Indy Clause’s Rules of Running and Writing

I am a beginning runner. I’ve been a beginning runner for about 18 years. I run a bit, and then I stop for weeks, months,  years, or decades at a time, and then I run again. And by run, I mean jog. And by jog, I mean my grandmother might have been able to outpace me with her walker back in the day.

I have three laws. And they work for writing as well.

1. No one wants to write or run. Nope. We’d all rather be lying on the couch, nursing our favorite microbrew (Ipswich Oatmeal Stout, Lyra), watching our latest TV addiction. Or even better, we’d all rather HAVE written/run.

2. Even a little bit of writing/running is amazing. You are awesome. You ran two miles/wrote four pages without stopping? You are a superhero. A million people never even get that far. Sure, if you want to write a book/run a marathon, you might want to be more focused. But even super-runner Dr. Cougar started somewhere.

3. After you have written/run you can do anything. Consume Cheetos and bourbon? Well, not together, because even I, an inveterate Cheetos lover and bourbon lover thinks that’s gross. But you can feel like a million bucks and can loll on the couch for the rest of the day. You have my permission.

What makes you feel like a superhero?


7 responses to “Indy Clause’s Rules of Running and Writing

  1. I love having written, love having run, dread starting both. I’d so much rather lie on the couch under an old afghan with the shades drawn watching ER reruns (those first few seasons were so good!) with a giant bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and tub of cream cheese.

    That’s livin’.

  2. I love having written and I love having walked (no runner, I). And I love being told I’m a good Mommy by the people I’m mommying.

    Avoiding writing and walking makes me feel both victorious and self-loathing, like a supervillain who initially went into villainy because he blew off studying for the AP Hero final in high school. . .

    • Walking is like running, only without the knee pain and the unsightly sweat stains.

      I once compared my inability to deal with [random thing that has no bearing on present blog—what is this, an attack of shyness???] to anorexia. I avoid it so as to have power over it. Maybe this is like walking/running/AP Hero finals.

      Did you get a Ph.D. in horribleness?

      • True dat . . . unless you’re walking in my neighborhood today—whew!

        I’m not sure avoiding things gives someone power over something, but most of the time, it’s probably the safer choice . . .

        And no, but you may call me Dr. Garrulous, if you wish. 😉

      • Never bothered with the dissertation, but you know I’d ace the defense. 🙂

        and you’re right—I was thinking about avoidance, not anorexia.

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