I started writing this rambling ‘poem’ at the start of lockdown, when all that swirled around my head during runs was the uncertainty of it all and the longing for that precious old normal. It never felt quite right to post but after reading the news of the London Marathon not taking place until October 2021, rather than its usual April slot, the painful longing for a time gone by crawled back into my subconscious so it felt right posting it now.
There will come a time
There will come a time, I tell myself on these unendingly lonely runs.
There will come a time, I tell myself over and over like a prayer to an unknown god, when this will all be but history.
When that Sunday morning alarm will echo through your tired mind once again.
When the start line nerves will crackle through your body.
When you’ll check and recheck your laces in that routine habit.
When the starting pistol will kill memories of fear and loneliness dead.
When hugs and supporter high fives will be the new normal.
When the din of crowds will be a fuel once more.
When the end of a run is no longer your backdoor but that finish line you have dreamed of.
When you will hang the title of Marathoner around your neck like that medal you have longed for.
When finish line tears will roll down our sweat encrusted cheeks once more.
There will come a time but right now is not that time.
So grieve that which you have lost with no guilt in comparison, cry if you need to, scream if you must, rail against the unending cruelty of this virus but there will come a time.
There will come a time I tell myself as these endless miles mount, when solitude will no longer be your only running companion.
There willl come a time when we will all run together again.