For Haruki Murakami the solitude that running brings “is a pretty wonderful thing.”   Murakami – who lives in Tokyo and annually lectures in Cambridge, Massachusetts – wrote this series of essays while preparing for the New York City Marathon.   His goal was to answer the question often asked of runners, “What do you think about when you run?”   The answer, for Murakami, is nothing:  “I’m not thinking of a thing…   (I) keep on running in my own cozy, homemade void, my own nostalgic silence.”

But Murakami finds that running, like the art of writing each day, is something difficult and exhausting that makes him stronger.   By his own admission (“…is it ever possible for a professional writer to be liked by people?”) the loneliness of the long-distance runner and of the writer appears to be one and the same.

This “memoir”, though, is not really a collection of essays about the sport of running.   Running is just the hook.   Like the writings from the late Dr. George Sheehan, this is actually a book about personal philosophy, comfort and self-esteem.   Murakami shows us that we must enjoy our lives in our own way, meeting our own needs even if this displeases others.   In his case, he turns down social obligations and dinner invitations in order to write and run and plan his lectures.   What could be better?

Haruki also addresses the need to gracefully accept the aging process.   “It might not be a very enjoyable process, and what I discover might not be all that pleasant.   But what choice do I have anyway?”

The writer’s style is so engaging – and here’s another parallel with Dr. Sheehan – because of his humbleness and self-deprecation.   This is a Japanese citizen who lectures at Harvard but says of himself, “I’m not the brightest person.”   He’s also a tremendously successful writer who does not expect to be adored, “…I just can’t picture someone liking me on a personal level.”   But Murakami has a wife who loves and accepts him even as she wonders why he runs slower each year.

Yes, Murakami is a brilliant, quirky man who in 180 pages demonstrates for us the value of living on our own terms, with self-acceptance – despite our admitted flaws and limitations – being key.   The reader need not concur with everything Murakami writes but, in the end, you will learn to grant him the respect he has granted to himself.

“Long distance running has molded me into the person I am today…  I’m hoping it will remain a part of my life for as long as possible.   I’ll be happy if running and I can grow old together.”   Long life!

I just thought of copying and posting one of the writings of Dr George Sheehan whom I adore up to this time and who inspired me when I started to learn the scientific way of running in the early 80s. I was then in my early 30s and I was reading the “thoughts” about running of a doctor twice my age who had been passionate in running. He was popularly known as the “Philosopher Of Running” in the modern times. Way back in the 80s, it became a habit to read first the page of Dr Sheehan whenever I have a copy of the RW Magazine, whether old or new, and this gave me the inspiration to run and train some more. Since I revived my running last October last year, my day is not complete if I don’t read an essay or two from the writings of Dr Geoge Sheehan which I usually read before going to bed. Here is one of his essays:

Running Into Old Game

“What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without.”

           I first came upon the aging process in a race.
           I felt no sense of advancing years in my day-to-day activity. My work week was unchanged: I wrote, I traveled, I lectured. Some people marveled at my energy and endurance. It was my weekend race that finally told me I was no longer young.
           The changes that come with age are subtle-but not to a runner. My 10-K time measures me quite accurately. Any change in performance dictated by age is precisely recorded in minutes or seconds on the digital clock at the finish line.
           ”Crumbling is not an instant’s Act,” wrote Emily Dickinson. And the physician in me knows that almost 90 percent of my liver has to be damaged before its impairment is apparent. The body has enormous reserves to call upon. But in the race, I call on all my reserves. I am operating at full throttle. The least diminution in function becomes evident.
           The race, therefore, is the litmus test for aging. Long before anything else goes, race times signal the approach of the last stage of life. A look at my weekly race results will tell you bluntly that I am no longer middle-aged. I am now a full-fledged citizen of the country of the aged.
           Three years ago when this happened, I refused to believe it. Running had been my fountain of youth. For years I thought it was inexhaustible, like the never-empty cup of coffee some restaurants offer. After I began running in my 40’s, I quickly became 32 years old and stayed that way. Decades came and went, and I was still in my prime.
           When my 10-K times slowed down and I began to run personal worsts instead of personal bests, I took stock. It was not age, I told myself. I had been 32 years old for the previous 20 years and did not intend to get older. All I needed was more training, some hills and speedwork, and I would be back to my best.
           I took up arms against age. I increased my training and within a single Thanksgiving holiday ran four races. Each race I ran a little faster than the previous one, but never near the times I had registered the year before. And I was no longer in the top third of the field-now, I was well back in the second half of the pack.
           How did I feel about all this? Terrible. And don’t remind me that most people my age have run up the white flag. Do not tell me I can still outrun the average person twenty years younger than me. Do not point out that age has compensations that will more than pay for the lost few minutes in the race.
           I am rebuilding my life on those thoughts. But first, help me bury the runner I once was, and then we can talk about what the future holds.
           Apparently, it still holds plenty. My initial depression has receded. I realize now that there are more things at stake than setting a personal best in a road race. I can even answer truthfully (and this is the most difficult part) when someone asks me, “What was your time, Doc?”
           My times continue to get slower and slower. And, therefore, the “me” that I am is different. But the me that I am has developed insights and wisdom that I did not have before. What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without.
           The race, however slow my times, remains an ever-changing learning experience. Whenever I race, I learn something new about myself and those who race with me. I will never be 32 years-old again, but it no longer matters, because I’ve learned that winning doesn’t matter, it’s running that counts. And when I push to the limit, I am a boy again-an untried youth listening to the wisdom of my body.

Copyright © The George Sheehan Trust

It’s Friday and I have a jumble of things in my head. I thought I’d go ahead and let most of them out onto the screen for your edification.

• There is an article in the LEO this week by Stephen George that is excellent. It chronicles not driving a car for a month. This means walking, biking, busing, or hitching a ride with a friend. Because I am an avid supporter of riding my bike just about everywhere, I highly recommend it. I think you’d be surprised at how able you are to adopt a “less-car” attitude. If you don’t, maybe at the very least you’ll be nicer to those of us who are saving the gallons of gasoline for you. As well, I think that I may be riding the city bus for the first time on Sunday. We’ll see how it goes. It will certainly be a consciousness exercise if nothing else.
• How about my boys of Beantown? The Red Sox are up 9.5 on the Yankees after sweeping a twinbill from the Tigers from the Motor City yesterday. That gives them the best record in baseball and a huge lead on taking the pennant this year.
• I’m in the process of replacing the fence in the backyard. The stockade style that is slowly deteriorating around the edges is giving way to a new dog-eared picket which will hopefully make everything in the yard that much better. Pictures to come, I’m sure.
• I’m currently reading a really good book called “Running and Being” by Dr. George Sheehan. In it, he talks about finding your Play in life. His Play happened to be long-distance running. I’m not sure what my Play is yet, but it’s important that we all find it. I’m certain that it will change your life immeasurably.
• Finally, a political note…I was unsure why the USA had anything to do with the World Bank, so I looked it up. Thank goodness for the Internet. Apparently, the president of the World Bank is nominated for a 5-year term by the president of the US and elected by its board of governors, even though the World Bank is part of the United Nations governance system. As of 11/2006, the US held 16.4% of the voting rights in the World Bank, and since all major decisions require an 85% majority vote, you can see how the US would be able to pretty much control everything. I’m certain that the idea of the World Bank was a good one back in 1945, but now, it fairly reeks…possibly even Denmark-ian. And now you know…and knowing is half the battle.

See you in the funny papers!