Cecil B. and the triathlon

Cecil B. lives in the suburbs. He is the most flexible man i've ever seen in my life. 

Every morning he wakes up, has a bowl of banana bread oatmeal, ties his shoes, puts on his hat, and does not walk out the door. He runs. 

"I'm training for a triathlon" he says. 

He runs with a ten pound dumb bell, and stretches like a rubber band. I wonder if his wife, Martha B. does physical activity more strenuous than knitting and needle point. Cecil is the kind of man that wears Martha's home made sweaters and scarves. He jogs across the train tracks, back and forth, dressed somewhat like Richard Simmons. He has a collection of fanny packs, Cecil B. does. His favorite is the cerulean blue with bright yellow trim and a kangaroo on the pouch. The last time Cecil blew out the candles on Martha's famous strawberry short cake, he was 53. I think he's in great shape for his age, Martha would agree. He never has time to talk, always a dog to get home to, or a poker game with the boys. But somehow, he just keeps on running. He's always in motion. I would kill for his thighs. He is the boss of his own business, therefore explaining why he has all the time in the world to run wherever, and whenever he pleases. Martha B. is proud, since they never had children, she invests her motherly instincts into Cecil's sport. She takes time out of her busy day of cleaning, and dusting her Elephant collection to make Cecil picnic lunches. She will sit on the park bench patiently for hours knowing that eventually, he will come back.