Shoes that run

Give me twenty minutes;
that's all I need.
Feet thunder under lightning-struck skies,
but no-one notices.
We ignore it, and embrace the steady pitter-patter of the rain,
focusing only on the eternal squelch of trainer and mud.
This moment is simply obeying the unstoppable march,
one-two-three-four one-two-three-four,
taking it as far as its legs will carry me.
I burst up the hill, sweat trickling down my forehead.
It has only just begun.

The beach.
Nights out.
Ex-girlfriends.
Anything to detract from the most painful minutes I endure every day.
I've passed that bench now, and the rocks are loose underhand;
not perfect running conditions, but acceptable.
Acceptable for me.
The body gives up, but the mind continues,
burning into the belly of my calf.
Some tribal cultures view this as the utmost test of manhood.
It is my life; when I am most connected to myself.
I'm more than halfway there, and I'm not stopping now.

I vault the gate, preparing for the imminent onslaught of the sludgy hill,
and the stench of foul effluent that runs into the river below.
The hill, he may have stood still for millions of years,
but I fly past him in a matter of seconds.
I am elated; ecstatic, as nothing can beat my resolve...

The final stretch.
I sprint over the river, clearing the bridge in two powerful bounds.
Run Billy, run!
And I finish.
I bend to my knees,
placing my hands on my sides,
lungs hating eternally, spitting blood at the torture I dragged them through.
A throbbing vein pulses along the side of my head,
which is ready to split; burst open;
throw me down to the ground for daring to stop running;
the parasitic snake within which commands me every day

Still...
Twenty minutes well spent!