Content warning: This article mentions suicide. Resources are included at the bottom of the story.
At their cores, running and copy editing are the same thing. Most runners would probably scoff at this remark, and most copy editors would be puzzled. For me, though, both vocations have filled the same space in my heart for the past four years.
Running and copy editing share the same basic mechanics that scratch the same itch in my head. Both require constant, monotonous repetition in training. Both require you to enter a special headspace outside of the world around you. And for me, both have been all I’ve known throughout college.
Francisco Gutierrez in an OU sweatshirt posing with an "OU Bound" pennant the day he officially enrolled at OU.
Moving from San Antonio, Texas, a city full of people who look like me and the only place I had ever lived, to Norman was a scary transition. I didn’t have any friends coming with me from high school, I had no roots in the deep college traditions and the only connections I had were through my recruiting process with the Office of Diversity and Enrichment Programs.
These circumstances are, without a doubt, the worst-case scenario for somebody like me, who struggled with reaching out to meet new friends or joining organizations to build out my personal community on campus. Because of this, my first couple months at OU were as lonely as they were miserable. Although I made a few friends and created a small circle, I lacked the diverse community I had left behind in San Antonio after graduation. I had actualized my fears of being the lone person of color in a predominantly white community.
Throughout all of this, I maintained a habit of carving out time a few times a week to go for a run, something I held onto from high school cross country and track and field. These small moments of solace helped ground me when I inevitably fell into holes of obsessively looking at schools to transfer to and considering life back in San Antonio, a possibility I had completely written off until then.
With the help of my well-connected residential adviser, Muneeb Ata, I quickly learned what it took to turn my situation around. In passing, I mentioned to him that I had a keen eye for typos and grammatical errors and that I was interested in copy editing as a lesser-known aspect of journalism. He immediately latched onto this and got me in touch with Nick Hazelrigg, then-editor-in-chief of OU Daily.
Within a couple weeks, I started on the copy desk as an intern that November. I cherished the hourlong blocks I spent in the old, dim newsroom that always smelled a little bit off. I learned to spark conversations with questions I asked reporters about minute details in their stories as I pored over them. Though I still struggled with my own meek and reserved disposition, I was quickly learning the importance of pushing through this internal conflict.
Before I knew it, running and copy editing held the same purpose for me. In Haruki Murakami’s book “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” — which this headline and column are in direct reference to — he writes, “No matter what, though, I keep up my running. Running every day is a kind of lifeline for me.” Every day, running and copy editing helped to balance me out on the most stressful days, and they became an essential component of my everyday life. This has been my reality since, and it has helped me achieve the greatest highs and persevere through the lowest lows that college has thrown my way.
On March 14, 2022, I met the greatest challenge of my life, one I am still working through to this day.
Francisco Gutierrez and Jesús Ibañez at a party together. Jesús would walk Francisco through parties to introduce him to friends as "my good friend Francisco."
Jesús Ibañez was one of the most important friends I met at OU. From the moment I met him at a backyard bonfire, he was one of the first people who took me under his wing and cared about me feeling at home in a place that felt unfamiliar. He introduced me to his friends, and we regularly hung out to talk about everything from classes to movies. Through Jesús, I learned there was a home for me at OU.
While on spring break with my family in Colorado my junior year, I received news from a close mutual friend of ours that Jesús had died by suicide the night prior. This shattered my world. One of the few people in my life I cared about most was gone. A couple days later, my parents drove me back to Norman early for his candlelight vigil.
The morning of the vigil, I did the only thing I could to process what had happened: I ran. Vision blurred by tears, I ran until I couldn’t. That Sunday, I went to his viewing. Emotionally drained and still reeling, I skipped my first print production in over a year. Instead, I met up with Kyncl (whose first name is Jonathan, but his friends all know him by his last name) and Will Blessing, friends I had made through the Daily, at the Library Bar & Grill, where we parsed through the rawness of our emotions. After taking Monday off work for the funeral, I returned to the newsroom that Tuesday and did the only thing I knew other than running: I sat at my desktop, left the world around me and I copy edited.
At the funeral, Baruc Lara, another mutual friend, said that Jesús’ smile is present in every sunny day. Every morning that year, as I made my half-mile walk from Cross Village to the newsroom, I looked up at the sky and thought about that smile. And every morning, as I watch the sun rise while out on a run, I think about that smile.
On April 30, I ran my first full marathon. It was, without a doubt, one of the most grueling tasks I’ve ever put myself through. That being said, it was by far the most rewarding. Despite the screaming pain of my legs cramping for miles on end as my feet slammed into the pavement over 32,000 times, every one of these steps brought me closer to a goal I never thought was achievable.
Before the race, I was advised to adjust my goal from three hours and 15 minutes to something more realistic, like three hours and 45 minutes.
“This is your first marathon, so it’s OK if you don’t hit that goal,” my girlfriend Bella Avila, a fellow copy editor and Daily alum, advised me the night before over dinner. “What matters most is just finishing the race.”
“Even something under four hours is still impressive for your first marathon,” my mother chimed in.
Outwardly, I nodded along and pretended to heed their advice, but in my head, I shook those words off.
At the start of the race, I immediately found the three-and-a-half-hour pacers and stuck with them for a couple minutes. Finding their pace much too slow for my liking, I moved on to the three-hour-and-20-minute pacers. Again, I wasn’t satisfied with the pace and moved on to the half-marathon pacers. Once again, I brushed past them, discontented.
I glanced down at my running watch to see a pace of seven minutes and sixteen seconds. I found my sweet spot. High on the roar of spectators and the thundering of competitors’ shoes slamming into the pavement around me, I held this pace for the remainder of the race.
At the halfway mark, I balked at the clock, which displayed “1:35:43,” a mere three minutes slower than I finished my half marathon the year prior.
When I described the pains of marathon running to my newsroom adviser Seth Prince, he asked me why I would willingly put myself through that. I receive similar questions when I tell people I’m a copy editor.
People often wonder why I don’t write stories of my own. I’ve been asked, “So you just edit other people’s work?”
My personal favorite: “Are you sure you don’t want to do something more than copy editing?”
Neither of these questions make sense to me. And my response is always the same: “What else would I do?”
Dedicating your life to amateur running never really makes sense to anyone. There isn’t any recognition, it’s incredibly demanding and it doesn’t really produce any material testament to the hard work poured into it. Copy editing is no different. There are no bylines; it requires hours of studying stylebooks, learning and maintaining your peers’ unique voices and bearing the responsibility of being the final set of eyes to approve stories before they’re published for our audience; and there is rarely a physical manifestation of the edits we make.
At the end of my marathon, as I hobbled through the medical tent with my medal hanging from my neck, clutching my spasming legs and reveling in my finishing time of three hours, 13 minutes and 35 seconds, I came away with the feeling that I had just run my best-possible race. There was nothing I could’ve done to improve my time. Every ounce of willpower I had, I left behind me on the course.
From left, Francisco Gutierrez, Will Blessing and Jonathan Kyncl hold their medals after finishing their races.
As I approach graduation, I come away from these past four years with a similar feeling, especially as I prepare to leave the Daily. For countless hours, I studied the AP Stylebook off the clock. I worked odd hours in the newsroom designing newspaper pages, refining stories and reworking headlines to provide our audience with the best possible product.
In running, my training manifests itself in medals from races, major distance milestones and personal records. In copy editing, my dedication has manifested itself in a summer interning at The New York Times Print Hub through the Dow Jones News Fund internship program, where I worked alongside some of the most talented professionals in my field putting together one of the most widely read daily newspapers. I’m grateful this opportunity led me to full-time jobs offers in the only profession I can envision myself loving.
But, above any internship or job offer, my copy editing experience has given me a home in the Daily and a love for the people who make it special. In my opinion, running and copy editing are best done alone, but a little help doesn’t hurt along the way. At the Daily, I found lifelong friends in those around me.
Minutes after Francisco Gutierrez crossed the finish line of his marathon, Jonathan Kyncl embraced him in a hug.
My good friend and a fellow runner Kyncl, who I befriended by chance on a walk to grab lunch at the Oklahoma Memorial Union, and Will, Justin Jayne and Chandler Engelbrecht, who I spent countless evenings with at the Library Bar & Grill, complaining about work woes. Karoline Leonard and Megan Pratt, who sing karaoke with me on Tuesdays at The Deli. Sports editors Austin Curtright and Colton Sulley, who tolerate my constant sports questions. And Bella, my rival copy editor who constantly pushes me to challenge myself in every aspect of my life.
And, perhaps the most consequential acquaintance throughout these past four years: Seth. You can’t talk about the Daily without talking about Seth. A former copy editor himself and bearer of endless old-man wisdom, he comes second in importance only to the students whom he guides on a daily basis. It was Seth’s encouragement that pushed me to apply to Dow Jones after being rejected the first time around. It was Seth’s wisdom that got me through the stresses of weekly newspaper productions, working both design and copy when we were short-handed. He’ll never admit it himself, and he’ll scold me for saying this, but he is, in large part, the glue holding this place together.
I’m writing this column while I ice my ailing knees in the rest period after my race. I’m already itching to get back to running. I’m yearning for the 5:30 a.m. alarm that signals it’s time for another long run. And though my time at the Daily isn’t quite over, I’m already waiting for the next step after graduation, which will inevitably be filled with demanding editors, ticking deadlines and the opportunity to show all that the Daily has done for me.
Francisco Gutierrez served as a copy editing intern in fall 2019, junior copy editor from spring to summer 2020, senior copy editor in fall 2020 and copy chief from spring 2021 to spring 2023. He is a professional writing and political science graduate. This is his first and last byline for OU Daily.
