Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and Hackers were awed
at the furious pace, set that day by V-Dog.

Their shoes were set out next to the front door
Getting dry for the next run in 12 hours more.
The Garmin was charging, the head lamp was too.
While shorts, shirts and socks spun in the Whirlpool.

I on my Gateway, and TK on his new Dell,
Had just settled down to chat for a spell.
When up on my inbox there popped a new note,
I switched to the website to see what had been wrote.

I hit the wrong key, and got the wrong site,
Instead of the hackers, I got porn from last night.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a challenge to race, once a month this new year.
From a has-been old runner, who’s short, old and skinny
I knew in a moment, it must be from Spinney;

More rapid than eagles his insults they came,
And he heckled, and taunted, and called us by name;
"Now, T-Bone! now, Vendley! now, Taylor and Whalen!
Now, TK! now, Diesel! now, Geester and Logan!

From the time of the First Run, to the last race of the year,
I will kick all your butts, I want that made clear;
The Edmund Fitzgerald? I don’t like your games,
For voting for me, you will go down in flames;

He insulted my sisters, my father, my brother
He wrote that I couldn’t beat his grandmother;
And then, in a twinkling, the first race came to pass
I signed up to run, Grand Prix points to amass.

As I pulled out my money, and was turning around,
To sign up himself, Ed came with a bound.
He was dressed in race gear, from his head to his foot,
And his shirt was bright red with a large Nike swoosh.

A pair of race shoes, he had flung on his back,
And he looked like his boasts could be more than smack.
His eyes were intense! His demeanor not merry!
I bade him good luck, he said "you, I will bury."

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
This wasn’t a workout, that much was clear;
A packet of Gu he ripped with his teeth,
The shot of caffeine put him out of reach;

He had nylon shorts, and a shirt made of cotton,
No tech stuff for Ed, he thought it was rotten;
He was fit as a fiddle, a right evil old elf,
And I shuddered when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A glare from his eyes and a shake of his head,
Soon gave me to know I was as good as dead;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the line,
To wait for the gun and catch a glimpse of Be Fine.

And William the Measurer said "on your mark"
Raised his right hand and the pistol did bark;
Ed sprang from the start, to his fans gave a smile,
And away he flew, soon ahead by a mile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he ran out of sight,
"Age grading be damned, I’ll own you this year, bitches."
MERRY CHRISTMAS