Sprints and Marathons: The Writer’s Dilemma
This post was previously published in UK magaine Writer’s Forum, in its December issue. I appreciate the permission to post my article here, particularly as it is relevant to my on-going series about tracking one’s time.
As a youth, I was never an athlete. Breaking into sweat, for me, was a near-death experience. Still, as a high school senior, I joined the track team. My girlfriend was impressed with the idea.
Coach Hardy sized me up immediately as a non-serious athlete and assigned me to the junior varsity. I chose to run the 110-yard low hurdles, Instinctively liking the challenge. And the physical effort was brief enough that I could tolerate it. As the season progressed, I won most preliminary heats, but never the final one. Still, I learned the intense rhythm of the sprint, the focus required to clear hurdles.
When the afternoon of the track meet with our arch-rival high school arrived, I was prepared to go through the hurdles yet again. Coach Hardy had other ideas.
“Colvin,” he instructed me, “we need someone to fill out our relay team. These two guys will run the 110-yard legs, Bill will do the 220, and you,” he announced, “will anchor the team with a 440.”
“What?” I protested. That’s a quarter mile, four times longer than I’ve ever run before.
“That’s OK,” Coach Hardy said. “We need you. Now get ready. The race comes up next.”
BANG went the starting gun. As my heart pounded, I knew that my three team mates would carry the baton once around the track. Within the minute, Bill rounded the final turn on his 220-leg, and my heart sank. We were well back.
When I received the baton, I was 15 yards behind. I ran like a demon, doing the 110-yard pace I was accustomed to, this time without any hurdles to clear. To my surprise, I was gaining ground.
As we entered the second 110-yard stretch, I was only 10 yards behind. I was encouraged; the adrenaline flowed. Push, I told myself, push!
At the 220 mark, I was only 5 yards behind. “I can catch him,” I realized. Push, I told myself, push. Push!
Entering the final turn, I found myself on the heels of my opponent. I gave it all I had. As we entered the final straight-away, I was ahead a couple of strides.
And suddenly I realized: damn, I’m tired! I can’t go on.
My team mates lined the track. “Lift your knees,” they shouted, recognizing my fatigue. “Lift your knees!”
“Lift your own damn knees,” I wanted to shout, but I was gasping for air.
The final yards were agony. My opponent turned on his final sprint; pulling up alongside. A final push surged through me. Finally… finally we hit the tape. I was inches ahead. I WON!
Team mates shouted, slapped me on the back. My girl friend beamed. It felt good. But I never wanted to do it again.
What does that have to do with writing? A lot.
Over my writing career, I have always been called upon to write articles, essays, editorials, brochures, fund raising pitches - all sprints, the goal line straight ahead, easily within sight. Then, four years ago, I stumbled upon a gripping historical tale never adequately told. To my surprise, I simply could not turn away from it. I found myself with a challenging book project on my hands.
Nowadays I’m caught in a daily dilemma: shall a work on my writer’s blog or a magazine article, sprinting through a short piece within the day? Or shall I turn to my book project, my lonely marathon, burying myself in research, notes organization and endless chapters?
The sprints come easily.
On the other hand, my writing marathon is so much more important. I even have a potential publisher who periodically kicks me in the ass: Forget your short pieces, she demands. “Lift your knees,” she declares when she detects my fatigue. “Finish your book!”
The long distance run, I’m constantly reminded, is so demanding. Few fans line the early part of the race to offer support and encouragement. They all gather at the finish line, waiting for your arrival, uninterested in the intense, lonely effort along the way.
Yet I had learned an important lesson on that high school track. I had won my long relay race by instinctively running it in segments. I ran each 110-yard distance and then took stock of where I stood. The realization that I was gaining ground pumped into me another surge of adrenaline. And after four sprints strung together, I completed my first mini-marathon, a victor.
Of course, one cannot sprint through a marathon. One has to take account of the steep hills and the downhill stretches. Experienced marathoners recommend a run-walk-run strategy.
Now, with my book, I sprint through a section of a chapter. Then I jog through additional research and organization
In tracking my progress, I’ve learned that sprints and marathons in fact co-exist, each strenthens the other. Push, I tell myself each morning. Lift your legs!
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Comments
Wonderfull post Tom. Thank you!
It’s your way to set goals that you can reach.
I can’t wake up and say “I’m going to write five chapters today” while I can say “I’m going to write five pages”.
This changes everything, because things become possible.
Once beyond this first mental step, one can win the race, as you did, and I can actually write more than five pages a day (it happens).
Then comes the reward. Having friends and family proud of yourself is a good and common reward. And, as you know, their reward for magazine and blog articles is an infinitely small fraction of what it would if you show them a published book. This is what I’m saying to myself to get motivated: “my life is in this book”.
Sebastien Yes, slow and steady still wins the (writing) race. Too many sprints on one day leaves me too tired to write the next day. Once you hold your first published book in your hands or find your book in the library, you’ll be hooked into starting another marathon. 
Kristi Holl 
Tom Colvin 
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Boy that sounded a lot like me. I had the fastest sprint time in my high school, senior year, except my ego challenged me to run for distance and well…my race didn’t turn out so great. I never did have success at the marathons, not on the track anyway but after three years of writing I did finally finish my first book all on my own. An eighty pager, its a far cry from War and Peace and I wouldn’t exactly call it a marathon but it’s not like one of my short stories or poems either, which I can turn around about as fast as I run the 40 (pretty fast if I do say so myself) Why did I meet with success this time around? Because this time there were people with patience enough to wait at the finish line, people whose opinion mattered to me and provdide the cheering section I needed.
I think discovering these sites has been great, especially for those of us who don’t mind adding to their cheering squad.