Ten kilometers to run and just one heat Remaining, Then we heard our famous marathoner Pete Complaining: "I am injured, I am sick, I’m feeling bad And low!" And my coach looked at me and firmly said: "You go!" I’m a sprinter, on this distance I’ll collapse, No doubt! I may run at best three bastard laps, And - out! But my coach made me run, he said to me, Not grinning: "You can make it, boy, if you reveal your will For winning!" Will, my ass! You must be strong to win in style! But I would dither, For ten thousand I rushed like for a mile And withered! Gasping mouth, goggled eyes, this goddam race, I cursed it! Made three laps and then fell down in disgrace, Exhausted! And my coach said I was the weakest link, Time-wasting! He forbade me to appear on the rink - That’s nasty! When I drink with him it only creates Illusion That he’s chummy, as he yells: "Instead of skates Go luging!" As a coach he’s not bad, but as a friend He’s shifty; But today I’m doing lots of boxing and Weightlifting! I am certain, I’ll achieve a lot with this Approach! Everyone’s polite to me and so is The coach!
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2016
Edited by Robert Titterton