
Posted by Sally Kilpatrick Feb 3 2012, 12:03 am in running, Sally Kilpatrick, Writing
As a college student I approached both running and writing in the same manner. Both were races to be won. Running was easier to keep up at first. I huffed and puffed behind my far more experienced roommates, ignoring my aching knees and burning lungs in the name of proving myself. No one told me to start slowly with a run-walk approach. They already knew what to do and could only point out the obvious: put one foot in front of the other. With writing, I wrote only those short stories assigned in my creative writing classes because I foolishly felt as though I didn’t know enough about life to write a novel. Writing was more intimidating because I’d been playing at it for so long. Suddenly, I felt I shouldn’t write at all unless I had something to say and a great chunk of time in which to put it down on paper.
Graduating from college meant time, more time than I had ever had before or since. I ran faithfully, increasing my speed and decreasing my time. I told myself to put up or shut up, and I sat down to write my first novel.
Life intervened, as it often does, with the need for a new job. That job, teaching, zapped me of the energy to run and of the will to write. Then my oldest came along. When I could fight off the urge to write no more, I sat down each Sunday and devoted a couple of hours each week to writing a novel. By hand. Running, I gave up.
When my youngest came and dashed all of my hopes for exercise and writing by steadfastly refusing to nap any more than humanly possible, I knew something had to give. I finally got smart. I did research. I learned about writing in chunks of time, using a timer as a guide. I learned to alternate running and walking to build up to the kind of endurance I had once achieved through youth and sheer force of will.
Last year I struggled to come into my own as I left behind a graduate degree and sent both kids to school for the first time but learned I didn’t have as much time as I thought I would. I learned to keep trying, to never give up. I did a little research on running and discovered some enlightening guidance:
- Use quick, easy strides that are low to the ground.
- Don’t power walk between running stints—it increases risk of energy.
- Just don’t stop.
I would translate those to
- Learn to write in short bursts and never feel as though you have to have two dedicated hours before you can even sit down to write. If you do that, you’ll spend all your time waiting and none of your time writing.
- Rest. Just don’t rest too long. Let your mind work on what’s going to happen next while you clean or exercise or run errands rather than sitting in front of your computer screen and stewing—or, worse yet, getting sucked into Farmville.
- Never give up. Never surrender. You’re never a failure until that day you refuse to put word to page ever again.
There’s a nasty hill on my usual route. I used to hyperventilate at the sight of a hill just as I used to get melodramatic at any rejection as a writer. Now I take them both in stride with short, light, patient strides with my eyes always ahead and my head held high.
I loved this!
There are great lessons to learn about writing from exercise and vice versa. Perseverance, marathons, working in small chunks as you build up, the 10 minute rule, etc.
As you say, it’s all about keep on keepin’ on.
Thanks, Michelle. It was one of those odd a-ha moments where changing my running stride seemed to change everything significantly.
Sally, this is great advice. Writing really should be more like a marathon than a sprint, and there are always ways to make it work if we just look for them.
Never give up, never surrender! Love it!!
It really is a marathon, isn’t it? I’m not even going to think too much on how I’m probably about halfway to publication…
Great post, Sally – know exactly how you feel on both counts and have made the same learnings! Though I heard if you power-walked properly, you shouldn’t have problems.
The interesting thing about writing is that sometimes you feel like you’re running and other times you feel like you’re about to expire, but just have to keep walking!
How right you are, Anna!