I've done both. I've crossed a marathon finish line, spectators cheering, medal placed around my neck, achievement unmistakable.
And I've typed "The End" on a manuscript alone in my apartment at 11 PM on a Tuesday, no one watching, no applause, uncertain if what I'd written was good or garbage.
Here's the truth: the book was harder.
Not in every way—marathons involve real physical suffering that writing doesn't. But in the ways that matter most for a Misogi—sustained commitment, psychological challenge, identity transformation—creative projects can be even more demanding than physical ones.
If you've always wanted to write a book, create an album, build an app, or complete some other creative undertaking, this piece is for you. The creative Misogi is one of the most rewarding challenges you can choose—and one of the hardest.
Why Physical Challenges Feel Easier
Let me be clear: marathons are genuinely difficult. Twenty-six miles will humble anyone. But physical challenges have structural advantages that make them more achievable than they might seem:
Clear finish lines. A marathon is 26.2 miles. Not 26.3. Not "however long feels right." The end point is defined. You know exactly what completion looks like.
External structure. You register for a race on a specific date. You follow a training plan with weekly mileage targets. The structure is provided for you.
Visible progress. You can track pace, distance, and time. Last week you ran 8 miles; this week you ran 10. Progress is measurable and unmistakable.
Social scaffolding. Running communities exist everywhere. Training partners, running clubs, race expos, starting lines, aid stations with volunteers cheering, crowds at the finish. You're not alone.
Predictable discomfort. Running hurts in predictable ways. Your legs burn. Your lungs ache. The discomfort is physical, identifiable, and temporary. You know it will end.
Undeniable completion. When you cross the finish line, you're done. No one can argue you didn't finish. The medal is proof. The achievement is binary.
Creative projects have none of these advantages.
Why Creative Challenges Are Different
No finish line
When is a book "done"? When you type the last sentence of the first draft? When you finish revisions? When it's published? When it sells a certain number of copies?
Unlike a marathon, the end point is ambiguous. You could revise forever. You could always add another chapter. "Done" is a decision you make, not a line you cross.
This ambiguity is psychologically corrosive. Without a clear finish line, it's easy to keep moving the goalposts—or to never declare victory at all.
No external structure
No one registers you for a book. There's no race date circled on the calendar. No training plan tells you to write 2,000 words on Tuesday and rest on Wednesday.
All structure must be self-imposed. And self-imposed structure crumbles under life's pressure. The marathon is on October 15th whether you're ready or not—but the book waits patiently while you "just need to get through this busy period."
Invisible progress
Did your writing improve today? Is the chapter you wrote good? Is the book getting better?
You genuinely don't know. Unlike running, where a faster pace is objectively better, creative progress is slippery. You might spend a month on revisions that make the book worse. You won't know until much later—if ever.
This uncertainty makes daily work feel questionable. "Why am I doing this? Is it even working?"
Isolation
You write alone. There's no running club meeting at 6 AM to drag you out of bed. No race expo energy. No cheering crowd at chapter 17.
The isolation isn't just logistical—it's existential. Runners share an experience that millions understand. Writers inhabit worlds no one else can see. The loneliness of creative work is profound.
Unpredictable discomfort
Running discomfort is physical and predictable. Creative discomfort is psychological and ambushes you.
Some days the words flow. Other days you stare at a blank screen for hours, convinced you're a fraud, wondering why you ever thought you could do this. The resistance is internal, invisible, and often more painful than physical exhaustion.
As Steven Pressfield wrote in The War of Art, creative work summons a force he calls "Resistance"—a psychological adversary that uses every tool available to stop you. Marathons don't have Resistance. They just have miles.
Arguable completion
Even when you finish, completion is arguable.
You finished a draft—but is it good? You published it—but it didn't sell. You sold copies—but the reviews were mixed. At every stage, there's room for doubt that the marathon finish line doesn't permit.
This arguability haunts creative work in ways that physical accomplishments don't.
The Case for the Creative Misogi
Given all these difficulties, why would anyone choose a creative Misogi over a physical one?
Because the rewards are equally distinctive:
Permanent creation
The marathon is over in hours. The medal goes in a drawer. The accomplishment exists in memory and on a finisher's list.
A book exists forever. A painting hangs on walls. An album plays for decades. Creative work produces artifacts that persist independently of the creator. You've added something to the world that wasn't there before.
Unlimited ceiling
You can only run a marathon so fast. Human physiology has limits.
Creative work has no ceiling. The greatest book ever written could still be written. The greatest album could still be recorded. Your creative potential isn't constrained by muscle fiber composition or VO2 max.
Identity transformation
Both physical and creative Misogis transform identity—but differently.
Completing a marathon makes you "someone who ran a marathon." Important, yes. But also... lots of people have done it. The identity is valid but shared.
Completing a book makes you "an author." Recording an album makes you "a musician who released an album." The identity is rarer and often more central to how you see yourself.
Ideas made real
Physical Misogis prove what your body can do. Creative Misogis prove what your mind can imagine—and manifest. There's something profound about taking something that existed only in your head and making it exist in the world.
No gatekeepers (anymore)
Twenty years ago, creative projects required gatekeepers. Publishers, record labels, galleries. Today, you can self-publish a book, distribute an album, share art globally, release software—all without permission.
The obstacles are entirely internal. If you don't create, it's not because someone stopped you.
Creative Misogi Ideas
If you're considering a creative Misogi, here are some options:
Writing
- Write and finish a novel (80,000+ words)
- Write and publish a non-fiction book on something you know deeply
- Complete 365 daily blog posts (or 52 weekly essays)
- Write and perform a one-person show or full-length screenplay
Visual Art
- Create 100 paintings (one every 3-4 days)
- Produce a photography book with original work
- Build a complete portfolio for a career pivot to design
- Create and exhibit a solo show at a gallery or alternative venue
Music
- Write, record, and release a 10-song album
- Compose and perform an original symphony or long-form piece
- Master a new instrument to the point of public performance
- Score an independent film or video game
Technology
- Build and launch an app with real users
- Create and ship a video game
- Build a complete SaaS product from scratch
- Contribute significantly to an open-source project
Hybrid
- Create a documentary film (research, filming, editing)
- Launch a podcast with 52 episodes in a year
- Build and sell a course on something you've mastered
- Write and illustrate a children's book
How to Succeed at a Creative Misogi
Given the unique challenges of creative work, here's what helps:
Make the finish line concrete
Ambiguity kills creative projects. Define exactly what "done" means before you start.
Not "write a book" but "write 80,000 words of a novel, complete first draft by June, complete revisions by October, submit to 10 agents by December."
The more specific your definition, the harder it is to move the goalposts.
Create artificial structure
Without a race date, you need to create urgency. Options include:
- Public commitment: Tell people your deadline. The embarrassment of missing it creates pressure.
- Pre-order: If self-publishing, open pre-orders before you've finished. Now you have to deliver.
- Competition deadlines: Submit to a contest or grant with a fixed date.
- Accountability partner: Someone who checks on your progress and won't accept excuses.
Measure process, not quality
You can't know if today's writing was good. But you can know if you wrote. Track process—words written, hours spent, days completed—not quality.
This removes the daily question "was it good enough?" and replaces it with "did I do the work?" The second question has an objective answer.
Find community
Running clubs exist because runners need them. Writers need community too—it's just harder to find.
Options: writing groups, online communities for your craft, accountability partners, co-working spaces, creator retreats. The isolation doesn't have to be total.
Expect the resistance
Know going in that psychological resistance will attack you. It's not a sign that you're on the wrong path—it's a sign that you're doing something meaningful.
Pressfield's insight is crucial: the strength of the resistance is proportional to the importance of the work. If you're facing intense resistance, you're probably onto something that matters.
Protect the practice
Marathon training requires protecting running time. Creative work requires protecting creative time—which is harder because no one can see when you're working.
Block time. Defend it. Treat your creative practice with the same seriousness as race day training. Because it is.
The Deeper Comparison
Here's what I've come to believe:
Physical Misogis prove you can endure. Creative Misogis prove you can create.
Both are transformative. Both require sustained commitment over months. Both have a 50% chance of failure if chosen properly. Both make the year unforgettable.
But they transform you differently.
The marathon teaches you that your body is capable of more than you thought. The book teaches you that your mind can make real what was previously imaginary.
For some people, one resonates more than the other. For many, doing both—in different years—provides different kinds of growth.
If you've always wanted to create something, and that desire keeps nagging at you, consider this your invitation. The creative Misogi is waiting. It's harder than a marathon in some ways. And it might be exactly what you need.
Track Your Creative Misogi
The Misogi app works for creative challenges just like physical ones:
- Define your creative goal with a specific, measurable target
- Log daily progress even when you can't judge quality
- Watch your year fill up with evidence of commitment
- Stay accountable when no one else can see your work
No finish line crowds. No medals. Just you, your creation, and 365 days to make it real.
Ready to choose your challenge? Read our guide on how to choose your Misogi or explore the full list of 50 Misogi ideas.
Key Takeaways
- Creative Misogis (writing a book, making an album, building an app) can be harder than physical ones due to ambiguous finish lines, no external structure, invisible progress, isolation, and unpredictable psychological resistance
- Physical challenges have built-in advantages: clear endpoints, training plans, visible progress, social support, and undeniable completion
- Creative challenges offer unique rewards: permanent artifacts, unlimited ceiling, rarer identity transformation, ideas made real, and no gatekeepers
- To succeed at a creative Misogi: make the finish line concrete, create artificial structure, measure process not quality, find community, expect resistance, and protect the practice
- Both physical and creative Misogis transform you—physical ones prove you can endure; creative ones prove you can create