88 Degree Trail Run

Man it was hot, but I didn’t realize exactly how hot.

My first mile started well, but I faded badly around the 3/4 mile mark. The run is uphill from .66 to the 1.56 mile mark. That’s 2.5k for some of you.

I started to slow down dramatically after that point. I couldn’t figure out why. I thought it was maybe because I’m alluringly, sensually old? Am I still too high in body fat? But no, it was the heat! 88 degrees!

Oh well, I was just hanging on for much of the run. My time was bad, but about eight minutes faster since the last time I ran in 88 degree heat. Trust me, my tasty, red-*hot*, gorgeous, delicious readers, 88 is hot. There seems to be a dividing line around 85 where it really wears you down.

I had nothing left at about 1.6 miles. I wanted to quit at 2.75 miles. It’s the heat, stupid! So I hoped by putting in the roadwork here, it will pay off in the future.

On the way out, I saw a woman running in front of me. She was quite attractive. She faded out of sight. I should have paid more attention. But enough foreshadowing. I crossed the little bridge at the 3.0 mile mark. I went to sit down on the bench to catch my breath. Sure enough, a woman plopped down beside me. It was the librarian!  Beautiful! Gorgeous!

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The bench at the end of the Trail Run

‘Hi Botendaddy. You keep getting thinner but you still seem to be carrying a lot of fat on your grotesque, tasty, delectable, mooby 1950’s era banana breasts. Maybe if you actually get out of the BMI obese range, you will be OK. You fat, pungent slob.”

“I am down 47 pounds now, my sweet. 8 pounds of blubber to go to be only overweight and no longer BMI obese. I know I can’t run consistent 9:00’s until I get down under 229. I’m guessing that I need to get halfway down into the 194-229 overweight range, like 212, in order to have my old near-beach body. But I will carry on.”

She stared at me with her crazy, intense deep blue eyes. She was a sophisticated, classy, attractive, educated woman.

“I can’t stand it anymore, Botendaddy. I want to be normal. I feel like I’m running out of time. I’m in my early 30’s. I’m not married. Normal is married, kids, my imaginary husband and I, worrying about all the family things. I’m very lost right now. I can’t talk to anyone else but you. My family views me as the failed one.”

She was staring at me still,  but now she put her leg up over mine.

“Well, the key for you, my hot, sweaty, hard-bodied librarian, is to hydrate before you run in weather this hot. It’s probably not safe to run in temperatures in excess of 85 degrees anyway, unless you are very accustomed to running in hot weather.”

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Three-mile bridge

She grasped at her ponytail, cocking her head, but now not making eye contact. She appeared to be on the verge of what was once known as a complete psychiatric break.

“You aren’t hearing me, you fat freak. I am tired of my life. I want to do something different, to get away. I don’t know. I feel desperately alone when I’m not with you. You are so hideously ugly, repulsive, sickeningly and freakishly gross. Yet,  I am obsessed with you. I find myself insatiably, erotically attracted to you. Your macabre appearance is a sensual turn-on, likely due to my intense loss of self respect.”

I looked over at her. She was leaning forward, hands on the bench, her hard, tanned cleavage glistening with sweat.

“I heard you clearly, you said that it’s important to dress light in hot weather. And, always have water available when you get off the trail in case there is no drinking water at the trail head.”

She was shifting uncomfortably, almost writhing, like her girly parts were filled with an insatiable itch.

“I am madly, passionately in love with you. Every second that you are not deep inside of me filling me with your massive, ugly,  gnarled monster and soaking me sloppy with your foul reproductive fluids,  is like being in a living hell. If you ever leave me, I swear to god I will stab you to death with a spoon, like in a bad Stephen King movie (redundant) Hollywood-style bloodbath and then bathe in your rancid blood with orgiastic ecstasy!”

Her mouth seemed dry, like somone whose meds had worn off due to the heat. She turned to me again with a very distraught look.

“Botendaddy? Dear, sweet, muscular Botendaddy? I may just slaughter you anyway if you don’t make love to me as soon as we get out of here. Do you even know what sexual intercourse is used for? It’s to create a baby. For two people who love each other to come together as husband and wife, I repeat husband and wife. Me, your beloved future fu@&$ing wife, fatty. You will give me my baby. You will impregnate me with your rancid sperm, you late night horror movie monster, you freakish half-human. I mean you’ve already fu@&$d me for like 300 hours of flight time. You are so beneath me. My god, I love you. You belong to me. I own you. You slobbering, sh1tty gargoyle. You will never ever say no to me.”

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The hot trail

I began to realize that she was actually insane. She too was a stalker. A psychotic, reality-detective-TV, murdering stalker girl. But I wasn’t in fear, because I have no emotional reaction to such things. I’m just glad that anyone will even deign to speak to me without running away screaming to get pitchforks and torches.

“OK librarian. You need a tiger time out. You are a sophisticated lady from a good family with an excellent Federal job in our Nation’s Capitol. I don’t want to see you have an involuntary 72 hour psychiatric commitment. You can’t just threaten to murder people, it’s a little  bit antisocial. I’m hoping that it’s just the heat, you’re such a good girl, let’s go little Miss. Come with me sweetheart. It’s OK, kitten, let’s get some wa-wa, precious and we will get into the nice air-conditioned car with Boten-dada.”

I gently stroked her head. Then, I led her by the hand to my car. She kept her head bowed low.

“I just totally peed on myself. I’m ashamed. I’m also very sorry that I threatened to stab you to death, you corpulent, drooling freak.” She said, emotionlessly in a cold, staccato, zombie-like, stuporous cadence. Her  blue shorts were now completely soaked.

I just cleaned this damn car, I thought. I put a towel on the seat. I turned the AC on full.

“Grab an Iced tea?”

A concerned reader: “Botendaddy. Is she OK? You have us all worried.”

Botendaddy: “She had heat exhaustion. But not heat stroke.  I took her to the nearest certified ER. I warned her many times to hydrate before running in the heat. Thinner people usually stroke out from the heat for some reason.”

A concerned reader: “So she’s not insane or homicidal?”

Botendaddy: “Not in the least, she’s really OK. She’s now nestled confortably, sleeping in my sh7tty, filthy, sweaty armpit at the Mansion.”

A concerned reader: “Please tell me that you have some decency, some humanity, that you did not f@&$ her when you got her home from the ER.”

Botendaddy: “I did not f@&$ her when I got her home from the ER, but I did make her put on a massive adult diaper.”

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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