The Other Side of the Road

Pedestrian musings in a world full of cars

Change of Seasons
By Nina Russin

Autumn is a latecomer in the Southwest, but signs of change are already in the air. Over the past week, I’ve noticed the first hints of fall: cooler mornings, a later sunrise and earlier sunset.

Nothing makes me more excited than the onset of autumn. While most of the country hunkers down for winter, Phoenix residents celebrate life in paradise. For the next six months, no place in the country has better weather than we do.

It’s almost as if the holiday season starts early: cool mornings, followed by sunny, temperate days, are the first Christmas present. The city comes alive with the return of college students, football games at the local high school, and groups of runners training for the January marathon.

Those of us who have trained through the long, hot summer can pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. As others transition from the gym to the streets, we welcome them. Nothing makes athletes happier than new members of the community.

Soon the mornings will be crisp: on occasion, I’ll smell smoke in the air from wood-burning fireplaces. People will hustle and bustle about, getting ready for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Time well spent moves at the speed of light. In the blink of an eye, we’ll be sailing through the Cactus League baseball games, contemplating the approach of another summer.

When I head outside this Labor Day weekend, I’ll take the time to look at the stars and enjoy what the morning has brought. For all of us who share the streets on these early autumn days, it’s a special gift. Celebrating life on one’s own terms is never something to take for granted.

Winning
By Nina Russin

Winning means different things to different athletes. For elite runners it means breaking the tape. For the rest of us, the term connotes personal improvement: a PR, however small, is a big victory.

The word competition comes from the Latin, competere, which means “to strive together.” The competitive pack gives athletes the ability to perform better than they could individually.

Anyone who has ever toed the line knows that there is a point in the race when the body wants to quit. It’s the third lap of the mile, and the third mile of the 5K. In a marathon, the wheels can come lose anywhere between miles 16 and 26.

Those who make it to the finish line and continue to run another day are the athletes who don’t quit. Not quitting plays a bigger role in winning than personal pride, and in some cases, more than raw talent.

I’ve finished marathons with fists in the air, and I’ve crossed the finish line on all fours. I’m equally proud of both. There’s something to be said for being stubborn: sticking it out, even when the outcome seems dismal.

Staying the course in the face of adversity has led to scientific breakthroughs, great art, literature and architecture. Sixty years ago, it enabled the allied troops to win the battle at Omaha Beach, changing the course of history.

Breaking the tape may be glamorous, but the process behind it is not. Racing at any level is a duel between the angel on the right shoulder and the devil on the left. It is the ultimate challenge to the human spirit: mind against body, until the job is done.

Maiden in the Mist
By Nina Russin

Over the past couple weeks, I’ve spent time in San Francisco for the day job. The best place to run downtown is the Embarcadero: it’s flat and there are no traffic lights. Before commuters start pouring out of the ferry terminal, groups of runners dominate the four-mile path that stretches from the baseball park on the south end to Fort Mason to the north.

Running along the waterfront on a typically foggy morning conjures up thoughts of Tony Bennett’s lyrics, Jack Kerouac’s prose and John Coltrain’s tenor sax. More than any other west coast town, San Francisco is a melting pot: of art, music, ethnicity and religious beliefs.

Even the landscape is exotic. Mountains to the north shrouded in mist remind me strongly of Mount Fuji in Japan.

Running amidst packs of fellow runners and cyclists early on a weekday makes me think about what it means to be American. No matter where we came from, or how we happened to arrive on San Francisco’s waterfront in the pre-dawn hours, we all share a love of freedom, and the desire to explore every inch of what this country has to offer.

We are doers as opposed to observers. We subscribe to the theory that reaching outside the nine-to-five bubble is what makes life worth living. We believe that a little uncertainty is good for the soul, so we look our fears in the eye and move forward.

Although San Francisco mornings can be cold and damp, I never feel cold when I’m running. The wind off the water that normally chills me to the bone feels like a gentle breeze. I am warmed by the feeling of comradeship with so many strangers who share the same dreams that I do. San Francisco- the maiden in the mist- reaches out and embraces all of us.

Mystery Runs
By Nina Russin

I have a love/hate affair with mystery runs: routes I map out on Google for places I’m headed on business travel. While the map program will tell me the distance from point A to point B, it says nothing about road conditions, elevation changes and traffic.

Travel for business adds the additional challenge of running very early in the morning: often before sunrise. I usually ask the people at the hotel for their opinion about my prospective route and hope that somebody in the group is a runner.

I have to admit that mystery runs make me nervous. I always wonder if the run I embark on will take me through a dicey neighborhood or dangerous traffic. Sometimes the runs go a little longer than expected, and sometimes shorter. But they make my life as a runner more interesting, and I always come away feeling richer for that.

Mystery runs are a window to what lies outside the box. Away from the orchestrated landscape of hotels and business functions, I get to experience the unedited versions of places I visit. I may encounter a person down on his luck, grabbing some shut-eye on a park bench, or a farm hand bicycling to work on the highway.

I see fellow runners and cyclists out on the roads, who train regularly on the routes I’m experiencing for the first time. There’s always camaraderie among athletes out in the pre-dawn hours.

When I return to the hotel, I feel grateful for all of this. Stepping outside of one’s comfort zone may be a challenge, but the rewards usually outweigh the challenges.

Altitude
By Nina Russin

The fastest way to escape the Phoenix summer heat is to head for the mountains. Phoenicians are fortunate to have mountainous areas within driving range in almost every direction: Flagstaff, Prescott, Sedona and Payson to the north, the White Mountains to the east, and Mount Lemmon, just outside Tucson, to the south.

Running at altitude is a lesson in humility for runners who normally train at sea level. The smallest grade seems epic in rarified air.

We are products of our physiology: those without the opportunity to acclimate must slow down the pace, and accept their limitations. Such limitations don’t sit well with a group of athletes notorious for being over-achievers.

I’ve found that the best way to control the negative emotions that running at altitude triggers is to view those runs as a completely different type of training. It’s no different than the way we compare long, slow distance with hill repeats or track workouts. Each is a piece of the overall puzzle.

Science has proved that runners who train regularly at altitude have a competitive advantage when they come down to sea level. Even for those who don’t live at altitude, the occasional mountain run can be beneficial.

First, it forces the runner to be more efficient and plan ahead. Starting out the run slowly makes a big difference. Once the lungs and muscles are warmed up, the job of adapting to less oxygenated air is easier on the body. Efficient form also helps, especially when it comes to endurance.

Perhaps the biggest benefit of training at altitude is that it teaches us to accept our limitations, and celebrate our strengths. A runner at altitude is still a runner: fitter than most of the people around him.

Running slowly doesn’t detract from one’s ability to enjoy a cool, crisp morning, or to explore wilderness areas where cars can’t travel. Serenity is not time sensitive.

Small Victories
By Nina Russin

Life is a series of small victories. Those of us not born with tremendous talent or wealth seek betterment through diligent effort.

Running is a metaphor for that. The athletes who win races aren’t necessarily the most talented runners: they have evolved through diligent training.

Richard Dawkins explains evolution is his book called “Climbing Mount Improbable.” Dawkins compares evolution to a mountain, with a gradual grade on one side and a steep cliff on the other. A person may not be able to leap from the bottom of the cliff to the top, but he can easily make the journey up the gradual slope on the opposite side.

Evolution is really a series of mistakes occurring at the same time as a few notable successes: a process that takes millions of years.

Evolving as a runner is similar: a slow process with imperceptible changes. We might not notice the improvements in running efficiency from training, gradual increases in speed or weekly volume.

We, who look at ourselves in the mirror every day, don’t see changes in our appearance, as muscles develop and fat disappears. It’s not until somebody we haven’t seen recently makes a comment, which forces us to take a closer look.

Training is a golden egg, camouflaged in a series of small victories.

Does Time Exist?
By Nina Russin

Running makes me wonder about the nature of time. Some runs seem to go on forever, while others of equal length pass in the blink of an eye.

In his writings, the philosopher Joseph Campbell describes two theories: the linear measurement of time which the modern calendar is based on, and a non-linear concept that he calls eternity.

If we are to believe Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity, time can move both forward and backwards. Our linear system is therefore a subjective rather than objective method of measuring it.

Which perception of time is more correct? My belief is that both theories have merit. Linear time is a practical, though imperfect way for people to synthesize their schedules. We take arbitrary adjustments, such as the transition from standard to daylight savings time, and the extra day in February during a leap year, for granted.

My purpose in writing this is to suggest that runners who consistently train with a watch consider occasionally leaving it behind. Pace does not define running: its benefits extend beyond the quest for speed.

Running is an opportunity to escape the confines of the daily schedule, however briefly. It is a chance to reflect backwards and look forward: to experience the universe outside the bubble. Running can’t turn back the clock, but occasionally, it can transcend it.

The Art of Acclimating
By Nina Russin

Every summer, I face the challenge of acclimating to the brutal Arizona heat. The process usually takes a couple of weeks. Once acclimated, I can maintain my average volume, albeit at a slower pace, through the hot weather.

Acclimating isn’t just a physical process: there’s a mental component as well. Most runners face seasons of unpleasant weather. While northern winters and southwestern summers drive some runners indoors, others prefer to brave the elements rather than enduring the monotony of a treadmill.

Mental acclimatization requires two things: first, to accept that which we cannot change, and second, to find the good in it.

While I don’t especially enjoy getting up at four in the morning, running early has its advantages. A big one is lack of traffic: having the roads to oneself provides a measure of safety and solitude that don’t exist at other times of the day.

The hour before dawn is precious and sweet: the world appears refreshed. There’s a comradeship between early-morning runners based largely upon respect. Getting up before dawn is a sign of commitment. Although our running skills vary, we share the same fire in our hearts.

As short as life is, a person can’t afford to write off four months out of the year. Imperfect days are opportunities, none-the-less. As we age and time seems to pass with increasing speed, life becomes an end game. Thinking about the future as a limitless parade is something for the salad years.

When I rub the sleep from my eyes early tomorrow morning, I’ll be thinking about the precious hours waiting to be filled.

Running and Wind
By Nina Russin

Most runners dislike running in the wind: me included. Running into the wind creates resistance, much like running uphill. But unlike hills, wind is invisible: robbing the runner of a certain sense of accomplishment.

Which is a lot like life: some days are good days, and some are not. As my mother used to say, there are days when we feel as if we got up on the wrong side of the bed. Little things go wrong and sabotage our best-laid plans.

There’s nothing wrong about getting irritated running on a windy day. Getting angry is part of being human. But when anger consumes us, we start the slippery slope downhill.

If I learned anything from my mother’s death last summer, it’s that life is very, very short: a blink really in the parade of history. This isn’t a dress rehearsal: it’s our one and only chance to drink it all in.

Wind in the face reminds us of what it means to be alive: breathing hard, driving our knees into the air, and pumping our arms with all of our might. To be alive is to fight to live another day. The fact that something demands effort doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth doing. Being tired is always better than being bored.

Running on a windy day might be hard work, but staying inside is a lot less interesting.

Self Actualization
By Nina Russin

The late twentieth century philosopher, Joseph Campbell, spoke often of finding one’s bliss. Campbell equated the lives of mythic heroes to our own journey through life, and each individual’s quest to discover true happiness.

Creativity is inherent to the process of self discovery. So is spirituality. Creative thinking is circular, as opposed to the linear process involved in logic. Creativity involves all of the senses, and it also involves movement.

From a biological perspective, movement defines what it means to be alive. Movement is also a metaphor for the process of self actualization that begins at birth and lasts a lifetime.

While we often think about the healthful benefits of running, we rarely think of its role in the creative process. Running brings the spirit and universe together: it opens the eyes, the mind and heart to a world of limitless possibilities. Running makes us discoverers in our own back yards.

It is no surprise that Joseph Campbell was a miler, and that his wife was a dancer. Campbell’s love of exploration is his legacy to mankind. As runners, we all share Joseph Campbell’s bliss.

The Mystique of Hills
By Nina Russin

Olympic marathoner, Frank Shorter once described hills as speedwork in disguise. Running uphill builds muscle mass. Downhill grades teach the runner to use his legs and feet as shock absorbers, reducing the risk of injury.

Many runners shy away from hilly races, since a hilly course translates to slower times. But those who have the mental toughness to conquer such courses can use them as a great strategic advantage. My one and only Boston qualifier was on a hilly course. By pacing myself on the uphills, I was able to take full advantage of the downhill grades at the end of the race.

Hills force the runner to focus on the task at hand, keeping him engaged during longer efforts. I would much rather run three hours on a course with lots of hills, twists and turns than a relatively flat, straight route. Since running up and downhill uses slightly different muscles, a hilly course can reduce the runner’s overall muscle fatigue.

A long-term benefit of hill training is its utilization of smaller muscles, which assist the prime movers at the end of a long effort. Running hills is also a good marker of fitness. When the long, steep hills in a route start to feel easy, the runner knows that he or she is pretty close to race ready.

While nothing can compare to the thrill of a new PR, running an exceptionally hilly course brings its own sense of accomplishment. Embrace hills as your friend, and you will be a happier runner.

Spring’s Sweet Smells
By Nina Russin

This week, I had the chance to experience spring in two places: Cincinnati where I grew up, and my current home in Phoenix. In the Midwest, spring is a harbinger of good things to come after a long, hard, winter. Here in Phoenix, it’s just the opposite, since spring heralds the onset of summer heat.

In both places, spring is one of the nicest times of the year: a transitional period when the earth seems more alive than in any other season. I remember watching the crocuses pop their heads through the late winter mud in Cincinnati, several weeks ahead of when the grass and trees turned green. This week, the daffodils had joined them: bright pops of yellow in an otherwise barren landscape.

This has been an especially lush spring in Phoenix, thanks to an abundance of rain over the winter. South Mountain is alive with wildflowers and flowering cacti. A rain yesterday afternoon sent the smell from those flowers wafting through the neighborhoods. It’s hard to have a bad run when every breath smells like perfume.

Today is my aunt Sonia’s birthday. At ninety, she is the only one of my mother’s sisters who is still alive. I thought about Sonia today on my run: the epic times she has lived through included the Great Depression, World War II, the baby boom, the race to the moon and the Civil Rights movement, to name a few.

While my own life experience pales in comparison, I still consider myself first and foremost an explorer. I run for the joy of discovering new secrets in my own backyard: the anticipation is enough to rouse me from bed each day before the sun comes up.

Spring is the greatest season for exploration, as well as a time for those who’ve been through winter to reconnect with their friends and neighbors. It’s a time to shed the heavy clothing, and with it, the layers of isolation that winter seems to bring. Rain or shine, spring is the greatest season for running.

Are We Ageless?

By Nina Russin

A visiting friend this week set me thinking about exercise and its effect on age. My friend, Fran, came to visit from Ohio this week. A former neighbor, I went to school with her kids.

If there was ever any doubt that exercise limits the effects of aging, Fran would put those doubts to rest. Over the course of our visit, we hiked the trails around Phoenix and Sedona, went in search of pictographs at the Indian ruins, trekked through art museums and botanical gardens. I wondered at times if she would ever run out of energy.

Fran’s appetite for learning is as insatiable as her hunger for exercise, making her an intellectual in the truest sense of the word.

Thinking about this brought on an epiphany. For all of its value as exercise, running’s bigger impact is on the mind. Running turns all of us into explorers, whether we like it or not. Whether our daily runs take us down unfamiliar trails or along very familiar neighborhood roads, the daily run never fails to bring about new discoveries and insights.

Running teaches us that there is nothing common about commonplace events. A daily routine can be a constant source of discoveries. Running is an opportunity to look inward as well as outward; to see ourselves reflected in a different kind of mirror.

Running teaches us that hard efforts can be fun, and that getting lost can be its own reward. We learn to accept self-doubt as an opportunity, rather than an obstacle to success.

While it may seem like a fountain of youth, running is not a panacea. Certainly, it cannot prevent or cure disease. In fact, training too hard makes one more susceptible to the common cold.

Ultimately, running teaches us what Fran already knows: that life, while far from perfect, is worth squeezing every ounce from.

To quote the 20th century philosopher, Mahatma Gandhi: “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”

Time Off

By Nina Russin

There are as many theories about taking time off as there are runners. Some athletes train seven days a week, but take a couple of weeks off after the racing season to recover. Others take a day or two off each week. “Streakers” run seven days a week as long as their bodies allow, and consider their ability to do so a badge of honor.

At one time, I rarely took regular training days off. A once-a-week recovery run of a few easy miles seemed to keep the injury wolf at bay.

Now I take a day off each week. If my training volume is light, I’ll cross train. More often than not, I prefer a day of complete rest: a chance to get some extra sleep, catch up on work, and refill the emotional well.

During a hard training cycle I look forward to my day off like a kid looks forward to summer vacation. But just as summer vacation never quite lives up to one’s expectations, the day off doesn’t either. Once the thrill of some extra sleep wears off, I find myself missing the feeling of accomplishment the run brings.

Scientists might blame endorphins: the “happy chemicals” we generate when we exercise. But I think the answer is simpler than that. I’m a creature of habit, and I don’t like having my daily ritual disturbed.

 I’ve learned from hard experience what skipping the rest day can do. Injuries that started as no more than minor aches required months of recovery. The emotional toll from months without running is much worse than the physical symptoms. A rest day seems easy by comparison.

I’m not suggesting that my ideas about time off fit every athlete’s needs. But in a world that’s already overrun with schedules and stress, a little extra rest is probably a good idea.

Mental Toughness

By Nina Russin

Of all the challenges runners face, the biggest is training the mind. It’s my belief that the body is capable of more than most imagine. What prevents runners from reaching their goals is over-thinking, not overtraining.

Picture the final hundred meters of a race. With the finish line in sight, fatigue is overcome by adrenaline. The mind tells the body that the end is within reach; the rest is intuitive.

The same applies to training. The more familiar one is with a hill, the easier it becomes to run up it. The body can usually finish what the mind perceives as doable.

What’s the best way to keep negative thinking from undermining a workout? For me, it’s learning to focus on the moment.

Reprogramming the psyche isn’t as easy as it sounds. The mind likes to carry on multiple conversations at once. Learning to appreciate each moment for what it has to offer is one of the greatest benefits of training as a runner.

The best way to build mental toughness is by taking the workout one step at a time.

Less is Not More

By Nina Russin

I suppose it’s in the best interest of race promoters to convince anyone who will listen that running is easy. Running is intuitive: children learn to run short distances almost as soon as they can walk. 

But when it comes to training for distance events, especially the marathon, volume is the key ingredient. The body learns to do what it practices. Runners who want to excel in a 26.2 mile race need to include similarly long runs as part of a high-mileage training regimen.

Running high volume makes the athlete more efficient, both in terms of gait, and in the utilization of glycogen: fuel derived from food. Long runs train the body to make slight adjustments in stride length and foot strike as it fatigues, to finish the distance without injury.

Unfortunately, some runners have an easier time adapting to high mileage than others. While strategies such as running on soft surfaces, choosing the proper footwear and in some cases orthotics can help to minimize the risk of injury, the fact is that some people are better adapted to be distance runners than others. Life is not an even playing field.

Suggesting this is not a good way to promote race attendance. But I don’t think it’s fair to mislead people into thinking that marathon training and racing is easy. To do so not only misrepresents the task ahead of the novice; it fails to recognize the accomplishment of those runners who make it to the finish line.

If Phidippides hadn’t died on his way back to Athens, there probably wouldn’t be a race named after the town of Marathon. Finishing a marathon is an arduous task. Even those who train hard and well occasionally need to drop out of a race. Those who finish with their heads up should take pride in an accomplishment that sets them ahead of the pack.

History in the Making
Bernard Lagat’s win at the 103rd Millrose Games is a feat of heroic proportions

By Nina Russin

Bernard Lagat

Friday night, Bernard Lagat raced past the competition to win his eighth Wanamaker Mile at the Millrose Games, securing himself a spot in track and field history. Lagat’s victory broke Eamonn Coghlan’s longstanding record for the most wins of the Millrose Games’ marquis event.

Despite Lagat’s ranking among the world’s top milers, winning the race was anything but a given. Lagat, who is now 35 years of age, was pitted against some formidable opponents: many younger than himself.

 Among them was Asbel Kiprop of Kenya, who was making his indoor debut after winning Olympic gold in Beijing, as well as the Englishman, Andy Baddley. Lagat knew that in order to beat these opponents, he would have to run the perfect race. That’s exactly what he did.

At the start, Lagat settled into third place behind David Krummenacker, the pace setter, and Asbel Kiprop. He bided his time: not an easy thing to do on a track one-eleventh of a mile long. When Krummenacker  pulled out, Lagat stayed tucked in behind Kiprop, who was now leading the race.

Just before the bell lap, Lagat made his move, passing Kiprop in the turn, and out-kicking his opponent to a convincing victory. His winning time of 3:56.34 was a second and a half faster than Kiprop’s 3:58.03, which won him second place.

It’s a shame that track and field isn’t more popular here in the US. I would guess that most of those in the viewing audience Friday night were runners themselves.

Friday night’s race had implications that extend beyond the sport. Bernard Lagat proved that he was more than a gifted runner: he had, in a sense, perfected the art of war.

Lagat’s victory is a textbook example of what it takes to be a winner. Winning isn’t about being the leader of the pack. Ego must take a second seat to strategy. To win on the track, at war and in life, a person must choose his battles carefully. He must study his opponents from the inside out, because winning involves the mind as much as the heart.

Bernard Lagat, a man of slight build with an oversized heart, is a hero of epic proportions.

Wet weather runs

By Nina Russin

It’s my belief that nothing is more boring than running on a treadmill. Watching paint dry is entertaining by comparison.

While others may head to the gym when the weather turns cold, wet or icy, I continue to run out of doors.

I have run through fourteen Phoenix summers, countless monsoons, and a bit of snow. Each has given me a new perspective on the sport.

This morning, I awoke to the sound of wind and rain pounding on our tile roof. Despite the urge to stay in bed, I laced up my running shoes and headed outside.

Because running warms the body, running through a cold rainstorm isn’t nearly as unpleasant as it might seem. I like a nice shower as much as the next guy. Running in the rain is like taking a shower with scenery.

Rain makes the desert smell good. It clears the air of dust and pollution. Puddles are fun to splash through.

Running in the rain reminds me that anticipation evokes different emotions than experience. To enjoy life, we must push aside our preconceptions of what should be, and be open our minds up to happy accidents.

A rainy morning run makes the cup of tea with breakfast more enjoyable. Not only do I have a jump on the day; I feel that I have lived more fully. Running has allowed me to step outside myself, to indulge my senses as nature intended.

Following the run, my cat looks at the water dripping off my hat, sneezes, and slinks off in disgust. Cats don’t like water in any form. They don’t appreciate a warm shower. For all we share, we don’t share my love of running in the rain.

Why I Hate Shoes

By Nina Russin

Vibram Fivefingers

Right now, I have 21 pairs of running shoes in my closet. A couple are still in boxes: shoes I’ll transition into when the current ones wear out. Most of the rest I still run in. I also have a few “happy pairs:” retired shoes from significant races.

I’m not loyal to any particular brand of shoes. The one thing my shoes have in common is that they’re minimal: they come as close as possible to barefoot running.

It’s my belief that no matter how good a shoe design is, it’s not as good as the human foot. The foot is an amazing piece of anatomy: dozens of bones, muscles, tendons and connective tissue working in concert with one goal: to move the body forward.

Unfortunately, most of the surfaces we find ourselves running on aren’t foot-friendly. Not only are concrete and asphalt hard; debris such as gravel, broken glass and other types of litter can cause puncture wounds and possibly infection. Shoes are the best way to prevent those sorts of injuries.

The problem is that shoes interfere with the foot’s proprioception: the ability of nerves to read the surface of the road, and send the appropriate signals to the muscles. The more cushioned, corrective or stiff shoes are, the more they interfere with this very important function.

What begins with the feet travels up the legs. Many common running injuries, including tendonitis in major leg muscles and certain knee problems begin with the feet.

Yet the shoe industry persists in marketing shoes that are, in most cases, over-engineered. Much of the stimulus for this trend comes from non-runners, who are entering marathons in unprecedented numbers.

Shoe designers try to give these first-time marathoners their best chance of success with shoes that correct common gait problems, and provide extraordinary amounts of cushioning.

In writing this, I’m not suggesting that running shoe companies stop making products there’s an obvious market for. My concern is that simple minimal running shoes seem to be going the way of the typewriter.

My request to the running shoe companies is simple: keep a few pairs of thin-soled models in your line-up for me.

The Simple Truth: Running and the meaning of life

By Nina Russin

Flying Pig Marathon

Over the past fourteen years, I’ve occasionally wondered what significance running has in the grand scheme of things. Running at won’t change the world, nor will running at the non-elite level change the sport.

While its health benefits are significant, they can’t account for the time and passion I’ve put into this sport for over a quarter of my life.

Nothing makes a person think more seriously about the meaning of life than death. Seeing my mother’s ashes at the gravesite last June caused me to reflect upon my own life: to wonder what, if anything will remain of my life’s work after I’m gone.

It’s possible decades of work as an automotive journalist will have some significance, at least in a historical sense. Family members will remember me, but those memories fade over time.

What I took away from my mother’s death is an appreciation for how short life is. A human being’s lifetime is a blink on the screen of history: over almost before it has begun.

Movement is the essence of life: not just muscular movement, but the movement of fluids through the body, and electrical currents through the brain. When movement stops, the body dies.

Running is instinctual, although running well requires training and practice. Running satisfies the basic human need to move: to explore the unfamiliar, stimulate the senses, and learn from the experience.

Running teaches us that there is an adventure around every corner, which in turn helps us to appreciate the comfort that lies in familiarity.

I have always been a morning runner, in part because it is the time I can count on as my own, before other obligations take precedence. When I start the day with a run, I can count on the feeling of accomplishment that running brings. I like to run until I’m tired: to feel as if I’ve taken every advantage being alive for another day.

The muscles are warm, the mind more focused. The body is ready to accomplish the tasks and challenges that lie ahead.

I run because it keeps me moving: that’s the simple truth.