SirOn my run this morning, under the Eliot Bridge in Cambridge, I came upon a disheveled man sleeping on pieces of cardboard in front of two…Jun 211Jun 211
The forefoot runner’s guide to sobrietyThump, thump. Ding! Thump. Ding! Thump, thump. Ding! Ding! Every time my foot landed too hard on the treadmill, the sensors attached to my…Sep 9, 2023Sep 9, 2023
Don’t masturbate in public and other writing adviceTen years ago today, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt published my first book, a memoir about running and sobriety. Seeing the title displayed on…Oct 9, 20221Oct 9, 20221
To all the push-ups I’ve owed beforeToday, I closed the book on another year of daily push-ups. Over the past twelve months, I knocked off 72,800 of them. I know that’s chump…Jul 16, 2022Jul 16, 2022
His name was MarkHis name was Mark. He was born in Northport, New York, and last February he died in Boston, of an overdose. He was 28 years old. In between…Jul 16, 2022Jul 16, 2022
The LockI spread the guts of a new lock on the foyer carpet: screws, housing, battery, keypad. Wood smoke breezed in through the open door, a smell…Jul 16, 20221Jul 16, 20221
Fear is a cockroachWhen I lived in the former Soviet Union, cockroaches scurried about our Moscow apartment. There was no getting rid of them. I found…Jun 23, 2021Jun 23, 2021