March 7, 2011
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My breath is hampered, my face is bright red.
My legs are becoming weak and useless,
And now my hair is matted to my head,
From all my gross sweating I look a mess.

The hills seem to grow with each step of mine,
The wind whips my legs, as the cold grows worse.
I concentrate on the sidewalks cracked lines.
Blood pumps through my veins, my heart is the source.

When I run my world quickly whizzes by.
Running lets me contemplate my troubles,
My options seem to extend to the sky.
Running down the hill my slow pace doubles.

I start to head home, looking for my street,
Cleansing mind and body, running is a retreat.

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