Shot-putting

I stop. I rest.
I wipe my face full of sweat and mud.
My legs are full of sweet aching.
My lungs draw in deep breaths
of cool air.
Gotta hurry, coach will be here soon.

I've never wanted something so much before.
Thirty feet.
It seems ludicrous to hate myself over two feet.

I walk over to the muddy shot-put
and pick it out of the grass,
Buttercups, and Daisies.
I wipe it off with a dirty towel
And let it's weight lie in my hands.
it feels so heavy this way.

I step back into the circle.
My little ritual begins here.
lift the shot put into the air.
look at it, then at the tallest pine tree.
I let the cold metal ball rest against my neck.
I breath in three times.
The sun is warm on my back.
I take one
two steps,
around and
Pop
it out of my hand.
I screeeaaam!
As it flies out from my hand.
I don't stop till it hits the ground.
It is as if my scream is pushing it.
I stand there and look at the shot-put.
The sun is really bright.
I pull out the tape
and mark the shot.
Twenty-nine feet.
Almost
Almost doesn't count in this game.
O.k.
One more time.