Out on the trail, on a three hour ride, we typically take breaks.

With each successive break, it gets more difficult to start again.

You’d think that having some food and water would make moving on a bit easier.

In some ways it does. It’s important to be fed.

But starting again?

That’s tough.

Cold, wet, and sweaty, every fiber of my being protests the need to peddle further.

After our last stop of the evening, every ounce of me just wants to get home, get cleaned up and go to sleep.

Why the hell do I put myself through this?

I’m writing this after a long weekend.

The keys of my laptop feel a bit stiff.

Creativity is a long haul.

Why the hell do I put myself through this?

Relationships are a long haul.

Why the hell do I put myself through this?

It would be so much easier to stay home.

It would be so much easier to hide.

Or would it?

The funny thing about those last few kilometers?

Once I get moving, everything starts to flow again.

My muscles warm up.

The cold, wet shirts seem to fall away.

And then, comes the wind, the flow, the last hill and the satisfaction of completion.