Staring at the ceiling at 3:30am, your despicable cough keeping you awake, you might start to examine some of the choices you've made.
For me, it was about food.
It started while I was watching Larry King. Yes, I was that desperate. They were doing some sort of retrospective with Jerry Weintraub, who is some big Hollywood producer. Not important to this story.
Anyway, they showed a picture of Frank when he was young. Something like this:
And the every next picture of Frank was him much older, something like this:
I know, doesn't that picture freak you out! This wasn't the one they showed, but still... Frank in that crappy Member's Only jacket and Michael all black and stuff, with that frightened look in his eyes. It's just not right seeing them together like that. It's like that picture of Elvis and Nixon:
You know Elvis was stoned out of his mind, here.
How else do you describe the cape and the belt buckle?
Anyway, seeing Frank age, especially the way his face about doubled in size, bummed me out.
It was then that I remembered that during this running streak, I've actually gained weight. It's like my daily run has given me permission to blow off everything else.
I tried to think back to what I'd eaten the past few days. It wasn't pretty. And nearly everything was prepared by minimum wage immigrants.
And what's extra ridiculous is that by some miracle, at age 40, I became a pretty kick-ass cook. I'm sure the rise of FoodTV had something to do with that. But I also think that I somehow gained the courage to just try. And it turned out to be easy.
So on my sick bed, I decided to take back control of my diet. To eat good food. And to cook most of it myself.
- Grilled salmon, marinated in secret balsamic goodness
- Grilled vegetables
- Cilantro lime rice
And yes, it was awesome.
Numbers: 1.4 miles, the usual sick/injured route.