The Sprint

Sprinting is not something I do. Not anymore (or ever - by choice - to be honest). The last time I sprinted on a track was likely in Jr. High for a presidential fitness test. Remember those?

Now, at best, I walk. This was true even before Multiple Sclerosis joined the party. Now, when I walk for exercise I use trekking poles. When I walk anywhere outside or in public spaces I walk with a cane.

At first I was self-conscious about the cane. I’m mostly over that.

But on a bad day I might wish I could ask you, as an observer,

“Does this cane make me look…
                                                      slow?
                                                              vulnerable?
                                                                                 old?
                                                                                       weak?”

On a good day I don’t wonder or care.

If you were to see me walking with my bright blue cane and perceive that as something less-than-ideal, please consider the courage it took to set perceptions aside and start using a mobility aid. I use it because it assists with my balance, provides me with confidence, and significantly improves my stamina.

Being out and about without it, though it’s possible, costs me greatly in terms of energy. My neurologist explained that the added mental exertion (worrying about falling, concentrating on lifting the pesky left leg and foot) likely wears me out at least twice as fast as the physical exertion alone. I haven’t fallen (yet), but I’ve come close many times. Both with and without my cane. “With my cane” means I can catch myself independently, as opposed to finding a wall, a railing, or another person to steady myself. Mostly, I don’t lose my balance when I’m walking with my cane, but I do have to mindfully manage my pace.

Look again! See me now? Courageous, confident, independent, mindful.

This week in my writing life kicks off my second Book Camp experience; a six week “writing sprint” in A Writing Room. There is heavy focus on setting goals and built-in accountability. There’s a feeling of being in push mode, going against my natural instincts and creative flow. As an intuitive writer, my process involves meandering. Listening to whatever is bubbling up and allowing it out onto the page when it’s ready. My process in not linear, nor does it follow an outline. Even so, last year I gave Book Camp a go. I exceeded my goals, spending more time and generating more new words for my memoir than I imagined might be possible. At the end I was proud but exhausted. I crashed. It was several weeks before I was able to make any more progress.

Still … here I go… again.

I recently allowed my logical mind to acknowledge something I’d been feeling: that this calendar year might be the year I complete the first draft of my memoir - though I was afraid to say that out loud. With Book Camp coming up I did some math (yuck!) using last year’s averages as a guide. Armed with that data to confirm what I was sensing, I decided to set my 6-week goals in the service of a larger goal for the year - to finish my “shitty first draft” (as coined by Anne Lamott) by 12/12/26.

This means using Book Camp as a tool. Doing things my own way to increase my chance of success. I’ve included a goal for intentional self care alongside time spent and words written each week. I don’t want to crash at the end of six weeks. My hope is to strike a balance between significant forward progress, and sustainability beyond the bounds of Book Camp.

I will participate with my community in the sprint, but I’ll be sprinting with my cane. What will this look like? I have no idea what it might look like to you. To me it will look like a woman with agency: present, persistent, and powerful.