Okay, so I’ve just been told there are some nasty rumors going around about me.  Something about how I’m a snotty little punk who taunts taunts people who aren’t as fast as me?  Or better yet, how I’m all brawn and no brains…a fast runner who can be outsmarted by a common fox.  Sorry, people, your intel is a little off.   I mean, yes, I am very fast, but I’m not stuck up about it.  Seriously, I’m not.  How could I possibly think I’m all that when I’m sporting little cherry buttons and currant eyes?  Tasty?  Of course.  But not exactly manly attire.

Here’s the thing:  all I ever really wanted was to break free from the stereotypes, you know?  You say “gingerbread man,” and everyone thinks it’s time to chow down.  Like we’re just here to be delicious or something.  But I wanted to be more.  I wanted to help people, to really make a difference.  And to do that, first I had to keep from getting eaten.  And it’s not just about me.  Eating me would be really unhealthy.   I’m all made out of butter and sugar and molasses, and everyone knows those things are bad for you.  When I came out of the oven, I took one look at that old lady and knew her ticker couldn’t take too many more meals like me.  What she needed was some exercise, but obviously she was lacking motivation.  That’s when it came to me, all in a flash.  Without even thinking, I yelled, “Don’t eat me!” and then I ran off.  I knew she would chase me.  I also knew that no one with those love handles was going to catch a brand new gingerbread man like me.  Just to make sure she kept moving, I started to sing, “Run, run, as fast as you can!  You can’t catch me; I’m the gingerbread man!”

Okay, people, I get that it’s not the best song in the world.  I get that it maybe sounds like I was mocking her.  But I had to make it up as I went; there was no time for being polite.  Plus, you have to admit.  It worked.  That little old lady moved faster than she had moved in years.  She was puffing and panting, and there was no doubt that it was aerobic.  She chased me for a good twenty minutes, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a great workout for a woman her age.  She may have been mad that she lost her snack, but someday she is totally going to thank me.

As for that fox, don’t believe anything he tells you.  I don’t normally dish about my clients, but since he started it, let me just say that he was carrying a good 20 extra pounds when I met him.  Running wasn’t getting it done, so we switched to swimming.  I would ride on his back and make sure he kept up a good pace.  Did he occasionally have a lapse of judgment and try to eat me?  Yeah, he did.  Did he ever succeed?  No, of course not.  I’m still here, and you’d better believe that after two months with me, he’s looking like a new fox.  Please tell the ungrateful cur that I said, “You’re welcome.”

So that’s how I found my calling in life, and I’ve been making people run ever since.  Some people may argue with my methods, but no one can argue with my results.  Are people eating cookies?  No.  Are they outside, breathing fresh air and getting some good cardio time in?  Yes, they are.  Thank you very much.  That’s all I have to say about that.