Saturday, 7 November 2015

The Runner

5 AM in the morning;
A figure cuts a lonely shadow by the ember street lights;
He moves down a long straight road;
With open and wide strides;
That are full of purpose and a hint of pride;
His brow is etched with sweat;
Which soon gathers by the buckets;
And starts dripping off on to the road;
Leaving a mark, no matter how transient that is;
His breath comes hard and fast;
A subtle reminder of improvement works required;
But more importantly, that he is still alive;
The only sounds he hears are of his track shoes crunching the gravel;
That and the sound of his pounding heart which threatens to burst out of its seams;
The kilometers tick by, though not as fast as he imagines them to be;
And his legs burn with lactic acid;
Threatening and imploring his brain to cease all motion;
But all he thinks about is left right left right, this is still worth striving for;
Oh it seems so tough;
Running a 10K before dawn breaks;
But this is the easiest part of his day;
For when dawn breaks;
It's back to reality and at least 12 hours in a seat;
The perfect seat to put this training all to good use;
As he trains hard for a sole purpose;
That is for life and a future worth striving for.

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