I like tiredness at the end of the day.

I’d credit that sentiment to my mother’s art of persuasion—it’s one of her adages—if the bliss of physical exhaustion didn’t crop up elsewhere in my life:

• I revel in the complete depletion I feel after a hard run, when even my hair follicles tingle.

• A temporarily empty stomach tells me I used my full fuel reserves.

• Soreness after a tough workout confirms that I pushed through my comfort zone.

• After a mental challenge, the resultant blown-out mind state reminds me that I gave my best.

Having offered everything, the subsequent rest or food or drink becomes a reward—and so much more delicious a reward in result. Hard sleep. Food bursts the taste buds. A glass of cold water evokes nirvana. Sitting down—lying down—pricks every sense.

Yet, often, I forget exhaustion's bliss. I don’t allow myself to feel hungry. I fail to push as hard as I could in a workout—or on a mental Mount Everest. I take the easy route.

Why?

Because I fear discomfort? Because I suffer laziness? Because I lack courage? Because life offers many “outs”—and it’s hard not to take them?

Probably, in many cases, all of the above.

When was the last time you felt the bliss of exhaustion?