Brace the knees—

And chop, chop, chop.

My heart’s just getting started 

As I throw my head forward

And swing my arms forward and backward,

Knowing not what lies ahead

Or what I’m doing

Of what’s around me.

But acquainting myself with the willow tree

And the mailboxes. 

7:30

My hips have loosened and I’m on the side of a road.

Just flying along the cracked concrete and puffy adhesive,

The ants on runs of their own,

Like a bird over a city.

7:15

My toes have started to cramp,

My head is bleeding of vision and stability.

My feet are poaching in their burgundy,

And all I can do is power through, my eyes on the prize just half a mile ahead,

7:45

Finally downhill, a break from the weathered world 

And humid sky,

Looking to verify my successes

And successors, that I’ve really done my homework.

7:30

The final stretch, and stop.

Knees buckling and hands numbing,

Seeing spots and my stomach brewing excess,

Bonking.