I look into the distance

As my chest burns

I’ve done this a million times

Is there anything I’ve learned?

I know them by their ponytails

Those girls that are so fast

I linger in their trails

My stride can’t keep up

They look so close but I don’t have such luck

Reality is that they’re moving at sub-7 minute pace

I try with all my heart to chase

The fluffy, dark, long, low ponytail

The one behind hers – shorter, higher, brown

The long blonde braided one that passes me as I slow down

I hear my high school cross country coach: “Catch the next ponytail!”

I swing my arms and legs to no avail

Time is against me

My nub of a ponytail sits there gently

Is anyone chasing?

What trail am I making?

These existential questions haunt me in a race no one cares about

It’s not the NCAA or the Olympics

But I’m convinced my results are eternally published

Recreational running as an adult is just an appendix

A 7:15 pace per mile is not as fast as I wished

Chasing ponytails is like climbing mountains – there’s always another

And some coach or some gremlin or parent or kid saying to go faster

In the end, what does it all matter?

When I’m done running will there be more satisfaction there

Than sore shins and a collection of hair