Chef begone

Oh it’s on baby! My dear darling husband has laid down the gauntlet, and me being one never to shirk from a competitive wager, I dove straight in arms a flailing.

Following my completion of the New Year’s Day Resolution Run, Mario let it slip that he might be interested in doing the run next year. And I got all super excited – for like a second. See, he didn’t stop there, the silly devil followed that statement up with a bit of cockiness. “I’m going to smoke your ass,” he told me. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Really? I questioned the so-called non-runner. “Yep,” he said. “You’re going to eat my dust.” And he didn’t stop there, he followed the cockiness up with a “friendly” bet:

If I win, he cooks dinner all year. If he wins, I cook dinner.

Seems easy enough right. Well, while I may be a kick-ass baker, who can induce drool-worthy goodness with the likes of my cheesecakes and plum tarts, I have absolutely no dinner-making talents whatsoever. My culinary skills consist of omelets, and not even fancy omelets, straight eggs and cheese. I lived off of them for pretty much four years, before moving in with Mario, and having my taste buds tantalized with the likes of paella and pizza and quesadillas and pasta and barbecued salmon and barbecued chicken and ohhhhhh barbecued mushrooms. Yum! So you see, the bet really isn’t fair at all given that he’s already making dinner pretty much year round. But like I said, I’m competitive by nature, and before thinking the stakes through, maybe even anteing it up a bit to make it more fair, I plunged straight in.

But take note my friends, I will win that race, even if it means the death of me. I will run harder and faster than I have ever run in my life. I will sweat icicles, I will feel pain, my lungs will threaten to close up on me, my breakfast will toss in my stomach, my calves will be on fire, my feet will beg me to stop, but I will keep going – even at risk of my own puke flying back in my face – just to win that damn race. There is no chance in hell I am living off eggs ever again!

You best keep spinning that dough Mr. Non-Runner!

What gets your competitive juices flowing?



  • 6 p.m. BG before: 6.7 (1/2 an orange, no bolus)
  • Temp basal: -50 per cent
  • One hour: we added two more arm exercises on the rack/reformer … it appears I’m getting through my stuff quicker these days
  • 7:30 p.m. BG after: 9.1

For Mario’s take on the bet, visit his website at It seems he’s pretty serious about it. While I was at pilates tonight, he was out running the Quay! But still, he proclaims he is NOT a runner … sounds like a runner to me 😀

4 thoughts on “Chef begone”

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