Poetryrunning

Grimsthorpe 10k

The ground was amok with
uneven stones which flowed
amongst the divots, weeds and
muddy puddles.

To stride up a hill, not once,
twice but four times.
As equally we go down altering
our pose to keep a balance
we hold.

With trees clad to our right
and a bottomless, brown coloured
lake to the left, fields appear ahead
as we have forgotten what has passed.

What’s next? A badly ploughed field
that no runner can run. Followed this is the
final hill and with legs a sore, we trundle up.

One final push with stiff legs and muscles
that hurt, its a sprint to the finish line
and a medal to sport our neckline, a breathless
joy of completing the run, becomes our minds
and soon we feel that runners high.

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