“What the hell were you thinking, man? You like totally suck. You decrepit shitty, creepy, *red hot* muscular old man? I bet you would like to take advantage of a hot young swole’ bro’ college bodybuilder like me wouldn’t you, you old creeper? You know you want this sexy body! I can just feel you groping me, slobbering all over me! Take me now you old crypt-keeper™! Make me yours, Mr. Burns™! Fill me with your creeper old-man love juices! Make me feel dirty!”
He sure was on odd one, I thought. I just can’t get away from the weirdos from the Writer’s Workshop.
“I’m not like gay or anything, just because I’ve had like a ton of man sex. I mean your site, is like the gayest site ever. Even though you screwed all those super-fit writer’s workshop chicks. Is that like a cover or something? I mean I read your site, it’s pretty gay *hot* dude.” The Swole’ bro’ continued.
I was staggering up the trail somewhere around mile 5. The newest member of our writer’s workshop decided to taunt me for the entire 15 k trail run with a series of erotic jibes about my body, my age, my state of physical health.
“No, endless episodes of man-on-man hot love does not in any way at all make you gay, Swole’, now it doesn’t make you precisely straight ‘according to Hoyle™ definition’ either. Now, my site has a lot of man-on-man action to please my very bored female readers. But I never judge. I myself am perfectly straight, despite the endless episodes of man-love you may see on this site.”
The trail was soaking wet and it was very tough. Twists, turns, changes in elevation, very tight paths, slippery up and down slopes, little bridges, endless passages of moraine like rocks, giant rocks to clamber over, not so well marked trails, I ran about an extra mile (again).
“This is a tough, maybe for you, but I’m like low BMI, zero body-fat. I’m like negative body-fat when I cut for a competition. Look at all these runners out here, they’re killing you. There’s like Army guys, Special ops guys, military girls, track stars, marathoners, old gals and guys who’ve been running since like the ’68 Olympic trials. They are schooling your ass. Speaking of which, let me get my hands on your tiny, milky-white, white-tail, I will just shred it! Wooo-hooo! Give it to me now Botendaddy! Right here on the trail! I will tear it up! Wooo!”
We must have over-run another marker because the trail despite being muddy was utterly pristine. I checked my MapMyRun™ App. It only ‘paused’ after the six mile mark, so I could keep accurate time by my watch. We headed up the hill to the Water Tower Hydration and Beetus site. I opted for a Gatorade™ ‘yuck’!
The climb to the water tower was savage. I had to keep pace though, keep up a running motion so I could be ready for the ‘groundhog Jog in Punxsutawney come January. I had to train the uphill. No uphill walking until after the six-mile mark, running only. I needed to train so that I could do an entire 10k or farther trail race with no walking at all in any part of the course. The hill to Gobbler’s Knob will be a savage one.
“So like what’s up with the shitty MapMyRun™ app, bra’? You old guys suck. You are so retarded. I want to wrestle with you, pin you and just man-handle you into submission until you think straight. Get a Garmin™, you stupid doddering cheapskate, I mean, c’mon dude. Don’t be like my dad. He’s not cool like you are. He hates me for some reason. You are more like a serial killer without the homicide. Does anything even bother you, old dude?”
I can’t imagine why his old man didn’t like him, I thought.
“This hydration system is working out pretty well. I’m dying out here, Swole’. I started taking gummy adult male multi-vitamins from Target™. The hydration sling helps. I got it at Sears™, it’s a Schwinn™, cross-shoulder. Holds about a quart. The water tastes foul and plasticky though. Also, the gel pack of weird food, the SmashPack™. It is the most repulsive, vulgar, creepy, disgusting thing I’ve ever seen or eaten. It looks like some kind of 1969 astronaut-paste food. But I could feel the energy come back. It helped me a lot. I am just not near as in-shape as I thought I was.”
We ran across a little stone bridge over a stream, then up a hill. We could hear other runners, but they were too far away to see.
“I’ll give you some paste to eat, it’s pure protein. Did I mention that I am madly in love with you Botendaddy? I’m not like gay or anything, I’m just expressing some Swole’ man-on-man respect, like brotherhood. Of course It could get physical…*hot*”
“Listen, I see the light, here’s the situation Swole’ bro’:
- I have lost roughly 70 pounds.
- I have dropped my 5k by almost 16 minutes.
- I can run a sub-8:30 minute mile.
- I can run a sub 30:00 minute 5k.
- I have lifted twice a week every week like clockwork for five years.
- My BMI is on the edge of normal, but at max life expectancy, which is very, very good.
- But I have no lungs, I mean like what is going on?”
Here’s the problem with you Botendaddy, and it is not your age. These old swole’ bro’s and fit 60-something chicks are crushing your soul in these races:
- You are getting killed in every race, which tells me you are not in as good shape as you thought you were.
- Your oxygen uptake is terrible, even though you don’t have heart problems.
- Your diet is not well-rounded enough, you lack protein.
- You need to train harder, more uphill, more speed, more time at max heart rate.
- You need to run these distances before trying them. You just ran a 15k trail run without doing a 15k road run. Not smart.
- Lifting, this I know a lot about. You are too soft on the lower body exercises. Start challenging yourself, more sets, more weight.
I staggered across the finish line. I couldn’t even tell where it was. They handed me a fly-swatter. The Swole bro’ and I went back to the car.
“You stink old man, Let’s go to the truck stop shower and ‘clean up’ if you get my meaning… gramps? *hot*”
“Iced Vanilla Latte?”
Peace be the Botendaddy