Fitness First 1

Two things I'm getting used to with this blog: 1. The poems I post will be works-in-progress rather than finished products, even though they are open to public viewing.  (I can't completely polish most poems in one day.)  2.  I know that friends and family will be reading these poems, as well as strangers, so I am aware of how they might take things.  (With today's poem, I am conscious that I have friends that go to the same gym as I do and will not agree with the feelings I express about some of the activities there.  In fact, I'm not sure I totally agree with them: I'm writing poems and not expressing final rational opinions about things.)

On the writing front, I wonder if: 1. The treadmill section could use a dose of reality.  Most of us are on the treadmill to lose a few pounds and are probably thinking about calories burned more than the meaning of life.  2. The lines in the cycling section are too short and choppy.  (Copying and pasting from Word has added some spaces between lines as well in that section that I can't seem to get rid of..  I'm too pressed for time right now to retype the whole thing on the blog itself, so please ignore any skipped lines that seem odd.)

Anyway, here's today's posting.

                                                                        

                                                Fitness First

                                                       

        1.

                                          The Treadmill Room

                                    We are all going nowhere fast-

                                    or as fast as we can-

                                    working hard to stay in one place,

                                    afraid that if we stop or misstep,

                                    we will be swept into that

                                    dark backward always nipping

                                    at our heels. Some of us are

                                    running from what we were;

                                    others are trying to return to it-

                                    all are postponing that tomorrow

                                    when improvement ends.

                                     

                                                           

                                                          2.

                                                Cycling Class

                                    Unlike the lilies of the field,

                                    we both toil and spin

                                    as the instructor makes us

                                    climb an imaginary mount

                                    for a sermon in sweat.

                                    Blessed be the legs

                                    as they blur and burn

                                    (and cursed be the cramps).

                                   

Blessed be the heart that pound

  and the mouth that pants,

                                    for they keep time to our climb.

                                   

Blessed be the lungs

that threaten to burst

                                    but don’t,

                                    for they breathe into the blood,

                                    filling it with the fuel we need

                                    (and cursed be the breakfast

                                    we skipped to be here).

                                    Blessed be our companions

                                    who cannot surge ahead

                                    because we are all fixed

                                    to the floor (and cursed

                                    be the fact that all our

                                    hard work does not

                                    get us ahead of anyone else).

                                   

Blessed be Foghat

for “Slow Ride”

                                    (the rhythm is right)

                                    and Michael for “Thriller”,

                                    (we are smiling zombies

                                    on our pedals

                                    as the video runs

                                    through our heads)

                                    but curse AC/DC for this

                                    highway to hell.

                                    And finally, bless the clock

                                    that declares this climb is done,

                                    the sermon finished.

                                     The cool down begins.

                                    Amen.