Half Marathon - 1986

Blindly running , sense omitted, 

Self obsessed and time fixated, 

Beetroot faced with Dire Straits headbands, 

Blanking cheering, jeering crowds.

Sideways glancing at reflections, 

Strut the startline, gaudily garbed, 

Whippet thin  and victory hungry, 

Vanity slaps its gauntlet down.

Working hard, playing harder, 

Beery breath from last night's session, 

Shallow yuppies drown in the challenge, 

Watch them struggle all those miles.

Sisters of blisters form on their soles,

The muscular pain is Ralgex controlled,

The race it goes on, the training, and time,

Interior mantras, rhythm and rhyme.

Dripping sweat into blinded eyes,

Reaching , flailing for the prize,

Die-cast medals and bin bag cloaks,

At the marathon's finish, fit to boak!