It was 70 degrees and dry.
There was almost no mud on the trail.
I Wore shorts. The lighter clothes helped.
This trail is tough because it is an old train route and the first two miles are uphill, which makes it tough for a four mile run. It’s also fascinating as it runs by an old mill, quarries, an abandoned Nike-Zeus missile site, old railroad mile-markers and around the 2.4 mile mark it crosses a very high-speed two lane road. It goes over a few creeks on ancient train bridges where you can see huge drainage pipes suspended over the water. There are several trail-heads with parking, dog-walkers, cyclists and walkers, but surprisingly few runners.
The GPS was awful today. 5% divergence from ground truth. At times it showed ridiculously slow paces, maybe due to cloudy conditions and multi-path signal bounce off the cliff walls. I would check at each half-mile marker and the divergence built at each one.
My first mile was quite strong. My two mile time was OK considering it was still uphill. My third mile was acceptable and my fourth mile was horrific. The warmth definitely helped, though.
I ran a total of 4.20 miles. Four-twenty exactly. Do ya get it, you frickin’ pot heads? 420!!!
At any rate, the librarian caught me at the crest of the hill. She was amazingly beautiful in a tank-top and near-thong running shorts. Her body was magnificently taut as evidenced by her over-exposed midriff. She had washed out the fake black hair color and was back to her English bright-blonde hair.
“Hello Botendaddy.” She muttered, almost desperately weeping in a creepy low psycho-killer voice. She was clearly schizophrenic, narcissistic, with an underdeveloped super-ego fixated at the pre-Electra phase of psycho-sexual development, viewing men as an all-devouring father figure and requiring intensive psycho-tropic medication and years of expensive, useless and endless holistic-Freudian therapy.
“Are you stalking me?” I inquired.
“I was out running. Don’t I have a right to perfect this… body? Anyway you are never hard to catch. Your slow, fat, bloated, lumbering, Sasquatch corpse plodding along, an undulating mass of hideous, perspiring, delectable woman-treat. Your massive sickly-sweet pungently-erotic massive adult diaper. What’s there for a hot girl like me not to love?”
“You know crazy little girlie, the soft trail conditions are much easier on my body than the hard surface roads. Hard surface running only leads to injury. Plus you can run faster on a soft surface especially downhill.”
“Botendaddy your wisdom amazes me. Come back to my van, make love to me, degrade me, make me feel dirty, impregnate me. Then when I am showing the results of your pod-people impregnation, I will wear a shirt saying that I am Botendaddy’s love slave and you can lead me around on a leash by my shitty dog collar.”
Fortunately, she got a cell phone call from her broker about some big investment that came through in Myanmar. Thank god that vast wealth so distracts the Anglo-Saxon soul.
I was able to escape again, virtually-pain free due to the soft trail surface.
My dearly beloved, passionate, beautiful, delicious, wonderful, red-hot, mystically romantic, film-noir-mysterious, excessive-adjective-inducing, wistful readers…
Be the Botendaddy