It makes a difference when an excellent writer can convey the sentiments of a sport suck as running. Not to say that runners can’t be excellent writers. It’s just different when someone who used their muscles in equal form and dedicates the same amount of energy to both subjects is going to have a different take, hands down.
For Murakami, his writing and running go hand in hand. He needs one to do the other and vice versa.
And I felt like I found a kindred spirit.
When you run, you find a rhythm. You concentrate on your foot fall, your breathing, your surroundings.
When you write, you need to find a rhythm, concentrate on your words, your voice, your story.
There’s a freedom there in both activities. Something I’m glad to have found out about myself.
There’s a kid at work who is overweight (a beer gut and he’s not even 30) who had sudden outbursts of jumping up from his seat and saying he needs to get out of the office and go drinking. Among other things.
I think he just needs to do some exercise, get rid of that gut.
I feel sorry for him. He has no idea what drives him. He has no idea what is his passion.
And I do.
To the readers: My laptop is still out of commission and hopefully next week, I’ll get it up and running. My next post will be this next Monday. Thank you for your patience.