fuel

I know, right? I might as well eat a tub of lard. But I can't help it. I am hungry all the time.

I'm blaming it on the ridiculous feat I am attempting to accomplish. I need carbs and protein. (OK, maybe I don't need bacon grease, but at least it was turkey bacon.)

A year ago, running three miles was barely possible. And now I plot out routes for 8-, 10-, 11-mile runs. I strategize about the best ways not to get hit by a car or chased by dogs. I worry about uneven pavement, locations of drinking fountains, stepping in poo. I sample various flavors of weird electrolyte- and calorie-replacing foods (so far, black cherry is good, and margarita-with-salt brings back bad memories of college) and practice eating said foods while running. I time myself (not pretty, but I do it anyway). I sit in ice baths. I drink coconut water and Emergen-C. I am concerned about chafing. I have a sock tan.

And in three weeks, I am somehow supposed to go 13.1 miles.

Holy crap.