Pean’s Adventures in the Big City

This was something I would expect to hear before a particularly hard run, or a race maybe, but not during what I like to call a “fake-out” run.  Normally, my “fake-outs” are fun, I go at an easy pace (b/c it’s usually a day i’m not feeling particularly energized) for as long as I feel comfortable, or before my extremities start to freeze.  It’s important to note that I’m a huge proponent of the ”fake-out,” seeing as it’s fairly non-committal where distance is concerned, and has the tendency to turn into a longer run on most occasions.  Now, I can freely admit when I’ve made mistakes, and I can definitely tell you that yesterday I made a huge mistake with Mueslix at brunch.  In general, I harbor no animosity toward this as a breakfast food; however, attempting to run too quickly after ingesting Mueslix has changed my attitude toward it in this respect.  ANYWAY (I am skilled at digression), I’m running along, minding my own business, thinking about what life would have been like as a professional ice skater (I’ve never been a skater before, could be fun?), thinking a few other “deep” thoughts, and racing the horse carriages (best thing to race b/c they’re slow, and then after you beat them you realize that anyone running a 12:00 min./mile pace could do so with their eyes closed), when suddenly all I could focus on was using the restroom—immediately. 

I arrive at the boathouse potties in a nano, and frantically scoot into a staul.  Now, normally I am not drawstring-challenged when it comes to any of my running clothes, and I usually buy my stuff a size bigger b/c of shrinkage in the laundry, but this drawstring was unlike anything I’ve encountered before.  I worked fruitlessly for 5 minutes (an eternity), trying to untie the drawstring on my new spandex pants (anyone who knows me well, knows I prefer to run in anything but spandex, lobster costume included), when I snapped and just pulled them over my hips.  It was at this moment that the fate of my run was sealed.  I heard a loud “POP,” and I looked down as I watched the now-broken pants slowly fall to the ground.  Well, you know what comes next, so I’ll skip through it—when I went to pull them back up the pants did not seem to be so eager to cooperate.  My eyes widened in horror, as I realized that I was going to risk indecent exposure/arrest just to get out of the park in a timely manner. After I convinced myself that it wasn’t a big deal and nothing ”bad” would happen, I ran out of the bathroom and darted straight up cat hill, and I have to say I felt so good (impending embarassment is always good for hill work/faster running in general)!!  That’s right, I felt so good, too good.  As I reached the summit of the hill an old man (”old” being a generous description, mind you) says, “HEY! I CAN SEE YOUR BARE BOTTOM…..AND YOUR UNDERWEAR!”  Yes, you read that correctly, he could indeed see both.  What?  I enjoy skimpy undies like any normal girl in NY does—some ladies prefer them b/c it feels sexy, and I wear them to avoid inappropriate lines under my clothing.  Apparently, I couldn’t feel what was transpiring b/c it was so cold out–I was numb from the waist down, and this only reaffirmed my passion for winter running (it’s just fantastic).  In the end, I apologized profusely and explained my situation, but the old man could only manage to say, “Run like hell, then.” 

And I did, run like hell, all the way back to 97th street.  Well, I stopped at CVS before I got home, and yes a few poindexters from Mt. Sinai Med School stared, as I tirelessly attempted to hold my pants up, but I needed popcorn–and well after an 80 something yr. old man checks out your “features”, I don’t think your day could go much further south from there.

Nightmares of course followed, starring my pants, courtesy of Nike.

The Deadly Pants

That’s all. I figured everyone would….well…not be suprised. 

later!

Pean

I was recently catching up with the lovely Miss KJB about medicine, running, and life in general, when she introduced me to what she refers to as “super food.” Quinoa (KEEN-wah) is a Peruvian seed, and is often employed as a grain in cooking.  However, compared to regular, old, boring grains, these petite seeds possess a protein content superior to its counterparts.  Quinoa contains all the essential amino acids, more specifically, it is high in lysine.  Lysine plays a particularly important role in tissue growth and repair (runners: when your muscles need a little “pick-me-up”).  Quinoa is also full of magnesium, manganese, phosphorus, copper, and for the pale/borderline anemic population like myself, it has a high iron content.  Porphyrin rings? Bring it.

Caveats: these cute little seeds are in the saponin family, meaning they are coated with a bitter substance to ensure their survival against predation in the wild. In other words, they kick off a nasty taste up in your biznass if you don’t wash them properly. The good news is, if you buy them at the right stores, i.e. the ones who sell pre-packaged/washed quinoa, all you really need to do is quickly rinse them off and cook away.  There are dozens of recipes on the internet, more intriguiging than anything I’m writing here now, so check it out, yo.

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To recap…if you eat some of this:

You’ll be able to run as fast as this:

Or this….(equally fast as our good friend above, and twice as lethal):

Enjoy the weekend, and get outside! 

peace,

pean

p.s. quote of the week:

“It’d be more hot if he was bringing back a group of vampires to the house, than a team of squash players. Squash should be eaten, or avoided, not pursued as some sort of fake-out sport, Hogwarts style.” - Vee