Cross the field scrabbling muddy from the brook
we run on oblivious to the pain
shooting bolts of electricity
up and down the shattered tendons in our legs
or the burning lungs that remind us
to quit smoking next week.
To the forest surging, a wave of sweating bodies
moving forward on the tide of our own
ambitious, mindless of all behind
or why we are here
looking neither left nor right
our eyes firmly fixed on the prize.
To the cinders sprinting, elbows flying, power on
leaving the weak behind in the orange dust
trailing from our feet like smoke on the breeze
until a shout behind of pain from a comrade fallen
we turn around to help
and win humanity.
ml ’98
(During our 5 mile qualifying run at Officer Candidate School one of my classmates fell on the track. Since the school rule was all qualify or all run again until all qualify, two of us turned back and literally carried him across the finish line a few seconds over the qualifying time. The platoon had to re-run the qualifying run, except for the three of us.)