Friday, January 20, 2012
Running on a Fantasy of French Toast
Tomorrow morning I will rise before the sun, don layers of something called "Capilene" and fleece, as well as sneakers, and set off for Central Park where I will run for somewhere around two hours. It is the Manhattan Half Marathon, and something possessed me to sign up for it. My goals are twofold: to finish, and to leave my pants unsoiled in the process. I've been working my way up to running 13 miles, so I should be able to make it, fueled by thoughts of the massive He Man breakfast I will devour when I'm done. Think of me tomorrow, as it will be snowing here in NYC and I will surely be freezing. I just hope I get some sort of medal that I can wear as an everyday accessory, perhaps pinned to the front of a turban.
What feast will be the subject of my race day imagination? Fitness Test French Toast, of course - great slabs of brioche soaked in a custard of egg, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon, griddled to a golden brown perfection in a butter-laden skillet and topped with apples simmered in more butter (don't give me any Paula Deen crap - I will have run 13.1 miles and I bet Mrs. Deen can't even drive that far without needing a breather) and brown sugar, then anointed with a generous pour of maple syrup. Oh yeah, and sausage. There will be sausage.
Wish me luck.