Okay, I have a confession. On the way to Solvang, we made a rest stop for little ol’ me somewhere near Santa Barbara. The gas station in this sleepy town wouldn’t comply. So we found a donut shop. Oh, those donuts looked good. This chick who usually shuns wheat opted for two cinnamon-sugar coated old-fashioned cake donuts. They hit the spot. I had a great ride. Maybe they provided the fat I needed for the long haul.
Here’s the problem. I can be superstitious about my pre-race meals. When I was in high school, my very Irish track coach Mr. McMahon, convinced me, and my parents, that steak was the breakfast of indoor track champions. There’s no doubt, I would’ve preferred donuts before my morning meets instead of meat. But I did every crazy thing he told me to do.
They say that we burn more fat doing long aerobic exercise. If that’s the case, could berry-flavored packets of Crisco be next? I hope not. I really do love a good donut or two once in a while.