Image: Louise on top of Ben Lomond.

Louise Couceiro (@CouceiroLouise) is a first-year PhD researcher at the School of Education. With a strong interest in gender theory, children’s education and literature, her project explores how children engage with feminist biographical illustrated books. Louise is also an avid runner.

As PGRs, I am sure we have all been on the receiving end of the title advice many a time. These words, as well intentioned as they are, can become tiresome. We know that when we signed up as PGR students we signed up for the long haul. We know that we enlisted ourselves for hours and hours of re-adjusting margins and page numbers on Word. We know that we committed to drinking around 4,368 cups of tea/coffee over the next few years. We know that we enrolled for an unlimited guest pass to the curiosity rabbit hole, promising late night opening hours for reading things that are entirely unrelated to our area of study. Trust us, we know that we can’t churn out 100,000 words in the time it takes Usain Bolt to run the 100m sprint (I can’t even sharpen my pencil in 9.58 seconds). Yet, in spite of its irritatingly clichéd metaphor, I am convinced that running has a lot to offer PGRs, both in terms of its ability to provide much-needed endorphins and its metaphorical applicability to the research process.

Since frequently coming last in school cross-country races, body caked in mud and eyes filled with humiliated tears, my relationship with running has changed dramatically. Twenty years, seven marathons, an ultra and thousands of kilometers later, I have found my mecca. Running is home. The sense of rhythm. The opportunity for solitude or community. The feelings of strength, empowerment and self-reliance. The way my body just knows what to do, irrespective of what my mind is telling it. I love it all. Well... it’s easy for me to say that now, as I sit comfortably with one of my 4,368 cups of coffee, enveloped in a warm glow of blissful reminiscence, conveniently overlooking all those times I hated running. Yes, like the PhD journey, running is filled with moments of sheer elation and moments of sheer detestation. Like writing, starting is often the hardest part. ‘Hitting the wall’ and feeling like you can’t go on is most definitely a thing. Planning a spectacular route and then realising that a change of direction might be the best thing that can happen. Indeed, the arduousness of running has much in common with the arduousness of researching. 

However, running has taught me a lot about the research process – how to manage it and how to get the most out of it. I have found that many of the lessons I have learnt about running are applicable to my PhD work:

• Pounding the pavement (read: pounding the books) when I am feeling worn out is not necessarily the best use of my time.

• Creating a well-balanced plan that includes achievable milestones and ample rest time can aid productivity.

• Treating myself to new running apparel (read: stationary) can provide the boost in energy and motivation I need.

• Whilst I might be comfortable spending long stretches of time by myself, connecting and reaching out to others can be really valuable and fulfilling.

• Changing direction and exploring unchartered territory can be enjoyable and enlightening.

Comparing myself with other runners (read: researchers) is unproductive. Not only is comparison the thief of joy – thank you, Theodore Roosevelt – but other runners are on an entirely different track, running an entirely different race.

I find the process of discovering and mapping these correlations to be helpful and comforting. It doesn’t matter whether your experience of running is happily confined to running for the occasional bus, or whether it extends as far as racing up and down munros every weekend. Running is my thing. Carving nectarine stones might be your thing. The point is that finding and experiencing something that has metaphorical applicability to your life as a PGR might be useful for providing a window on your experiences; for keeping things in perspective. The next time someone tells you ‘it’s a marathon, not a sprint’, respond with an appreciative smile and try conjuring your own bespoke metaphor that more suitably resonates with you and your PGR experience. And if anyone does carve nectarine stones, I would love to hear about this.