I like to run long-distance races
nothing ultra, of course, a half-marathon
is quite enough to put me through my paces,
beyond that it's simply not much fun.
Now, sadly, that is something of the past,
good memories of camaraderie and grit
the determination to finish and finish fast
and know that I am fighting fit.
So, he’s garaged the running shoes, you think,
and now does the garden in the Two Oceans’ vest
not as exciting as meeting for a post-race drink
and celebrating another Personal Best.
Oh no, I say, the truth is far more absurd
the reality is that, scarcely five k’s into a race.
my body decides it’s time for a turd
and sends me off to a discrete place.
Now, Constantia with all its leaves and trees
offers many a spot to stop the watch,
put the demands of the body at ease
then resume the run, even up it a notch.
A race, however, is a different story,
the road a thrum of feet in action,
intent upon reaching that finishing glory
With not a stop save the water station.
To break away from the chosen bus*
in search of some bush for urgent relief
is far, far more than just a las
and kicks any race hopes in the teeth.
Has he gone online for a solution, you think.
Yes to that, the problem’s not unique
a No to fried food, high-fibre and sugary drink,
I’ve tried all that – Imodium too – my body’s a freak!
So you see now why I run alone
because, regardless of pills and diet psychology,
and whatever else I might find on my phone,
my body’s dying for a colonoscopy.
* bus – a term used a for group that runs together, aiming for a specific time.
Thanks to Miguel Amutio on Unsplash for the image.
