Drops fall and course along my cheeks. I reach my hand and, for the nth time, squeeze sweat from strands of hair on either side of my face. It’s alright, my run is nearly over. Dry hair is coming.
Those who know me well are surprised at this new development in my life. Running. Yeah. Voluntarily. Me.
While I’ve done my fair share of running for buses in car-less days, I’ve never cared for running. Yet I’m not a couch potato, though I can spend the happy rare day curled up reading. I like to walk, hike, bicycle, scull, stretch/do yoga, ski.
Ah, skiing…! I started skiing six years ago when I moved to the Pacific Northwest, and soon became an addict. Now the ski season is about to start and I’m not in good enough shape. As several people through the years told me that running is a good way to get in shape, I took the plunge and started to run.
Punctuating a two-mile loop with four walking stretches, I aimed to run it without stopping eight days later. I surprised myself by meeting my goal, and, having built up endurance, actually enjoyed the run. I’m now increasing the distance, varying the route, thinking some about speed, and integrating a nearby hill that’s a workout even just to walk.
When I starting running, I could only look at the road in front of me, raising my eyes just to see how far to the next immediate goal. Some days are still like that. Other days, I can enjoy my surroundings and even greet passers-by. Braving the hill, my eyes are glued to the path again. I’m pushing myself, and the pushing takes a lot out of me.
A couple of refrains, words or pictures, regularly play in my mind as I run: “Legs and lungs, lungs and legs,” as a mountain-climbing friend told me. And: “Heather!” as in Meadows Ski Resort’s Heather Canyon. My second season skiing I was advised to stay off Heather Canyon until I was a better skier. I ski it now, but get tired. My goal in running is to be in such good shape that I don’t need to stop and rest when I ski Heather. I’ve got a ways to go, believe me. I plan to continue to push myself—running, bicycling, and otherwise working out—throughout the season and afterward, too.
So what does any of this have to do with writing?
It occurred to me that writing is a lot like running. Writing can be fun, but it isn’t necessarily. If it’s important to us, we have to keep doing it anyway. Though one can write just for writing’s sake (that’s what I do when I journal), the writing we do as authors is writing with a lofty goal. We each have a “Heather Canyon” at the forefront of our minds: the book we want to accomplish.
Once when I was doing a school visit, the teacher asked the children: “Wouldn’t it be sad if Sabina had gotten tired of writing and revising and we wouldn’t have The Impudent Rooster?” The children’s faces were priceless as they envisioned this tragedy, then were grateful that I had persevered, the tragedy had been averted and everyone could relish The Impudent Rooster.
I remember that teacher’s question sometimes when I write. Right now, I may wonder whether any of it is worth it, whether it matters that my book exists. I may wonder whether how the story should unwind, and whether I can write it well enough to accomplish what I intend. But then I think of people who one day may tell me that my book, which so often almost didn’t get written, somehow mattered for good in their lives.
In the book of Hebrews in the Bible it says that Jesus, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross. Can you imagine it? All that pain (it is from this method of execution that we get the word “excruciating”) was borne for the sake of joy. For the sake of Heather Canyon and the rest of the mountain, for my joy in skiing, I endure the running—coming to find enjoyment in it too along the way. For the joy of one-day readers who may be inspired, affirmed, encouraged, changed, by my books, I endure the sloughing through doubt and questioning and plenty of plain hard work.
There are many reasons why writers write. Ultimately, though, I think that’s why we do it: for joy.
-Sabina I. Rascol
