Friday, May 12, 2017


Even the word calisthenics, which I can’t really pronounce, sounds STUPID. Leotards and spandex are for homosexuals, which TRULY, I have nothing against, but you’ve got to admit, both are kinda, you know, feminine. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice on the ladies. Except for Arianna Huffington, who is EXTREMELY unattractive (both inside and out). Her husband probably left her because he saw her HUGE FAT thighs flapping and jiggly along on the treadmill, as if any amount of power walking to that FAILING OBAMA-LOVING Snoop Dogg could save her marriage.  

I mean, you can’t unsee that. 

And don’t get me started on the vegans again. 

What is their problem anyway? 

That kind of diet is a TOTAL threat to the American way of life. We’re a Christian nation, a pro-life nation, and above all, we stand for meat and potatoes. We were born to go forth and multiply and eat meat. Vegans should be jailed and force-fed my company steaks. With ketchup. Loads and loads of ketchup. Really, why can’t they lighten up and eat a Big Mac, preferably on a sliver platter. They’d be so much happier. Healthier, too. I promise, I eat them for breakfast every day, they are ABSOLUTELY delicious and they won’t kill you, no matter what CRAZY BERNIE or CROOKED HILLARY’S husband say. 

Put Big Macs in your kale smoothies and shut up already! 

So ... get this ... standard guidelines say the average person needs at least 150 minutes of moderate activity each week. What a bunch of BALONEY. I should sign an executive order banning exercise. After all, there is nothing more heart-pumping than signing my name, a signature that epitomizes ambition, dynamism, bravery and fearlessness! In my first 100 days, I signed those PERFECT 11 letters so many times. Probably like MILLIONS AND MILLIONS of times. More than any chief executive since World War II anyway. 

I have such UNBELIEVABLE penmanship, too. I have the BEST penmanship of any President in the history of Presidents. Go ahead, try it out for yourself. Write my name. Only then will you feel the burn of a REAL MAN’S workout. 

Any other form of exercise besides sex with a beautiful woman is for the WEAK. I tell you, my goal is to sweat as little as possible. I have my SUPERIOR genetics to keep me going strong. Daddy lived to the ripe age of 93, and he ate KFC like the Civil War Hero Colonel Sanders himself.   

Well, I’ve got a tee time at 9:30 sharp, but before I go, a few words of advice for you PATHETIC runners out there. You people, like that DISLOYAL Comey who probably jogs and does yoga, are FIRED! You are fired for being, BELIEVE ME, the MOST ANNOYING bunch I’ve ever met. Stop talking about running, stop posting about running, stop putting those LOSER stickers on your car about running, stop discussing your TREMENDOUS pre-race craps. Because, and I speak for all the INCREDIBLE men and women of this nation, nobody cares. 

Do us all a favor, OK? Go hide in somebody’s HUGE bush until I MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN. 


I have run alone. I have run alongside friends, acquaintances and strangers. I have run dragged by my sweet, run-loyal dog. I have run in the rain, in the wind, in the snow, in the humidity, in the spit. I have run on a treadmill. I have run on the road and the dirt and the grass and the sand. I have run beneath the bluest canopy of promise. I have run under the grayest roof of despair. 

I have run with a cheese curd dangling from my neck ... for one mile at the second-to-last half marathon I completed in Kenosha, Wisconsin. 

I have run 10 half marathons (plus several 5 and 10Ks). I talk about running. I post about running. I have stickers on my car about running. I have discussed pre- and post-race shits, probably at length. If you find this annoying, I won’t apologize for it, but please do feel free to hide me (on Facebook, not in anyone’s bush). No worries. I will still consider you a friend, as long as you don’t step on my purple toe. Seriously, don’t even stand adjacent to it. 

Purple toes are sometimes a casualty of running. (No spa pedicure needed!) See, there I go talking about running again. 

Why do I do this? A guy held out a microphone at my last race, hoping I’d answer this question. I backed away, partially because my running buddies and I were “running” late for a group photo op, and partially because I “run” from pretty much anything that might draw necessary or unnecessary attention to me, myself and I. 

Later I joked about what I should’ve given as my answer: the very same question. Why do I do this? I actually think about that a lot, and surprise, surprise, here’s a random list of some of my top reasons: 

  • I run because I can. It’s that simple. Not everyone has the physical or mental ability to run. I’m blessed to be able to do so. 
  • I run for myself and for my family. My dad passed away unexpectedly at 62 from heart disease. Sure, you can’t outrun your own mortality, but my life is pretty damn good, so I’m going to give it my best shot. (The New York Times reported this past April that running “may be the single most effective exercise to increase life expectancy ... The new study found that, compared to non-runners, runners tended to live about three additional years, even if they run slowly or sporadically and smoke, drink or are overweight.”)
  • I run because it changes my outlook for the day or the evening. Like magic, running  somehow pushes me to be a better mother, wife, worker, human being. It doesn’t help my laundry smell sweeter or my biscuits rise higher, but that’s okay.
  • I run to get outside of myself. Yes, running clears my head, but it transcends that for me. Running lovingly shoves me outside of my comfort zone. I never imagined myself exercising in various shades and textures of neon spandex with a bunch of people I just met, and now I do it willingly and regularly. It may seem small or silly, but it’s a big fucking deal to me. I spend a lot of time in my house behind a computer screen -- and don’t get me wrong, thank God for that -- so running forces me to do the opposite. 
  • I run to enhance and build friendships. You’d be surprised what comes up in conversation when your feet are pounding the pavement -- Donald Trump’s reign of terror ... your kid’s recent obsession with repeating the word vagina ... the dos and don'ts and whys and hows of eating oatmeal. The discussions truly run the gamut. (Run the gamut. Get it?) Suffice it to say, you learn interesting stuff about people, even when nobody’s saying a word. 
  • I run for beer and food. I’m a strong advocate of both. Together or separate. Whatever. The point is, you should eat, drink and be merry. 
  • I run because it’s beautiful here in Michigan (yes, in winter, too; yes, even when I’m whining about the weather or temperature or both). Not so long ago, I would’ve avoided running outside at all costs. Looks like rain. Does that dude have binoculars and a machete? Do I have to carry my phone in a fanny pack? Now the treadmill has become the dreadmill. 
  • I run because I need an excuse to wear my race shirt wisely proclaiming: “If this race were easy, it would be called your mom.” 
  • I run because of the medals. Yeah, they’re pretty nice, too. 

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