Murakami

At Spencer's suggestion I recently read Haruki Murakami's "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running." What a tremendous discussion of what it is we recreational runners do.

I started by worrying that Murakami would not appreciate what we do here on the blog. In his forward, he gives three rules for being a gentleman: never talk about the women you've broken up with; never talk about how much you pay in taxes; and never talk about what it is you do to stay healthy. But the rest of the book is not unlike our blog. Murakami writes, sometimes following a plan, sometimes building to a moral, sometimes nearly stream-of-consciousness, about what running has meant to him over the 25-or-so years between becoming a writer and runner and his writing the book.

There are discussions of training, although not training tips. Interspersed with historical anecdotes from his running career, he details his approach to training for the 2005 New York marathon. His training is not scientific. Murakami follows a hybrid of the Quenton Cassidy trial of miles approach, never taking more than one day off in a row, and a modern approach to sustainable long-term running -- i.e., not logging too many miles. He includes some hill repeats because he remembers some difficult hills at the end of the New York marathon course, but -- at least in his discussion -- does not appear to play with intervals or tempo runs. His approach works for him. Murakami had 23 marathons under his belt when he wrote the book, as well as at least one 100km ultramarathon, and many of his marathons were at a sprightly pace.

His anecdotes speak to me. Murakami writes about the acquaintanceship that comes from sharing a jogging path with other runners over many workouts. The sentiment is that "we're in this together," and although he never formally meets his fellow toilers he feels their loss when their running days are over.

As a (still aspiring) writer, I'm moved by the chapter where Murakami teaches us what running and writing have in common. Both require focus and endurance. He writes of training to write, by working on focus, just as we train to run. In that same chapter he corrects those who "sneer at those who run every day, claiming they'll go to any length to live longer." Murakami says, no, that's not why we run. Running enables us to live life more fully. Running assists in setting and pursuing clear goals.

I took a break from writing this post to read Rolf Dobelli's rant on the corrupting influence of news per se. There are some ideas expressed there that echo Murakami's views on writing. ln particular, Dobelli values concentration above competing characteristics, such as being up-to-date. How about running? If training toward a goal is the running analog to concentrating on your writing, what is the running analog to "news"? Is it the pursuit of a steady diet of training novelties, a la "I don't have time for a long run because I really need to do my core workout today"? The analogy may hold, in the sense that training novelties might, or might not, be important to long-term running success, but we know beyond a doubt that running is essential to success.

In a few places for what might be cultural reasons Murakami and I didn't see eye to eye. He explained once that if he opened his refrigerator and found a limited selection, he wouldn't complain. He can make a good meal from "an apple, an onion, cheese, and eggs." I, by contrast, would order a pizza. Does that say something about our respective approaches to running? When I determined I wasn't ever going to be fast, I took up triathlon, at which I'm more (if not much more) competitive. (Of course, Murakami is running triathlon these days as well.)

I greatly enjoyed Murakami's discussion of his 100 kilometer ultra at Lake Saroma, at the northern tip of Hokkaido. I traveled to Hokkaido when I was 16. It's a beautiful island, in terms of population density and mentality more like Oregon than like Tokyo. The course for the run sounds fantastic. Murakami's experience mirrored my own in my first ultra. He ran through the marathon point with no particular concerns. After mile 34, he had miles of darkness, in his case until mile 47. I recall, in my first JFK 50 miler, feeling from miles 34-38 like I was running through a tunnel, with my peripheral vision blacked out and only the trail in front of me. And I recall waking back up and almost enjoying the last 12 miles, just as he did (in his case from miles 47-62) -- for reasons that I can't articulate. Somehow the body and mind adjust to the new reality, which is that they are moving forward inexorably toward something that is still too far away to grasp. Murakami and I had the same experience of being outrun by much older women -- he writes, "A tiny old lady around 70 or so passed me and shouted out "Hang in there!'" When I finished the JFK this year, I sprinted to the end, inordinately proud of my run, and was beaten by one second by a 52-year-old woman. That experience was both humbling and inspiring. I was intrigued by the aggressive cut-off times in Murakami's race: runners not at the 47-mile point in 8 hours, 45 minutes were removed from the course. I would have made that in my first JFK, but not by much, and when I ran 100 kilometers of the Oil Creek 100 miler I was well behind that pace. Maybe a road ultra goes that much more quickly, or maybe the Saroma Lake 100 kilometer race is just that hard to complete. I do know that I've looked for a reason to return to Japan to see if I could reclaim a little of the language. I may now have a reason to go.

There's a lot more to say, but I think others have read the book, too, and I'd love to read their reactions.