What Murakami Says to Runners

There are books about running that make you want to run. And then there is this one, which makes you want to keep going. That is not the same thing.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running was published in Japan in 2007. Haruki Murakami was 58 at the time. He had been running marathons for 25 years—one every year, without fail. He also ran a 100-kilometer ultramarathon on the island of Hokkaido, which he recounts in the heart of the book. But this is not really a book about running. It is a book about what running reveals about a man who is aging, who is writing, and who chooses to keep going regardless.

Age 33, and two decisions

Murakami started running at 33, at the very moment he decided to become a full-time novelist. He had just sold the jazz bar he owned in Tokyo. The two decisions—to run and to write—came together, as if one called for the other.

This parallel is not trivial. Writing a novel, he explains, requires a physical and mental endurance that few professions demand. Sitting for hours, maintaining long-term concentration, returning the next day to do the same thing. Running taught him how to sustain effort without expecting an immediate reward. It taught him that consistency is worth more than intensity.

"I don't run fast. But I keep going."

This sentence, which could pass for modesty, is actually the heart of the book. Murakami was never a fast runner. His marathon times are around 4 hours. He says so without false shame. What interests him is not performance—it is the practice.

Pain and suffering

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." This phrase circulates widely, often reduced to a mantra for mental resilience. But there is a more demanding interpretation. Those who have prepared well have the resources to traverse pain without sliding into suffering—they have reserves. Those who did not respect the preparation do not have that choice: at the 35th kilometer, they are overwhelmed. Suffering is only an option for those who have done the work beforehand. That is perhaps what Murakami meant—and he ran too seriously for it to be a coincidence.

Aging while running

The most moving chapter is the one where he talks about his decline. Around age 50, his times began to deteriorate. He trained just as much, perhaps even more, but his legs no longer responded the same way. He does not try to explain why. He does not consult a coach. He accepts it.

This acceptance, however, is not resignation. He keeps going. Every year, a new marathon. The goal is no longer to improve his time—he can no longer do that. The goal is to finish. To remain in the race, literally.

There is something in these pages that usual running books dare not say: performance eventually declines for everyone. What remains, what one can maintain for a very long time, is the practice itself. The Tuesday morning run. The lap around the park. The breath regulating itself after five minutes.

Why this book resonates differently depending on where you are

At 25 with a 3:15 marathon time, you read this book and find it almost melancholic. At 45, with two injuries behind you and a weekly run that has held up for three years, you re-read it and you understand everything.

That is the hallmark of great sports books—they have several ages of reading. Born to Run provides momentum. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running provides depth. They are not for the same moments in life.

Murakami also talks about music—he always runs with a player, jazz or rock depending on the day. He talks about his routes in Athens, Cambridge, and Boston. The book is traversed by the geography of a solitary runner who will recognize his own paths in his.

A book to read slowly

It is a small book—less than 200 pages in the French edition. You could read it in two hours. But it reads better slowly, one chapter after a run, in that slightly floating state that follows exertion. Murakami himself often writes in the morning, after having run. The rhythm of his prose has something of a steady pace: simple on the surface, but with a cadence that gradually takes hold.

If you were to read only one book on running this year, this would probably be it. Not because it will make you faster. Because it will make you want to last.

→ What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is available in the Spiridon shop.