It was four a.m. on a moonless, muggy night … just the way I wanted it. With 240 pounds of bulging blubber and mushy muscles sagging on a five-foot, eleven-inch frame, I wanted no one to see me trying to jog.
At the high school track’s starting line, I punched my stopwatch and groaned into a trot, trying to banish thoughts of rapidly overpowering fatigue by reflecting on the three simultaneous events that led to my being here at such an early hour.
One … two … three cruel strikes — and I was out! Strike one: In the home we built, my blue-eyed, beautiful, brunette bombshell bride left a goodbye note, and little else. Strike two: A freakish lawn mower accident severed my right big toe and rendered the next two useless. Strike three: I had metamorphosed from the outdoor, active type to a sedentary sofa slob. The Comment section of online publications is the new front in the ongoing Cancel Culture Battle.
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