I blew my whistle in pace, ensuring that I gave each of them their due respect as their shadows hit the wall. It started with seven, the faithful and supportive, there for all the falls. Running head high she carved the way for the reliable six. Staying behind to help the rest, six always giving me the nod of head to chest.
In their usual cluster came bursting five, four and three, a wind of charm and zealous wrapped in joyful curiosity. Great for the sprint, but unable to carry the long cross, I smile at their inevitable chaos. A smile because it is shortly preceded by the calm peace of two. Two so sweet, running on love it always seemed that clouds carried her feet.
This is how I run the numbers, each day in practice, me with the whistle and they providing the intrinsic countdown to the one.
Inspired by the prompt ‘run the numbers’ at typetrigger.com