Huff, huff, puff puff

This past week, apart from being caught up with the excitement over the elections, I had hit the gym with a renewed vengeance. Part of the reason was the realization my cholesterol level was climbing, as I had begun to enjoy the wonderful street food a little too much. The other reason was my friend T’s running blog.

Specifically, this heart-thumping account of a 50 km race up the beautiful hills of Woodside, in the San Francisco Bay Area. As I read it, I felt swept along with T as he glided his way through a course that ran from narrow single-track trails to “a mixed forest up to a fire road cut through redwood trees and douglas fir. The trees loom tall, their tops lost in the canopy. The road does its best to reach the tops of the trees as it climbs steeply in this section.” When I read this, I closed my eyes and dreamt of spring in the Bay Area, of kayaking in Point Reyes, of being wowed by the giants of Muir Woods, of strolling along Half Moon Bay and buying freshly caught Dungeness crabs and of magical kites floating over the Berkeley marina.


Now, I’m not a runner by any means – my regular 5 km on the treadmill might get me to the first drinks station on a 50K race (or maybe not!). And the parts of Woodside I know revolve around and inside Buck’s, a wonderfully individualistic diner/restaurant in which Silicon Valley moneybags meet to seal mega-techie deals over flapjacks. Not surprisingly, it was T who brought us there.

Picture from restaurant website.

So, how am I ever to lose weight if even ironman runners keep feeding me all the good stuff?