The Mile Poem by Spotted Dog

Stand there, on that starting line
Shivery, slick with sweat, legs wound tight like springs
A thundering shot echoes,
Stolen steps, a slight shove, a steely resolve:
You hit the ground running.

Slam past that first hundred,
Some animal instinct tears free, deep in your chest,
Nothing can stop you tearing through that turn!
A lap.

Muscles tight, toes treading lightly on track,
Wind whipping whirls through your hair
Hands and body bloodless from the the cold.
A lap.

But then, with broken form and breath billowing out
Some softly spoken whisper in your head speaks of slacking
You can't let that happen, but it's coming nearer and nearer,
A burning! The pain!
A lap!

One more, one more
A voice screams out loud, demanding victory;
Your own or the crowds', you do not know
That last, terrible turn tears your thigh muscles in two
That whirlwind slams into your frame,
Lean bone, blood and muscle struggle against the odds
Lastly, the line, and...
Finished!