Gift this book and let your loved ones discover the profound layers of a runner's journey. Packed with awe-inspiring accounts, personal anecdotes, and touching narratives, readers will traverse diverse landscapes-both external and of the soul. From serene nature trails to the chaotic bustle of city marathons, the stories encompass the beauty, challenges, and revelations of the sport.

I thought I heard my dad’s footsteps in the house last night. He died 20 years ago and was never in our house. There was a way his feet sounded when he walked that was distinctive. I can't describe it; it was just him. There was no one upstairs, and for that second, when I heard his footsteps, I was a child again and thought, "Oh, Dad is upstairs."

The phantom footsteps made me think about footsteps during a run. There is the way our footsteps land when we are running well; rhythmic and steady, and there is a way they land when we are struggling; heavy slaps or a little shuffle. The same is true for our running companions; if we run with them often, we know their foot strikes.

Today a runner glided up from behind while I was running on a trail in the woods. I hardly heard him, and then he passed me, his feet steady, big calves propelling him down the trail. I wished I could run like him as he disappeared around a bend.

Dogs know their owner's footsteps as well. Sometimes if I am packing for a trip, our dog Marley grows alarmed and anxious because my footsteps are different from usual. I suspect they betray my anxiety about packing and traveling.

Our footsteps land and die away, land and die away, disappearing as soon as they land. I was thinking about footsteps today on my run and realized how little attention I pay to them and how my mind is often down the trail, thinking about when I will reach the next mile or drink or eat. If I can gather my mind and concentrate on my footsteps, I am where my feet are, flowing in a moving zen, content with each footstep.