This is where they go running,
with their pencil shadows
stretched across the road,
trailing hot breath that billows
from a furnace of aching lungs,
driven by their cold, balled fists.
This morning is theirs,
the marathon matchsticks,
inching along the green, the stone wall,
and they refuse the break, the rest.
For their capacity, they are crowned
by the crest of the rising sun.
It’s become a healthy obsession, luckily,
But it took a lot to start,
So much that I needed it written down,
My reasons to run.
Number one: to keep fit.
To lose the stodge, to shed the belly,
To reclaim the years I binged beer
And chocolate, popcorn and telly,
To be able to reach my second floor flat
Without feeling out of breath
To expand my lungs, a fresh restart,
Clear the mind and body,
And for once, without pain, feel my heart
From cakes and pastries and salami.
While these helped, it wasn’t enough to shift
My cemented couch potato state
Native to the living room,
Best friends with the clean plate.
I had to remember why I ran as a kid,
And then it became easy.
It wasn’t for sport, it wasn’t for fitness, it wasn’t for show,
Instead, it was just to see
I could go.