We had a bunch of great entries to our ‘cross poetry contest and sadly didn’t have room to print all of them. We’re digging them out and publishing some of the entries that didn’t make it to print. First up is Seattle’s Vincent Mysliwiec’s entry that made us wince in pain (in a good way).

The Hill
by Vincent Mysliwiec

It is cold,
The snow and ice present a formidable foe.
I fear not,
My trusty steed is ready for the race today.
I have trained,
Day in, day out, but nothing prepares me for The Hill.
It is steep,
But the off-camber section is what I fear.
The run up,
This is where the pain starts.
My legs burn,
My lungs feel as though they will bust.
I continue on,
Yet the fear returns.
I stare down,
Looking at the bottom of The Hill.
The ice glistens,
It hides the rocks below.
I am flying,
My bike navigates down The Hill.
As I turn,
I fall, quickly hitting the ice below.
I slide across,
The icy field.
Abruptly I wince,
As the rocks stop my descent.
The audible snap,
I break a rib.
The Hill stands,
Tall and true a force that I do not comprehend.