Red Bull

This has been "Let's Destroy Our Knees" week on the running path.  Suddenly--perhaps because I go out later now--there has been an abundance of older, overweight people with knee braces on both knees, or those bands worn under the knee to keep the knee cap from moving down too much.  If there is anything a running book will tell you, it's never, never ignore the slightest amount of knee pain.  Today on the running trail, ailing knees could be seen all over the place, and the only overweight gentleman who was being cautious was a younger man who was doing that kind of not-really-a-trot movement.  Good for him, and more power to him.

Some products should not be sold to people over 30 years of age.  One of them is Red Bull, the so-called energy drink.  I've been told that young people at nightclubs drink it between rounds of booze in order to keep going all night.  My son Rodrigo suggested it might help my morning fatigue so that I could get back out in the park, so I tried it today.

First of all, you should not have it on an empty stomach, but if you are going out to run, the most you've got in your system is coffee and a banana.  I began sipping the stuff as I cleaned up the kitchen and made the beds, and I noticed I was really going at it with a vengeance, hopping from task to task like a frisky teenager.  Not that a teenager would clean anything up in a frisky manner, but you know what I mean.

By the time I got to the park it was almost ten o'clock, and my stomach had been empty since six-thirty except for my coffee, the aforementioned banana, and a big can of Red Bull.  The company may deny it, but I think the drink contains amphetamines.  After a one-K warm-up, I began trotting; I had the odd impression that my head had gently separated from my body and was floating a few inches above my  neck.  The kilometer I trotted seemed to last about two or three minutes, as if it were foreshortened.  The kilometer I then walked didn't seem to last more than 30 seconds.  At that point, however, I was hit by hunger pangs that made me feel faint.  Visions appeared of a large bowl of hot oatmeal with a big pat of butter melting in the center, sprinkled with brown sugar and studded with raspberries.  Or an egg with my homemade hot sauce and refried beans.  The last kilometer was torture.  By then my head seemed to be floating several yards ahead of my body, which tried desperately to catch up with it.  God knows how I made it home and managed to cook myself the oatmeal. 
 
Be warned: energy drinks are for the young.  If you are around my age, stick to water or Gatorade.