I started running in 2017, the same year I (coincidentally) started my composition degree at ANU. Although I was often told in high school that being active and being creative are interlinked, it wasn’t until I had these practices for myself that that really started to click. Long distance running (the sort I do) provides a wealth of experiences which can only be expressed in music. Music is also enjoyed by a lot of runners to help motivate them, creating a cyclic feedback loop. I’ve realised that these two activities are actually quite similar to each other: although composing is a mental game and running is a physical game, the discipline required in both is similar. In this post, I’ll break down the life lessons both of these pursuits have taught me. Although I focus specifically on composing and running, you can probably substitute composing for any creative activity and running for any physical activity that requires a lot of dedication (ie beyond your social sport club).

The power of discipline

Composing and running are both long-term commitments. A typical marathon training program is 16 weeks, and it can take a composer anywhere from 1 hour to 1 day to write just a single minute of music, depending on the piece. Despite this, both running and composing require short-term focus while working within this larger framework. A runner needs only to focus on the run for that day. A composer need only focus on the immediate minute that they are working on. Both running and composing, however, require this long-term focus. A runner is not race-ready after only doing a single training run, and a composer does not have a complete piece after a single session. It is only through the repeated application of discipline to these arts that one completes the goal. The repeated commitment of the runner to each short-term training run results in being-race ready after 16 weeks. The repeated commitment of the composer to writing each minute is what creates the symphony.

Breaking down big goals

As already mentioned, both disciplines need long-term planning while focusing only on short-term practice. A complex piece of music is like a marathon: long, you want to die halfway through, and you need a full day to recover once it’s over. Jokes aside, marathon planning prepared me well for breaking down goals into manageable tasks. Running a marathon is crazy. But running 45 minutes each morning for 16 weeks is easy. Writing a complex piece of music is tough! But writing a minute a day for 16 weeks is easy.

Embracing process

One of the things I love most about running is that it is a highly personal thing to me. I know I’m probably never going to be fast enough to win a major race. At best, I might qualify for something competitive, but elite sport is a genetic competition and I know I’m not built like that. This means that each race is in itself an achievement: the progression towards a personal goal that has great meaning to me, but maybe not to others. This is, I think, one of the joys of marathons. One person can blitz through it in under 3 hours, and another can finish their first in under 5, and although that’s a big time difference, the meaning behind those finishing times is probably just as important to both participants. Composing is also like this, I’ve come to realise. When I was younger, I had a real perfectionist streak. Composing is great if you like control: choosing exactly where to place each note and pitch and duration and dynamics and timbre and the list goes on and on. Since starting my PhD, I’ve learned to let go and just allow the process to come first. Sometimes, I really hate what comes out of the process. I think it sounds awful. But every now and again something interesting will pop up, and I can build something really successful around that. Not every piece has to be a winner: the small goals are just as important as the big ones.

Overcoming mental barriers

This is perhaps a really obvious one, because writer’s block is famously a thing just like the wall in running. “The wall” is the dreaded part of the run when you feel like you’re running through honey. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get your pace up, everyone’s running past you, your dreams of a PB are dashed, and you have no idea why (in my experience). Writer’s block is when you can’t think of what to write next. When running, I get through the wall by changing my goal. I make deals with myself: I can walk for 0.05 km, but then I have to run the next 0.10km. Eventually you break through and can run normally again. Similarly, with composing, I might move to a different section, or seek out some inspiration in other works. I keep a list of “exciting songs” on my phone that I turn to when I need to spark that creative part of myself.

Feedback and Adjustment

I really believe getting feedback from people is a major part of composing. In my perfectionist streak, I tended to get really embarrassed (and still do) if a piece isn’t perfect. I feel like if I play it to anyone, in that moment everyone will get a music degree and begin criticising my work. My dreams are haunted by crowds asking me why I used a Dbmaj7 chord in first inversion instead of second inversion, when I wasn’t thinking about the chord at all. Having said this, getting feedback is what helps the most. Like writing, I find if people aren’t totally convinced by a piece, then there is something below the surface I should explore further. Sometimes this works in my favour, other times I get stuck. It is hard, also, to know when to meet audience expectations and when to subvert them. When running, I track all my runs and then I can get feedback on how I’m going. If I’m slow and sore one week, maybe I need a few days off to rest up. If I’m really crushing it, maybe I’m not going hard enough.

Euphoria, or the joy of completion

Having a piece performed or crossing the finish line of a race are euphoric moments for me. There’s something incredible about hearing the notes I put on a page come to life by someone playing them, and there’s also something incredibly hype about finishing a race, particularly when it’s been a good one. You feel like you can achieve anything. And in a sense, that’s because these completions teach us that we can achieve anything. The joy of finishing this final step is not just joy from those few hours in the event itself. It is the joy of a completion of a weeks-long quest to achieve that goal. It is the joy of every hour of work coming to fruition, the justification of spending hours on the legs, in pain, hungry; or the justification of spending hours locked away like a mad scientist, deliberating each choice and having the courage to put it out there. It’s a reminder that we can do tough things, and that we can choose to do tough things, and even that we can overcome these tough things: especially important in a world that encourages us to take the easy road at every opportunity.

Healthy mind, healthy body. Running and composition may at first not seem like similar pursuits, but as I’ve shown here, the thinking behind both of them is really quite similar. Whether it’s training for a PB or working on the next masterpiece, it’s really the lessons along the way which shape us, not just the final results.

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