Still Raging...

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

   This poem by Dylan Thomas is one of my favorites. It's actually about dying. But, every time that I read it I'm reminded of how much it relates to running too. Tonight's run was something that I can't put into words. It was something that only other runners would know. The complete darkness that came too early, the silence of the night only to be shattered by a passing car, the rhythmic pulsing of the strobe lights on my body, the sheer surprise when a deer sprang out of the woods to cut me off, the power that I felt when an old favorite song came on, the clarity of mind that overtook me, the aggravation at drivers that swerved too close, the feeling that I was doing what I should be doing and going where I should be going, the feeling that I was running for my life. I may not be fast. I may not win races. Hell, I can't even win my age group. But, tonight I beat the worst foe anyone will ever face, self doubt. 23 days left and counting. Bring it...