About the Blog

“Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us.“

Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682)

For years—actually decades—I pounded the pavement in pursuit of personal bests and age-group placings. I was that lone figure, the amateur competitive runner. I could usually be found in the middle of a buildup towards the next big race, making the sacrifices necessary to get me to the starting line. Maybe you recognize that guy?

Even though I had never stopped to think about the possibility of not having running in my life, that day did come. It came without warning. In the summer of 2017, I was looking forward to another season of training and racing. Everything was fine, and my enthusiasm for the sport was on the rise after a couple of good early races.

Until it wasn’t fine.

You can read all the details of my health scare in Stroke of Luck. In short, it looked for a time as if competitive running would no longer be an option for me. Slowly, though, I was given a second chance to experience running again. I was like a younger version of myself, enjoying the simple pleasure of running for its own sake. It was all new again.

And because I was constrained to speeds that I might have considered unacceptable even a year earlier, I started noticing things on my easy jogs through the neighbourhood. There seemed to be more possibilities for meaning than had been there before. Or maybe it was that my eyes—my whole being—had been opened to new possibilities.

I started carrying a small point-and-shoot camera with me on my easy runs. The revelation came when I realized I could stop whenever I felt like it, if I saw something interesting along the way. Since I never know what I might see on my travels, I leave the house with an open mind and open eyes, and maybe most important, without a watch.

My photo runs have become the perfect expression of my “invisible sun” burning at its brightest. They are the cornerstone of My Second Running Life, and the foundation of the blog.

I now have a mechanism to turn something unpleasant—basically raw thoughts of my own mortality—into a positive experience.

Through my photographs and related writing, I have real-time reminders of what it felt like to be outside and to experience life on the move. These have become the purest expressions of the intrinsic value of running, of being able to enjoy something for its own sake.

Finally, for reasons I can’t explain, while I’m running, I feel most connected with those who have gone before me. The best explanation I can come up with is that my late sister, who was taken far too soon, lived in the moment. I feel her presence most keenly when I give myself permission to be open to what is happening around me. And how cool is that?

Enjoy the blog.