You put on your bright pink running shoes, your black leggings and your extra small soft pink tank top with the screen printing of a cute kitty cat on the front. You put your platinum blonde hair up into a pony tail with a dainty pink elastic band. You tie your neon pink shoelaces and step out onto the street.
You do some light stretching and insert your hot pink earbuds into your ears, then strap your phone onto your left arm, secure in a screaming pink armband.
You notice the blinds on your neighbor’s front window crack open as they peek out at you.
You hit play on your running mix and the sweet sounds of Anthrax fill your ears.
“Fuck yeah get PUMPED!” you shout loudly. Your neighbor’s blinds quickly snap shut and you take off down the street.
You make it a couple blocks before you run by that cute guy that always runs at the same time as you. You double your speed and bee line towards him but he sees you coming from half a block away and turns off the street, cutting into a space between two houses and jumping a fence into a back yard. As you pass the yard he ran into, you spot him, still running away, but checking over his shoulder to see if you’re chasing him.
You call out after him. “That’s okay, cute guy, I’ll get you next time! You better fucking watch your back bitch I’m not playing out here!”
He disappears into a tree line in the back yard.
A half mile down the road, a sick-ass Slayer song comes up on your playlist at the exact moment a dog runs from behind a house and starts to bark at you. You change course and break out at a dead sprint towards the dog, growling in between screams. Spit flies violently from your mouth while guttural howls erupt from your diaphragm. You have every intention of biting the shit out of the dog, but it turns tail and runs away before you can reach it. Pussy.
You round the corner and catch sight of a young boy riding his bike. You’re not sure if you’ve seen him before at first, but he looks back over his shoulder and begins to pedal double time and you know this isn’t your first encounter with him. The boy pedals his bike feverishly, as if he is being chased because he is being chased by you. You are chasing him. Megadeth compels you to do so.
“You better not stop, you little shit, because if I catch you that’s your ass!” you scream at the child.
The boy lets out a high-pitched scream and turns down a side street that isn’t on your route, so you stop chasing him.
“No one gets lucky three times, fuck nuts!” you remind the juvenile as you lose sight of him.
Your alarm goes off, signaling you’ve completed your thirty minutes of cardio. You remove your earbuds and slow to a walk for your cooldown. Your pink kitty cat tank top is drenched in sweat.