I know this because I’m a writer – oh, and later today, I’m running my first official half marathon.
I never planned to be a runner, much like I never really planned to be a writer. At the time, it was just something to do. Though I wrote a few pages of fiction here and there in my youth, what really got the ball rolling for me was when I and a friend of mine had boring summer jobs as teens and we started emailing short stories between us. From there on, it just snowballed.
It was the same with running. Five years ago, I got interested in going to the gym and doing powerlifting in an attempt to have at least some semblance of physical activity in my life. If you’d asked me back then if I wanted to go for a run, I would have laughed you in the face. But as I got in better shape, nearing something that someone might even describe as “fit”, I started dipping my toes into this whole running thing. And today’s the day. Half Marathon Day.
When I started writing my first full-length novel, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t plan or outline it, didn’t set much of a course other than a very brief over-arching plot and a thrilling conclusion. Before this point, most of what I had written had been short stories and flash fiction pieces, few – if any – counting more than a few hundred words. But I’d managed to write those, so why not a full book, right?
When I ran my first 21 kilometers, it was exactly the same. I had started jogging four months earlier, so why shouldn’t I be able to run a half marathon, right? So I just put on some shoes and started the treadmill. Turns out, I wasn’t prepared at all.
But I’m glad I wrote my first book like that. With that naïve, positive onlook of “Why wouldn’t I be able to do this?” I think it made it a whole lot easier for me. I didn’t worry about plot consistency, character development, or logical conclusions. I just wrote. For that first book, I can’t remember even a single spell of writer’s block. There was no pressure, no expectations, because I didn’t know pressure and expectations even existed in writing.
These days, nearly 10 books later, I can find myself staring at that blinking demon-cursor at the end of a sentence, wondering why the hell it isn’t producing the art I know lives inside my head.
Running is much the same. That first half-marathon I did in training, was… Let’s just call it “the worst.” There was pain, soreness, and blood involved, and I remember having to lie down on the floor when I was done, because “something didn’t feel right.” But because I didn’t realize how awful it would be, I had no fear of it. There was nothing to dread because I had no reference point. I’m glad I didn’t know what I was putting myself through then because now that I do… yeah – I’m dreading it.
Of course, it won’t be the same. The books I write now are written faster and with less effort than I did that first one, even if I sometimes stop to make sure I know what I’m doing. Same with the running. The last training run I did, took just about as long as that first one, but with significantly less pain and exhaustion.
That’s the thing – even though in one sense it never gets easier, you get used to it. You get better at it. You learn. You’re more prepared. There’s this whole sense of “knowing what you’re doing” (weird how that happens, right?)
But when I said that writing is a marathon, I wasn’t just talking about writing one single book. I wasn’t just talking about one single marathon either. Because writing, as an art, and any other art or creative endeavor you might pursue is a marathon in and of itself. It’s the same with running and powerlifting. You don’t get better after one story, or just one run. It’s not about finishing that first book or race. It’s all of it – all the effort you put into it from start to wherever your finish-line is - that’s what’s going to make the difference. Every book you write becomes a lap in a longer run, a single chapter in your writing career.
I don’t know how many books I’ll write. I know I have a lot more of them in me, and I know that for now, I’m passionate to keep going. To keep running with it. I’m unsure about running though. I might do a few more races because it’s incredibly rewarding even though it’s awful at its worst. At the same time, I’m left with a feeling of having accomplished a goal I set for myself and being satisfied with that. (Since I started writing this, I’ve completed the run and I came in at 1:57 – which was above all expectations!)
For now, I’ll stick with it a while longer, and I love that I now have the ability to “go out for a run.” It’s a great way to clear one’s head – and to think about future books! But more than anything, I’m glad I thought myself the importance of marathons. To stick with something, to keep going, to be in it for the long run. It’s a very useful skill to have.
Because a lot of things you’ll do in life is a marathon. So keep at it.
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