Three minutes of effort,
One to recover,
What could I possibly think about
During that short running time?
It’s not like my mind can drift,
The Curve requires concentration,
I lost my balance and nearly fell once,
But my mind was ruthless in its wandering
So I let it go,
Thinking as much about the music as I could,
The rock GOATS Led Zeppelin,
The jam legends Phish,
Neither of whom I’ve seen,
But both clearly in my mind,
A picture of bands playing instruments
While their anthems blasted through my headphones
And my feet kept a simple pace for all of three minutes at a time.
For a few rounds, Tupac and Cube took over,
My mind locked in on their words,
Appropriate today, just as they were back then,
My mental image was MTV,
Not guys on stage shredding the air with instruments,
But dudes creating an image, crafting a message,
Selling the end of the rock and roll
That I grew up with.
I was into their styles,
The anger, the frustration, the calls to action,
And the minutes rolled on
One stride after another
One song after another,
One drop of sweat after another.

I know these people who run,
Some of their stories I know,
Most I don’t.
One became drawn to running
With one hand in a bag of chips
While watching a weigh-in
For a heavyweight fight.
He realized he weighed more than them.
He started running the next day.
He’s like the wind.

Another is a woodworker,
At least as a hobby,
His motor runs fast,
Commuting or running,
Feet barely touching the ground,
Hardly even working
There’s grace in his stride
Ease in his sweat
A lack of awareness of friction and gravity.
He’s like the wind.

Still one other, full of steam,
A seller of meat so fresh
It’s nearly alive,
Unassuming, but grizzled from sports
And a bout with biology’s wayward cellular mayhem,
This guy just goes,
No complaining, except about winter,
But all the time full of the attitude
The keeps him pushing along the rails
As his steam trails off in the wind.

There are others,
Cardiac crazies who dare to push their limits,
And I find them to be so interesting,
Compelling,
Insane,
My kind of people,
Riders of the wind,
Pounders of the pavement,
Folks I am struggling to keep pace with
For I have not quite taken up their flight…soon, though.

Knowing when it’s good,
The feeling of accomplishment,
Satisfaction,
Storied moments elusive and fleeting
When age couples with disinterest,
Knowing when it’s good,
A welcome relief.

Charging up a hill after weeks of patience,
Reckless, bolstered with determination
Unbound by the constraints
Of doubt, worry, responsibility
Just letting it fly,
The motor running hot,
Stupidity carrying the day.

The order of things doesn’t matter,
Whether avoiding Satanic graffiti,
Stories of broken hearts, or just hoping
To keep up with the fleetest of the group
It did not matter,
It was good,
It was the beginning of something new.