The Faster You Go, The More Fat You Win!

I think I told you that the “running” scenario in Italy differs quite a bit from that in the States. In case you missed those episodes, the quick summary is that running in Italy involves a team (mine is Lippo Calderara), a membership card (that’s huge!), a uniform (we’re red, yellow, and blue: I’m all set to root for the Romanians in Peking), Spandex (I invariably violate this rule), an extraordinarily complex organization (Do you want to run in the competitive race? The non-competitive race? The shorter race? The even shorter race? The walk? The children’s race? The younger children’s race?), a sexual harassment-prone landlord (perhaps that’s just my situation? But who knows, maybe it’s part of the “system.”). And . . . prizes!!!

I really like winning prizes, I dislike sexual harassment, I find the obsession with membership cards amusing, and I get a little stressed out by the complexity of the system.

As you know, I’m hyper-competitive, so I really do like winning the prizes. Now I just have to figure out what to do with them. I really get a kick out of this: The prizes invariably consist of giant packages of the fattiest, unhealthiest foods you can find. The faster you go, the more fat you win! Here’s me, wondering what to do with two of my prizes:

That’s what's left of a salame on the left, and a huge hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese on the right. I figured it out, and my excitement reached a kind of violent level in this pic:

Actually, the prizes come in handy: My friends and gastronomo-classmates love them! And I like the winning-them part :)