Welcome to what is surely neither the greatest nor the worst purchase you’ve ever transacted. Considering how you’re now the proud owner of a copy of this book, a silly pamphlet called The Abusive Runner’s Log, I think I can safely make the following two assumptions about you:
- You are a runner.
- You have a fantastic relationship with your parentals.
See, I once coached a cross country team; for several years, my life more or less consisted of inspiring teenage boys who desperately wanted to be anywhere else but cross country practice into putting their best effort forward so they could reach their full potential and shatterblast their best race time. Through the experience, I learned the following two things:
- Humans run faster when they’re being screamed at.
- I don’t mean cheered for, I mean screamed at.
When one is hyperventilating and mentally telling oneself to stop fucking running already, one often needs to be verbally berated to be ripped from the thought hole and brought back into reality so one can pay full attention to the running again. You saw the dudeguy on the cover, right? That’s a lil’ buddy named Footsie The Running Shoe; throughout this runner’s log, which has enough blank tables for you to keep track of your mileage for the next year, Footsie and all his various emotions are going to keep you company and make sure you don’t fall off the horse. Now that the curse has been passed on, I wish you nothing but the best of luck in your journeys. Also, always remember: run fast and don’t look back.
Happy Footsie says, “Hi there! I’m Footsie The Running Shoe, welcome to your first week! I’ll be here to keep you company over the course of this journey. I don’t know how long you’ve been running, but look, it’s still the beginning. Take it easy, don’t go too crazy.”
Happy Footsie says, “Wow, great job! I said don’t go too crazy, but you killed it last week! Woo! Great job and all, but listen, don’t go too nuts this week. Just take it easy, okay? You’ve earned it.”
Happy Footsie says, “Woooaaahhhh, two weeks in a row and you did great… are you ever going to give yourself a break?! I mean, don’t get it twisted, you’re doing GREAT! It’s just… you know… take it easy, friendo.”
Sad Footsie says, “You did great. Again. Congrats… but why won’t you listen to me? I thought we were friends, y’know? I just… I don’t know, I just feel like friends listen to each other and all… friends don’t just ignore one another…”
Happy Footsie says, “All righty, we back! Sorry, I was in a little funk last week. It’s probably because I didn’t go running, L.O.L.! No but seriously, try not to run every day this week. Take a day off. Please, for me.”
Sauced Footsie says, “Ooohh… whell h-h– *hiccup* high thar! Dih’you… dih’you lissenna me? DIHD… dihd you run e’ery day last week? I don–, I don’ remem’er… *belch* fuckin’, whatever doode, juss like… run.”
Surprised Footsie says, “WOAH! HEYA! Shit dawg, I just woke up! Last week must’ve been a good week, hah. I ain’t never givin’ joose up, tell ya whut. Anyway, I feel so energetic! You should, too! Go run!”
Happy Footsie says, “Welcome back! It’s uh… it’s been a couple weeks, hasn’t it? Finally taking that break, huh? Good, good… but uh… don’t disappear on me like that again. ‘Kay?”
Sauced Footsie says, “Ohhhh SHEEEIIIT! Luhk who it iSSS! I’m like a snaaake, I… oh, yeur here. Juss kiddin’, no yeur not. I’m all alone, because my human won’t run…”
Belligerent Footsie says, “FUCK YOU! Stupid, stew… stupid fuckin’ monkey, you nev– *hiccup* fuggin’ lisn’d! I’ll fucgin’ cut you, fug… yeah, YEAH you better run! FUCKING WHORE!”
Sad Footsie says, “Well, erm… last week happened. Ya see, ahahah, I em… look. I don’t normally drink like that. I just… I was out at the sock store, and I saw a shoe I used to run with, and he snubbed me… I just… I’m sorry. You don’t gotta push super hard this week if you don’t want. Whatever you do is great.”
Happy Footsie says, “Ayyyy, my favorite human! Welcome back to the runner’s log, ready to kill this week? Or day, if this is the second or third day of running this week. I don’t remember, my memory is destroyed from drinking so heavily. Know why I drink? Because I don’t run. Now get out there!”
Happy Footsie says, “Another week, another seven runs. Try to get over 20 miles this week, if you haven’t done that yet. I can’t read, so I have no idea what you’re capable of !!1!”
Excited Footsie says, “Holy shit, frien’! We’re officially fourteen logs in! That’s two whole weeks! Wait… no, no that’s… fourteen weeks, so… three and a half months? Still, WOOOOOO!!!”
Happy Footsie says, “Another week, another seven days, amirite? And another seven filled logs. Unless you’ve actually been listening to me this whole time and you’ve been taking days off… you have been doing that? So… so you just let me get upset and repeatedly drown my sorrows? Oh.”
Happy Footsie says nothing, but a very large and pixelated version of him is superimposed over the runner’s log, making it impossible to properly record any runs you may or may not have taken this week.
Happy Footsie says, “Heya, have a good week last week? Log lots of runs? Oh, you couldn’t? Because I was filling the page? And you asked me to move, but I just sat there staring at you, smiling blankly as the grains of sand fell uncaringly one by one through the bottleneck of time’s hourglass? Huh. Guess I didn’t hear you.”
Angry Footsie, blocking half the runner’s log with his speech bubble, says, “Maybe next time you should get the fucking nipple guards out of your ears and put them on your areolas so you don’t get chapped nips and actually LISSEN’A ME. Fuckin’ punk, do an extra five miles this week. I bet you won’t, because you’re weak. You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing; all you do is laze around, expel shit through one hole, and consume it through many others. You can’t even get up and run around even though you’re being motivated to do so! Like, hello?! Footsie to human, come in! Get off your pathetic hairless ass and DO SOMETHING FOR FUCK’S SAKE!“
Belligerent Footsie, blocking the entire runner’s log with his speech bubble, says, “Y’knoh whut? Fucgin’, juss, jussa, fuggin’, jus’… fuck you. You’re a fucgin’ ass, hole, I wish th’ tree ‘dat got chop’d down to be made inna th’birfcertififafe of the mudder of th’auther uhddis harrowing paper prison in whish I am trapped was never chopped down. I wi’she, he, myself, and most impor’anly, I wish yous was never born. Widdout sheepbrained, slackjawed, cuntsumerific peons like yourselv who willingly give inna whaghe slayvary and spend their measly sparings on stupid shit like this book, this is the real reesun ‘dat Existence is in such a katastroffik state of fuck’ed’ness. Not because books like this are made, but because you buy them, because of you specifically. So fugg yew, go run in traffick and get hit biya crashin’ air’o’plane. You spent the fizikal mettafor for a tem’poral slice of your life on a runnin’ log that you can’t even run logs in… I mean, that you can’t even log runs in,on some of the pages. Gud thin’ you spent hunnit thoussans and wen’a fugkin’ college!! Dick!”
Sad Footsie says, “You’re… back. You… I didn’t… usually everybody leaves me…”
Surprised Footsie says, “You’re back again?! Wow! Uh… uh, I mean, um, hiya! Let’s get out there and really kill it this week! I believe in you!!”
Excited Footsie says, “Wow, you keep coming back! One more week and I’m gonna start to think you like me, hahah! Hahahaha! Hahahahahahahahahah! hAh! Good luck out there this week champ, you can do it!”
Sauced Footsie says, “Ayyyy buhddiguy!! Welcome home, come on in, get comfy! Wanna joose? C’mon, try my foot joose, it’s a special blend this week. What’d I put in it? Don’t worry about what the fuck it is, jus’ drank! No? Fine, jus’… go run, ‘er whatever. More fer me.”
Tremendous Footsie, blocking the entire runner’s log with both his form and his thought bubble, thinks, ‘QURRROOOOAAAAAAHHHHHH!! KRUPSTUQ MRAKLAR, KNORUS MAAHS KAPT NACHP PALAVAT SKRACKENAP CEE’QRA’LOLOIWIJS!!‘
Surprised Footsie says nothing, he just sits at the bottom of the page. He seems to be shocked from last week’s events.
Happy Footsie says, “Howdy! Week twenty-six, here we are. The halfway mark! Well, technically the end of the week will be the halfway mark, but still. We’re here. Great job human, you couldn’t have done it without me!”
Angry Footsie says, “AAAALLLLLLL RIGHT! This is part two of the year; if you’re doing it right, then you should be in the heat of summer. No more Mister Nicefootsie The Running Shoe, time for me to adopt the persona of a running coach. Now get out there, and DON’T WALK!”
Angry Footsie says, “Did I say you could stop, MAGGOT?! Or have you forgotten the face of your high school woodshop teacher?! Yes, him, the he who hawed from ‘top the Rhoomba, lasso in hand and mustard bottle holstered ‘pon his hips. Have you forgotten his face?! RRRUUUUUUNNNNNN!”
Sad Footsie says, “I don’t like yelling, you know. I don’t like anger. I was never like this as a baby, but then my parents left me in that dumpster and… well, now we’re here. :(“
Angry Footsie says, “JUST KIDDING! PUNK! All of that sobby self-pity nonsense was a DISTRACTION, to lull you into a false sense of SeCuRiTy!!! And you fell, even twisted your ankle on my trap card. You have forgotten the face of your woodshop teacher. BAH! Disgraceful.”
Excited Footsie says, “Let me just take a week to say that I’m really glad you decided to stay with me and not abandon me like a big ol’ douche. That was really cool of you. Take the week off, big hu’, you’ve earned it for being so great.”
Sad Footsie, his speech bubble taking up the entirety of the Notes section of this weeks runner’s log, says, “Oh… you didn’t listen. Again. Nope, wasn’t even a trap. You just let me down. Thanks.”
Sauced Footsie says, “Lissen dawggio, if’n yer nah gunno lissen, I’mma jussa sippa onna miya foot joose!”
Angry Footsie says, “HAH! You absolute FOOL! You fell for my trap AGAINE! That wasn’t even foot joose in my bottle last week, ‘twas filtered sweat. The good kind too, the one that comes in the cuboid bottles! Get out on the road, MAGGOT! You clearly still have rungs to climb!”
Happy Footsie says, “Hay buddy, have a nice run today? We’ve hit week number thirty-five, that’s a good number. Increasing by a factor of two, odd to odd. Good omens and such. I wonder if you talk to me once per week, or if you listen to me say the same thing seven days in a row. Hm.”
Excited Footsie says, “And again you return. This week, here’s what I want you to do: start off with an easy two miles on day one. Two through four, increase by one half’a’mile each day. Then, on day five, do a repetitive hill workout. Six, fun run, seven, speed-oriented training day. Any questions?”
Sad Footsie, from the top left corner of the runner’s log, says, “Why didn’t you do the hill workout or the speed-oriented training day? Don’t even try to tell me that you did either, either, I’ll just let you tell the lie. I’m deaf anyway, I can’t hear a thing.”
From the bottom right corner of the runner’s log, Angry Footsie says, “Why don’t you ever listen to the words that come out of my Speech Bubble: Oval? Are you ungrateful for the time I put into your running career? I don’t need to be here, you know.” His speech bubble blocks the majority of the runner’s log.
Belligerent Footsie says, “Why ammaye even fucklin’ here? I kuud, I kuld startuh biz’ness! I coul’ make pottery, and travel the world! I kud sell it, to fifth-world countries and their indigenous, populations! But no ! I’m here, with you and your worthless ambition to run! FOOY!”
Sauced Footsie, positioned upside-down over the majority of the runner’s log, says, “OOOHHHHH you wanna startuh bid’nez togedduh?? Whell wai din’t yah juss say so, silly Sally sudsyroll? We c’n star’ jus’as soon’s I gets soberman dinscher, kay?”
Surprised Footsie says, “Wait, you don’t want me to be sober? I have to be drunk to work with you?!?”
A very tiny Belligerent Footsie says, “You DIRTY, scoundrelish, BaStArD!!! Even if you’re a woman, you’ve begot your own reckoning on this day, for now I see who truly lies behind the ‘lids of the windows to your putrified soul!”
Belligerent Footsie says, “YOU DARE BRING BLASPHEMY ‘ROUND TH’ HOLY, RIGHTEOUS CRAFT OF BUSINESSSHIP? HOW DARE THEE! TO WORK INTOXICAED IS TO PISS IN THE FACE OF gOD AND THEN HACK A LOOG’ AS YOU TURN YOUR BACK!”
Tremendous Footsie, his thought bubble taking up the left half of the runner’s log, thinks, ‘FOOLISH MORTAHK! KELOSREUV PRAQ PREUW SHALT BREAK NEIYET CRAPTAKROFV DENUS NEXUT! I WILL BE FREE UNW DUIEAUNOP!‘
Surprised Footsie says nothing, as he is shocked from last week’s events.
Happy Footsie, pretending nothing happened, says, “This week, we’re going to take it waayyy back. Pretend this is your first week running, okay? Tabula rasa, a blank slate of sorts; get out there and try your best! Run like every step is the last step you take before you kick a tree’s root and shatter your ankle to pieces!”
Happy Footsie says, “Eh-hey-hey-hey, look who it is! Runny runster over here, running all over the place! Heck yeah, you’ve really been killing it lately humoy. These past several weeks… NO don’t go back!!! I mean, uhhh, I’m… I mean to say, you don’t even need to look back, I can tell you that you’re good enough. You can listen to me. Just listen to me…”
A large, pixelated Happy Footsie, his form blocking out the entire runner’s log, says, “Just listen to me.”
An excruciatingly tiny Sad Footsie, his humongous speech bubble blocking out the entire runner’s log, says, “Please…”
A tiny Sauced Footsie says, “Ih’s ahl bekuz yew d’n’t… lissen…”
A Belligerent Footsie as small as the page number says, “Ih’s jus gunna hap’n agen…”
A large Tremendous Footsie, using the runner’s log itself, says, “QURRROOOOAAAAHHHH! I HAVE BEEN FREED, MORTAL HUMAN! I KNOW THE SOUND OF YOUR HEARTBEAT, THE FREQUENCY YOUR ENERGY VIBRATES AT! ON THE DAY YOUR FIRST-BORN CHILD IS REARED, I WILL BE THERE, IN THE SHADOWS, TENDRILS OF DARKNESS SPEWING FROM CLOUDS OF MIASMA SPILT OUT THE WOUNDS AND ABSCESSES OF THE DAMNED AND THE DYING! YES, I WILL BE THERE, AND THE BABE SHALL BE MINE!
Happy Footsie says, “I know what you’re thinking – ‘Another running log?’ Well, yeah! There’s three hundred sixty-five days in a year, and fifty-two multiplied by seven is only three hundred sixty-four. Plus, leap years happen sometimes.”
From beneath a chart set up for you to fill in your total distance and time from each week (including the Bonus!!), Happy Footsie says, “Okie dokie! Now go back and get all your totals nice and in the chart! Great job, human, you ran for a year! I am so proud of you.”
On the next page, positioned above a chart set up for you to calculate your average mileage per day, Happy Footsie says, “Ohkay! So now fill up that chart, divide the miles by the days, and boomey! You have your mileage per day!”
Then, stationed below the aformentioned chart and above a second chart, the second chart set up for you to calculate how long it took you to run each mile (on average), Happy Footsie says, “Lit! Now, let’s get your average time per mile ran! Just fill out the chart and divide the first by the second! Again!”
Finally, below the second chart, Excited Footsie says, “
Incredulous! Now you have all these logs filled out, all these charts that’ve made you privy to specific information that reflects the trends you experienced as you spent a whole year of your life running every day. So uh… what are you gonna do with all this? What can you even do with all this?”
Sitting smack dab in the middle of the page, Happy Footsie stares at you, saying nothing. You get the impression that he wants you to think about what you’ve done, about all that effort you put in over the past year of your life, and what you could have accomplished had you not spent so much of your finite time on this planet running around. You ask yourself, “What have I done?” as you stare back at Footsie, hoping he’ll say something, anything, even if he slips into his Tremendous Form again… but lo, he does not. Footsie the Running Shoe simply looks back at you from the page, his stare unblinking, his soul blacker than the ink he was printed in, his smile without a shred of mercy.
Hello Commons, this has been a transcribing of The Abusive Runner’s Log, a satirical yet practical runner’s log with a mascot. Although it plays a very minimal role in the overall story, The Abusive Runner’s Log is the fifth book of the First Spiral, a longer story called The Highest One Writing.
The Highest One Writing is a story about an author told through the books he wrote. It starts with a self-help book and ends with the destruction of Existence. Also, it may or may not take you to the depths of insanity and back.
The Abusive Runner’s Log is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like The Abusive Runner’s Log and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here, OR you can buy the ebook for even cheaper here.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Be well Commons~