Friday, March 15, 2013

The Fraternity of the Morning Dark

Today, I ran 20 miles with about seven of them before the sun even broke the Eastern horizon. As I was running along in the dark I thought about what I would write.  This is what I started in my head...and ended here.  It is free form; it is poetry -- so feel free to make fun of me. No really.  I totally have it coming but I don't care. However, read to the end. Then make fun of me.

There is a Fraternity of the early morning
The nod across the street in the pre-dawn hours 
Blinking don't-kill-me-lights casting red shadows on parked cars
Lost in thoughts born of dreams still in progress but cut short to an obsession

Miles lost to dodging delivery trucks and old Chinese ladies doing Tai Chi
Rolling over Clement to Sutro down the Great Highway
Flying down hill towards faux Quixotean visions 
Still in the dark and not yet awake 

Along the Water with Not-In-Service buses and the N Judah Last Stop
That Brotherhood gives way to an awareness found only in low blood sugar
Still giving a slight nod to chums knocking out the miles or even just a few strides
Sloat to Lake Merced and the dark finally relents

The normal early morning crowd greeting their morning friends
Joggers finish quick daily cardio with hands on their knees 
Coxswain directing and crews puling 
The sun warming the route well after it was welcome

Deep into double digit mileage and not near the end
Back up hill, and down deep into the morning 
No longer romantic nor in the dark 
This run could be over at any time

Cresting the hill and down the street and on even futher
Golden Gate in the distance; a shower and breakfast just beyond that
The pain sets in and that clarity of low blood sugar is replaced with tunnel vision 
Nearly finished but not yet
 For the love of anything besides that bullshit I was talking about at the outset
What fraternity? 
What clarity? 
What brotherhood? 
Why am I still running?

Turning the final corner and heading home with distance measured in feet
The Garmin beeps with the last lap of the day
 The limp is pronounced and the ankle is swollen
It is over; I eat all the foods
A poem, by the dcc. 

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