Car

On one of my weekend runs, I was blessed with a 10-mile jaunt.  It wasn't too hot, probably around early November, so around 85 or so...goddamn you, Phoenix, AZ.  I left in the afternoon, so I could have most of my evening to relax and do whateverthefuckitwas that I wanted.

In Phoenix, AZ there is nothing but sun nearly all the time.  To be very honest, we almost never see clouds during the day, ever.  That hot as balls star doesn't usually quit at any point in time - in fact, you can sunburn in January if you tried hard enough.  My point?  It fucking bright as balls outside.

A smart runner wears reflective gear so dumbfucks in their steel deathtraps who are more likely to hit-and-run than pay child support are less liable to hit you.  I am a smart runner.  Black shorts with reflective lines up and down the sides.  A brightly colored shirt.  Even reflective shoes!  Oh, and I'm white.  Cracker white.  YOU WILL SEE ME, YOU WILL NOT HIT ME YOU HUMAN SHITSTAIN.

Some 17-yr old ghetto-brat in her daddy's Range Rover decides she wants Starbucks NOW, and I mean right fucking now!  I'm jogging at this point approaching the turn in for the complex in which the glorious coffee dispensary is located.  This flaming cunt of the south decides I am too unimportant to wait for and guns it into the complex.  There is no waiting.

4 inches.  That's the amount of space between the front of daddy's car and my statuesque legs.  I came to a complete stop to let Ms. Bitchy McBitchface-Bitcherton into the complex without my leaving the imprint of my face/sweat/DNA on her driver's side window as I continue my forward-propelled direction.

The best part?  I screamed.  I screamed every obscenity and racial epithet I knew at her while those on the patio looked on in amazement at the vulgarity of my English.  The result?  I didn't feel any better.  I didn't feel good about berating her and everything about her.  But the ADRENALINE rush.  Holy fuckballs, I felt like God.  I felt like 3 Gods, Trigod, if you will.  The last 6 miles of my run were easy and about a minute and a half faster.

Lesson: Before a big race, put out an ad on Craigslist to get someone to come attempt to hit you with their car.  Protip: Make sure they fail.

Schedule!
MONDAY: Yesterday, yeah...I hope you rested.
TUESDAY: 3 miles
WEDNESDAY: 3 miles
THURSDAY: 3 miles
FRIDAY: REST!

Looks like we're cutting back, right?  We are!  You just ran 5, if you've been following along, and that's huge.  We're going to do ALL threes this week.  Next week it gears up again!  Enjoy!

Dog

I think I'm going to take some time to talk about myself for a little while, you'll tell me if I'm interesting.

It's about November of 2010, the days are getting too short to do anything productive with and the nights especially.  Wife wants me to take the fuck-trophy out during my 7-mile mid week run.  I'm like, "What the balls?"  This presents a unique opportunity: use the whitest thing I've ever purchased for my runs...a running stroller.  Jeezus H Tapdancing Fuck, with my running stroller, New Balance trainers, and trendy clothing I'm begging to be raped like a 12-year old white girl walking the dark alleys of The Bronx.

Destination: buddy's house.  I'm going to be picked up there, then I'm accompanying the dunce wife to a shopping expedition at some glorious armpit/asshole of society like TJ Maxx or The GAP.

So, I start my run and for the first two miles, I'm reasonably still within my ghetto neighborhood.  And, I define this loosely based on the fact I live adjacent to a goddamned Wal*Mart...I'm talking 2-minute jog.  At about mile 3 and 4 we're getting into heavy agriculture.  Cotton, palm trees...uhm, more cotton, and no fucking sidewalks?  I've now realized that I'm pushing my kid either on gravel or into traffic.  This goes on for two miles dodging the El Caminos and the other rice-burners these wall-climbers decide to steal.

Last mile, I can see my buddy's house from the street.  I turn the corner, and WHAT THE FUCK there's two goddamned foaming at the mouth retard strong as balls nuclear killing machine Indian reservation pit bulls.  I feel like I'm dodging the raptors in Jurassic Park.  I'm going to turn around to look at my surroundings and a 3rd little bitch is going to be right there ready to gouge my spleen out.  Luckily, nothing like that...  So these two pitbullasauruses start loping toward me.  I've got NOTHING to fight them off with.  I'm a big white dude, why would I need protection?!  I'm looking for rocks, sticks, anything to encompass the Palestinian within me and fight them off with the worst shit Mother Nature could hand out.  I look closer and Monsterdog 1 has a rabbit carcass in its mouth like a hillbilly with a sliver of wheat sticking out of its mouth like it's no big thing.  Monsterdog 2 plops down and begins to aggressively bathe his testicles with his mouth.  Decidedly, it's time for me to start RUNNING. THE FUCK. AWAY.  I start fervently pushing the babychild in my white-as-can-be stroller and trying not to sweat because I think those beasts are like sharks are with blood.   While number 2 was busy licking his scrote, number 1 sat down to eat his tasty roadkill.  Yes!  Easy getaway!

***EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GOGGIES!!!***

Goddamnit, child...  The pair drop their balls and bunny and start charging and the sound of the baby's siren.  I'm fucked.  I'm going to be unforgivably raped and by a pair of ravaging pitbulls.  And, oh Christ, THE BABY!  Daddy mode kicks in and automatically I swear to fuck I'm goddamned Rambo, Batman, Chuck Norris, and Star Wars Kid wrapped into one terrifying vortex of murder.  Spider sense kicks in and I find a hollow metal pole (where the fuck was this five minutes ago?) and I start banging it on the ground and screaming my fool head off.  The baby has a strong distaste for the abrupt change in volume in and around her immediate environs so she lets out a wail reminiscent of 12 banshees being penetrated by rakes and razor blades.  The dogs stopped about a good 100 feet from me, 100 feet too fucking close if you ask me, and turned in a circle.  The canine scrotum washing machine realized his balls were dry and got back to it while his pack mate decided to run into an adjacent yard and disappear for good...or at least until I was out of sight.

Running a long distance is like an adventure, leave prepared for the worst.  Next time, I'll be ready.

I don't know what the schedule is right now, so I'll double post tomorrow.

That fucking kid...

Got a rugrat?  Me too, pain in my fucking ass.  I bought a fucking running stroller so I can take the little anklebiter with me on runs.  What does this fucking get me?  Well, on a longer run, I actually have to stop whilst dripping sweat from greasy wop forehead to wipe my daughter's ass.

Fuck this!

Can't do shit about it, but suck it up and push through.  I guess it's better than dragging a Christing Radio Flyer behind me.  But, shit, you'd know I was coming.  Rattlerattlerattle...

Point is, that stupid thing provides some resistance.  Plus, she's a fat little sausage, so schlepping 30 extra pounds on top of the 20 pound stroller gets my heart pumping fine.  Any fatter and I'd be kicking her around like a bunch 6-year olds playing soccer.  Once you don't have to push the tubby fuck-trophy on race-day you'll be flying so goddamned fast.

Who's got kids?  How do you cope?  Sound off, vaginafaggots!

EDIT: So you're all aware, I love my daughter with every bit of my soul.  Best.  Fuck-trophy.  Ever.

Substitute activites

Imagine this...CLOSE YOUR FUCKING EYES, COCKBITE...  You just built the Great Wall of China.  That mess of concrete, human remains, and unicorn tears can be seen from motherfucking SPACE.  Your notice on your smartphone tells you that you are do for your cardio exercise in 15 minutes.  First off, you should be impressed with how white you are, you alabaster gods and godesses...you've got a device that tells you when to do cardio...  Second off, you just completed the construction of on of the greatest manmade structures in human history.  You are NOT about to run/walk any distance after THAT.  A masked rapist wielding a rusted rake and a chainsaw could be coming for you and you will not be bothered to more one micrometer.

You know what?

That's cool.  Why, you ask?  Was your heart beating some sick dubstep beats?  Did you sweat?  At any point were you out of breath (not because you had to climb up stairs, you porcine tub of ass)?  If you answered yes to at least two out of three of these, file today under CROSS-TRAINING!  You can't be a running machine all the time.  You earned it.  Kick back.  Relax going into the weekend.  You're running tomorrow.

Saturday: Run/Walk 25 minutes

Sunday: Run/Walk 3 miles (you got this, in about a month, three miles will be a piece of cake)

Tomorrow is bring a retard to work day.  Bring me followers, don't be ashamed.

White Zinfandel

Hey crackers (because no self-respecting person of a non-Caucasian influence wouldn't be caught reading a RUNNING BLOG)!  Did you have too much to drink the night before?  Good job.  Way to introduce toxins into an athletic training regimen...toolbag.

Toss back too many G&Ts or sake bombers (again, all whitey drinks)?  Chug some water and take it easy on your run.  The first day you take off to not run and "recover" is the first day you tell yourself it's OK to skip a run because you did it to yourself (this sentence made NO sense to me, either.  Good luck.).  It's an excuse, and not a very good one.  If you feel you can't do the full run, make that decision AFTER you start, not before.  You're in your third week and you're already setting yourself up for failure by skipping out.  Don't reschedule on your day off.  Your day off is meant to be a day off.  Shameful.

We're officially the whitest blog ever!  Tell your friends!