Friday, November 18, 2005
Marathons and Misremembering
I'm only what, like 2 weeks late in posting? Which means this will be an amazingly well thought out post. Right? Riiiiiiiight.
I have however, been thinking about this subject for awhile. Ever since I did my first 10 mile run in preparation for a half marathon that I'd signed up for about a month and a half after my son was born. Before I got pregnant I had run a couple of marathons and several half marathons, and liked to keep myself at a place where I could comfortably run anywhere from 13 to 20 miles at a stretch. Throughout my pregnancy when I had to decrease my mileage and finally quit running all together, I found myself nostalgic for those days when I ran for hours on the trails around our house. I'd come home, sweaty and exhausted, take a long, hot shower, and eat whatever I wanted, guilt free. I could justify planting myself on the couch for the next several hours because I had run a gazillion miles - I could legitimately be a sloth for the rest of the day.
Then I had my first 10 mile run in preparation for the 1/2 marathon. I felt great for about the first 7 miles. And then I remembered, this shit is hard. I'd forgotten how much energy it takes to run that far. I'd forgotten the way my hamstrings would feel tight and my feet would start to ache. And I'd forgotten to put bodyglide under my sportsbra, and I was developing one hell of a blister. I wasn't nearly as fast as I used to be, and when I got home I realized that with a baby to take care of, I could no longer spend the rest of the day eating and resting.
I was so grateful that I was only training for a 1/2 marathon, and that my longest run wouldn't be much longer than this.
Still, it felt pretty good to know that only 4 months after having a baby, I could run 10 miles. And after 5 months I could finish a race.
I realized soon that writing a book is the same way for me. About a month ago I started work on a new project, a novella. Just something to keep me occupied while I wait for my revisions to start pouring in. It was the first new thing I'd written since having my son. I was so excited to get started. I'd missed that feeling of being so absorbed in a project, that feeling of having it working away somewhere in the back of my mind no matter what else was going on, of taking a kernel of an idea and developing it into a fully fledged plot.
And then after about the first 10 pages, I remembered, this shit is hard. I'd forgotten how hard it is to get the right balance of backstory in those first few critical pages. I'd forgotten, no matter how well I think I know my characters, how hard it is to translate them onto the page. And I was slow. Before I had a baby, I could realistically expect to write 10 pages or so a day. Now I'm lucky if I get five done. With 8 hours total of baby sitting time a week, I'm lucky if my weekly page count hits 20.
I was grateful this was only going to be a novella, and not a full single title.
Still, I'm pretty psyched that in the limited writing time I now have, I've still managed to crank out 40 pages.
The point of all this babble? Basically, I realize that with both running and writing I conveniently forgot the drudgery of the process, those days when every step was excruciating, when every word sounded wrong. Instead I focused on what I loved, the feeling of accomplishment I got when I had a 15 page day, the sense of empowerment I felt when I knew I could make my body move at a pretty good clip for 26 miles, the sense of pride I got from knowing that I could finish a 400+ page manuscript.
And yet even when reality smacks me in the face, I still love both, and I'll never stop either (not by choice, anyway). Because the great feelings I get from both are totally worth the physical and mental obstacles they pose. Now that I have a baby, I have to not beat myself up if my speed in both running and writing is not what it used to be, because now I have other demands on my time.
So I'll keep running (half marathons for now) and writing (a novella just to get me started), stay satisfied with the daily victories, and try to keep in mind how awesome it will feel to finish.
I have however, been thinking about this subject for awhile. Ever since I did my first 10 mile run in preparation for a half marathon that I'd signed up for about a month and a half after my son was born. Before I got pregnant I had run a couple of marathons and several half marathons, and liked to keep myself at a place where I could comfortably run anywhere from 13 to 20 miles at a stretch. Throughout my pregnancy when I had to decrease my mileage and finally quit running all together, I found myself nostalgic for those days when I ran for hours on the trails around our house. I'd come home, sweaty and exhausted, take a long, hot shower, and eat whatever I wanted, guilt free. I could justify planting myself on the couch for the next several hours because I had run a gazillion miles - I could legitimately be a sloth for the rest of the day.
Then I had my first 10 mile run in preparation for the 1/2 marathon. I felt great for about the first 7 miles. And then I remembered, this shit is hard. I'd forgotten how much energy it takes to run that far. I'd forgotten the way my hamstrings would feel tight and my feet would start to ache. And I'd forgotten to put bodyglide under my sportsbra, and I was developing one hell of a blister. I wasn't nearly as fast as I used to be, and when I got home I realized that with a baby to take care of, I could no longer spend the rest of the day eating and resting.
I was so grateful that I was only training for a 1/2 marathon, and that my longest run wouldn't be much longer than this.
Still, it felt pretty good to know that only 4 months after having a baby, I could run 10 miles. And after 5 months I could finish a race.
I realized soon that writing a book is the same way for me. About a month ago I started work on a new project, a novella. Just something to keep me occupied while I wait for my revisions to start pouring in. It was the first new thing I'd written since having my son. I was so excited to get started. I'd missed that feeling of being so absorbed in a project, that feeling of having it working away somewhere in the back of my mind no matter what else was going on, of taking a kernel of an idea and developing it into a fully fledged plot.
And then after about the first 10 pages, I remembered, this shit is hard. I'd forgotten how hard it is to get the right balance of backstory in those first few critical pages. I'd forgotten, no matter how well I think I know my characters, how hard it is to translate them onto the page. And I was slow. Before I had a baby, I could realistically expect to write 10 pages or so a day. Now I'm lucky if I get five done. With 8 hours total of baby sitting time a week, I'm lucky if my weekly page count hits 20.
I was grateful this was only going to be a novella, and not a full single title.
Still, I'm pretty psyched that in the limited writing time I now have, I've still managed to crank out 40 pages.
The point of all this babble? Basically, I realize that with both running and writing I conveniently forgot the drudgery of the process, those days when every step was excruciating, when every word sounded wrong. Instead I focused on what I loved, the feeling of accomplishment I got when I had a 15 page day, the sense of empowerment I felt when I knew I could make my body move at a pretty good clip for 26 miles, the sense of pride I got from knowing that I could finish a 400+ page manuscript.
And yet even when reality smacks me in the face, I still love both, and I'll never stop either (not by choice, anyway). Because the great feelings I get from both are totally worth the physical and mental obstacles they pose. Now that I have a baby, I have to not beat myself up if my speed in both running and writing is not what it used to be, because now I have other demands on my time.
So I'll keep running (half marathons for now) and writing (a novella just to get me started), stay satisfied with the daily victories, and try to keep in mind how awesome it will feel to finish.
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Nicely said. I know what you mean. And now that I've turned in book 2 I'm like, "Oh geez, this is what it's like to get to sit around and read a book in one day, and let ideas play around in my head." I'd forgotten in the crunch of getting it done. So while you're rediscovering that "this shit it hard" I'm rediscovering that taking a break is a balm for the soul so that I can get back to the "this shit is hard" stuff with a fresh mind. Same thing, just different sides.
;-) Bella
;-) Bella
Every word you wrote is SO true. This shit IS hard, but when you love what you do, it's worth every second. Sometimes, though, I have to remind myself it's the "process" I love, even when it's hard--but when you're staring at that stupid little cursor blinking at the end of a sentence and you don't have a friggin' clue what the next sentence is going to be, it's not always easy to remember exactly WHY you love this stuff!
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