I’m starting to see the similarities between running and writing.
You begin. You don’t necessarily know what’s ahead of you, but you have a general idea of where this thing is going to go. You might find yourself going in circles for a while, but you’ll get there eventually, or die trying.
You plod along. You know it’s not wise to go too quickly–you’re still warming up. You may have started tired–a bad night’s sleep, or no sleep. You take the bumps as they come.
You start to feel it in your joints. You feel like stopping to stretch, but there’s no stopping when you’re trying to get done in record time. You gasp. You cry a little. You try to take deep diaphragmatic breaths.
But the process is so agonizing. You’re so tired you can’t see straight.
Then you see the end. The finish line. The final stretch.
Suddenly you forget (most of) the pain. You get a rush. You’re so close, so close to the end. You begin to move furiously, pounding down as you push, panting, to the finish.
And then, you’re there. You made it. The race is over. The paper is done.
And you get to do it all again tomorrow.