G is for….

G is for the ghosts of Marys past!
Twenty-two of them (someone give me a flask…)
From San Diego to the Big Apple
Someone should fry my brains for scrapple
‘Cause here comes number twenty-three, alas

In ’86 I ran a three-twenty-whatevs
I had chicken legs and hardly any breasts
I was a truly lovely sight
Sounds attractive, right?
At least I wasn’t PFDOS*

Flash forward twenty-seven years or more
(Yes, in fact, my first marathon was run when I was four!)
It’s still an appealing mystery
In spite of all my history
With a distance that I suck at and mildly abhor

Twenty-six point two memories from coasts to coasts
Miles, medals, whines, one billion bourbon toasts
Though the race is a tad daunting
And the memories can be haunting
Past marathon spirits are mostly friendly ghosts.

*Pretty fucking digustingly out of shape. (Copyright, 2011, MikeyMike.)


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