I honestly wasn’t even planning on going for a run at all on Sunday. But when you’re trying to eat one Buffalo Wing to keep up with every Roethlisberger turnover, you’re obviously gonna take on a few extra calories. So I figured I’d go for a light 3-mile run, just so I wouldn’t feel like the plague all night.
Anyway, I’m on Comm. Ave and literally about to take a right on Centre St. and head home, when I see this chick running like half a mile in front of me. I immediately could tell this girl thought she was all that and a jar of pickles. Basically struttin’ her stuff like she was God’s gift to exercise. You know the type, people who just think they’re the fittest motherfuckers on the planet and they want nothing more than to shove it in your face. Like congratulations bro, your heart pumps blood faster than mine. Now go take your sports bra and all your Marathon swag and get over yourself!
I decided that I had to do something about this situation. Sunday Night Football would just have to wait. I had to pass this girl and teach her that you can’t just come into Newton and act like you own the place. Would most people call me a hero for doing this? Yeah, probably. But somebody’s got to do it, right?.
To give this girl some credit, though, she was flying. Like somewhere around 7:15’s. And after a full day of beer and wings I was starting to wonder if I was really gonna be able to do this. Eventually, though, I get within like 25 yards and she obviously notices because she immediately picks up the pace. Now I know I’m probably in for a dogfight. Again, I start contemplating whether or not I want to make this move. Because, on paper, this girl probably had the slight edge over me. But I kept telling myself, “It’s not the dog in the fight, Mike. It’s the fight in the dog.”
We kept the same steady pace until about Walnut St. when I finally busted out my secret weapon (Natasha Beddingfield’s “Unwritten”) and went for it. Absolutely kicked it into high gear and zoomed right on past her. Didn’t even shoot her a glance to see if she was cute or not. Just kept my eye on the prize and never looked back. Unfortunately, I couldn’t just turn down the next street cause then she would think I was gassed. So I had to keep at it, and the next thing you know, I’m sprinting through Auburndale and my light workout has turned into a fucking 11-mile Tour de Newton Extravaganza.
