Charge of the Loch Ness Brigade

(A poem about the Loch Ness Marathon)

Two thousand men and women too,
Prepare themselves fae battle,
Heads doon against the wind,
Like a herd o’ frozen cattle.

The signal comes it’s time tae go,
There’s nowt else can be done,
For those that arnae fit enough,
The torture’s soon to come.

Frae Foyers’ hill they do descend,
All eyes upon the loch,
The leader wae themsel’ do battle,
Others fight against the clock.

A line, a mile, stretches ower the route,
Back markers start tae falter,
The leading group fight it oot,
For gold upon the alter.

At eighteen mile the climb begins,
The pace begins tae slow,
The muscles ache, the will does break,
But ye force yersel’ tae go.

Into the toon, ye’ll finish soon,
The streets are lined wae smiles,
Applause, a wave, a comic says,
‘Christ, it’s only twenty-six miles’.

Across the line ye drag yersel’,
You even shed a tear,
You tell yersel’ o’ ne’er again,
At least not ‘til next year.