Bad news for Diddy in the second of the Post's Diddy Diaries. He tried to get the word out to America's youth about his marathon running for charity, byjogging on a treadmill during MTV TRL. But he's really not supposed to jog on a treadmill, and now there is some mad damage to his knee what with all the training he's been doing, yo. Call us cynical, but with all his connections wouldn't he have been alerted to this sooner? And shouldn't a personal trainer have been absorbed into the organism that is his posse? Gothamist hopes we're not being set up for the possibility of him not completing the 26.2 miles.
Two other interesting factoids: Apparently Diddy's car is called the "Sean John Navigator" and he's still freaking out about not being able to have sex with his girlfriend Kim Porter because he's a man after all.
For more about Diddy and his posse, read Michael Specter's brilliant New Yorker profile, "I Am Fashion," about Diddy's fashion yearnings. The best part is when Diddy is partying in France, going from one party to another. Certain blonde heiresses wanted to catch a ride with Diddy, but his posse set matters straight: "Wait," Puffy's stylist, a no-nonsense black woman, yelled. "Them bitches be heiresses. Blond Something von Furstenberg and Hiltons and shit. What are we now, a fucking limo service? They got to be getting their own damn cars."