“Jake, dinner!”
“Coming.” Jake left the running magazine on his desk and headed downstairs. There was an article in it on mental toughness that he wanted to finish. Toughness. That was what he needed to focus on. His back ached a little and the muscles in his legs felt tight going down the steps. He’d added a second run to his daily routine, and his body wasn’t used to that yet. A lot of the articles talked about gradual training, alternating easier workouts and rest days, but Jake couldn’t see how that made any sense. Rest days? How was he going to win if he took it easy? No, he was going to be the toughest one out there. That’s how he would win.
He entered the kitchen. “Come on, Jake.” His mom smiled. “Dad made his world-famous tacos. We want to eat them while they’re hot.”
“Oh, no worries there, gang,” called his dad, wearing the Taco-won-do Master apron he’d gotten for his last birthday. It had a picture of a cartoon guy with a black belt juggling tomatoes while snap-kicking a head of lettuce. “They’re HOT, all right.”
“Tacos?” Jake looked over at his mother, who was pouring glasses of water. “Mom, I told you last week I can’t eat spicy food. I need pasta. Lots of pasta. And rice.”
“Jake.” His mom laughed. “We’ve had spaghetti three times in the last week. It’ll be good to have something different. And Dad’s tacos are the best! Come on. Sit down.”
Jake sat. But he didn’t fill up his taco shell. His brother, Luke, was waving a bowl of shredded cheese in front of his face, but Jake didn’t take it. “Serious runners don’t eat spicy food.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s stopping you from eating it?” Luke grinned. Jake glared at him. “Okay, okay, more for me.” Luke shrugged, setting the bowl down in front of himself. “I like tacos.”
Me too, thought Jake. But…he sighed. “Is it okay if I just have peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches?” He looked at his mom.
She looked at his dad. “Ask Dad. He’s the chef today.”
“Dad?”
“Sure, sport, but you don’t know what you’re missing.” He winked.
Jake went to the cupboard. “Mom, we need more peanut butter.”
“Put it on the list.”
“And more bread. The whole-grain stuff.”
“Right.”
“And chocolate milk. Chocolate milk is key for post-race recovery. So lots of chocolate milk.”
“Yes, your highness.”
“Oh, and Mom,” cut in Luke in a commanding voice, “we need more pretzels. Pretzels are perfect for post-practice recovery.”
“And ice cream,” Jake’s dad added. “Ice cream is ideal for post-taco recovery.” He wiped his forehead. “Whew. These are hot, all right! Bring on the butterscotch ripple.”
Jake looked around. They were laughing! He knew he was going to have to work on being mentally tough, but he didn’t realize he’d need it to deal with his own family.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Oh, we’re not laughing at you, Jake-O. We’re laughing with you,” said Luke, grinning.
“Sure, except I’m not laughing.”
“Well, then, maybe we’re laughing for you, Jakey. I think you may have forgotten how,” said his dad with a smile.
Jake suddenly felt frustrated. They just didn’t get it. “Look,” he said. “I need food for fuel. Good food. The right food. What’s the problem with that?”
“Nothing, Jake. Nothing at all.”
“I eat to run. I take running seriously. Running is good for you.”
“Yes,” said his mother softly. There was a hint of worry in her eyes. “It’s supposed to be.”