I’m really not sure how much longer this relationship of ours will last. I had had such high hopes for our running friendship months before we were even introduced, but my gawd, practically every time we meet you terribly disappoint.
Shall we start with your blatant rotundness dear pal? I don’t know who you’re trying to kid here, it doesn’t matter how much of that “slimming” dark blue you try to camouflage yourself with, it is so painfully obvious you need to lose weight. A lot of weight! I mean, seriously, you told me you had a lean frame, you told me you were light as a feather, you told me you were so fit, you could run like the Kenyans, but the second I saw you, I knew you were lying, I knew you were nothing more than a oaf that’s been planted in front of the TV for months on end, eating nothing but Oreos and cream cheese.
That is not acceptable.
You told me you’d be a great running partner, meeting my needs with every foot cycle made. You said you were fast, a Speedy Gonzalez. You said you were superior when it came to hills and rough terrain trails. You said no run could beat you; your stability was second to none. You were smooth in your courtship, oh yes you were. And when we stepped outside for that first run together, ohhh how I had hoped it would be a beautiful run, a run reminiscent of those with my favourite running chicks. But no, sadly, just like 90 per cent of the others trolling those online match-making sites (which is where we first met) I quickly came to the realization, you were nothing but a big, fat, no-good liar.
That is not acceptable.
Fast? Stable? Superior maneuverability? Are you kidding me? Your heavy load does nothing but slow me down. Your wobbliness has me veering all over the pavement. I try to help guide you in a straight line with one hand on your shoulder, while fiercely pumping my other arm trying to give us both added momentum, but your form, Dear BOB, is such a blimey mess, I’m forced to plant both hands on your shoulders more often than not, which then screws up my form. And how about that time you decided to go careening into the cement embankment while descending down a hill.
That is NOT acceptable.
Granted, you have made a friend in Big Ring. He boasts about how you keep his pace at a good tempo, how you keep him from expending all his energy too early in the run. He loves your support on the run, brags about how you’re probably the best running partner he’s ever had, always there for him to lean on when in need. He gives me pep talks, sends me links to articles about top marathoners running with your twins, says you’ll help me get stronger, you’ll help with my endurance. And he tells me that nothing will ever live up to my favourites, but that I need to be patient, adjust to the change, and in time, he’s confident I’ll soon love you too, or at the very least, not loathe you. But BOB, don’t get too comfortable, I’m on to that Big Ring, oh yes I am. These exclamations of praise and patience are nothing more than him not wanting a new cycling partner of his own.
SOURCE: How totally awesome is iBert? First, she doesn’t require any additional storage space, and surely if Bianchi can take her for a spin, so can Lapierre 🙂
So BOB, what are you going to do about this? Are you gonna shape up? Are you going to start acting like the inflated description in your profile and produce? Or, are you going to continue to be a joke, a failed, un-laughable joke? The choice is yours, BOB, but let me tell you, if you choose the latter, you will be replaced by a leaner, meaner, fitter, better running partner. Oh yeah, you better be scared!
YESTERDAY’S RUN… with BOB
- 5:30 BG before: 9.0
- Temp. basal: none
- Time: 33 minutes – 10 minutes warm up/ 10 minutes tempo/ 10 minutes cool down
- 6:30 p.m. BG after: 7.2
9 thoughts on “Running with BOB”
I had to laugh when I read the title! In my world BOB is an acronym for something else.
I’m pretty sure there’s no way Mario is going to put an iBert on his LaPierre. You should stop pestering now and just get a beater bike 😛
That BOB looks like false advertising!
perfect Princess sneer!
If was Oscar I wouldn’t want to sit in the ibert when Mario is speeding down one of those hills in New West, I think it would be like being on a roller coaster….just saying
I am sorry you find me so cumbersome and awkward. A lot of work went into making me the best, most versatile jogging stroller on the market. The guys who invented me are runners themselves. They tested their ideas with their own kids. And let me tell you, those kids were not model passengers! They squealed, ripped, clawed, scratched and even hurled. I don’t think Little Ring has even spit up while cradled within me. Mostly he sleeps. How easy is that!
I was also the very first stroller with a swivelling front wheel, developed in 2005. Sure it takes a little getting used to, but I can assure you my fans the world over love how it makes me more manoeuvrable, able to turn on a dime in tight quarters (pun intended!).
Did you know last year Outside magazine anointed me “the world’s best (jogging) stroller, period.” As in nobody else comes close. That’s pretty high praise, if I do say so myself. In fact, the author was training for a 50km trail run when he test-jogged his BOB.
But that’s nothing compared to elite ultra trail runner Darcy Africa, who trains for 100 MILE runs with her BOB; she says it’s her favourite piece of running gear!
Of course running with me is going to be a lot different than running without me. Heck, I weigh 25 pounds even before Little Ring and all his accoutrements are loaded up. But just think of it as two workouts for the price of one; cardio AND resistance training. Hard to get that without an expensive gym membership, or a parachute strapped to your back!
Here’s another new mom’s experience with her BOB:
So please stick with it Princess. I’ll promise not to skeeter away from you as long as you remember to lock down my front wheel. I guarantee you, once you get used to pushing me along, you’ll love the burn, the extra strength you’re gaining, and the extreme lightness you’ll feel when you go on those special runs without me!
Yours, and Little Ring’s
Oh and BTW, that IBert or whatever that freak show is called, looks like ass.
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