Half Marathon

The farther I go, the less I am.

Down the hill and into the city.

Cross the bridge, feel the hazy sun

Listen to the people in the stadium.

One, two, one, two, feet meet pavement

meet metal concrete grass

And there are people flying past

and there is the river to my right

and the farther I go, the less I am

worried about the future

wondering about what’s gone

weighing what I’ve done

I am just a mass of oxygen and energy

just one little heart in this city

and I remember coming down to this park

when I was in fourth grade

I remember liking this place

I didn’t have much to compare it to then,

but here I am now still thinking it

despite the mountains, despite the culture

despite the places I’ve been,

I’m falling in love with Cincy again

and the farther I go, the less I am

desperate to make it all happen

yearning to land

I am breathing in warm December air

and climbing the Mount Adams stairs

here, a handrail, there a turn

old stone blocks, bridge across the parkway

and there are the Immaculata bells

and there is the city on the hill

and here I am, expecting nothing

but the breath in, out, in, out,

and the one, two, one, two foot slap

cobblestones

red brick roads

fly downhill and up again,

and the farther I go, the less I am

sure of my destination

needing a destination

wanting anything besides this sign:

Welcome to Eden Park.

We’ll make it back across

well before dark

we jog parabolas through the hills of town

we are flying all the way down

on the trail by the water, and the people

walking home from the game

(21-41 Bengals, who dey)

are happy and warm and a little drunk

and we stop at the bookstore

and I think I can do three, maybe five, more

I feel good today. There’s nothing

in my brain.

It is a nice change.

And the farther I go, the less I am

nervous, needy,

looking for confirmation.

I need no one’s attention.

I answer my own questions.

I am whole just as I am, closing in

on mile ten,

turn left, up the long Devou climb

back to where we started.

Here, a hairpin turn.

There, a lesson learned.

We are breathless with distance

when we reach the end.

And the farther I go, the less I am.