Constantina in Beijing

(Accept my apologies for the hellacious rhyme scheme and meter of the following; I'm aiming for a true tribute to the poetically challenged author of the Madeline books, Ludwig Bemelmans. I promise I'm not writing a book of poetry.)

On an old street in China
that was calm and serene
came dozens of women
to the marathon scene
They stood at the start
at 7:15.
The oldest and fastest was Constantine.

At three miles in
America wept
when poor Deena's foot
went "pop" as she stepped.
She thought to herself,
all broken and hurt,
"I did a 5k.
Do I get a free shirt?"

Paula looked pained--
she would not be the winner.
Soon she grew thin.
And then she grew thinner.
"I am the mother who is supposed to wear gold.
Not that brazen, Romanian
38 year old!"

But up far ahead
that Constantine led
Amazed as she was,
she kept turning her head
to check for the pack
or Michael Phelps at her back
but she was alone
when she entered that track.

Constantina triumphantly showed them her stuff
as she henned all those chicks
with their downy white fluff.
She finished up first,
then showed them the door
when she jogged with her flag
for several laps more.

A mom's got the record.
A mom's got the gold.
It's a beautiful, wonderful
thing to behold.
Ndereba and Zhou put on a good chase,
but they learned what it takes
to be in first place:
Have a kid before London,
and you'll front the race.