11 Weeks To Go

My training for the Philadelphia Half-Marathon -my first ever half-marathon- has begun. I have exactly eleven weeks to get my body ready to complete a 13.1 mile run. It's hard to get my head wrapped around the thought of running 13 miles. Just a year and a half ago the most exercise I managed on a regular basis was hauling the trash to the curb twice a week and even then I often wished someone would move the curb closer to the door.Now I'm scheduling long runs, planning out cross-training and taking a closer look at fluid intake. Sometimes I kinda miss the lazy guy.

This morning I did what is, for me, a long run - 7 miles. That distance will slowly increase over the next couple months until I manage to get up to 12. I'm thinking of waiting to compIete a full 13 until November 22, the day of the half. It seems a bit more of an accomplishment if I can cross the finish line and truly say I had never run that far before.

One of the things I need to learn how to do between now and then is - eat more! I know, I know, eating more isn't exactly a hardship, but it's a whole new concept for me. For thirty years now my gay brain has been busy convincing me to eat less by shrieking that the only foolproof key to happiness is having a 29-inch waist. It's an unwritten but understood rule that gay men are not supposed to gain weight. Ever. It's a shame really. I happen to think a bit of a tummy looks damn good on many men. But every advertisement placed in every gay magazine for the past 40 years has stressed that all gay men must be lean, chiseled and gorgeous.It's true. Logo has built an entire TV channel by showing men who's waistlines are no bigger than their shoe sizes.

It may sound strange, but eating a full meal when all you ever hear is "be thin" isn't easy. Especially over the past 10 years as my metabolism slowed. That's when my food intake shrank. The majority of my meals are more like half-meals. I'll eat half a banana or half a bagel, washed down with a half glass of juice. Lunch is often half of a sandwich. It drives my boyfriend crazy. Now, however, I'm expected to understand that one of the keys to running 13 miles is turning off the message that most gay men, and most women for that matter, get on a daily basis - that eating is a bad thing. Goodbye half-meals. Hello pasta.

So, here goes. That stack of pancakes dripping in syrup with melting butter running down the sides is not part of some chef's evil plan to force me into buying pants with an elastic waist. It's fuel. That burger covered in gorgonzola is not the reason that my love handles will grow to the point that no gay man will ever look my way, it's the protein/carbohydrates/calories I'll need to make sure I can do another 7 and eventually, 13 mile runs.

Next week my long run gets kicked up to 8 miles. After it's over, I'm thinking bacon, eggs, homefries and a bagel (a whole one!) would be a good idea. And now that all these visions of food are in my head, you'll have to excuse me. I need to go eat.