How Long-Distance Running Made Me a Better Writer
Photo by Hendrik Morkel on Unsplash
A subject I have yet to write much about on any platform, but one that I care deeply about, is athletics, and long-distance running in particular. As I write now, I’m on a slow but steady rebound from a nagging Achilles tendon injury I incurred a couple of years ago and am hoping to run my first marathon in a couple of years this summer, on top of some other fitness goals I have for myself this year.
I didn’t always enjoy running. As a kid, I was very asthmatic and avoided it like it was toxic waste. I got a taste of trail running in my late twenties once my childhood asthma had subsided, but it really wasn’t until I was nearly 40 that I discovered a passion for running great distances and I entered my first marathon. Long-distance running, it turns out, is one of those activities that late bloomers can really thrive in, and I’ve got several ultra runs on my bucket list, including the 118-kilometer Canadian Death Race in Grande Cache—well known for being one of Canada’s toughest races.
These days I get out to run about five times a week. I usually run five or six kilometers, sometimes ten, alternating between road and trail. On Wednesday evenings I try to get out to a local run club for some social life as well as (usually) some focused terrain training—last week it was a gruelling 10K hill practice that left my thighs sore for days after. If I go for more than two days without a run, I feel decidedly off. I honestly don’t know how I ever functioned without it in my life.
Actually, that’s a lie—I know exactly how I functioned before running became a thing in my life. I numbed out on alcohol and comfort food and my physical and mental health suffered as a result. It wasn’t until middle age that I started taking my health seriously, and everything has been on the upswing ever since.
At this point you might be asking yourself why I’m writing about running on a blog focused on the writing craft. Well, I thought the subject was worth going into because writing and running have become truly symbiotic activities in my life. I don’t actually bill my clients for the hours I spend running, but sometimes I think I ought to, because my runs are typically when I stitch together pieces of writing in my mind, after having done whatever research and interviews I need to do. It’s where a lot of the writing actually happens.
There are basically two kinds of writers out there. There are those people who plan ahead, doing a deep dive into the research and essentially storyboarding a piece of writing in their mind before sitting down to write it. And then there are those writers who basically start by writing and make it up as they go along, doing whatever research and whatnot needs to be done within the writing process and tinkering and adjusting the writing as needs be.
My wife is the latter kind of writer and I find it painful to watch, although she’s an excellent writer, so I don’t doubt that it works for her. I’m very much in the former camp. I like to be able to sit down at my computer and just write the damn thing without any interruption, in as much of a flow state as possible. This means I need to have done all my reading, all my interviewing, and all my storyboarding ahead of time so that the piece of writing in question is more or less entirely mapped out in my head. Of course, I sometimes change my mind about certain things in the middle of writing, but I like having a general idea to fall back on.
This is where the running comes into play. I usually run in the evening, typically after I’ve done interviews, online research, and whatever other reconnaissance work that needs to be done ahead of writing. Then I go for my run. I find that the physical practice of running is something equivalent to the flow state that all creative practitioners hope for, and over the course of a half-hour run I find I can map out an entire article, blog post, case study, eBook section, or whatever else I’m tasked with writing. We’ve all heard the phrase “jog your mind”. I do this very literally.
I do other forms of exercise, but I don’t find any of them to be nearly as conducive to creative formulation as running. Lifting weights does great things for my mood to be sure, but I find it requires too much focus for my mind to be mapping out writing. I find the same to be true of swimming; there are too many body parts moving at the same time while you’re also being mindful of not inhaling water or smacking your head on the end of the pool. Cycling comes close, but there I’m always remaining vigilant of traffic, which for me inhibits a true flow state.
By contrast, I find running—and trail running especially—to be a fully immersive experience and a creative goldmine. I’m generally not worried about colliding with anything or anyone on a run and I find the rhythm of my feet on the ground to be deeply meditative. I’m sure a neuroscientist could tell me exactly what chemicals produce that “runner’s high” but all I know is that it’s produced some of the best work I’ve ever written. I also know that the years I’ve been running in a serious way have been by far my most productive. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
If you’ve never tried writing this way, I can’t recommend it enough. If running is a no-go for you, try a good walk—even a trot on a treadmill at the gym can do the job. Any sort of cardiovascular activity that you don’t need to concentrate too hard on fits the bill. If you’re lucky enough to live in a city like Edmonton with an extensive trail system, I recommend trail running—preferably without headphones so that you get the natural ambience of breeze, birds, crickets et cetera as well as your own footsteps. And as much as I love a good running buddy, for the purposes of storyboarding for writing, you’ll want to do it solo.
Running has unequivocally made me a better writer. It remains to be seen if writing can make me a better runner. If I can get one of those running magazines to hire me to write about some of the ultra races in western Canada, it may yet.
