Running Backpressure

Trot, trot, slap, slap, trot, trot, slap, slap lone highway, it is hot and lots of inner strength on tap a marathon it's not. Those training runs I used to do in early morning cool and never wear a single shoe some neighbours call me fool. Thick fog one day. I could not see the houses as I passed my energy was running free inside, though, I was gassed. That barbecue with chilli beans and Weihenstephan beer had given me (through carbs) the means to run in seventh gear. But, beans explode and leave behind the puff of fifty dragons on contact insects do go blind the sound is like Volkswagens. In front of a most stately home a thunderbolt shot out it scared a handsome garden gnome and there she stood, a Kraut! 'Zo, doo yoo ssink it helps yoo runn much faaster ssroo ze bresher? ' 'Oh no', I said it is pure fun and after I feel fresher.' She nodded then, as if to think when, once again, it blew I gave a small but playful wink as if I had a clou. A cloud had formed around the place I made my get-away a crimson red was on my face I could no longer stay. With all the speed at my command I sprinted through the fog Behind, the words 'I underschdand yoo faaard und runn like dogg! '