Thank You

Descending from Tryfan
In an early morning autumnal mist
Three nights of hill-bound
Body odour to prove our ordeal
The welcome end in sight
And my joy is eclipsed
By sudden uncalled-for
Patella pain

A decade passes
And I, unable to run
And reduced often to
Less than a child’s pace
A young man no longer young
Stoic I, sad at heart
But head held high
Push on with private prayers

After-dawn rituals continue
There’s cereal, toast, tea
Bible readings, and tie-tying
All with variable success
A pre-work regularity but
Interrupted on this day
By one unbidden word:

‘Run!’

A command from Beyond
Authoritative, inescapable
Unharsh, inaudible
More than a word

So, crippled I
Locate my battered trainers
Old from lack of use
And find a gravel path
And obey, for a quarter of a mile
Then a mile the next day
Half-marathons follow on
Patella pain consigned
To the past

I run now on new fuel
Offerings of thanksgiving
To the One
Who interrupted my prayers
And made me an
Implausible parable
On two legs:

Therefore strengthen the hands
That hang down
And the feeble knees
And make straight paths for your feet
So that what is lame
May not be dislocated
But rather be healed…
…let us run the race