The loneliness of the long-distance Punner – Frank McNally on writers and running

As a runner of many years now, I have been in general lucky with injuries. But of late I am suffering from a condition known as piriformis syndrome, which causes pain in what physiotherapists call the “glute”. For readers who don’t know what a glute is, I should explain delicately that it’s one of those large muscles you use for sitting on. Prolonged sitting is indeed one of the causes of piriformis syndrome. So, paradoxically, is prolonged running, although no doubt it’s the combination that does the damage.

I’ll tell you who else doesn’t know what a glute is, by the way - my moronic friend here, “Autocorrect”. I have, over the years, come to think of Autocorrect as a person: an American person – hence his spelling – although he seems to have nothing better to do than hang around with me.

While well meaning, he is also at least mildly irritating. He appears half drunk most of the time and is constantly making stupid suggestions based on his own reading habits, none of which seem to involve actual books. As for local nuance, he is irredeemably clueless.

When I texted a running acquaintance last week and mentioned the pain in my glute, for example, the helpful cretin at my shoulder tried to substitute "flute" as the key word. I almost sent the message, as amended. And in Ireland, flute pain is not the sort of thing you want to be discussing with strangers.

The Fall of the House of Ulster (with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)

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Unholy Sabbaths – Frank McNally on the Phoenix Park Murders and other Irish Times ‘Sunday Specials’

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Border Ballads – Frank McNally on the national anthems of Poland, Ukraine, and Monaghan

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Heroic Age – 20th-century survivor Frank McNally on the 21st century’s greatly improved life expectancy

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Anyway, injuries are of more than usual concern just now because a while ago, in a moment of weakness, I accepted an invitation to a rather unusual 5k later this month. It was from the organisers of the International Literature Festival Dublin, who were wondering if, as part of the event, I would host a small group run, aimed at writers.

The idea is that while running, or perhaps while pausing before, during, and after the run, we would reflect on how such activity helps unlock the creative mind, if indeed it does.

So now I’m hoping my injury will have cleared up by May 28th, when the event takes place. Because even though the pain is not bad enough to make me stop, it does tend to dominate my thoughts while running. And I presume the ILF will expect insights from a loftier origin – a metre higher, at least – in the writers’ 5k.

That’s one of the problems with running. It’s a great chance to listen to your body, which is all the rage these days. Celebrities and sports stars are always listening to their bodies before making important decisions. But runners have no choice in the matter.

If you’re alone, not wearing earphones, and middle-aged, you sometimes have to listen to your body literally. Even if not creaking, however, it will be in constant communication with you. Complaints are frequent. Sometimes the language can be abusive.

By contrast, amid this cacophony, it's not always easy to listen to your mind. Even the great Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami, a rare example of a well-known writer who is also a well-known runner, has struggled in the attempt.

I found his philosophical 2008 memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, to be disappointingly short of insight.

His credentials of (a) being from Japan and (b) having run multiple marathons may for some readers lend an aura of wisdom to the gnomic utterances. But from a westerner, many of them would have sounded like bland statements of the seemingly obvious.

Part of the problem is that Murakami too is often forced to listen to his body. Take this typical extract, in which he quotes his knees:

“You have to expect the knees to want to complain sometimes, to come up with a comment like, ‘Huffing and puffing down the road’s all well and good, but how about paying attention to me every once in a while? Remember, if we go out on you, we can’t be replaced.’”

On a point of information, as Murakami probably knows now, his knees can be replaced: a fact he may want to point out next time they complain. But dull as that quotation is, it’s standard patter for the joints in question. You can’t expect much insight from knees, not even Japa-knees.

On the other hand, Murakami may have been on to something more profound when he suggested that physical fitness was a necessary counterpoint to a career in writing.

Especially in Japan, he said, many people believe “that writing novels is an unhealthy activity, that novelists are somewhat degenerate and have to live hazardous lives in order to write”. He didn’t disagree, hence his running habit. “That’s my motto,” he concluded. “[…] an unhealthy soul requires a healthy body.”