Lesson In The Long Run

(For my students at Windham High School

Summer Session 1994)

This morning my lesson is running.

You will listen to my footfall

And the labor of my breath—every pull

And release of tendon and sinew,

Foot, ankle, shin, calf, thigh that carries me through,

And some of you will think me crazy.

I am not crazy.

I want to teach you to run.

To keep your head erect and eyes forward;

Want you to know the sound of traffic;

To love the wind in your ears;

To notice the happenstance of human being

That along the roadside glitters in the sun

Articulating your attunement, atonement, actualization

Of whom you are and how you will be.

I once sat at your desk

And with pencil and marking pen,

Drew the graphitic stereotype of my love and my shame.

I set my turf on them in oppressive heat

Of lack luster of adults

Who never thought to teach me to run.

Adults who never saw the strength in my legs,

The capacity of my lungs,

The stubbornness of my running spirit.

I see your exquisite stubbornness,

And delight at your incredible ability to endure the pain around you,

Divorce, suicide, racism, poverty, drugs;

The ravaged roads you live near or on—life’s marathon.

The world is a moving place and you must not let it pass you by.

So this advice I give you; my lesson of running.

Measure your stride and pace your self.

When your heart races, pause and rest.

Know your body and your minds connection to it.

Glance over your shoulder, but never look back.

Wear good running shoes.

Run with the dignity of being.

Hear your voice mingle with the wind in your ears.

And when people call you crazy

Just smile and pass them by.

©1994 Dan Kantak