One of the executives at my publisher WildBlue Press is fond of comparing marketing a book to a marathon rather than a sprint. Based on my experience to date, about six months into the process, I would say he’s right. His comparison brought to mind the days, many years ago, when I ran distance as a habit and the obvious comparison to writing.
My running days began shortly before I went on active duty in the U.S. Army. I thought it would be unwise to show up for basic training out of shape so I quit smoking, started running, and tried to make healthier habits part of my life. Honestly, the life I’d been leading in San Francisco and Berkeley in the years before I enlisted was anything but healthy. My strategy worked to a point. I struggled in certain areas of physical training less than many of my fellow recruits and more in others. Overall, I had to adjust to a daily physical routine that was far more demanding than anything I had ever attempted. After basic training, I began distance running on my own or with a few fellow soldiers on a more or less regular basis. While studying Russian, I participated in a few 10K runs and on average logged about 25 miles a week. I wasn’t competitive, but I was able to cover the distances.
When I got to Berlin I increased my mileage enough to take a shot at a 25 kilometer event sponsored by the French military. I’d never run that distance before but I felt prepared enough to give it a shot. All went well (In the picture above I’m the tall guy in the yellow t-shirt in the group to the right) and I set my sights on the Berlin Marathon. I was unprepared for the leap from 25 kilometers to about 40 kilometers. I finished the marathon, but the last six miles were torture. I think I “hit the wall” as they say. Finishing was excruciating, so much so that I never attempted a second marathon. A few months later I ran in the 25K event again. Towards the end of that run I felt as though I was going to run into the same wall that I’d hit during the marathon and then, just like that, it was over! Twenty-five kilometers is significantly and thankfully shorter than forty.
Fast forward to 2026. For the past three plus years I’ve been focused on researching, writing, and marketing my first work of nonfiction, Greg Scarpa, Legendary Evil. About two weeks ago, I resolved to get back to writing. I found that I am out of shape. It’s as if I had stopped running on a daily basis for many months and suddenly decided to take it up again. I have been through that cycle many times in my life since Berlin. And each time I had to work slowly back into it. I learned the hard way that attempting too much too soon would lead to frustration and sometimes injury. I had to be content with easing back into a routine, understanding that I could not simply pick back up where I’d left off. Most importantly I learned to expect the limitations a hiatus would engender when I decided to return to running on a regular basis.
And so it is with writing. When I was writing on a regular basis, it was not uncommon for me to be able to knock out 2,000 words in a day. While I encountered moments when I was unable to work through a plot point or properly describe a setting, I was able to stay in shape, as it were, and pick up where I’d left off once I’d cleared the momentary obstacle. The same is not true today. Other than marketing materials, blog entries, and brief social media posts, I haven’t done any creative writing in many months. Picking up where I left off before taking on the Scarpa project is not immediately possible. I have to work slowly back into the habit, understanding that eventually I’ll be able to work at a higher and more productive level than is now the case. As it turns out, years of distance running provided a valuable abstract lesson perfectly applicable to an entirely different undertaking.
