Review
"Training logs accept all workouts equally, the low key and boring as well as the sensational. Start to fill these empty spaces."--Amby Burfoot, winner of the Boston Marathon and executive editor of Runner's World
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From the Back Cover
After nearly four decades of running, more than 100,000 miles logged and something like 12,000 separate entries in my training journals, I have three favorite days: one, the day I won the Boston Marathon (of course); two, the day i got married (of course); and three, the day I got married again (hey, no one's perfect, and the second time around was particularly sweet).
Here, in short, is what I wrote in each of those three log entries.
April 19, 1968: "27 miles, including 26.2 miles in Boston Marathon. I won! Felt great the whole way until side stitch the last 2 miles. But I struggled through it."
November 1, 1970: "20 miles, really hard, with a bunch of my running friends who are here for the wedding. The last 5 miles, we were practically racing. What a competitive group!"
July 4, 1995: "3-mile jog in the Groton Long Point July 4th fun run with Cristina, Gary, Dan, Laura, Bill and Jeff. A gorgeous sunny, dry day. We couldn't have hoped for anything better." [Note--The names mentioned, in order: the woman I would marry several hours later; my brother, who performed the ceremony; my two teenage kids; my brother-in-law; my nephew.]
My changing priorities are clear. Once I ran for speed and distance. Now I run for health and friendship and release--to enjoy 30 or 40 minutes away from the phone and the computer. I still seek challenge on occasion, and still enter races when they appeal to me. But mostly I run to clear my head of the day's swirling activities and to enjoy the wondrous thoughts and images that rush in to fill the void.
I hate to admit it, but I've never been any good at keeping a journal--one of those personal diaries that chronicles all the highs and lows of a life. Instead, my best efforts have gone into my training logs. There's no screeplay or Pulitzer Prize int he dozens of these logs I've kept over the years, arranged a bit haphazardly across the bottom tier of a bookcase, but they're good friends, and that counts for a lot.
Thumbing through the pages, I'm carried instantly to the places I've run and the people who have sweated at my side. In high school, we ran through
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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