Best finish ever in a 5k. Just precisely in the top third of all runners. My friends daughter who is 14, finished 14th overall. 14th! WTF? Wow, that little broad was high-balling! (In the old railroad signalling system in England the High-Ball meant full speed ahead. Read your f*&^ing history people, I’m not your f*&^ing dad.)
It was an awesome course down a tree-lined street into and through the Park. It was a loop with a turn at each end. A little elevation but not enough to hurt you.
The race with very well organized. There were a lot of well-trained volunteers. The shirts were awesome and the refreshments were top-notch.
It was 80 degrees and 66% humidity.
Doesn’t sound that bad to some of you more tropical folks, yes my *hot* readers from Vietnam and the Philippines, I see you.
But for me? An upstate mountainous New Yorker?
It was more than enough.
I actually saw some people I knew at the race.
Normal people, not the freakshow from the Second Millenia Writer’s Workshop.
First mile, not bad. 9:54, exactly the desired pace.
Second mile, 21:20, I think because the g&dd4mned MapMyRun app ‘paused’ again from sweat. Seriously?
I was very fast at the 1.555 miles turnaround. yes that’s three points of precision to you mathy people.
I was pacing with a young lady for much of the way. *Hot* She ran away from me at the two mile mark. I was pacing with another young woman *hot* who kept walking and then running. Ran away from me around the 2.25 mile mark. There was a sort of old fat dude. I was not going to lose to a guy that looked like that two races in a row. So I ran him until he had to walk, then I sprinted the rest of the way to keep him behind me. Unfortunately, I didn’t lose him until the 2.9 mile mark, so he was kicking my 4$$, so I can’t talk.
I finished OK. Slower than I hoped.
So I was bent over, sweating profusely trying to catch my breath when I felt a hand on my back.
“I heard you were running Botendaddy.”
It was the Professor! From the writer’s workshop.
“Professor, how did you know I was here?”
She was wearing running shorts, a tight running shirt and a ponytail. Her body was unbelievable for a women her age. Well for a woman any age. I should know.
“You are so predictable, fatty. I could find you anywhere.”
I tried to stand up straight.
“Why am I still having so much trouble running? I’ve lost 46 pounds. I’m down to 238.”
“Right fat-boy, so what if you’re tall. So what if you look awesome *hot* with your clothes on. Overweight according to the BMI for your height and your young age is 229. You are 9 pounds into obese. You have to lose 9 just to be over-weight. What does that tell you? Your Army weight, you said your max weight was 223? Your max weight? Is that good? And I should know. You were crushing me with your fat, sweaty body all night and much of the morning.”
“OK, so what your saying, is that until I get my BMI, weight and body-fat down to a runner’s weight, my progress will be glacial. Running is good and healthy, but progress is slow until I start really having a runner’s body.”
“That’s a bingo, critic-boy!”
We walked over to get water bottles. She took my arm and walked me away far from the madding crowd.
“Listen. I am a woman of 72 years of age. I’m in great shape. I’ve been running my entire life. I was an alternate for the 1964 Olympics. I work out and run constantly. I have very low body-fat. But I had not had relations in 20 years, since long after my idiot husband left me. And you knew this. But what you did to me last night was…it was…disgusting, revolting, horrific. You have no respect for my person. I am a lady of dignity and honor. I felt like I was being 94n9-b4n93d. You were coming at me (literally) from all directions. You didn’t make love to me, you didn’t have 53xu41 intercourse with me. You f&^%ed me! Like I was a 20 year old crack-wh0r3! You sick, perverted pig! I am mortified. I can’t look in a mirror. Hour after hour! I can still….almost..feel it. I confess…that I am madly, passionately, romantically in love with you, I want to grovel at your feet as your love slave and follow you around like a puppy.”
“I agree with you 100%, Professor, I must do three things to be a true runner:
- Lower my Body-fat percentage.
- Lower my BMI down to an acceptable level
- Lower my body-weight below or near the overweight/normal range.
- Run steeper, longer hills for strength.
- Work on speed: start, one mile time, two mile time.
- Work on the kick over the last half-mile.
She stroked her ponytail, rubbed her tummy erotically and sighed closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.
“I didn’t shower or bathe this morning. I wanted to feel your sticky slime all over me and oozing out of me as I ran. Ah the taste of it! The smell of it! God I feel so dirty, so used. I wanted to wear a shirt today that said. ‘I am Botendaddy’s shameful, dirty, trampy old wh0r3’. But there are children here. I am considered an elderly woman. I have adult grandchildren. They would murder you if they found out what you did to me. How do you think I was supposed to survive that sustained slobbering, dripping, sticky assault that you call romance? You’ve covered me in every possible location with your putrid reproductive fluids. I am not only ashamed of myself, I am ashamed of you! Then you spanked me, very hard and called me a naughty girl for letting someone like you touch me. I have Botendaddy hand-shaped black and blue marks on my firm behind. I am a mature adult for heaven’s sake. Really? How can I stand in front of the Writer’s Workshop knowing what you did to me? Hell you f*&^ed all of them anyway, what does it all matter? It’s you. No-one will bat an eyelash. Ooh… Botendaddy slimed someone else. Ooh… that’s OK, that’s what he does!”
We walked back to the park, arm in arm.
“So Professor, thanks for the advice. You are truly a lovely woman and I hold you in the highest regard. I’ll see how I’m running at 229 and then at 223, I’m close. But another 15 pound weight loss should be significant. Latte?”
Morris ‘Doc’ Turner 5k Run, Highland Park , PA
Peace be the Botendaddy