a few years back I headed out for a long training run in a local park, roughly 12 or so miles, and it was Sunday, and I was hungry. Stopped by Jack in the Box and got something greasy in a bag. Ate it, whatever it was, figuring that it would all burn off in a few miles and all would be well.
Yeah. about that.
My stomach cramped for the first five miles. I mean, I never wanted to quit so badly in my life. It was like I pulled my stomach or something. After the fifth mile things settled down a bit but I never got comfortable and since then I look at pre-run meals with a new level of suspicion.
Now, before those days I had a friend who lived on potato chips and orange juice. Seemed healthy enough but he lost his hair young so ever since then both of those have been stricktly verboten.