Random House
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In his new book “Running ground: father, son and the simplest sport” (to be published October 28 by Random House), tech journalist and The Atlantic CEO Nicholas Thompson explores his passion for running, the sport's simplicity, and how it has changed his sense of self.
Read the excerpt below, and don't miss Tony Dokoupil's interview with Nicholas Thompson on the channel “CBS Sunday Morning” October 26th!
“Running Ground” by Nicholas Thompson
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Running is the simplest sport: right leg, left leg, right leg. There's no ball to focus on, no mat to land on, no one rushing at you with their shoulders down. But simplicity opens up complexity. When you run, your attention turns inward. You are just you – right leg, left leg and everything that happens in your head.
Running drains your energy. The less clothes you wear, the faster you run. The lighter your shoes, the faster you run. When you go faster, your head also becomes empty. At a certain point, all you can register is the feeling of each foot hitting the pavement. Mind and matter become one for a short time.
You may have to worry about wind, rain and heat, but you rarely have to worry about anyone else. You do it yourself, which gives you control. You don't have to travel to the gym or field; you just need to open the front door. The simplicity of the sport means that your successes are your own and that if you fail, there is no one else to blame. And no sport demonstrates the relentless aging of the body more clearly than running. If you can't do what you did a year or a month ago, the evidence is right there on your watch.
Sometimes I use running as a form of meditation. I put on my shoes and go out. I connect my watch to the satellites and then try to disconnect my mind from the whirlpool inside. After all, I'm alone in my head. Sometimes I focus on a musical mantra: “one-two-three, one-two-three,” tracking my steps and making sure my left and right feet alternate symmetrically on the downbeat. Other times, I focus on my breathing or the sounds and movement around me, be it blue jays in the Catskills or trucks rumbling down Broadway. Sometimes, as with any meditation, my attention wanders, like a stream flowing randomly through my mind, picking up sticks and carrying them away until they flow away.
However, when I do a workout, everything changes. I'm not trying to open my mind; I'm trying to close it. I don't allow the Blue Jays or trucks in. I need to concentrate. If I'm training with a partner, I focus my attention on his shoulder if I'm behind, or his breathing if I'm ahead. Although I'm usually alone. I look for runners along the road and give them imaginary races: can I catch the lady in the purple sweatshirt in front of the second oak tree? Can I stay at least twenty meters behind a cyclist playing John Coltrane on the stereo? I look at my watch and try to stay on target. I try to identify the parts of my body that hurt and then push the pain away from them. I remind myself that I used to run so fast. Self-doubt is a smoldering fire. During exercise, the embers often flare up. I don't want to give them air. Every action we take helps shape our habits. Throw it once, and the second time will be easier too.
I don't listen to music while running. Every workout is a physical challenge: I'm trying to strengthen my leg muscles and my heart, but it's also a mental challenge. I'm trying to teach my body to move through space quickly and with good coordination. Running is a process of learning about your body and developing habits deep within it. Music can interfere with signals. I want to gain a deeper understanding of the relationship between my stride, tempo, and breathing. I don't want the bass line or the adrenaline that may flow with it to get in my way.
When I'm running a marathon, my goal early on is to spend as little energy as possible thinking about something else. I think about posture, form and balance. I try not to think about how people applaud. I try not to think about past failures or successes. I try to look at my watch as little as possible. After all, it takes energy to turn your head and to think. When people in my pack ask questions or make comments, I respond with a grunt. On easy runs with friends in the park, I'm a talker. When I race, I'm the mainstay.
Over the years, sports have changed my imagination and sense of self. When I travel by train, I look out the window and note the places where I can run among the streams and nearby forests. When I come to a new city, I like to run around it. I've seen more of the world while running than while walking. I periodically have dreams about the mountains that I ran up. But I spend most of my day at my desk, immersed in my to-do list. Running is my only connection to nature and to an adventurous young man who has always wanted to be outdoors.
Excerpt from Nicholas Thompson's book The Running Ground. Copyright © 2025 Nicholas Thompson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without written permission from the publisher.
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“Running Ground” by Nicholas Thompson
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