but because these gloves
have signified change in weather
for countless seasons,
because the inches of snow
mean I claim the streets
again for myself,
because I know the morning's dark
and the night's dark,
and my senses are pushed to their limits,
because I will run in layers
or remove them as necessary,
weighed down or stripped to my skin,
because I know the taste of mud,
and woodchip, and pine, and sand,
the earth spits at me,
because I am of the first,
of the middle, and of the last,
know each and am known by each,
because I run splinted, bruised,
beat, and torn not for glory
but for devilish need,
because it is not glamorous and
I let it become too much
and I have lost some from it
who won't understand,
because I have gained others from it
who know too well, knowing me
as much as I know them,
because I have touched their palms
at ends of long toils, trails, and treks,
and forever am linked with them,
because each mile logged matches
one thousand unlogged
and they have both built me and broken me,
because my shoes and a watch follow me
where I go, a friendship unlike another,
because I have never looked the part,
too tall, too stiff, too slow,
because it keeps me up at night,
a loud, noisy, unrelenting lover,
because I have thrown up
and held my vomit in,
because a small beep can signify
death and failure and birth and success,
because I have been through countless batteries
but run on through them,
because of the recognition of the pack
and the shrug, the grunt, and the look,
because of sundays together,
alone in the woods,
because of adventure and being lost,
because of storm clouds and rain
that find me wet, waterlogged,
headed for home,
because of the time away,
angry and bitter, forced to heal,
missing every painful step,
because of a need to create,
compose, and leave an impression,
because of the small jog,
the satisfied shakedown with friends,
because of anticipation,
what makes our nerves stretch,
what reminds us to be good,
because of the crack,
the tense, terse, careful steps,
because of the elbows, the bumps,
the shoves and nudges for space,
because of all the spots,
the memories, the smells, the sounds,
because you beat me
over and over again,
because you believe that it even matters,
because you give up when you are tired,
sick, or slow,
because I am always tired,
sick, and slow,
because I am made and unmade,
because when it comes down to it,
when you are spent and I am spent,
I will beat you, but
not because I am faster than you--
