The White Runner
by Will Bailey
I must look ridiculous when I run. Excuse me: jog. Running is what you do when you’re being chased by Jack the Ripper or Jack the Bear. Who invented jogging, anyway? Was someone running for their life and suddenly thought, “Hey, this is fun?” Back to how ridiculous I look. First of all, I am one of the top ten whitest people in the world. I am so white, that if I visited North Korea, Kim Jong-il would declare me “a most exquisite ghost” and make me Ghost Chancellor. Because of my fair skin, I am forced to slather buckets of ∞ SPF sunblock on my face and neck before I venture out into the blazing sun for my daily jog. Why don’t I put sunblock on my arms? Because I wear a long-sleeved shirt. In the summer. I also wear a trucker hat because I find it wicks the sweat off my forehead and prevents the sunblock from running into my eye sockets and blinding me with the same fervor as cobra venom. As for my feet, I prefer Aisics GEL-Foundation 9 Men’s Running Shoes with rearfoot and forefoot GEL cushioning, DuoMax support system, and DuraSponge outsole for maximum accumulation of dog poop. I also wear shorts (Ha! Can you imagine?). All of this equipment is pushed, pulled, slapped, and squeezed onto a six foot, two-hundred-and-twenty pound human Baby Huey who sweats more than a prostitute in church (the church has very poor ventilation) and whose cheeks turn an alarming shade of fire when he is either exercising or watching the sex scene in “Look Who’s Talking” with his parents when he is eight. What’s the point of all this? I don’t know!