Plodding through my 7-mile long run today on the gym treadmill I was temporarily distracted by a news story about I don’t know what, which showed several frosty pints being poured. My response, of course, was completely Pavlovian. I am absurdly swayed by the power of suggestion; especially if the suggestion involves frosty cold beer, melty cheeses, glasses of wine on summer patios, spontatious dinners at Bistro Campagne, or naps.
No wonder that since I began my marathon training regiment, I have actually gained about 3 pounds. Because let me tell you something about rigorous physical workouts. They make you very hungry – and thirsty. And, if you are burning, say, 700-800 calories a pop (I burned more than 800 calories during my run today), it’s very very easy to justify over-indulging! So in that sense, my uptick in physical intensity is actually making me gain wait, not lose wait. I know there is a moral or lesson or revelation in here somewhere but I refuse to acknowledge it, and instead I will just keep harping on the amazing and absurd irony of it all. I mean, by this measure, if I really want to lose those pesky last ten pounds, the first thing I should do is STOP WORKING OUT!!!
But I can’t do that because I’ve already publicized my marathon intentions on Facebook and in this blog, which at least ten people have read, and so it’s basically the same as being imprinted in stone and tattooed on my forehead and signed in the blood of my ancestors.
But I am always so hungry!
Friday, we had our first high intensity interval training class, and it was all that was promised, meaning I couldn’t move for two days afterward. That night, we celebrated the success of surviving the class by having friends over for raclette, which is a dinner that is basically comprised of melted cheese and starch. We had fun and drank wine and then Scott Smith came over and there was a dance party and anyone who knows me at all can both see the writing on the wall and read between the lines of that selfsame writing.
Fortunately, Saturday was a pre-determined “recovery day”.
Saturday consisted of a breakfast of a half bagel with cream cheese and scrambled egg, followed by two chocolate chip cookies, buttered popcorn (we’ve moved on from breakfast by now), half of a small spinach pizza, a Caesar salad, and the entirety of season one of Downton Abbey and a full day in my pajamas. I’m sure this is similar to most everyone’s marathon training, right? I did have two glasses of low-sodium V8, and not even with vodka in them.
Pavlovian response aside, alas it seems (so far,anyway) that the frosty pint of my dreams is not in the stars for me tonight. Instead we have some horrid super healthy and low-fat vegan Morrocan tagine with cous cous (which actualy isn’t horrid at all — it’s one of our favorite winter comfort foods. Its main shortcoming right now is that it is not a bacon cheeseburger. Look, I burned more than 800 calories today! I mean, how is an athlete supposed to survive off of vegan cous cous?).
Oh yeah, and did you catch that part about week two being over, an me running 7 miles today? It was hurty.