never enough.

Somehow I became obsessed with running. It's so weird. After 27 years of sedentary art creation/appreciation seated comfortably at desks and cushions, I suddenly decided to run so much that I injured my Achilles tendons. And every day during the three weeks that I swam or biked as I waited for my tendons to man up, I missed it.

My simple secret is this:
1. Use a treadmill, it keeps you going like a cheerleader.
2. Listen to hip hop. It doesn't matter what kind; it doesn't matter how misogynistic it is. All that matters is that it has a beat.

I promise you'll be able to run endlessly. The only thing that that will stand in the way are your underdeveloped, art-appreciating tendons. I've had to cut back to only 3 miles a day and have resorted to lifting weights with the other half-hour of my scheduled workout.

My sister was recently promoted at a job where she'd been previously rock-solid certain that they hated her. They pay her in dirt, make her beg for vacation, guard her timecard like Natzis, and slap her with frequent verbal reprimands for harmless mistakes. But, surprise, surprise, she discovered she'd been performing as one of their best employees. When spreading the good news to my mother she explained, "I just can't help but to try to do well."

So maybe that explains it better than the hip hop and the endorphin rushes. Maybe I was bred into this pack of neurotic people who have no real hobbies except to do well at things; even painful things. Because the one way that design really doesn't enrich my life is by forcing my butt into an office chair all day and coaxing me into eating snacks to stay awake all night as I wrestle with my projects. I had to combat it somehow; conquer it before it conquered me. And you can't really do well at anything until you love it.