How do you know, by looking at someone on a treadmill, that they are or are not equally served by the treadmill and the track? Are you exerpsychic?
Asshole, if you claim that in the course of your runs on a track or road you never vary in your pace, you’re as big a fucking liar as you are an asshole. I walked at a pace that I varied between 4.5 and 5 miles an hour with an incline that I varied between 5 and 10 and yes, I needed the assistance of the treadmill to help me keep that pace. Perhaps, god of exercise that you are, you have a better innate ability of pace maintenance than I do. Good for fucking you, prick.
First off, I haven’t eaten meat since 1990. Second, I’ve been fat since before I was the one deciding what food to buy. Third, go fuck yourself with a rusty hook up your pissant condescending ass. It’s motherfuckers with your attitude, treating me like shit for years for daring to be fat and daring not to live up to your standards of proper exercise regimens, that helped keep me unmotivated and fat for longer than I might otherwise have. I tried so many times to drop the weight over the years, only to run into sanctimonious chunks of human garbage like you who put me down for doing what I could. Yeah, of course ultimately it’s my responsibility what I put in my mouth and what exercise I do, but cunts like you didn’t make it any easier. Instead of encouraging people like me in doing whatever we were doing you out us down and made shitty remarks like “maybe you should’ve eaten fewer Big Macs.” Maybe if it bothers you so fucking much that people like me use exercise equipment you should take all the money that you’ve spent on gym memberships over the year and buy your own treadmill so you don’t have to suffer behind fat bastards like me.
Please, please do that to me, or someone like me. And then after you get your head handed to you by one of my fellow fat-asses, come back and tell us all about it.
Too bad with all the work you supposedly put in on your body you didn’t spend a little more time on your mind and your heart. You’re a worthless bag of crap, and a bag of crap is still a bag of crap, regardless of how pretty the bag is.