Running and Writing

A new year means time for making goals.

Many of us hit the gym, re-evaluate our routines, and set our sights on things we want to accomplish during the year.

This past year, I've learned and accomplished unexpected things, and so much of that is due to the Twitter writing community. So I've set a goal to give back to the community and compile the amazing things I've learned so that anyone just starting out on their writing journey can benefit from my successes and failures, just as I've benefitted from those who have gone before me.

As an introduction, I'd like to tell you my story: How I began writing. It's a story full of goals and accomplishments.

Two years ago, I went running a few times a week with a couple good friends. Now, when I say "running," I use the term loosely. We are all thirty-something moms with various mid-life handicaps: lower back pain, tingly feet, wonky hip. Really, we sort of "shuffled" through the forests of rural Germany, often crossing paths with local octogenarian "Nordic Walkers" whom we waved at and exchanged pleasantries with in our meager German, pretending to understand the comments they volleyed back.

Reichenbach, Germany 2012, Photo by Erik Lundmark

One day, my very ambitious friend, Maratee, suggested that we set a goal to run a half-marathon. In fact, she said there was a half-marathon in Edinburgh, Scotland, in about six months.

"Yeah, that sounds like fun," I said. But really, I just laughed inside. There was no way our rag-tag running skills could ever be enough to complete a half-marathon. The most we'd ever run was five miles.

Eschenbach, Germany, 2013, Photo by Erik Lundmark

But one spring day I was out running all by myself (my friends had both cancelled on me), and I decided to take an extra lap through the forest trail. Hmmm... I was tired, but the sun was shining. I made ten miles and figured I couldn't stop. I needed to try for 13.1.

No one but the squirrels would know if I failed.

The last mile I felt like my legs would fall off and my guts would spill out and I would die an agonizing, thirsty death in a remote Bavarian forest. But I figured at least the Nordic Walkers would find me the next day and carry my dead body back to the local Polizei.

Netzaberg, Germany, 2013, Photo by Erik Lundmark

To my utter surprise, I completed the 13.1. And, more importantly, I didn't die.

After taking a long, hot shower and lying in a state of vegetation on my bed for a few hours, I called my friends and told them we were definitely running that half marathon.

We roped a few more women onto the bandwagon. My friend, Anna--who was not a runner--even committed to run with us.

Eschenbach, Germany, 2013, Photo by Erik Lundmark

Maratee's ambition turned into a reality. We flew to Scotland, rented a vacation home, and enjoyed a whirlwind trip that culminated in our race.

Edinburgh, Scotland, 2015, Photo by Erik Lundmark

We ran. I ran faster than I ever ran before. People cheered. (Okay, they golf-clapped and said, "Well done!" in adorable Scottish accents.) Onlookers played uplifting music along the course. The sun peeked out from the clouds and warmed my back.

And when the end drew near and my energy was almost spent, complete strangers lined the road with bowls of jelly-beans. And I took candy from strangers. And it was delicious. And it gave me the energy to carry on.

And as I got even closer to the finish line, I began to see people running back toward me: Finishers. People who had already finished the race and were coming back to encourage the rest of us not to give up!

And I did not give up.

And I finished the race.

We all did. Even Anna, the non-runner (who had trained like a champion), completed all 13.1 miles.

They gave us t-shirts and medals at the finish line.

It was awesome.

And on the train back from the race, with the adrenaline still pumping through my veins, Anna said these fateful words:

"Hey--so, now that I ran a half-marathon with you, how about you write a book with me? You see, there's this thing called NaNoWriMo..."

Huh. What's 50,000 words? If I could run a half-marathon, I could do anything.

"It's a deal."

And so, I wrote a book.

And I liked it.

And then I wrote another one.

I learned about the industry and what it takes to land an agent and get published. I worked my butt off, and wrote some more. And edited. Deleted. Killed my darlings. Re-wrote and learned some more. This writing business was turning out to be much harder than running a half-marathon...

But total strangers on Twitter offered me encouragement. They played proverbial uplifting music. Those running beside me smiled and shared my pains. They offered sweet nourishment when I thought all was lost. In my darkest times, those "finishers"--agented and published authors--have rallied back into the race to give encouragement, advice, and support.

I'm still waiting to cross the finish line, but I've trained like a champ, and maybe this will be the year I get my medal and my t-shirt.

They do give t-shirts, right?   

Musselburgh, Scotland, 2014