The Yin and Yang of Nutrition for the Middle-Aged Runner

Some say the fourth discipline of Triathlon is "nutrition."  Complete books have been written about getting the right kinds of food into your system.  How many grams of protein should you consume before your workout, if any?  How long is the post-workout window for protein consumption?  All-liquid calories during the race?  Watered-down Gatorade or separate Gatorade and water?  What qualifies as "good fat?"  And what Madison Avenue executive decided that only 13-year olds and gym rats are buying whey protein powder?  (I feel less shame buying Preparation H or a box of tampons than buying a big jar of "Body Fortress" or "Nitro-Pro" at the grocery store.) 

But no one (until now) has authored a guide for how to REMOVE all the spent fuel from your system, and preferably not in the middle of a race.  Look no further than The Fourth Discipline for your guide to a regular, and frighteningly efficient evacuation system for your fuel.

Yes, Metamucil should be the Official (pre-)Sports Drink of the Middle Age Runner.  Forget about all the quasi-nutritious claims on the label.  You are not drinking it for your heart health or because it has a juicy orange on the front.  This drink gets its business done, and gets it done well.

This magical drink will make you so predictably regular, you can set your watch to it.  In fact, I no longer measure my age in years, but rather by empty jars of Metamucil.  The Roman Calendar is now obsolete, thanks to psyllium husk fiber grown in the Middle East. 

This old man recommends consuming two tablespoons mixed in 6 ounces of water, 12 hours before the run or race.  (I prefer it cold and gritty.)  Fuel yourself on race morning any way you want -- and rest assured that Metamucil will keep you "on track."

Some people say golf has the best "scenery."

This morning's 8-miler on the C&O Canal Towpath.  Old train bridges, hand-operated locks made of large slabs of wood, a blue herron standing on the edge of the path, and the slowly building hum of a city waking up.  This is why running is so great.

Saturday Night Is Date Night!

Make sure you take your lady somewhere very nice.

We Created a Monster

Quiz:  What happens when two runners get married & have kids?
Answer: The kids are running monsters.

Seriously, our kids will always have a warped sense of reality.  Before Genevieve could speak in full sentences, she knew that races go swim-bike-run.  She knew that races have winners and losers.  And like her dad, she has already learned that she may never be one of the winners!

Sometimes I feel a little guilty about our kids' exposure to competitive events.  They have spent many, many boring hours milling around the transition area or the finish line.  They have been crammed into a jogger for workouts or to track mom or dad's progress in a long-distance race.  They have fallen asleep in the bike trailer on long rides.  They probably think this is totally normal -- that every parent drinks Gatorade for breakfast, has 2 or 3 blue toenails, and has their age written in permanent marker on their left calf. 

But when I feel guilty, I consider the alternatives.  I suppose we could be dragging our kids out to meetings of the Precious Moments Collectors Club.  (I thought I just made that up, but there really is such an organization.)  And their reality would be animated by doe-eyed porcelain children with oversized heads and impossibly adorable cowlicks, frozen in syrup-sweet episodes from your grandmother's revisionist history.  Or we could race Pontiac Trans-Ams and our kids would ask why the Prius doesn't have a giant firebird painted on the hood, and why I make them wear something over their wife-beater t-shirts at church. 

Our children were not destined to be so lucky.  Our children observe us constantly training for the next big event, and they have already begun mimicking our hobbies. 

For example, one of our good friends (also obsessed with running) put on kids' dashes when Genevieve was still impressionable.  She was so proud of her "running shoes."  She finished next-to-last or in last place, but she certainly put in her best effort.

One of the highlights of Genevieve's racing history (and one of my highlights as well) was the Independence Day 5000, a 5K that took place a month after Emory was born.  As in other races, I pushed her in a jogger.  But this time she had a t-shirt that matched mine (a leftover running shirt from my law firm's team), and she got to wear the number.  Better yet, she even got her own paper cup before the race.  When she finished drinking the water, I told her to throw away the cup, but she insisted that she "throw it on the street like the runners do."  So halfway through the 5K, she leaned forward out of the jogger and tossed her cup in front of the aid station.

Genevieve can turn anything into a "race."  She routinely runs laps around the main living area of our home, and she puts together "triathlons" that include "swimming" on the carpet, biking, and running, all in the living room. 

She even managed to put together a front yard triathlon for the two of us one evening when I arrived from work.  Yes, the water was really cold, but the bike portion was surprisingly easy.

Two nights ago, as I was putting Genevieve to bed, she asked, "Daddy, is my watch waterproof?"  "Yes, it is.  Why?"  "Because when I get bigger, and do a triathlon, I want to wear my watch in the water."

And a running monster is born!

A History of My Fat Face

People who know me fall into two categories:

1) Those who met me sometime before 2007
2) Those who met me sometime after 2007
Coincidentally, the following statements normally come from these two groups of people:

1) (Pre-2007) Good grief, Eric, are you anorexic?
2) (Post-2007) Good grief, Alisha, who was your fatso first husband?

To my knowledge, Alisha has only had one husband this whole time, and he's not anorexic.  He just has a magic face that tends to fatten and shrink to extremes.  Don't believe me?  Observe the following exhibits:

2007 Me

2011 Me

Yes, I'm auditioning to be the new spokesman for a weight loss program called "Year-Round Triathlon Training(R)."  Or at least my face is.

It's funny, when I mentioned to Alisha that I was considering a post like this, she already had a mental library of my "fattest face pictures."  At first I was shocked at the level of detail in that library.  Then I felt bad for having such a balloon face in 2007.  We did have a new baby in 2007, and you know those pregnancy pounds are very hard to shed ...

Some People Collect Stamps for a Hobby

Repeat after me:  "I will never, ever, EVER sign up for a spring race again."

The Fourth Discipline Is Discipline

Forgive the existentialist post.  In my childhood (including all years up to around age 25), "discipline" was something imposed upon me (on a rather frequent basis).  I never considered that I would one day embrace the discipline and focus that accompany multisport -- and I certainly never thought that these qualities would be my strengths.

Yet here I am, making a hobby out of carefully-tuned workouts and hours of highly disciplined training.  What is it about triathlon that is so appealing to a formerly discipline-challenged bum?  I have found that much of what affects me in life is well out of my control.  My occupation, the stock market, church callings, family issues, quality of haircuts, and so on.  But I can always control the level of effort that I put into my workouts.  I complain all the time that training for long-distance events is incredibly lonely, but a good share of that time is a necessary re-focusing on the elements of my life that I can control.  And a mental shedding of the uncontrollable noise of everyday life that wears me down.  It's as important to my mental and emotional health as a good night's sleep. When I'm in the pool, or on my bike, or logging miles on the trail, and nobody is keeping track of my effort besides me, all that matters is my willingness to give it my best.  And I suppose that is all that matters outside of triathlon as well.