Eat Like a Runner!
I used to live in Boulder. I would love to say that I used to “run” in Boulder, but the running population there made my running jogging. I used to jog in Boulder. For a short while I worked at the Runner’s Roost on Pearl Street. I was the race photographer for the Austin Motorola Marathon in 1999. Peter Flemming won. He managed the Runner’s Roost and I thought since I took his photo, I could sell his shoes. You need a doctrine in runnology to sell shoes in Boulder. I was a quack. I went to work in a law firm. They called me “Little Missy.” I messed up all the files. I digress.
Bernard was from Kenya. He and his friends ran tempo runs in the hills (those would be the Rockies) at 5 minute splits or less. He took me out for margaritas. One sent him to sea. I weighed in at a whopping 100 pounds and I drank him under the table (in other words, I finished mine).
He asked me to help his friends grocery shop at Whole Foods (drive them). Bernard was rail thin, but quite tall. I felt gigantic next to his friends who were so delicate they practically floated around the store. “Andrea,” Bernard lectured me, “If you want to be a runner, you must eat like a runner.” I watched them put chicken breasts, a bag of rice, and a bunch of bananas in their cart. That is it. Where was the required nightly pint of Ben&Jerry’s? I must have misread my runner’s manual.
Bernard got upset. Silvio Guerra asked me out on a date. I towered over Silvio. I did not necessary mind being taller than my date, but I did mind the mullet. He had a long curly one. Ironic that I married a man from Canada, land of mullets. Silvio barely ate enough to classify it as an appetizer. I left with a signed photo of him finishing second in the Boston marathon and completely starving.
Adam and Zeke ran for CU. They did not eat much either and got really weird after a couple of beers. Ryan ran a 2:25 marathon in San Diego. He bought me chocolates. “Have one,” I offered. “No thanks,” he countered. “Just one,” I insisted. He looked at me sternly, “No.” “Cup of water then?” I gritted my teeth. I threw those chocolates in the trash.
Runner’s do not eat much I conclude. This made them hard to date. Maybe we could run like a runner, but eat like a jogger? Is that possible?
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