It’s less than a week before the Chilly Half Marathon in Burlington and all serious training is done. It is now ‘taper’ week where I get to sit back, relax, get lots of rest and eat well. Therein lies the rub. Because, I am at the movies and I have a craving for popcorn; you know that pre-popped grain coated with some type of toxic waste and copious amounts of sodium. Not exactly the most ideal pre-race snack.
So, I decide to compromise. I will get a very small bag and eat only moderate amounts of toxic waste and dangerous minerals. So, I ask the girl behind the concession counter to show me the smallest bag they sell.
“That’s it?” I was afraid she didn’t understand me, after all, she looked to be no more than twelve. “Your smallest bag?”
“Yes, this is the small size.”
For an elephant, maybe. If you put the bag over my head, it would cover me down to my waist. This isn’t going well. Do they not sell human sized portions? I want a taste of popcorn, not a bubbling vat of it.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Why wouldn’t I just buy the small size and eat only what I want? The answer is simple. I can’t. I am completely incapable of leaving even one uneaten kernel in that trough of popcorn. If I start and it doesn’t run out, I am the energizer bunny. I just keep on going and going. I’m sure there is a 12 step program somewhere out there for me, I just haven’t found it out yet.
Then, I have a brainwave. Surely they don’t feed that much chemical ooze to children. There must be protection laws against it--child cruelty or some such thing.
“What does a children’s size look like?” Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“It comes in this little box.”
So far, so good, perfect size.
“And, it comes with a small drink in a cartoon cup with a toy and kinder egg.”
Score! Plastic cup and chocolate. (Please see previous post to learn how I feel about chocolate)
“I’ll take it. But can I get water instead of the chemically engineered carbonated poison?”
Hmmm, obviously beyond her scope of comprehension. “Uhhh,” long pause and confused look, “I can give you water,” she kindly obliges.
So, I turn around and walk into the theatre with my plastic cartoon cup with the character toy top, my iddy biddy popcorn pile and my kinder egg. Suddenly I realize that I look stupid. Well, more stupid.
This must be my initiation into being a dedicated runner. Why else would a 44 year old woman walk into a movie theatre eating a kid’s combo?
It gets better. When I get home I find out the kinder egg has a toy inside! Who knew? I certainly didn’t. It is an assemble-yourself go-fast car with miniature decals to apply. Only one problem, you need an engineering degree to put this thing together and fingers the size of ants to place the decals on. It ranks right up there with assembling an entire room of IKEA furniture.
After much frustration, I build the car. Now what? Too small to drive…
|Actual Go-Fast Car I Put Together|
Maybe I’m on to something. Who says you can’t be a kid at any age? I challenge you to follow suit. Take a few minutes today and pretend to be a kid. It’s kind of fun. Maybe that’s why I like running. For those brief moments (and I mean brief) while running when my right hip isn’t hurting or my left foot isn’t pronating or my low back isn’t writhing in pain…I feel young.
So I ask you, as an adult, have you ever bought a kid’s combo?