First Marathon

I rememberl a friend of mine say,
"We need to run a marathon, one day".
My reply to him, as I recall
Was not me, not me at all.
We were already doing a short training run,
An experience, I would never call fun.
This was in December of nineteen eighty nine
And our training rules, we'd need to refine.
Running at least eight miles each day
With a long one of fifteen, I would say.
Rest on Sunday, because our set routine.
Our goal was to make our long runs
Every other week to protect our and ankles and feet.
The length of the long run, soon became twenty
And I can say that we did run many.
At last the race day was almost here.
Into the car, we made our long foray
To Vancouver, BC for the run of our year.
The next morning the air held a freeze,
So designer sweats of a Hefty garbage bag,
Over our head, it covered us to our knees
And we could shed it with great ease.
Off all the runners went, at their own pace,
With the coolest of air, blowing in our face.
From the Convention Center to Stanley Park,
The struggles were there, no longer a lark.
We ran with the comfort of our training
Time, now being felt, up to the
Lion Gate Bridge to North Vancouver way
A left and a right, turning to the East.
Then looming ahead, not a favorable sight
Was the East Bridge, with lots of height.
Down the bridge, legs feeling good.
My breathing was not labored, I misunderstood,
When an elderly man, watching, yelled at me,
"Breathe" which I thought I was doing.
My body was laboring, my breathing was hard.
We turned the corner, with the Finish in sight
And we sprinted towards that beautiful sight.
The elation felt when crossing the line,
I will always remember, till the end of my time.