This is a poem I'm working on, about a lot of marathons I've run.
The miles unroll beneath your feet at first.
Your thoughts are on the beauty of the course.
You're running faster than you had rehearsed,
and yet your legs feel supercharged with force.
The middle, somehow, gets to be a chore.
You're vaguely achy - slowing down the pace.
Beautiful scenery now becomes a bore.
You wonder why you signed up for this race.
The last few miles are such a dreadful drag.
You need to force each foot to take each step.
Your spirit spirals southward in a sag.
You sigh when other runners pass with pep.
But there's the finish right before your eyes.
Your spirits lift. You sprint toward the prize.
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