Living in Little Italy for 5 years was rough. For a lot of reasons, really, but one big one was running past food. Specifically, Italian food. Italian restaurants prepping for the day. Drool.
Every day I ran by Mama Santa’s and smelled pizza. But not just pizza. Freshly baking pizza crust. Have you ever smelled massive amounts of pizza crust and just that? No other smells getting in the way, just the pizza crust. Wafting through the air and following me up the Mayfield hill, that smell made me crazy. And motivated me.
In some ways running past indulgent restaurants is torture, but in others, it’s actually quite motivating. I’d picture a slice of pizza, dripping cheese Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles-style at the end of my run. Then I’d come back past Mama Santa’s and either feel really good about my run and eat some carrots or plan lunch at Valentino’s because, hey, I RAN!
Balance is good and sometimes you just can’t avoid pizza.