Last weekend I went home again to Plymouth and was able to enjoy an 8 mile long (the farthest I've gone since injury!) The outdoor gear I bought was nice, but almost unnecessary in this unseasonably warm winter we've been having.
The night before I was to venture out to my now pretty established downtown Plymouth route, I started thinking about what I would eat the next morning. Runners often are thinking one or two steps ahead. And by steps I mean meals. And by runners, I mean me.
Every morning before I work out (3-4 days a week), I partake of Breakfast #1: An English Muffin, toasted, with either almond or peanut butter. This is not to be confused with Breakfast #2, which I have at work.
Breakfast #1 never varies, never faulters, and never disappoints. I have two butters, which is a lot more variety than one. I also really like English Muffins (nooks n' crannies, holla'!) Nutritionally, it's perfect. Carbs? Check. Protein and healthy fats in moderation? Check. Yumminess? Check plus!
So here I am, ready for bed at 9 pm on a Friday (I always get a delightfully full night sleep at home), and I mention casually, "Hey...y'all don't have english muffins and a nut butter of some sort, do you?" They did not.
Sidebar: If you also have a near unhealthy love of this breakfast bread, you are not alone. Someone has created this T-Shirt in Zazzle:
Ok, back to the story. So, my casual remark set off a frenzy of action. My personal reaction was "OK, I'll like, eat something else. Or go to Dunkin Donuts. Whatevs. Night!"
My glorious mother, however, would have none of it. You see, Myra is very supportive of me and my running. Very. And because she can not literally pick me up and run me on her shoulders (which, if you know her, you know she would do in a freaking heartbeat if physically possible), she likes to support in other ways. Such as providing me with a specific choice breakfast.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. I don't have English Muffins. I only have whole wheat wraps. Will that be okay? No, no, of course not. It's a wrap, not a crumpet-like bready substance. I'm an idiot -- a complete moron and undeserving of your attention, love and/or praise. I hate myself. And sweet god in heaven, why is there no peanut butter!? I had almond butter but I ate it ALL. ALL OF IT. Why did your father and I eat the food in our cupboards! We are bad parents -- nay -- bad PEOPLE and should be publically humiliated and shamed. I will wear a Scarlet E of shame and that E will stand for ENGLISH muffin, of which I can not offer you now.
* Dramatic re-enactment a la the hit shows Rescue 911 or I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.
Again, let me stress my reaction**:
** In this reenactment, the role of Meredith will be played by a brunette Emma Stone.
So my mother, riddled with guilt and anguish, gets out of her pajamas, puts on sneakers, goes out into the RAIN, and drives to my sister's house to obtain the said English Muffins and Peanut Butter. She then laid it out for me on the kitchen table nicely, as if a holiday platter, awaiting my consumption in the morning. Myra's a damn saint. Crazy as hell. But a saint nonetheless.
What was the point of this entry, you ask? Something about multiple wholesome breakfasts and my mom loving me too much, I think. And the ever-changing hair colors of one Emma Stone.
You want blog? This is what you get people!