At the start of the new year I resolved to start writing again. Once upon a time I loved writing; there’s a reason I earned that English degree in college. By the time I got to graduate school, I felt like I’d built up some talent as well. Or maybe I just learned how to get into a rhythm. Churning out multiple 30-page papers every week for nine months will do that. But then I graduated and I did not need to return to that practice. Outside of occasional attempts to reboot this running blog I have not returned much to the practice.
So for a month I have been trying to sit down at my computer on an almost daily basis and write something coherent. My lone takeaway from this is it is going to be harder than I thought.
Like a runner returning the road after a long layoff there’s a sense of struggle. I’m dealing with annoying psychological aches and cramps. Those once-polished abilities to both deeply focus and to systematically get down my thoughts and then rethink and revise them into coherent prose are gasping for air.
And amidst that struggle is my inner critic, leaning against the wall, a smirk on his smug face. I picture him looking like Matthew McConaughey’s David Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, arms crossed, asking in a slow drawl, “You really think anyone is going to read this shit anyway?”
I’m not sure. It’s a discomfort I have to be ok with, the same way I have to be ok with the discomfort of training for a race not quite knowing how it will turn out. I know that I love running, understanding the factors that drive better performance, and the art of setting and attacking big, meaningful, audacious goals. I also like helping people. I’ve been coaching people in one form or another for almost 25 years. Maybe I’m just writing into the void and this little space won’t resonate with anyone. But then, if I don’t write at all the result will be the same.
It’s fitting that I begin to write again after a protracted time away as I simultaneously try to fit my running into an altered life. Two years ago I was training for my first Boston Marathon, my unicorn of a goal, and when race day rolled around that April I had the sort of race people dream of: a PR, a first sub-3 hour marathon, and proof, I swore, that I’d cracked the training code. The rest of the year largely went well. I set PR’s across the board. However, I also began a new career that June and in the 20 months since I have struggled to fit running into an increasingly chaotic schedule. My performances reflect that struggle. I am not happy about it. At times I feel as much a new runner as I do a new writer despite vast knowledge of both.
The experience I’ve gained from running helps me navigate those struggles. Through years of training I’ve come to better understand the long game of pursuing any goal, that setbacks often impart powerful lessons when you can move beyond the emotional pain of failure, and that I’m pretty fucking powerful when I set my mind to something.
And another thing: I’m patient.
So I am setting my mind to both a return to writing and a return to my running reaching the levels I expect of myself. I have some ideas, insights to share, half-formed thoughts to hash out. I’m ready for the highs and lows I’m addicted to chasing and facing when I set my pen to paper and the rubber on the soles of my shoes hits the road.
There’s work to do. Let’s begin.
Adam Wheeler Runs 