There is always someone doing more than you

On marathons and ultramarathons, the similarities between running and writing, and the temptation to compare yourself to others.

May 01, 2024

Sometime in March my husband (who, from now on, will be known as Husband) ran an ultramarathon.

For those who aren’t familiar with the term, an ultramarathon is anything longer than a marathon—and a marathon is a race of 42 kilometers/26 miles. Husband has run 4 marathons so far, plus this latest feat, the ultra. He has loved running since I knew him, but this marathon hobby has developed only in the last couple of years (yes, he’s run 2 of them a year).

If those numbers don’t tell you anything, I’m going to try to explain it the way I get it: imagine running for 5 hours straight. That’s a “slow” time to finish a marathon—depending on training and experience, 4 hours is doable, too. Under 4 hours is challenging. Now, under 3 hours is really impressive: for that, you need to keep a pretty steady pace1.

If you think this is insane, you should meet his runner-friends: a couple of them, who started with this whole thing a year earlier than Husband, have run a 100-kilometer-long ultramarathon.

I’ve been to nearly all of the races as a spectator, to cheer. It’s a whole experience on its own and one that I surprisingly enjoy a lot.

One of my favorite moments is the meetup before the run. Husband has often joined a race with other friends—sometimes they’ll have similar goals, often different ones. This allows for the chance to meet before the big day and celebrate with a “pasta party”, in which everyone tries to gulp down as much pasta as they can (the runners need all the energy they can get, and eating a lot of carbohydrates before the event helps).

Except for eating pasta, which is always a joy, the other extremely fascinating thing to do for me on those occasions is to listen to the runners talk to each other. They will share their experiences during training, their worries about the run, the pace they’ll aim for, the finishing time they wish, or the plan b or c if they can’t manage it. They’ll discuss the position of drinking stations on the route, exchange gels2, and comment on the meters of elevation of the course.

Suddenly Husband’s astonishing training regime is not that astonishing anymore.

Husband: I’m out for a run.
Me: Alright, have fun!
Husband: Sure. See you in three hours.

Kind of by osmosis, I started to learn more concepts about running. Then, I realized something funny: I could translate some of those into writing concepts, to understand them better.

I find that pace (the speed you keep while running) relates very well to word count (the amount of words you write). Both are interesting information that tells you how fast you will be finishing, let’s say, running a race or writing a book. If you’re a runner you probably may want to improve your pace; the same goes for a writer and word count.

Then there’s training. I understand that for Husband having the chance to go out for a 3-hour long run is important, just as it’s important for me to have a couple of hours to dedicate to writing. It can be a hard thing to put time aside for it in the day-to-day life. It’s painful, tiring, and sometimes boring, but still, here we are, both of us, running or writing. We both see the value in doing what we do, and when we talk about it we get it, but it’s so difficult to logically explain why we do this to ourselves. The only way I can put it is that it feels there is something valuable in doing a difficult thing, I guess.

When we talk about these topics, another thing becomes crystal clear: being “good” at something is so freaking relative.

For me, it’s an extraordinary success to be able to run for 20 minutes, once a week. And, sure, it may be a joke for Husband, but it doesn’t mean that it’s nothing. It’s 20 minutes. It’s something. For me, that’s “good”.

The same goes for writing. Do I think that there’s a “good” way to go about writing? A “good” word count? A “good” schedule? It’s all relative. Whatever you do, there will always be someone who writes more than you (*cough* BrandonSanderson *cough*)—just like there is always someone who runs more than you.

It goes the other way too. Writing a paragraph in seven days can be a ridiculously low output for a writers’ group in which each member submits a 5k-word piece every two weeks. The same paragraph can be a huge success if your writing group struggles to find time to write at all, or if it’s starting from scratch, or, or, or…

I’m mentioning all of this because it’s a humbling thought. It has helped me a lot.

I find it difficult sometimes to recognize that the fact that someone is doing more or less than me isn’t a judgment of what I’m doing. It doesn’t mean that what I’m doing is “bad”—it doesn’t mean that what I’m doing is “good”, either. It’s relative.

The only important thing is what I want to achieve, in what amount of time, with what kind of effort. Compared to that, is what I’m doing enough, or not?

I learned to admire Husband and his runner-friends and to listen to their conversations, instead of dismissing them (as a person who is out of her breath after 5 minutes of walking fast the temptation to label them as “insane” is very strong). It doesn’t mean that I want to do what they do—but I can still admire them. I don’t feel judged by them either: in my role, I feel part of the group.

It could change. Maybe one day I’ll run something (I doubt it’s going to be a marathon, though—sorry Husband).

My writing goals could change too. For some people what I write right now may seem a lot, but I know that for a lot of committed writers what I’m doing isn’t much. Does it matter? It depends.

For now, it’s okay, for me.

If you have any thoughts on what I shared, let me know by simply replying to this email or leaving a comment!

Take care,

Rye Youbs