Running through the colorless desolate woods
All quiet except for the feet pounding.
The bitter air. The cold stings my skin.
My muscles become flat in the cold.
You can’t stop. Not even halfway.
Stay close to your man and key off him.
Don’t stop; don’t give up, never give up.

The path narrows—branches scrape my arm
The crowd is a storm in the night
Can’t think straight anymore
All the voices turn to the static of a radio
Only one voice sticks out
The only familiar voice
Coach.

I see his hat drop with the force of hail
That’s never a good sign.
Pick up the pace.
15th place still in reach.



The finish is in sight,
The roar of the crowd.
I pass one, two, three runners.
When you want to succeed;
As bad as you want to breathe
Then you will be successful.