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Chronicles of a long Distant Race

I arrive amidst all the chatter and confusion
that seems to haunt all pre-race activities,
friend greeting friend,
club member greets fellow member,
New shoes, shorts and shirts being shown emulously.
Profusions of Vaseline used in all those little places,
stretches of an overweening nature giving one an
overawed feeling of inferiority,
warm up laps being produced at a frightening pace
conveying to this novice the very thoughts they are suppose to!
Tannoy system then bursts into action signifying the
end of the disorganized bustle, thus signaling the creation
of the organized hustle.
“Favourites to the front, others to the rear,”
Mr. Starter then proceeds to give a small sermon to all,
on sportsmanship.
The pistol then snarls, the jostle begins, one thousand souls
are manoeuvred on their fervid way, each striving violently
to become at peace with one's inner self.
Still jovial the chatter remains at fever pitch,
only time will subside its fervour.
I, trying to focus in my mind any subject at will, if only to
ease the pain of this competitive array.
Step by step the miles begin to abate, this, only reminding the
body of what already has been achieved,
leaving one searching the brain for even more constructive
reasoning for progression.
Then through eyes glazed by abundance of moisture I see the
eternal finishing line,
with throngs of folk waiting proudly to caress to share to
question,
I finish amid scenes of wild excitement breaking out all
around me,
although I have an inner satisfaction of achievement I still feel
like a stranger here, in this a carnival atmosphere,
for a moment I nearly forget,
that no one is here to share, my glory my burden,
that I am what I am.
The loner!

© Harry J Horsman  2012

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