While school is beginning again, the calendar still reads summer — and so does the temperature gauge. This Typewriter Rodeo poem embraces the challenge of exercising in the heat. Still, be careful out there!
sweat is my metronome,
down the back of my neck.
inside my knee creases.
down the front of my nike socks.
it keeps time with my cadence,
that perfect 180 steps per minute
growing more and more sluggish by the
second as my skin refuses
to breathe as quickly as my lungs.
muscles begging for more
there is an aliveness here,
i am a solar panel maxxed out,
the outside temperature finally
matching my insides, the blood
that pumps with no questions asked,
(not even “why now” because every fiber
of my being understands the only thing
worse would be waking up early
to still feel hot).
we just go, me and my blood,
me and my sweat,
me and my fire in my belly and my heart
and my footfalls pounding pavement,
we run faster and faster
to the edge of the brink,
the salty sting of
just you wait
for my strava
Typewriter Rodeo is also available anytime in podcast form.
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