Determined to do a second Park Run, I ignored the mid-back strain that had kept me up for two nights and seemed resistant to Nurofen, and enjoyed another panting, straining jog along the Town Moor.

A slightly different route this time because of the Hoppings, so there was a surreal diversion through an empty fairground. It was all rather X-Files. Silent, rocking big wheels and rusting dodgem cars.  I was in the field on my own - a few people behind me, a bunch of girls who I longed to catch up with, but couldn’t quite accelerate to, ahead of me. The route was slightly longer, so I think I was slightly quicker than before. Camaraderie more online via Twitter, more than in person, but I’ll try talk to more people another time. In fact, another local poet Sheree Mack is keen to come with me and is the only person to have said of my 38 minutes 5Ks "Wow, that's quick!" so I'm hopeful I may have some company at the tail end.  It didn’t help the back though and I went to a physiotherapist for the first time in my life. He tweaked and prodded and lifted, and something seems to have shifted, though there’s still a sprained feeling and I’m being very careful. Anyway, it prompted this:

Muscles

Meet your Flexors!

Say Hello to your Piriformis!

You were already aware of your Glutes,

they just hadn’t been introduced to you!

They were all ready to join the party,

you had just left them stuck in the kitchen!

I know his probing fingers will work miracles

as I lay face down on a brown towel,

de-armoured in cotton leggings and vest,

but hadn’t expected the way the names

spark an illicit thrill,

as if I am looking on Google Maps

at  the houses of relatives

who do not even know I exist.

Psoas Major, Psoas Minor,

Iliacus, Peroneus Tertius,

are your underemployed lieutenants,

they only need a slight touch

to return to active duty!

His fingers encourage them to

remember themselves,

wake from under red folds

where they have been stuck,

stubborn and inert as secrets.

Let there be your Mesenteric Root!

Let there be your Hepatic Portal System!

Let there be your Intermuscular Septum of Otto!

In these plains with names like Dr Who planets,

I see scarlet globes strung together between branches,

telegraphing messages along dark galaxies.

So, your lines are open now,

vote now  as calls made after the lines have closed

may still be charged!

I struggle off the massage table with heavy legs,

wondering how soon I will forget

these new territories

but knowing I will never in my lifetime

return to this hour

in which I first heard their names.