*editors note – The lead of today’s blog will provide you (the reader) with a multiple choice of punch lines.  Regardless of which punch line you choose, the ensuing verbal brilliance will continue to apply as expected.  Enjoy your time here today.

Lead:  I took up jogging last week.

Punch line:

A. Kinda
B. For less than a minute
C.  Not really
D.  None of the above.  Don’t believe such bull from this writer.
E.  All of the above

Ensuing verbal brilliance:  The TharpSter PounDown continues.  For those of you not familiar with this particular project, I’ll give you a quick summary which begins with an infected sebaceous cyst right smack dab on the middle of my chest.  It was like a third nipple, or even the center headlight in the middle of the grill on a Tucker brand automobile.

That bad boy flared up and it was time to go to a doctor to have it removed.  I didn’t know what the hell the thing was, but I knew that it was starting to hurt.

Upon arriving to the doctors office, they had the audacity and unmitigated gall to weigh me.  Upon seeing my weight, one of two conclusions came to mind.

1.  Geez, this thing on my chest is only about the size of a dime, but its adding about 30 pounds to my overall weight.

2.  There’s no way that thing weighs 30 pounds. Nachos taste good.

So with that, I embarked on a program where I endeavored to lose some weight.  Two years later, I weigh less than I did.  I just don’t weigh considerably less than I did, or as much as I wanted to at this point.

Big picture, the rate in which I’m dropping the poundage couldn’t be compared to that of butter melting off of a bald monkey like I originally wanted.  In fact, the term that best describes the speed of my weight loss is “glacial”.

I’ve come to accept that, and understand that from a long term perspective, slow weight loss presents the best opportunity for avoiding a repound.

Wordplay intended.

So as stated before, the TharpSter PounDown continues.

Just the other day, I was out walking Hope, the TharpSter Pit Bull.  Lord in Heaven, what did I ever do without that dog?

While walking Hope, it’s necessary to invoke various protocols so as to avoid unpleasantries which could result in hurt feelings and financial liabilities.  Even though there is a pretty good level of mastery I have over that dog which will keep her from acting on some of her animal aggressive tendencies, I prefer to use some back up fire walls in case the primary security features break down.  This involves walking on various sides of the street to avoid certain people or yards containing territorial German Shepherds and Shit Zoos (spelled that way on purpose).

Wow that’s a lot of background.

Just so summarize, weight loss is slow and you should be careful when walking a pit bull.

While walking Hope last week, there came a point in time where I needed to cross the street.  There was a car coming from the other end of the street, so I decided to hustle across and elevated my stride into a jog.

As I crossed the street, I realized I was doing okay.  Hmmm.  Lets see how long this will last.  Let’s just keep on running until I come to a horrible epiphany that this was a bad decision.

“Was that a good decision or a bad decision?”  My young nephews have found themselves answering that question on more that one occasion.

So I was jogging and not feeling that bad.  I looked down and to my left to Hope.  Hope has been with us for a few years now, and is able to convey her thoughts to me appropriately.

“Really?

You’re going to run?  I sit in a kennel for the better part of the day, I’m arthritic, and you want to run?

Well That’s Fantastic.

Fine.  If you want to run, that’s okay.  I’ll try to stay up with you but I make no guarantees.

If you’re going to do this to me, understand here and now that the nature of our relationship changes.

Do you understand?

It changes.”

Well then.

Obviously, if I’m to take up jogging, the canine companion to accompany me is Faith, the TharpSter Treadmill.

I already know better than to begin running with a tenacious and high strung lab-jack who had part of one of her toes removed so as to cut down on drag.  There’s a reason I call her the TreadMill, and its not based on her ability to serve as a clothing rack.

Big picture, ix-nay on the running.  I’ll continue with the brisk walks intertwined with various workouts at the gym.