Writing Exercise

"I am no longer a teacher," I explained to an acquaintance the other day. "I have decided to leap into something else though I'm still figuring out what the 'else' looks like."

She smiled and said, "Good for you," but it was without much enthusiasm or sincerity. Later, I told a friend about my exchange and how it made me feel doubtful. "As if I can't generate enough doubt on my own, here comes this woman that I hardly know to hand me some more!"

My friend said, "Perhaps you should change the word 'leap' to a more accurate statement as in 'I am leaping' like you are in the act of and not yet landed."

This is a friend who is very supportive of my desire to pursue writing more in my life. She says, "good for you" with the utmost conviction and the most heartfelt sincerity. She is also my cheerleader of patience.

"It doesn't just happen like that," she snaps her fingers. "Writing is like exercise. You've got to do it every day to get any results, don't you think?"

Yes, of course she's right and for me, it's not just about writing every day, it's about getting actual exercise every day. That's where the ideas come from. Like today. I woke early to water the garden and begin the tedious process of staining our very large fence. When the warmth of the day crawls over the fence, staining is torturous. I lifted that big brush, dragging it back and forth, up and down until I finally needed a break.

"I'm going to take the dog for a run," I told Ann who was working in the shade of the house on the south side of the fence.

"That's a great idea," she agreed because the dog was growing impatient and threatening to get down right rowdy and make fence painting even more laborious than it already was.

I changed into my running clothes, laced up my shoes, leashed up the dog and headed out into the mid-morning sun -- not too hot and not too cold.

I can't run like I used to. In the past, I'd head out slowly and then pick up my pace until I could feel my heart pump from my head to my toes. That kind of running was meditative. I could lose myself in the exertion.

I've recently resigned myself to the fact that it is I no longer run but jog and when I feel myself itching to go faster, I stop myself by walking. This is not only easier on the dog, but is far easier on my old knees, creaky back, and often swollen heal.

I've given up running on a number of occasions, but I always come back to it because I need it to clear my head of all the gobbledygook I collect over time. About 10 minutes into a nice jog -- when my pace feels relaxed and sustainable -- I start thinking about things. While I hate the word "things" there really isn't any specific word to put in its place. Thoughts float through me and ones I find most curious, I grab onto and decide to run with (ha!).

This morning I thought about writing topics.

I often wish, when I am exercising like this, that I had a tape recorder in my brain, one that would record all the gibberish and then, once plugged into my computer, spew out every thought. Those thoughts that I find most interesting, I could highlight by blinking my eyes when I think them and then, when they printed out off my computer, they'd be highlighted and I could avoid my superfluous meanderings and focus solely on the purest thoughts.

Of course, my mind does not work like this and so I write whole stories out on a jog and remember only snippets of them when I return. I know writers who take notebooks with them every where, but writing while jogging I have yet to master. I have enough difficulty finding a place for my house keys let alone a notebook and pencil.

Mary Oliver wrote, "I have a notebook with me all the time, and I begin scribbling a few words. When things are going well, the walk does not get anywhere; I finally just stop and write."

I've tried this, but the walk (or jog) and the ideas depend on each other. Once my legs stop moving, my mind does too and I am left standing in the middle of the path, pen aloft, and goosebumps forming on my sweaty body. So, I end up just walking or jogging and try to "recreate" the thoughts when I return home.

Over the years, I've resolved myself to the fact that more ideas will be lost than will be remembered. Hell, whole novels won't be written because they are lost in jog -- to the trees, the skies, the gnarled roots I must navigate.

But there is something to be said for these "writing exercises" because they help me gain my confidence back. Perhaps it's the endorphins that clear away the doubt or maybe it's just giving myself time to wander through the doubt and deconstruct it so that it loses its power over me. Regardless, if I do not physically exercise, I do not physically write. I stagnant and stagnation leads to a dam of doubt, a log-jam of uncertainty, and finally the pressure to find some relief. At one time that relief came with an exhilarating and exhausting run. Now it comes with a shuffled jog.

I am leaping. I am leaping. I am leaping.

Watch me.