"Enough Of This Running Shit"

   In my favorite scene from "The Untouchables", Sean Connery is running down a bad guy, when he realizes, "oh yeah, I have a gun."
   "Enough of this running shit," he says breathlessly, pulling his exactly as fast as a speeding bullet chase ender.

   I'm not intimidated going to work out at a gym.  That could be because the crowd at my particular location is composed almost exclusively of either:  a) men even older that me (even though the 13 year old does not think that's possible) hoping to be noticed by hot girl even younger than me, or b) mommies who have just dropped the kid or 12 off trying to enjoy a moment of silence.  Sadly for Group A, Group B is not interested. 
   Still, this atmosphere does not attract the kind of muscle head workout freaks that make it difficult for an 800 pound man to go unnoticed huffing and puffing on an elliptical runner.
   Besides, there's air conditioning.
   And a tv on every machine.
   With cable.
   If there were only an automatic Snickers feeder, it would be the perfect workout environment.
   Running outside over real earth... now, that's intimidating.
   People who drive to a location outside, with trails.  And hills.  And portapotties... those people take running seriously.
    Guys wear running shorts that would be considered obscene, even in a strip club.
    I'm not one of those runners, and to avoid the remote possibility of intimidating other non-runners, I do everything I can to avoid looking like one.
    Of course, this ignores the obvious fact that the speed of my "run" barely exceeds the walk of someone seriously looking for a restroom in the mall.  That's kind of a giveaway.
    I do not wear the latest Nike running wear that breathes, wicks away sweat and gently massages my nipples as I run.  I wear an Insane Clown Posse t-shirt.  No lightweight barely there shorts for me... full-on basketball-length shorts for me that barely, by definition, can be called short.

"Watch it wiggle.  See it jiggle."

   As I run down the section of the Shelby Farms trail that runs parallel to Germantown Road, I can almost hear the people in the cars as they approach me.
   "Look... fat guy running... bet he starts walking in 12 seconds."
   "I've got 8 seconds."
   "14 seconds, he may have just... no wait. He stopped.  Who had 6 seconds?"
   "OK, new bet... 9 minutes until he collapses with a massive heart attack.
    "Four minutes."
    "No, he's going so slow a heart attack would actually speed him up.  There's no way... OK... guess I was wrong."
    "Should be give him a ride?"
   "Maybe we could just go give him a beer."
"Or maybe a cheeseburger."
   "D... all of the above," I summon enough strength to shout out.  Maybe not shout.  If they heard, they didn't stop.  Or toss me a cheeseburger.
   I hear runners talking about endorphins being released, and such bizarre things that I have put on the same level as pixie dust or pet unicorns.  But it might be true.  Running through a nature trail, I do encounter actual elements of nature.  As I ran past some flowers, or maybe weeds... I really don't know the difference... two bees began flying beside me.  Apparently, I was so in tune with nature at this moment that their buzz was actually understandable to me."
   "You can have this one if you want," one bee said.
   "Nah, I'm trying to cut the fat out of my diet.  Let's find another one."
   "It'll be hard to find one this easy to catch... you sure?"
   "Yeah, I'll pass."  And they were off.
   Two girls ran past me as if I were running backwards.  That is a hypothetical statement.  I could grow antlers and join Santa's backup sleigh team easier than I could run backwards.  Judging by the number of "likes" and "o-m-g's", I'm estimating they might have been 6th graders. 
    As they pulled even with me, I heard them say to each other, "Should we like offer to carry him or something... like, I think he might be dying and stuff."
   "How did he even get here... I think he's too old to drive."
   I attempted to politely answer and wheezed out what I thought was "thanks, but I'm good."
   I'm not sure what actually came out of my mouth, but they started running faster.  Much faster.
   This was the first time I had tried to run with RunKeeper, and about this time, the lovely voice came out of nowhere to tell me "you have run one quarter of a mile."  I almost had time to feel proud before realizing Ms. RunKeeper was not finished.  "And I use the term "run" loosely."
   Bitch!
  "Normally, at this time, I would tell you your average mile time, but I am programmed to run on a stopwatch, not a calendar.  Perhaps we could use a saw-you-in-half ap and carbon date your speed."
   Ms. Runkeeper and I spent the next 10 minutes in a profane verbal war.  Running.. not really my thing.  Caustically funny and profane war of words... yeah, I've got that.