I was finally alone. But, I couldn’t park at the usual trail-head.
It was 75º Fahrenheit, not shitty Jacobin, Bolshevik Metric System, Komrades.
I parked at the second trail-head. There were hot broads in super-tight spandex everywhere, revealing extreme camel-toe. Who wears spandex without underwear?
I was going to run two miles, out and back. The out was two miles uphill. TWO MILES UPHILL. Admittedly it was a railroad grade so it wasn’t bad, but it was UPHILL!
I looked around. No sign of anyone from the writer’s workshop.
I ran as fast as I could, just about four minutes flat for the first half mile, but I couldn’t keep the pace. I barely ran under 9 minutes for the first mile.I know what the ‘real runners’ say. The swole bro’s say: “Ooh, only 20:00 is a good 5k time. Ooh, everyone can run a 7:00 mile. I CALL BULL$H!T! VIRTUALLY NO-ONE, NOT EVEN HEALTHY ADULTS CAN RUN A F&%KING 7 MINUTE MILE! ARE YOU F&^KING INSANE?
I realized that I was muttering out loud.
I had been watching the girl running in front of me, in her super-tight pink spandex. Then she turned around. IT WAS THE STALKER!
“I heard your pathetic rant, stupid old, decrepit Botendaddy. Ooh, it’s everyone else’s fault that I’m old and slow!” She had ‘slown’ down to pace me.
“Listen, Stalker, it breaks down like this. Take a sampling online of any ten 5k’s. Not scholastic or collegiate, but 5k’s with regular runners. Maybe 5% run sub-20 minutes maybe 15% are sub-24 minutes. Now, among people on cross-country teams, a good time might be sub-20, but for the average runner? NFW!”
We hit the two-mile mark at about 19 flat. Solid, for me. I had an odds-on chance of a sub-30 minute 5k time. The third and fourth miles were downhill. Not too shabby.
“Now you listen to me. I am 29 years old. 29. Look at my body. LOOK AT MY BODY, DAMN YOU! YOU SHITTY OLD CRYPT-KEEPER! YOU DUSTY MUMMY! YOU FILTHY, DECREPIT MR. BURNS!™. You are incredibly old. It is repulsive and creepy. My body is a gift to you! You know it. You know you want it! How dare you f&%$ all those nasty B!t(h35 from the Writer’s Workshop. DO YOU WANT THIS BODY? DO YOU WANT DIS SEXY BODDEE!”
She shrieked as we ran. I cringed as elderly walkers looked on in shock. Mothers covered their children’s’ ears.
“Ssh, there are normal people out here. They aren’t like us!”
I checked my time: Three miles, well under 29 minutes, I had a chance to hit sub 30:00 at 3.11 miles, so I stepped it up. I made it easily and we headed for the parking lot and the four mile mark. Was a sub 39:00 four-mile possible? Very possible. I looked over and I noticed that The Stalker was actually quite hot. Gorgeous, beautiful, great body. Too bad she was completely insane.
“Botendaddy, I’m sorry I yelled. You bring out the worst in everybody. You are a disgusting creep. But I am madly, passionately in love with you in a romantic early 1800’s American kind of genre, (pronounced Jaaaaaah). Make love to me in my conversion van.”
Four mile sub 39:00!
Peace be the Botendaddy