26.2

I am training for a marathon.

I am not a person who likes to make big statements like this. I generally think things through considerably and only make definitive statements when it is FO. SHO. I am also a person who sometimes ignores what is happening to me right now because it's easier. I'm a bit of a bull in a china shop. If things are tough, I just put my head down and ram through it. Shoot first, apologize later. I'll process my emotions some other time.

The reality of what I'm preparing for, however, sort of necessitates a big statement, I think. I've thought it through. I've paid the registration fee. This is FO. SHO. Unless injury or catastrophe physically prevents me from it. I can't ignore it. I can certainly ram through it like I do everything else, but then I think I'd be denying myself an opportunity for something awesome...

I don't know if I've made this clear yet, but I love training. I do! It's crazy, but I love the roller coaster. I love how every run feels different. I love that I can share it with a friend or run it alone and enjoy either way. I love running to music; I love running in silence. I love testing different fuel methods; I love seeing how far I can run without eating Cliff Shot. Mostly, I love how predictable it is. I have a plan. I put things on my calendar. Sometimes I need to skip a run. I plan around my runs. But I know what's coming and I love it.

This time, I have a plan. I'm using the same program I always use, only it's for a marathon. My oldest brother is doing it too. We're running a marathon together. We check in with each other sometimes. We're accountability partners...for a marathon. I mean, the emotional and intellectual gravity of it just overwhelms me.

Now, I know that thousands of people run marathons every year. It's not solely an elite event anymore. It's becoming an everyman sport. And I sort of love that. But I also love the sanctity of the marathon for the folks for whom this sport is still an elite event. The folks who work for years in order to qualify for Boston. The people who fundraise for organizations that matter to them. The ones who run for those who can't, who run for survivors, or the ones we've lost. I'm honored to be in their company.

So this is my statement: I am training for a marathon. I want to have fun and be proud of myself, but I also want to be worthy. So I'm asking you all to help me. Hold me accountable. Help me forgive myself when I fall short. Remind me what I'm running for when I forget.

Some days...

...I just can't get excited about vegetables.

These days are rare; I would guess I feel this way less than 15% of the time. But some days...

Some days I eat peanut butter and jelly for dinner. Some days it's a nice, healthy, PBJ smoothie. But some days it's just the good old classic.

Some days I eat mashed potatoes for lunch. I usually add butter, cheese, and maybe some facon. Or turkey bacon. I don't always feel bad about it.

Some days I cannot count the vegetable servings I've had all day, because I haven't had any. Or I've had too few to really count.

On these days, I usually trust my cravings. I rationalize, "Well, obviously my body needs something and it's telling me through my cravings." Nice try. I don't think my body needed that potato ravioli with the smoked pancetta and apple cream sauce at Anthem the other night. On these days, I give in. And my taste buds enjoy it oh, so much.

Today is one of those days. I'm going to blame it on this endless rain. (Hey, Milli Vanilli said I could.)

What do you eat when your body and your brain want two different things?

Running is Life #2

Hey y'all. This is part 2 of a series about how running is a beautiful metaphor for life (and anyone who's had half a conversation with me knows how much I love a good metaphor...)

5K in Charleston, January 2009

Everyone has a different reason to run.

I read this article in Runner's World about Kara Goucher. She has more money than Jay-Z and apparently an entourage to rival his, too: her husband is a trainer, she's got all-star coach Alberto Salazar, specialists in a variety of fields, a sports therapist, more equipment than it takes to climb Everest and more data about herself than all of the Apollo missions put together. She uses a thermal vest, for example, to increase her core temperature before a race so that she's already warmed up when the gun goes off. Now some folks will say, "Good for her, that's smart." I ain't one of 'em.

Because she and I run for very different reasons. Obvi, I know. She's a pro. It's her livelihood and whatever it takes to be the best is what she needs. I'm a weekend warrior. I run 3 times a week, if I'm lucky, and race once a month if I can. I have a stop watch that I use to figure my mile averages, but I don't really even pay attention to my mile splits unless I'm racing. Suffice it say, if we were a pair of sneakers, you just couldn't run in us together.

I later read this article about Ryan Hall. Now there's a runner I could talk to. This boy literally started running one day because he felt like God was telling him to do it. When he toes the line at a race, his whole family is praying for one thing: that the entire field of runners cross the line safely. Not a win. Not a paycheck. Safety. Bless their hearts. When he's running, he's praying. I can dig that.

But we certainly have our differences as well. Here again, he's a professional. (And he can run a marathon in less time than I can run a half, but that's just numbers.) And he does care about splits and time and performance as much as any professional should.

I think it's the reason that dictates the way we run. After some time (and age and maturity, I hope), I think I understand Kara Goucher a little better. This article helped, too. And I see that Ryan Hall has his own set of equipment and data. I could disagree with every runner out there, and it wouldn't accomplish anything.

As I said last week, I run to prove to myself that I can. (I get it, Kara, I really do!) I run to clear my head, to think, to be alone, to be with a friend, to pray, to listen, to sing, to daydream. I run to feel my body working. And if it's working, I don't care so much about how quickly it does so. Would I like to run a sub-2 hour half marathon? Absolutely. Do I want to place in my age-group someday? Of course, but it may have to wait until I'm 60. Am I interested in qualifying for Boston? Heck yes, and I don't plan to run it until I can. But I might not do those things. And that'll be okay for me.

For others, it might not be okay. What I've learned is that that is okay, too. Do you geek out with your Garmin and log every piece of data you can find on yourself? More power to ya! You want to be the fastest runner you can be? Good for you! Are you trying to beat your younger brother in a foot race? Knock his socks off! (And knock my brothers' socks off, too, if you would, because I certainly never will!)

The end result of all of these reasons is a group of people with healthy bodies. Runners usually eat quite well, because running sure doesn't feel good if you don't. While heart attacks can happen in a road race, generally runners have great heart health. And have you ever been smoked by a man twice your age in a race? I have, and I'm so proud of those gentlemen every time. Running is healthy, no matter why you do it.

So, tell me. Why do you run?

This is how we do.

The boy and I are both adventurous cooks. My adventure involves wingin’ it. I like taking a good, long look in the crisper, then diving in and making it up as I go. Sure, I use recipes. I see them as a sort of guideline. I categorize the ingredients and substitute like items as I see fit. Don’t have endive? Let’s try arugula! Fresh out of lime juice? Pop in a lemon! Just finished a bottle of teriyaki? Throw some brown sugar and soy sauce in a skillet and watch it dance! And don’t even get me started on measuring. Suffice it to say that “handful” and “shwooshy shake” mean more to me than “cup” and “teaspoon,” ya heard?

Par esempio...

The man in my life is adventurous about his ingredients. He’ll browse online at work and find a recipe for brandy and shallot soaked stead and not even bat an eye. A recent fav? Orange butter chicken with grated beets and kale. Honestly, I think he has more food-related apps on his iPhone than any other type of app. He loves to find obscure amounts of ingredients (1/4 teaspoon of orange zest, for the record, is roughly 1/8 of an orange.) And homeboy loves a recipe. He takes them so seriously. He sets the timer for 30 seconds. He measures 1T olive oil to sauté onions.

What’s really hilarious about all of this is that our kitchen styles are totally opposite our personality styles. I’m a fairly methodical person. I enjoy color-coding. I can usually tell you what time it is without the aid of a timepiece. I’d like to wallpaper a room in my house with maps. The boy is more of a free-spirit. He has 700 black pens (don't even mention blue ones.) I’m not sure he’s ever owned a watch. I think he needs Google Maps to find the backyard.

But in the kitchen, we’re… well… we’re still ourselves. Just different facets of ourselves.

Neurotic or not... El Duderino can cook!

How do you roll in the kitchen?

Foodie Sinner

I need to confess something.

(Hi, my name is Carissa, nice you meet y’all.)

Now, back to my confession. I am a foodie sinner. My sin? Wasting food.

You see, I love food. I love it so much. Think back to the beginning of a special relationship: do you remember how excited you were to see each other? You couldn’t get enough of each other! You would do anything to get as much as possible of that person!

Well, that’s how I feel about food.

And I, like Jessi, feel really strongly about real food. Don’t get me wrong; I love processed food too. J. P. Licks ice cream? Yes, please. Annie’s mac and cheese? You betcha. Cape Cod salt and vinegar chips? I’ll have a truckload, thank you, and put it on my tab. But I think real food, as opposed to what Michael Pollan calls “food products,” deserve the majority of my attention. So when my dear high school friend started her own Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm, the opportunity to prepay for 20 weeks of fresh, local, organically raised food and support my Lyders was just too good to pass up. So I bought half a share at Luna Farm and said, “Thank you, Lord, for my daily bread. And kale and cucumbers and bok choy.”

So every Thursday, my kitchen looks like this:

At first I tried to eat it all within a week. My sweet Lydia reminded me that long before supermarkets existed, people stored up their harvest for times when the bounty was less… well, bountiful. So I started shoving things in my freezer.

Y’all, this is what my freezer looks like.

I hate to waste food. So I tried to make vegetarian dog food. Turns out they’re natural carnivores. Dang. I’ve pickled more cukes and radishes than I care to count. I’m afraid my face is permanently puckered. I can now proudly sneak grated squash or zucchini into anything. Try me.

(I love pickles. And re-purposing jars.)

But I’m still managing to let food go bad. I reached for a cucumber at the bottom of my crisper yesterday and my fingers went right through it. Yes, that is disgusting. But more than anything, it’s sad. I let some of the most delicious foods in the greater Boston area go bad. And there are plenty of people in the greater Boston area who don’t even have rotten cukes to eat, let alone fresh, local, organic ones.

So I’m feeling a little unworthy of the bounty this season has blessed me with. I need forgiveness.

And I need new recipes for cucumbers and zucchini!