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The Spoils of War

Yeah, I know, I keep saying that the big thing holding me back this ski season is that in my last year living in Peru working as a gourmet food critic, I really packed on the weight. I just couldn't let them walk away with an empty plate, and if you're sitting at a five star restaurant and they bring you EIGHT delicious meals each of which goes for $75 a pop...heck, you just can't take a little nibble and let them scrape the rest off into the garbage (unless by garbage you mean my mouth, then it's OK...and yes, I was the exception to the rule in terms of what restaurant critics are like...as in everything else I've ever done or been involved with).

But, as nice as it is to scarf down $500 worth of food, you sure as heck pay for it when you're trying to climb a hill. So, for the most part, I've been avoiding the bad stuff (you can still see some tummy in the above image, so imagine what it was like 3 months ago before the snow got here).

HOWEVER, there are exceptions...like at the end of a 42 Km race. If there's a big box filled with lucious chocolate covered donuts, I'm EATING those! And, as you can see from the above image, I'm not eating just ONE...that would be STUPID! I'm eating at least THREE and that's just on my first run to the donut box.

Actually donuts were the last thing on my mind when I crossed the finish line. The first thought was some kind of curse regarding the fact that I was going to have to bend over and take off my skis and then my timing chip. However, that little curse evaporated as somebody else there at the finish line knelt down in the wet snow and did it for me (I love that guy...Frank was doing that for thousands of people at the City of Lakes Loppet and it erased a good 5 years worth of evil deeds...Frank really stocks up on the evil deeds you know).

Then after the ski removal thing I started thinking about changing out of my wet clothing. I was just on my way to get my gear bag when a guy walked by with a half eaten donut.

I grabbed him by the larynx and demanded, "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!!!!!!"

"Over there man...what the...what's the MATTER WITH YOU???"

But I'd already forgotten about him. He was nothing. Weak. Pathetic.

I headed over to the donuts and unabashedly grabbed three and just hoped that somebody would put up a stink so I could just unleash a whole frickin' barrel of primordial feral justified donut devouring rage. But fortunately for everyone else...nobody said anything (I probably wasn't even the biggest glutton there).

And let me tell you something else, some sick little truth that a select few people in the world know but which nobody wants all that wide spread.

A chocolate donut at the end of a 42 km ski tastes about a million times better than the best $75 meal at the greatest five star restaurant in all the world.

Skiing rocks!

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