A few weeks ago I ran my first 5K. Quite frankly, I’m shocked. On the list of things of things I never thought I’d do, running a race is somewhere up there with “eat the heart of a baby giraffe” and “pee standing up.” Now, unlike Buttery B, there was no celebratory brunch after the run. The run was the celebration. So what does this all have to do with food then? Simple. By the time you’ve settled into your 30s, like I have, your body has basically moved out of fifth gear, never to return. Things start hurting, joints are making strange popping noises and, generally, everything just slows the hell down. Including metabolism. The truth is, I can no longer eat an entire box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese dinner at 5pm –as a snack!– and not see it the next morning (so many good memories; thanks, Kraft!). The math is easy: I run because it burns calories. The more calories I burn, the more calories I get to consume. The more I get to eat, the happier I am. Sure, I guess there’s some nonsense about fitness too. And I suppose if you think about it, the more I run, the healthier I become. The healthier I become, the longer I live. The longer I live –that’s right!– the more I get to eat.
Next race in three weeks. This time, I’m eating a sausage when I cross the finish line.