Running for me is like crack. It feels so good, it’s addictive. It’s something I love, I crave. I get hooked on it.

Some people love to travel through the skies, overseas. My travel: the open road. Human speed. Out there, feeling the wind, the sun, the trees, the sky. And my breath. Breathing hard. Who doesn’t love that?

I haven’t run since last fall. How could I leave it for so long? Only in NH. Where the roads turn treacherous with snow and ice, and then get salted so heavily you would not want expose a puppy’s paws.

But today, I had a taste. I went running. I didn’t take Peaches, I admit. And there was still ice on the roads, yes. But, that was delicious – that run.

This intense love/addiction I have for running is equally true of my art. I can feel its effects when I haven’t done it for a while. When I’ve been interrupted. When I’m not involved in the creative side.

And that has been happening a bit lately. I’m doing a lot of prep work. And researching ideas – some drawing, some looking at other work. And I can feel a certain amount of impatience building inside me.

I used to call it a bad mood. I’d wonder why I had to always start each new piece in such a rotten state of mind. But, now – and I’ll see if I’m right – I think it’s part of the “addiction”, if I can use the term loosely. When I’m not deep in it, in the flow of my art, I’m at cross purposes. Missing that feeling. Missing the journey of the endeavor.

Missing the run.

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