December 24, 2013

‘Twas the hill before Christmas, when all through campus,
Not a runner was running, except for this mouse.
The spandex was worn on my legs with care,
In hopes that frozen bells could not be declared.
Other runners were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of hill repeats ran through their heads.
And Meira in her ‘kerchief, and Thurley in his cap,
Were slouches inside rather than do some hill’s lap.
When out from the tunnel there arose such a clatter,
But it wasn’t Tom Cali with sign! ature pitter and patter.
Up and down the hill, Renz climbed in a dash,
All alone on the hill, maybe ‘cause he’s so brash.
The temps has fallen with a dusting of snow,
Giving lustre of midday to all those no-show.
When, what to my light-headed eyes should appear,
Not a damn thing, no eight runners endeared.
With this semi-old runner, wanting to be lively and quick,
No one showed at Rec Hall, not even a chick.
I walked all around, no runners had came,
But I whistled and shouted and called them all out by name:
Where’s Meira, where’s Thurley?
Where’s Weyandt or Cali?
No Martin!  No Capone!
No Maguire or Mazur!
To the Tunnel I went!
Repeated the hill 4 times!
Hill workouts suck by myself,
Doing repeats without friends.
Happy Christmas to all, and to all- you missed out!