Conversations With My Stomach

At horse shows, I am too nervous to eat. However, if I don’t eat, I come over all weak and swimmy-headed. I can rally the energy to ride but the rest of the day is as much fun as a day-old omelet. I’m also told that not eating makes me a joy and a delight to be around the next day. To avoid this, I give my stomach whatever it wants.

Morning
ME: Motel continental breakfast?
STOMACH: You have got to be kidding me.

ME: Here’s an protein drink and a fruit bar.
STOMACH: Hmm.

A short while later
ME: What’s up?
STOMACH: I’ve decided I want oatmeal.

ME: Oatmeal is what we have at home. We are not at home.
STOMACH: I want oatmeal.

ME: You won’t like the generic stuff. You are thinking of the gourmet, steel-cut kind that takes 20 minutes to cook.
STOMACH: I want OATMEAL!

ME: Have a pretzel rod. Carbs and salt. I brought them because they made you happy during that long car trip.
STOMACH: F— you. I want oatmeal.

ME: Pepto-Bismol tablets?
STOMACH: I’ll take 2. No, make that 4. Then oatmeal.

Late Morning
ME: Cracker Barrel? Surely there will be something bland enough even for you.
STOMACH: Do not underestimate me.

ME: Okay, here’s the deal. Iceberg lettuce salad. Nothing tricky. Barely any taste. It’s water and fiber. It’s as close to our oatmeal as I am going to get.
STOMACH: Hmmmff.

Early Afternoon
ME: I know I have another class this evening but I need to eat something. Dinner is hours away.
STOMACH: A hot dog. I think I could cope with a hot dog.

ME: Snouts and nitrates shoved into a tube?
STOMACH: Yup.

ME: Here’s Sonic. I know their hot dogs come loaded, but maybe they have a plain version. Anything on the menu look good?
STOMACH: A pretzel dog. In fact, a Cheesy Bacon Pretzel Dog.

ME: Really? Covered in processed, liquid cheese food? With Bacon? Onions?
STOMACH: Yup

ME: You’re not going to give me attitude about this later?
STOMACH: Nope.

It worked. Go figure.

Categories: Barn Life, Horse Shows, Sports Psychology

5 replies »

  1. It was the voracious eating at the end of the day that killed me the next day. Curry chips (french fries with curry sauce) usual figured somewhere in the course of the evening

  2. Some things don’t change. I remember the many hot dogs I bought at horse shows. I claimed they were for me but I preferred mustard, you preferred ketchup. These had ketchup. Each time you were within arms length, I’d hold one up to your mouth and you’d automatically take a bite.

    Even then, your stomach knew!

%d bloggers like this: