She was within three miles of her salvation,
by Herbert Nehrlich
the Marathon in Boston in July,
and representing the Andorra Nation
she floated on a patriotic high.
Drink Stations with electrolyte deluxe,
she didn't like the flimsy paper cups,
and concentrated fluid filled her socks
but dehydration killed the frequent Ups
that every runner needs to reach the end.
This time she gulped the content in one hit,
it was a mostly sugar-syrup blend
and within minutes knew this would be it.
Osmotic diarrhoea, a condition
that strikes at very inconvenient times.
It's when the inner man is on a mission
and suddenly like lightning striking, primes
the system for direct evacuation.
As this came out with unaccustomed force,
the first she noticed was the clear sensation
of tepid liquids run onto the course
all in slow motion for the spectators to see.
She started limping as if a ligament
was acting up above the stressed-out knee
and grabbed some cups for her predicament.
There is no happy end for this, no bloody way.
She'd finished second with a time just fine,
but when they pressed the VCR to play
she was soaking in the tub and drinking wine.
Note: True story of an incident
in a Marathon. The country was
changed and she beat me by about