REVIEW: Born to Run

"Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen"
Christopher McDougall

Running injuries are one of the sport's few potential consequences, but with the release of "Born to Run" in 2009 and its promise of a better way, Christopher McDougall threw barefoot running into the spotlight and helped kick off a revolution. In "Born to Run," McDougall calls into question much of the common doctrine pertaining to training, diet, and running mechanics, and has since paved the way for some much needed debate on these topics. While the fervent interest in ditching one's shoes has since died down, "Born to Run" has left countless minimalist converts in its wake and the ideas presented in its pages are still worth talking about today as continued investigation brings new information to light.

Many runners can certainly relate to having pondered the nature of injury, but few have gone as far as McDougall in a search for answers. "Born to Run" begins with a simple attempt on McDougall's part to ascertain the cause of his running injuries and how he can prevent them, but it quickly sprawls into an adventure of epic proportions. McDougall's quest for running enlightenment brings him into contact with a host of eccentric experts, athletes, and coaches, and takes him on a journey deep into the Copper Canyons of Mexico to learn the secrets of running from the Tarahumara, a Native American group famed for their ability to run hundred of miles in nothing more than flimsy sandals. Through the melding of personal narrative and a well-curated assortment of thought-provoking research, McDougall crafts a truly remarkable novel.

With a cast of unforgettably offbeat characters and the interjection of controversial theory, "Born to Run" has all the makings of a great page-turner. Some may find fault with McDougall's liberal use of artistic license or the fact that the presented research had clearly been chosen to lead towards very specific conclusions, but "Born to Run" is an exemplar of good storytelling more than it is a memoir comprised of irrefutable facts. Taken with a grain of salt, "Born to Run" is an incredible read, especially for those who enjoy tales of adventure or have toyed with the idea of transitioning to minimalist running. Whether you end up loving it or hating it though, there's no denying that McDougall's premier novel has left a lasting impression on the culture and landscape of running, and if for nothing else, is worth reading so that you can engage in the inevitable discussions that continue to occur long after this book's initial publication.

Review: ChiRunning

"ChiRunning: A Revolutionary Approach to Effortless, Injury-Free Running"

Danny Dreyer & Katherine Dreyer

As a student of T'ai Chi, Danny Dreyer believed that the fundamental principles of the practice could be applied to running in a way that would make the sport easier and less likely to cause injury. Once the idea was seeded, Dreyer worked to perfect the technique, dubbed it ChiRunning, and soon began teaching his unique approach to others. As his classes began to gain notoriety, his wife Katherine Dreyer, who is given coauthor credit for the book but only appears to have served in an editorial capacity, encouraged Dreyer to publish his running methodology, and in 2004 "ChiRunning" debuted to critical acclaim.

While it seems the majority of people have only the highest praises to speak of "ChiRunning," it really isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Dreyer's nonchalant delivery, offbeat references, and just plain wrong information make it tough to put a lot of faith in the book. Some of Dreyer's misconceptions are excusable since they have been perpetuated for so long, like when he says that pronation should be eliminated, but at other points the information he provides is nearly laughable. It's hard to take Dreyer seriously as he instructs runners to put emphasis into the backswing of their arm movement or when he preaches the merits of running up hills sideways.

"ChiRunning" does, however, offer a few pieces of sound advice in its pages, but they are beat to such redundancy that it's hard to find much reason to choose this book over other resources. If you're looking to decrease your risk of injury by making improvements to your form, a little bit of research will provide you with all of the same points Dreyer repeats throughout his book: relax your limbs, lean from your ankles, shorten your stride, and increase your cadence.

Aside from the above advice on improving form, "ChiRunning" concludes with sections on designing training schedules, optimizing race potential, and incorporating a healthier diet, but just like the form tips, this information is readily available online as well. Ignoring the inaccuracies and fallacies sprinkled throughout, "ChiRunning" is merely a rehashing of easily accessible knowledge dressed up with a little bit of Eastern philosophy for the sole purpose of selling more books.

Even with all of its flaws and the fact that it offers little to the advancement of fitness literature, "ChiRunning" could be considered passable if it weren't for the testimonies and self-praise incorporated into nearly every chapter. Because of this, the book ends up being more of an advertisement for Dreyer's program and brand than a reference manual for bettering your running. It seems that Dreyer has made a superficial attempt to cash in on a niche market, and this has led to a work that ultimately falls far short of being a true success.

a chilly three mile triumph

My best friend and I have been running the same 5 mile turkey trot every Thanksgiving morning since 2008, and each year my time has gotten just a little bit slower than the previous year. This somewhat depressing trend can easily be attributed to persistent issues with iliotibial band syndrome caused only by my own past foolishness, but despite the ever increasing times being posted on the finishing clock, I've gotten a little bit smarter about my training as the years have passed.

I've worked hard to incorporate different techniques and routines to help keep injury at bay, and since making a smooth transition into minimalist running this past summer I was really starting to feel confident about breaking my predictable Thanksgiving day slowdown. I mapped out an eight week plan to steadily increase the length of my runs, and things were going extremely well up until last week when the scheduling began calling for distances of 3 miles and beyond.

On each run where I attempted to reach the elusive distance, I started to feel twinges in my IT bands, some days the left and on others the right. Not wanting to risk all of the gains I had made since the summer, I'd inevitably back off and end the run early, usually about a half mile short of an even three. But today, on the coldest day since I began running in just a flimsy piece of rubber held to my foot by a cord, I succeeded in competing a 3 mile run, and I hadn't even set out to do it.

In preparation of the cold I ended up deviating from my usual routine in several ways, and it's hard to tell which aspect or what combination of factors lead to my momentous run this morning; all I know is that something clicked and it worked. I did a quick foam rolling session before leaving the house, and I walked for about five minutes prior to starting. Then, when I finally got to running, I ran extremely slowly, nearly 90 seconds slower than my usual pace. The run was feeling easy, and all I kept telling myself was that I shouldn't look at my watch, that I should just stop when it started to get difficult. Eventually I started thinking that I had been running for what felt like awhile, and when I looked at my watch I saw "2.88 miles" on the screen. A celebration was clearly in order; obviously at that point I had no problem finishing out the 3 miles for the day.

So as of right now it's tough to say if I'll end up breaking my streak and clocking a faster time than I had at last year's race, but I'm content just knowing that it seems I've broken a plateau in my training. We'll just have to see how the next two weeks go, and maybe things will come together on Thanksgiving morning as perfectly as they had today.

a review of my running history

I began running almost six years ago during my sophomore year of college to combat some of the characteristic weight gain that had occurred during my freshman year. I started out fairly slowly, never having been particularly active in organized sports, but gains came quickly and I soon became a bit too enthusiastic and overzealous in my running pursuits. By the end of my sophomore year, I was running distances far beyond my actual capabilities and I had just one goal on my mind: running a marathon.

With my sights set on the legendary distance I dove into a vicious cycle of training to the point of injury and then failing to achieve my goal. For the next two years I would aim for a marathon in the relatively distant future, and then one of two things would happen: I would either injure myself almost immediately and end up not signing up for the race at all, or I would injure myself in the later stages of training and resolve myself to dropping down to the accompanying half marathon.

It wasn't until my senior year of college that I finally succeeded in completing a marathon, but doing so came at great cost to my ability to run afterwards. I knew that I needed to raise the stakes to ensure actually making it to the starting line this time around, so my best friend and I signed up for the Walt Disney World Marathon in 2010, hoping that the financial investment of the trip would serve as a motivating force to get me through a complete training cycle. The plan had one major flaw though, and that was the fact that while I was definitely motivated, and in fact somewhat obligated after having arranged travel and accommodations, I wasn't any more likely to actually complete my training without injury than if I had just chosen another local race. As had become the expected pattern, I quickly found myself injured and unable to run more than a handful of miles between weeks of inactivity. Within the two months leading up to the marathon I literally hadn't run anything over eight miles, and if I call correctly, I had only managed that feat once.

As I chatted with those around me awaiting the start, the full weight of how grossly underprepared I was began to hit me. There I was, not having even broken double digits on a single run in the past couple of months, listening to people describe their anxieties over whether or not their twenty mile training runs would be enough to carry them through the race; needless to say it did nothing to bolster my confidence. Moreover, as if that hadn't been enough, Florida was experiencing record low temperatures all across the state, and I, thinking I was going to be taking a break from the frigid temperatures of January in New York, hadn't packed anything but shorts to run the race in. You know things aren't going well when you see volunteers pouring Gatorade powder on the ground at the aid stations to keep the spilled water from freezing.

Nevertheless, despite all of the odds stacked up against me, I managed to run the first 18 miles, and then somehow completed the rest of the course by alternating between some combination of running, walking, and limping to the end. The whole ordeal left me completely hobbled and nearly broken, but wanting to get the most out of my stay in Disney World, I popped Tylenol for the next week to mask the pain as I limped around the parks. When all was said and done, iliotibial band syndrome, otherwise known as ITBS, had become a permanent fixture in my life that plagued me consistently for the next few years.

At it's worst, I could barely run more than a half mile without being forced to come to a stop and then having to take a week or more off until I was able to try again. Surprisingly though, I still had a strong desire to run, so I began systematically trying everything that even had a chance of alleviating my ailment. Stretching, hip strengthening, and foam rolling all became staples of my routine, but nothing seemed to completely absolve the problem. It got to the point where there was just one thing left to try, and despite my reservations and my complete lack of faith in its purported healing powers, I took the leap into the world of barefoot and minimalist running this past summer.

Not wanting to risk making things worse than they already were, I followed all of the usual advice that gets tossed around when making the transition to ditching the shoes: I started out slowly in terms of both speed and distance, I worked on increasing my stride cadence, and I began concentrating more on my form and foot falls. I was extremely skeptical when I first started out, but I have to admit, things seemed to start falling into place as soon as I kicked off the shoes. Now I can comfortably run a couple of miles at a time, and while I still get twinges in my IT bands every now and again, it's certainly not the debilitating, sidelining injury it once was; for the time being I can be happy with that.