There once was a runner named DoddsWho spends much time abusing his bod.
He runs all the time,
spends nary a dime.
Because thrift is one of John's gods.
But John is gentleman sure
And would never another's name slur
(At least not outright)
But in jest he just might
While he tries to get paid back by Bur!
He hangs out with Gary the vet.
And adventures they've had, you can bet.
A state trooper or two
Saw those shorts, pink and blue,
A raised eyebrow and nod they did get.
Now John's runs are all organized.
His drop bags are alphabetized!
He plans it so well
That we all can tell
He's Type A, (or so we surmised!)
Of bandanas, John is the king.
He's hip with this color-match thing.
He tells all the girls
That in ultra-run worlds,
They should match with the bottle-holder sling.
In fact John is a fashion guru
At least that is what he'll tell you
But we say with a grin
"Why's your shirttail tucked in,
With cowboy hat, shorts, and running shoes?"
So we wish him another fine year
To enjoy all the things he holds dear.
But we hope in this sport
That he keeps on his shorts
So we don't have to see Dodd's derrière.