.
Blue air and clouds calling for,
swinging limbs,
rhythmic lungs; albeit noisy older ones.
Dripping sweat
and a brain slowed to mere systems check.
Sports chew wrapped in wax paper
assuming role of proverbial carrot.
Must wait, must wait.
Just one more mile marker,
then dig it out of soggy sports bra pocket without looking weird,
hopefully.
Freedom, torture, joy, blessing.
Aloneness under Siren Sky.
Aloneness
most gruelingly refreshing.
Skill not required, just endurance.
and
mothers are made of endurance;
mothers are made of endurance;
But
by definition, not aloneness.
by definition, not aloneness.
Except,
the penalty box of injury,
turns each blue clear day into a siren wail of enticement,
singing low and sweet, "Lost miles, come and play,
you were only 22 on that facebook real-age survey anyway."
Mock my infirmity, oh Siren Sky.
Promise the world, promise toughness and oxygen, promise sharpness,
but in reality you offer only
further boots of ortho-shame.
.
Posts
2 comments:
Hope you are out of your stylish boot soon! Running is my therapy.
Hope you're feeling better! I've been recovering from a run, hoping to get back into it in full swing before we lose the nice weather here in Oregon.
Post a Comment