My coworker and I have decided to run a half-marathon. Training started this week and I am excited. About 2 1/2 years ago I ran a half with my mom and some friends. I have put on my running shoes rather infrequently since then. There are many reasons why, but the prevailing theme of my life the past few years has been one of listlessness.
I don't know how many times I will say this, but this summer has been really good for me in a lot of ways. I feel like life is coming back to me and I am rediscovering what it is to breathe again. It feels good, but scary.
As I was running today, I began reexamining some of the things from my past that I have let hinder my movement forward and a poem came to me. An inspired moment, I guess. I rarely share my poems before multiple rounds of editing. This one, too, may evolve in time, but for right now it captures it. So here it is:
My running shoes are waiting expectantly
Tongues hanging out like dogs cooped up inside too long
They want to go out where they belong
And I am finally ready to fulfill their wishes.
My stride is hesitant, but I soon hasten my pace
Stroll, walk, power walk, jog...
The fog starts to lift as my feet carry me forward
My breath catching as my body powers on.
Unknown companions will their bodies alongside me
And I feel life snaking out from my chest
Spreading heat to my cheeks, hands, thighs
As I look to the skies for inspiration.
Quickening my steps, I throw caution to the wind
Then I sprint, no holds barred toward the finish line
Wind whipping around me in a giant congratulatory hug
Raindrops beating their praise against the gravel
Their collisions clapping to the rhythm of my heart,
A momentary interlude to this
Roller coaster of doubt and accomplishment.
As it intermingles with my sweat
I feel the heaviness snaking off of me
The juxtaposition of salt and water
Washing over a healing wound.
It stings, but not like before
I recognize the faintness of the pain
Propelling me through the rain
Further away from the past
Each step bursting into the future
I don’t know what is ahead, but I know its good.
And I won’t stop until I get there.
(c) 2010. G. Jones
