Winter makes me not want to leave the house.
It makes me want to curl up in bed and argue with myself about going out for a walk. Or putting on four layers of clothing to go for a run. Or walking five blocks to the gym.
Sometimes. It even gives me second thoughts about going grocery shopping.
That’s when I know things have gotten bad.
In the eternal debate over whether or not raw cookie dough is, in fact, safe to eat, I fall safely on the “yum! raw eggs!” side of the fence.
I just feel that one of the perks of baking is being able to lick the bowl. Or, you know. Scoop batter out of the bowl and into your mouth. For taste testing poison control purposes.
And because it tastes good. Most of the time. And if it doesn’t taste good…I would highly recommend that you trash the whole thing and start again. Because when the batter doesn’t taste good…there is nothing right going on in there. I promise.
If you ever wanted to watch a room full of men curl up into fetal position simultaneously. Then just show them a video of the male genitourinary exam.
There’s a lot of poking and prodding that goes on. A lot of sticking your fingers into places that they really have no business being stuck into.
A lot of “You should use your pinky to do this because it’s the least painful”.
Anything with the words “least painful” that involves testicular handling elicits visceral responses from those who actually have testicles. Some went screaming from the room. Some averted their eyes and ears. Some slept through the whole thing. It was truly a mixed bag of reactions.
When you decide to do something slightly crazy.
Like attempt to lose 20 pounds while writing a food blog.
Or train to run 13.1 miles. In a row. In the middle of winter. When it is 20 degrees outside.
Or actually run 13.1 miles. In a row. On a race course that is dotted with Disney characters and photo opportunities and everything that makes you inner five year old want to scream and shout and dance to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” at 5 AM while she’s waiting in her corral, ever so patiently, for the race to begin.
Or then decide to forgo showering or sleep in favor of doing it all again the next morning and running another 7 miles with a friend who, because running a full marathon in one weekend isn’t enough, has decided to do both the half and the full. Over the course of two days. (And for that matter, if anyone ever needs advice on how to jump into a marathon, ask away. The key – keep running and don’t look back at the sheriff who may or may not be approximately ten feet away).
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Let me explain to you what happens when I allow my imagination to run amok.
But first. A definition.
Whenever I see a pasta recipe that only calls for a half a pound of pasta and yet claims to serve 4 people. I go batshit crazy. Balls to the wall crazy. Put me in a strait jacket and lock me up because that is the only way you will get me under control. Crazy.
Really, you don’t want to be in the same room with me when this happens. It is not safe.
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
