What kind of sucks,
Is that no matter how much or how hard
I work out,
I’m still not getting much better.
My times aren’t improving,
My soreness doesn’t go away as fast,
I’m really holding on.
As Jackson Browne sang, “Time the conqueror.”
It hit me hard today,
I was running with my stepson,
I ran my first marathon around the time he was born,
He’s sixteen now and ready to drive,
To bad for him DMV isn’t open for testing, yet, pandemic and all.
Anyway, I have one rule for people I run with
Go as fast as you go, slower or faster than me,
But go your own way.
And that he did,
Leaving me alone in a field as he sped into the woods
A mere two minutes or so into a four-mile run.
He’s powerful, assertive, unbothered by roots and rocks
Because he can pick his feet up when he runs.
I can’t sustain that, shuffle ensues, and then I have to be careful,
Not so much so that I don’t push, but
It is so that I’m not sixteen anymore.