Where the truth lies

I lied - just 28k today, not 30k. The atmospheric details were perfect - good company, beautiful route and cooler than normal temperatures - but still I had a hard slog. (Doug, who had never tackled that dstance before today, looked as fresh as a daisy.) Afterwards, over a cavernous bowl of the strongest joe available at Bridgehead without a perscription, our coach advised me to carry more gels next time. Those little shots of gooey glucose offer only about a 100 calories, enough to revive a weary body and force it to go on. I'm fussy on the gel flavours, refusing all but the descendants of the beloved cocoa-bean (chocolate and espresso), and I know that ultimately there's a limit to the number of gels my tum will accept over the next few months of marathon training. This is no cause for despair: a wild world of sugar products roam freely, and there is no need to remain loyal to one gooey (and disgusting) format. There are probably as many options for sugary pick-me-ups as there are runners.

A runner in our group surprised us one morning; while the rest of us ripped in to our gels like a mad pack of hive-minded Running Room lemmings, she roguishly unfolded a private stash of multi-coloured, multi-flavoured candies which I took to be jujubes but were actually wine gums. Chewy mini-doses of 'port,' 'burgundy' and 'champagne' are edible gems on a Sunday morning's long run. That, my friends, is class.

I hope a gummy equivalent exists for this amazing Mexican wine: L A Cetto Petite Sirah.