Writing a Marathon

Like most writers, there are times when I shake my head and think, "What am I doing?" This usually happens after a string of rejections, or when the final few dollars from last month's checks have been spent and I'm scrounging for new ideas and assignments. At those times a nagging voice deep within me begins to shout, "You can't do this! You're not good enough! You'll never finish this!" Learning how to deal with that voice is one of the most important lessons I've learned as a writer, and for me that lesson came from the most unlikely of places.

You see, I'm a marathon runner. For me, running and writing are intrinsically linked, each benefiting from the other. On first inspection, writing and running seem as different as fire and water; but they're more similar than they first appear. Both require dedication, hard work, and the drive to do it even when you really don't feel like you can. Mental toughness is an essential trait in both writers and runners; in running, it will get you through a tough run, in writing, it will allow you to push those rejections aside and keep going.

Challenges are an integral part of writing and running. The struggle to finish the dwindling miles in a marathon is something few marathoners talk about-- it is a struggle most of us would like to forget. As your body tires, you become dreadfully aware of every aching step. With each successive footfall, self doubt creeps in. "What am I doing?" I think. "I can't make it to the finish line." My brain chatters at me, begging me to stop running, to quit, to lie down on the pavement and give up. "Stop now!" it shouts. "You must stop now! You can't do this. You'll never make it to the finish line." Yet somehow I manage to quell the nattering of my glycogen-starved brain; I focus on my goal. I've come too far to stop now. So I search for distractions; I count my steps, my breaths, the number of spectators wearing glasses-- anything for a diversion. And eventually I see the finish line on the horizon-- I'm almost there; I want to cry with relief.

Writing is like finishing a marathon. There are days when the nagging voices inside me warn me not to keep going. "You can't do this," they whisper. "You'll never finish. No one will want to read this." But I fight to push them aside. I continue writing even when I don't think I have anything worth saying, even when every word is a struggle to type. And as I approach the end of the novel, short story or article, I feel like I'm running my first marathon all over again. The aches and pains of writing are fresh in my mind, but so is the knowledge that I've defeated the critics within me. The doubt, the second guessing, I've pushed through it all and made it to the finish.

Every time I get something published I feel like I'm crossing that marathon finish line again and again. Rejections are like that voice in my head telling me I can't take another step-- I won't make it; but somehow, I always do. Landing a great assignment with a publication I admire is like setting a personal record on a course that I thought was too difficult for me to conquer.

When the rejections pile up and it seems like no one is ever going to want to publish my work there is always a run to make me feel better. If I'm stuck for an idea, a rejuvenating run is often all I need to get my creativity flowing. And it works both ways; if I'm having a terrible run, the slower-than-slow, cement leg variety, there's always a lesson to be learned from it that will come through in my writing.

Both running and writing promote an internal harmony that at times makes me feel like I've climbed to the top of the world. In running, it's when every step is effortless and I feel strong, healthy, and happy. In writing, it's when my fingers can't move fast enough over the keyboard, when I'm flooded with ideas and motivation. And each leaves me exhausted, but brimming with the satisfaction of accomplishment.

Forgetting what it felt like when I thought I couldn't do it, when I believed I might have to give up, is essential to my success as a writer and as a runner. But knowing that I can face whatever adversity comes my way is just as important. Thankfully, as time swims by, memories of the challenges fade, leaving me excited about my next race, my next assignment, my next accomplishment.

As marathoner, I've learned many lessons that have helped me through the challenges of life as a writer. I've learned to deal with adversity and frustration. I've learned to battle through and to scream, "Yes, I can" even when I'm not really sure it's true. I've learned that moving forward, one shuffling, cramping leg at a time, or one stiff slow-typing finger at a time, will get me to my goal, no matter how slowly I'm moving.

Stephanie R. Kinnon lives in North Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. She’s a passionate marathoner and a freelance writer whose work has appeared in Reader’s Digest, Chatelaine Magazine, Northwest Runner, Active.com, The Washington Running Report ,and IMPACT magazine. Stephanie has completed eight marathons including Boston, Seattle, Victoria, and Vancouver.