Motivation is a sly fellow. A real slippery eel. Just when you think you have a firm grip on motivation, life's many distractions will rudely intrude and then to your personal dismay, you start wondering why regular workouts have suddenly become sporadic or regrettably a thing of the past. That's why setting specific training or racing goals are critical for long-term success… Often times you might feel burned out and in need of a break from running. By all means, take it. Refresh your mental batteries. But don't go slack. Stay active with say hiking, biking, or swimming. Researchers have found that after twelve weeks of no exercise, a highly trained athlete will have squandered a significant amount of fitness and conditioning.

To say that all runners are alike or have an addictive, Type-A personality is like saying everyone who lives in Chicago has blonde hair and blue eyes… Today's runner is old, young, mom-on-the-go, ex-jock on a mid-life athletic rebound, hard-bodied, pear-shaped, highly competitive, or one who considers 'running' 26.2 miles as climbing his or her own Everest, even if takes five or six hours. What all runners have in common is a deep, atavistic love of forward motion. We're rapt pupils of basic algebra whose sole curriculum revolves around calculating distance, rate, and time. We're constantly traveling from point A to point B, unless we're obsessively committed to running in place on a treadmill, or going in geometric circles around the track. At big-city runapolooza events, we tentatively find our tiny, personal space amid the collective herd, while waiting anxiously for that exhilarating moment of pure energy release. Although we stand united at the starting line, once the race begins we run alone. When describing the meaning of existentialism, the poet Delmore Schwartz wrote, 'It means that no one else can take a bath for you.' It's the same with being a runner. Running means that no one else can do it for you.

I've had only one utterly dependable training partner: a golden retriever named Rockee. We were joined at the hip for fourteen years and 7,000 miles of running together. Rockee was a sixty-five-pound bundle of crazy canine love, with a white clown face that turned even whiter as he got older. He never once complained if we ran too far, or if I were going to slow. I never heard him go on and on about an injury, like so many runners do. He never bellyached if the weather was too hot or too cold. He just loved to run, especially on the trails. His limitless energy and unflagging enthusiasm were inspiring to behold. He got me running on those days when I was tempted to find an excuse not to put on my Asics, Nikes, slip on the sweat bandana, grab his red leash, and head outside. Memories are a man's best friend.

The finish line is the same for all runners. How we get there and what we do along the way are what matters most. The journey defines us.