What I write about when writing about someone who writes about running

I ran about three miles tonight, and my legs are feeling it. Further proof that it’s a lot harder to begin a running program at 49 than it was at 22. The heat has been no help, of course.

Despite the aches (Advil ahoy!), I can tell I’m making progress, albeit much more slowly than I’d like. The key is to be patient and keep in mind that it’ll take that much more time to get to a level near where I was ten years ago. I have lost a few pounds since the first of the year, and my resting pulse is lower, so there have actually been tangible benefits. Not having sore knees after running is an even greater benefit. Amazing how shoes make so much difference.

This brings me to a book review, of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, by Haruki Murakami. I’ve read only one other book of Murakami’s, which I liked, so I know very little of his fiction writing, which is highly acclaimed.

There are moments of insight – his thoughts on why he still runs after unsatisfying results, and how it’s part of his entire persona. At times, though, and perhaps this is a result of being lost in translation, but the prose is pedestrian. Particularly at the end of his description of a run from Athens to Marathon, the writing is not what I’d expect from a novelist of his stature.

Despite the occasional clunker, though, it’s an interesting read, as Murakami subjects himself to fairly rigorous inspection as to just why he runs.