Eating to Keep Going

Real Food, Real Routines, and Why the Body Knows What Feels Right After 50

We’re talking about running—on your terms.
• Maybe you don’t count calories—you just count on breakfast.
• Maybe your plate looks a lot like your values: simple, honest, and made from scratch.
• Maybe you’ve tried all the health fads and came back to toast, pasta, and what feels good.
• Maybe you’re learning how food supports the run—but never controls the life.
Welcome to the table.
     

    Food That Works—For You

    You don’t need a food plan printed on a magnet.
    You don’t need to log grams, or download apps, or explain your lunch to anyone.
    You need fuel that works for you—fuel you enjoy.

     

      What Real Nutrition Might Look Like

       

      Let me tell you what works for me—not because it should work for you,
      but because I figured it out by listening to my own body.
      Breakfast?
      Toast with peanut butter and jam.
      Or Malt-O-Meal with a spoonful of peanut butter stirred in.
      Sometimes granola with berries and half & half.
      Even a cinnamon roll now and then—because that’s life.
      Lunch?
      Usually leftovers from dinner. Real food. Nothing fancy. Just something warm and familiar.
      Dinner?
      Something I cooked. Pasta, meat, stir-fry, whatever I had.
      Always a fresh vegetable—because it makes me feel good.
      Sometimes a glass of red wine. Maybe two if the evening’s long and worth it.
      And if it’s been a day?
      Something sweet. I’m not chasing a perfect score—I’m fueling a real life—with some ice cream and a little granola mixed in!

       

      Find Your Food Rhythm

       

      You don’t need to eat like me.
      Or like some “expert” with a headset and a six-pack.
      You just need to find your own rhythm.
      What fills you up without weighing you down.
      What keeps you regular. What makes you feel like you.
      Eat what you like—just make sure it lets you move.

       

      Moderation Isn’t a Rule. It’s a Gut Check.

       

      You don’t need charts.
      You need awareness.
      Most men over 50 already know what too much feels like.
      We’ve learned it the hard way.
      Now’s the time to trust that wisdom. And eat accordingly.

       

      Wine, Bread, Cinnamon Rolls—It’s All in the Approach

       

      For some, wine is part of the table.
      For others, it’s a pass.
      Same with bread. Same with sugar.
      There’s no one right food—just the right balance between joy and fuel.
      What matters is what works for you, not what’s approved by someone else.

       

      My Only Constant?

       

      For me, it’s asparagus and berries.
      You might never touch either.
      And that’s the point.
      Find your version of that.
      What feels clean.
      What feels energizing.
      What you enjoy coming back to, day after day.

      let’s run forever.

      And let’s eat like men who’ve earned the right to choose.

      THE PERSONAL MILE

      ONE SLICE TOO MANY…

      The year was 1986. Boston Marathon.

      I had finally punched my ticket—qualifying just three weeks earlier in Napa Valley with a 2:49:38. I’d missed it in Portland by 22 seconds. No mercy from Boston. No buffer zones. Either you hit the mark or you watched from home.

      Back then, Boston was still gritty and elite—just 3,750 finishers. Qualifying meant something. You didn’t get in by chance. You earned it with effort, sacrifice, and the kind of personal grit that had nothing to do with Strava or race-day playlists.

      I flew into Boston the day before the race, got a room in Cambridge, and stumbled into a local discovery that would become legend. Five blocks from the hotel—Pizzeria UNO. Thick crust. Deep cheese. Pepperoni. The kind of pizza that whispers, “You deserve this.” And on tap? A man named Samuel. Sam Adams. Cold, malty, made-in-Boston perfection.

      I wasn’t a believer in carb-loading. My creed was simple: Food is joy. Fuel is fun. And I lived it. One heavy slice at a time.

      Race morning. Patriot’s Day. I was up early, nerves on edge. Spring allergies flared, and I got a nosebleed just minutes before the start. A race official told me I’d be pulled if the bleeding didn’t stop. Someone nearby offered an old-school trick: wedge toilet paper between your gums and upper lip. It worked.

      Gun goes off. I’m running Boston. The crowds roar near the colleges. My legs feel strong. No blood, no problem.

      Then came Heartbreak Hill. That’s where Sam and UNO showed up again.

      My energy? Still there.
      My lungs? Holding up.
      My stomach? Betrayed me.

      It wasn’t a bonk. It was a battle in the belly. A slow, twisting reminder that joy and fuel don’t always run the same pace.

      By mile 23, I was praying—not for speed, but for mercy.

      Still finished. Still proud. Still learned something important:

      There’s a fine line between a celebratory pre-race meal and an epicurean ambush.

      TOOLBOX

      FUEL LIKE A GROWN MAN

      You don’t need the perfect plan. You need a reason to start—and keep going.

      Here are five simple actions to uncover a reason that’s honest, sustainable, and yours:

      1. Ask the Quiet Question
      When no one’s watching, what do you hope to get from running?
      Peace? Energy? Pride? Control in a changing world?
      Write it down. Don’t overthink. Just be honest. That’s your starting point.

      2. Forget Motivation. Look for Meaning.
      Motivation fades. It’s fragile.
      Meaning sticks. It’s personal.
      Running because a doctor told you? That’s a start.
      Running to walk your daughter down the aisle at 80? That’s a reason.

      3. Pick a Small, True Target
      Forget the marathon. Forget your neighbor’s pace.
      Choose something that fits you now:
      “I want to move three times this week.”
      “I want to finish every run feeling proud, not punished.”
      “I want to be the kind of man who keeps showing up.”
      That’s enough.

      4. Make It Visible
      Put your “why” somewhere you’ll see it—
      Mirror. Dashboard. Lock screen.
      A simple reminder makes showing up easier.

      5. Let It Evolve
      At 50, your why might be survival.
      At 60, clarity.
      At 70, legacy.
      Rewrite it as needed. Just don’t lose it.

      Final Word:
      There’s no perfect pace.
      No ideal mileage.
      Just a reason that’s honest—and yours.
      Start with that.

      Let’s run forever.
      With purpose. With presence. With your “why” leading the way.