On running and writing, jogging and blogging
It didn’t occur to me until last fall, when I resumed running after a long hiatus, that running and writing have so much in common.
I may be slow and sore — I am slow and sore — but don’t call me a jogger. I’ve been through a couple of foot surgeries since taking up running more than 20 years ago, and I probably wouldn’t have had them if I hadn’t wanted to continue running. A jogger would have taken a pass on those operations. But I’m a runner, and they weren’t optional — because running isn’t optional to me. With most runners I know, the sport starts as a way of getting the body in shape. In short order, however, it becomes a mental thing and an addiction takes hold. Even when I have taken long breaks from running, doing cycling or absolutely nothing, I’ve considered myself a recovering runner.
Similarly, I may be writing a blog here, but don’t call me a blogger. I’ve made a living as a writer and editor for all of my adult life, and I like to think that has required more training and practice than downloading WordPress and just diving in. Don’t get me wrong: Bloggers contribute to our culture’s discussion of topics and issues, and a good many of them write well. But they’re not writers. Most of them probably don’t think of themselves that way, either.
People often ask what makes a guy like me run (or write). I usually respond that I don’t particularly enjoy running; it’s having run that I like. Unfortunately, the only way to get that feeling is to … run. So it is with writing. It’s not heavy lifting, certainly, and I’d never try to convince anyone that it is. But in its own way, writing is a workout and it’s exhausting. The enjoyment comes from having written, and I’m suspicious of any writer who says he or she loves the process. The satisfaction of the finished product is worth it or we wouldn’t do it.
Some days a 45-minute run is a struggle from start to finish. I have a terrible time getting out the door, I feel lousy the whole way, and the best that can be said at the end is that it’s done. On other (and fewer) occasions, I feel great, as if I could go at least twice as long. Yet all of these runs — the bad and the good — are counted as deposits into my good-health account. Writing is like that, slogging through days when thoughts are muddled, the computer screen is blank for an eternity, and finally the words come in a slow drip. But those days are just as important to a writer’s growth and development as the ones (yes, fewer in number) when everything seems to flow and time flies.
Got it? As long as you call me a runner and a writer — even when I might seem more jogger and blogger — we should get along just fine.