First, a review:
Newcomers: Running for Your Life is a part-inspirational, part-runner’s diary, part-nonfiction draft dedicated to the proposition that in one of these parts that you, the reader, can join me in running for your life, or at the least find a nugget of wisdom or insight to hold and meditate upon.
Casual followers: At 55, I’ve run five marathons (finished three, the latest on 10-10-10, see photo, below right). At 20, I contracted deep vein thrombosis, a pulmonary embolism, lost the equivalent of a small child in weight and very nearly died. Since then, yes, I’ve been running for my life, and in April will be competing in the Boston Marathon, a longtime goal of mine.
Running for Your Life: Why in Winter?
I know it’s winter when the water flow is cut off to the public fountains in Prospect Park; it doesn’t happened all at once, more like mail delivery, sometimes you are at the top of the run, sometimes at the bottom (although mail delivery isn’t want it used to be, in terms of being an EVENT, but you get the point) and Wednesday (Dec. 1) in the middle of a summer-like nor’easter, I see a park worker with a long-handled pipe wrench doing the job to the latest drinking fountain, at the interlocking paving stone entrance to what will eventually be the new ice skating rink, and now, or very shortly, you won’t be able to get a drink outdoors in Prospect Park, and I will know that it is winter.
Running for Your Life: Loose Leafs
Surprise! Running figures in my fiction and nonfiction. (And in a new photo, see below right Steamtown Marathon pic ... )
It’s fall, and in my neck of the woods, the leaves are still at it. Falling, that is. It may not motivate every runner, but it does one Ben Starwick, a character in a current novel, a work-in-progress, of mine. Here, he is in conversation with his friend, Luke DeSoto:
“Autumn in the park,” Ben says, “the leaves fall pretty much everywhere. On paths, the roadway, ponds,
It’s fall, and in my neck of the woods, the leaves are still at it. Falling, that is. It may not motivate every runner, but it does one Ben Starwick, a character in a current novel, a work-in-progress, of mine. Here, he is in conversation with his friend, Luke DeSoto:
“Autumn in the park,” Ben says, “the leaves fall pretty much everywhere. On paths, the roadway, ponds,
Running for Your Life: The Tao of Rewards
Thurber is not smart. A pea brain, Rene, the dog whisperer says, and I don’t mean that as a sign of disrespect. Remember, you are not appealing to the brain when you want him to do something. Instead, you find something he likes, say bits of Reggiano block cheese, and with select, simple phrases you shape Thurber’s behavior around the health and welfare of the home to the best advantage of all. “Treat” him well and he will live a long and happy life with you, not the dog, in charge.
Running for Your Life: Boston and NYC
It’s winter and we have to take out the air-conditioners in our windows. M’s office window is broken – and since the summer the top sash has been propped up with a man-hungry-size BBQ fork that we bought at a brownstone block auction a decade ago, but now, with the A-C out, it needs a little help, so I saw up a sturdy piece of cardboard packing and stick the fork side in the cardboard, which pretty much works to keep the heavy sash up and relatively secure, and the cold air outside, that is it does when the cardboard is resting on my hardback copy of “Annals of an Abiding Liberal” by John Kenneth Galbraith.
“There,” I tell M. “We just needed John Kenneth Galbraith to prop up our economy.”
“There,” I tell M. “We just needed John Kenneth Galbraith to prop up our economy.”
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