Somebody's chasing me

When I was in Memphis, my friend Marlon told me he wouldn't go running unless someone was chasing him. The more I think about it, that's why I started running.

There was someone chasing me. It was a person about my height, although a little chubbier and with a little less energy. He slouches. He's got a bad attitude.

He always thinks about the things he can't do. He complaints about his knees.

He's got a middle aged spread. People don't notice it too much because he's getting older all the time. And heck, he's tall so it's just part of that svelte look that upwardly mobile professionals get when they spend so much time at the office and not so much taking care of themselves.

Heck, it's a bit self-centered to focus on yourself when there's so much work to be done.

This guy that's chasing me, he realizes it's important to be serious and take care of serious business and write important things.

This guy that's chasing me, I see him when I look in the mirror.

But I realize, if I run just fast enough, he won't catch up.