"It's a grind in there," he said. "You have to be a tough kid ... You've got to be strong, got to be stout."

Today was 8 miles. Chat saw a ground squirrel which knocked off a few seconds on my time. Also he saw a kitty luxuriating on the bench on the way to the run. Lets just say Chat had an entertaining time.

The quote from my day comes from Redshirt freshman D.J. Tialavea, a Defensive Tackle for Utah State University. (You can now hum the Scotsman)

"It's a grind in there," he said. "You have to be a tough kid ... You've got to be strong, got to be stout."

Life is a grind sometimes. This morning the air inside the bedroom was cool and calm. No painters, contractors, lions, tigers, or bears were stopping by. No tornadoes to whisk my now-gray home away to Oz. Quite peaceful. I was almost lured into the cuddle - when the run came knocking. Oh, if you a runner, which some fat men claim, the run waits outside your back door. It patiently hums your death march and looks in the window to smile as you peacefully sleep away your fat accumulating life.

When you arise - the run is angry - angry with you because you waited - angry because the sun is coming up and it can roast you alive. Oh yes - the run wants to dominate you. It wants to slow you down. It wants you to stop and smell the roses. You have to beat the run. It is your nemesis. I had a tool on board that helped me this morning.

You might ask:
"Was it the shoes?" (Homage to Spike Lee and Michael Jordan)
or
"Could it be his dog?"
or
"Might it be his attractive running socks?"

I would say to all of those. No.

It was the cake.

Not a normal cake. Caramel Triple Chocolate Fudge cake with Chocolate Frosting, Duncan Hines of course.

Man needs food. Cake = Fuel. Fat men run on that of which they partake. Sushi is OK for the normal man. But give a fat man a piece of cake and thus he has the wings upon his back to beat the miles back and keep on coming.

Or so the cake box claims.