Reminds me, still got to post my thoughts on that book.
'Bout time I got round to this.
The book in question is 'Born to Run' by Christopher McDougall. I'm going to do the review in reverse, starting with my conclusion and then explaining it afterwards.
I'd give the book 6/10 (maybe 6.5 at a push). The subject matter is one that fascinates me, and the over-riding concept that man evolved to run,both long and short distances, (the idea of man evolving to 'persistence hunt' is an intriguing theory that seems to hold a lot of merit and I'm reading other sources now that go into this idea in more scientific detail), and that most running shoes actually prevent people from running correctly (ultimately resulting in injuries). I'm with the author on this and am delighted to see that the book (and others who have been promoting a more 'natural' style of running) has started a popular move towards running shoes that promote this natural-style of running. More on that later.
He tells some interesting stories about some ultra-marathon races, which although highly exaggerated in places, are a good read. His tendency to exaggerate and resort to hyperbole is the downfall of the book, and I think that's his writing style. Some of the stuff he talks about is so interesting and absorbing that it doesn't need the 'bullshit' (for want of a better word) that he applies in numerous layers.
The book is a slow starter, but eventually gets more readable. He focuses a lot of the book on the Tarahumara tribe in Mexico. A lot of their culture sits around their running, and with their ability to run very quickly over long distances, in very harsh terrain the author asserts that they are the best runners in the world. This might well be the case, but he then starts to go on about their utopian way of life, and about their amazing life-expectancy, crime-free society, etc. I've since read up on the Tarahumara, and the author left quite a lot out in his glowing prose, as one reviewer said "the parts about the Tarahumara people was another example of outsiders glorifying one portion of a peoples' lives and ignoring or not reporting correctly the rest. " Apparently, many of the Tarahumara live in abject poverty and the claims he makes about their life-expectancy are massively exaggerated. The sub-title to the book "A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen" shows where he's coming from on this. It's a shame he goes so far in his veneration of the Tarahumara, as a respect for their customs and cultures and of course, their amazing long-distance running capabilities would be enough. It doesn't need the bullshit, and I found myself having to take everything he was saying with a large helping of scepticism - rather than being able to accept a lot of what he says as factual. He even mentions something that happened in a World Chess Championship between Kasparov and Karpov - and gets that wrong through his need to exaggerate and fabricate the facts in order to make a stronger point (which when you know it's factually incorrect means you then question everything else he says).
The book is also written from a very American view-point (which is fine of course, as the author is American), but it grated in parts for me.
So, all-in-all it's a subject matter that I could read lots more about quite happily, but without the unnecessary bullshit this author felt was needed to make it more of a compelling story. For me it achieved the opposite.
Years ago, I went with another travelling man to look at his horses. (A regular pastime). When we got to his grazing, I saw that he had upward of 30 head on.
A fair mix they were too. Perhaps three or four top flight, "Life's work" mares, a dozen or so good breeders, and the rest average "dealing" cobs. You know the sort, a greasy leg here and bog spavin there, but on the whole, they were all in good order.
My eye was immediately drawn to a beautiful black and white mare that was standing well back from the gate. She was about 13.2hh, as fat as a seal and marked like a map. Nice little head, good under-works etc. I liked everything about her, But....
I knew she had a dodge, and I suspected I knew what it was.
My friend and I slipped from the top of the gate into the field and the horses crowded around us, pushing and shoving, making those small, eye-rolling, ears back, challenging type gestures that horses make when competing for food. We quickly removed the slices of bread from our pockets and tossed them in several different directions, that way, most of the horses got a slice, there was less chance of a ruck, and we didn't get jostled so much.
I skimmed a crust toward the Pinto mare. (Why not name her? I'd already fallen in love with her, and decided to try and buy her). She moved forward a pace and scooped the bread up quickly, watching me all the time.
Even from this distance, I could see the tell tale friction marks on her nose and cheeks. These marks are caused by the long term rubbing of a halter as the horse drags a long length of rope behind it. (Obviously taken off prior to my visit) They confirmed my suspicions. This mare was a bastard to catch.
To cut a long story short, I ended up buying her. I didn't beg her though, she was a nice mare and I paid a good price (with a small discount in lieu of her problem), which, by the way, I was sure I could cure.
I'm a bit cocksure when it comes to sorting out animals with behavioural problems. It's my forte. I have all the right attributes. Endless patience, (Mrs red calls it stubbornness) and the ability to take my thought processes down to their level. (Mrs Red says I have to raise my game to get to their level).
Pride comes before a fall they say, and it’s true. The Pinto mare tested me to breaking point and then some. She just wouldn’t allow herself to be caught. When I moved toward her, she would move away, always staying just out of reach. I spent endless hours alternately chasing her and coaxing her. I could run like the wind back then, but of course she could run faster. More than once she brought me to the point where I just lay face down in the field like a petulant child and pummel the ground with my fists out of sheer frustration.
Don’t get me wrong, I could catch her, but it meant three or four of us stretching a rope across the field and then working her into a corner, or driving her into a barn. It’s not like she was afraid of me or anything, once I did get a hold of her and she knew that she was caught, she was a real sweetheart, and she would let me do as I liked with her, standing quietly while I brushed her tail or picked her feet up to clean her hooves.
I just couldn’t catch her when I was on my own. Months passed without the slightest hint of progress until eventually, I had to admit defeat and give up.
Around September of that year, I turned my horses out for the winter. It was a large pasture, in excess of 100 acres with a spinney for shelter and a shallow stream to ensure a constant supply of water. It was way beyond my price range of course, but I rented it along with several other horse-men. There must have been over 70 head wintering there all told.
One bitingly cold day in November, I stopped by the pasture to check on the horses. As Sod’s law dictates, the whole heard was nowhere to be seen, which meant that they were at the opposite side of the land, hidden from view by a small rise.
I called to the horses as I walked across the frost-crunch grass. “C’mon. C’mon”. The wind whipped my coat around my legs and flung my call back over my shoulder as soon as it left my lips.
They were standing in the lee of the spinney. Rumps windward, grazing contentedly as the gale tousled their thick winter coats like a summer breeze rippling through ripe corn. I checked them over. They were all fine, but I noticed that one of them had a small off-cut of barbed wire tangled in the feather of her front leg. It wasn’t doing her any harm (Yet), but as sure as eggs is eggs, If I left it there, it would somehow contrive to cripple her.
Normally, it would be the work of a moment to remove it, but of all the mares that could have picked up that strand of carelessly discarded wire, it had to be the Pinto mare.
I moved towards her, she moved away. Pretending to be interested in one of the other horses, I tried to sneak up on her, but she was way too smart for that. I tried to trap her in a corner, but I was alone and I couldn’t cover enough ground, she slipped past me effortlessly. Basically, I was screwed. She knew it, and I knew it.
I never lose my temper with animals, it’s counter-productive, but suddenly, a huge wave of anger swept over me. Not anger in the conventional sense, more a sort of rage of determination. I knew I couldn’t catch her, but I had gone beyond reasonable thinking entered a “lets see who gives up first” mode.
I walked toward her, she moved away. I followed keeping up a decent walking pace. If she moved away in anything other than a straight line I could cut the corners, that way, she was having to walk further than I did. Sometimes she would gallop a few hundred yards, but within minutes I was on her again.
I kept her moving, for hour upon hour. I didn’t let her eat, and I didn’t let her drink. I was like a man possessed. My whole being consumed by no other thought than moving toward that horse.
Mrs Red came to look for me and told me that I was an idiot, but all I knew was, I had levelled the playing field, one of us had to stop walking first, and it wasn’t going to be me.
Eventually, she stopped and I caught her. She looked terrible. It was as if she had just stopped caring. She seemed numb, totally dejected. I removed the wire, patted her neck, and walked wearily away.
In the weeks that followed, I repeated this performance two or three more times, Each time I did it she gave in sooner. The forth or fifth time, she took a few half-hearted paces and then gave in. She never ran from me again.
Years later, I saw a David Attenborough programme about persistence hunting where some tribesmen chase a deer until it just stops running. The resigned attitude of the deer reminded me instantly of the look on the face of the Pinto mare the first time I caught her.
Good luck with your run.
Great book review BTW.
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