High noon on Sunday is a dangerous time. Especially for the guys I run with.
We got into a discussion about an upcoming triathlon event, and I asked one of the group perched at the bar whether he was going to participate this year. Last year he was ill and not able to be part of a troika of walking wounded competing in the relay division. In hindsight, he said, it was fortunate for the very reason the group never made it past the swim. Working shoulders are often necessary, even for a distance of 600 yards.
"And [blank] can barely run; he's the only guy I know who's trained for a (half-iron) triathlon and gained weight in the process."
A perfect case of "in vino veritas." And not always the truth which should be revealed.
I know the guy in question, and in his defense it would be difficult to tell the difference between adipose burned and muscle mass gained over the course of five or six months. I've been (more) pudgy and I've dropped weight, and sometimes it's difficult to tell the two apart until one is out on a run. Several coaches have opined that a one-pound difference in weight, excess, can add an extra five seconds pace per mile. I'm not so certain about you but if I knew I could drop a minute off my 5K on the road by losing five pounds of excess weight...
The hard part - well, there are a lot of hard parts - is avoiding the danger areas. Two danger areas come together on Sunday noon in this part of the country, namely alcohol and food. If I could completely drop beer and french fried [blank] it would be easy. Naturally, nobody said it would be.
A couple of other things to remember:
Many folks can get by with guesstimating 100 calories of energy expended for every mile run or walked. If you want to be honest with yourself you can take your weight and multiply by 0.75. Walking and easy running is going to burn less calories for every mile than the hard, steady run; kind of like how long you can stand to have your hand on the hood of your car. If you're driving the four blocks from the house to the grocery store you'll probably be able to set your hand on the hood not long afterward. Drive halfway across the state at fifty-plus an hour and you'll generate more heat after the car has stopped.
It's not a perfect analogy but it makes it easier to understand. And men burn more calories than women because of the greater degree of muscle mass. So you might benefit more from having a single beer for every two miles rather than every one. Researchers studied the calorie intake and expenditure of men and women and learned that both groups overestimated how hard they worked and underestimated how little they ate or drank.
Want an eye opener? Set up an account on a food tracking/diet site, such as FatSecret, and log everything you take in. Even after a week you're likely to be amazed, not only at what a serving size truly is, but the amount of empty calories being dropped into your fuel tank. Other sensations, such as thirst or cold, can be mistaken for hunger. I bulked up while participating in masters' swimming because I felt like I needed energy after swimming for an hour in an 82-degree pool (mind you, if it had been the pool we raced in at Auburn getting warm again might have been an issue). Hindsight being not only perfect but magnified, I probably would have been all right with the large coffee with skim milk and a couple of teaspoons of honey, plus a slice of toast and PB rather than that SuperSonic breakfast burrito.
Suzanne and I have started to grab a low-calorie sports supplement drink or some nonfat chocolate milk after our Sunday runs, which staves off hunger until we can scramble up a couple of eggs and toast some bread. We're less likely to jones for that brunch with the mimosas; do it once a month and keep track of what we suck down. And we don't drink anything but water for the run; I used to do one or more sports drinks religiously but figured out all I was doing was shooting myself in the gut, er, foot.
Running regularly enough and hard enough has made me feel better about how I look. I kind of miss the hanging out at brunch every Sunday but the feel of my clothes (and my head) the next day kind of makes up for it. Getting that old self back thirty seconds at a time seems to be worth the trouble.