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Read "Once a Runner A Novel" by John L. Parker Jr. available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first purchase. The undisputed classic of . Originally self-published in , Once a Runner captures the essence of Quenton Cassidy Series, Book 1 · Quenton Cassidy. by John L. Parker. ebook. Once a Runner by John L. Parker Jr. - The undisputed classic of running novels and one of the most beloved sports books ever published, Once a Runner tells the Once a Runner. A Novel. By John L. Parker Jr. Trade Paperback. eBook.

Once A Runner Ebook

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The undisputed classic of running novels and one of the most beloved sports books ever published, Once a Runner tells the story of an athlete's dreams amid . Editorial Reviews. Review. “Part training manual, part religious tract, part love story, and all Kindle Store; ›; Kindle eBooks; ›; Literature & Fiction. Editorial Reviews. Review. "The best novel ever written about running." -- Runner's World Kindle Store; ›; Kindle eBooks; ›; Literature & Fiction.

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She Was Once a Runner

Once a Runner 1. The young man could see dim figures on the track even in this pale light, slowly pounding round and round the most infinite of footpaths. There would be, he knew, plump, determined-looking women slogging along while fleshy knees quivered.

They would occasionally brush damp hair fiercely from their eyes and dream of certain cruel and smiling emcees: And then, of course, tennis with white-toothed males, wild tangos in the moonlight.

And men too of various ages and levels of dilapidation, perhaps also grinding out secret fantasies did they picture themselves a Peter Snell held back only by fat or fear as they turned their ninety-second quarters?

The young man stood outside the fence for a few moments while moths attacked the streetlight dustily, leaving him in a dim spotlight of swirling shadows. Leaves would be turning elsewhere but here the hot breath of summer held forth. In the moist warmth there was a slight edge, though, a faint promise of cooler air hanging in the treetops and close to the Spanish moss.

He picked up his small travel bag and went in the gate, walking clockwise on the track toward the white starting post at the head of the first turn. The joggers ignored the stranger in street clothes and he likewise paid them no attention. They would always be there.

The high-jump pit had been rearranged, a new section of bleachers added, a water jump installed for the steeplechase. But mostly it looked the same as it did four years ago, the same as a four-hundred-and-forty-yard oval probably will always look to one who knows a quarter of a mile by the inches. The Games were over for this time around. He knew quite well that for him they were over for good.

Four years is a very long time in some circles; in actual time—real-world time, as that of shopkeepers, insurance sellers, compounders of interest, and so on—it is perhaps not long at all. But in his own mind Time reposed in peculiar receptacles; to him the passing of one minute took on all manner of rare meaning. A minute was one fourth of a four-minute mile, a coffee spoon of his days and ways.

Once a Runner

As with many of the others, he had no idea what he would be doing now that it was all over. It was such a demanding thing, so final, so cathartic, that most of them simply never thought beyond it. They were scattered around the world now, he supposed, doing pretty much what he was doing at this moment: He was going to have to pick up the thread of a normal life again and although he did not exactly know why, he had to start by coming back here, back to the greenhouse warmth of the Panhandle, back to this very quarter-mile oval that still held his long-dried sweat.

Back to September, the month of promises.

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He put his bag down by the pole-vault pit, looked uptrack to make sure no one was coming, and then walked up to the starting line. God, he thought, one more time on the line. In lane one he stood very still, looking down at his street shoes joggers now going around him with curious glances and tried to conjure up the feeling.

After a moment a trace of it came to him and he knew that was all there would be.

You can remember it, he told himself, but you cannot experience it again like this. You have to be satisfied with the shadows. Sit suscipit tincidunt no, ei usu pertinax molestiae assentior.

Eam in nulla regione evertitur. Dico menandri eum an, accusam salutandi et cum, virtute insolens platonem id nec.

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Nostro inciderint vix eu.Librairie Paragraphe. Parker presents a rare, insider's glimpse at the incredibly intense lives of elite distance runners. The Gaslight Gang: During Bruce's masochistic interval workout, he says, "This is where you find out. How did this anecdote make Quenton feel powerful, and how does this feeling of power inform his running?

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