What community means here

(a poem)

Not the word on the hoodie.
Not the one on the hashtag.
The one we mean.

It is the person who extends a hand
when they see someone alongside them struggle,
without making a thing of it.

It is the gym mate
who knows you are chasing a PB
and quietly becomes your cheerleader.

The same people, same time, week after week,
who would notice
if you did not turn up.

Small things.
Steady things.
Only ever seen when you are in it.

When it is there, you train harder.
An unseen will pushing you on.

You hold on when you could have eased off,
because the person next to you has not.
That keeps you going.

Consistency carries the work.
Community carries the consistency.

And the work goes further
than the hour on the floor.

The coffee afterwards.
The Friday at the pub.
The birthday card.
The holiday photo.
The friend you call in a rough week.

The neighbour you would never have met.
The face in the supermarket queue.
The one who learns your children’s names.
The Saturday morning run
because of a Tuesday night class.

We are building this for whoever walks in.

The one looking for somewhere new.
The one whose knee is finally back.
The one who needs the slot between drop-off and pick-up.
The teenagers laughing with their mums and dads.
The one who has never trained
and is thinking about starting.
The coach off shift,
putting their own hour in.

Same door.
Same welcome.
Same standard.

This gets built by showing up.

We will hold the door.
The coaches will know your name.
The training will hold its standard.

The rest will happen
on the floor,
on the people,
in the small moments
nobody can describe
but everyone feels
when it is there.

That’s community.

Come as you are.
Leave better than you arrived.

Peter