My breath is hindered, my face is very red.
My legs are becoming frail and useless.
And now my hair is knotted to my head,
From all my foul sweating I look a mess.
The hills seem to grow with each stride of mine,
The breeze lashes my legs, as the chill grows worse.
I concentrate on the sidewalk's broken lines.
Endurance is a gift but sometimes it's a curse.
When I run, my world swiftly speeds by.
Running lets me contemplate my troubles,
My options seem to extend to the sky.
Running down the hill my slow pace doubles.
I start to head home, looking for my street,
Purifying mind and body, running is a retreat.
(Editorial commentary: I ran cross-country in high school. This poem reminds me of those sweaty, exciting days. Congratulations to you, Ben. You're a winner! Keep running and writing!)
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