The basic calorie requirement for someone of my height and (not inconsiderable) weight is about 2000 calories per day; that's just what is required to keep my physiology ticking over. Endothermy is such a drag; it's been compared to having the central heating on and leaving all the windows and doors open. So, that's four Big Macs (or three and a half Whoppers, if I'm going to eat myself to death on three "sandwiches" day, I'll, ahem, plump for a Whopper every time time) just to keep the machinery oiled.
Running, supposedly, is 100 calories a mile, regardless of speed. I find it inconcievable that Cheryuiot and I burned an equal amount of energy at Boston, but there you are. So the marathon is 2600 calories, or twice the RDA for sitting down on your fat arse watching daytime soaps. When people I know start running they always tell me how hungry they feel. Well work it out I tell them; lets say you run 10kms (6 miles) four times a week? Thats 600 calories per run, times four is 2400 extra calories a week, or an extra day's worth of energy for a guy of average height and weight.
Anyway, that math; 2000 calories to keep the boilers lit and 2600 to get from Hopkington to Boston under my own steam, well makes marathon day a 4500+ calorie day. Makes you wonder about those Ironman guys don't it?
Add to that the pre-race carbo load and the post race munchies (which I still have), well that that math pretty much turned the trip to Boston into a six day eating spree interrupted by a marathon.
Two days prior, after hitting the Expo, we hit Joes American Bar and Grill. This was an interesting exercise; the expo was full of lean, tanned leatherly-looking people (and that was just the women, boom-boom!). I mean, these guys looked like whatever they hadn't sweated off had been baked off by the sun. This was definately not a positive body-self-image day. Somehow, I negotiated the saturated fats and sauces and, by as much luck as judgement, managed the healthy option; braised cod and rice
I know what you're thinking; there are still cod left in the ocean? I felt the same way. Then I thought, well sure, the stock may be more endangered than the feral dodo flock but it had already been already caught, so it would be churlish not to eat it. Big bonus of the day was getting asparagus!
We cooked our own meal the night before, pretty much a kilo of pasta, vegetables and self-doubt. It was the usual race breakfast routine; a huge bowl of granola eaten while the sun was still down. Of course, the 10 a.m. start-time coupled with the walking and the buses and all the rest can put a bit of a dent into your pre-race routine. La belle snapped a shot of me apparently looking longingly at a MacDonalds. It might have been early for a Big Mac (besides, I couldn't see a Burger King) but a sausage and egg McMuffin with three hours to race start? I could probably manage that!
I know what you're thinking; there are still cod left in the ocean? I felt the same way. Then I thought, well sure, the stock may be more endangered than the feral dodo flock but it had already been already caught, so it would be churlish not to eat it. Big bonus of the day was getting asparagus!
We cooked our own meal the night before, pretty much a kilo of pasta, vegetables and self-doubt. It was the usual race breakfast routine; a huge bowl of granola eaten while the sun was still down. Of course, the 10 a.m. start-time coupled with the walking and the buses and all the rest can put a bit of a dent into your pre-race routine. La belle snapped a shot of me apparently looking longingly at a MacDonalds. It might have been early for a Big Mac (besides, I couldn't see a Burger King) but a sausage and egg McMuffin with three hours to race start? I could probably manage that!
With hindsight, the marathon could hardly have gone any worse so perhaps I should have got off the bus and picked up a breakfast combo, but in deference to the marathon I wouldn't have supersized it.
The night after the marathon we went back to Joes, not because we'd get frequent-diner points but it was close and our gaits were not up to walking far. Last year we'd gone to a restaurant about 5K out from downtown with friends the night of the marathon. This necessitated catching the T and this was a bad move; not only were there stairs down to the platform (and, ergo, back to street level), to add insult to injury, the platform on the T is at rail level (which just feels reckless to those of us raised with the London Underground) and there were steps up into the subway car and back down again. Bastards. Joes it was. I had no body self-image issues this time and needed to fill that 2600 calorie hole stat and went for fried calamari, steak & frites all washed down with a Hoegaarden (rehydration is over-rated) and none of it hung around long enough for a photo.
The next day, surprisingly, we were still hungry. Not just a little peckish, I mean hungry enough to eat the arse out of a low-flying duck hungry. Unfortunately, duck wasn't on the menu at Lunas in Bangor, but only because the chef was having the night off. Stull, the triple-B burger; bacon, barbeque and blue cheese with yet more frites did the job nicely. As did the Alagash White; not as fruity as Hoegaarden but it washed the burger down nicely and had the added advantage that it can be ordered without having to expectorate all over the waitress!
The next day, surprisingly, we were still hungry. Not just a little peckish, I mean hungry enough to eat the arse out of a low-flying duck hungry. Unfortunately, duck wasn't on the menu at Lunas in Bangor, but only because the chef was having the night off. Stull, the triple-B burger; bacon, barbeque and blue cheese with yet more frites did the job nicely. As did the Alagash White; not as fruity as Hoegaarden but it washed the burger down nicely and had the added advantage that it can be ordered without having to expectorate all over the waitress!
The final monster eat of the trip was at St Hubert in Moncton. Rotisserie chicken, gravy and yet more fries.
At St Hub, after chicken, it has to be a pouding chomeur; a cake-y pudding with maple syrup, extra maple syrup and a maple-syrup sauce. Talk about killing a tree. This thing is Type-II diabetes on a plate. With ice-cream.
Never mind poutine, this combo is Canada's gift to your ass. C'est encourent!
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