It’s about the body weight, dummy!

Southern trailhead. Not far from West Virginia.

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Rural Creek

9:46 mile. This means that the 9:36 was not a fluke. Then my first sub 21 minutes two mile in six years. With the 33:44 three mile I am now only 44 seconds from my first goal.

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Footbridge

As of today, I am down 31 pounds from my extremist bloat. No longer shuffling with 14 minute miles I can run the entire 3.11 miles at a full running stride. I can’t quite go the last half mile in a sprint but I feel fast again.

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Random Studebaker Photo

The trail was remote and beautiful. It was a slight uphill the entire first 1.56 miles to the turnaround.

I actually was able to mostly hold the pace this time. My goal is 19:30 for the two-mile, 9:30 for the one-mile.

I couldn’t quite sprint but it was a pure running stride. I should have paid attention when I got to the creek back at the trailhead, though.

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Ugly side of the Creek

It was the stalker.

“Hi, dear, sweet, delicious Botendaddy. I am madly, passionately, hopelessly in love with you. It is time that you make love to me like I deserve, like you owe me. I’m a little sad that you are no longer disgustingly, horrifically fat like a shitty Sasquatch-Yeti-Bigfoot.”

She looked remarkably good in her nipple revealing grey cotton tank top with no brassiere and extreme leopard skin Yoga pants with a cameltoe so pronounced, so infinite in its detail, so horribly revealing that I shuddered in ancient, macabre, ghoulish shock. I could actually see the faint outline of her Fallopian tubes.

“I ran behind you the whole way you filthy, sweaty Frankensteinian monster. You didn’t notice because you were gasping for air like a smelly fish on the riverbank.”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something, crazy hot stalker girl. You know it’s really about body weight. The lighter you are, the more efficient your body is. The higher the muscle to fat ratio, there is more muscle to do the work and fat to slow you down. Don’t you have a job you have to be at today?” I asked so as not to end my sentence with a savage preposition .

“Maybe this will slow you down, you shitty slob!”

She pulled off her tank top to reveal two (not three) perfectly taut breasts.

“My god woman! What if people see you? Look at those… those….”

{CENSORED: PA DEPT OF AGRICULTURE FOR EXTREME PRURIENT CONTENT by ORDER 17-321 COURT OF QUARTER SESSIONS 17 APRIL 1948 per CURIAM. PA CONS STAT 37:253 par 7.23(a)}

Peace Be the Botendaddy

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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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