Running is a pain,
From which I really don’t gain.
I don’t seem to lose any weight,
And I really miss getting up late.
Every morning when I check it at 4:30,
The weighing scale always says 140.
I hang my head in shame,
Lack of sleep is driving me insane.
I need to stop feeling strange,
Will this sensation ever change?
I can’t bend to tie my lace,
Is that such a big disgrace?
I go out into the morning chill,
Telling myself that running is a thrill.
Happy that I am not carrying my phone,
For once I seem to be truly left alone.
I break into a jog,
Trying to clear the fog.
My mind seems unusually cloudy,
Must be last night’s brandy.
As I start to pant,
My mind seems to go on the rant.
I brace against the reverberations,
Of my bodily lamentations.
Lungs aching for a fag,
Stamina and determination beginning to sag.
Ignoring the steady flow of perspiration,
I look around for some inspiration.
Eyes scanning the desolate landscape,
I realize that I am badly out of shape.
Hearing footsteps behind me,
I quickly turn around and see.
Ah there she was like a breath of fresh air,
The beautiful damsel with flowing black hair.
I would loved to have asked her to stop,
But I didn’t know what to do about her pop.
They ran along and disappeared around the curve,
I cursed myself for my lack of nerve.
Not wanting to take the beaten path,
I decided to get back home and take my bath.
Is it the pain from the run or the run from the pain,
Why do I keep thinking so much in vain?
Anyway now that time has come,
Joining me for lemon tea anyone?