Running, Creativity, and Rabid Kangaroos

One of my passions, you might even say obsessions, is trail running. Where I live, there is a network of trails stretching for endless miles all over the mountains. It has been my goal for the past several years to run every inch of them.

I think this illustrates why I'm so obsessed pretty well.

There’s three types of runs that I do. Type one is just getting out and running a convenient trail I’ve already done before. Around here, that’s the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. This trail is fantastic the first fifty or so times you do it. It means you’re on an easily-accessed, well-established trail where you can get a quick exercise fix and enjoy the beautiful mountains…along with everyone else in Ogden. Not only do I dislike the crowds, I also can’t stand to run the same trail over and over. I don’t know if I have some kind of runner’s ADD or what, but, if I had my way, I would never run the same trail twice. Being outside in these beautiful mountains, moving as fast as I can through difficult terrain, and pushing my body to do things I didn’t know it could do is pretty cool, but it’s the exploration that I find invigorating. If I were to just keep running the same trails, I would quickly lose motivation to get out at all.

My son on a run up Lewis Peak with me.

That brings me to the second type of run: This is a run where I have a goal in mind, I know I want to get from point A to point B, but there’s some mystery in the middle, an element of the unknown. I might have already done parts of the run, but if even just a small section is new, I’m practically shaking with the excitement of exploration. Have you ever seen someone at the trailhead just getting out of their car to take their dog for a walk and the dog is drooling and shaking and just freaking out with anticipation? I’m that dog (only not quite as furry). There’s something about the sense of mystery, the creativity and problem solving it so often requires, that engages my mind and body in the most satisfying way.

The best run I’ve ever done like this was Gannett Peak in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. I did it with my regular partner in crime, Gary. We started at the Green River Lakes, followed a perfect rolling trail for ten miles, and then cut cross-country (read: bushwhacking, boulder hopping, dodging man-eating spiders, glacier crossing, snow field climbing, and scrambling) to reach the summit of Gannett Peak and then ran back. It was a long and difficult 16 hour “run” with a few sections of genuine suffering, but I loved it.

There's a video of our Gannett Peak run here:

The third type of run is pure exploration. In a type three run you head out on new trails or off trail with no real goal in mind and no idea where you’re going. I call it “looking for trouble”. You just say to yourself, “Huh, that looks fun, let’s see where it goes.” No destination, no real time limit or particular mileage in mind, just wandering aimlessly through the mountains. You might think, because of what I said about my love for exploration, that this is the best kind of run. Wrong. They’re almost always lame. There’s no sense of purpose without a goal in mind. You constantly have this nagging feeling that you’re “lost” even if you’re not. You’re always wondering if there was a better way you could have gone. I have had a few successful runs like this, but they are rare and pale in comparison to something like the Gannett Peak run. Type three runs are not without worth, however. Often, I use the trails I discover on a run like this to come back later and turn it into an excellent “type two” run.

My good friend Gary finding some trouble on one of our more creative "runs".

I’ve found that my creative projects are very much like my trail runs. I do creative projects all the time that are like that first kind of run on that well-used trail. I play it safe, take the easy way, work in the same medium, draw the same subject, write in the same genre, mimic what others have done before me, just keep doing the same old thing. Sure, this might keep me from getting too awfully rusty, but I quickly lose motivation because the end result is always unoriginal and uninspiring.

I also often go to the opposite extreme, like the third kind of trail run, with no idea what exactly I’m trying to accomplish. I just start the brush moving across the canvas with no plan whatsoever beyond just wanting to see what happens. Or I start writing a story without knowing what it’s going to be about or where it’s going. Every once in a while, these turn into something interesting, but not too often. Usually they just fizzle out. However, just like the type three run, these experiments are not totally without worth. I often use this technique to get some ideas and then use them in other works where I have a specific goal in mind.

It’s a little like someone dropping you off in the middle of a vast empty plane (the salt flats here in Utah, for instance) and saying, “You can do whatever you want! There’s no limits!” You might be amazed by the openness, at first. You’d probably run around a little, taking it all in. Then you’d slowly get bored, maybe try to walk home, run out of water, collapse, and die. Just like our creative works do when we have too much freedom.

The Bonneville Salt Flats: One of the most beautiful (and boring) places I've ever been.
Photo from the Natural History Museum of Utah.

Now imagine someone takes you to a giant warehouse filled with a maze of playground equipment, power tools, and rabid kangaroos. They say, “You have to get from this side of the warehouse to the other, if you want to live. Good luck.” Then they lock the door behind you. Now we have something interesting! And I’ll bet you’d get real creative real fast.

Though it may at first seem paradoxical, our odds of successfully engaging our creativity are increased when we impose limitations and set a goal. There’s something about the absolute freedom of saying, “I want to get from point A to…well, um…I don’t know exactly,” that puts our creativity and motivation to sleep. Instead we need to say, “I want to get from point A to point B, and avoid getting eaten by a pack of rabid kangaroos while I’m at it,” that causes our creativity to rev up like a chainsaw as we struggle to overcome obstacles.