Beneath cloudless skies of long hot summer days; the

early morning train carries me, with workers, to the city.

Not office shoes, but trainers on my feet.

Through the ticket barrier, above the thundering Aire;

I’m heading for still waters.

Past coffee shops and empty bars, this granny jogs;

I’m building strength of mind, and stamina of body.

Spreadsheets and meetings behind me now;

I’m seeking new life goals, and purpose, self-imposed.

I’ll run a marathon, just one.

Iron girded tracks pass overhead, give shade

and shelter to narrow boats and resting barges.

Cyclists, rushing to their desks, hurtle, onwards,

towards me; dominate the narrow path.

I’m heading out of town and back in time.

Through Armley’s industry, on towards Saltaire,

stone markers line the way, measuring my miles.

By quiet water’s edge, through pastures green

and power lines, the tow path’s ribbon leads me on.

I’m a dynamo recharging, I’m clearing out my mind.

Onto the evil Bingley climb, three locks rise, five more.

My plod is slow, but I survive; regain my breath, and turn, retrace my steps with joy: it’s downhill all the way.

In the summer of 2019, recently retired from working in Leeds city centre, I discovered the joy of running on the towpath of the Leeds Liverpool canal.