It happens. Most of the time it happens because you have been assailed by an injury, maybe serious and lasting, or maybe just one that needs a few weeks to heal. Or maybe you just can’t run anymore, can’t find motivation. It could be that you are stale or bored. And there is nothing wrong with thinking about the grass on the other side of the fence, as in, “Maybe there is a world beyond running.” No maybe about it: there are other worlds out there, lots of them, and you ought to take a peek over the fence. Running is addictive. Putting one foot in front of the other 10,000 times a day—that’s about what it takes to run 3,000 miles a year—can’t be anything but addictive. I know; I’ve been running since 1948, some years putting in well over 3,000 miles. If there were a 12-step program for runners, I would be at the meeting ’fessin’ up, “My name is Joe and I’m a run-aholic,” to a supportive chorus of fellow addicts. “Hi, Joe.” In that crowd, I could be confident that they had walked in my Nikes, they understood my problem. But I’m not really sure that I would want the full cure. Maybe I could just settle for a little variety, some strange stuff, or maybe some time off from my obsession. At the awards ceremony of the Western States 100-Mile Trail Run in 1979, among the limpers, crawlers, snoozers, and moaners, one large, hairy man made an announcement that got my attention. Understand that our brand new T-shirts told us that we had just completed The Ultimate Running Challenge. After ultimate, what the hell else can there be? But Cowman C. Cowman removed his left foot from his right knee (he had been fussing with a huge blister that he had worn since before Michigan Bluff) and repeated, “Yeah, that’s what I said. There are things harder than running 100 miles. Over in Hawaii, there is this event that they call the Ironman. If you can finish that, maybe you really are tough.”

WE’RE HOOKED ON ANOTHER “TOUGH” THING Cowman always was a bit of a shit disturber, and this time he had shoveled up a load. My running buddy, Ron Kovacs, one of the great ultrarunners of the 1970s and ’80s, gave me a look as if to say, “Did he say tough?” I knew then and there that we were going on a quest. But this article is not about triathlons or Ron and me kicking butt in Hawaii; we kicked and got kicked. It is about the times when your running mistress may not be there for you. It’s about broadening your horizons, making your athletic life a bit more interesting, staying fit while healing, and maybe even looking better—getting a life, for crying out loud. “OK, Joe, I’m listening. What do I do? What do I do now?” Here’s what you do first: nothing. Never jump into any life-changing undertaking without giving it due consideration. What Ron and I did was rather impetuous, even if the results turned out well. We were runners, ultradistance runners. We didn’t know diddly squat about swimming or riding on two-wheel torture machines. OK, Ron could ride a bike and I could swim, so we were able to help each other. The point is this: you may be a fine runner, but when you set foot on the hallowed ground of another person’s sport, you instantly become a neophyte, a 3-year-old. There are many things that you will have to learn, and you had better find a competent coach who can teach you the lingo of the sport, proper form, and good training technique. Before we go there, here is one thing that I am not going to tell you to do: “Go to the gym!” You should already be doing that. If you do not by now recognize that you look like a run-geek, with 10-inch biceps and ribs and a spine that could be used for a chiropractor’s dummy, I will not be the first to tell you. ’Nuff said.

WHAT YOU BRING WITH YOU

Let’s start by looking at the assets that you can transfer from one sport to another. Of immense value is your attitude toward training: you know how to work hard, and that mind-set is completely transferable. And you understand what training is all about. You are aware that good results follow proper training, and that it takes time. Runners seem to believe that training is for their legs; the real gifts that you have been giving to yourself all this time are a great heart, liver, and lungs, an internal operating system that will cross sports borders easily. I suspect that you are not going to enter any endeavor that will consume a significant amount of your time without enough of both commitment and desire, which are not strangers to you. Here is what you had better leave behind: the attitude that you are a hotshot runner. That will get you nowhere. Park your 2:35 marathon at the door. You need a measure of humility. You are the new guy on the block (or in the pool or in the saddle), and you have to recognize that you don’t know very much. If you want to be offered the help that you know you need, put yourself at the mercy of the coaches and the athletes around you. I know from long experience that most people love to help a newbie. But they won’t lift a finger if you come in with a chip on your shoulder. And there is no point in being resentful about being treated like the slowest swimmer in the pool when you probably are. I’m going to make some specific suggestions as to where your new life may lie. There are lots of places to look; these are some of my favorites. Let’s start with walking, maybe racewalking, but why not just walk? Some of the most valuable time of my week is when my wife, Sylvia, and I walk together for a half hour or so. We do it three or four times weekly. We never push the pace, because the thing that is most important to us is a word that rhymes with walking: talking. When you are walking around the neighborhood or in the park, leave the cell phone home. Use the time to listen to what is important. You might learn something. For us, this is high-quality time. Walking is good exercise and won’t pound your joints, but it will not give you the aerobic workout you are used to. Get wet. There is hardly a town in the United States that doesn’t have a swimming pool. Lurking inside those walls and fences is a group known as “masters swimmers.” U.S. Masters Swimming is the wet equivalent of our Road Runners Club of America. It is the elephant graveyard where swimmers go after their competitive days in college are over. Masters swim sessions are set up so you can swim in a lane with others of comparable ability. My masters club has coached sessions in the early morning, at noon, and in the evening. Give masters swimming a try. Stay away from the Speedo freaks who swim so fast they don’t seem to even touch the water. The world according to U.S. Masters is divided into those who race (usually no more than a few hundred yards; they inhabit the fast lanes) and the rest of us (triathletes, injured runners, and people who swim for fun or fitness), who are collectively called “fitness swimmers.” You might find a 90-year-old great-grandmother in your lane, and she can probably show you a thing or two. Remember your humility!

TAKE A TOUR You may never dream of being in the Tour de France, but the Tour isn’t the only show in town. There are plenty of bicycle “centuries” that are comparable to running a marathon. Of more interest are the long road tours like RAGBRAE, a ride across Iowa with thousands of cyclists and every community en route serving up fresh apple pies. The backroom trolls know all about bike tours and centuries. Buy panniers, set aside a month, and ride from California to New York, with the wind at your back all the way. Be forewarned about bicycling: you will be moving fast and unprotected. Wearing a helmet helps, but your fragile bike and bones are no match for a drunken driver, an inattentive sober one, or an oak tree. Learn to ride 10 times more defensively than in your car. I have had three fairly serious bike/car interfaces, and in every one I could have acted more defensively. The car always wins. Once you have added swimming and cycling to your repertoire, you might start dreaming about triathlons. A season or two of shorter ones will hone you up for the Big Daddy of them all, the (ta-DA!) Ironman! After you have navigated Kona’s 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling, with a full marathon for dessert, you can go back to your running club sporting the mystical air of an (ahem) Ironman. Don’t hold your breath, though, because you probably won’t get picked in the lottery to get into the race in the first place. Maybe you have a taste for something different. The variety is limited only by your imagination. Cross-country skiing is probably the most aerobic exercise on this planet. At the opposite end of the scale is sailing. Several years ago I sailed across the Atlantic. Do you know how many laps it takes to do a mile on a 90-foot sailboat? What about taking up with beasts, the four-legged variety? You can combine your running with a horse in a ride and tie or let old Dobbin do most of the work. Or maybe you want to try dog-sled racing. In 1996 I put my trust in a dog team on the Iditarod Trail. I cannot begin to tell you what it feels like, hour after hour, on the open ice at 40 below with a wind roaring down from the north. Let me leave you with this: be confident that you can take a break from running, forced or voluntary, and not abandon your mind or your cherished aerobic conditioning. All you have to do is gaze into the windows of all those bakery shops out there and pick out the goody that you want to chew on. Then you have to pay for it. It’s that easy.