Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

I’ve recently got into running, and after the initial pain and suffering, have managed to break through a barrier and really enjoy it. I find myself some days at work looking out the window and longing to be out tramping the roads, huffing and puffing my way to ever-increasing distances. To begin with, I was just desperately trying to regulate my breath, feeling every pound of my feet as I struggled to keep going as long as I could, but now I’ve reached a miraculous level of zen when I’m running, so I can almost even forget that I’m doing it, my mind wanders and I can plod along almost meditatively. Since I got that feeling I’ve been desperate to replicate it, and running has become a drug to me. I’ve been going out three or four times a week and it has become routine.

I wish I could say the same about writing, but at the moment I’m struggling to get anything done. Since we moved house I’ve been so busy, and the room I’ve made my study is currently full of stuff as we decorate our bedroom. I know that, like running, when I start writing, make a nightly habit of it, I’ll get that druggy buzz again and want to be doing it all the time, but it’s just getting in the room, sitting at the desk, starting, that so difficult. Last year I found taking part in NaNoWriMo really helpful in spurring me to do a ton of writing, so I might try and keep to the schedule again this year, except this time instead of writing 2000 words a night I’ll be editing 2000 words. Making time is hard when you’re settling into a new home and job, but I just need that first step onto a country road, that first injection, and I’ll be back feverishly editing my novel.