Why do we? Why do we go back for more?

Perspiration pouring out like an artesian bore,

Groans in our bones, aches for goodness sakes,

The finish out of sight, this is what it takes.

 

Are we all masochists or are we just silly?

(I wish this darned course wasn’t that hilly!)

‘Fun run’: an oxymoron if ever there was one!

I’m sure this race has well and truly been won.

 

But I remember the day, the day of my PB,

It was so, so easy, I got a running stress freebie,

I felt virile, vibrant, young, I ran without fear,

The only thing, I can’t even remember the year.

 

Will I now walk? My legs they feel like rubber,

I’m a whale beached, heavy weight and all blubber,

No, no, I can’t give in to this easy walk option

That seduces me like some sensuous siren.

 

And now one last strain as I cross the finish line,

I’ll sit down, catch my breath, then I’ll feel fine,

Then talk to the others, make up all the excuses,

And ask, ‘Do you know any good masseuses?’

 

Then home to start on the long road to recover,

Apply some ice, pop a pill, maybe then another,

But whatever the weather, if it’s hot, wet or cold,

We will all be back, as good as gold, or just old.