I Am Become

I ran cross country in high school. I learned the deceptive translation of miles to kilometers, what to eat, how to train. Ours was a winning team -- the boys took state that year -- even though I wasn't any good. I did finish the season, almost to spite my coach, but I hated it. I got through each race only by telling myself that my deceased grandmother was watching over me and she would be proud.


The only other time I can remember running was a dry hot afternoon after a terrible day at work. I don't know why; all I wanted to do was run. I put on my sneakers and just took off, running until I could barely move, then turning around and trudging home. It seemed like forever, but I'm sure it was only a couple of miles. Since then the fastest I have moved was crossing the street against oncoming traffic.

And yet . . .

I have been running lately. I use the dogs as an excuse, and my health as a reason, but there's something more happening. I am finding a certain satisfaction in a good run. I am experimenting with stride length and have taught myself not to heel strike. I am learning a new language, one of the body rather than the mind. I am taking pride in my strength, and pushing for more. It's a foreign country for me, one I enjoy visiting.

I am become

more beautiful

with each stride

As my legs bend and spring

I rise into

the next breath

stretching forward

calculating each step

and I finally know beauty

that comes not from
the shapeliness of my calves

or the brute strength of my thighs

or the sweat of my brow

but the exultation of my soul

as I fly along the concrete