Running

Three more
rounds,
I told myself
as I ran around
the ditch
oval track
around our
school.
Three more rounds,
I muttered
as I gulp a
lungful of air
and exhaled with
a shout.
The slender mahogany
trees swayed
as the cold
breeze blew.
I let out a
smile and nod
as I pass by
soccer
players
as they ask
me to join them
with their stretching.
Just a little more
and I’ll gulp
the Pocari sweat waiting
for me
beside
coach who’s yelling
“faster!”
Eighteen laps
I counted, my vision
dimmer
just a little
more.
I felt the sticky
sweat turned watery as I
wiped my face
with
my wrist.
My pace
slowed down,
I felt a stab
by my left side
as if a knife
struck me.
I gritted my
teeth.
I heard coach shout
again, “Faster!”
Carry on,
one lap to go.
I plead to myself.
Just a little more.
The afternoon
was cold, it was
about to rain
my tongue stuck
out as I sucked
for all the air
I can.
Two hundred,
one-eighty,
one-fifty,
one hundred.
“Run!”,
coach finally instructed.
I took one big gulp
again,
I leaned forward
and squeezed
the last energy
I can muster.
Tiptoes
I ran
until out of breath
until
I crossed
the line
one last time.