Run Yourself to Death

The NY Times recently did a great feature called How to Start Running — but for many people, How to Keep Running might be more useful.

I’ve been at it since the early 1990s, never once on a treadmill and almost always before sunrise. It’s not getting better, unless you consider covering shorter distances at a slower pace as somehow better.

I may be long past my peak, but that’s OK.

These days, my runs are tracked on a GPS watch, but back in the day, I scribbled notes in composition books, noting my route, distance and time. Here’s a page from nearly 20 years ago:

Wow, I was really something. Today? Shorter and slower.

Running as a metaphor for life is a well-worn shoe. It’s usually invoked to speak of endurance and perseverance. The value of hard work in achieving a goal. But the sad truth is that it’s also about decline and decay and giving way to age.

But so what? I hope I run on the day I die, even if it’s just for a short distance. Even the most miserable run makes any day better.

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