An Excerpt from "The Running Ground" by Nicholas Thompson

Published through Random House on October 28, Nicholas Thompson, the journalist at the helm of The Atlantic, shares insights from his book delving into his love for running, the straightforward nature of the sport, and its impact on his identity.

Here's a glance at the book's opening thoughts.

Running stands out for its sheer simplicity — no equipment like balls, mats, or opponents to dodge. Yet, this very simplicity invites a rich complexity. With each stride, the world drifts away, leaving just you and your thoughts.

As you pick up speed, the layers of who you are seem to peel away. Minimal gear means maximum pace, and at some zenith, all that registers is your feet striking the ground. The borders between mind and physique blur.

Though weather elements like wind and rain cannot be ignored, the act of running remains a solitary endeavor, putting you at the helm. There's no trek to the gym; just a step out your door. This autonomy means personal victories, as well as accountability for setbacks. Running unforgivingly highlights physical decline — the watch starkly attests to slower speeds compared to days past.

Many times, running transforms into a meditative journey for me. Lacing up turns into a ritual of connecting gadgets to satellites and then striving to disconnect mentally. The mantra "one-two-three, one-two-three" aligns my steps, seeking harmony in their rhythm. Whether attuning to the urban sounds or birds in the countryside, the focus varies; like drifting streams, sometimes collecting and discarding thoughts at random.

During intensive training, however, the approach is contrasting. The goal becomes about narrowing focus, shutting out distractions, and zeroing in on the task at hand. Whether locking in on a fellow runner's rhythm or setting imaginary races against strangers, the objective is meticulous. Identifying bodily aches without yielding to them, and recalling past speed instills confidence, suppressing creeping self-doubt.

For me, music is off the table during runs. Each session doubles as a mental trial, refining coordination and pace awareness without musical interference. The aim is to deepen the body’s innate rhythmic vocabulary without external beats obscuring the internal dialogue between stride and breath.

In the marathon context, conserving mental energy becomes my early mission. I tune out the cheers and past memories, keeping distractions at bay, even sparing energy by minimizing glances at my timing device. Questions from fellow runners get short responses — focusing becomes a fortress. Contrastingly, casual jogs are conversational, but in races, silence is crucial.

Over time, running has broadened my worldview and reshaped my self-conception. Journeys by train often inspire imaginary routes through nearby landscapes. New locales are best understood through running trails, offering more vistas than walks. Visions of ascents linger in my dreams, while desk-bound duties tether my mind in reality. Amidst responsibilities, running offers a bridge to nature and the echo of a youthful adventurer.