Cool Two-Mile Trail Run

The bare minimum is two miles.

I need 16 miles more in March to be on pace for my second most miles run in a year since 2005.

It was cool (Thank Khufu).

I wasn’t feeling well, though. I actually felt a bit sick.

I worked out the day before. For the fun of it I did massive overhead standing military presses. It wasn’t that cool, but no-one at the University gym every presses 135 or more overhead so I guess I entertained everyone.

At any rate, I ran hard, but I just didn’t feel well. The illness of the deadly IKEA virus sucked the energy right out of me. Anyway, it is uphill the entire first mile, which is brutal.

I ran hard the second mile, but to no avail. My GPS App died so I had to do watch-time and ground-truth by milepost. The watch is actually dead accurate if you are wondering oh ye delicious red-hot readers of mine.

When I hit the mile marker, the stalker was there. She started pacing with me. Her body, once again wrapped in tiger-striped spandex was nothing sort of delectably magnificent. Decrepit old male joggers reeking of shitty old-man-stench crashed into each other just to get a glance of her beauty.

She was  like some kind of wild, lithe, prowling, psychotic, schizoid feline. She was very subdued, almost like she had been 302’d and heavily medicated with a Thorazine or Haldol derivative.

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Inane irrelevant picture

“Botendaddy. I am very sorry about what I said.”

“Are you OK, Miss? You didn’t drive here did you?” I inquired with extreme sensitivity to her frail psychic condition.

“I rode my shitty folding bike if you have to ask. I am very sorry that I mocked your pain about your lost Annabel Lee: May I recite?”

“You may.”

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams…Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes…Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side…Of my darling…my darling…my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea…In her tomb by the sounding sea.

 

“That was lovely, beautiful, sad, stunningly athletic, hard-bodied stalker-girl. You are a literary aficionado of the highest order. Only a true Romantic can recite Poe. My sweet.”

She hung her head as she ran, her blonde pony-tail bobbing up and down.

“I am a very bad girl. No-one could possibly ever love me. I want to sit alone in the dark and punish myself. I said such horrible things…”

She began slapping herself rhythmically in the head repeating in a visceral growl: “Bad, girl, bad, bad girl, no-one loves me, I’m a bad girl.”

“No, you were obviously upset when you and your friends penned that delicious missive. You did it out of love and affection for the repulsive, hideous, undead, green-glowing, crudely sewn-together, bolt-necked, adult-diaper-wearing Botendaddy. Fire bad! Fire bad! The wise Botendaddy understands your deep-seated pain. You’re a lovely girl, a good girl, a very sweet girl. See? You are running on a soft surface in new running shoes! The combination of a soft trail and new shoes with full thickness of the sole protect your knees, ankles and ball and socket joints from excessive shock.”

We reached the two mile mark and I shouldn’t have done it, but holistic group therapy required it.

“Here sweetheart, good girl, let the Botendaddy give you a holistic, life-affirming, new-age hug.”

I said as I hugged her and stroked her hair gently.

She leaped upon me wrapping her firm, lithe legs around your humble narrator in a vise-like grip and undulating her pelvis in such a manner that your dear Botendaddy could not hereto relate without offending the 19th-Century sensibilities of my more proper Victorian readers. She began licking my ear and whispering in some ancient, fabulous, horrible incantation: Y’AI’NG’NGAH YOG-SOTHOTH H’EE-L’GEB F’AI THRODOG UAAAH!

I immediately recognized what it was! The incantation to invoke the fabulous Yog Sothoth! To raise Botendaddy’s rotting libido from the dead!

She writhed against me now as if completely overtaken by fabulous demonic spirits from another universe! Her incantations continued, faster and louder but in a guttural voice from another world! She shrieked with a power drawn from the ancient night-terrors of the horrific fabulous land of Cthulu and the ancients!

“Botendaddy! I conjure thee! Arise! Arise!”

I am unable to tell you what happened next, as mere words cannot exquisitely describe the ancient horror as I was transported by astral projection to another dimension! A mindscape of the fabulous, horrible, ghoulish, excessive-adjective-inducing Yog Sothoth!

Peace be the Botendaddy

With deep, yet not at all inappropriate affection for my honored, dear, sweet, beautiful, strong, joyous, readers.

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About Botendaddy

Three times voted extreme sexiest man alive...by acclamation. I run because I must...I must!
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