So. This weekend was filled with running. Saturday morning’s long run of 13 miles was finished with hot chocolate from City Bakery. Fabulous turn out and many thanks to Maria for trotting along with me on the five mile jaunt down the West Side Highway. Also many thanks to E for hosting another wonderful run of indulgence!
After hot cocoa/scones, the rest of Saturday afternoon was filled with sweatpants, sandwiches, and reruns of Khloé & Lamar (the Kardashians are my vice), and finally a pasta dinner to gear up for the Gridiron Classic. Oh. And I spent many hours slow-roasting 4.5 pounds of pork butt. Because let’s be honest. I can’t eat any other kind of barbecue unless it comes from the Eastern part of North Carolina.
I awoke this morning feeling a bit indifferent about today’s race. My legs were pretty washed up from yesterday’s miles and I really wanted to sleep in. Alas, coffee was brewed, the cat attacked my feet, and I set off to Central Park to get situated in my corral.
I stood and waited for somewhere around 15 minutes. Seeing tons of Giants jerseys made me smile, while those few Patriots jerseys made me wish I were back on my couch enjoying my coffee. After the sound of the gun, we were off… Well, sorta. There was a bit of waiting as I am not like His Lordship and do not run 5:00 miles putting me in the blue corral. Maybe one day…
Anywho. I passed the start and thought, ‘Ok. Just take it easy, Lewis. You’re a bit out of sorts this morning with your sore legs and half-sleepiness.’ Christopher was cheering at 72nd, and it was nice to see a familiar face through all the jerseys. When I reached the top of Cat Hill I realized that my legs weren’t as sore as I thought. The first two miles were quite pleasant. There was even a dude “spinnin tracks” or what have you at the mile 2 marker. Playing theme songs about the GMEN, no doubt. This gave me a charge. I soon found myself through mile 3 and heading toward the finish. I saw Christopher again on the west side of 72 and yelled at him.
“PUNCH IT!,” he said. Typical.
Finish time: 32:33, giving me a 23 second PR to start the race year!
Thus brings me to the fabulous day that is the Super Bowl. I have no doubt that there will be lots of drinking, screaming, texts between my Giants friends, and angry Daddy Lew texts who is currently skiing in Taos and staying in a hotel room with no TV. (Good start to Supe weekend, I know). “I’ll watch in the bar,” he says. You’re GD right you will, Dave.
And I’ll throw in this recipe for this day of days. No, it’s not good for you. Yes, it’s literally dumping ingredients in a bowl and then baking it. And yes, it’s f***ing baller. And addictive.
GO BIG BLUE.
Buffalo Wing Dip
Serves a crowd. Or one Baker/Tracy boy.
1 container Whipped Cream Cheese
1 bottle Frank’s Hot Sauce
1 Rotisserie Chicken, stripped of it’s delicious meat
2 cups Ranch Dressing
2 cups of shredded cheese – preferably sharp cheddar of Monterey jack
2 celery stalks, diced
2 roma tomatoes, diced
Salt and pepper to taste
Serve with: Tortilla chips (duh).