Yesterday was the New York City marathon—far away from where I am, but always in my heart as one of my favourite completed races. I ran a marathon in October, though, so I know a little bit about of how many of those tens of thousands of people have spent the last months (or even longer) of their lives.

Every day they think about running. Multiple times per week they are on the roads and trails putting in time and distance to just do this one thing, and do it better: to run. They think about running when they put food in their bodies. They think about running when they getting ready for bed. They plan their marathon as a huge single day goal and epic achievement at the end of a long stretch of small steps, sometimes literally, to get there.

I’ve been writing a novel in November and there is an analogy to running in my own approach.

Every day I think about writing. Multiple times per week, almost daily in fact, I’m at the keyboard or my notebook putting in time and words to just do this one thing and to do it better: to write. I think about writing when I’m reading or watching films. I think about writing as I’m falling asleep each night and playing my plot over and over in my head. I’m planning to be done a complete novel, which is an epic achievement, but that will be at the end of a long stretch of small steps, thousands of sentences, plots, characters, settings and twists knitted together at just the right pace, all just to get there.

And then sometimes I go for a run after I’m done writing.