The Marathon Battle

In the early days of the London marathon being broadcast on TV, when drinks were provided in a plastic cup that had to be snatched from tables by the runners, if possible, set at intervals along the course. And the runners started all from the same place. I watched with great interest at this amazing sight. I thought what a determined lot they were and what a unique sight. 26 miles of toucher for many, just to help others less fortunate than themselves. I had the idea to write a poem with 26 verses, I set off at a sprint writing down thoughts, slowed down, came to a stop and then gave up on my challenge to create 26 verses. Set out below is the poem as it ended up. I think it encapsulates the race experience. in both real and imaginary ways.

THE MARATHON BATTLE
This day, soon after dawn, assembled an assorted league
of most determined souls,
To pit their minds and body strengths
against this winding, remorseless foe.

A foe, offering each soul even battle without favour,
being just the same for all,
This a running fight,
a task endured and fought,
by most, for others out of love.

Each will give ’their all’ for sponsored gain,
to help a chosen causes.
Now, this great assembled mass of bodies stir, move,
then begins its gracious flow.

A tight packed homogeneous form, moving slowly, a movement,
greeted eagerly by all, at this the appointed time,
Excited tension, feeds a thrilled anticipation,
Buzzing in wave form throughout this vast slowly gliding mass.

The jostling pack of bodies surge to form a lengthening stream,
This forward moving milling mass,
slowly creating new shapes, as
Muscle powered body frames, move through space and time.

Each frame borne by sinuous legs fuelled by a determined mind,
Move towards the end gain, the aim of each,
To finish in some haste with good pace.
As pounding feet herald these flowing bodies within this special race.

Strong flexing, obedient feet, carry those striving hot bodies,
on and forward against the torturous pain,
that dwells along this winding route,
As stride after stride brings ever closer the fine Ribboned end

On towards this ribbon finish, the aim of each mind and pride.
Moves that steaming mass of man,
Each with assorted strengths
All then pace this course as each stride blends with measured time

These strides forms each individuals fortune, within this flowing charge,
All hold a mode of serious contest
or just honoured attendance,
To be there, the real point, to finish well, their main intention.

This, a long journey, fraught throughout by stress and strain.
As hot bodies, with throbbing minds
in dehydrated frame,
Greet those many outstretched hands offering liquid life in a cup.

They wet a brow and soothe a throat parched dry by draining sweat,
Which flows now so freely, from each one there,
at every open pore.
Throughout this journey causing body muscles to throb and burn.

As these driven souls within this flowing, moving, jogging mass,
Find strength from those around,
A help, which draws them towards the end
Of winding course, which demands from each, a most determined mind

To fight the pain and mental stress offered by this route, at every turn,
One sees the souls of those about,
and hears the sound of spectators shout,
Each lifts the spirit of all, whos will may plea, ‘Stop! let me die, let me die.’

When the Ribbon End is at last in sight, those fast tiring striding legs,
Get spirit power from deep inside,
That moves the now exhausted frame,
To reach that battered Ribbon line and from it victory claim