Why Writers Need Exercise

I know the stereotype. Chain-smoking, deep-thinking, metaphor-loving writer. I read in Mental Floss recently that for an exhibition in France, they airbrushed a cigarette from a famous photo of Satre. This, it was suggested is evidence of France jumping on the anti-smoking bandwagon.
I too propose a revision of the writer-smoker stereotype and propose a new possibility. The runner-writer. Listen, I’ve been the smoker-writer. Hell, sometimes I still am her. While running some five miles today, this new possibility occurred to me, occurred in a moment when my Garmin read that I was running a 6:30 mile (I’m sure it was for less than a minute and though I didn’t see one, I must have been on a downhill.). What occurred to me is how running has inspired my writing, particularly description. So much eludes the driver when passing through neighborhoods, but the runner sees it all. The way fungus grows on trees. How the color a house is painted is the ultimate myspace layout. How many different kinds of bay windows there are and how some actually overlook the bay. What kinds of things people put on signs. How many irises are blooming at Yauger Park on March 6. How a house can slouch like a man with his nose in a book or walk like a woman with round shoulders and three inch heels. How it feels to turn a corner and bump into the city or throw oneself down a daring hill. How many different kinds of people walk up hills wearing headphones. And, how many ways there are to walk a dog. Runner-writer, today, I’m you.