So much indeed I do not know
Waiting for the gun to go off
Standing here wondering
If I’ll have it today
As I expel all my doubts with a cough

The finals have come, and I’m here in the box
Staring at the grass out ahead
Bouncing a little
And ejecting some spittle
Will my legs become pistons or lead?

All is now silent, except in my head
As I talk to myself and my “friend”
There’s another of me
Whom no-one can see
And he’ll talk to me right to the end

The shot pieces silence, as we lurch from the line
And stretch to get first to the turn
I hear myself breathe
Four hundred lungs heave
Already there’s cause for concern

My legs feel heavy and no friend to me
I’ll have to earn this one I know
It’s all runners’ curse
You train and rehearse
To run down each friend and each foe

But my friend says, “You know you can’t do it,
You’re tired, you’re tight, and you’re slow,
The temperatures 90,
Treat yourself kindly,
Give up now and let the thing go”