Go further than you think you can, but not so far you can’t go on

As with running, so with writing - it's a marathon not a sprint, though it can be both. Here are my "rules"...

I’ve recently gotten back into running. I used to love it – the energetic rush, the sense of finding my momentum in spite of limiting ideas of what my body could do, the humbling and satisfying reminder via sore legs and a racing heart of how precious a gift it is to have a body that can move relatively freely.

It was, and is, a hugely complementary activity for creative expression. Much has been studied and written about the connection between physical movement and the sparks that it prompts in the mind, chemically, emotionally and cognitively. I wrote about that myself when my own love for both was affirmed by Haruki Murakami’s book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

But then I hurt my knee and my hip, after a 100k walk that led me to a lengthy recovery and realignment process. I got over that, but in the time it took, and with the onset of perimenopause, I told myself a story about what my body could no longer do. And with repetition, that story got stuck. So, I stopped running. I kept up my other movement practices and tended to my needs in other ways, but still, I gave up on something out of fear, pain, and defeat. None of which I judge myself for, it was the right choice for that time.

And yet….

As is the way with stories, there’s always another view, and we don’t have to stay stuck

Living in the countryside, I’ve taken to long wonderful walks, but still, I’d been feeling the urge to pick up my pace occasionally, to intersperse the slowness with some speed, to gather momentum.

Going slow is magical, restorative and illuminating. But as with everything, balance brings more benefits. A little speed and a lot more ground covered opens up whole avenues of new sights, sensations and ideas.

As I’ve recently re-discovered by taking up trail running – which is to say, donning a pair of sturdy trainers made for the rugged terrains of path, woodland, mud and hill, and strengthening my body and mind to remember what I can actually do, and break free of the ideas of what I cannot – I need both fast and slow movement, in my body and my mind.

In fact, unsurprisingly (how good it is to remember the things we forget), there is greater clarity, space and creativity that I find comes with running. A quicker way to the rushing sense of waking up and opening wide, visually and imaginatively.

While the “lessons” or “rules” that follow are based on my experience of running, they are true for any activity that involves moving forward – especially on the page, and in whatever way shifts the energy you hold inside of you.

Find what works for you, make it work for you, take what you need and discard the rest….

1. Go further than you think you can, but not so far you can’t go on

In writing practice, we write for time – when guiding classes and in my own practice, I’ll set incremental milestones. Sometimes three minute "sprints", sometimes 10 or 20 minute outpourings. Sometimes it’s a 5k walk-run, sometimes it’s more running than walking and vice versa. There’s a thrill, an adrenalin rush, a neuroplastic surge when we reach those milestones, which can energise us to go further. It’s good to keep in mind that the purpose is the practice and a steady momentum is what helps. We don’t want to push so hard that we’re crawling, depleted to the end. Push yourself, and go easy on yourself too.

2. Sometimes you’re not up to it, that’s okay – pause or pivot

When we’re working with difficult parts, stories, fictionalised or real, it can feel heavy on the heart. It’s the same when running up an incline, climbing the proverbial and real mountain. At times like these, it’s good, in fact it’s always good, to connect with what we’re feeling, what we have the energetic and mental reserves for. We might opt to take a different route, an easier path, a different way in, or simply rest and give ourselves the break that will restore us and allow us to eventually continue.

3. Witness every moment, take it step by step

When running, I’ll often pause and look around, look up, watch the sheep and the cows, a deer if I’m lucky to cross its path, the clouds part and shift, the sun fade out and in. I’m absorbed in what I’m doing, but not so fixated that I miss what’s all around me. It’s the same with writing; when we find our rhythm, it’s a great feeling. And amidst the flow, it’s good to pause and feel our way forward, to tend to what’s coming up and not allow momentum alone to propel us. Stay awake and aware to what’s emerging, let that lead you onwards.

4. Celebrate your wins

I give myself the thumbs up sometimes, especially during the times when I make it in spite of my mind’s chatter that I can’t, because it helps to be your own cheerleader. It’s the same when writing, if I manage a few words or a few pages, whatever I’ve done, it counts. It’s easy to feel dissatisfied and to want to have achieved more. It’s more helpful and motivating to acknowledge and celebrate the process for whatever it is, for the fact that you’ve sustained your commitment to it, to whatever degree.

5. Look where you are, see where you're headed

An old painter friend and mentor once introduced me to what he called “shadow boxing”, which means taking a moment at the start of each new day to see what’s in front of us (on page, screen or canvas): what have we done, how far have we come, what are we not seeing, what remains out of view? In other words, refresh your perspective. When I need to take a breath or a beat while out on a run, I’ll turn around and take in the view, see the hills ahead or behind, the fields and the skies. I’ve found interesting new routes this way, paths I might otherwise have missed (as well as potholes and puddles I gladly avoided). It works well with writing, whatever kind of writing – review your progress occasionally, be open to new avenues of whatever you’re exploring.

6. Pause often but don't stop completely

This is really another way of saying what’s already been said. It’s also how I’m reframing the hiatus I had with running, and the ones I sometimes have with my own writing projects. Back to the point of getting stuck, in stories, feelings or process – it happens, sometimes we just need a break, to do something else, to then be able to return. In that pause, breathe, nourish yourself, do what you need to sustain your momentum.

7. Don’t give up but don’t get depleted either

It takes time to build momentum, it can be a slow trudge and a painful struggle sometimes, but that always passes.  If you breathe through it, you will get to where you want to go – especially as that pertains to how you want to feel; empowered, capable, emboldened, embodied and grateful for all that you are, can be and do, in your body, mind and through your words/work.

8. Regulate your pace

Sometimes when you feel like giving up, you might just need to slow down. Simple. Don’t make it hard yourself, especially true when working with difficult material, or when running up hills.

9. Take it seriously, and make it joyful

I mean serious as in take yourself seriously – what you do matters, the way you tread on the Earth matters, how you take care matters, your words matter, how you speak matters, what you say and the impact you have. Think about it, but not so much that you forget why you’re doing it – hopefully because it brings you some level of joy and satisfaction. We have to do it (writing and running) for more than just the (hope/goal/experience/promise of) glory. If a good sprint or marathon effort comes, and it does, great. But it won’t always. Sometimes it will feel hard, frustrating, painful and you’ll want to give up. But you don’t. Because you know it helps. You know it’s good for your heart, your soul, your spirit, your mind and your body. Let it be good, let it feel good.

10. Stop at the point of satisfying exhaustion, not total depletion

Back to where I started – the knee pain. It still hurts on occasion, “runner’s knee” as it’s called. I’m learning to manage it, strengthen myself, and take better care. This, coupled with getting my heart used to the pace of things again, is why I tend to walk-run-walk. When my knee whinges, I listen. If I’d planned on 6k but I don’t feel I’ll manage it without causing myself another setback, I turn around, cut the distance, go slower, do some lunges, pause (all of the above things). I want to feel satisfied, not disappointed in myself for not paying attention, and not so exhausted that the rest of a day is distracted by the pain or deprived of energy.

The digested read: get out and get on, feel your way onwards, and keep going, with what you have, however you can, wherever you like.

Want to put this into practice?

Throughout June, I'm running a weekly writing circle - Show Up! If you're curious about writing as a reflective practice of creative wellbeing, come along and see how it works.

Each session - starting next Thursday, June 6 and running until June 27 - will include a brief meditation to help us settle in, with the focus of our time together spent working with writing prompts, different approaches towards self-expression, as well as sharing if we feel so called within the container of shared community agreements.

We draw inspiration from a wide range of essayists, novelists, memoir writers, poets, artists, and thinkers, who remind and encourage us all to: express ourselves freely, share our gifts with the world, speak our truth, say what matters, and connect with our common humanity. Simply email me to register your interest aliya@strongwordsmatter.com.