Eating a Lot of Marathon Goo Does Something to a Person

At the start of NYC Marathon training, when the notion of a “fueling plan” came into question, I was cheekily, preposterously complacent. I work in food. I write about food. My whole day revolves around talking to people equally as food-obsessed. I was convinced a few banana smoothies, maybe some demure bowls of beans and greens, and an odd scoop of peanut butter would be enough to get me there. Who could possibly be better equipped to feed me for hundreds of miles of running than myself?

Then one awful, overheated, peak-summer run landed me on a physical therapist’s bench. She admonished me on my lack of fuel and hydration preparedness. (Her exact words: “You gotta figure that shit out ASAP,” while grinding her elbow into a spasming calf muscle.) I took it as a sign my “expertise” wasn’t going to cut it.

I relearned how to feed myself with endurance training as the priority. After a few Google searches on long-distance running, the algo knew I was in it for real. My Instagram discover page was an overstimulating mix of track drills and loud semi-professional athletes shouting that I absolutely had to add another exercise to my already bloated workout regimen. And my TikTok feed, previously a hodgepodge of restaurant reviews and cozy recipe content, instantly became a dude-bro sponsored carousel of greens powders, colostrum, caffeine pills, protein bars, and glucose gels. 

Heeding my PT’s advice, I prepared to fuel. First, I tried Gu gels. Too viscous. Tasted like children’s Tylenol syrup. I gagged over a bridge. I tried Honey Stinger gels — same problem. More dry-heaving ensued. I tried energy chews in “fruit smoothie flavor” (choked on my own spit mid-run; ran in constant fear of biting off my own tongue). One time, in a misguided quest to fuel with “whole foods only,” I nibbled on dried apricots — also a bust. Too much fiber, more retching, this time next to a children’s playground in Central Park. 

Where I landed: Hüma gels, a brand more watery than the rest, housed in packaging reminiscent of choking-hazard-free baby applesauce pouches. This isn’t a glowing endorsement — but they were the only thing I could eat on runs without feeling gripped by nausea. I became an endurance athlete taking hundreds of calories of straight gooey, fruity mush to the system like a champ as I zig-zagged across Manhattan, racking up miles on Saturday mornings. 

In another humbling turn of events: I’ve always been vehemently against dietary supplements (with reasonable, medically prescribed exceptions of course). But I soon found myself tossing back zinc pills and salt tabs peddled to me by the earnest employees of my local Fleet Feet. They sold me on a vague, “If you’re feeling rundown, these are great!” 

It wasn’t until after I purchased five packets that I reflected on the fact that running dozens of miles a week would, of course, leave me feeling rundown. And maybe, this would not be a problem a few milligrams of trace metals could solve overnight. Did I feel a marked difference after taking them? Of course not. Are they now an unskippable part of my pre-run fueling strategy? Yep.

Here’s where I admit: I liked all of it. Eating with utility and nutrition as the sole priority was a refreshing break from years working at luxury food magazines where what you ate felt like it had to say everything about who you were — what new restaurants you were eating before everyone else, or which food trends you were up to date on.

As the weekly mileage climbed, I could feel myself becoming that person: bringing my own steamed sweet potato in Tupperware to a friend’s movie night. Scheduling dinner plans for 5 p.m. so I could feel good for an early-morning run. Babysitting an untouched beer for hours at a friend’s birthday party just to have something to hold. There was no spontaneity or seeing “where the night takes us.” I was eating rice and ground turkey and was tucked in bed at 9:30 p.m. so I could get up and workout without feeling like garbage.

Here’s where I admit: I liked all of it. Eating with utility and nutrition as the sole priority was a refreshing break from years working at luxury food magazines where what you ate felt like it had to say everything about who you were — what new restaurants you were eating before everyone else, or which food trends you were up to date on. And I’ll also caveat that I was never punitive with it. Plenty of ice cream, pizza, takeout, and joyful dinners with friends and family did happen. 

Unbeknownst to me, choking back sachets of liquid glucose was a gateway drug to a different kind of food relationship. I learned to let how I was physically feeling lead the way, instead of FOMO or impulse. I left at 10 p.m. instead of 1 a.m. The mess of goos, gels, powders, and salt tabs will not follow me post-marathon. But that ethos certainly will.