The Anatomy of a Burro

I have a new running bud, and his name is Fred.
I hear him grumbling while I get out of bed.

He's got really big ears, but not enough zest.
In fact, he'd rather cuddle up and take a nice rest.

Just hate to tell you Gary, but you've been replaced.
I would have called for help this morning, but you'd already raced.

My burro, he's cute, but an annoying little fellow
He doesn't want to go, and gives a soft bellow:

"You could cost yourself training... in just one mistake,"
Vince already said this, I know what's at stake.

Just ten little miles, we'll run them from here.
Only five at race pace, there's nothing to fear.

We step out the door, my burro and I
I'm very determined, but Fred just asks, "Why?"

My first few steps, ugh, I'm all out of gas.
Just pushing and pulling and dragging my

Burro, come on, let's focus on three
Just get warmed up and I promise we'll see.

The faster pace doesn't start until mile four
If you're still too tired, I won't push it anymore.

Vince said if we felt really much too fatigued
That it really wasn't necessary for the miles of speed.

It's a pretty, cool day and I just want to run
Release all my stress and have a little fun.

The week has been rough, much more than I thought.
That's 80 plus hours, and many calls where I've fought.

And Fred keeps complaining; I've got to leave him behind.
And past mile two my legs begin to unwind.

It's in mile three that I really feel better
And consider following the training plan right to the letter.

Sometimes, if you're primed, you can bail out a bad run
And leave that fuzzy burro sitting on his bum.

And that's just what I did, at the end of mile three.
I said to my Fred, "Good-bye and God-speed."

I'm feeling great; I plan for one mile at a time.
Each mile is better; my plan is sublime.

There are hills, there is wind, but I shake it all off.
Keep going strong, at my burrow I scoff.

"Fred, you know, you had me at first.
But only the warm up miles were the worst.

I'm feeling strong now, and ready to go.
Some running bud you are, always wanting to whoa."

And the miles fly by--four, five and six;
I can't believe it, seven, eight and it's bliss.

A few times I peeked to see if Fred followed.
I shouldn't have worried, in self-pity he wallowed.

I looked most closely with three miles to go,
for that's where I parked him, my little burro.

But my last race pace mile was the best one I'd had yet
I finished the hard part, with plenty energy left.

I slowed to a jog for the last two to cool down
and off in the distance, Fred looked up with a frown.

As I caught up to him for that last little bit
and picked up his rope, for now I wouldn't quit.

Fred seemed complacent to jog along side
And I found myself swelling with a new sense of pride.

I wasn't even tired, no not anymore.
Fred's gait was slow, but I had more in store.

And that last little stretch, less than a mile remained
The pace didn't matter, as my mental game gained.

"Fred, I don't want to drag you up this last little hill,
but don't put it past me, if I have to, I will.

And that's how it ended, my last training long run
And I hope you enjoyed this little tale that I've spun.