Ode to The Bud Mile
(or something of the sort ...)
Got my top, shorts, and socks,
Spikes, too, 6 pins each, all in tight.
Running guru said "Jamaica, mon' ".
She is good, "Right you are, hon'",
So, I go with it, what a sight.
She is good, "Right you are, hon'",
So, I go with it, what a sight.
The green-black-gold combo,
Well, it looks quite slick,
With my buzz-cut, too, even aerodynamic!
With my buzz-cut, too, even aerodynamic!
Grab my gear, fuel, and H2O,
I guess I’m ready, then,
To go race, again, tonight.At the gun, race a while,
Metric laps, only 4, plus a bit,
Numbers odd - "Hey, what's that split?"
Oh, it's The Mile, not 15, more time to fly.
Do or die - I think I'll die - but not just yet;
Off the turn, it's all burn,
Glut's, quads, calves, and lungs,
Upper body, too, a real physio-fire!
I KNOW I'll die, but I try, before I expire,
100, 80, 60, meters, somewhere out there.
I can't make it; yes I can, but I'm out of air.
In my delusion, it's an illusion -
I swear that stripe is moving!
(Perhaps there truly is no finish line.)
Finally, past the tape, I repay my debt,
More O2, that's the ticket,
Now, then, I breathe a bit.
I can smile; I'm alive. Wait, how fast was it?
That was tough, but the test is done,
And so am I - no faster can I run.
Well, maybe, had I more time to train,
And, especially, less fear of pain.
So, I'll make a plan, stow the gear,
And keep on running, 'cause I'm gunning:
Same place, same race, better time ... next year.
