With this week's off running activities diminishing my hopes of staying on schedule, I decided to run on my off day. As I pondered this decision while eating my evening's meal of battered steak with ample amounts of gravy with potatoes mashed with cow's milk, I questioned if there was any way to get some miles in without risk of extreme muddiness. It was at this time I felt my best option was to run through the neighborhood for tomorrow's planned 3 miles us a half more tonight instead of on the morrow. I felt somewhat comfortable running through the streets. I have done so on many occasions and very poorly I might add. Some of these runs were intentional and some were for avoidance of local and international law enforcement agents.
I totalled a sloppy 3.6 miles and as my run reach completence, I felt that my pace and form did not damage my chances of finishing last in any future running engagements.
As I rung out my sweat filled attire in the front yard in a state of partial nudity, I was approached by my son Branden who evidently had been listening to a modern comedic minstrel who sang songs in an operatic manner. I obviously felt honored that Branden chose to put some words of my running exploits in operatic form and shared them with me.
I will try to recite the verse for you now in hopes that they will give you unbridled pleasure:
He run slow-lo
He went puke-o
On the side-o
When he skips-o
Along the trail-o
Everybody in the town call him
The El Slap-o Ultra- Idio-lo
I am pleased that my efforts have been heralded in song and am quite sure that this song would be well received by the adoring public, sheep and other various forms of swine and livestockery.