything about writing from long distance running. These two key preoccupations of his life, writing and running, furnish the subject matter of his slim memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running published by Vintage in 2008.

I bought Murakami's memoir to seek inspiration and concrete advice on training, strategy, race-day tactics, etc, in order to rekindle my own flagging running motivation. On these counts, the book was a bit disappointing. Sure, Murakami takes readers through his elaborate preparations for 2005 New York City Marathon and triathlons held in Japan and Hawaii, and how he fared in them. However, they come between extended meditations on aging and its corrosive effects on creativity and physical abilities. After a certain age, just as the wellspring of creativity starts to dry up, so does distance running increasingly become an exercise in diminishing returns.

This is not to say that the book was not a pleasure to read. It is just that it dwells less on the mundane details of distance running and more on its metaphysics. If you are after a distance running training manual, you have to look somewhere else.

The Joy of Running

My tongue-in-cheek remark to a friend after reading Christopher McDougall's Born To Run was this: "Marathons are for wimps". Now, I have yet to run a marathon and I have no illusions about the dedication, hard work, toughness and tenacity required to complete a marathon but after reading about 'ultra freaks' running up and down the 10,000+ feet high Colorado mountains for 100 miles, or plodding 135 miles across the floor of the Death Valley in California in 135 degrees heat, one can be forgiven for thinking that marathons are a stroll in the park.

Born To Run opens with an all too familiar story. A beefy former war correspondent who is built like someone that nature intended 'to take a bullet for the President' rather than pound down the pavement, Mcdougall is doing the rounds of sports shrinks to treat his dodgy feet. In the winter of 2003, he is in Mexico chasing a missing pop star for The New York Times Magazine when he stumbles across a picture of a Jesus like figure running down a rockslide. Welcome to the secret world of Tarahumara Indians, the greatest ultra runners the world has never heard about.

Living like invisible ghosts in the shadowy recesses of the Copper Canyons of Mexico, the peaceful Tarahumara tribes have for centuries outrun their Indian and European tormentors alike just to survive. What is the secret behind their superhuman prowess that enables them to run for hundreds of miles without rest? This is the question that persuades Mcdougall to abandon his celebrity hunt and start another type of hunt, the hunt for a mythical gringo named Caballo Blanco, the 'white horse' who lives with the Tarahumara and runs like one.

Before the book finishes, there is a gripping duel over 100 miles of punishing Colorado trails between a Community College teacher named Ann Tracy and top Tarahumara runners who have been coaxed to participate in the Leadville 100 ultramarathon with promises of corn bags for their villages. I felt the description of this race alone gave all the bang for my bucks.

The book climaxes with a 50 mile foot race in the treacherous Tarahumara territory between the cream of the Tarahumara tribe and the superstars of the North American - which is to say, the world's - ultramarathon scene.

And the secret to the Tarahumara success? In a sentence or three, it is this: All humans are hardwired to run. As kids, all of us run with joyful abandon. As we grow up, we lose this sense of playfulness and sheer joy in running. The Tarahumara keep this playful spirit alive into adulthood, and they have over the millenia woven the art of running into rituals that govern their daily lives. Also, they do not buy expensive, gel-filled Nike running shoes that seem to do more harm than good.