Hey Ladies! Please Stop Passing Me

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womens-running-shoesSo Mike has been sidelined for a couple of weeks, leaving me with control of the castle. I guess my advice to “suck it up” really only did more damage. We’ve both been dealing with ankle problems since the get-go. Clearly his problems were real and mine were because I have the pain tolerance of a newborn baby. Let’s get down to business, shall we?

Run #50: 5.98 km, 35:25, 5:55/km

Run #51: 5.98 km, 36:55, 6:10/km

You’ll notice the difference in time. That has everything to do yesterday’s decision to run while the sun was out. Usually, I start my runs at about 8:30 p.m. Yesterday, I started around 7 p.m. Big difference.

One thing that’s been bothering me as of late has been the startling amount of 110-pound girls blowing past me on the running trail. Look, I’m not some misogynist or anything, but I take pride in being more physically-abled than the fairer sex. Again, no misogynistic intent here. I actually think I’m a progressive thinker when it comes to the ladies. I long ago gave up the notion that I would be the breadwinner in my family thanks to the career path I’ve chosen. I’m completely fine with my future wife with keeping her last name (“Hey baby, will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Frommelt? No – not Fromlett… Not Fromell. IT’S FROMMEL– ah don’t bother trying to pronounce it.”).

I’m used to females being better than me. Nearly every single significant women in my life is smarter than me (dogs included). But I will not stand idly by as a broad – a broad I say – passes me on the left-hand side when I’m getting my run on. It saps my energy. Here I am, running along, feeling good about my situation, when all of a sudden, whoosh, a smell that’s a mixture of perfume and superiority cruises past me. These girls are running twice as fast as me with zero sweat on their bodies.

I’m not the most put-together person when I run. I start sweating pretty much right when I step out of the house. By mile two, I’m pretty much dripping from every pore, leaving this sweaty Hansel and Gretel trail in my wake. Not to mention the gas. My God the gas. I’ve got no control of it! I think it’s my body saying, “Well, we’re not gonna make it home on our own. Lets fire up the propulsion system.”

Here’s the picture I’m painting here people: I’m a 200-pound blob of gas and perspiration, waddling down a running trail while these tiny little girls are blowing past me, thanking their lucky stars that I’ll be out of eyesight in about 3 minutes. How the Hell am I supposed to feel good about myself when I get home!

So please ladies, if you see me running, please be kind enough to slow down.

3 Responses to “Hey Ladies! Please Stop Passing Me”

  1. Amber Says:

    If it makes you feel any better, Paul, I run exactly like you. I always get lapped by those little ladies and it completely takes the proverbial wind out of my proverbial sails. I breathe sooooo loudly, too, and those little girls barely open their mouths!

  2. Paul Frommelt Says:

    That does make me feel better! I’m gonna start bringing a taser. It’s not illegal if I don’t rob them afterwards, right?

  3. Ashleigh Says:

    Just fart about 20 seconds before they catch up to you. They will simply pass out 🙂

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