Is it more fun to compete in running than writing? Jake Solyst shares his thoughts on running competitions, why they're fun, and how writing competitions can channel that excitement.
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A little over two years ago, I finally caught what I had always thought to be a fictional or exaggerated feeling: the runner’s high.
It happened inadvertently, when my fiance’s brother bailed out on a ten miler last minute and I offered to fill in. This was my first ever long-distance race, and I did surprisingly well, in that I finished and only had to stop running a few times. But what was most surprising was how good I felt afterward. I realized that day that, for me at least, the “runner’s high” only comes after having completed an especially long run—particularly when it’s longer than I’ve ever done before.
I’ve now competed in multiple organized runs. I’ve done a 10K, ten miler, a twelve miler, a half marathon, a Thanksgiving “Turkey Trot” and just finished my first marathon.
While I never would have imagined it two years ago, I actually look forward to these events. I’ve realized that organized runs are the ultimate physical activity for social introverts: you are a part of this huge and excited group of people, all moving in the same direction and working toward the same goal, passing other groups of people who are cheering you on, and yet you don’t have to talk with anybody and meanwhile have this wild interior journey going on. At the end, everyone hangs out to eat bananas and drink beers and take selfies with their shiny new medals.
But running isn’t my only hobby. I’m also a fiction writer, and as such have submitted to various literary mags and writing competitions (not a whole lot, come to think of it, but enough to get a sense of the experience). And while I admit that the two activities are wildly different, I can’t help but feel like one is for the most part fun and supportive and celebratory and the other is…not. When it comes to lit mags and writing competitions, it’s awesome if you’re accepted and demoralizing if you aren’t. There’s very little in between, save that coveted personalized rejection letter, the literary publishing version of “You’re great but I’m not looking to date right now.”
Based on my experience, I’ve come up with five ways running competitions are different (better) from writing competitions, and have a few ideas for how to change that. But before I share, I’d like to make it clear that I’m aware of how challenging and time consuming it is to run a literary magazine, and am honestly grateful that so many exist; but still, I hope my criticism can inspire some fresh ideas for the industry, or at least help others relate.
Like I said earlier, running competitions are an intensely social experience. Even if you go the whole run and after-party not talking to anyone, you can still walk away feeling like you took part in a communal event, and there are plenty of opportunities to chime in on social media or read what others thought of the run. But writing competitions and magazine submission periods are all pretty anonymous. I have no idea who else submitted to a magazine unless they’re published, which happens far after the submission period. The only blip of social interaction I get during the process is the rejection email, which can come several months after submitting. However, I’m told that writers will interact on Twitter or other socials during submission periods. In my writing group, we’ll share new competitions and submission periods with each other, which can be fun/encouraging.
In running, you can enter a race, be better than only a third of the runners, and still have a great time. You get a medal, your name is on a list of runners, you get to have a beer at the end and feel good about yourself. In writing competitions, you either get accepted, a nicely worded email that says you were rejected, or nothing. Maybe I’m reinforcing the trophy generation stereotype here but it really is nice to get something tangible or semi-tangible for going through the work of writing a piece and the stress it takes to submit to places and follow everyone’s different guidelines.
I might get crucified for this, but I find it a little annoying when magazines tell you to read their entire magazine before submitting. On the one hand, I get it, your work should match what the editors want to publish; but also, at the end of the day, I’m just trying to find a place for my work and don’t care a whole lot about other people’s submissions, simply because there are far too many to care about. I used to think this was a selfish mindset, but it’s not at all if you compare it to running. In running, you focus on your personal best and pay some attention to the top runners, but aren’t expected to look at the times of people you’ve never met and care what their race was like just because they’re in the same race as you. Again, I know there are differences, and I can understand why an editor would want its submitters to be familiar with the style and support the mag, but the pressure that comes with having to be a reader of a magazine before submitting doesn’t quite feel fair since there are so many magazines out there (plus the endless list of books we all have).
This might be the most apples to orange comparison, but one downside of writing competitions is that they take so long. The time between submitting a piece and having the issue come out or the competition finalized can be months if not a full year. That just leaves so much time to lose interest especially when you aren’t accepted. And honestly, it’s a wasted opportunity to engage with potential readers. Running festivals, on the other hand, take place in one day and one location—everyone there all at once. You walk away with a strong sense that you took part in the event.
Now that I’ve laid out my criticisms, I want to try and give some solutions. Again, I recognize that writing and running are inherently different, and that most lit mags do their work for free and don’t have time or resources to do much more than they already are. I’ll just throw some ideas out there anyways.
The main idea here is to somehow tie together the submission, review, and publishing process into one event that would be engaging and gratifying even for those who aren’t accepted. I don’t necessarily need to be rewarded for my submission—I just want to feel like I was a part of something cool and that my submissions, even if it wasn’t accepted, mattered in some way to the greater review and selection process.
Photo by Miguel A Amutio on Unsplash
