I don’t want to talk about food today. Do you mind? I had a big, like the size of a Frisbee, slab of chicken fried steak for lunch and I’m feeling a little bilious. Although it probably wasn’t the size of the batter fried beef that did it, but rather the slurry of cream gravy poured over the top. Or maybe it was the loaded baked potato that came with it. Or maybe the coleslaw. Regardless, I just don’t want to talk about food.
I got back to running today, which is probably why I felt entitled to eat chicken fried steak. Did I mention it also came with beans and a roll? With butter? The roll, not the beans. It was enough food for the whole table, not that I was sharing. But I don’t want to talk about it, okay?
I ran fifteen miles – ten with the group at five o’clock in the dead of dawn, and then five more before lunch. It was the five more that left me famished and needing something hearty. Like chicken fried steak. For the record, I didn’t eat the roll. Okay, maybe just half. But it was the small half.
The first run was hills, nothing special; we ran it slow. The second run was on the treadmill. I watched Sex and the City. Funny how the older I get the less I care about their men and their clothes and more about their meals and their apartments. Miranda was pregnant and eating bacon and fried chicken. I wanted fried chicken, but chicken fried meat was the best I could do. They’re basically the same, right?
I should probably run five more miles today, just because. Did I mention I had brownies for breakfast? But since I’m feeling a little urpy, I’d rather just sit here and talk to y’all.
I’m glad we can talk about stuff that isn’t food.
Y’all are the best!