Last week, I vicariously kicked Randy Beets' butt all over the place. I beat him in the water. I beat him on the road. I beat him in the weight room. I even beat him at sitting, the one thing he claims to be good at. It's tough to be him. Randy can't win for losing, and I can't lose for winning.
The butt beats started Monday with me running 5.2 miles, swimming 4,341 meters, and lifting enough weight to crush the weak Randy. Tuesday I had no mercy and shuffled 2.72 miles, lifted some more, and swam 2,330 meters.
I continued the slaughter Wednesday with three miles of road work, 4,935 meters of pool work, and a little bit of gym work. By Thursday I was on a roll and kept up the pounding with no running. I was rubbing it in that I don't even have to run everyday. I did swim to rub it in that I can. I did 3,884 meters at Twin Rivers, and hit Plate City like I was mad at it.
Friday was total victory with 10.4 miles on Money Road. Yes, you read that right. I ran 10.4 miles while Randy was illegally swimming in a closed lake in a non-swimming area during a quarantine. I swam 2,742 meters while breaking no laws and did not lift weights to show Randy that I did not have to if I did not want to.
Saturday was dedicated to the slaughter. I swam 2,467. Decided on not running to once more show Randy that I don't have to run everyday to beat him. I lifted like a power lifter and body builder rolled up into one. I even lifted two time, once each at two gyms. Randy can never match my strength.
For the week, I
lifted five times in four days,
swam 20,699 meters, and
ran 21.32 miles.
All of that spells victory. How do you spell defeat, Randy? I think he spells it H O R S E T R O U G H.
Thank you, Jesus, that I can actually spell.
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