A Poem for Older Runners

There is nothing the matter with me

I'm as healthy as I can be

I have arthritis in both knees

But when I run, I flow with ease.

My pulse is still slow and my blood oxygen rich

And I'm awfully well for the shape that I'm in

I've got arch supports for both of my feet

Or I wouldn't be able to run up the street.

Sleep is getting less night after night

But every morning I find I'm alright

My memory's failing, my mind's not at its best

Should I be training or is it a day of rest.

How do I know that my youth is all spent

Well, my get up and go  has just got up and went

But I really don't mind, as I think with a grin

Of all the grand races my get up has been.

“Old age is golden” I've heard it said

But sometimes I wonder when climbing to bed

With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup

My knee supports on the table until I wake up.

While sleep comes upon me, I say to myself

“Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf”

When I get up each morning and dust off my trainers

Should I go for a run or read the papers.

If my names not in the Orbits I know I'm not dead

Do I get a good breakfast or go back to bed

When I trip on the carpet or stumble in the dark

I'm in the right posture for speed in the Park.

The moral of this as the tale unfolds

That for me and for you who are growing old

It's better to say “I'm fine” with a grin

Than to let folks know that I'm an old has bin.

 An old codger