One of the things I think I get asked most when random people find out I’m a runner is “WHY????”. I think that this question deserves more weight than I usually give it. Sometimes I respond with something like “I’m crazy” (true), “I might be addicted” (also true), but usually I just say something like “well I guess it isn’t for everyone if they don’t want it to be, but I like it.”

But for me running has often been more than just a small piece of my life. Over the past few months I’ve written around 50 poems, and many of them dealt with my relationship to running over the years. I have found refuge in running in a place that I feared, acceptance from my teammates in places where I couldn’t count on it from strangers, and on the best days, euphoria. This will probably not be the last I have to say about running here but it’s all I have for now. I hope you enjoy these few poems which are vaguely in chronological order.


I’m Still Breathing

I breath in air like drinking a milkshake
Through a straw too small.
The ceiling above me a dull beige like the walls.

I lay on top of sheets made up perfectly,
But my mind wanders far beyond this cell
Down to the track where my only solace lies.

A quarter mile loop
That lets me forget my troubles
And drown them in a bath of lactic and sweat.

Under the bleachers I lay swinging,
Swaddled and hanging in a dark blue cloth.
Hiding from a place that will eat me alive.

My head spins on my pillow
And I fight for control not to lose myself in the pain
Of a house that will never be home.

What if is the scariest question.
I could tell them;
Be in the hospital instead of this prison.

My breath labors in the dark;
A whirlwind of thoughts that will drown me.
I wonder why even bother.

But I do have more to give;
I have that track.
And I’m still breathing yet.



A pale blue shirt

Track club
That’s all it says
But I didn’t wear it to the bar tonight

A freaking rainbow!
You can’t handle it?
I don’t know, but I can’t take that chance.

We live in fear now
Of being illegal.
Or waking up with a black eye.

So I didn’t wear my shirt.



Berwyn on a Sunday

The breeze slips by us as we run.
Not quite pushing or grasping
But instead calm and refreshing,
Cooling the quiet heat of the autumn sun.

I can’t keep a smile off my face;
A grin from ear to ear.
I’ve waited years for this feeling to return.
Like nothing can touch me at this pace.

Surrounded by friends at last,
My problems fade as I laugh.
And I think I’ve dug myself out of that hole
That once tripped me up and held fast

Today I am free.
Like the sun in the sky I glow with warmth;
A contagion of a better order.
My friends just as happy as me.

We meander on,
Speeding by parks and streams.
The rhythm of our feet beating like a crazed drummer
Anointing us to some new pantheon.

At some point we split.
I retire home and sit.
Head awash in emotion,
Heart full for a bit

– Max Worley