Shape of Running

I try to flex in the ankle more than the knees,

triangulate my breathing to the angles thrown,

submit myself to flow, forget the legs,

swinging arms, the muscle feed

of  thumping blood, 

the sun/lung burn combo. 

An ant on a map viewed from above

scurrying the roadrace up spectator corridors,

channeling cheers into a brace

to splint myself with encouragement, 

up hills like a Pied Piper enticing

only myself further afield.

I’ll join the dots back where I started, panting

salted, all measurements in the red,

Water-drenched, clutching my medal,

 mind already set toward the next.