Runner’s High

Joy comes not on triumphant wings

But on two feet

Finally strong enough to carry you

Farther than you had hoped

Still falling short of perfection

But drawing nearer to decent

Which is all you really wanted when you started

Jagged inhales surround you

In the rhythm of your slow victory

One step, another, in and out, and breathe

The pump of your heart

And the pound of your footfalls

Reminding you that as you collect

The ache in your side and your lungs and your legs

You outrun the willful weakness in your head