ADAM BUCKLEY COHEN
Links to a few of my stories
Father-Son Connections Are in the Cards
New York Times (June 15, 2008)
It all started with cards.
When my mother arrived last summer with 5,000 of my old baseball, football, basketball and hockey trading cards packed into Mother Goose shoeboxes, my sons opened each flimsy container as if it were the Ark of the Covenant. Will and Theo, then 8 and 6, searched out the few superstars they knew from the 1970s — Terry Bradshaw, Hank Aaron — while I gazed at the largely forgotten images that drew me back to grade school: Oscar Gamble and his Afro, a toothless Bobby Clarke. The boxes still smelled like bubble gum.
Runner's World (June 2008)
In our marriage, running had always been my thing. During my 11 years with Julie, I'd logged probably 15,000 miles. I'd completed 30 marathons and scores of shorter races. My wife, on the other hand, had gone jogging exactly once in that time.
Early in our courtship, we'd headed out on what was supposed to be a two-mile jaunt, but an overly ambitious pace and torrential rain had sabotaged the workout. After that, Julie relegated her fitness efforts to walks and visits to the gym.
A Second Shot at a Brutal Mountain Race
Runner's World (August 2014)
"What are men to rocks and mountains?" Jane Austen once asked. I had the same thought as I watched the first wave of runners begin the Ed Anacker Bridger Ridge Run, which bills itself as "19.65 miles of brutal climbing and descending." I would soon see whether the mountains outside Bozeman, Montana, would show compassion toward a prodigal son.
In my late 20s, I spent six months kicking around Bozeman as a ski and running bum. Years later, when my middle-aged brain replayed the Big Sky idylls of my youth, I couldn't escape one unpleasant memory–that of my first and only attempt at the Bridger Ridge Run. In it, I was doubled over near a vertiginous incline, enriching the flora with half-digested PowerBars. At the two-mile mark.