Since I'm both runner and a writer, I'm picky about running books. Most of what I've read, while informative, interesting and even well-written, lacked a certain gritty, truthful depth.
Then I discovered Caleb Daniloff's "Running Ransom Road."
Daniloff, a recovering alcoholic, uses running as his own personal 12-step program. As a means of cleansing his soul, he returns to painful places from his past and runs marathons (or, in a few cases, half-marathons and shorter distances).
As a marathoner myself, I understand this need to sweat and hurt and physically break through barriers of both mind and body.
Yet that isn't what makes this book great. It's the truth and wisdom behind the words, and the way Daniloff unflinchingly bares himself to the reader.
The book is sectioned around various marathons: The Boston Marathon, the Vermont City Marathon, The New York Marathon. The pace is smooth, the prose tight, and the rhythm follows the cadence of a runner’s motion; you can almost imagine the foot strikes flowing through each sentence.
As with all good memoirs, Daniloff carries the readers through his own personal journey, gradually opening up as he gains trust and understanding. In a sense, both the book's format and Daniloff's healing process follows the path of marathon: The initial ease and confidence of the beginning miles, the hard sweat of the middle, the self-doubt and struggle of the last six miles, concluding with the overpowering emotions of crossing the finish line.
There are so many great passages that it's impossible to mention them all, yet I can't resist sharing a few of my favorites:
"Every time I run, I'm having a conversation with my purest self, my moral inventory on full display. Running is a state of being more than a sport, a way of life."
"The hotel lobby had a dark, woody feel that made me feel like grabbing a black coffee and writing a poem about a one-room schoolhouse."
And my absolute favorite quote of the book: "But a marathon regulated things, taught me humility. For these four-some hours, I was confined, by my body, to who I was, not who I wanted to be, or pretended to be. There was no bullshitting 26.2 miles."
But it's the ending that got me, that flattened me down to a sobbing, soft mess. I love when a book makes me cry, not from sadness but from beauty. Daniloff offers the reader just that in Epilogue, especially the last one and a half pages. It's the perfect ending to a sometimes harsh, often moving and ultimately triumphant story.