I registered for a Turkey Trot for Thanksgiving morning. I wanted to go in to lunch with a big appetite and a little freedom to indulge more than usual.
They were also sponsoring a 10K. Since I'm well-trained for that distance, too, I signed up for it. Afterall, three more miles would equal twice the freedom to indulge.
The race itself was great. It was about 40 degrees, sunny and through some beautiful parts of town. I ran the whole race with a girl named Shelli. We had the same pace and kept each other motivated.
Around the four-mile mark, I started getting strong hunger pains, making me long for Thanksgiving lunch even more. Directly after the race, I was able to eat two mini bagels to help alleviate the immediate hunger.
I drove home, put some corn on the stove while I changed clothes, and Gary and I headed over to his aunt's. After the prayer was given, I loaded up my plate and began eating. This was the moment I'd been dreaming of for weeks.
I like to take my time eating, savoring every bite, but I found myself eating very, very slowly. I was enjoying the tastes of the food, but I wasn't very hungry. I did eventually go have seconds, but I waited about 30 minutes before doing so. I ate that food very slowly, too.
I certainly did not expect THAT to happen to me. I was expecting this race to create a partnership between my hunger and the wonderful food that would mollify it. Instead, it created a cool distance between the two, one that left me disappointed that I couldn't fully enjoy my favorite holiday of the year.
From what I understand, it can be hard to eat solid foods after long distances, but six miles is hardly a long distance, so I don't know exactly what was up with my physiology that day.
However, next year I'll just schedule a long training day the day before Thanksgiving and skip any Turkey Trots. The relationship between my appetite and a Thanksgiving feast is something that is way too important.