I’ve been reading Chi Running, and trying it out.
So far, not so good.
The method appeals to me, in theory, but I clearly need practice. Chi running is supposed to be easier; that’s the whole idea. It feels harder to me.
I don’t know much about T’ai Chi, but it seems to involve being calm, grounded and meditative. I might have learned more if I hadn’t skipped past the first few chapters, so I could get to the parts about running.

The gist of Danny Dreyer’s method seems to be this: stand very straight. Lean forward from the ankles as you run, so that gravity pulls you along. Pick up your feet, rather than push off with them. Don’t thrust your knees forward so much, step lightly and let your feet hit the ground flat and loosely.
Sounds simple, right?
Dreyer suggests standing in place as an exercise. That feels pretty good, but after about five seconds I’m ready to move along. He also suggests practicing the form and technique by running in place. If I did it right, he wrote, I wouldn’t bounce up and down much.
I’d been reading in Bernd Heinrich’s book “Why We Run” that the best runners have a fluid, efficient stride. They glide. I bounce. I can’t seem to help it. When I run, there’s a point in my stride, when both of my feet are off the ground for a moment. That moment is what distinguishes running from walking. During that moment, I find, gravity still works. When my feet leave the ground, I don’t float. I fall.
So after reading Dreyer’s central chapters, I went out to give it a go. In fairness, it may not have been the best time to try something new. I’d been sore somewhere in my hip, and the muscle spasms kept me awake the night before. I was wicked tired, and it was dark and cold. Knowing all that, I thought it might be wise to run on the paved Nashua River rail trail, where the footing at least would be predictable.
The first thing I found was that concentrating on my form made it harder to breath. My abs had no problem keeping my shoulders and pelvis lined up nice and straight, but we forgot all about moving my diaphragm.
At other times, I tried to focus on my feet, and searched for ways to make them light and loose. I’m still looking.
The main lesson I’ve learned so far is that thinking about running while I run makes running seem harder. I let my mind wander at its own pace while I run. If I must think, I prefer to consider what I might make for dinner, ideas about work, things I’ve heard on the radio, recent conversations, or the keys to peace in the Middle East. Sometimes I like to think about things that have made me angry. It makes me run faster, and helps to exercise the demons. Thinking about what I’m doing makes me more aware of the effort involved. I want to slow down, or even stop. That’s no good at all.
Still, I’m going to keep trying. Maybe some night I’ll reread those earlier chapters, and see if I missed anything important.