Born to Run - my reflections

BORN TO RUN by Christoper McDougall is indeed a reader’s treat. The author tries to unearth evidences that fully and perfectly substantiate the claim held dear by the title of his book. And this he does
nicely - readers inevitably are drawn into the spell of a great story teller in him.

Beginning with the search for a super-athlete tribe, the Tarahumara, in the deep canyons of Mexico, the running takes the reader on a roundabout trip to places and facts that thoroughly convinces and impresses upon that ultimate truth: We, the homo-sapiens, were born runners – ultra marathon runners. Running survived us from the odds that erased from the face of earth our unbeatable strong competitors – The Neanderthal. We got our big brains, science, logic, arithmetic, medicine etc… from the simple act of running. When we were natural runners & running “naturally”, we knew not any human ailments or diseases that we know today.

Besides re-introducing the art and science of long-distance running to its obvious masters but oblivious custodians, the author does a kudos-earning job in exposing a few fads that we have unnecessarily picked-up whilst the last five decades. Sporting the so called “running shoes”, much to the discomfort of our sophisticated, God-given “wonder limb” - foot, using the so-called sunscreen lotions, when the hard scientific fact is that there isn’t a lotion or cream that protects your skin from harmful sun-rays, if any etc… are but a few samples.

The real world out there is not as “cool” as it is made out to be by the world of business, finance and money. “Less is more” rings the wake-up call. A feeling of getting back to basics sinks all its fangs firmly into reasoned mind, if you can afford one. Idea of rethinking your civilization gains currency in you.

Plot is intelligent, narration informal and indigenous, experience exhilarating. I surely would go back for a second-round soon.

Reflections

I have, somehow, found in me a new urge to write a personal journal. It could at best be a petty note of mediocre events in my journey of life and a scrap-book at worst. However, this is less desired and more unwanted. Therefore, I wish to give this piece of personal literature the name and character of “reflections”, for, 'Autobiographies' – which name I don’t dare to have for this mere write-up - have traditionally remained the fancy of the well-known or those in whose lives are “the happenings”. Thus reflections – the inner voice that we all hear and respond to – appear to me a better name.

I will want to make deliberate attempts to prevent the rather too personal, unworthy, and unreal experiences from creeping into this work. Reflections have not the place for them.

Needless to mention, I am, or precisely my reflections, are as influenced by my people, place, circumstances and books as are others by theirs'. Therefore, I should – and sure would I – make all efforts at avoid taking credits or otherwise of my reflections for my own self.

I, before closing, should mention the very purpose of this literature. Well, it’s the written form of my conversations with myself - which of course happens on a daily basis . I wish to read this sometime later in my life and try to look back. :-)