I can get up early to spend an hour running on a golf course at dawn. The sweat is good and the hills are a constant reminder that I can do more than I think I can.
I can mountain bike the Live Oak Trail in O'Neill Park, a mile long bastion of steepness that tests the heart and the lungs. It never gets easy.
And I can endure those workouts at the House of Pain when I am matched with high school baseball and football players, and am forced to lift a little more weight than normal, and my heart rate and level of exhaustion bring forth nausea.
All of that makes sense to my brain. But what truly brings me to my knees is paperwork. I don't have a mind for administration, much as I try. Writing a book is easy next to scanning documents, creating a logicial filing system (instead of alphabetical, mine involves a series of free associations that make sense to no one else but me), and fulfilling the simple task of filling out forms and putting them in the mail. There is no pain greater.