God bless my buddy Pete…

My wife and I went out to dinner with two other couples, sans kids, last night to celebrate my buddy Dave’s big 5-0.  As many of us do as we start accumulating the years, Dave is having a tough time with this birthday so we hoped to give him a good time to give him a minute away from his stresses which are many.

We ate at the Black Rock bar and grill in Hartland, Mi, a fantastically fun place to eat if you like a good steak.  They bring your robust, raw hunk of steak (Pete and I got the 14 oz.) on a 750 degree (F) black “rock” (I believe it’s a special granite) that maintains its temperature for a considerable amount of time, so you literally cook your own steak while you eat it.  It is absolutely fabulous.  Having just ridden 66 miles a few hours earlier, I wasn’t too worried about calories.  I burned just over a pound’s worth of calories on that ride so I didn’t worry about the near pound of steak, small portion of garlic smashed potatoes, salad and onion rings…

We got into trouble when the desert menu was brought to the table though.  Five of the six of us passed and opted for coffee instead but there was a weak link who ordered a brownie, ice cream and whipped cream, Death by Calories.  Surprisingly, nobody else followed suit.  When the desert arrived Pete and I surveyed the colossus.  “So, when are you running the marathon”, he remarked sarcastically.  Therein lies the rub – that desert alone was a full marathon’s worth of sugar and calories.  As much as I ride, I couldn’t have afforded to eat that damned thing!

Thankfully all six of us took a little of the burden of the desert but the sad fact is this:  To save the weak one from having to put in a full week’s worth of miles for that one desert, I ate more than I wanted to.  Not by much, but I don’t like over-eating at all.  Only Pete and I can afford that kind of ridiculousness.  It also shouldn’t come as a surprise that Pete and I were the first to dismiss the menu with merely glance…  There is a reason for this:  One way or another, if I want to maintain my sleek figure I’ll have to pay for that desert with miles.  That will happen today, whether I like it or not.

This is the only way I know to win the argument with the melon committee:  I have to look at junk food in terms of not only fuel (which an ice cream covered brownie obviously is not) but also as required extra miles.  If I want to eat a large desert I have to commit to extra miles on top of my normal miles.  If I want to eat a brownie of that size, when I’m done with that sixty mile ride, I’ve gotta throw in another sixty.  Looked at like that, it’s really easy to turn up my nose at a stupid desert.  I find that this attitude isn’t always necessary – every once in a while I can have a small desert and be okay with it, but after a huge dinner?  No chance.