[Editor’s Note: This Community Voices piece is a poem by lifelong runner, Angie Funtanilla.]

The winds have died down and
Apparently so have I.

A bit rattled I used to be yesterday,

What — with the frenetically whipping winds
You’d be too.

I ran anyway,
It didn’t matter,
It by no means does.

I imply the climate, after all.

Windy scorching humid Unhappy,
Wet chilly Blissful.

It may all come as it might,
And it does.

Yr after 12 months, regardless of the place
I discover myself,

I lace up the kicks. That’s what I do.

Not for a ought to or a prize or to stick to some schedule.

Except you’ll be able to name my coronary heart’s need a schedule.

That’s after I go then, regardless.