It was not easy for my feet to get a grip on the snowy trail.
My times were nearly identical to the last time I ran this particular trail.
The snow was about two inches deep, maybe four in some places, one inch and icy in others.
I was running hard, but the first mile and a half was uphill.
The GPS almost perfectly matched the mileposts this time. they key is to run on the same side of the trail as the mileposts.
It was very cold and dry, thank Khufu!
There was one other runner. He actually said hello. A true rarity in these oh so uncivil days we live in.
I hate heat. I hate mornings. I hate the sun.
I love cold. I love the nighttime. I love overcast days.
If you are a morning person, good for you. It’s biological, you know. When I wake up before 10AM, I actually feel physically sick. I don’t feel good or invigorated. I am deathly tired. If I work out in the morning or run in the morning it is an unpleasant, painful chore.
I love the cold. Cold invigorates me. It excites and tantalizes the Botendaddy. I like to hike the mountains in winter. I like skiing. I like skating. I like ice hockey. I can camp out in the cold and I love it. I hate the heat. It makes me sick. It is stressful, tiring, miserable, oppressive, ugly, tortuous, rash-inducing, disgusting pain. I hate Florida’s climate. Not the state, not the people, the climate. That goes for all of the south. I don’t mind the west because it is dry. I can stomach heat if it’s dry. You, yeah you over there. You love the heat, you love Florida, you love the beach. You love cruises and resorts. Good for you. Go to the tropics and be happy. I’ll go to Alaska, Quebec, Newfoundland, The Adirondacks.
I hate the sun. The burning, awful, oppressive, satanic, unyielding, unnecessary adjective-producing, garish sun. In the sun I feel pain, I feel exposed. I can’t hide. ‘Fire…bad!’
I don’t want to tan. I don’t want to be outside, unless the cool, delicious, friendly clouds shield me from the savage sun. You like the sun? Good for you. Enjoy the sun. I like a warm summer rain, thunderstorms, clouds. In the winter, the overcast sky, the ethereal early February sunset in nature’ bright colors.
It was a mistake to wax poetic my dear readers as the Librarian snuck up on me. Yes… SNUCK!
“Oh Botendaddy, your delicious literary verbal bowel movement was audible a quarter mile down the trail. Oooh look at me! I am the great Botendaddy! Brilliant New York Literary critic. Oooh look at me I’m hanging out at 37th and Lex with my sexy fab, erudite, effete intellectual literati circle of cynical Upstate self-involved megalomaniacal critics. Ooh I have no talent so I become a critic. Ooh I wear a massive adult diaper on my fat, hideous body when I run! Ooh I’m so superior to the poor little bespectacled super-hot librarian girl!”
I looked over at her as she stood arms akimbo at the side of the trail in her spunky little running outfit, her designer headband and nerdy retro-50’s designer glasses.
“Look. I get it. You read all day. You tell people to shush. You help people do internet searches. You keep bums from looking at goat-porn. I get it. You see great literature and…”
She moved in very close, so close that my breath fogged her horn-rimmed nerd-glasses.
“You don’t begin to get it critic-boy. Do you want this boddee! Do ya want this sexy boddee!” Her savage shrieks echoed off the cliff walls and bounced across the icy mountain pool.
She tore off her jacket to reveal that she was wearing no shirt or bra either. Just then a park Ranger happened upon the scene. It was Ranger Ted, the bodybuilder.
“Oh delicious, sexy red-hot, hyper-masculine, hideously aromatic Botendaddy, are you at it again? Naughty, naughty, naughty!” he said licking his lips and wiggling a finger at me. He turned to the half-naked librarian to chide her for being an icky, icky girl when I made a run for it. By the time they turned around, I was long gone.
Peace be the Botendaddy.