***Baby, We Were Born To Run-Christopher McDougall’s Born To Run

 

 

Book Review

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Born To Run, Christopher McDougall, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 2009   

Normally I don’t review non-fiction sports-related books, unlike say Ring Lardner’s You Know Me, Al-type sports literature. Not that I have anything against such books but I just don’t usually read such material. Don’t find it interesting. For that matter I don’t watch or listen to much sports broadcasting even in sports that I have a rooting interest in like golf. I have enough trouble just keeping my head above water playing the damn thing to not have time to go off on a Zen-tangent and read or observe any other facets of the game. Especially about professionals who are in another planet. That same attitude, usually, is true of running, running which I have done off and on since I was a kid and which is ostensibly the subject matter of the book under review, Born To Run. So on the recommendation of a friend whose judgment I trust I decided to read this one. And while I am not altogether convinced of the argument presented I found the book informative, useful and a nice read.   

And the argument? Well our friend Christopher McDougall, a runner himself, has argued that despite all my heavy breathing, lame legs, heavily-cushioned running shoes, ready to die if I have to go another mile to the contrary humankind was born to run, run free and run long. In spite of the skeptical eye from my way as I rung out my soaked tee-shirt he presents a entertainingly detailed account of why he “got religion” on running 100 miles in desert, up rocky mountains, and through boulder-strewn canyons. All of this interspersed with scientific asides about how we back in the day, back in early hunter-gatherer days when such matters, well, mattered, were really born to run.  

The people who McDougall calls upon to make his case (or part of it) are the canyon-dwellers down in Mexico, the Tarahumaras who represent a life-style that most of us have never witnessed and which we presumed had died out ages ago. And while the group is threatened by the inroads (literally) of civilization there are enough of them left and enough is known about them for McDougall to make his case. This group lives to run (or runs to live the other premise hidden behind the first argument). And the best way to find out if the premises he makes are true to stack up the best of the Tarahumaras against the modern world’s best ultra-marathoners.  An event organized by a half-civilized, half-converted American renegade and running guru, Blanco Caballo. Yes, by the way, ultra for those of you who thought running twenty-six plus miles was the entry way to hell. That’s punk stuff to the ultras who brave deserts, craggy canyons and rocky mountains to “enjoy” ripping off a hundred miles, and then jog a twenty miler to relax. What is this guy kidding? No, and read the book to see what he is getting at. Me, well, I will up my daily mileage to four miles just in case he is right.