Monday and Wednesday Cast at the Track

I walk every Monday and Wednesday. After a while, you see the same folks over and over and get to know them by sight. Here are the ones who showed up tonight:

I'm Kicking My Own Ass Guy- When he runs, he makes a thwap-thwap sound; the first 'thwap' is his shoe hitting the lane, and the second 'thwap' is the sound of his other foot smacking himself in the butt, at the same time. Over and over, he kicks his own butt with every step.
"Hey! You run like an eleven year old on a playground!"

Two Running Old Guys- As they lap me, I catch snippets of their conversation, "...in a money market account?"... "... set up a tax shelter"... "go over the annual form..."
One wears sweats, the other one wears really short running shorts made out of parachute material and nothing underneath. You can totally see old-man junk as he runs by. As his parts are swinging wildly, hanging on for dear life, I can almost hear them crying out, "We could use a little support down here!"

Steel Goddess- Abs of steel, buns of steel... lean, toned, tanned. Nothing jiggles as she burns up the track. She runs by and all conversation comes to an immediate halt as everyone stops and stares, to resume only once she has turned the corner. She is poetry in motion. I don't know art, but I know what I like.

Stretch Armstrong- You are stretching your arms when I arrive at 5pm. As I walk past you for the next hour and a half, you stretch your torso, your hamstrings, your inner thighs, your back. But you never do anything. You never walk or run or row. You only stretch. For over a month, I've never seen you move.

She's Faking It- She takes off her coat and walks over to the bench and reads a book or talks on her cell phone. An hour and a half later, she begins walking, right before you arrive. She stops when she sees you. You say, "Did you have a nice walk?", and she says, "Oh, yeah. Whew! I'm done for the day."

Baywatch Runner- Full breasts bounce heavily with every step. The thin t-shirt clings to sweating skin like the cellophane wrapper on a snack cake. Nothing is left to the imagination.
Too bad you are a guy.