It's early in the training cycle. And while I'm doing more swimming than I've ever done in my life, my bike trainer sessions have been easy and my running just barely exists. (Fact: I am so out of running shape that my quads get sore from testing shoes on a treadmill with zero incline. Also, I have yet to run longer than a collective five minutes in a workout. But at least I can run. Recovery is slow, but I'm grateful for it.)
My appetite, however, seems to think I'm in the final countdown for an A-race. This morning, while watching me dump yogurt and granola into a bowl in the breakroom, my co-worker announced: "You eat more than I do, and I'm twice your size."
I'm also already passing out at embarrassingly early hours. Last night I fell asleep on Salad Bar's couch at about, oh, 6:30. And the only reason I woke up was because he said dinner was ready.
If this is me now, just imagine the monster I'll be in six months: Drooling, with really bad hair, wielding a sleeping bag, a fork and a Garmin.
|Why is this portion so small?!|
And on that note, may I present the Annual List of 10 Places at Which I'd Like to Stuff My Face (and then possibly find a corner to sleep in afterward). As those five of you who actually read this blog know, instead of New Year's resolutions, I prefer to set Goals for Gluttony. You can find my previous attempts at eating my way through the year here, here, here, here, here and here. (Holy crap, I've been a hedonistic asshole for awhile now, haven't I? Also: I'm old.)
As I was saying: The List.
The Book Bindery: I've wanted to go ever since I read this article. And then my chef-triathlete friend had dinner there last month and confirmed it's worthy of the acclaim. And he said they were nice people, too, which is always a plus.
La Carta de Oaxaca: Belle likes it, so I figure I should go or else her dog will punch me in the face again and maybe this time he'll punch harder and I really will get a black eye or my eyeball will just completely fall out and roll across the floor. (Also, I really miss Mexican food.)
Canon: The cocktails are supposed to be nothing short of perfect. And the spirits selection is supposed to be legendary. And Sober January will be over very, very soon. Mama is thirsty.
Finnriver Farm & Cidery: On our first date, Salad Bar took me out for cider (because he found out about my whole no-gluten thing), and this was when I was pretty new to dry ciders and still kind of thought "cider" meant sweet like Hornsby's (which I used to drink by the six-pack in college, no joke), so I told him he could pick a cider for me, and the first cider he picked was the Finnriver Black Currant. (He also pronounced the word "currant" in a funny way, which I thought was endearing.) And my life changed forever. And I've enjoyed many Finnriver ciders since (big fan of the Forest Ginger) and have had many nice times with Salad Bar. So I'd like to go to the place where the cider is actually made. And maybe hug the people there.
Mt. Townsend Creamery: And since the birthplace of the life-changing cider is so close to the birthplace of one of my favorite local cheeses, I propose a full day of pack-it-all-in gluttony.
Monteillet Fromagerie: And speaking of cheese, if you ever see Monteillet goat cheese anywhere, cram it into your mouth immediately. Because it is incredible. And I want to visit the creamery and stay in Kyle MacLachlan's "Twin Peaks"-themed Airstream. (Yes, this exists, and it's only $50 a night.)
Miyabi 45th: Soba paradise. My wheat-sensitive stomach will hate me, but I'll gamble.
The bar at Canlis: Since I can't afford actual Canlis, sitting at the bar is the next best thing. In fact, sitting at the bar may even be better than actual Canlis because the people-watching is supposed to be amazing. I'm told it's like being at the bottom of the stairs when the teenage girl sweeps down in her prom dress. The entertainment potential seems endless.
Ramen Man: The quest to eat as much ramen as possible continues.