Spineless liar Latoya Snell can't finish a race or back up her bravado, so now she's winning imaginary arguments

HOKA's nod to modern-day tokenism is one tough broad—when she's shouting at a mirror. She's also more widely despised than she and her scumlords realize

Latoya Snell, an evil crybaby whose raison d’etre is swaddling herself in exercise clothing (and occasionally lingerie) to unleash counterfactual Internet rants, was certain to fail miserably at the Boston Marathon, a race she did not qualify to enter. Sure enough, she stumbled through less than 12 percent of it—the easiest portion of the course—before calling it a morning. But an even safer bet than Snell’s pathetic and hilariously inevitable race-day face-plant was the flood of social-media nonsense she trumpeted in the aftermath, a frantic display aimed at simultaneously masking and monetizing that failure.

For one thing, Snell couldn’t stop talking garbage unless someone handed her gobs of money, and maybe not even then. She’s like an oscillating slaughterhouse shop-vacuum with the motor reversed, and she probably transmits a mumbling monologue of fibs from her cakehole to her pillow even after passing out at night, when she basks in the effluvia of her own over-nourishment, dishonesty, and inadequacy. For another, talking garbage is the only work or exercise Snell needs to perform to keep getting free things; outlandish fakery—plus the filibustering, posturing, and threats required to protect that fakery—is why Snell’s life is being partly funded by companies like HOKA, whose marketing executives and grunts have heads as soft and squishy as their brand’s famed midsole.

Much of Snell’s prepackaged post-Boston-DNF blathering was deflection—stern advice to people who actually train and understand running. But as you’ll see below, one recent recipient of her shrieky wisdom is almost surely a figment of Snell’s sociopathic imagination. And if he does exist, I invite him to respond to this post.

Make no mistake about Latoya Snell: This woman, just like citizen running itself, is a joke. An off-color, loud, and already overplayed one, but a joke nonetheless, one with specific perversities that happen to be niche-marketable in 2021. Accordingly, anyone who follows her admiringly or writes of her in an approving manner, including current and former professional runners, is a moral cripple. This was evident in many cases well before Snell toppled out of the unwiped bunghole of the cosmos and landed with an enormous plop in the social toilet citizen running has become.

It would be impossible even for a late-stage Internet-filth addict to see and document every fib, wobble, bray and stumble in the LieToya Show. The woman wakes up every day to lie, stomp around in workout clothes, and launch defiant, blithering salvos that might as well be a child’s poop-scrawls on a bathroom wall. On the other hand, the fact that Snell is compelled to broadcast her gibbering ignorance and insincerity 24/7 makes the frailty of her character easy to demonstrate on demand.

For example: Soon after dropping out, Snell posted these items one after the other. She says she wants no talk of weight loss, yet babbles about the goodness of "burning calories," a term associated uniquely and exclusively with weight loss, especially on Instagram.

Anyone who still believes she gives a rip about anyone but herself is a far-gone dumbass.

Next: Snell is a quitter, so she’s eager to yammer that completing a tiny sliver of a race is better than not starting at all by labeling even no-showing an achievement in itself.

You have to admire the chutzpah of someone who lies constantly about her marathon achievements and can’t run more than five downhill kilometers of a marathon, yet says, “I don’t look down on 5K runners.” This is like someone getting a 12 percent on a calculus test and saying, with a straight face, that she doesn’t look down on the math-averse who limit themselves to geometry and algebra.

Again: Latoya Snell is a joke. And no, it wasn’t sciatica that made those three point one miles torture, it was being shiftless and undertrained. And if she tries to tell you “You don’t know my whole story,” reply with "Yes I do, you dumbass, because you put your entire party-heavy life online every damn day.” (Tomorrow will be an exception.)

Then comes a complaint that running isn't set up for grifters and raving loons who can't be honest about the basic facts of their own running. That nonsense was created for people with consciences! (It’s hard to miss the jarring implication here that every fat person or person of color isn't “crafted” to follow simple rules of fair play. Snell is a marked and morbid outlier, and most people recognize this instinctively regardless of skin color or body type. Not all, but most.)

Okay. So why accept an invitation to Boston if it’s nothing more than a corrupt-ass Whitey-controlled enterprise? Oh yeah. To disrupt. This is as close as Snell gets to being honest.

Snell also confuses being known for dropping out of running events with porous excuses, or simply fabricating stories about the outcomes, with being known as a genuine marathon runner and ultrarunner. Even—no, especially her supporters know she lies, and Snell knows they know this; that's why she's eager to talk about being a turd in the country-club swimming pool.

Snell also has "over 100 inboxes" (I think this "freelance journalist" means "messages," but whatever) and as she heals and prepares for the next round of scamming in California—the Big Sewer is heading to Big Sur!—she's getting around to responding to her fans.

A decent rhythm of what? This is someone who ran less than 20 miles in all of 2021 before the Boston Marathon. She may look and sound mentally challenged, but the only legitimate disability she carries is woven inextricably into her character.

This week, Snell decided to expand her scam and write a direct message to herself so that she could put its imaginary, elitist author in his place. Or at least that’s how it looks from here.

The first image below is a message allegedly from someone named “Michael” and the second is the follow-up note “Michael” sent after Snell showed him a dose of truth. You can read Snell’s entire captions here and here.

Rather than explain the specific reasons this looks like another forgery, which I shouldn’t have to do anyway, I’ll pretend I think “Michael” is a real person, and scold him for being a pussy just like Snell herself is.

Michael, you were right the first time. If someone can’t meet the qualifying standard, there are plenty of other races to run. And if numbers are going to be set aside for people who can’t meet the time standards, it would be nice to see them given to people who put forth real effort. Snell is a talking blob of ethanol-rich goo who deserves nothing but nonstop jeers from anyone who sees her wandering about wearing gear she earned through lying and protects through selective gaslighting and avoidance. She sucks and the “gate” she keeps bitching about should be slammed in her face until she can grow up and play by the rules. (Notice I didn’t insist on playing nice.) Please leave me a comment and we can talk about how to get you under 2:19:00.

And of course, right on cue, right after writing a column about how evil Instagram is, that lying, goggle-eyed cunt Lindsay Crouse showed up to sympathize with poor Snell’s victimization.

I used to just wish Crouse would lose her job at The New York Times, but she deserves a far worse fate than that. I’ll have to settle for her being distraught that her ass blows up if she so much as looks at a glass of wine, as well at visions of Lady Gaga riding her grateful ex’s dick. She is utter scum, and so are her fans.

It's not only understandable that the Crouses of the running world flock to Snell’s electronic shrine to shrill personal blubbering illegitimacy; it's inevitable. Snell is a lightning rod for moral lepers who feel the perverse safety in numbers of the known but unpunished liar, adulterer, drug addict, et cetera. Her social profiles are beautiful places for people to engage in covert conscience-laundering under the aegis of some kind of vague, transparently flimsy BLM commitment. If you see any “big” names commenting to her posts, you shouldn’t ask yourself “Did that person do something they’re ashamed of, but cannot yet address?” You should just skip to wondering exactly what those shameful things consist of.

Maybe I just pal around with overly picky people, but most serious runners I know, long-term and otherwise, view Snell and her coterie of defenders as cretins, some pitiable than others. It would be easier to laugh at this overgrown screeching child if not for decidedly un-funny threats she’s made, descriptions of which I’ll leave out of this post because today is all about the belly-laughs. Trust me, Snell’s constant lies about her running represent the least harmful aspect of her Wokism-funded swindle.

This was by far the most widely shared post I’ve written since moving to Substack (a reality as annoying as it was predictable), and that’s despite me being off social media myself for months. Based on some direct correspondence and other, more general metrics, it’s clear that Snell has far more detractors than she does fans. And most of those distractors aren’t white or fleet of foot; no, she’s getting pushback from within the community of runners who qualify as fat, black or both—the people she’s really stealing from, and the folks at whom her lying is most aggressively aimed: Yes! You are all VICTIMS!

This is really no surprise. Bear in mind that Snell would have no profile within the running world, zero, if not for social media, a collection of related environments developed with the needs of pathological liars and other weirdos in mind. Instagram, Facebook and Twitter all lack dislike buttons, and all of them allow users to either prevent the appearance of comments like “Hey, you’re lying” or make them vanish as soon as it appears. Instagram in particular is purposely designed to allow users, especially sociopathic narcissists like Snell, to convince themselves that their every utterance really is gospel and, more importantly, that their adversaries are few and their loyalists unlimited in number.

I enjoy posting this stuff knowing that it infuriates that nasty bitch, because she doesn’t want anyone unaware of it to see it, but she also knows a lot of people already have and that she has to offer a non-denial style of denial by making noises about “them” without offering a link or a hint of what she’s talking about. Well, I hereby offer Snell the same thing I did before. We’ll go on a podcast together, and there she can provide a complete list of “25+ marathons” she says she’s run, even though marathonguide.com and Athlinks show about half of that total. And then we can move on to the falsehoods in this meta-scam, and review some of the nasty threats and slurs she’s made in the course of pushing that scam, ones she may not realize are forever encoded in audio and visual files.

I extend the same invitation to whatever twats at HOKA who are responsible for this circus. Explain and defend your choice here.

These conversations will never happen, because Snell is an everyday coward, like most lazy-ass greed-heads. When she sees this, Snell will gnash her fart-scorched ass-cheeks in fury, befuddled that her usual tricks and shitposting aren’t working. But in the end, she’ll just hope that the God who would piss in her face if he could be bothered to notice her capering will somehow protect her flaming-dumpster-scheme from annoying truth-tellers.

It is no accident that Snell limits her output to platforms set up specifically with dishonest, self-absorbed users in mind. Instagram is a wonderful place for an incompetent, undisciplined and weak person like her to enact a gluttonous personal fantasy in which her prevailing traits are athleticism, dedication, and composure. Instagram makes money by convincing users they’re far more popular than they are simply by make it easy to ignore or literally block signs of gross unpopularity. This is a good business strategy given how many everyday goobers need to feel like royalty. On social media, Snell can operate as the queen of her very own septic, beer-can-strewn kingdom, where her lies are divine decrees, and all subjects are either loyal or face expulsion. And in that kind of kingdom, the saying “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king” has ever been truer, because Snell’s most vocal fans are as dumb and pissed off at the wrong things as she is.

If you can hold your nose and look at this kind of crap, you see the LieToya phenomenon is the same as with every adversarial but “popular” social-media figure: Someone who’d be screwed if Instagram had a dislike button—that is, if the site had not been designed precisely to convince talking genital warts like Snell that they have far fewer critics than they do. And I don’t mean “Het, fatty!” surface hecklers, I mean people who get what she and similar scammers are doing and dismiss them as avaricious morons.

Because so many people within or tangential to running today are either driven by dark resentments or hiding something criminally grim, Snell’s posturing and infantile saber-rattling will probably keep working, and money and praise will continue flowing her way from the brainless those and the guilty-conscience-stricken. She and her equally gelatinous minions will ignore plain facts before their eyes and reward her ongoing display of giddy, corporate-supported immorality, because they reckon that if Snell can be a destructive asshole in plain sight, whatever they’re hiding themselves can’t be that bad. This is more than just a working theory.

But again, in the big picture, Latoya Snell is a joke, albeit one with a discomfiting special-needsy, whoopie-cushion flavor. Sure, it’s annoying that she gets free stuff for sitting on her ass, but would anyone reading this trade places with her for even a day? Besides, her existence is basically an ethics test for individual runners, because no one with any sense of integrity would actively back what she’s doing. Ignorance of the real Snell story is no excuse anymore, inasmuch as it ever was. If you support this liar in any way, I hope you break your ankle in a ditch next time out, assuming you even run in the first place. And all the better if you, too, have made use of a “donate to my grift” button coupled to a lie.

BOSTON STRONG, my ass.