Rundefeated

When people ask me what my favorite running book is, I usually give them a cheeky grin before pulling Born to Run by Christopher McDougall off my shelf like it’s a sacred relic. It’s not that the other titles aren’t good — Run Less Run Faster gave me a fresh perspective on structured training, 80/20 Running by Matt Fitzgerald taught me not to sprint every single run like I was auditioning for the Olympics, and Running Revolution by Nicholas Romanov introduced me to the art of proper form. But Born to Run is a different beast. It’s not a training manual. It’s not a diet guide. It’s a story — a wild, dusty, sometimes ridiculous, and deeply human story about what it means to run.

What makes Born to Run special is how it effortlessly blends storytelling with anthropology, history, and physiology. McDougall doesn’t just tell you about ultramarathoners or the legendary Tarahumara runners of Mexico’s Copper Canyons — he takes you into their world. He explores ancient human history, how we might have hunted animals to exhaustion long before the invention of tools, and how running wasn’t just a sport or hobby but a literal survival skill. Reading it felt like uncovering a lost chapter of humanity, one stride at a time.

One of the book’s most fascinating ideas is how the invention of modern running shoes might have made our feet weaker, not stronger. It’s a bold claim, especially for someone like me who owns enough running shoes to start a small boutique. But the more you dive into the story, the more sense it makes. The Tarahumara, who run incredible distances over rugged terrain in thin sandals, aren’t plagued by the chronic injuries that seem to haunt modern runners with their heavily cushioned footwear. It raises a simple but uncomfortable question: have our shoes been doing us more harm than good?

Of course, I’m not about to start tossing my carbon-plated super shoes and barefooting it through the streets of Jakarta. But Born to Run did change the way I think about footwear. It made me more aware of the mechanics of my stride, the importance of strengthening my feet, and the idea that maybe, sometimes, less really is more. I even started including occasional barefoot strides on grass — something I never would’ve considered before reading the book.

Beyond the running lessons, Born to Run is a story about people. The eccentric characters, from the elusive Caballo Blanco to the ragtag group of ultrarunners who take on the Copper Canyons’ brutal trails, remind us that running isn’t just about beating personal bests or shaving minutes off a marathon time. It’s about community, resilience, and rediscovering our primal connection to movement. It’s a history lesson disguised as a road trip, sprinkled with equal parts humor, science, and philosophy.

So, while my bookshelf holds training bibles and running manifestos, Born to Run will always be my favorite. It reminded me why I fell in love with running in the first place — not for medals or PBs, but because, deep down, we were born for it. And sometimes, you need a book to remind you of the simple joy of putting one foot in front of the other.