I’m going to have to change the name of this blog to eater with a running problem, or maybe drinker with an eating disorder.
Tomorrow I’m having breakfast with a buddy at Patachoooooou. (Oh, and as a precursor, there’s some kind of Shamrock 4 Miler thingy we’re doing too — but who cares?! Breakfast!)
Todaaaay’s breakfast was sprouted wheat toast under a giant mound of Nutella:
It’s okay, I’ve been working very hard this week.
To counter the astonishing amounts of fuel I burned sitting at my desk, I made sure to eat a lot for lunch too. I need my strength, after all.
I had to go downtown to pick up my race packet so I stopped over at Enzo and got a splurg-tastic stromboli. The joint doesn’t look that special from the outside (or inside for that matter), but oh mama, it was good.
And then, just because I hadn’t nearly split my jeans yet, I had a few spoonfuls of this ridicu-tarded coconut milk vanilla bean ice cream. I nearly died…
I can’t even describe to you how good it tasted. It was vanilla bean CRACK, I tell you. And, it was actually not too unhealthy as far as ice cream goes — only 150 calories per serving (not that I’m counting) and only wholesome yummy ingredients and none of that toxic crap. Win!
It’s a good thing I don’t own a scale because it would probably quit me tonight.
I’ve been having some crazy pain in my shins and quads for the last few weeks, and also that place right behind your knee? Don’t know whatcha call that muscle but it’s been very hurty lately. I know it’s partly because I needed new shoes but it finally occurred to me after puzzling over it for days and days like an idiot that it pretty much started after I quit doing strength workouts and started running five days a week.
I quit the gym because I loathe it, having every intention of doing workouts at home or joining a studio, and then I just never did either one. It was always kind of there in the back of my mind but easier to ignore…until the agony started.
So, time for a change. Story of my life. I torture myself, I improve. It’s a vicious cycle. I iced my right shin tonight, rolled out the tightness in my quads, did some stretching and leg lifts on the floor, then did some lunges down the hallway. Done.
Last thing — we had a delightful sampling of Rogue ales at Patrick’s Thursday night, and a little Pink Floyd to boot.
A fantastic lineup — Rogue’s chocolate stout is THE chocolatiest beer I’ve ever had. It has pure Dutch bittersweet chocolate in it and it even smells like a giant hunk of chocolate. Crazy.
Not sure which one was my favorite — it was a three-way tie between the chocolate, the Northwestern and the Dead Guy.
Alright, chilluns — got a warm bed calling my name and a cat waiting to fall asleep on my face. Have a great night — peace!