A 5.38 mile urban trail run with the no one cares lady

It was in the late summer that I was trying out a new running routine whereby one day I would run for speed on level ground and the next day, well not really the next day, but the next time I ran I would run hills and trails and uneven ground in order to improve my lung capacity.

Botendaddy, in 18th Century study 📖 in period-specific buttoned Early American coat writing with quill and parchment on the internet by candlelight.

It was in this respect “, my dearly beloved, del.ic.io.us readers in September of the year of our most Christian Lord, being that the 2017th in this Free and Accepted Ancient Commonwealth of the Woods of the revered and muscular Wm. Penn, that I found myself accompanied by none other than the most delightful maiden who is known as the ‘no one cares lady’: a shrieking, 😤 Angry 😡 psychotic hose-beast who needs nothing more than a firm, erotic, muscular spanking.

I was narrating out loud as I stretched, much to the chagrin (trope) of the banshee-like shrieking ‘no one cares lady’.

“I’m standing right here can’t you see that I’m standing right here? No one cares about your stupid writing, no one cares about your stupid German philosopher Röchibäüld person, no one cares about any of your shitty running 🏃 or your blatantly false sexual escapades, which in my opinion are completely unbelievable with your enormous steaming adult diaper, ah the smell of it! No one cares about your shitty running, it’s pathetic.”

There were lots of people playing some form of bocce ball. I was stretching with the ‘no one cares lady’, who despite being somewhat shrewish had a remarkably firm body, although I think she was completely insane.

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Palé! Palé! Palé!

“Let’s take the steepest ridgelines to run up and the rockiest trails, this will improve our lung capacity and our leg strength.”

“No one cares about your stupid lung capacity, your stupid running ideas are the worst, you’re the shittiest runner I’ve ever seen in my entire life, how can any of your followers possibly take you seriously or take your shit-covered diaperous advice when you run like some kind of macabre dead 💀 three-toed sloth (pronounced Slow-th) Crypt-Keeper, Mr. Burns, Frankenstein.”

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The Park Trail

Our first mile was OK. Lots of twist and turns as we avoided descending.

The second mile almost all uphill, slow but OK for a steep climb almost to the 2.5 mile mark. Then a twisting slight downhill along the ridgeline avoiding dogs. Our three-mile time was marginally adequate and we ran downhill to the four mile mark.

“Running with you is horrible. No-one cares about your stupid running advice or your putrid, mindless reviews. You are a talentless douche-bag (from the Renaissance Italian s’Biagghiadoucchia).”

I was hoping she would be attacked and shredded by zombie coyotes like in a bad (redundant) Steven King movie or sliced to mincemeat by murderous clowns in a bad Stephen King movie (derivative and redundant).

“Why are you running with me, Yon NCL?”

She lapsed into a 40’s ingénue (Nobody knows what that word means) voice. “Cant you see that I’m crazy about you? I want, no I demand that you make love to me right here, right now on the trail!”

The Trail

“Can’t we hit the five-mile mark first?”

So ladies and gentlemen I {CENSORED PA DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE per PL-2123 stroke 12.7 Act of 3 January 1947} her, right there on the trail.

“Jamaican Blue Mountain Espresso?”

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!
This entry was posted in Critic's Corner, Exercise, People, Running and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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