In reply to Neil Henson:
Ah, here it is:
To a Coy Buttress
Had we but the weather, and the time,
This stern sequence would be mine.
I would sit down even, do it that way
Or give it best and return another day;
Down by the shaded Churnet side
I shouldst Bunter pebbles find; or by and by
Vital tendons flex and train. I would
pull ten reps before each lap;
And my frustration and ambition hide
Till publication of the Avon guide.
My lactate tolerance should grow
mighty, and muscle fibres twitch more slow.
An hundred circuits should go to raise
Aerobic fitness, and over many days;
Two hundred pull-ups daily and the rest,
(and results full flaunted in low cut vest)
Structured training to every part,
And a monitor to check my heart.
For, to achieve this well-honed state,
I would have it beat at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
My spotter's crude and callous jeer;
And all around I only see
Blank and stark impossibility.
No purchase have my fingers found,
Nor does pliant mat ease my fall to ground,
Curse echoing strong; then shall others try
That over-brushed rugosity,
And so all my efforts come to nought,
And all high resolve and dreams mere thought.
The gym's a hard and heartless place,
But only those who work find grace.
Now therefore, while some dregs of youth
Remain in my limbs, though scarce enough
And while the leaning wall inspires
Every sinew with at least some fire,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, perhaps more like careful sloth,
Than the subtle squirrel of our youth,
Let not languish this slow-chapp'd power.
Let us don our beany, cast off else all
Save scant fleece-lined bag to hold chalk ball;
And tear our knuckles with rough grit
Leap at life or what remains of it .
Thus, though our project may ne'er be done
We may, yet, climb toward the sun.
