Runners

To those who always ran, even through the pain.

The hum of anxiety in the air.
The shuffling of nervous feet.
The thumping of feet landing on the ground.
The slapping of skin against skin.
Then orange.
The official walks to the middle of the field.
A white flag in one hand, and a gun in the other.
Everyone seems to hold their breaths as he raises to flag and gun.
Then the flag goes down and the gun goes off.

Running.
The jostle of a large group,
It’ll thin out throughout the race.
The rhythmic thumping of feet.
The gasps for air.
Your pulse sounding in your ears.

The goal of all of this?
Pass people and get as close to a PR as you can.
You have to feel as close to death at the end as you can.
You have to push yourself.
You have to ignore the burning in your lungs and legs.
You have to push through the pain.
You have to keep going.

Up hills.
Through grass.
Over rocks and roots.
Always moving.
You can’t stop.

One mile,
Then another,
Over halfway now.
Just one more mile.

You speed up.
You head towards the person you’ve been following the race.
You have to pass them before the finish line.

You may feel dead.
You may not be able to breathe.
That doesn’t matter,
You push yourself.
Chase that person.
Pass that person.
Don’t let them pass you.
Keep the pace up,
Speed up if you can.

Then the finish line.
You see it.
You see the clock.
The time on the clock can’t affect your running.
You can’t slow down now, you can only sprint.
Sprint up the hill,
Across that field,
Down that hill,
Over those rocks,
The roots,
The holes in the grass.

There’s cheering and screaming in the background,
But all you can here is yourself as you cross that line.
Then it rushes in.
Then you stagger to the water table.
Chug the small cup of water or dump it on your face.
Then you find a good spot,
And collapse.
And you lay there.
Staring at the sky.
Catching your breath,
Feeling the pain.

Then you smile.
Who cares what time you got.
You finished.
You crossed that line.
You beat people.
That’s all that matters.
You ran your race.

People will think your crazy.
“Why run cross country?” They’ll ask.
“Who likes running that much?”
“The insane”, is the response.
The brave,
The bold,
The survivors,
The weirdos.

We run cross country.
We enjoy it.
We willingly do it.
We don’t care about the judgement.
We do it and we feel good about ourselves.
We improve.
We don’t give up, not even during the hard seasons.
The hard races.
The hard days.
The pain,
The injuries,
The illnesses.
We push through.
And we enjoy it.

We are runners at heart.

© 2024 Blooming Flower

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Reviews

Twilight

This reminds me, of when I enjoyed cross country running at secondary school.

You have captured well, the effort, physical wear and tear, pain and much else; associated with those who are running to the max. Pushing themselves, and striving as best they can; even ignoring the physical pain at times.

Keep on writing. And, running..!

Posted 1 Week Ago

Coyote Poetry

I did track in Highschool and I ran for the Army track team. Running is cool. We can test our legs and body. I liked the positive energy of the poem. I need to run again. My old knees are not as strong. Thank you dear poet for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote