Brick

8:15 AM - Westboro - 7 miles, 50:00.
4 x 20-second strides afterward.

7 AM, day after Christmas,
I throw some clothes on in the dark.
The smell of cold,
car seat isn't freezing,
because the Corolla's locked up in the garage.
Down the stairs to my garage,
I grabbed my gym bag off the couch.
I stopped at McDonald's for some coffee,
and then made my way down to Westboro.

The gym is packed,
no one seems to be working,
so I lace up my running shoes and on head on out.
Now that I'm surrounded by a bunch of joggers,
I feel like running alone,
more than I ever have before.

I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly,
down the street and I'm heading nowhere.
I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly.

I finish the run before 9:30,
and I do some strides in the parking lot.
Then I walk back in the building
to stretch my legs out and loosen up.
Can't they see it's me I'm running for,
I'm running alone,
more than I ever have before.

I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly,
down the street and I'm heading nowhere.
I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly.

As the minutes go by,
the treadmill joggers think I'm not fine.
They told me son,
it's time to run inside
like the rest of us.

They broke down,
and I turned around,
because I was tired of explaining.

Going back to the locker room,
for the moment I was alone.
They leave me alone.
I run alone,
and now they know it.

I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly,
down the street and I'm heading nowhere.
I feel like a brick and I'm running slowly.