Agony and Ecstasy

I ran until my legs were like linguine;
I scrambled until my kneecaps cried
and my arms convulsed like
night crawlers pierced.  So
breathless, along the way,
lungs in rebellion, pink
innards lanced with
scythe, pleading
for air.

I pounded heels
and metatarsals like
ocean waves against tall
rocks, and slipped in squish
on Mud Run route among the
many others there.  My will like
strong coffee in the race, my lumbar
spine a gnawing burn like liquid 
jalapeno dripped on thin skin.

I felt the wet, runny earth ooze into
my shoes, all New Balance eyelets
pores enabling brown glop entry
to tongue and to Power Step
orthotic.  White laces and
aglets so powerless against
scandalous slop, abundant
rain-laced soil, ground
saturated and rank
with earthworm
aroma.

No pore was spared from big pit
mud, no crevice was immune. 
I wore thick gunk like river
banks, and running shoes
could not survive from
muck as thick as spackling. 
Taxed in mud-stucco, I let the sun
caress my face not far beyond the tape.
Lying flat, I listened to the clamor of
the others who had finished.  And I
felt one with the Earth. 


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
3-20-16