They are the only ones who hinder my progression. I am the only one who tramples on them. Three curvy miles with twisted roads and flourishing paths like mine. Three who no one likes but still attempts. Three twisted mazes given up by so many. From runners’ feet, we can feel them, but others just walk upon them and don’t acknowledge their existence.
Their creation is a secret. They erupt abhorrent vibes around our legs.  They make us cry and they make us beg and dislodge the earth at every crack and disguise a pointless valley and complete a thousand year trip. This is how they purge.
Let one become entranced in thought, they’d all travel like the never ending galaxy each with their tails intertwined forever. Purge, purge, purge they say when I run. They surge.
When I am too old and too weak to finish purging, when I am a useless entity given too many challenges, then it is I run these miles. When there no more duties to fulfill. Three I finished despite retreat. Three who curve and do not forget to finish. Three whose only reason is to end and to end.