Caught in a Trap, and Fearing the Last Meal

I believe I ended yesterday with some monotonous diatribe of doing more, and not to get me started on my diet before running.

It would have only turned into a dissertation sized essay in the end, and as I was clutching at straws to provide some image to make the prose more interesting (which was a screen shot of my calendar), I kind of decided to spare you, the dear reader, further punishment.  Well, pictures aren't coming to me once more right now, so you can have further ramblings on the diet.

Try as I may, I am useless at looking after myself food wise.  I enjoy cooking, and baking, but unless there is a purpose behind it, I tend to ignore it.  I am not the person who can waltz into the kitchen, look in the fridge, and have a meal made for everyone half hour later.  No, I need a recipe, at times a lexicon to interpret the recipe, the ingredients all set out, and a lot of time to get it done.  Mostly this is to good effect.

Talk about the 'five a day', I have fruit in a bowl at home, I have fruit at work.  I like it.  I'm just too useless to think of eating it in a sensible way.  I try to not let things go to waste.  Thankfully I have a rather inquisitive daughter who has mustered up an understanding on how to access the fruit bowl and peel an orange or banana, or start eating an apple or pear, and spitting the skin out all over the house.  Much to her mother's delight.

I stay away from fast food restaurants, mainly because I find in unethical, despise pumping the money into the brand, and hate spending the money.  With this in mind, you will appreciate that I am the kind of person who heavily relies upon food being made for him, and being told when to eat.  Again, much to Mrs. Banks's delight.

This week I have tried to be disciplined in some way, knowing I want to get those carbohydrates into my system.  When I called my friend Stan to see when he was arriving in Brighton for the race on Sunday, we agreed to go out and get something to eat Saturday evening.  This was where he dropped something on me, that I did know, but had somewhat managed to ignore until I was effected.

He decided to turn Vegan at the beginning of the year.  

This made my heart skip a beat or three.  I am a carnivorous soul, and can eat vegetarian food, but get the sweats when the thought of it comes up.  "Don't worry" says I, "I'll get on the case, and find somewhere really nice that can cater for the pair of us."  Thus led a late night search, using the exhaustive power of the Internet, and it led down some serious avenues that made my skin itch all the more.

I have nothing wrong with Vegetarians and Vegans, their ideals, commitments and sheer willpower to stand by their principles are commendable.  Vegetarians are easily catered for in any establishment, they always have an option, especially so in a Vegetarian restaurant.  Maybe I am being naive, as the variety isn't the same, but Vegan's, however, are a different kettle of fish.  It was so difficult to find something out there.

My first point of call were the Vegan Restaurants.  Brighton has a few, which is good, it makes being a Vegan easier than somewhere like Grimsby to eat out.  They looked nice.  The prices seemed reasonable, considering I live in London.  However, bearing in mind we're preparing for a 13.1 mile run the next day, how am I going to feel fed and full of the right energy after eating 'Stuffed Portebello with Fried Beans and Pesto'?  It's like soup, I love the flavour, I enjoy eating it, I don't feel full, I get grumpy, and end up eating more.

Luckily, Stan is a decent sort, who understands other peoples needs, and wouldn't be offended if I had half a cow on my plate (not that I'd go to that extreme).  There was room for compromise, and I found an Italian Restaurant called Al Duomo, who's menu online offered a standard Italian repertoire, with options marked as suitable for the Vegetarian, and the Vegan.  I must add, the only place that specified both options.  Hallelujah, it will be just right to cater both our needs, and provide the right sort of diet before a big run at pace.

I was nervous with the promotions of the 'Suspiciously Elvis Night', and the 'Michael Buble Night', but they're on different evenings thankfully.  The thought of it.  The horror.

All I need to not be on my guard about now is if he opts to get the Vegan spaghetti dish.  He threatened me he is messy with spaghetti, and little more amuses him, than the opportunity to wind me up.

Still preparations are coming along, next is just packing, and getting to Brighton itself.

I may have some pictures then.