Writing in a Runner’s World

Writing in a Runner’s World

This past weekend I ran in a 5K — or survived a 5K might be the better phrasing — and learned more about the dynamics of the writing world than I could have in a week’s worth of conferences (mighty convenient, I must say, since it’s cheaper).

I started off the race like I’d been shot from a cannon. I sped past the runners in their sleek Under Armour gear with their special running watches and their special running shoes. Ah-ha! I thought, quite triumphantly, for the only high tech gear I had was my husband’s iPod (mine had gone through every cycle in our washer and hadn’t lived to tell about it).

For the first mile I glided down that icy road like I was in some Bollywood-style Chariots of Fire.

Nothing and NO ONE was going to steal that six inch gilded trophy! It didn’t matter that, due to the icy weather, I had no one in my age bracket to even compete against. If for nothing else, I was just going to beat my freshmen 5K time. Shouldn’t have been too hard, right? But that was five years ago, and I hadn’t properly trained since.

Half a mile later my music hit a slower song, and I could hear my breathing. I sounded like Darth Vader after a lifetime’s slurping of unfiltered cigarettes. I lowered the volume of my iPod, making sure the sound I heard was actually me and not the raspy chuggings of a distant train. It was me and, in some weird psychological connection, I began coughing up all sorts of unsavory things upon this discovery. My gallop shifted to a canter, to a trot, to a walk.

In no time at all the sleek Under Armour runners wearing their special running watches and their special running shoes passed me like I was standing still. What’s the use? I thought, as dejected as I’d been elated. Can’t catch up to them now. To show the full spectrum of my stubborn streak, I began sauntering a bit, like I was out for an artic stroll even while sleet nipped my eyes. The 5K police escorts must’ve thought the cold had frozen me crazy, for they began following me in a tinted-windowed SUV with flashing caution lights.

That was slightly embarrassing.

So, I began running again but took baby steps instead of long, loping strides. And although I spent that last mile and a half praying to be teleported to the finish line, when I did finally cross it (no, I didn’t beat my freshmen time; it beat me), my gratefulness for having survived the journey with all 10 fingers and nine toes far surpassed my disappointment at having lost that six inch gilded trophy.

I know, I know…at best by now you’re probably shaking your head, and at worst banging said head on desk while screaming, “Isn’t this supposed to be about writing?!” Well, thank you, Mr. or Miss Patience, for asking that question. You see, I had to address my very traumatic experience before unveiling my deep, philosophical musings on writing.

Before you permanently damage yourself with those desk bashings, here goes:

Mistake Number Uno: I started off that race like I’d been shot from a cannon.

Interpretation: You cannot start off into the writing world without pacing yourself, or your figurative sides will begin to seize, and you’ll start hocking up all kinds of gunk on to the page, and they’ll end up scraping your hide off the sidewalk rather than burying said hide in Westminster Abbey.

Mistake Number Dos: I thought I could run like Eric Liddell without having trained like Eric Liddell.

Interpretation: You cannot create Pulitzer prize-winning material without having first trained yourself in what that material entails, or agents and editors will begin passing your work up while you sit on your haunches on a street corner somewhere, reading the paragraphs of your masterpiece while hoping for people’s crummy pennies.

Mistake Number Tres: Instead of focusing on my own two feet, which were running their own race, I kept looking over my shoulder at the sleek Under Armour people wearing their special running watches and their special running shoes.

Interpretation: As a writer, you CANNOT keep comparing yourself to other writers! Writers are all creating different genres; they all have different writing voices and different ways of getting these voices across. If you keep staring at everyone else’s work, you will be forever stunted while creating your own, and they’ll find you a century from now all sheathed in dust and shriveled up like a prune over your keyboard.

Mistake Number Cuatro: Once I realized I had to temporarily bow out of the 5K or spend the rest of my life in an iron lung, I became too focused on my defeat and lost sight of the end goal: finishing the race.

Interpretation: Even if you run into a brick wall of writer’s block, that does not mean you have to burn your manuscript, jump drive, computer, house, ect. As my childhood hero Anne Shirley always said, “Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it.” So, don’t give up! Hit those writer’s blocks with a sledge hammer if you have to!

(Disclaimer: not responsible for any damages to persons or properties.)

You must keep pressing toward that publishing finish line, and even if you don’t end up holding that Pulitzer prize in your hands — which probably isn’t as cool as it’s cracked up to be — just know that you did your best, you gave it your all, and you hopefully lived to tell about it. (Although Emily Dickinson sure got famous using the other approach.)