Dr. Bradley Peterson, now Captain Peterson, is volunteering in the US Army, continuing a long-held custom in his family history. He is a world renowned pediatric brain surgeon, whose craft, given to him by the Eternals, is a foreordained gift so that he may perform brain surgery on a small child genius who is to play a role of great consequence should the boy live and fulfill his destiny. At this time, Brad’s army experiences place him in great danger, not only to himself, but indirectly for all of mankind. He has no idea who he really is. In an uncertain world, perhaps the only person alive who can help him is a girl who used to run with him in high school; that is, before she ballooned to 275 pounds and became trapped in her own desperate condition. Lloyd Wendell Cutler is a lifetime entrepreneur. Sadly, like so many others, Lloyd became obese. In the decade-plus that he has vigorously battled that obesity, he has lost more than 150 pounds, traversed the course of many different programs, and learned-through endless days of sacrifice and work-just what it takes to succeed at weight management, fitness, and health. This journey formed the nexus of why he wrote The Runner, his first novel. Most of the things one needs to know about losing weight and getting in shape are included herein. Cutler resides in the desert southwest with his wife and life-mate, Donna, three children, a son in law, and two grandchildren. His passions include family, friends, motorcycles, sports, reading, and writing. "The Runner" By Lloyd Wendell Cutler AuthorHouse Copyright © 2015 Lloyd Wendell Cutler All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-5049-1477-2 Contents Acknowledgements, vii, Prologue, ix, Chapter 1 The Longest Day, 1, Chapter 2 Stanley Burton, 39, Chapter 3 It Takes a Village, 91, Chapter 4 Going to War, 155, Chapter 5 Willing to Live — Willing to Die, 217, Chapter 6 Annie, 256, Chapter 7 Frankfurt, 323, Chapter 8 Olympiad, 363, Chapter 9 Marathon, 417, Epilogue, 483, End Game, 491, CHAPTER 1 The Longest Day I'd survived the horror of the slave ship, so this beautiful place lent a measure of relief, as I felt the chains of depression loosen around my wrists and ankles. Wise Mac "Thank you very much, sir and have a nice evening. Be careful out there with those slick roads," she said. The man picked up his bags, smiled friendly-like, then walked out the door. Flickering house lights signaled the end of the day. Rain, accompanied by a cold blustery wind, blew in sheets across the darkened empty parking lot, the crescent moon disappearing and reappearing intermittently beyond the vision of moving cloud formations just over the horizon south of Sunrise Mountain. It was a beautiful sight really, if one were a storm watcher. A very obese young woman, well, still young if you measured from the end backwards, not so young anymore if you were a college student, emerged from Target with her friend, April. Their next stop would be at Denny's for a huge after-work late night dinner. I don't know what April wants, but I am looking forward to the Sampler, a Double Classic Cheeseburger with fries, and a Strawberry Shake, thought the moonfaced woman as they trudged the rain-soaked parking lot to their cars. Later that evening she made her way home via Circle K where fresh doughnuts and cold milk awaited. By the time she found her bed, she regretted the last meal she would ever enjoy, was coughing up acid, but headed straight for snacks and ate again anyway. It vaguely occurred to her that she may have already set herself a day back since it was after midnight. She felt a wash of fear set in with the realization that her promised day was on the horizon. A fitful night's sleep, made worse by a painful acid cough, was indicative of her conundrum, and yet soon enough morning arrived. Trisha Jean Martin was faced with a cold reality. For her it was time to pick a plan, lay down a program, time for the lady to start her engines; day one was here. By virtue of the agreement she had made with herself she would have to pick something and get started today. Trisha was just plain out of excuses. The doctor said it was OK. In fact, he had been begging her for years to get moving. There would to be no relief in the exercise category either. Her doctor was mandating some sort of workout program and she had promised him — and herself — that today was D-day. It is vital that you do not let him down , she thought. At 30 years of age, Trisha Martin, who yesterday had weighed 279 pounds, was slipping not so gently into the longest day of her life and didn't even know it. The phone rang. Her mother was on the line suggesting they meet at Lucille's for lunch and a nice stroll through The District flushing what little money or credit Trisha had right down the drain. Perhaps , thought Trisha, I should start tomorrow, no? NO! Cold sweat broke out on her forehead; her heart quickened, and she got a bit sick to her