Pre-Race Carb Loading?

For many years I believe this was common practice for runners prior to a marathon. The gist of it is to count back six days before a race, and for three days, to eat a lower-carbohydrate diet, followed by another three days of eating low-residue carbohydrate-rich foods (i.e. refined carbohydrates). This wisdom dictated that glycogen would be stored in the muscles and liver, ready for use during the big run.

In more recent times, this has fallen out of favour. I don’t know if this trend coincided with the low-carb lifestyle, or that athletes simply found the entire routine unnecessary.

Personally, I had been giving the matter some thought for a couple of weeks, from the beginning of my taper. On the one hand, it seemed deceptively like a free pass to eat all the pasta, muffins, [insert favourite carbohydrate] one can possibly handle. Then I realized I already do eat all the pasta, muffins and whatever carbohydrate I fancy that I want.

Like the homemade breads I’m still not quite perfecting. This baby was a multigrain loaf, but it’s not obvious as the grains were clandestinely huddling in some mysterious corner, planning to stage a mutiny.

Upon closer inspection, carb-loading seemed to be rather precision-oriented, and unless one is a professional sportsman trying to set a PB or win a division, it seemed like more trouble than it was worth. In the end, I concluded that my regular diet has served me well for my months of training, and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

They do say to not introduce anything new last-minute, but I could not resist trying a little packet I found loitering in the back of my pantry (I must have bought it a while ago and completely forgotten about it in my quest to bake good bread.)

Dinner tonight: stir-fry vegetables and pork chops on a bed of purple rice (though the French name “riz noir” is more accurate since the grains are black, while the purple-ish ones were white rice that absorbed the cooking water).

The thing about food is this – separately favouring one macronutrient on its own just doesn’t create as pleasant a dining experience. That’s why cheese alone is good but cheese on bread is better, and cheese on a seeded bread topped with sweet onion confit is the closest thing to gastronomic perfection I can think of (except a unicorn sandwich). Likewise, a plain green salad is deprivation, but salad with a good vinaigrette is a delight. A balanced meal is a tasty meal.

Ultimately, I guess one could say that I am indeed carb-loading, but I’m also protein-and-fat-loading. If one thing is definite, it’s that I’ll be running with a full tank on Sunday.

Post-script for my fellow runners: After taking just about all of last week off running, I managed 3 miles today. The niggle is still there but manageable. I just needed a final run to loosen up the body and feel my body at several different paces. I had a bittersweet moment of reflecting that this was my final pre-race training. The next time I find myself awkwardly propelling my body forward in a continuous motion, it will be down the Champs-Elysees.

Ready, Set… Taper!

Seems like just as my mind is getting used to running double-digit distances, in miles no less, that I have reached the tapering stage of my programme. All I can say is: about bloody time!

I’m still trying to recover from Monday’s long run. In fact, I’ve learnt a few very useful last minute lessons that will serve me well on the day of the race and after.

For instance, I’ve always suffered insomnia following a long run training session. Lying in bed, I’d get boiling hot, toss and turn, and wonder what the hell is wrong with me, and why instead of conking me out, running 15mi seems to keep me up. Well, Prof. Google very kindly suggested at 12.30am that it could perhaps be the result of glycogen depletion. So there I was, sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal and milk, followed by a whole can of potato chips (yes, a whole can), and then pistachios. Alone. In my pyjamas. While the rest of civilized society was asleep. I felt sorry for myself.

What I don’t feel sorry for was the incredibly awesome sleep that followed soon after. I have never slept so well after a long run before. Ever. So runners, if you’re not sleeping after a long run, try eating some carbs and see if it helps. Maybe not a whole can of chips though.

I’ve also decided which pair of socks I will be wearing for the marathon. Not the ones I wore on Monday because not only have I developed a second black toenail, the first one is falling off. It doesn’t hurt, it just looks like I’ve got gangrene on my foot.

My next task is to sort out the running playlist on my new mobile phone. I’ve imported all the songs from my computer, but I wonder if changing the sequence of my normal running playlist will affect my performance. It’s a small quirk of mine, but since I’ve spent most of winter training indoors, I use the music as mile markers. While other runners may go “oh, I’ve just run past the library so I’m on Mile 7”, I tend to go “oh, Nightwish is playing and indeed, I’ve covered an EZ 10km according to the treadmill”. How will I know on Race Day if I’m running at the right pace if my music is on shuffle? Nope, I don’t wear a Garmin. Don’t even own a freakin’ watch.

Finally, I have started cracking on a task I deem to be a guilty pleasure – planning my post-marathon training plan. I’ve read about the post-partum depression that some first-timers experience after crossing that finish line, and it’s something I wish to avoid. I’ll be busy, that’s for sure – I’ve got a backlog of mail order books piling up and demanding to be read, which I will when I do nothing but lie on the couch for the one week after the race, icing my knees, swilling beer and eating cashews. Yet that week will inevitably come to an end, I will need something equally big and awesome to work towards to (depending on how I go, it may or may not be another race), and why lose the fitness I’ve gained these last few months? I don’t need to be running the same distance, even if it’s only 50% of peak training, it is pretty good for general fitness.

It’s a guilty pleasure because the distances are looking like this: 3mi tempo; 5x400m sprints; 3mi EZ, etc. Distances that for the moment, constitute “warm up” for my long runs. I literally rub my hands in glee, fantasizing how I can run little enough that I won’t need a shower straight after. Disgusting? You bet. Time-saving though.

For now, the taper is very much a pleasure because after my insatiable hunger was sated, I was clobbered by exhaustion. It was 11am before I could pull myself out of bed this morning, and the thought of 5mi (8km) made me want to cry. I skipped the tempo and made it an EZ recovery. In moments I wanted to just quit, I thought about the guys running this event:

Oh, so you’ve been running for 6hrs? Try running for 6 DAYS.

Nothing like a little bit of perspective to make 42km seem completely achievable.

What Makes Me Run – Madness

Today’s training was the “peak” of the training plan, so to speak. 20mi (32km) was once a distance I’d think of in car terms; you know, distance from home to the airport, or something like that. After today’s run, my distance perception is now permanently and irrevocably altered. So is, I think, a part of my psyche.

It’s been 11 days since my last long run, so I approached today’s run with trepidation. Scratch that – I was scared. I spent all of yesterday going through a string of rituals to prepare for today’s run. Never mind it’s not the real race and only a rehearsal. Never mind I cracked the 30km mark during my last run. I left no stone unturned. I went to the thermes. I avoided alcohol (on St Patrick’s Day!). I carb-loaded with this:

I valiantly downed one of each flavor to figure out which was my favourite. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.

Still, I couldn’t shake the anxiety. I woke three times during the night, and when I did manage to sleep, I had nightmares about running. Although this box brings back awesome childhood memories of Christmas flooding back, I think I can blame the nightmares on all those chocolates. Initially, the idea was to carry some with me as I ran, as running fuel. I hastily changed my mind when I realized it was only going to make me associate them with pain from thereon, so Plan B was to eat them as dessert the night before, and hope my liver would store it as glycogen.

Obviously, I was not hungry when I dragged myself out of bed earlier than usual this morning. I’d normally run late-mornings so when I’m done running, it’s lunchtime. With 20mi (32km) before me though, I had to start early if I wanted lunch at all. I downed a coffee and laced up before the urge to climb back into bed got the better of me. The next 20mi (32km) played out more or less like this:

9:00am: Music, check. Water, check. Food and drinks, check. GO!
1.5mi (2.4km) in: Need the loo. Badly.
2mi (3.2km) in: Increase speed to 9kph. I read that one long run should feature a marathon pace over 16mi (25.6km) just to get the body used to it. Since I only aim to finish, I choose a comfortable speed.
4mi (6.4km) in: Struggling to breathe. OK, so I’m not fully recovered from the throat infection, it seems. Make mental note to carry Ventolin on race day.
5mi (8km) in: My body wakes up properly. It doth protest.
90mins in: I mix my first Electrolyte solution.
11:00am: I fantasize how I’d celebrate finishing the race. Beer bottles line up in my vision and started doing the can-can.
13.1mi (21.1km) in: Half marathon mark! To celebrate, I crack open the PowerAde bottle. It tastes like toilet water. I am reminded why I switched over to those Electrolyte powders.
14mi (22.4km) in: I feel a wall coming…
15mi (24km) in: I feel the wall coming closer. I deliberate over eating the banana I prepared for the run.
15.5mi (24.8km) in: I get a phone call from my dad. I forget the wall. I forget the banana. I forget to breathe for a little bit and went blue in the face.
16mi (25.6km) in: Dad hangs up. I hit the wall hard. I am determined to get that 16mi at “marathon pace” at all costs. I keep repeating to myself “you can cry, but you cannot slow down“. I don’t cry. I don’t feel my legs either.
18mi (28.8km) in: I reach the 16mi at marathon pace mark. I feel like a hero. I can slow down, but I don’t slow down.
18.1mi (29km) in: I slow down. I eat the banana. Then I cried.**

I looked just like this.

Hey, not everyone digs the same fruit. He hates watermelon, I hate bananas.

19mi (30.4km) in: I entertain the idea of “finishing strong”. I increase the speed to 10kph.
19.1mi (30.6km) in: I abandon the idea and slow down. The unfinished banana glares at me balefully.
20 mi (32km): I finished. I made it. The sensation of pain evaporates as quickly as my perspiration. As I stretched what little of me I can still move, I brewed a cup of tea for Torture Session Round #2: Ice Bath.

**So, if I detest bananas that much, why did I make it my fuel of choice during the run? The organisers for the marathon have announced that the foods available at the fuel stations will be apples, bananas and raisins. Assuming these are deliciously crisp apples and not the Styrofoam mush, I suspect it takes more energy to chew and digest an apple than the energy I am hoping to get out of it. As for raisins, I worry about their being choking hazards, and also, they tend to get stuck in my teeth, giving me gingivitis, rather than going down my stomach, giving me energy. For all my prejudice against bananas, they at least have the added benefit of entertainment. I like to pretend it is a gun, and I’m shooting the bad guys I am chasing.

Running Snacks

As those among us who unfortunately find ourselves living in Europe would know, Saturday’s sunshine was a fluke. For someone who was born along the equator, I find it almost impossible to believe that I’m outdoors running in a thin cotton T-shirt one day, and watching flurries of snow outside the window a short 48 hours later. So it was back on the treadmill yesterday for a 9mi (14.4km) run that was over before I knew it.

The returning cold and disappearance of light does several things to me, the worst of it feeling like I have no energy. I can only keep my fingers tightly crossed that we will see sun on race day, or else my engine may fail to start. On the other hand, it could also be because my lunches have been looking mostly like this:

Delicious…

But not exactly balanced.

During the medical check-up to get my clearance for the race, after going through my usual diet, the doctor advised me to eat less leafy vegetables. I thought my ears were deceiving me; surely I must be the first person in the world to be told this? She went on to elaborate that switching to starchy root vegetables and pulses will deliver the same vitamins and minerals, but also give me more energy, and reduce digestive distress which running can sometimes create.

I’m not in denial; I take enough photos of my meals to have all the evidence before me that I do indeed eat quite a diabolical amount of vegetables, and it does concern me what may happen on race day. I’m not willing to give up my favourite meal completely, but I am willing to tweak its contents to be more runner-friendly. This is a simple trick I’ve learnt that will help people lose or gain weight. It’s not about cutting out something completely, but making small changes to existing habits that will add up over the long run.

In this meantime, this runner’s been busy getting the energy from elsewhere…

Drink your food, eat your drinks

Earl Grey Muffins

150g flour
100g brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 egg 100ml milk
50ml earl grey tea, brewed and cooled (save teabag)
4 tablespoons oil
2 teaspoons vanilla essence

Preheat oven to 180°C (350°F).
Mix dry ingredients in one bowl.
Mix wet ingredients in another bowl.
Snip open the earl grey teabag and add leaves into the wet ingredients.Yes, they’re edible. No, you won’t die.
Make a well in the dry ingredients, pour wet ingredients in, and fold. Don’t overmix.
Spoon into muffin pans, pop into oven for 20 minutes or until golden brown.

When I was in my early teens and had just picked up running, I recall eating a lot of bars. Energy bars, granola bars, trail bars, basically anything with the word “bar” in it. I realize now that it’s just mostly processed carbs glued together with a lot of corn syrup and sorely overpriced. If I’m going to be eating refined flours, I might as well eat a fresh homemade version of it, instead of something that’s wrapped in foil and been sitting on a supermarket shelf for the last 8 months.

Now if only someone can enlighten me on how to make muffins portable during a long run…

Lessons in Parenting from Bread Baking

Permit me to begin by confessing, I am not a parent. This is not an attempt to give advice, for despite the title, I am not being facetious. I am merely drawing comparisons between the onerous task of child-raising and what I am convinced to be a close second – baking one’s own bread.

Working with yeast is quite an adventure. It’s certainly an ingredient, but it is also something more. Is it an assistant? Is it a tool? Is it a sacrificial lamb? From the moment of cultivation, I already developed feelings for it. I even gave it a name.

These are the lessons from Jean-Paul.

• Once something is alive, we tend to feel something for it. This is the closest insight I have had concerning the pro-life argument. I am of the opinion that a mother’s life is always a priority over the foetus’, especially in the early stages of pregnancy when I feel a gamete does not count yet as a child. Yet here I am, a pro-choice proponent, feeling something strongly for my asexual, unicellular eukaryotic cells. I’m not being an apologist. I’m just saying I like my yeast. Other people can do as they wish with their creations and I’m not going to judge.
• All living things have a mind of their own. I started Jean-Paul on a diet of sugar, but then he just had to grow up and demand a change in his diet. I had to feed him flour and water after the first day due to his insatiable appetite. Just as well he didn’t decide to go low-carb.
• Environmental factors play a big part in shaping a living thing. I had fun putting Jean-Paul in a fridge, on my heater, beside the cooking stove, under a bit of sunlight… basically anything to provoke an observable response. I suspect most parents toy with their children this way too (come on, admit it; I know my parents did). It’s a nice way to determine how to control his growth, and a fun way to recognise he is alive.
• You’ve got to accept that sometimes, their best will have to do. When I was ready to prepare my dough, I dumped Jean-Paul into the mix and left it to grow overnight. When I woke up and checked on it, the results were frankly, quite revolting.

What… what is this?

• You’ve also got to accept responsibility for their failures. In retrospect, it was my fault. Having read 80 or so bread-making recipes, all the instructions blurred into one, and instead of sticking to one, I began a mix-and-match technique. It wasn’t even because of convenience. Mostly I was curious to try something different. Imagine new parents receiving hundreds of different conflicting advice! My dough ended up being too wet to knead, and I had to keep adding flour as I went along. This is a baker’s worst nightmare: no specific measurements. When I left the dough to rest a second time, let’s just say that Jean-Paul failed to rise to the occasion. Oh, and I forgot to add salt.
• It’s easy to feel jealous when they like something else better than they like you. Since the dough was so wet, it kept sticking to the table, despite copious flouring. I was having some serious attachment issues. I admit that I lost my temper at it several times and said some unkind words. I now regret them.
• Be prepared to clean up after them. They can be real messy buggers. They can also potentially ruin your furniture.

He left traces of himself everywhere he went.

• Give it some time. Some kids are late bloomers. By this stage my heart was sinking faster than the dough. Nonetheless, I’d already invested a whole lot of time into this dough (man, am I the king of puns or what?) and decided to follow through with the baking. It is after all, the easiest step in the whole process. Something magical began to happen in the oven as I walked away.

Don’t mention that he doesn’t look like anyone else in the family. It’s a sensitive subject.

• Don’t lose hope. Things work out for the best in the end. It may not be perfect, as evident in the last picture, but things could always be worse. And remember, at the end of the day, it’s what’s on the inside that counts!

He’s soft-hearted, Jean-Paul. A real catch.

I proceeded to eat him for lunch.

Jean-Paul, I am so proud of you. Henri-Louis, Jacques-François and all your subsequent brothers may go on to produce more beautiful loaves than you did, but you were the very first of the lot. You’ve taught me a lot and you turned out far better than I ever dared to dream.

Family portrait.

Return to Reality

What a weekend it was in Paris. Within the span of the 38 hours we were there, I must have drank my body weight’s worth of alcohol, eaten enough potatoes to feed all of Ireland, and crammed in so many sights that I did not manage to complete today’s run as planned.

No, I did not skip a training session, although the twinge in my knee as I was running forced me to seriously contemplate it. Two miles in and the niggle wouldn’t go away. I knew I was not going to make it through 18 miles, and definitely not after all those killer stairs of the Paris metro. The climb up Montmartre hardly raised my pulse, and the stroll along the Champs-Elysees was delightful, if a little bit too cold. It was the stairs that got to me; specifically, walking down them.

I cannot afford to take another whole week off training at this stage, so I simply decided to swap around my training sessions. Instead of doing a long run today, I did a 5mi (8km) recovery run just to shake out the stiffness and soreness of the weekend. Tomorrow I will run 8mi (12.8km), and depending on how I feel, I may make it a tempo run or another EZ. With a rest on Wednesday, I should be ready to hit the long run on Thursday feeling exactly the way I did last Friday when I pumped those hills. I could hear my own theme song playing as I ran. Yeah, that awesome.

Like this guy was, and he is not ashamed to tell the world so. (It says “Super Boris, King of Every Fuckin’ Thing”.)

The best art in Paris is free.

In other news, since I found myself with a bit more time on my hands than I usually do on Monday, I decided to get cracking on Attempt #2 of the impossible.

Crunchy and fluffy.

Yup, I made bread again. After my initial success with the Irish soda bread (which lasted 3 days), I felt confident enough to have another go. This time, I used yeast and the process took a tad longer. The thing is, yeast is a living organism, thus pulling freshly baked bread out of the oven felt like I had spawned a creation. The result was nothing short of marvelous.

I halved the recipe I was following, mostly because I was afraid of ruining it and I don’t want to throw out half a kilo (one pound) of flour from a failed experiment. From the half recipe, I split the dough into two batches so I have two mini loaves now. I expect it to last two days. In the meantime, I have taken the remaining half of the yeast in the packet and I’m growing it in a sugar solution.

Meet Jean-Paul. He’s a sugar addict.

It looks a little bit like beer, but I’m certain it tastes vile. Tomorrow morning I’ll pop it in the fridge and when I am ready to bake on Wednesday, I am hoping that it would have matured into a complex character.

After all, that’s a pretty respectable head he’s got on him.

This reminds me a little of the sea monkeys I used to keep as pets when I was younger, except far more exciting and useful since I am expecting him to eventually yield my daily bread (or at least one decent loaf). Stay tuned.

The Secret to Happiness…

Is trying something new. I was going to title this Pushing the Boundaries, but trying something new doesn’t necessarily have to be tackling something complex, frightening, or brag-worthy. The foreignness of “something new” already has all that elements, be it running 5K for the first time, or cooking a meal for the first time, or falling in love for the first time.

I’ve got a backlog of food photos I’ve been meaning share on here, but I’ve got something far more exciting than just throwing out the recipes for them, so I’ll simply let the pictures do the talking. Perhaps someone will find inspiration for tonight’s dinner, or use them as friendly reminders that vegetables are awesome.

So good for vegetarians in so many ways.

Canned fish for hasty lunches…

It does taste as good as it looks.

Whaddaya know, salads make fabulous desserts too.

No matter how proud I am of all those, I will be the first to admit that throwing things together and giving them a quick toss is hardly called cooking. It’s called arranging. All it takes is a lazy person with a penchant for pleasing visual effects on the plate. Indeed, what scares me a lot more is baking.

There is a very simple explanation for why I never got the correct results in school at chemistry class – I could never get the measurements correct. Truly, I would follow instructions to the T, abiding by specifications and yet… Anyway, pipettes and mmols are a lifetime ago now, but I continue to experience the fear of precision every time I bake. Which is why I raised a few eyebrows when I announced I was going to make my own bread.

My first obstacle was discovering that bread recipes called for yeast. I did not have yeast. I did find one that used beer as an ingredient, but my beers are too precious to experiment with. I finally had the sense to Google a recipe using baking soda, and of course, I got Irish Soda Bread.

My second obstacle was buttermilk. Some even wanted me to add white wine vinegar. That sounded like it could induce explosive chemical reactions, which I do not wish to attempt in my kitchen. I found another recipe calling me to mix milk with yogurt. That, I can do.

So I did.

TADA.

As soon as it was sufficiently cooled, I sliced up a chunk despite not being hungry. It’s only professional to taste your creations after all. Then, like the song tells me to, I brewed some “tea, I drink with jam and bread”, except it was homemade bread which makes it far more awesome than the bread in the song, and the tastiest carb in the world.

Recipe for Mardi Gras

France is a lot more Catholic than it would like to admit. My arrival here a year ago was marked by Ash Wednesday (Mercredi des Cendres), the beginning of Lent (Carême), the name for the 4o days between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday (Pâques). I think it’s supposed to mark the 40 day period of the J-Man wandering in the desert. So you see, any day that requires an explanation with this many religious terminology can only mean that the Republic is not as secular as the Enlightenment period would have hoped.

At any rate, Mardi Gras is not only celebrated in France, and it goes by many other names in other countries. In Australia, I remember it was called Pancake Tuesday, which truly removed all religious connotations to the point where I had to stop someone and ask “why pancakes? why not flapjacks or crêpes?” He naturally had no answer, he was busy chewing his pancake. In Australia, the name Mardi Gras is also used for another festival, one which would truly give French Catholics a fit if they knew about it.

So, the name Mardi Gras in English translates literally to Fat Tuesday, because you’re supposed to empty the larders of all fat, flour, and foods one is meant to give up for the next 40 days. Nothing like a diet to feel solidarity with Christ. It goes by the name Shrove Tuesday too, which comes from the word “shrive”, which means to confess.

So what would Mardi Gras be, without pancakes? (For the LGBTs in Australia, it’s a rhethorical question, no need to answer. I know what you’re going to say.)

Protein Pancake

1 tablespoon vanilla whey
3 tablespoons oat bran
1 egg
1/2 pot (60g) fruit-flavoured yogurt
2 tablespoons peanut butter (topping)

Mix all the ingredients until you get a smooth batter. If it’s too thick, add a bit more yogurt or milk.
Heat some butter in pan.
Pour batter into pan and cook on medium heat for 2 minutes.
Shake the pan. If the batter is now half solidified and moving freely, you can flip the pancake very easily.
Cook for another minute or two.
Serve with peanut butter or the remaining fruit yogurt.

Hardly fattening enough for Fat Tuesday

The only confession I am making is how I am alternating between reading the news of the Pope’s retirement and Richard Dawkins at the same time, and how doing so makes this pancake a gabazillion times tastier.

A Runner’s Splurge Dinner

Food is a funny topic. The saying goes, that one man’s meat is another man’s poison (I don’t see how this is necessarily mutually exclusive, by the way). I say, one man’s splurge is another man’s staple. Coffee, chocolate, cheese… these are daily staples in my book. Stand between me and a jar of trail mix, and watch me turn into The Hulk. When I browse for recipes in the media, I am occasionally irked by the language used to describe ordinary foods, such as “splurge on these decadent [insert boring, normal food]”. Splurges are food items I would love to eat more often, but do not, purely for financial reasons. That said, I understand splurging from a calorie-bank is probably what they’re implying, in which case I say splurge on tiramisu, not a sodding bran muffin.

What’s a splurge item for this runner, then? Prawns. So much tastier than tuna, so much more expensive too…

Prawn and kiwi salad in cocktail glasses… because don’t tell me you haven’t eaten cereal out of your coffee mugs.

But oh so versatile.

Pasta. Of course. Splurge for some, necessity for runners.

Due to geography, seafood is exorbitantly expensive and usually not so fresh, since there is nary an ocean’s scent in the north-east of France. Actually, meat and seafood generally costs a lot more in France than it does in Australia. I speak from personal experience as the average supermarkets-and-farmer’s-markets shopper. In a previous post, I had written about going vegetarian once in a while simply because it costs less to make a meat-free meal. Well, those few occasions of foregoing has entitled me to one awesome meal where I well and truly splurged.

Prawn Pasta

Wholemeal pasta
Prawns
Broccoli
Mushrooms
Garlic
Onion
Olives
Tomato purée
Herbes de Provence
Salt
Pepper

Boil the prawns. Save the water when draining, and boil pasta in it.
Shell the prawns, set aside.
Chop all the vegetables and sauté till soft. (Mushrooms soften faster than broccoli, so you know which one to cook first.)
Season vegetables with herbes de Provence, salt and pepper. Add prawns to reheat.
Stir through tomato purée, and simmer.
Serve up with bruschetta, or garlic bread, or cheese sticks, or whatever the magazines are calling “splurge-y”.

For folks who scoff at the “luxury” of prawns because you eat your lobsters rolled in gold dust, consider this. Prawns are a low-fat source of protein and Vitamin B12. So consider it a caloric saving, and splurge on something else. Something good. Not bran muffins.

RFP Photos

This post – and all its photos – is proudly brought to you by the Republic of Food Porn (a name bestowed upon the apartment by good men with good taste in good food). Feel free to borrow the pictures for cooking inspiration, background wallpapers, or for less-than-decent uses, as long as you don’t tell me about it. I like to think it’s a generally accurate snapshot of what runners eat, since I am about as median-straddling, statistic-conforming, averagely-average as it gets. (Grammar police: was that an adjective or an adverb?)

The basis of any good pasta dish…

That should form the bulk of your meals…

Be it a hot soup with a dollop of ricotta cheese and seaweed

Or a cold salad with smoked salmon for big brains…

Is VEGETABLES. Eat those greens. Can’t say it enough. I don’t like the look of the USDA food pyramid, or any government-recommended pyramids for that matter. Who freakin’ eats in the shape of a triangle anyway? (Unless it’s pizza. But nobody eats only ONE slice of a pizza, so it’s not a triangle anymore.) I am not pushing any sort of vegetarian/vegan agenda here, I am just saying that 99.9% of us do not eat enough vegetables.

Beef burgundy calls for vegetables in it too.

I eat butter, egg yolks, full-fat yogurt. I eat bread, pasta, rice. I eat protein, both plant and animal sources. I eat anything I am not allergic to. When you walk the average path while the diet world swings from one extreme to the other, there are two ways to see it. Either you’re eating the wrong foods all the time, or you suddenly earn the rights to say “aha, I told you so!” when the diet falls out of fashion. Since all diets are doomed to fall out of popularity eventually, I choose to see it the positive way.

For the scientists among you, here as some numbers for better conviction. I did a fasting blood test a week ago and the results are back. Here are some important numbers:

Haemoglobin: 15.3g/100ml
Fasting blood glucose: 5.44mmol/L
Creatinine clearance: 80ml/mn
Sodium: 139mEq/L
Potassium: 3.9mEq/L
Ferritine: 37ng/ml
HDL: 2.48mmol/L
Triglycerides: 0.65mmol/L
LDL: 2.45mmol/L

I love being right all the time.