NUTRITION: EAT WELL TO RUN WELL
By Dimity
By Dimity
On a random summer Thursday morning at 6 A.M., I grab a banana, my usual pre-workout fare, before heading to the neighborhood pool for a swim. The workout is intense—lots of short, fast laps—and I sip water, laced with fruit punch–flavored Nuun, when I stand in the shallow end to catch my breath. I arrive home about an hour later and down a glass of chocolate milk. Ever since I learned that chocolate con leche has been scientifically proven to have a nearly perfect recovery ratio of carbs to protein (3ish to 1), it’s bookended nearly every workout of mine.
Then I walk over to the fridge to start my real breakfast, which always begins with a DIY latte made with skim milk and Oregon Chai, followed by a bagel or English muffin with some kind of nut butter. As I pop an English muffin in the toaster and the latte into the microwave, Ben saunters into the kitchen, smelling like a Porta-Potty. His pajama bottoms are soaked, so his sheets must be, too. I head upstairs to grab them and wash them.
I take out the latte and enjoy a sip before the whirlwind begins: a shower for me, a braid in Amelia’s hair, a trip to the laundry room, some quick folding of towels, and a bunch of other tasks so trivial I can’t recall them. An hour later, I spy the muffin, still in the toaster but now as stiff as cardboard. Not one to waste food, I slather some almond butter on it, microwave the honey bear so the last bit of crystallized honey will come out, drip golden drops onto the muffin, and cough the whole thing down with my cold latte. As I load the dishwasher, I finish the rest of Ben’s banana and Amelia’s remaining bite of pancake.
Not surprisingly, by 10:00, I’m famished. What I should eat to tide me over to lunchtime: yogurt, an apple, and a handful of almonds (all three things, not one of the above). But I’m instant-gratification hungry, so I opt for a generous handful of red-licorice nibs instead, and head back to the keyboard. In addition to the nibs sending me into an instant frenzy—I can almost feel the sugar buzzing in my brain—they are far from filling or satisfying. I trot back to the kitchen 10 minutes later for another overflowing handful, and then, 20 minutes later, I force myself to slowly step away from the nibs and grab two stalks of string cheese and a handful of Wheat Thins. An hour later, it’s a chocolate chip Lärabar. On my way to Pilates at 2:30, I walk out the door with a handful, or three, of tortilla chips. Post-Pilates, I finally eat that apple, which I’d like to have with peanut butter, but slicing the apple, dealing with the peanut butter lid, and getting a plate feels like too much effort.
At 6:00 P.M. I am, once again, back at the pool—this time on the deck—and, once again, am ravenous. This time, I’m with both kids, and this time, I’d kill for a nib: I have nothing—not even a half of a box of stale raisins—in the pool bag. “Just one more jump,” Amelia calls from the diving board, repeating a request I’ve assented to three times already. “Mom, judge my jump,” says Ben, speed walking toward the board. If she went again, he reasons, he gets another go, too. Three more jumps later, I finally break the cycle, and they both grab their towels. “Hurry up,” I tell them. “I’m starving.”
If my kids were edible, I’d chomp on one of their arms.
On the way home, I make the executive decision to have grilled cheese for dinner: quick, easy, melted cheese. Makes us all happy. I unload the pool bag, let out the dogs, and hear a fight break out among the offspring. Pre-pool, we went to Walgreens for sunscreen, and I let them both pick out a cheap summer toy, which was mighty generous of me, seeing that I’d splurged on secondhand bikes and bulletin boards for both of them earlier in the week. Ben opted for a squirt gun and Amelia, a giant bubble wand. At the pool, the squirt gun was the toy to have, but now that we’re on terra firma, the bubbles look much better, especially because there’s only one wand, and Amelia isn’t sharing. “I wanted bubbles, Mom! Why didn’t you let me get bubbles?” Ben sobs and then screams, “I don’t want a squirt gun! I want bubbles! I hate my squirt gun! Can we return it and get bubbles?”
I know he’s 5, an age when the ability to have streamlined, rational thought, let alone understand the value of a dollar, is still in the oven, but my low-blood-sugared self is thinking like a 5-year-old, too. “Shut up! Just shut up!” I boom, and both my volume and my words surprise us all. I outlawed that phrase in our house, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never said—let alone yelled—it to my kids before. Amelia’s eyes brim with tears. “I just bought you a bike this weekend, then I got you a bulletin board for your room, then a squirt gun, and now you’re whining and crying over a two-dollar bubble wand! I can’t handle this right now!” I continue yelling. “Go to your room until I say you can come out!”
Not surprisingly, they both dash from the kitchen. I’m beyond angry at myself, both for going nutso on my offspring and for thinking I could get through a typical workout/work/deal with kids/errands day on snacks alone. I take a deep breath and slice cheese: One slice for the sandwiches, one hunk straight to my mouth. In less than 2 minutes, I have consumed a block of cheese about as big as Amelia’s size-6 foot. I feel the crazies go away.
Even though I wasn’t running a marathon, I hit the wall. Actually, I slammed into that sucker like I was at mile 20 of 26.2, and my kids paid the price. (I apologized to them for my behavior over our grilled cheeses—and used the opportunity for a little lesson about the importance of good nutrition.)
They aren’t the only ones who take the hit, though. My 8-mile run the next day is less than pleasant: After about 4 miles, my legs get heavier and more lethargic. No amount of Espresso GU can perk them up. I drag my butt—now sorry in more ways than one—home.
“I always eat this after a hard run or race: ½ cup of skim milk, ½ cup of egg whites, 1 banana, 2 teaspoons of peanut butter, 1 scoop of chocolate protein powder, and probably 1 teaspoon to 1½ teaspoons of wheat germ. If I don’t have wheat germ, I use the same amount of crushed flax seeds.”
—AMY (Dream running locale: “Not picky: just cool ocean breezes and flat terrain.”)
“I thought ‘yuck’ when I found a recipe in Runner’s World for a kiwi, banana, and spinach smoothie. But I needed the iron and the protein, so I tried it. It is so good.”
—BETSY (Recipe from Runner’s World: ½ cup of unsweetened almond milk; 1 cup of fresh spinach; 1 kiwi; sliced ½ banana, preferably frozen.)
“Here’s an easy one that makes two servings: one for you, one for your running buddy. Or kid. 1 cup of fresh or frozen strawberries; 1 fresh or frozen banana, peeled; ½ cup of low-fat vanilla yogurt; ¾ cup of orange juice.”
—TARA (Check out more of her recipes in her book Almost Meatless: Recipes That Are Better for Your Health and the Planet)
“I make smoothies with espresso powder, chocolate milk, frozen banana, and Greek yogurt.”
—LISA (Favorite podcast on runs: Stuff You Missed in History Class.)
“I love my recovery smoothie: vanilla protein powder, frozen blueberries, milk, frozen mangos, frozen strawberries, and sugar-free chocolate pudding. Kiwis, if I have them.”
—MARCI (TMI moment: Got a little number two—not hers—on the back of her leg in a Porta-Potty during a race. “Still makes me gag.”)
“I love green smoothies. Stuff a blender with spinach and top it with banana, blueberries, water, and a scoop of whey protein powder.”
—MEGAN (A gift for the 2005 Boston Marathon—light blue shorts and a matching top—went unused because Aunt Flo arrived race morning. She opted for black shorts, instead. “I don’t wear the outfit much, but I think about it all the time.”)
“My day is made by my morning smoothie: Knudsen Pineapple Coconut juice, vanilla Greek yogurt, shredded coconut, vanilla whey protein powder, old-fashioned oats, a splash of milk, one banana, frozen pineapple tidbits, frozen mango chunks, and spinach. Don’t gag: The spinach makes all the difference in consistency and flavor—yum!”
—SBS (Hangs her sweaty workout wear on the back of her closet door and lets it air-dry rather than washing it after every run.)
At nearly 6 feet 4 inches, I am fortunate enough to have plenty of real estate over which to spread the nibs, the beers, the nachos, and the like, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have issues with food. (I’ve got lots of issues, actually, but I’ll just focus on the nutrition-related ones here.) These days, as I work too hard and plan too little, my problems include no forethought (It’s 5:30, and I have no plan for dinner. Life cereal, anybody?); way too much sugar (my instant pick-me-up when everything else feels too complicated); deceiving myself that I can eat well on the fly (How many granola bars and packs of Pretzel M&M’s have I eaten over a steering wheel?); and generally relying too much on packaged meals and melted cheese for aforementioned unplanned dinners (quesadillas, grilled cheese, pizza). I don’t particularly like to cook, either; any recipe requiring me to chop more than three things is usually a nonstarter. When I do don the oven mitts, it’s usually to drain pasta to be paired with jarred sauce or for broiled chicken breasts.
I’m no Michael Pollan or Skinny Bitch, but I have given some thought to nutrition after that embarrassing blowup. Here are, in my mind, the dozen most important food rules for mother runners:
1. You must eat. We know you must run, so you must eat to have energy to go on sanity-saving runs. Many women run because they want to model healthy behavior for their children, yet then they distort the message when it comes to nourishing themselves. Feel free to count your calories, if need be, and be mindful of your food choices, but you must eat.
In case my example of blowing up at my kids isn’t instructional enough, realize there is a direct relationship between your level of hunger and the intelligence of choices you make. Starving? Everything looks good, especially Doritos, Hershey’s Kisses, and leftover birthday cake. But if your stomach is just starting to speak up, carrots and hummus sound good, as does an orange or leftover salad.
2. You must eat relatively well. By relatively, I mean about 80 percent of the time. Eight out of 0 times, pick whole wheat over white. Fish over burgers. Fruit over chips. Hummus over ranch dressing. Grilled over fried. Sweet potato over french fries. Olive oil over butter. Low-fat over whole milk. Sorbet instead of ice cream.
Don’t drink your calories; eat a variety of colors; cook for yourself; be able to pronounce the ingredients you’re ingesting; limit your purchases of food with packaging that proclaims, in neon letters, “All natural!”; use a bowl and a spoon—not just the latter—when you treat yourself to ice cream.
Even when I heed most of these rules, I still fall into the mother trap: Feed my kids well, feed myself whatever. I cut up strawberries for their lunches, but go without fruit at my midday meal. I make sure they have veggies at least twice a day, but I cram in my (missed) daily quotient with a veggie-packed salad every second day or so. I give them milk with their meals, but drink a Diet Pepsi or glass of wine with mine.
Still, I’m on track 80 percent of the time. At least when I’m not totally PMSing.
3. Set up your daily menu with a workout. Eating well and running are good bedmates; or, the more I run, the better I want to eat. Craptastic days like the above notwithstanding—there’s an exception to every rule—there is definitely a correlation between how much I sweat out of my body and what I want to put into my body. On days I arrive home at 7:00 A.M., having already got my sweat on, I’m much less likely to think eight Thin Mints make a fine lunch and instead make a PB&J on whole wheat, eating it along with a clementine, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and two Thin Mints. (Okay, three.)
4. Know that running doesn’t give you a pass to the all-you-can-eat buffet. Although I am very familiar with the I-just-ran-a-half-marathon-so-now-I-get-to-be-intimate-with-both-Ben-and-Jerry thought process, I also know the rationale is a little whack. I’m going to do this really healthy thing, just so I can put a bunch of unhealthy food into my body. Where’s the logic in that?
Yes, running is definitely one of the best calorie torchers going—a good estimate is about 100 calories a mile—because it’s so freakin’ hard, but runners can still have high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and other health issues, especially as we age. Obviously, if you’re so inclined, grab a burger, fries, and beer (or two) for a post-marathon dinner, and 2 hours later, eat a double scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream. You’ve earned it. But every long run is not an excuse to eat a sleeve of Oreos.
The flip side of this thinking is equally as bunk: I just burned 600 calories, so I’m going to maximize that by hardly eating anything today. I get the lose-the-baby-weight thing, and I understand feeling terrible about your body when, after a winter of hibernation, your shorts are hugging your thighs too closely for comfort. Believe me: I study my butt in the mirror, lift it, and pretend I could lop off an inch of it. But then I move on—or get interrupted by Ben, who can’t button his shorts—and try to remember that my generous glutes are actually my engines that get me up hills.
I’m not saying you can’t lose weight and run at the same time, but do me—and the rest of womankind—a favor and focus on your performance, on the strength of your legs, and on the just-finished-a-run feeling instead of the random number on the label of your jeans. Last I checked, they don’t mention your weight at your funeral (or put it on your headstone). But they will mention your love of running, your indomitable spirit, and your inspirational lifestyle.
5. Make carbs your friend. Despite the recent preponderance of bacon chocolate, bacon brownies, and bacon ice cream, pork—and any other form of protein—does not fuel a run. Carbs do. We’ll keep the explanation Sesame Street simple: When you eat carbs, your body converts them to glycogen and stores them mostly in your muscles and liver. Glycogen is the gas you need to go the miles you want to. This doesn’t mean an extra-large helping of penne every night, but don’t fall into the Paleo, South Beach, or diet du jour trap.
6. Figure out your pre-run plan. Some people need to have something in their stomach before a run, while others can’t tolerate it. You’ll know fairly quickly into which camp you fall.
If your run is less than an hour, you can get away with simply going, although I prefer, as you know, a banana in my stomach. Longer than that, and I need a lighter meal. Typically, I eat something bland about an hour before a long run: could be banana and peanut butter on an English muffin; a small bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins; yogurt and a piece of toast; whatever sounds good. Smoothies (see recipes on 167) are a good option if your stomach rejects solid food. If I’m racing, I extend that window to 2 hours; I want to have things pretty well digested, as well as all the, um, waste removed from my system before I get to the starting line.
The key with this whole scenario is to make it superfamiliar and easy for you to handle. Before every long run on Saturday while training for the half-marathon, you have two pieces of multigrain toast with butter and jam. Guess what you’ll eat before the race? One less thing to worry about.
7. Plan an on-the-run plan. For runs longer than 90 minutes, you need fuel; as strong and capable as your muscles are, they run out of glycogen around then. Your body takes to burning your fat stores on runs longer than 90 minutes—and who doesn’t like the sound of that?—but it takes two to tango: Fat needs glycogen in order to metabolize. (Personally, I carry a gel on runs longer than an hour, because I never know when the hungries might strike. Plus, I’ll take any excuse to stop for a minute or two.)
As with your breakfast, do your own experimentation to determine what you’ll stuff in the doll-size pockets on most running gear. It sounds like a bit of a cop-out, but what works for my nearly bombproof stomach can wreak havoc on your delicate innards. What I can tell you: Nearly anything that has simple, easy-to-digest sugar can work for fuel. Try gummi bears, Tootsie Rolls, raisins, your kids’ fruit snacks, malted milk balls (be careful of the melting), and anything you can buy at your local running store in silvery packets for what feels like steep prices. (Again, no Muscle Builder Extra Wow Mega Protein Bars: Protein is for after, not during, the run.)
8. Don’t let your stomach throw a tantrum. Nancy Clark, a goddess of sports nutrition, reports the following:
Needless to say, her warnings don’t bode well for a new female runner who has to have caffeine, is having her period, and is headed out to do some intervals. Keep the intestines as quiet as possible by heeding the same advice for training properly: Don’t start out running too hard, too fast, or too long, and let your body adjust to running. A couple of mother runners we’ve heard from swear by taking Imodium to keep things firm; if you want to go that route, definitely try it on a training run when you can loop near home or your car in case matters get urgent.
9. Think about the drink. Heed this commonsense advice from Ilana Katz, a knowledgeable, realistic sports nutritionist and Ironman triathlete:
a. On a day with typical temperatures when you run, weigh yourself naked before you head out.
b. Get dressed and run for 60 minutes. Don’t pee or drink during, or immediately after, this run.
c. Strip, and weigh yourself again.
d. For every pound you lost, replace with 16 to 24 ounces of fluid. Erring on the higher side is a little like lowering a basketball hoop for a 7-year-old: There’s a better chance of hitting the target.
The beauty of this sweat-rate experiment? Now you know more specifically how much you need to drink during a longer run. Say you lost 1.5 pounds during that 60-minute run. 1.5 x 16 ounces = 24 ounces. If you’re running for 2 hours, aim to drink 48 ounces (2 x 24 ounces) to keep yourself hydrated during the run, instead of becoming dehydrated and then having to replenish your stores after your workout.
10. Cook with leftovers in mind. When I get motivated to make a decent dinner, I always make more than I should. I cook 2 cups of brown rice instead of one; double a recipe for veggie chili; make lasagne and freeze half of it. When I make a salad, I don’t dress it, so that we can eat it the following lunch or dinner. Yes, by Thursday, I’m certainly sick of the pasta/spinach/chick pea/olive oil combo thing I made for dinner on Monday, but at least I know it’s good food.
SBS is good at giving new life to leftovers for lunchtime salads: Her orzo with pine nuts side dish is satisfying when it’s served cold with the inclusion of cherry tomatoes, chopped feta, chopped green onions, and some vinaigrette dressing. Lentils can get tossed with red onion, arugula, feta—which is always on hand in her fridge—and an easy mustard–olive oil dressing.
11. Don’t expect to lose crazy amounts of weight through serious training. When you go from a sedentary lifestyle to all gaga over running, your body will obviously get on board, and shed pounds upon pounds in its quest to become a runner. I’ve read countless tales of losing 30, 50, 75 pounds through running. Love those stories. But many women equate running more with losing more, and that isn’t the case, as I’ve also heard again and again. Once your body gets used to running and “levels out,” the pounds don’t just melt off with mileage. Intense training oftentimes makes you gain weight. It is the good, heavier, muscle weight, and it’s likely you look even more kick-ass in your tall boots and short skirt, but the scale won’t reflect it. And, it should be noted, if you are training intensely, you need to feed your body. (See rule 1.)
12. Try not to buy junk. Easier said than done, I realize. But there’s a reason why I “borrow” my kids’ leftover Halloween candy when I’m having a bout of writer’s block, PMS, or a fit of pissiness at my husband. It’s the only junk food in the house. I’ve bought too many 1-pound bags of M&M’s (“They’re on sale,” I reason with my drooling self, “and I’ll add them to GORP.”) only to have them gone within days.
When I simply can’t live without a Kit Kat/scoop of Nutella/cupcake and have none in the house, I have to go out and get it. When I think about the task of piling two kids in the car and explaining the treat is for me, not them, suddenly that craving doesn’t seem as overwhelming as it used to. (Or I can at least wait and have my husband pick it up on his way home from the office.)
One other strategy I use: buying a small amount—20 yogurt-covered pretzels or a scoop of gumdrops—in the bulk aisle. Do not misread: not in bulk. Nothing good can come of the candies, cookies, and other sugar-laden snacks they offer at Costco. I made that mistake once, and 8,000 calories of chocolate-covered almonds later, I don’t think I’ll ever eat another one. (They’re on my can’t-tolerate-anymore list, along with Jägermeister and double-cheese pizza from Pizza Hut.)
Break out the calculator; it’s time for some math. Promise, we won’t ask you what the Pythagorean theorem2 is. Instead, here are some strategies to help you nail your nutrition.
For runs longer than 90 minutes: Take in between 200 and 300 calories per hour, or 50 to 75 grams of carbs per hour. Begin your fueling before you hit 90 minutes, so that you don’t empty the tank then have to refill from empty. I like to take in a gel about 30 minutes into a long run. Definitely get some calories into you before you hit 45 minutes, so that you don’t deplete your glycogen stores prematurely.
Some ideas:
One packet of GU: 25 grams of carbs, 100 calories
3 Clif Shot Bloks: 25 grams of carbs, 100 calories
10 gummi bears: 23 grams of carbs, 87 calories
2 tablespoons of raisins: 22 grams of carbs, 91 calories
12 Dots: 35 grams of carbs, 140 calories
8 ounces of Gatorade: 14 grams of carbs, 50 calories
For recovery from any run longer than 60 minutes or an intense run, such as speedwork, intervals, or a tempo run: First, massage a few numbers to figure out how many grams of carbs and protein you need to get in your bod, post-run:
1. Multiply your weight in pounds by .3 to get the amount of carbs in grams.
2. Pretend I weigh 140 pounds (I did, probably, in ninth grade. Too bad I wasn’t a runner then.) 140 pounds x .3 = 42 grams of carbs for recovery
3. Then you want a 3:1 carbs-to-protein ratio to optimize both replenishing your glycogen and your muscle recovery. So, take 42 grams, divide that by 3 to figure out your protein needs. 42/3 = 14 grams
4. Within 30 minutes, the optimal time to hit the “gas station,” you’d want to consume something like:
For the rest of the day, keeping the same carbs-to-protein ratio isn’t a bad idea, as you’ll continue to restock your glycogen and encourage the rebuilding of muscle.
For carbo-loading: Carbo-loading, which is what you need to do for marathons and half-marathons, is an insidery way of saying topping off your tank, so that you have as much easy-to-access fuel as possible in your body on race day. Basically, you want to switch most of your calorie intake to carbs 2 to 3 days before you go the distance. Again, pretend I’m a svelte 140 pounds and play along.
1. Divide your current weight in pounds by 2.2 to get kilograms. 140/2.2 = 63.6 kilograms
2. Multiply the number of kilograms by 8 to get the amount of carbs you need to eat on Friday and Saturday for a marathon or half-marathon on Sunday. 63.6 x 8 = 509 grams of carbs
3. Now pull your calculator and scale, head to the pantry, and count out exactly 509 grams . . . wait, can’t swing it?
Here’s an example of a hefty, hearty day of carbo-loading. Enjoy—you’ve worked hard for it!
A 4-inch bagel: 50 grams
2 tablespoons strawberry jam: 26 grams
1 medium banana: 27 grams
8 ounces low-fat, yogurt: 35 grams
8 ounces orange juice: 25 grams
Total: 163 grams
Nature Valley Oats ’n’ Honey Granola Bar (2 bars): 29 grams
8 ounces Gatorade: 14 grams
Total: 43 grams
½ package prepared Kraft Macaroni & Cheese: 50 grams4 1 sourdough roll: 40 grams
8 ounces chocolate milk: 25 grams
Total: 115 grams
2 slices white bread: 25 grams
2 tablespoons strawberry jam: 26 grams
8 ounces Gatorade: 14 grams
Total: 65 grams
A chicken burrito at Chipotle with 4 ounces of black beans, 3 ounces of rice, 3.5 ounces of corn salsa: 105 grams (add guacamole for 8 more grams)
A 12-ounce beer: 13 grams
Total: 126 grams (w/guac)
Note: If you feel the need to jump on the scale during the carbo-loading, tapering phase, be prepared to see the needle zing up anywhere from 2 to 4 pounds from your normal weight. Don’t freak—and definitely don’t go for a long run to burn it off. The extra weight means you get a gold star for carbo-loading; every ounce of stored carbs comes with an add-on gift: about 3 ounces of water. So you’ve basically gained water weight, and you’ll sweat it off over 13.1 or 26.2 miles. I promise.
By Dimity (kind of)
Once there was a running path and she loved a young mother runner. And every day—or as many days as she could make it—the mother runner would run on her dirt and next to her trees and play queen of the world. She would climb her hills and cruise on the flats and eat a GU. And when she was running downhill, she pretended she could always run that fast. And when she was tired, she would stretch in the shade of the path. The mother runner loved the path very much. And the path was happy.
But time went by. And the mother runner got faster. And wanted to run longer. And the path was often alone. Then one day, on another run, the mother runner ran by the path and the path said, “Come, mother runner, come climb up and fly down my hills and eat a GU. Run and be happy.”
“I am beyond your 2-mile length. I am training for a 10K,” said the mother runner. “My training plan has me running for 5 miles today. I need distance. Can you give me distance?”
“I’m sorry,” said the path, “but I can’t grow. I have only hills and shade. But run my hills, mother runner, again and again, and you will be strong and you will go fast.” So the mother runner ran up the hills again and again, and she became fast. And the path was happy.
But the mother runner stayed away for a long time and the path was sad. And then one day the mother runner came back. The path shook with joy and she said, “Come, mother runner, climb up and fly down my hills and cruise through my shade and be happy.”
“I am too busy to cruise. I am training for a half-marathon,” said the mother runner. “I want a vacation with my girlfriends and a chance to sleep in a quiet hotel room and a plane ride with nobody but me eating my Swedish fish, and so I need to run a half-marathon. Can you help me?”
“I am only 2 miles long,” said the path, “but my shade is plenty. Come finish your long runs in my shade and I will make sure your last miles are pleasant.” So the mother runner finished her long runs in the cool shade. And the path was happy.
But the mother runner stayed away for a long time. And when she came back, the path was so happy she could hardly speak. “Come, mother runner,” she whispered. “Come and run.”
“I am too sad to run,” said the mother runner. “I am injured from doing too many races and am not sure I’ll ever run again. Right now, I just want to run far away. Can you help me?”
“Start here and walk,” said the path. “Then you can heal and run again and be happy.” And so the mother runner started to walk on the path, and then she got healthy and ran many more miles. And the path was happy. But not really.
And after a long time the mom came back again. “I am sorry, mother runner,” said the path, “but I have nothing left for you. My hills aren’t steep enough for you.”
“My quads are too weak for big hills,” said the mother runner.
“Some trees have died and my shade isn’t as deep as it used to be,” said the path. “You can’t cruise through it.”
“I can hardly cruise anymore,” said the mother runner.
“At least you can still come and eat GU on me,” said the path.
“My stomach can’t stomach GU anymore,” said the mother runner.
“I am sorry,” sighed the path. “I wish that I could give you something, but I have nothing left. I am just an old path.”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the mother runner. “ I don’t need to run fast or far anymore. I just need a quiet place to run and find my spirit. I simply want to run.”
“Well,” said the path, straightening herself up as much as she could, “Well, an old path is good for just running. Come, mother runner, run. Run and smile.” And the mother runner did. And the path—and the mother runner—were happy.
1 If you’re running at 5:30 A.M., obviously don’t wake up at 3:30 to drink. But if you’re up at 5:30 to head to a race that starts at 8:00, drink up.
2 If you can’t recall, it’s a2 + b2 = c2. Applies to triangles.
3 Inspired by The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, a children’s classic that never fails to make both SBS and me simultaneously smile and tear up.
4 I’m assuming you’re eating with the kids.