Blogging has been a precariously stop and start project for me here, as I’m sure you could deduce from the number of, and time in between, my posts. I’m afraid that every time I sit down to write I end up writing about writing itself, and not about life or my physical adventures. There’s been a lot of buzz lately about running and storytelling, or running as a way to tell your story, and this idea keeps getting stuck in my craw. I suppose this is why I return to this space time and time again. I get easily lost in social media; trying to connect with so many people I don’t know is challenging for me as a naturally private and introverted person, but there’s also the draw to attempt to be part of a community. Though, like my in-person interactions I tend to hone in on those few familiar faces.
Running isn’t my only story; we’re all complicated, complex people with many talents and interests, but when push comes to shove running is at the very top of my list of daily musts. It’s a sanctuary and a sometimes a test, though the only real passing criteria is showing up. It’s been hard to know how to tell that story, and where to tell it. If I want to write about something I’ve read should I do that somewhere else? Am I unnecessarily trying to fragment myself, or is it all part of the same story?
The stories I like to read are honest and expansive, they let people be themselves completely and not a categorical selection in imagining this world of mono-identified blog writing. I don’t think the duel desire to be both an athlete and a writer is by any means unique to me. (Haruki Murakami, I’m looking at you.)
So, what would my story look like if I told it freely, unencumbered by a self-imposed constraint of this space as a “running blog?” I have no idea, but I think I’m willing to try to find out.
*Featured image credit: Marco Nedermeijer
