An Ultra Life

by Paulette Birchfield

The sport of ultra-running is not for everyone

It takes a special kind of breed, who’d really want to run

So far you pack a swag of food; and may see the sun

Both rise and set along the way, before your race is done

So far that friends and family, shake their heads and say ‘you’re mad’

And if your work involves no stairs, of that you will be glad

Your colleagues wonder why a masochistic sport you’d choose

And partners question why you have to have so many shoes?

Yet our lives are not pedestrian; that is guaranteed

not a beige or boring life, ‘cause it’s an ultra-life we lead

It is no life of comfort, and no life of ease

What it is, is aches and pains, that no drug can appease

It’s chafing in those places that the sun has never seen

And movements of a different kind (if you know what I mean...)

We’re all part of this clan, who run long on the trails

And people without their full set of toenails

Which brings me to the Old Ghost Ultra, a race that we hold dear

With start and finish far apart, but contours rather near

The landscape is spectacular, a wild West Coast domain,

That acts just like some Panadol to help to ease your pain,

But if despite the scenery, you’re faltering my friend,

Remember that it’s how we earn that hug from Phil at the end.