Something occurred to me: long, hard, complicated things, studying, workouts, diets, all that misery, get a lot easier once you realize you really want what’s at the end of them.

So there you are, comfortable doing nothing, when you finally decide to lose some weight, or study for an MBA, whatever. Your blisters hurt, it all sucks, maybe you don’t need that MBA after all, and wouldn’t a lie-in beat a morning walk? But after the first go, a bit of studying, a jog, kefir instead of a pastry, you catch this quiet but ridiculously strong endorphin rush. Hey, look at me! I’m doing the right thing. I’m getting somewhere!

And when you slip up, playing a shooter instead of reading, eating cookies instead of cottage cheese, somehow never having time for the gym, you miss that kick. You eat cookies today and can’t stand looking at them for a week. Not because you don’t fancy them, but because you’re back to going nowhere, like a lump.

Getting somewhere really is a drug, as long as you know where you’re going and know you want to get there.