Second Wind

Sometimes during

a game of inches,

you will have a crisis of confidence.

You will feel as though

you’ve given everything

before you’ve finished,

and lament

the end of your journey

before the climax.

What else is left?

I dig deeper,

in a panic,

and realize there’s nothing.

The doubter’s voices crowd my head,

and they all sound familiar.

No fuel, not even a hint

of fumes to run on,

but I run on

when I was sure I was spent.

The naysayers

continue their tirade,

but I pay them no mind.

The march continues

and the runner’s high kicks in.

I’m going to do the greatest

act of defiance

that I know —

I’m going to make it

to the end.

Runner’s High

Inhale

exhale.

Running sucks

and I love it so much.

Ready?

Feel the steady drumbeat

of an active heart,

with quick feet,

deep breathing

and concentration.

Keep on keeping on

until you beat back

that little voice in your head

saying

“I need to rest,

I need to sit down,

I need to reset.”

Inhale,

exhale.

No matter where you go,

you are always here

stay with this moment,

allow yourself to feel

the daily strain —

it wains with perseverance,

Inhale,

exhale.

The only way out

is through —

everything

you were clinging

tightly to

will

blow away,

inhale,

exhale.

Joy washes over you,

as pure exertion

becomes elation.

Ready?

Inhale,

exhale.

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Troubleshooting

After a few quick scans

I’ve found it in myself

to put together a damage estimation,

And hold in my hands,

Some summons, subpoenas and citations.

*Ahem*

Cracked two teeth on prickly pear pits,

From breakfast,

Scuffed-up my running shoes which didn’t fit,

3 toes stubbed,

Forearms covered in thorns,

From when I tripped into the shrubs.

Bumps on my crown,

From fallen acorns,

During the post workout cool-down.

And bruised shins,

I think I just woke up with.

Would plead no contest,

But won’t bother showing up to my court date.

I am,

Henceforth,

Placing myself on house arrest,

As my own harshest critic,

Judge, jury and executioner.