A Sense of a Run

My feet pound the picturesque, sandy, trail

        Which winds between the tall stately trees

Whose names I cannot give you.

         The fresh smell of the dam;

Its nature. Its wildlife.

          Its reassuring as I swiftly flee

From my start and towards my end.

           The water looks a dream. As it ever does.

The pretty sail boats form vertical additions to my eye-line.

            Like a well-construed painting.

A Turner.

            A Manet.

Dam Flask. Sheffield.

Dam Flask. Sheffield.

The wall that runs the length

           of my halfway point

is in clear view ahead of me.

            I can no longer hear my breath rasping;

                                                                               It calms.

  It matches the scene afore me.

             The shuffle of my feet hitting the floor;

                                                                                that is clear now.

My feet feel for rocks that eyes can easily miss.

              I feel the sun’s warm glow upon me.

I smell, faintly, the beads of sweat

           that rest on my skin.

As I turn, to the home stretch, the wind is now facing me.

           Goading me.

Invisible, it roars in my ears even more than it did before

            The stir of voices that served as my background noise

Are gone now.

             The wind is all I hear.

My breath I can feel now

                             Fighting to get me home.

My legs I can also feel.

             Heavier than they should be.

 Suddenly, the finish.

It is now in my sight. In my eyes.

 The effect on my body is instant;

                                                                  immediate.

It lightens.

         My cadence increases.

                  I’m almost sprinting.

 And. Im done.

                   My sense mix again

and I lose the heightened awareness

                   I previously felt.

Just a rush.

             A relief

 

                    remains.

A sad relief.

The rest?

           The rest is a jumble.

 

This is the joy a run can bring.

 

 

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