Itching To Run

Lately I have had the thought

Of all the ills this summer’s wrought

None could be considered worse

Than what I call the Buggy Curse.

The long weekend past was spent

Camping lakeside in a tent.

‘twas pretty but I missed the sights

For I was felled by insect bites.

We camped here not for vacation,

But to train at elevation

For a big race where we’ll compete

Almost at nine thousand feet.

They say mosquitos only swarm

When the weather is quite warm.

Though nights were cold at altitude

Here I was, mosquito food.

Another fallacy I’ve heard,

Though I’m clear proof that it’s absurd,

“Bugs only bite at dusk and dawn.”

But all day was I feasted on.

On our runs from trail to trail,

There they followed, without fail.

It is hard to maintain pace

With a mosquito on my face.

In the trailer, on the bike,

Taking the dogs out for a hike,

By the campfire, on the john

There’s no escape from Devil’s spawn.

Here I am, in the canoe

And guess who’s in here with me, too?

In my hair and on my hand

On the empty bug spray can.

In my ear and up my nose.

They chomped on me right through my clothes.

I guess through fabric they can pass

There’s three big welts left on my ass.

The place our relay race is at

I fear will be far worse than that.

The air is dry and not that muggy

And will be extremely buggy.

I was quite nervous for the race.

But now those fears have been replaced.

Now I’m scared I won’t survive

Being feasted on alive.

I’ll run fast and make them chase

If of my blood they want a taste.

But even if they try to eat me,

Those mosquitos will not beat me.