I write the way I run.
I started running when I was 10 perhaps.
Slow and steady.
Mornings were my favorite, jogging along the road until my legs started burning. The air was still cool, fading into the warmth of the sunrays. My breath came short and fast, huffing and puffing.
Most times I’d run in the park with my sisters, counting laps while mama walked.
I’d wave when I lapped her, keeping my slow and steady pace.
The first time I ran I mile I felt it. The exuberant joy. The relief from finishing something monumental. The happy exhaustion from finishing what I started.
It became addictive.
Seven miles a week was a no brainer, I’d run just to experience the end.
I recall training with the track team, running wind sprints, jogging with the pack then running as fast as I could until the whistle blew.
My coach recognized it. I had a gift. I was fast. I was the wind. Dangerous over a short space, but slow and steady when it came to running the miles.
After running one mile, I worked up to two, and finally to three at a time. I was a runner with the wind at my back, my feet pounding the pavement.
Starting was always slow. I had to find my pace, find my rhythm. As the laps passed I’d pick up the pace until I could see the finish line. Once I was almost there I gave running everything I had, moving my feet into an all out, running as fast as I could. 300 yards. 200 yards. 100 yards. Finish!
I won medals. Gold. Silver. Bronze. I earned ribbons. I speared my track team to victory. It was the endurance that started it all.
I write the way I run. I start out slow, feeling my way through the story, getting to know my characters. I find myself sniffing through the world, enjoy the sounds, the sights, the smells of life. My characters speak, sometimes getting to know each other, other times reconnecting a long-term relationship.
The story begins and slowly picks up. Mysteries unravel. Friends become enemies. Enemies become friends. Quests are begun. The source of all is unveiled. The end is coming.
I write the way I run. When I see the finish line the pace picks up. Faster. Faster. 4 chapters left. 3 chapters left. A major plot twist. 2 chapters left. Order another white chocolate mocha. My fingers furiously flying over the keyboard. 1 chapter left. Finish!
It’s an addiction. The journey from start to finish. The exuberant joy. The relief from finishing something monumental. The happy exhaustion from finishing what I started.