Mike Crosby

The Runner

I'm a runner,
through and through.
Running’s what
I HAVE to do.

Three times a week,
and sometimes more.
For thirty years,
it’s been my chore.

Up at six.
Out the door.
Taking air,
and wanting more.

Through winter cold,
and summer heat,
Pounding round my
running beat.

Past the beach,
a man and dog.
Up the hill;
what a slog.

On the pavement
across the street.
Rhythmical striding
cushioned feet.

Reflected in a
window pane.
A runner running
keeping sane.

Fifty minutes,
ten to go.
Keep the pace,
never slow.

Round the roads
on course I wind.
In a trance-like
state of mind.

Floating on a
high of thought,
Solutions to my
problems brought.

Keeping track
of every run.
Noting down the
time I’ve done.

For thirty years
I’ve run and run.
It keeps me fit
at sixty one.

I am a runner,
through and through.
Running’s what
I HAVE to do.

Like a drug,
I’m in its power.
Three trips a week,
each trip and hour.

Poem Submitted: Sunday, January 20, 2008

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