last night, i laced up
patient running shoes in the corner.
it was time.
and miles between here and the last marathon
and i parked my car.
watched my boys and their friends
play hide and seek
the way teenagers do
when they still want to be
little kids. silliness, and don’t tell them
where we are.
walked to the corner.
unsure if i could pull it off. just 3 miles.
i turned on the silent watch
that sat on the shelf for two weeks
because i was never going to run again.
turned on the music.
dueling banjos, from that long run and
the pit bull.
and i was springing down the street.
fleet feet. grinning.
and the roads that i look at with disdain
on most days
were opening their arms to me. once again.
and welcoming me home.
and as much as i complain about them
not the hill again. not the field. it’s too cold.
i’m sick of these bricks and the streetlights
that mock me. saying. hurry.
there they were. embracing my gait.
over the catwalk at dusk and looking up and asking
and hello. and thank you.
down through those wicked paths where
i’ve left my sweat and tears and joy
and my pace. i didn’t even care.
because i was running.
meant to do three. did five. didn’t
want to stop
wanting to celebrate this non-run
this anonymous feet on pavement night
my heart will go on.
and i can survive anything.
i am a runner.