What We Do To Win Poem by David Welch

I long have been a trail-runner,
and my name is Art Constantine,
sprinting peaks is a thigh-burner,
just as tiring as it seems,
I started this at seventeen.

Most people thought that I was nuts,
I suppose I can't say they're wrong,
but I am drawn by what is tough,
by challenges stressful and long,
and without doubt it's made me strong.

When I got into my twenties
I decided I would compete,
the mountains became home to me,
and the rocky trails I would beat,
until blisters toughened me feet.

The first races did not go well,
though I can say I wasn't last,
I kept my feet and never fell,
was dedicated to my task,
each race became more and more fast.

Started getting top ten places,
even got third place now and then,
became known at all the races,
they knew I'd be there pushing them,
steel sharpens steel, men challenge men.

And everybody had their tricks,
to shave those seconds of their time,
lighter shoes, ways to lose weight quick,
diets that made systems align,
all this ran around in our minds.

When come the Anderson 5K
I was hoping to make my mark,
a shorter race to make my way,
maybe win it, and raise my star,
I trained hard, preparing my heart.

Come race day all the guys were there,
I had met them previously,
looked over them with patient care,
so far they had all beaten me,
a challenge I knew this would be.

There was John Sinters, the favorite,
and ‘Tak' Jensen, tall and whip-taut,
Mark Gadello, Byron Goodnight,
all of them a victory sought,
with real skills that couldn't be taught.

I stood amongst them, on the line,
alongside countless also-rans,
none of those stood out in my mind,
to win I had to have a plan,
to beat the top seed, or be damned.

I knew I couldn; t sprint like them,
that never had been my strong-suit,
but I knew I'd catch up again,
over distance my skills were true,
I'd win in the long run, I knew.

The gun went off, and so did we,
jockeying along the trail,
I did a quick jog, quite steady,
to push harder quick was to fail,
a desperate run to no avail.

The kilometers kept passing,
one by one the runners fell back,
but I was much more long-lasting,
steadily advanced on the track,
my discipline would never crack.

Would not be long until the front
came into view, and I could push,
would see then my strategy done,
keep going until it was too much
to ever catch me in a rush.

But I heard a crack in the distance,
then came a man's shrill, painful yell,
I saw Tak go down in the plants,
his ankle was bent, none-to-well,
I could see it must hurt like hell.

We were up in mountain forest,
in bear country, wilderness great,
the others did not think of this,
they just kept going at their gait,
none stopped to ask ‘Are you okay? '

They just kept running down the path,
thinking only of victory,
I slowed up from my pace, quite fast,
the whole thing seemed rotten to me,
Tak could be in danger, clearly.

I made my way to the hurt man,
he was groaning, in lots of pain,
the ankle made it hard to stand,
he kept trying…trying in vain,
he looked at me, then he proclaimed:

"Damn it, Art, why are you stopping?
Get going, you can catch those guys!
There's not point in us both losing,
you got a shot, I will be fine.
I'm sure someone will come in time."

But I wasn't sure of all that,
this was a small race, after all,
they didn't have a lot of staff
to help people with a bad fall,
and they didn't have phones to call.

I looped my arm around his back,
he leaned on me, then could stand up,
hopping, we started down the track,
at first the going was quite tough,
then a rhythm came between us.

It turned into a rolling limp,
not that quick, all the racers passed,
Tak did quite well, despite the gimp,
I knew that somehow we would last,
until we could finish the task.

It took hours, more than it should,
then the finish line came in view,
no victory had felt this good,
at least none that I ever knew,
Tak smiled when he saw it too.

The officials let us both cross,
then grabbed Tak and helped him sit down,
my back hurt and my legs were shot,
I saw the winners milling ‘round,
cheering like the toast of the town.

Despite my pain, something just snapped,
stormed up to where they caroused,
one of them had the gall to laugh,
said, "So what might your time be now? "
Then shrank back as I bellow loud:

"You saw a man in pain out there,
crippled and unable to move!
You know these hills are home to bears,
if one found Tak he would be screwed!
Couldn't run or fight, he'd be...food!

"Is his safety worth less, I ask,
then a damn ribbon on your neck?
Is it not worth finishing last
to keep that man from being wrecked?
What made you such moral rejects? ! "

They went quiet as I stomped off,
their victory made little news,
as records go, both of us lost,
but to most people's point-of-view
I did what a good man had to do.

I never did win a trail-run,
but thought I'd do good in the end,
a good deal of respect I'd won,
and in Tak found a lifelong friend…
I guess that makes me a ‘loser, ' then.