On my (almost) almost daily jog through the park last weekend, I couldn't help but think how similar writing is to running.
It's always a struggle for me to leave my warm flat and go out into the wind and rain. But once I have the gear on and I'm outside, I'm usually glad I've gone. There are some days I fly: my legs feel light and I could go on forever. Other times, though, I feel like lead and my chest burns. Sometimes it gets better as the run progresses, sometimes not. When other joggers burn by me, I often feel slow, slow, slooooooow.
It's the same as writing. My mind usually balks at the thought of getting into the chair, but once I've managed to maneuver myself into it (usually using the lure of the Internet) and I get down to the business of words on paper, I'm happy to be there. There are days when the words pour out. There are days when it's a struggle. And there are times when, comparing myself with other published writers, I wonder if I'll ever get there.
But the bottom line is this: I like to run. I love to write. But that doesn't necessarily mean it's easy.
Then again, who said it should be?