End of one road, the start of the next
I went for a run today, as I had this nagging feeling that I needed to feel a kind of physical exhaustion to match my mental one as the year, and the decade, drew to a close.
I’m not sure I particularly enjoy running, but I enjoy the tiredness afterwards, as it at least feels like a worthwhile and tangible tiredness as opposed to the general lethargy and fatigue everyday life brings.
It seems a lot of writers are runners too. I suspect a similar determination is required. There needs to be a willingness to submit to routine and repitition and disappointment. And a particular kind of selfishness too, I suspect, in being willing and able to pause everything else in life to get better at it. And to then hide all of that to make it look effortless.
I run like I write. Sporadically, painfully and with mixed results. I intend to limp along with both for the foreseeable future.
I hope you can all have a happy new year.