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And So I Run review by Kirsten Davenport
For twenty years, Jamie Doward has balanced his successful journalistic career and family life with a long-distance running hobby, completing countless marathons across the world. To a fellow runner like me in our age of Strava Kudos and trendy runclubs, Doward's life, with bucket-list-like sheen, seems to be all figured out. But, as Doward testifies in this crushingly honest book, And So I Run, not every marathon medal that glitters is gold, and the author behind this memoir reveals himself as more pre-occupied with pondering life's questions than with knowing all the answers.
Repeated overwhelmingly throughout this memoir is a single, primordial question: "fight or flight?". Initially, Doward favours the former; his extreme hobby is a dopamine hit potent enough to emancipate him from his problems. But over- reliance on running leads Doward down an unhealthy path. Fleeing his own life, he sets himself an impossible challenge : running a sub three-hour marathon. The improbability of achieving his goal keeps him addicted, forever chasing his next high:returning for another fix, entering another race, running that extra interval, no matter the consequence. Readers critical of Doward’s lifestyle may highlight the family he neglects while expending so much time and energy on his demanding hobby and therefore dismiss this memoir as a self-centered vanity project. I would, however, reassure them that Doward does not shy away from his own self-absorption, operating instead with a refreshingly relatable and self-conscious tone, his shame and inner-critic featuring as central , grounding characters. The imperfection central to And So I Run endears Doward to readers rather than alienating us, making this book enjoyable and accessible to all, a welcome contrast to the tribes of holier-than-thou - Hoka-hipster-half-marathon-before-breakfast-run- fluencers on social media, who have become increasingly emblematic of the running community in recent years.
Doward's approachable tone is also bolstered up by cleverly structured and heartfelt writing, the layered temporalities of the memoir divide Doward's life into all glorious and grueling 26.2 miles of a marathon in journalistic detail, each mile chapter exploring different runs, experiences, and lessons. There are moments of transcendent joy familiar to all runners, such as Doward completing a 500m race with his two-year-old son, the cheers of onlookers audible as they cross the finish line arm in arm; moments of pure comedy, as Jamie’s frustrated inner monologue seemingly attempts to break a PB of FPM (Fucks per minute) rather than his targeted sub-three-hour time; and, inevitably, moments of intense sorrow as Doward encounters the grief and loss inherent to the human experience.
And through all this, Doward runs, until eventually the distance between him and his real life becomes untraversable. Before, Doward used the physical challenge of running to evade his problems. But in the memoir's conclusion, its title, "And so I Run", adopts a new meaning. Echoed across our 26.2-mile journey, the title forms a mantra and a promise, that no problem is too big to confront and run towards; physical movement is reframed as a state of mental stillness that facilitates a clearer perspective. From this point forward, Doward confronts his problems directly rather than seeking escape.
Instead of the exclusivity associated with sporting circles, this memoir favors universality, inviting us – runners or otherwise - to confront our issues in healthier ways . As such, it is a study in fight rather than flight and empowers readers' action, whether that be by lacing up our running shoes or booking that therapy appointment – or both! Doward may not have life all figured out (frankly, who does?), but And So I Run is a tender yet amusing depiction of the coping mechanisms that he has mis/used, concluding that sometimes best solution is simply to get on the starting line (literal or metaphorical) and face life head-on.
