No race is ever a steady deed,

no gradual slackening from first to last;

the large store of energy

cannot be freed in a careful pour.

The worst of it is actually

toward the first lap turn

when the flush of fresh adrenaline

abruptly pulls up short,

or finishing the second round

when the half feels like a whole,

with a whole half yet to go,

and who knows how much more

grit is left to shake the obstinate bear.

With joints seizing, jaw clenched,

lung cages like old jails

are wrenched open at lap four,

when the mesmerizing spell splits

at the sudden report, and through the crack

rushes a gust, a shove, a love that turns

weightless heavy feet and sets coarse

gray hair waving wild in wind,

and wheelchair wheels to their spin

and glint in slanted sun;

and everyone is leaning forward!

Back straight now, muscles

screaming their defiant

delight at the quickening

impossible pace, and more

of the world is taken in

and breathed out

that moment the lap gun

fires its shattering roar

remaking the race into

a brazen grace that runs

the lane like it has never

run the lane before.

Gun Lap for the Mile is a metaphor for those entering into the season of retirement. I am indebted to my friend Jay Grover whose idea this is. He is seeing his own recent retirement as the gun lap, that final lap where, instead of things slowing down toward a tepid finish, the race is enlivened with drama and energy, the gun breaking the spell of "tiredness" and infusing urgency and life and the will to win into the final lap of the race. What a beautiful picture of the last season of life! As Boomers edge past the 65 year mark at a rate of 12,000 a day, may this idea inspire: run the lane like you have never run the lane before!

Photo credit: Geralt; Pixabay.com CCO Public Domain