A sight to behold, a marvel of mass,
A man overflowing, built to surpass
The average frame, a walking display
Of epicurean habits at play.

He laces his sneakers, a herculean feat,
His belly a mountain, his breathing discreet,
Then charges forth, a rumbling tide,
Leaving asphalt in tremors, nowhere to hide.

With each labored puff, a thunderclap booms,
Accompanying tremors that shake all the rooms.
Dogs scatter in terror, birds take to the sky,
As he waddles and wobbles, a glorious guy.

Onlookers all gasp, some clutch at their sides,
Convinced he’ll combust in a shower of fries.
“A heart attack’s coming!” they silently plead,
“That poor, foolish fellow, its a foolhardy deed!”

But wait, don’t be hasty, rest your soul,
This run isn’t penance, to meet a set goal.
It’s not for a marathon, a six-pack, or fame,
This man is on a journey, and that’s not a shame.

He runs for the sunshine, the wind in his hair,
For clearing his head and a moment to share
With his body, a friend often taken for granted,
A vessel for laughter, for dreaming, enchanted.

So laugh if you must, at this comical sight,
But remember, dear reader, all journeys take flight
With a single first step, a tentative stride,
No matter your size, there’s your health to confide.

In movement, in laughter, in taking a chance,
So let the fat man run, in his own joyful trance.