You’ve got 4 miles to go, with 14
done. It’s not the easiest run but you’re getting there. Your route has taken
you out for one long circuit and now you are passing home about to begin your
final and shorter lap. And that’s when you remember, you’ve got a Shephard’s
Pie in the fridge only 400 metres from here.
Hmmmm….. Shephard’s Pie…... Tasted
good last night. Will taste even better this morning. Especially after 14
miles. Sure you could always do the 4 miles later this evening. Hmmmm…..
Shephard’s Pie…...
And that’s when it gets you, the
hunger.
One of the nicer feelings of long
distance running is how, towards the end of a long run is the appetite that
builds as you contemplate what exactly you are going to chow down on when you
get home to help replenish those lost carbs. I love food and I used to love as
I began the last few kilometres with visions of spaghetti Bolognese, moussaka
or Indian style-chicken curry, all home-made and often made the evening before
that were just waiting for me to heat them up.
Of particular memory were those
old Phoenix Park circuits I used to go on with my mate Dave. Starting and
finishing from his apartment in Ashtown, at most a mile from the park entrance,
when we often returned from our long weekend runs it would be a Chicken Pasta
Bake that would be bung in the oven as we survived on some water, bread and
fruit as it cooked. Indeed, there is nothing that brings out a love of food
than a bag of miles and for years I thought Dave was one of the most
accomplished cooks I knew*. (He wasn’t as
I later found. It was just that any pasta bake will probably taste sumptuous after
15 miles)
While this is all almost
universally positive, the one drawback used to come whenever I ran circuits
that towards the end cut close to my house. On these long runs, usually done
solo, I had to be wary that the hunger did not come early when I was close to home.
This was a particular danger for when I lived in Maynooth. During some long
jaunts in order to get the distance I would go up the canal in one direction and
then back near my house in the other to get those final few miles. On more than
one occasion however, as I reached the closest point to home my stomach, up
until then a friendly companion would break out in open rebellion lobbying the
brain with any number of reasons why I should just cut short the run those few
miles so we could get back to home to enjoy last night’s dinner.
Sometimes it would hire the help
of a leg to feign a cramp, or persuade the nervous system that it had left the
front window open. However, more often than not, it would simply rely on
spreading the hunger throughout the system that suddenly my body felt the
slightest bit weak and the only antidote was the creamy chicken and broccoli
bake lying in the fridge.
Thankfully we learn from these
mistakes and nowadays no long runs pass half-way in front of my door and
contain the absolute minimum number of short-cuts home. As a result, if I want
to get to that broccoli bake I have to make it the whole way round.
Yesterday’s training
Went on a staff cycle, 50 k in exactly 2
hours with three sharp climbs that allowed me to push the heart-beat up.
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