fuel for the run

I want to mention today's breakfast of toast completely saturated in duck paté as a part of my sporadic series of entries dedicated to unsuitable foods for running.

I must admit, I initially felt good about the choice because it seemed to check every box I had: Was it starchy? (yes). Was it ducky? (yes). Unless I missed something, it seemed like the ideal meal immediately before anything. Wash it down with a pot of tea, and you have whatever comes after the superlative.

Perhaps I should have been wary when the act of bending over to tie my shoes caused a fantastic symphony of burping. I was a little surprised when walking down the stairs to the front door caused me to cramp. But being the optimist that I am, I decided I could handle it. I was flying down the street to the best of my ability when, as I was trying to dodge puddles and remind myself from which direction the cars were coming, it hit me. The bowling ball in the gut. The Homer-Simpson-cannonball -shot-from-close-range. I knew it would get better if I could work myself into a rhythm, so I kept running. Which is when it started getting unbearably warm.

I'm not sure how the weather is in the Bay Area right now, and I'm completely clueless what Texan weather is like. I imagine its like regular weather but with a side of hot sauce. Right now in London, we seem to get every season in a day (But only if the year had three seasons and summer got left out). You have to layer your running gear, but do so with the knowledge that you will undress as you progress. You can't put on too much, because it becomes a big heated burden and a hassle to take off. But shorts and a running shirt won't cut it either, unless you're okay with otter-pop-knees. Soooooo, today was a classic day in which it started semi-wintery and ended up really warm. By the time I hit the turning point in Greenwich, I had to stop at a bus station and strip down to my shorts so I could rearrange my jacket and ditch my blue-sleeved lycra superhero top. There I was: cramping, topless and bloated from paté. Everybody was walking to the restaurant for their Sunday dim sum, and I stood there doing my own enticing pasty dumpling impression. London must love having me in town.

Anyway, the run home got better. As usual, the cramping ran itself out and I managed to find the right combination of clothing. I think I finished right at 9 minute miles. Like I said earlier, I'm in a recovery week so my "big run" was only five miles. It felt like having a birthday all over again, and I'm already looking forward to Tuesday's run, knowing I won't have dead legs.

On a non-related note; I'm not sure if anyone else is interested, but I would love to hear more about Sixpack's weightlifting regimen. I have always been terrified to lift with my legs because I feel like I only have so much strength to spend over the course of a week. But, if it's working for the boy, then I would definitely be up for trying something new.