Watching Forrest Gump, the other night with the Expert, I realized that I’m a little like Bubba.
Not that I like shrimp that much (well, yes I do), but I kinda have similar conversations with the Expert about peanut butter.
Anyway, like I was sayin’, peanut butter is the nectar of the gods. You can bake with it, eat it plain, put it on sandwiches – they’s um – peanut butter cookies, peanut butter cake, pad Thai, peanut butter muffins, um, they’s chocolate peanut butter, and white chocolate peanut butter, they’s…um, Reese’s cups, Reese’s BIG cups, mini-cups, Easter eggs, peanut butter Twix, peanut butter Snickers, peanut butter M&MS, ants on a log, peanut butter pie….
I have gone four days without one spoonful of peanut butter. I had a minor freak out yesterday, and I think my body was acclimating to the peanut butter drought.
That Dark Chocolate Dreams above… is sinful. And natural. No garbage. And less calories than regular peanut butter? (WHAT?) Yes, and they have a white chocolate version too. I ate two jars in two weeks. I had to go cold turkey.
No more peanut butter. At least until I stop getting the shakes. And Peanut Butter & Co… I am not endorsing you. Do not send me products. Please please please. Do not. Please don’t. No.
Oh, and as Mountain Goat pointed out…. today is National Peanut Day. I didn’t even know that. My Ode To Peanut Butter is on National Peanut Day – that is a cosmic love connection.
In training news: today was a great 6.2 mile run. The hip injury is doing well. I am religiously rolling on my foam roller, icing, and using trigger point therapy. My brain injury of self-doubt seems to slowly be healing. For the run, I hit the hills around my house, and managed a 10:50ish pace. For 6.2 miles. With hills. That’s some sort of strange SBM miracle. I felt strong and grateful. This is getting to be kind of exciting.
(Ask me if I can move tonight, though….ask me…)
I was all excited in my report to Coach Monster, who reminded me to stay neutral in my emotions: to not let the big days elate me too much, lest the bad days make me crash. Oh, I’ve already realized that this sport is manic depressive. We’ve already covered that.
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