By Kelly McDonald
The harsh wind, twenty knots, gusting before dawn,
I should be sleeping, not out running in weather.
My heart rate is spiking, the pace is declining,
up ahead mile-one, I’ve only begun,
not much of a run, more like a stagger.
Each morning, a ritual of dressing, the eventual
parking next to the path, same place, same space.
Leg stretches and limbering, set my listening and timing,
I’m off on the run, breath is already undone,
stiff legs are aching, an inelegant race.
My mind racing to catch, new ideas in a class,
jogging memories, stretching concepts together.
Flexing brain to reform old opinions, change my norm,
dashing caution aside, fresh abstractions defined,
thoughts rushing, to start new adventures.
My daily refine, running body and mind,
I’m not ready to bend to conformance.
No Bingo nor Backgammon,
shuffleboard or shuttlecock,
moves me from the couch to performance.