Your Kind of Healthy

Maybe you’re tired of being told what to eat.

Maybe you’ve tried the powder.
Maybe you’ve bought the book.
Maybe you just want food that makes sense for your body, not someone else’s brand.
Let’s be honest: most diet advice feels like a punishment with a smile.
Pages of rules. Powders with names that sound like prescription drugs.
Smoothies that taste like dirt blended with banana.
And don’t get me started on “clean eating.” What does that even mean?
Here’s a better idea: eat what works—for you.
Me? I’m a 70-year-old creature of habit. Stir-fry Tuesdays.
Artisan bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic (paired with a modest pour of Nero d’Avola).
Weekends? Mom’s waffle recipe with peanut butter and syrup. I don’t apologize.
And every single day: asparagus and blueberries.
I microwave the spears. I keep a cold bowl of berries in the fridge.
That’s not discipline—it’s pleasure.
“Clean” food is someone else’s judgment.
“Clear” food is yours.
Clear means you know how you feel after.
Clear means you listen to your own body, not a magazine headline.
Clear means you’ve lived enough to know when a meal is fuel—and when it’s a landmine.
Ask Don Kardong.
Olympian. Bloomsday founder. Once ate a beautiful Mexican meal the day before a marathon.
Delicious? Yes.
Digestible mid-race? Let’s just say he redefined “running through it.”
That’s the kind of wisdom you only earn the hard way.
So here’s the truth: pizza can be fuel.
Ice cream doesn’t erase your effort.
And food doesn’t have to be perfect to be good for you.
Find your staples.
Your rituals.
Your version of fuel that works in your gut—and your life.
Because health isn’t measured by ingredients you can’t pronounce.
It’s found in the repeat joy of what keeps you moving.
     

    You didn’t just eat.

    You chose what fuels you.
    You found comfort in flavor. Peace in the routine.
    A plate that’s yours, not prescribed.
    So pour the coffee. Warm the roll.
    Refuel. Reflect.
    Then get ready to move again—on your terms.

      let’s run forever.

      And eat well along the way.

      THE PERSONAL MILE

      Don Kardong’s Burrito and Other Lessons

      One of my favorite runner-writers is Spokane’s own Don Kardong—Olympian, author, and founder of the Lilac Bloomsday Run, the largest timed road race on planet Earth. Not bad for a guy who once carbo-loaded on enchiladas.

      Yes, you read that right. Don—who could’ve eaten like an Olympian—chose a full Mexican dinner the night before a race. Beans. Cheese. Red sauce. The whole mariachi band. His post-race reflections (which I highly recommend reading) are full of humor, honesty, and the unmistakable tone of a man who’s learned from experience—and probably from the nearest restroom stop.

      But that’s Don. A man with a love of running, a love of writing, and apparently, a love of tempting gastrointestinal fate. And somehow, he still got faster the next day. Or at least funnier.

      The lesson? Wisdom sometimes arrives with salsa.

      TOOLBOX

      Eat For the Long Run

      Here’s your guide to choosing what actually works—before your next run:

      1. Run the Meal in Your Head
      If you can’t picture running comfortably after eating it, skip it. Burritos may taste good going down—but you may meet them again at mile 4.

      2. Trust Your Repeat Offenders
      The meal you’ve eaten a dozen times with no issues? That’s your friend. Stick with it on run days.

      3. Leave Room, Not Regret
      Go light the night before a long run. Pasta? Fine. Pizza? Sure. Double bacon cheeseburger? That’s a finish-line celebration, not a starting-line choice.

      4. Respect the Gut-Brain Alliance
      If your brain hesitates when you reach for it, your gut probably will too. Listen.

      5. Read Kardong
      Start with “Don Kardong running essays” or his Humor section on BloomsdayRun.org if still available. You’ll get wisdom, wit, and warnings—all earned the hard way.

      https://www.amazon.com/Hills-Hawgs-Ho-Chi-Minh/dp/1879628120

      Let’s run forever.

      And eat like men who’ve earned the right to laugh at their own mistakes.