My son was trying to explain to me the other day, the joy he feels when he's running. It's not something I've ever experienced. To me, running was always a battle of so many pounds of unwilling flesh against inertia. To him though, it's the air in his face, the feeling of power over his feet and the rush of blood, all coming together at once. When I thought about it afterwards I realised that though I may never have felt that way about running (and certainly never will now), I have had that same feeling before. It's when I draw or write. The ability to grasp pure thoughts from my head and form them into something visible for others is a huge feeling of joy. Like my son, I may not win anything for it, but I think if I suddenly couldn't create this way, I'd go mad very quickly.