I Married the President Chapter 180: Of Course You’re Slow If You Don’t Exercise

n first, won after.

With the crack of a starting pistol, the male colleagues under forty-five took off in a swarm. A few of the won shouted, "Co on, you big guys!"

And Henry Hartwell, of course, was one of those "big guys."

Surprisingly, Henry Hartwell ran with ease, his face showing no signs of strain. After a few hundred ters, he had left everyone else in the dust.

"Tsk, tsk. See that? Hanson is really sothing else."

"Yeah, he’s usually lazy as a pig, but when he runs, it’s like he’s flying."

"Tell about it. I started on the sa day as Hanson. You guys have no idea, but when he first joined, he was over 220 pounds. He’s lost so much weight now, and I have no idea how he did it."

"And you know what? Hanson is pretty handso. Now that he’s slimd down, he’s a real knockout. Probably the best-looking guy at our agency."

The female colleagues fell into gossiping.

Claire Sinclair, however, was in no mood to gossip. She was worried about whether she could even finish the 800-ter run.

’Even if I manage to finish, I’ll probably go over the ti limit, right?’

「Twenty minutes later...」

All the male colleagues had crossed the finish line. More than half of them were headed for the training camp, and the one who ca in first was, of course, Henry Hartwell.

Next, it was the won’s turn. One by one, they wore expressions of pure anguish, as if they were being led to the guillotine.

Claire Sinclair walked to the starting line and took several deep breaths to calm her nerves.

Phoebe Lockwood suddenly squeezed in next to her and said threateningly, "Claire Sinclair, I’m definitely going to beat you this ti."

Claire Sinclair conceded defeat at once, saying irritably, "What’s so glorious about beating ? If you’ve got what it takes, go for first place."

"You..." Phoebe Lockwood was furious. "I might not be able to get first, but you think you can?"

"Of course I can... get last place."

And she wasn’t joking.

"Hahaha..." Phoebe Lockwood couldn’t help but laugh. "If you really co in dead last, I’ll definitely set off firecrackers to celebrate."

"First, you’d have to find so to buy." Firecrackers were banned throughout Aethelgard; it’d be a miracle if she could.

Phoebe Lockwood had co over to talk tough, but after just a few sentences, she not only failed to feel superior but was left seething with frustration from Claire’s retorts.

’That damned bitch. Isn’t she usually so arrogant? Now she’s acting like a total coward. It feels like I’m punching a pillow.’

Just then, the P.E. teacher blew his whistle. "On your marks! We’re about to start."

Everyone took their positions. When the starting pistol fired, they all shot off the starting line.

Almost imdiately, Claire Sinclair fell into last place. She didn’t panic, though; there was no use in rushing.

She had only one goal for herself: to finish the entire race...

Henry Hartwell stood on the sidelines, his gaze involuntarily drawn to Claire Sinclair’s legs—not in admiration, but in concern.

’At the banquet, she’d ntioned that she had a problem with her legs. Then, during the crisis yesterday, they’d acted up again. I wonder if she’ll be able to finish this race.’

"Hey, Claire Sinclair is so tall. How is she running so slowly?"

"Being tall doesn’t matter if you don’t exercise. Of course she’s slow."

"I actually had high hopes for her. I’m a little disappointed now."

"Haha... What’s there to be disappointed about? Claire Sinclair is gorgeous. Even if she cos in dead last, she’s still great to look at. Haven’t you seen the others? So of them look like they’re ready to kill soone when they run, and others are... bouncing all over the place."

At this, all the male colleagues burst out laughing.

Henry Hartwell furrowed his brow, not joining in on the crude joke.