The Memory Of Running

Written August 15, 2007

I just finished this book called The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. I borrowed it from Sexy the other night, ya know, the night right after our breakup. I had been meaning to borrow it for quite some time. He’s owned this book for about a year and has read it at least 8 or 9 times now. I’m betting on it being more than that. I knew that if he could read it that many times and still find it fascinating, then I should definitely read it.

It made me very angry. Not the book itself, mind you. I’m actually mad at Sexy for loaning it to me. I had this very strong urge to knock him senseless with the book once I finished it. Since it is a paperback book, this could be a long process. I may have to go out and buy the hardback version in order to save myself time and energy. He has a very hard head, after all.

That being said, I actually loved the book a lot. I’m going to go out and buy several copies to give out to friends. I’m also going to buy a teddy bear to go with each book because after you finish reading it, you just want to hold something and cry. I’m also going to buy a couple of copies for myself. One copy will be for me to read over and over. I can see why Sexy reads it so much. One copy will be to treasure.

I could spend quite some time trying to explain the book, but I’d never come close. It’s one of those simple plots that is so deep that you can’t even begin to explain it in conversation. Since I could never do it justice, I would have to say that you need to read the book if you’re curious. I will say that the main character is one that everyone can relate to in some way, shape, or form.

I suppose that’s what made me so angry. I can tell that Sexy sees a mirror image of himself in the main character and it makes me so furious. There’s no way in the world that I would be able to convince him that he’s nothing like the main character. It’s the thick skull. Nothing penetrates it. I know that he feels that he’s in much of the same position in life and I can understand it. However, they are not the exact same at all. First of all, Sexy is not 200 lbs overweight. Actually, he’s perfect. Not too big, not too small, muscled but not disgustingly so. Perfect. Second of all, he’s not some alcoholic in a dead-end job. He has an excellent job with so much potential. He, himself, has endless potential. He’s smart, funny, can adapt, is so loving, and, if I don’t mind saying so (and I don’t), he has a wonderful girlfriend who adores him.

The fact that most infuriates me about what Sexy sees in this book is the fact that he feels he’s lost everything, just like the main character. I suppose I should be more tolerant about it. Everyone feels like they’ve hit rock bottom from time to time. Still, Sexy has so much that he just takes for granted. He has family that loves him. He could have more family to love him as well. He has friends who think the world of him. He has the respect of his co-workers, he has a chance to move past all of his problems if he would just stop running from them long enough and face them. Not everyone is that lucky. It makes me so mad. I’d give almost anything to be that lucky.

I don’t imagine that I’ll beat him up with a novel in the end. It’s not fair to the book. The book really is a good one after all. I’m going to re-read the copy Sexy loaned me before returning it. And if he asks me what I thought of it, I’ll just tell him that he doesn’t want me to talk about it. He’s not big into mushy discussions, so I don’t think he’ll try to push the issue. Right now, I have to wait for my mom to read it. I told her how wonderful it was and she wants to read it, but she’s in the middle of another book at the moment. I may have to read it again before she gets the chance. For some reason, I can barely resist picking it up again. It calls to me. Maybe because, despite what Sexy believes, we’re not that different, he and I. I can see myself in the main character too. I just don’t use that as an excuse to give up on all the good things life has to offer. I make myself remember running.