Mimi Deb on finding stillness while taking strides

ONE STEP AT A TIME. ONE WORD AT A TIME.

That’s my philosophy: for my writing and my runs.

For me, the two are so entwined that I can’t imagine one existing without the other, even though writing has been a childhood passion, and running I was only introduced to five years ago by Haruki Murakami, one of my all-time favourite authors.

Call it fate, or irony, but at the time, I was suffering from a case of ‘Writer’s Block’.

I’d just joined a writing course at the Faber Academy in the heart of Bloomsbury, alongside a talented bunch of fellow writers, and imagined that it was only a matter of time before the ideas spilled out of my head and onto a page.

But, instead of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I got cold feet. I watched the weeks, and later, months, go by without writing a single word, and convincing myself that all I was waiting for, was inspiration.

And that was my first mistake.

My ‘Writer’s Block’ was just another name for procrastination.

Believe me, I was grateful for the realisation, even though it could have arrived sooner, and with a bag of solutions, but it also made me a little anxious: about the time I’d wasted and the time I would be wasting if I didn’t get my act together.

And that, was my second mistake. I focused on the past and the future, without just staying in the present moment.

Thankfully, I came across Murakami.

No, I didn’t meet him personally, even though I wish I had, and hope I do someday, but I read his book, What I Talk about When I Talk about Running, where he writes:

I’m the type of person who doesn’t find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone, as well as four or five hours alone at my desk, to be neither difficult nor boring. I’ve had this tendency ever since I was young… I could always think of things to do by myself.

I could relate to his sentiment and wondered if running could be the answer for me, too.

So, I shared the idea with my fitness-enthusiast husband, who, as much to support me as humour himself, insisted he’d take me for my first run.

“Just a short stretch along the Thames Path with plenty of stops,” he promised.

I bought new gear, slept early the night before, and was well-hydrated and well-stretched when we set out of the gates. It was 7 am and the adrenaline had already kicked in.

It also disappeared rather quickly. I could barely run five minutes before I was out of breath. But, instead of being sympathetic, my husband casually pointed to a lamppost some metres ahead and asked me to just run till there. I did, and then, he pointed to another lamppost, and then, another.

By the end of it, I was frustrated but also just a little proud. I had just run my first 2K, even if with breaks. It had done something to me, and for me. After that, I ditched my husband on my runs, but I kept his strategy.

From just a few metres, without stopping, I started running a few kilometres, and now, I regularly run an 11-kilometre loop from Canary Wharf to Tower Bridge.

It was the same with my debut novel, Love on the Menu. I was looking at it as a giant mountain to climb, when all I needed was a few words that I could slowly build on.

Once I’d figured that out, I started writing every morning after a run.

There’s something really special about finding stillness while taking strides. There’s a certain rhythm, an awareness of the world around you, and inside you, and with the breath, going in and out. Suddenly, the mind stops racing, the inner critic disappears, and a well of creative possibility miraculously appears. Sometimes I can clearly see the opening lines of a new chapter, or book, sometimes I hear a conversation between two of my characters, and sometimes I find the perfect, unexpected fix for a plot hole.

Running is a lot like a meditative free-write while laced up.

The Accidental Holiday is out in paperback now.