Do you know that feeling when you have run seven times up and down a hill in training and there are still two more repetitions to go? The fast guys have lapped you and the pain is unbearable and the trainer stands at the bottom and you cannot - CANNOT - carry on, but you have to?
Or when you are skiing, and the rest of the group want to do a run that just terrifies you and you can't back out now? It's too late. You're on the chair lift. There's no going back. It's 3pm and this would have been hard at 11.30am but right now with a whole day's leg work on the mountain, this is too TOO much. No turning back.
Or when your mate asked you to help out with a performance he was organising, and like a fool you said yes - only to discover that the music he put in front of you was way - WAY - beyond you, but now you can't let him down. Muscle memory. Come on fingers. Muscle memory. You can do it. Keep on, keep on, keep on.
Completing a grants application is a bit like that. It's both far too much, soul destroying and mentally defeating, and at the same time - there is this element of actually enjoying reaching the summit, knowing you're not there, but you are going to get there if it kills you. It may. It really may. And yet the buzz of the deadline, the thrill of the sums of money you are dealing with, the passion of the cause that lies behind it all, something kicks in and you plough through.
And then there are certain life goals. Things you set yourself. You won't settle for less. You always settle for less. Not this time. Not going to allow the old reset button to kick in and go back to the old familiar. This time I am making a brand new start... Oh, the temptation to stop, to rest, to let seven reps be enough, to skid not ski, to fudge not play, to let life be OK and not (for once) live it to the full.
Ploughing through or making do? Eyes on the goal. For the hope of the joy set before us.