If you're going to write a memoir framed around a specific aspect of your life (e.g. your Hollywood stardom, your prestigious career, or, as here, your athletic endeavor), you have two choices: you either have to be very detail-oriented about that aspect, or you have to use that aspect as a framing device while revealing the details of your life.
Jen Miller manages to not really do either of these things in Running. Oh, she kind of goes for the latter, but her extreme lack of introspection scuttles any possibility of a meaningful memoir text. We definitely don't go into the weeds on the sport of running and all its pluses and pitfalls. What we learn about is a series of shitty boyfriends she has over the first decade of her early adulthood. And that's pretty much it.
Seriously. She has multiple siblings, and we never learn their names. There's a shocking incident in which Miller behaves abominably at her sister's wedding, and while she offhandedly mentions not liking her BIL, we never hear about any fallout from this incident, nor whether Miller's dislike of her BIL is a) at all justified or b) continuing to this day. Miller runs a marathon and tucks in a reference to the fact that her mother isn't there because it's Miller's nephew's christening day. What?! So . . . you decided to run a marathon right around the due date of your first nephew? Or, even if baby came early or late, that didn't force a change of plans for you?
If she's not talking about her siblings or friends, who's she talking about? Well, Miller goes into depth about the shittiness of her various boyfriends without ever plumbing the depths of her own psyche for the reasons that lead her to become involved with unsuitable men, including two who I'd have to label abusive (though she never uses the a-word). One of the two abusers even briefly cajoles her into an eating disorder, a fact that she refers to glibly and never really follows through on.
I kept looking for some sign that Miller was going to break through the narrative with a feminist self-awareness and speak to me in a voice full of clarity and mental health. How about a moment of realization that the second abuser's ex-wife was an ally, not an enemy? How about a mention of therapy outside the "I have to tell you to try therapy because people get mad at me when I don't say that" nonsense? How about some body acceptance, rather than talking about not wanting to be a "heifer" when running is impossible for her?
My spleen having been vented, it's not a terrible book. It's very readable. I got a very good sense of who Miller is. It's basically a beach read for people who want to feel a little more virtuous than the masses reading James Patterson.