Treading Ice

Feet pounding steadily A beat which heavy breathing lacks the willpower to follow With sweat seeping through the pores Along the path ahead the athlete plows. Asking the body for more Just to get past this stretch, when in reality They are going nowhere, only struggling To remain upright indefinitely. For the only other option Being to let go and shoot off The back of the machine Like some cartoon rip off. Because when it hits thirty below in Wisconsin And all the paths and trails buried beneath ice The runners turn to the trusty old basement treadmills To provide their life’s cardiovascular spice.