Here is an early Penguin Chronicle that may help to put the whole “Penguin phenomenon” into perspective. As you can tell from the tone of the column, no one was more surprised by how this started than me. From time to time I get insights into how my life is changing – and how running has become the change agent. Those of you who, by nature or by training, are better tuned to your own psyches may scoff at the density of my awareness. Be reminded that I have been no more inclined to be open with myself than I…

I’ve run over 40 marathons, so I’m not a rookie. I’ve read most of the training programs out there. I know the names of all the workouts. I know about building mileage and tapering and having a race strategy. But no one ever mentioned what to do if you’re stopped by a train during a marathon. Here’s the scene: Portland, Oregon on as pretty a day for running a marathon as you can imagine. Crisp air, blue skies and plenty of sunshine. I’m leading a group of runners who want to finish somewhere between five hours and anytime on Sunday….

Venturing off-road leads to simple yet profound discoveries. I’ve never been much of a trail runner. Okay, I’ve never been much of a road runner either, but that’s not the point. As one whose feet never get more than an inch off the ground, I worry about bumps in the sidewalk. So it’s hard to imagine encountering branches, roots and rocks. But I finally gave in. With all the hoopla about the pleasures of trail running, I thought I should at least see what the fuss was about. And to my surprise, I discovered a fun, new running environment. It…

The surest route to running satisfaction may be the path of least resistance. My grandfather had many favorite expressions – nearly all of which are unfit for publication. But the one he used often as a means of defusing disappointment over some failure was: “When one door closes, another door opens.” In the years since his death, I’ve often changed this expression to reflect my own uniquely pessimistic outlook: “When one door closes, another door closes.” There were times, I assure you, when that seemed to be the case. More often than not, though, my grandfather was right. In most…

In no particular order: Size matters, at least when in comes to shoes. I’d worn size 8 1/2 shoes since I was 17 years old. So at age 42, when I went to buy my first pair of running shoes,  I bought–you guessed it–size 8 1/2. I didn’t even bother to try them on, I was so sure they would fit. And they did fit. Sorta. I thought that running shoes should hug my feet, make my toes feel “snug,” and be laced up so tight that they nearly cut off my circulation. I didn’t lose all of my toenails…

It’s not too late to be what you might have been By John “The Penguin” Bingham One of the insidious maladies that plagues middle age-and, at 54, I’m solidly into middle age-is a fading memory. I’m not talking about a serious medical condition here. I’m talking about the blurring of what was, with what might have been, with what really is.  For some people, the older they get, the better they think they used to be. For me, the older I get, the more I think I could have been.  And I doubt I’m the only person who ever dreamed…

January 2000:  Are We There Yet? I’ve always liked traveling by car. And, I’ve always subjected my family to my terminal wanderlust. On many occasions my then young son would moan from the back seat, “Are we there yet?” My response was always. “Yep, we’re here.” He would sit up eagerly and look out the window. Then, in a disappointed voice, he would say, “Aw, Pop, this isn’t where we’re going,” to which I would reply, “But this is where we are!” He was not a happy traveler. Every time I started a journey of fitness and better health, including…

Penguin Chronicles: January 2012 I’m a smoker. Well, I used to be a smoker. So I’m an ex-smoker. Or a former smoker. I’m not sure. What I do know for sure is that for 25 years I never went anywhere without a pack of cigarettes. I told myself that I was an intentional smoker, not a habitual smoker. I intentionally had a cigarette as soon as I woke up. I intentionally had a cigarette with my morning coffee, and mid-morning, and before lunch, and after lunch, and mid-afternoon, and – well – you get the idea. And I always intentionally…

When all you are is all you can be. One of my favorite books is a little tome by Jess Laire entitled “I Ain’t Much, Baby, But I’m All I’ve Got” (Doubleday: New York: 1972) I happened to read it at an earlier time in my life – where being what I was, wasn’t all I wanted to be. The shortest synopsis of the book is that you are what you are and you can choose to spend your life frustrated by what you aren’t or learn to be grateful for what you are. In those days, my goal was…

It’s not too late to be what you might have been One of the insidious diseases that strikes at middle age, and trust me at 54 I am solidly into middle age, is one’s memory fading. I’m not talking about a serious medical condition, I’m talking about the blurring of what was with what might have been with what really is. It’s not so much that the older I get, the better I used to be, but that the older I get, the MORE I think I COULD have been. What I used to think of as merely broken dreams…