Art of Running, Part XI – Running Philly

The contrast between running in the country and running in the city is as different as drinking in a wine bar and an Irish Pub. The past few years, most of my running has been in Bucks County, PA where I see mostly deer, cows and corn stalks, and an occasional human being. That’s one of the reasons I look forward to my Monday morning runs in downtown Philly, to observe and breath-in a diverse cityscape that is one massive art gallery. In the Art of Running – Part III, I shared murals I see on the city streets during my Monday morning runs, but there is so much more to the downtown gallery. There are sculptures, architecture, bridges, a crashed war plane in an alleyway, a giant paint brush, and LOVE.

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is the backdrop for the Waterworks along the River Drive loop trail.

LOVE sculpture by Robert Indiana in Love Park (officially JFK Plaza) at the foot of Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

Sculpture of Benjamin Franklin at the printing press by Philadelphia sculpture Joe Brown who played football at Temple University and was a professional boxer for a short time.

Cold War era Grumman S2F anti-submarine warfare plane sculpture by Jordan Griska in Lenfest Plaza at 16th and Broad Streets.

Sculpture of a paint brush rises 51 feet above Lenfest Plaza with a six-foot paint glob on Broad Street below. The sculpture is designed by world-renowned artist Claes Oldenburg.

Philadelphia favorite Rocky Balboa in front of the Art Museum. Come run the steps.

Boathouse Row on Kelly Drive, a starting point for a popular 8.4-mile loop.

At the other end of Kelly Drive is the neighborhood of Manayunk. The historic Manayunk Bridge is at the foot of Main Street, also the turnaround point for the Philadelphia Marathon.

The Manayunk Bridge (a.k.a. Pencoyd Viaduct,) built in 1918, is a concrete open spandrel arch bridge on a reverse curve.

Manayunk Bridge rises above the Schuylkill River Trail that connects to Kelly Drive into Center City and out into Montgomery County. Popular with runners and cyclists, the trial is projected to span 130 miles when complete.

Last summer I posted Run, Cycle or Walk–The Best Way to Discover New Places. The message of the post was to slow down, get out of the car and take in your surroundings. It’s hard to absorb the beauty of the environment when you’re going fifty-miles-per-hour. Walk, peddle or run–you will be surprised what you find, and you’ll be better for it.

Murakami on Running, Writing, and the Boston Marathon

“For me, it’s through running, running every single day, that I grieve for those whose lives were lost and for those who were injured on Boylston Street.” – Haruki Murakami

Haruki Murakami, author of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

In running circles, Haruki Murakami isn’t a household name. Murakami is a sixty-four year old Japanese author of no less than a dozen novels, his latest the thousand-plus page magnum opus, 1Q84. He is also a marathoner, ultra-marathoner and triathlete. His memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is one of my top three running books I wrote about in Books That Speak to the Heart of a Runner.

What attracts me to Murakami is his introspection, about running and writing. His observations about running are deep, like “By then running had entered the realm of the metaphysical. First there came the action of running, and accompanying it was this entity known as me. I run; therefore I am.” His reflection on the labors of writing are no less analytical, “I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig out a deep hole before I can locate the source of creativity.”

Murakami ran the Boston Marathon six times. He would run the Charles River banks when he taught at Harvard, and also as a visiting scholar at Tufts. Murakami recently shared his thoughts about the Boston Marathon and the April 15th attack in the New Yorker. He says Boston is the best marathon in the world. Why? “It’s simple: it’s the oldest race of its kind; the course is beautiful; and—here’s the most important point—everything about the race is natural, free. The Boston Marathon is not a top-down but a bottom-up kind of event; it was steadily, thoughtfully crafted by the citizens of Boston themselves, over a considerable period of time.”

Of the tragedy, Murakami says, “We need to remember the wounds, never turn our gaze away from the pain, and—honestly, conscientiously, quietly—accumulate our own histories. It may take time, but time is our ally.”

In What I Talk About, Murakami says, “Long distance running has molded me into the person I am today, and 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.” On his gravestone he’d like it to say this, “Writer (and Runner); At Least He Never Walked

Click Boston, From One Citizen of the World Who Calls Himself a Runner to read the entire New Yorker article.

The 27th Mile

The course of the Boston Marathon changed on April 15, 2013. Not the 26.2-mile course from Hopkinton to Boston, but the way in which people will think about the most celebrated road race in the world in the future. The events that occurred on Boylston Street at 2:49 pm that sunny afternoon will live on in the mind of runners, spectators, Bostonians, all of us, forever.

One week after the tragic event, Ray Charbonneau from Arlington, Massachusetts, contacted fellow-runners and writers with the idea to create an anthology to support the victims of the 2013 Boston Marathon. In a matter of days, more than seventeen writers and runners volunteered their time and support for the project, including a past Boston Marathon champion, a New York Marathon winner, and a former Edgar Award winner. Others who have stepped forward include a copy editor, a cover designer, and the Endorphin Report has given permission to use the27thmile.com and is also covering the cost of hosting the website. The lightening speed of this project was possible by the tireless efforts of author and runner, Ray Charbonneau.

In only two weeks the idea for the anthology The 27th Mile became reality. The anthology will be a collection of essays and stories, fiction and nonfiction, with the common theme of running. Not all of the stories will be about the Boston Marathon, perhaps not about the marathon at all, but they will all be united by the passion we runners have to plod one foot in front of the other for endless miles.

All proceeds for the book will go to One Fund, established to raise money to help the families most affected by the tragic events that unfolded during the 2013 Boston Marathon. Periodic updates about status of the anthology and publication date will appear at the27thmile.com and Rite2Run. Share the word about The 27^th Mile with family, friends, associates and acquaintances who would enjoy reading inspirational stories for a worthy cause.

The Art of Running, Part X – Photo Gallery: Boston Marathon Memorial

“Running! If there’s any activity happier, more exhilarating, more nourishing to the imagination, I can’t think of what it might be. In running the mind flees with the body, the mysterious efflorescence of language seems to pulse in the brain, in rhythm with our feet and the swinging of our arms.” – Joyce Carol Oates

I thought it was appropriate that the tenth post in a series titled the Art of Running be a tribute to those who lost their lives in Boston on April 15th, 2013.

The Boston Marathon Memorial slide show is credited to Ray Charbonneau, a fellow-runner and writer who was guide for a blind runner in this year’s race.

Anyone who would like to donate to One Fund, established to raise money to help families most affected by the tragic events that unfolded during the 2013 Boston Marathon, can click here.

The First Step

“Our salvation is in striving to achieve what we know we’ll never achieve.” – Ryszard Kapuscinski

Self-help programs are useless. Twelve steps, Seven Habits, 48 Laws, 4-hour work week, Five principles, Sever Spiritual Laws–they are all words, platitudes and self-indulgent schemes…

Which way should I go? Make a plan, and take that first step!

UNLESS

you are willing to take the first step.

The first step is daunting. Doesn’t matter whether it’s the first day of school, a new job, or lining up for a race, the first step is always the hardest.

But think about this: everyone has to take that first step, have that first experience, whether they are a 5-year old on the first day of kindergarten or a student beginning a PhD program, a carpenter beginning an apprentice program or neurosurgeon about to cut open your noggin, a novice runner doing her first 5K or a first-time marathoner. It’s all relative. You prepare, train, psyche yourself up (or psyche yourself out,) but you will never swim until you walk out to the end of the pier and jump into the water. The beauty of it is, once you are in the water, man, it’s mighty refreshing.

Inevitably, if you stop and reflect on your life and think about how you got to where you are, you will realize all the first steps you’ve already taken, and you survived. In fact, many of the first steps will seem silly to you now, you may even laugh–in fact, yeah, laugh at yourself; it’s healthy. I think about my own path: paperboy, street corner vendor, warehouseman, shipyard welder, analyst, manager, writer, author–pretty hysterical, huh?

I agonized over starting this blog for a long time. I was fortunate to have people advise me, I read extensively on the subject, navigated around cyberspace looking at other blogs, yet it took me years to finally take that first step. I realize how absurd I’d been, especially considering that I overlooked the second anniversary of the blog last week.

Every road is an adventure.

So go ahead, make your plans. Be realistic, take an intro class for something you’ve always wanted to do, or be daring and register for an improv class; ask that pretty barista for her phone number, or go bungee jumping; apply for that job you don’t think you have a shot at getting, you might surprise yourself. And even if you don’t get it, you will feel a sense of accomplishment and likely apply for another. And that race you were intimidated to enter, your first 10K, half-marathon, or the full monty… Go For It!

For Those Who Refuse to Quit

“What I look forward to is continued immaturity followed by death.” – Dave Barry

There is this head game I played when I was younger where I’d always be prepared to discuss the effects of aging on physical performance by reciting the achievements and statistics of aging athletes who were still on a professional team’s roster. In my own simple mind, George Blanda, Pete Rose and George Foreman kept me feeling young beyond my prime. But when the incomprehensible Chris Chelios retired from professional hockey, arguably the roughest professional sport, I ran out of role models. This behavior probably qualifies me as someone who needs professional counseling.

I’d written quite a bit about aging and athletics, and running in particular. One of my early articles was titled “Aging Along the Trails,” and the collage that appeared in the Art of Running is a likeness of my grandson, son and I running the trails of Bucks County, Pennsylvania. For any of you who ever wondered, How much longer will I be able to do this running thing? read on.

Hugh Campbell of Wilmington, Delaware started running at 86, and is a world record holder in his age group at 88.

Hugh Campbell of Wilmington, Delaware, started running when he was 86, and today he is a world indoor record holder for the 3,000 meter at 88 years old. He attributes his prowess to “fresh legs” because he hadn’t been a runner for his entire life. Hugh is no slouch by any means, he retired at the age of sixty and claims he’d golfed every day until he took up running. Good genes don’t hurt either, Hugh, the youngest of ten siblings, had a sister who lived to 104 and a brother to 101.

The Pike Creek Valley Running Club recruited Hugh to compete in the Grand Prix Challenge in the 85-89 age group. In March he broke his own record at the Adrenalin 5K in Haddonfield, New Jersey running 26:33, averaging 8:32 a mile. Not too shabby for any runner, let alone an 88-year-old.

Hugh says that, “People who have been running for years aren’t still running at 88. They’re either dead or had sense enough to quit.” And how does he feel about his future? “I’m 88 and a half,” he said. “That makes me wonder, what can I do when I’m 90? To read the entire article, click “Wilmington man 88, Got a Late Start and Kept on Running.”

Why Are We Here?

“The current state of knowledge can be summarized thus: In the beginning there was nothing, which exploded.” – Terry Prachett

The greatest philosophers who ever lived–Plato, Confucius, Aquinas, Aristotle–spent their lives contemplating the question, “Why are we here?” It’s a question that, no doubt, crosses most of our minds at one point or another, like maybe when an elderly woman thanks you while you unconsciously hold the door for her at WaWa, or when you see a two-year old with her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck.

Ask a friend or your mate the question and you will probably get the customary, “to share my gift, raise a family, save the world.” It is unlikely someone would answer, To run a sub-three hour marathon, make a million dollars or own a Porsche, though that would be nice.

If you ever contemplated the mystery of your existence, look no further. Rick Reilly, former Sports Illustrated columnist, revealed the secrets of life to his fifteen-year-old son many years ago. He began his thesis with,

“I’ve thought a lot about it, son, and I don’t think it’s all that complicated. I think maybe we’re here just to teach a kid how to bunt, turn two and eat sunflower seeds without using his hands.”

Reilly ends his dissertation about life by saying, “”See, grown-ups spend so much time doggedly slaving toward the better car, the perfect house, the big day that will finally make them happy when happy just walked by wearing a bicycle helmet two sizes too big for him. We’re not here to find a way to heaven. The way is heaven. Does that answer your question, son?”

His son’s hysterical response and over a dozen other reasons for our existence are sandwiched in between. Treat yourself and read “Funny You Should Ask,”  and you too will understand the mystery of your existence.