Runs with Chocolate: Day Minus 5
I love running. I love chocolate. Half a decade ago while running one of my favorite 6-mile routes, I thought of all the chocolate I’d eaten and how I had been fueling my running with chocolate for years – two decades, in fact.
Back in 1993, I lived with my friend, Donna, for a little while. Donna was one of those tall, lithe, lanky women who made homemade hot fudge and kept it in the refrigerator.
This was inconceivable to me! Hot fudge exists in two spots:
On my vanilla ice cream;
In my belly.
Hot fudge does not stick around – except, of course, on my belly – but in its unconsumed form, it is made, then it is about to be eaten, then it is eaten.
Donna was an international flight attendant, so I’d often have the apartment to myself, which meant the hot fudge she’d whipped up to have on hand was constantly calling my name. I don’t care what I wanted in the refrigerator, I was drawn to the door where the hot fudge waiting in a glass jar between the ketchup and the mayonnaise.
This was problematic. If I ate too much of any of the other snack-y, treat-y foods in the cupboards or refrigerator, I’d just head to Safeway and replenish what I’d eaten.
But I couldn’t do that with the homemade fudge. I knew I could have asked Donna for the recipe, but frankly, I didn’t — and still don’t — want to know how to make fudge, hot or otherwise!
I don’t want to know how simple it is and how few ingredients it requires. I never wanted to have a hot fudge craving and think, Oh, let me just whip up a batch of fudge!
I had to figure out how to indulge, yet leave enough so there was still some in the jar when Donna returned home. This was my challenge.
So, I only dipped into the fudge before going running. I’d get home from my 9-5 job, throw on my running togs, grab a teaspoon and indulge in a couple of bites of that decadent butter-sugar-cocoa concoction… and go for a run.
Donna lived off Union Street in San Francisco, so my standard running route was: north up Fillmore to Marina Blvd., then west through the Presidio along the water to Fort Point – under the Golden Gate Bridge – and back.
Once running, I often wondered if any of the other runners were fueled on hot fudge and other random running thoughts, such as…
That man’s legs are super bowed. As this short-ish man got closer, I thought, And They’re so hairy!
Closer still, and I nearly laughed out loud as I said, “Hi,” realizing instantly that it was Robin Williams.
His, “Hi,” came right back at me as if to say, Yes, my legs are hairy and bowed!
I wonder what witty thing he’d have come up with if I’d said I was running on hot fudge….
Almost 20 years later, as I made my way through the streets of Reno, it occurred to me that a fitting Dances with Wolves name for me would be Runs with Chocolate.
I doubt Kevin Costner’s legs are as bowed and hairy as Robin Williams’ were, but my brain is in a constant state of free association when I’m running.
Chocolate. Running. Hot Fudge. San Francisco. Robin Williams. Bliss. Joy. Chocolate.
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