I’ve often compared running and writing.  They’re both things I love to do, they’re both mostly solitary pursuits, and require setting your mind to a task and not stopping until it’s done.  Both can be done pretty much everywhere, and need minimal equipment.  A body. A mind. Running shoes. A laptop.  The bells and whistles of wicking socks, a running watch that takes my heartbeat, and a MP3 player are like writing software, books on the craft, and a glitter pen that writes in turquoise:  very nice, but not essential.

In most stories and in most runs, there’s a point at which I want to stop.  “No more,” I think despairingly, “I can’t do this any longer.”  And in most stories and most runs, if I can get myself past that point, the end is worth it.  The satisfaction of completing a story knowing I’ve told something good.  The joy of completing a run when I didn’t think I could run that far or that fast.  (Running ’til you puke is a whole ‘nother topic). And in the long haul of training, or a writing career, there’s times in both when I’ve thought, what’s the point of continuing? I’ll never get faster, no one will ever want to read this.   But getting past those mental blocks brings great rewards. Continue reading “The Running Writer (and Three of Hearts)”