Pain

Pain

The smell of fresh cut grass,
The feel of sweat sticking to your face,
The sound of the wind in your hair,
And tired muscles screaming for release.

Shoes pounding, Hearts racing,
Feeling others behind you.
Glancing at your watch,
Seeing seconds tick away .

Here’s the white line,
Feel the surge of Hermes rush through your veins
And know that the cheering is for you.

You pass the person in front of you
And for once you’re in the lead.
You’re the pointer, you’re a sprinter
You’re the rabbit, you’re the runner.

As you cross the line,
You know this is you.

You’ve run the race for fun,
For Glory,
For the Competition,
And the Pain is but momentary.