The Run

 

Most of the time I just like being alone with it.

Because it’s never just a run.

 Its just me and itself,

laid out in front of me in all of its glory.

And once my feet hit cool pavement,

we become one.

As if my rhythmic footsteps are the beat

of a heart in which we share.

Its demands are few,

but strong enough that I can feel them

pushing me,

the wind a solemn hand on my back.

It demands more as I move.

It wants me for all I have,

all I am

because it is jealous,

and unforgiving.

It demands my focus,

my attention,

and I aim for giving it that.

And as the sweat begins to pour down my back,

this is all that I think about.

It listens to me.

It understands my problems,

doubts,

flaws,

weaknesses.
Yet it still wants

all of me.

And when I know I only have a few minutes left,

It lends a hand and pulls me,

Telling me I’m not going to give up,

not going to give in.

And after the final stride,

When I breathe clean air into new lungs,

It sings to me,

and I slowly whisper to myself

 “Good Run.”

But I know it’s never just a run.