The runner/philosopher/writer George Sheehan on running from Runners on Running:
…each day I take to the roads as a beginner, a child, a poet. Seeking the innocence of the beginner, the wonder of the child and the vision of the poet. Hoping for a new appreciation of the landscape, a new perspective of my inner world, some new insights on life, a new response to existence and myself.
I must listen and discover forgotten knowledge. Must respond to everything around me and inside me as well.
The best most of us can do is to be a poet an hour a day. Take the hour when we run or tennis or golf or garden; take that hour away from being a serious adult and become serious beginners.”
The poet Ada Limón on walking in “To Listen, to Witness, to Receive the World: An Interview with Ada Limón“:
One of the things the walk did for me was to decenter the self. At a certain point the mind opens and you start to watch, you get to witness, you get to listen, you get to receive the world instead of putting yourself into the world. I think I am someone who is inherently selfish, and I can turn anything into something about me. I think most people can. The more I walk, the more I can dissolve. The process of dissolving and being receptive to the world is where the poetry comes from. Sometimes it takes a lot of miles for that to happen.
The runner and novelist, Jaime Quatro on running in “Running as Prayer“:
Past the feel-good vibes, past the delusions, my attention moves outward: I’m intensely aware of the cadence of a bird’s song, cherry blossoms weighted-down after a rain. Things light up and I experience an interior stillness that somehow syncs me more profoundly with the exterior world. It’s a paradox: only when I’m fully present in my body do I begin to experience the absence of myself.
The poet Edward Hirsch on walking from “My Pace Provokes my Thoughts“:
I love the leisurely amplitude, the spaciousness, of taking a walk, of heading somewhere, anywhere, on foot. I love the sheer adventure of it, setting out and taking off. You cross a threshold and you’re on your way. Time is suspended. Writing poetry is such an intense experience that it helps to start the process in a casual or wayward frame of mind. Poetry is written from the body as well as the mind, and the rhythm and pace of a walk–the physical activity–can get you going and keep you grounded. It’s a kind of light meditation. Daydreaming is one of the key sources of poetry–a poem often starts as a daydream that finds its way into language–and walking seems to bring a different sort of alertness, an associative kind of thinking, a drifting state of mind.
The runner/poet Chris Townsend in Counting Feet: On Running and Poetic Meter
Anyone who runs a fair bit will tell you that it’s not a bad activity for those “eureka” moments, when some idea that you’re barely conscious of worms its way to the surface of the mind and bursts forth as sudden wisdom; the image I have is of popcorn in a hot pan, resettling itself as each kernel tinily explodes. Running’s also pretty good for working through the problems in a piece of writing, and it helps me think about the poems.