I’m not massively into cycling, but I allowed myself to be talked into a spinning class early this morning by Fiona. “We can die together”, she said encouragingly. Fiona is my brother’s girlfriend and as they are living at home with my parents while their new house is being built, she knew that I had no other plans today beyond waiting for the engineer to come and fix our Sky Box. She is also the latest reader of this blog, so hello Fiona!
Needless to say, there are no photos of our spinning class, but I did take this one of a hairdryer, because it has my friend’s fiancee’s name on it and that made me laugh/wheeze.
Anyway, this morning’s episode fits nicely into my current stream of thought. I’m two weeks into my blogging streak and am starting to think of writing as a muscle. Like any muscle in your body, you can exercise it, stretch it and push it to get stronger and more flexible. My relationship with exercise is that I’m in the habit of doing something active every day, but sometimes I need to push myself to do more, for example, training for a race or going to Crossfit. But when that becomes a habit in itself, it feels like nothing can stop me. I’m gradually getting to that point with writing. It is a bit of a strain now, because I don’t have a huge amount to write about, but my muscles are getting stronger and when I start my big trip, hopefully I’ll see the impact.
I’m reminded of the Seamus Heaney poem, Digging, where he compares his pen to the spade his father uses in the field. “Between my finger and my thumb. The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it.” I don’t expect my writing to become my life, but like exercise, maybe it will become part of it.