What Is The True Scent Of Running?

EVERY NOW AND THEN I’ll get a blast of a particular strain of menthol and find myself transported back to the university’s austere, drably colored indoor track. I’m lacing up my racing flats, hearing the thud of stampeding feet and the whhhisssh, whhhisssh of my high school’s nylon warm-up tracksuits. They’re calling for my race, the 800-meter, to collect by the start line.

- Christopher Ross

My heart is pounding, my stomach tightening. Nearby – and without fail – someone is applying Deep Heat to his legs. That sharp, industrial-strength wintergreen scent will always be synonymous with an entire era of my running life.

My most evocative scent memories of running are tied to high school, a time when, as a member of a close-knit team deeply invested in winning, the sport could feel like life or death, every race a dogfight. The heightened awareness has vividly preserved my sense impressions of that age.

The smells of running are often the smells of the places we’ve run. The brine of ocean and sand, the fresh, green aromas of cool summer nights and wet grass when the sprinklers click on. The gladiatorial fume of a polyurethane track baking on a hot day.

For Katie Arnold, an ultrarunner and author of the new memoir