Endurance

Last night after work I headed out for the longest run I’ve taken in a while. I headed north from the Battery Street adlandia office, along the Embarcadero, hopping from side to side as I bobbed and weaved through throngs of tourists and still maintained some of my forward motion. It went well; I didn’t trip, I didn’t wear out—just ran the scenic five miles out to Fort Point and then back.

I’m in a happy period in which running feels relatively easy. And I’ve had plenty of running-related food for thought, which makes the miles go by faster. The food for my running mind is coming from two sources.

First, the Pepper Street gang jumped the birthday gun and bought me a Kindle. The first book I downloaded was To the Edge, an autobiographical account by thirty-something New York Times reporter Kirk Johnson of his experience preparing for and then running Badwater, the 135-mile ultramarathon that takes place every July in one of the hottest places on earth. It’s a riveting tale of obsession and determination, a tale that takes a microscope to the quality Johnson reveres, endurance.

Second, I am copy editing a yet-to-be published book of essays by a sixty-something paraplegic dealing with the challenges he must meet every day. As I was running last evening, it occurred to me that I relate to both these men—the young runner and the aging warrior (for the latter author is a warrior, fighting not only against the limitations of his disability but also the distressing diminishment of vitality that comes with aging).

I relate to them both because they are related to each other—through their intimate knowledge of the nature of endurance. For me, food for thought.