Serious Mileage

Go grab your takkies and get ready…

What are you running from?


A Comrades Poem

Twas the night before Comrades, when all along the coast

Not a runner was stirring, not even to boast;

The race numbers were hung on club shirts with great care,

In hopes that come morning, you are prepared;


The novices were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of Bill Rowan medals danced in their heads;

Repeat offenders, with race plans in their lap,

Knew sleep was elusive but praying for the odd nap.


When out at a B&B arose such a clatter,

Barely past midnight there’s Lani trying to sort out an injury matter.

Stretching and pulling and downward dogging away,

Begging her feet to not ruin the day.


The moon on the breast of fierce determination,

Thoughts of strong running and perhaps some precipitation,

When what to her horror did then appear,

Lack of breathing born out of fear,

Falling to her knees lively and quick,

She knew where to draw strength, she knew the trick.


She prayed, and she cried, and she called on his name:

“Please my Lord, here I am and humbly I pray!

Hold me and guide me and carry me all the way!

To the top of Inchanga! To the Comrades honour wall!

May a bail bus not entice me or catch me at all!

To Arthur’s seat so I may doff my hat and lay down a flower

To charging into the stadium displaying the works of your mighty power.

And then she knew she would finish come what may,

As the peace descended there was only one thing left to say;

 “Happy Comrades to all, and to all a good day!”