Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall: 3.5 stars

Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall

(eta: I just realized that I went from Of Woman Born, to Born to Run, and completely by coincidence as I got my hands on this one quite by surprise.)

Let's see- I started this one on Saturday, the 16th, and finished it last night, the 19th. Tracking down a mythical people who have kept their traditions alive well into the modern age, and realizing how much there is to learn from them? So much so that you can redefine yourself in a completely empowering way? I really enjoyed it. It inspires me. (Never mind the excitement of extreme sports and a few simply amazing races.)

I've always had problem feet. I've been in pain from my feet for as long as I can remember, even back when I was a little kid. I've tried to compensate for that or help that with all kinds of orthotics and special shoes and gimmicks and gadgets. But after reading this, I'm realizing all these things just made my problems worse. (The only thing I've tried that made a positive difference was doing toe exercises- basically, the opposite of stuffing my feet into ever more cushioning and confining spaces.) After reading this, I'm convinced I know not only how to ease the pain, but heal my feet completely, and also my knees, and lower back, and the headaches as well. And then I can get out there and move freely again. To maybe even run, myself. A wild thought!

But this story is not just about feet, or running.

Our modern feet are much like our modern selves: they ache because they are out of touch, and the more they hurt themselves overcompensating to re-establish that connection, the more we cut them off from the thing that would heal them, and the more they keep overcompensating and hurting themselves. We need to have some faith in ourselves- in and of ourselves- and reconnect with our roots and our world- because sometimes our technology causes our problems instead of healing them, exacerbates our problems instead of mitigating them.
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He seemed to live off the land when he ran, depending on korima, the cornerstone of Tarahumara culture. Korima sounds like karma and functions the same way, except in the here and now. It's your obligation to share whatever you can spare, instantly and with no expectations: once the gift leaves your hand, it was never yours to begin with. (p. 37)

This reminds me of the quote from Faded Sun where it is said that one never gives up what one needs in/to the desert, because the desert will never give it back. This is the other side of that same coin: never give away what you need, but never hold on to what you can spare. Most of my life I've freely given away... everything. I don't have a problem with giving away. But I did have a problem with holding on to what I need. Seeing how the two concepts are related and intertwined- By holding on to everything that I need, I am free to give everything else away; by giving away what I can spare, I am able to hold on to everything I need- somehow just made it click for me.

He turned around and trotted back down. "Okay, man, lesson one. Get right behind me." He started to jog, more slowly this time, and I tried to copy everything he did. My arms floated until my hands were rib-high; my stride chopped down to pitty-pat steps; my back straightened so much I could almost hear the vertebrae creaking.

"Don't fight the trail," Caballo called back over his shoulder. "Take what it gives you. If you have a choice between one step or two between rocks, take three." Caballo has spent so many years navigating the trails, he's even nicknamed the stones beneath his feet: some were ayudantes, the helpers which let you spring forward with power; others are "tricksters," which look like ayudantes but roll treacherously at takeoff; and some are chingoncitos, little bastards just dying to lay you out.

"Lesson two," Caballo called. "Think Easy, Light, Smooth, and Fast. You start with easy, because if that's all you get, that's not so bad. Then work on light. Make it effortless, like you don't give a shit how high the hill is or how far you've got to go. When you've practiced that for so long that you forget you're practicing, you work on making it smoooooooth. You won't have to worry about the last one- you get those three, and you'll be fast."

I kept my eyes on Caballo's sandalled feet, trying to duplicate his odd, sort of tippy-toeing steps. I had my head down so long, I didn't even notice at first that we'd left the forest. (pages 110-111)

Running, Life, same thing...

[T]here was never anything wrong with Jenni that couldn't be fixed by what's wright with Jenni. (p. 200)

Back straight
Knees bent and driving forward
Heels flicking back (p. 213)

[I]t's easy to get outside yourself when you're thinking about someone else. /Scott Jurek (p. 253)

And a note on Charles Bukowski/ Dharma Bums on page 145.
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A note on journalism:

The style of writing (in this book) is much like a magazine article, which is to be expected as the author is a journalist, having worked for the Associated Press and Runner's World magazine, etc. There tends to be more flash and sparkle with journalistic writing than I care for. I don't need to be continually impressed and enticed from word to word, sentence to sentence, with invented drama or hype. I'm looking for the story itself, the coherency of the writing, the connection to the people/subject I'm reading about, to pull me along. And yet, these journalistic kind of books are very popular and well-liked by many for the same reasons they put me off: being snarky, sensationalistic, and self-indulgent. And yes I'm putting Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Woman: An Intimate Geography squarely in that camp. (Also, Early Spring, if you're familiar with that one.)

I really can't stand it. I really, really can't stand it. Well, maybe I can stand it from Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck or Lewis Grizzard, but they write satire and humor. Somehow that's different. You're not supposed to take them seriously- they're being ridiculous; and they're poking fun at themselves as often as at their (additional) subject matter. But with the others, I'm sorry, I didn't pick up those books to be overwhelmed with waves of their oh so obvious talent. If they'd just tell the story without all the tricks that are supposed to keep me reading, maybe their talent (or lack thereof) would speak for itself.

Meh.

That being said, this book, though it read more like a magazine, was very enjoyable. The writing wasn't so full of self-importance that it overrode the story being told. A rare feat, McDougall!

And this story is well worth the read.