Today I finally got to try out the Powerbar Performance Gel Shot during a long run and I have to say: wow! Do the kids at the clubs know about these yet??
I do remember in my extremely brief "party girl" period (considering I had a terrible fake ID and began dating my now-husband a few months after turning 21, indeed, "brief" might be overstating it) how a sugary alcoholic drink would perk me up after a few hours of dancing. Especially anything with caffeine, like a Kaluha and cream--one of those and I could grind to "Groove Is In the Heart" until the club closed or my ride for the evening threatened to leave without me. If I'd known about Powerbar gels back in those days, I probably would have done more than dance all night; I would have jumped into one of those dance cages, done handstands and back flips, ran a few laps around the bar.
The gel that I tried, the latte flavor, was 110 calories of sugar, electrolytes, sodium and more caffeine than two cups of Starbucks. I took it just when I was starting to hate my run, 48 minutes into it. I was wearing new shoes and I'd developed a giant, swollen blister on my instep, it was close to 100 degrees outside, and yet again I'd put together a less than wonderful playlist; it wasn't a good day for "Paint it Black."
I was expecting an immediate reaction--to suddenly start flooring it like the Energizer Bunny. When that didn't happen after the first minute or two, my feet and my will power had the following conversation:
Feet: We hurt. Can we stop now?
Will Power: No way! We've got another 15 minutes to go!
Feet: You're mean. You never let us have any fun.
Will Power: It's not my fault you're always getting into trouble. Bone spurs, blisters, plantar fascitis--what's next? Gangrene? Now hup hup!
Fortunately a sudden burst of energy put an end to this conversation, and W.P. won the debate once again. My heart suddenly started pounding and my feet began flying. Hup-hup, indeed.
But hours later, they're starting to grumble again; one of my blisters is the size of a pebble. Which is too bad: no way I can put on a pair of platform heels, pop another Powerbar gel and groove around the house tonight to the songs that were popular in between the months when I was 21 and zero months and 21 and six months. But then again, it's my house: who says I can't do that all barefoot?
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