What I ate after my run – Chinese Chicken and Cashew Salad
June 10, 2015
Tuesday is Massage Day – ahhhhhhhhh! Can you hear the angels singing? My weekly massage has been one of the most important pieces to keeping me injury free all these years of running. I fell and ruptured three discs 10 years ago, and have spent a ton of money on epidurals, physical therapy, rollers, Pilates, ART, Rolphing, acupuncture, creams, pills, etc., trying to be able to run without severe pain and eventual numbness. The only thing that has ever worked long term is massage. The caveat is that it has to be the right massage therapist. Your standard one, two, three massage ain’t gonna cut it, my friends. You need someone who is going to work it out. And I mean work it out. (That is not meant to sound pervy, weirdos. I just mean you have to get someone who isn’t afraid of really working the muscles and breaking up scar tissue, when necessary.)
I’ve gone to many massage therapists and have been lucky to find the right one in Texas and Los Angeles. But it took some trial and error. If you’re thinking about getting a regular massage, don’t be afraid to shop around. It is a big commitment (in both time and money) if you do it regularly. To me, massage is like exercise: you have to do it consistently to see any results. I think massage goes hand in hand with consistent training and healthy eating to make you a stronger runner.
So what the heck does this rambling about massage have to do with food? Well, since my massage place is next to a famous chicken place, every Tuesday evening I pick up a roasted chicken for dinner. This means that on Wednesday, after my run, I usually eat Chinese Chicken Salad. Um, yum. This is one of the easiest throw-together meals on the planet (especially if you just buy a good rotisserie chicken and some already shredded cabbage). I mix up a dressing out of honey, sesame oil, brown rice vinegar, canola oil, gluten free soy sauce and salt, cut up some green onions, throw on some cashews and, Kazam! a recovery meal with all the parts. Parts is parts, my friends (if you are too young to get that, ask you mother).