One thing I have always liked about Rhetoric and Composition theory is the notion of an “imagined audience.” The idea dates back to the 1970s and has been used as a device to help new writers approach the occasion of writing by forming a mental conception about the people who will be reading what they write. When Walter J. Ong described it in 1975, the primary example he used is a first year student in college who is assigned to write an essay about summer vacation experiences. Under no real world circumstances would there be an authentic occasion or reason for a student to share such information with a professor (or anyone, for that matter), nor would a professor actually be interested in it. Thus, in order to get the assignment finished, the student imagines an audience. It is a construct to communicate to those ostensibly interested in knowing about what happened during a summer vacation.

The “imagined audience” construct helps me to think about writing, running, and writing about running. It is a way to conceptualize a challenge that many writers face. How does one address an audience that is a complete fiction, an artificial construction that enables the process of writing in the first place? How does one engage an audience that is not a monolith, but instead is a complex group who may at first glance be united by a general shared interest but in reality exist on a wide continuum of experiences, tastes, and abilities? Finally, what compels people (ourselves included) to write about running in the first place? It is possible to run without writing about it, just like it is possible to run a marathon without posting a picture of it on social media.

In the context of running, this matters because one’s conception of who or what is a runner influences the entire writing (and reading) experience. Let me try to explain a little more about what I mean. There are almost too many running websites and newsletters to count, and each of them tries to imagine that its audience includes a wide variety of runners: people who vary wildly in terms of size, fitness, goals, approaches, and accomplishments. Many newsletters, blogs, and books are wonderful and do their best to appeal to as broad of a network of runners as possible. For example, I’ve been learning a lot by reading Mario Fraioli’s The Morning Shakeout, and I am very much looking forward to the fresh voice of Talya Minsberg, who recently took over the New York Times Running Newsletter. These venues accomplish the fundamental goal of fostering community and giving people new ideas and different information that they might take with them on the road or trail.

However, enriching as the running newsletter community can be, it also calls attention to the challenge of writing about running in a way that is relatable. I’ve read some posts in which the writer offers advice about how to bounce back mentally from a down week, in which he only put in 45 miles. For others, 45 miles would be an almost unattainable volume. I’ve logged 45 miles a week just a few times in my life, during peak marathon training. Others write very compellingly about the grit and grind needed to train for a 5K run, whereas many other runners routinely log intense 5Ks as a precondition of their normal fitness routine. In the recent set of essays, Bravey: Chasing dreams, befriending pain, and other big ideas, Olympic runner Alexi Pappas reflects on the difficulties of training on hotel gym treadmills, since treadmills can’t go fast enough for Olympic runners. Is that a complaint? A humble brag? Training while traveling does indeed present many challenges, but learning how to cope with the maximum speed of a treadmill is not one of the things I will ever face. I plan to write a longer review of Bravey in a forthcoming PhDistance newsletter, but for now I will say that there are some parts of Bravey that are very relatable to me, someone who is so far away from Olympic running that it’s almost not even accurate to call what I do “running.” For that relatable quality, I appreciate what Pappas adds to the running conversation.

So where does PhDistance fit in?

This is all very meta. But I do think hope the “imagined community” of PhDistance is one that resonates and draws out some of the shades of the running experience that Jeff and I profile here. True, our audience is still literally largely imagined at this point, but we know that it will grow over time. More importantly, I hope that the bits of reflection can get us to think about running more broadly.

Gearing up for Rylee’s Run

Shifting a bit, I am excited to have registered for Rylee’s Run, a virtual 5k that commemorates the life of Rylee Rae Vinson, who was born August 16, 2007, at thirty-two weeks and passed away eight days later due to complications of premature birth. The race begins over the weekend and lasts a week. If you can, register, share your results, and make a donation. Everything Rylee’s Run raises goes to LeBonheur Children’s Hospital Neuroscience Institute and NICU. The race organizers are close to their goal. Look for a full race recap in future releases.

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Newsletter 9: “Imagining a Running Audience and Rylee’s Run”